The War of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic (Saga of the Iron Dragon Book 5)

by Robert Kroese

  Eric’s own horse wheeled to the right, reared up and whinnied in terror, and several others behind him followed suit. Eric managed to get control of his mare, but some of the other men weren’t as lucky. Shouts of fear rang out as several men were thrown from the saddle. A few of the horses near the rear of the group had turned and bolted back the way they had come. By the time Eric could get his horse facing northward again, the Valkyrie had turned her weapon toward the attackers coming down the other side of the pass. Brrrrap! Brrrrap! Brrrrap! went the weapon again, and fire shot toward the horsemen. Again, horses and men fell, collapsing and tumbling down the hillside. Panic seized the horses on this side of the valley as well; fewer than twenty men had fallen in total, but the attackers were in utter disarray. An acrid scent reached Eric’s nostrils.

  “Eric, damn you!” shouted the woman, as the thunder faded. “Come on!”

  He turned to see her standing there alone, the weapon now hanging off her shoulder, smoke wafting from the end of it. A Valkyrie or a demon from the pit of hell?

  “Who are you?” he shouted.

  “What does it matter?” she shouted back. “Hurry! I can’t hold them off forever!”

  “Let us flee, Eric,” said Gulbrand from beside him. “We haven’t a chance against this many.”

  Eric had never run from a battle, and he didn’t like entrusting his fate to a strange woman, even if she were a Valkyrie. On the other hand, it was beginning to dawn on him that perhaps his destiny was not quite as clear-cut as he had thought. He realized now what Gulbrand had been trying to tell him: his ostensible ally, Olaf, had betrayed him, which meant that he no longer had any clear path back to the throne of York. Whoever this woman was, she possessed a weapon that made her a match for fifty men, and she had willingly put herself in danger on his account. Such a woman could be a formidable ally. If there were more like her—or simply more weapons like the one she wielded—he could not only retake the throne of York; he could become King of England and Frankia as well.

  The woman had turned and was now running further up the road, away from the fracas. “Back through the pass!” cried Eric. “Follow me!” He spurred his horse toward the east, and the others—many of them still fighting to control their horses—followed. As his horse neared the woman, she stopped and turned, pointing the weapon in his direction, and for a moment he thought he’d fallen to a ruse once again.

  “Go! Go!” she shouted, stepping aside to let Eric’s horse gallop past. By this time, a few of the attackers farther up the slope to the north had regained control of their own mounts and were maneuvering to flank the newcomer. Eric pulled on the reins of his horse and shouted a warning, pointing up the slope. The woman responded with a curt nod and raised the weapon to her shoulder again. Brrrrap! Brrrrap! Brrrrap! The would-be attackers fell or scattered as a dozen more of Eric’s men rode past. Several riderless horses, having thrown their owners, galloped after the others in a panic; men on foot ran or limped by, keeping to the peat on the side of the road to avoid being trampled.

  The attackers were now spread widely across both sides of the pass. Perhaps thirty men and nearly as many horses lay dead; the threat of the strange weapon was as much in its ability to sow fear and chaos as its deadliness. The panic had seized the defenders’ horses as well; if they had anywhere to run, they would have bolted.

  “Look, Father!” cried Haeric, bringing his mount up beside Eric’s. “’Tis Maccus yonder!”

  Eric followed his son’s gaze and saw that it was so. Earl Maccus, recognizable by his full iron helm and red-and-yellow tunic, was on the northern slope, attempting to rally a group of attackers to flank Eric’s men to the rear. Eric scowled: Maccus had sworn his allegiance to Eric not a month earlier. The wily coward, having seen what the woman’s weapon could do, was directing his men along the slope in a wide arc outside the weapon’s effective range.

