The Viking's Consort

by Quinn Loftis

I knew enough about the coward to know Cathal wouldn’t be in the thick of the fighting. He’d be observing somewhere, giving orders from a safe distance. It didn’t take long. A clanmate beside me went down with an arrow in his chest. I stared up at the battlements and there the king was, surrounded by a regiment of archers. Anger blazed within me. In an instant, I saw all the pain and destruction the man had caused—my own clan burned, my clansmen killed. I saw similar scenes belonging to Clans Akefor, Bjornvik, and Brending. But most all, I saw Allete at the English castle, with his hands on my wife. I watched him touch her, grope her, and hurt her, all while I had to simply stand and watch. Would that I could have simply killed him then instead of keeping up the charade I was simply Allete’s guard. I would probably have been hanged, but how much death and destruction would have been prevented? Regardless, the past was the past and Cathal’s was about to catch up to him.

  I hoisted my shield and sprinted to the nearest set of stone steps leading up to the battlements. A pair of Taran soldiers guarded it. It was clear their one job was to keep any of the Vikings from ascending the steps where they could attack the king. These weren’t regular infantrymen. This was the king’s personal guard, the best of the best Tara had to offer.

  I slew them both in a matter of seconds.

  Stepping across their bodies, I raced up the steps and paused at the top. I hugged the castle wall. My view of Cathal and his men was blocked from this vantage point, but they’d probably seen me kill the guards. They’d be ready for me when I emerged. Before I climbed the remaining steps, I stuck my shield into the open air above me. Just as I expected, it was met by multiple arrow shafts. The force of their impact almost knocked the shield from my hand, but I held on. I just hoped the thing was still intact enough to provide some kind of protection. This wasn’t going to be easy. I’d have little time to close the distance and reach Cathal before one of the archers eventually found their mark. I gritted my teeth and gripped my sword, about to make my charge. Then I heard a familiar voice.

  I didn’t know I’d raised such an idiot.

  My brow furrowed. It took a second for me to realize the voice was only in my head.

  Now’s not the time, Mother, I mentally growled at the voice.

  It’s precisely the time if you’re about to foolishly throw your life away.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Allete was right. Hilda could be infuriating, even from beyond the grave.

  And what would you have me do, oh wise Oracle?

  Do you remember nothing of the prophecy, silly warrior?

  Of course, I do. Foreign princess, marriage, uniting the clans. I got all that.

  Apparently, not, she replied. I see no unity. I only see a pissed-off jarl who’s taking matters into his own hands instead of listening to his incredibly wise mother.

  I shook my head. She was right, of course. I had let my hatred of Cathal blind me to the greater good. This mission wasn’t about my personal vengeance—at least, it shouldn’t have been. It was about uniting the clans. It was about forging new allies and providing a world full of peace instead of war. I knew what I had to do.

  I scanned the battlefield and spotted the other jarls—Rafal, Hagen, and Blaine—each locked in combat. One by one, I waited until they’d dispatched their foes, then yelled to get their attention. When I’d done so, I pointed up to where Cathal had pigeonholed himself and gave a signal. They nodded, then began fighting over to the castle walls. Blaine was closest to me. He joined me. Rafal and Hagen found stairs on an adjoining wall, and they fought their way up them. When they’d reached a point halfway to the top, they paused and looked to me for a signal. I motioned to my shield and held it up, indicating they should emerge shield first.

  We all crept to the top. I held up my hand to wait. I said a silent prayer to the gods before giving the signal. With a mighty bellow, we sprang onto the battlements. As before, my shield was met with a volley of arrows, but not as many as before. The plan had worked. Half of Cathal’s forces had turned to protect him from Rafal and Hagen. There was just enough room atop the battlements for Blaine and me to stand side by side. We held our shields out and advanced. Cathal’s warriors realized we’d soon be on them. The archers abandoned their bows and drew their swords.

  I could hear Cathal screaming, “Kill them! Kill them! Hurry!”