  “We cannot tarry, Eric!” said Ragnald. “They’re trying to cut off our escape!” The bulk of Eric’s party had ridden past him back to the narrow part of the pass, and those who had fled first were probably already safe from Maccus’s men. Eric and the others in the rear risked being cut off and surrounded. The smart thing would be to spur his horse after the others and get ahead of Maccus while there was still time, leaving the woman to defend herself from the Northumbrians. But if he fled now, he would lose the woman and her terrible weapon to Maccus’s men. Furthermore, although he was not a man greatly troubled by ethical qualms, there was something distasteful about leaving a woman to die at the hands of his enemies, even if he had not asked for her help.

  As the last of Eric’s men rode past, the woman loosed another burst of fire toward the attackers coming down the northern slope, and two more men fell from their mounts. The weapon was formidable, but Eric saw that it could only be directed at a single opponent, or closely clustered group of opponents, at a time, and as Maccus had already ascertained, it was not effective at much more than fifty yards. Besides Maccus’s group, perhaps twoscore of the Northumbrians had gotten control of their mounts. They advanced in haphazard fashion from the north, south and west, but to some degree this worked in their favor: the weapon was less effective when it could not be directed at a closely clustered group of enemies. Recognizing the woman as the chief threat, the attackers converged on her.

  She fired, puncturing the breastplate of a rider approaching from the southern slope, causing him to fall backwards and slide off his horse. She took aim at another man, killing him as well, but with each burst from the weapon, the attackers advanced on her. She directed her fire toward two riders thundering down the road toward her as a third, armed with a lance, advanced down the northern slope.

  Chapter Two

  “G

  o!” shouted Eric to Ragnald. “Lead the men to safety. I will be close behind.” Ragnald, ever the loyal younger brother, gave Eric a nod and spurred his horse forward. Gulbrand and Haeric hesitated. “Go, both of you!” Eric shouted. “I’ll see to the woman!”

  He jerked the reins to the left and spurred his horse forward, putting himself in the path of the rider coming down the northern slope. The attacker’s horse planted its hooves and slid in the mud toward Eric’s mount until its breast slammed into the neck of Eric’s horse, causing its rider, still clutching his lance, to fly toward Eric. Eric caught the tip of the lance with his shield, which split in two from the force of the blow; he leaned forward and the attacker flew over Eric’s horse and landed hard on the road as the horse bolted to the west. Eric discarded the remnants of his shield and held out his hand to the woman. Half a dozen horsemen thundered toward them from up the road, and still more advanced down the slopes on either side.

  The woman let out a burst of fire, dispatching the two riders nearest them, and then slung the weapon over her shoulder. She reached up to take Eric’s hand, but one of the riderless horses brushed her with its flank as it ran past, and she fell to the ground. Her weapon skittered across the road and landed in the mud several feet away.

  Another horse galloped toward her from up the road, its rider bearing a huge studded mace. Eric wheeled his horse around, but there was no way he could get to the woman in time. He had resigned himself to never knowing who the woman was or why she had saved his life when Gulbrand’s mighty destrier shot past him. Swinging his massive war hammer with his right hand as he passed, the great warrior caught the man with the mace solidly in the chest, arresting his momentum with a crunch of metal and bone. The man’s broken body tumbled over the hindquarters of his horse as the animal kept going. Gulbrand let the hammer reach the peak of its arc and then brought it down just in time to crush the skull of the next man on the road. A third man, some twenty feet back, lost his nerve and pulled sharply on the reins of his horse. The animal skidded to a stop and reared up, causing the next three horses to crash into it and hurling their riders to the ground.

  Seeing that the woman was safe for the moment, Eric wheeled his horse back to the right to face the men adva
ncing from the north. As two riders with swords converged on him, he pulled hard on his own horse’s reins, and the beast reared up on two legs, its front hooves slicing menacingly through the air in front of him. The attackers’ horses shied away, preventing their riders from getting close enough to attack, at least for the moment.

  “Damn you, Gulbrand,” Eric growled, his horse still towering over the others on its hind legs, “I told you to go!”

  Gulbrand, still holding his war hammer over his head, brought his horse around, a wide grin on his face. “Aye, my lord. But you know how Helga gets when she’s hungry.” Blood and brain matter fell from the broad head of the hammer as his horse galloped back toward Eric.

  Eric’s mare brought its front hooves down, and the two men advanced upon him once again. He heard a horse coming up alongside him, and he saw that Haeric had disobeyed him as well. Haeric thwarted the advance of the rider on Eric’s right, blocking a swing of the man’s sword with his shield. Haeric riposted with a thrust that caught the attacker under his right arm. The man dropped his sword and retreated. Eric swung at the attacker nearest him, striking his helmet with a loud clang. While the man was still disoriented, Eric jabbed, the tip of his blade sliding through the soft flesh below the man’s chin. The man jerked back and then fell limply from his horse. Turning, Eric saw that the woman had gotten to her feet. Dozens of riders were now advancing down the slopes toward them, but the nearest were a stone’s throw away, allowing them a momentary reprieve. Eric brought his horse over to the woman as she picked up her weapon. She slung the weapon over her shoulder again, and he helped her into the saddle.

  “Now go!” Eric commanded, and this time the two men obeyed. Gulbrand took the lead, still gripping his mighty hammer as his destrier charged down the road. Haeric went next, with Eric and the woman bringing up the rear. Eric’s mare had no trouble keeping up despite the additional weight. The road ahead was deserted except for dead men and riderless horses, which meant that the rest of Eric’s men had made it to the narrower part of the pass. Maccus’s party, though, had nearly reached the road, and scores of riders still poured down the slopes on either side toward them. Unless they could get ahead of Maccus, they’d be flanked on all sides.

  They rode hard, outpacing Maccus’s men, whose horses were picking their way carefully along the steepening northern slope, but the lead riders of Maccus’ party reached the road ahead of Eric’s group. The Northumbrians, however, barely had time to draw their weapons before Gulbrand’s hammer smashed into them. He downed three of them without slowing. Haeric dismounted a fourth with a lefthanded swing at a man coming up alongside his flank, and a fifth went down as his horse stumbled a few paces from Eric’s mare. Maccus himself, Eric noted, was not among those who reached the road before them.

  Suddenly the road was clear; the northern slope was too steep here for the Northumbrians’ horses to continue to the east. They were not yet out of danger, though: at least a dozen horsemen were close behind them on the road, and Maccus’s group and many others were on their way down. They would soon have at least two scores of riders on their tail, and the rest of Eric’s men were out of sight, far ahead of them into the narrow pass. Moreover, their horses had been traveling since early that morning and were rapidly tiring; they could not keep up this pace for long. Eric could hear the thunder of hooves behind them, even over the sound of their own party.

  He felt the woman’s hands loosen at his belly, and for a moment he thought she was going to try to dismount and flee on her own. But then he felt something like a cord pulling against him; looking down, he saw what he realized was the strap that had been attached to the woman’s weapon. She shifted behind him, and then the cord went taut. He understood what she was doing: she had reversed herself in the saddle, tethering herself to him so that she could remain mounted while facing backwards.

  Eric braced himself, but nothing could prepare him for that sound. Brrrrap! Brrrrap! Brrrrap! Brrrrap! went the weapon, the recoil causing the woman’s elbow to hammer against his armor with every burst. Finally the noise stopped, and Eric strained to hear hooves over the ringing in his ears.

  “Did you get them all?” he shouted.

  “I’m out of bullets,” the woman shouted back. “But they’ve broken off pursuit for now.”

  “Thank Odin and the Christ,” said Eric. The weapon had put the fear of the gods into the Northumbrians; he could only hope it would last.

  “I see Halfdan ahead!” shouted Gulbrand.

  Eric gave another sigh of relief. They had caught up to the others; if they were forced to fight, they would at least do it with their full force. They were now well into the narrow part of the pass, and the horses were beginning to flag. Glancing back, Eric saw no sign of pursuit. Shortly, the pass opened up and they were once again looking out over the green peat fields of York. Their horses, frothing at the mouth, had slowed to a canter. The woman undid the strap and turned to face forward in the saddle, her weapon over her shoulder. Eric drove his mount forward to rejoin Ragnald at the lead of the group, Gulbrand and Haeric following.