  Blaine and I worked in tandem, thrusting and parrying at our defenders. It was clear the training we’d done with the other clans, though brief, was paying off. Blaine and I fought as if we’d been lifetime clanmates. A few moments later, four of Cathal’s guards lay dead at our feet. I saw the king turn and sprint away. He didn’t make it far. A second later, he came to a skidding halt at the point of Hagen’s sword. The jarl wore a feral grin. Cathal’s men were all dead. It was over.

  “No! No!” Cathal turned back to me. His eyes were wide with panic. He threw up his hands. “I surrender!”

  I sheathed my sword. “I accept your surrender,” I said, then drew back my fist and punched him square in the nose. Blood exploded from his face, and Cathal went down in a heap. “Good work, brothers,” I said to the other jarls.

  “Do you have it?” I asked Rafal. He produced a great war horn fashioned from a ram’s horn. When he made to pass it me, I shook my head. “You do the honors.” He grinned, then placed horn to lips, blowing with all his might. The sound echoed throughout the castle, causing Viking and Taran soldiers alike to pause and gaze up at us standing upon the ramparts. Cathal groaned at my feet and rolled over. I reached down and jerked him up by the back of his tunic, pushing him against the parapet so all could see.

  “It’s over Tarans,” I yelled down to the soldiers. “Your king has surrendered. Throw down your weapons. No else will be harmed.” They had no choice to comply. I was surprised to see relief on most of their faces.

  “Let us discuss terms of peace,” Cathal whimpered.

  “Peace?” I asked. “What do you know of peace? As a king, you’ve done nothing but steal and destroy. I will not parley with you.”

  “You have to. I’m a king. I’m your prisoner.” He began to struggle and thrash in my grip. This time, it was Blaine who did the honors. He struck Cathal in the stomach, and the man doubled over with a whoomph sound. I passed him to Rafal, who held the man with an iron grip.

  I spoke to the people in the courtyard below. “The Northmen and the Tarans have no quarrel. You can see from our forces we aren’t merely Vikings. We’ve allied ourselves with the English. And we can ally with you as well. There need be no enmity between us.” There were a few nods, but mostly confusion on the faces of the Taran warriors. “But your king must pay for his crimes. Without provocation, he invaded my clan and three others. Without cause, he declared war on us. That kind of action cannot go unanswered.”

  Cathal picked the moment to regain his breath. He began screaming. “No, don’t listen to them. Help me! Good Tarans, help me! These barbarians will burn your homes. They’ll rape your women. They’ll cut your eyes out.” I let him go on for some time while I simply stood impassively, watching him struggle. None of his soldiers made a move to aid him.

  I spoke loudly so all in the courtyard could hear. “Cathal, King of Tara, for your crimes against the Northmen and your betrayal of the English people, I sentence you to death. A new king will take your place. A righteous and just king. Your people will prosper in your absence.”

  “You can’t judge me,” he yelled. “You’re nothing but a barbarian. You’re a rat. You’re a dog.” He spat at me. It hit me in the face. I shook my head, not even bothering to wipe it away.

  “The jarls of Clans Akefor, Bjornvik, Brending, and Hakon judge you guilty,” I said. I nodded to Rafal. He shoved Cathal roughly down to his knees. I drew my sword.

  Cathal’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Mercy, mercy,” he whimpered, hands together in a pleading gesture.

  “Did you offer my people mercy?” I asked. Before he could respond, I swung my sword, separating his head from
his body in one clean stroke.

  “I love my sister—I do—and I have to keep telling myself that even when she’s yelling a battle cry on behalf of a rat.”

  * * *

  ~Diary of Allete Auvray

  Gisele stared at me with hungry eyes. She glanced at Myra, then at me again. The blood from the cut I’d inflicted began to travel down the length of my arm. A drop of it fell and splattered on the floor. The witches appeared to be transfixed by it. Slowly, I placed the arm holding the dagger behind my back. Gripping it with my thumb and forefinger, I held up my other three fingers, much like Freya had done earlier, only mine were pointed downward because I had to maintain my grip on the knife.