  “I told you Osulf was not to be trusted, brother,” Ragnald said.

  “I’ll have Osulf’s head on a pike,” Eric said. “And Maccus’s with it.”

  “When you retake the throne,” Ragnald said.

  “Aye, when I retake the throne!” growled Eric, unable to resist rising to the bait. His brother was loyal, but not necessarily reverent.

  “Here I thought we were fleeing from the Northumbrians,” said Gulbrand from behind them. “Now I find we’re on a triumphant march back to York.”

  Eric turned to glare at Gulbrand as Ragnald burst into laughter. Haeric pretended to cough to hide his own chuckle. Eric opened his mouth to order them to silence, but found himself laughing as well. “All right, I take your point,” he said. “We’re perhaps not ready to return to York. But I will have my revenge on Maccus and that double-dealing whelp in Bamburgh.”

  “And we’ll be there with you,” Ragnald said. “But it’s going to be tough without any allies.”

  Eric didn’t speak, but they all knew what he was thinking: if there were more weapons like the one the woman riding with Eric carried, they wouldn’t need allies.

  “Go north,” said the woman into Eric’s ear, pointing to their left. “Toward that ridge.”

  “There’s nothing that way but peat bogs,” said Gulbrand, who had overheard. “We must return to Ripon.” Many of the men, including Eric, had wives and children at the small village north of York, where Archbishop Wulfstan, an ally of Eric’s, had granted them asylum.

  “My ship is over there,” said the woman.

  “What, in the bog?” asked Eric.

  “Trust me,” she said. “You cannot return to York. We must get off the road before Maccus’ men regroup and catch up to us.”

  Eric considered the matter. Their families were safe at Ripon, but bringing fifty armed men there would strain the limits of Wulfstan’s hospitality. The English King, Eadred, would suspect Eric intended to retake the throne and send men to kill him. Already once, several years earlier, Ripon had been the subject of a punitive attack by the king for its support of Eric. The woman was right, too, about Maccus: she had spoiled the ambush with her strange weapon, but the Northumbrians would not give up so easily. Getting off the road, although not a long-term solution, was not the worst idea. At least their horses could rest.

  “To the north!” Eric shouted. “Follow me!” He guided his horse off the road onto the moor and the others followed. No one—not even Gulbrand—objected. Perhaps they had come to the same conclusion as Eric, or perhaps they suspected they were nearing the limit of impertinence Eric would tolerate.

  The ground quickly grew more uneven as they departed from the road, and the horses instinctively slowed to a walk. Glancing toward the west, Eric still saw no sign of the Northumbrians. The ridge lay a half-mile ahead; with some luck, they might be over it by the time Maccus’s men emerged from the pa
ss. The horses were near exhaustion and likely to misstep if they were forced to gallop across the peat. Eric’s horse in particular was wheezing in an alarming manner, the added weight of a second rider beginning to take its toll. Eric dismounted and walked beside the horse. To his surprise, the woman did the same. “That was my first time riding,” she said. “I’m more comfortable with my feet on the ground.”

  “Is that so?” asked Eric, surprised. “I took you for a Valkyrie.”

  The woman laughed. “I am flattered, but I am no warrior.”

  “That would come as a surprise to the Northumbrians.”

  “The gun gives me an unfair advantage. I’d never touched one before yesterday.”

  Eric stared at her, stunned. Many of his men had been training to fight since they could walk, and no twenty of them were a match for this woman while she carried that gun.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “I am called Freya.”

  “You do not speak as a foreigner, Freya, but I know of no kingdom that has weapons such as yours. Where are you from? How did you know about the ambush? And why did you intervene?”

  “Those are all excellent questions,” Freya said. “I’m not sure I can answer them in a way that will make any sense to you. Things may become clearer when you have seen the ship.”

  Again with the ship, thought Eric. Was the woman mad? “Your ship must have a very shallow keel to navigate the bogs of Yorkshire,” he said.