  “I should tell you something, though, before you accept my deal.” I lowered one finger, counting down.

  “What’s that?” Gisele asked, narrowing her eyes. I lowered another finger, leaving only my pinkie sticking out.

  “My life is already promised to Clan Hakon. If I die today, it’s in service to them, not to you.” At that instant, we heard the sound of a war horn, deep and loud, ringing out from somewhere high above us. Its sound reverberated through the dungeon walls. I lowered the final finger, then gripped the dagger tightly. Everyone moved at once. I yanked my hand around from behind my back. Whipped the blade at Gisele’s face. I was quick, but she was quicker. She lurched back just in time to avoid the knife’s point.

  Myra shot another bolt of power at Gisele. Brant, Clay, Freya, and Babs leaped at Evelyn, swinging their daggers and swords as they did so.

  The witches both screamed with fury, and power erupted in the dungeon. It flew in all directions. Gisele threw out both hands, simultaneously shooting dark bolts of energy at Myra and me. We deflected the power with our own. Then I heard the sound I knew was coming, but still dreaded hearing. It was my sister’s voice.

  “This is for Assy,” she yelled and bounded past me, throwing herself at Gisele. I only had a second to wonder who the heck Assy was before I watched Gisele send a bolt of power into her chest.

  It was the forest all over again. My sister went down in a heap. The breath fled from my lungs. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. There was no way Dayna could survive a shot from Gisele again. The power within me practically exploded outward and jumped toward Gisele. But this time, it wasn’t just a bolt of energy. It was a steady stream of white light erupting from my outstretched palm. She brought her own hand up just in time to meet my light with a dark stream of her own. But the force of my blow rocked her, and she had to take a few steps back. She ground her teeth and sneered. Then, another lance of energy met her. It came from Myra. Gisele held up her other hand, and she blocked that one as well with another stream of dark energy. I continued to pour all of my power into my stream of light. I could only assume Myra was doing the same.

  We stood there, the three of us, hands outstretched, light meeting dark, for what seemed like an eternity, though I was sure it was only a few seconds. The small room of the dungeon crackled with electricity. Dimly, I was aware of the others fighting Evelyn off to my right, but I couldn’t let my concentration lapse long enough to focus on them.

  After a few seconds, Gisele began to laugh. “Is this all you’ve got, Oracle? I thought you were supposed to be powerful. You’re nothing.”

  “Myra,” I grunted, “how is she doing this?”

  “Blood,” the old woman said. “Years and years of dark sacrifices. They’ve made her too powerful.”

  As if to accentuate Myra’s point, Gisele laughed maniacally, and I felt the power straining against me increase. The point where our streams of energy met lurched in my direction. It took all my concentration to keep up the assault.

  “Leave her to me,” Myra said. “Help the others.”

  “I can’t. She’ll kill you.”

  “Face reality, girl. Your friends are dying.” She jerked her head sideways. The shock of what I saw caused me to drop my assault against Gisele. Evelyn stood over Bab’s prone form while she hurled bolts of power at Freya and Astrid. Luckily, the two women had their shields and were able to block the projectiles, but the assault was taking its toll. Half of Astrid’s shield had been blown apart, and Freya’s glowed white hot. Clay was crumpled in a heap in the corner. Brant laid face down a few yards away.

  “No,” I yelled, flinging my dagger at Evelyn. It spun end over end. I wasn’t sure if she were simply weary from fighting four opponents, or if she simply wasn’t prepared for me to shift my focus from Gisele, but she wasn’t able to dodge my throw. The dagger landed point first in her shoulder.

  She yelped and staggered back. “You’ll pay for that,” she hissed. “You want to fight, then I’ll show just how powerful you could have been.” Gisele held out her hands, then spoke several words in a language I didn’t recognize. A sword materialized in her hand, along with a shield that glistened and pulsated with purple light. I stood there, dumbfounded. That spell wasn’t in Hilda’s book.

  With the knife still protruding from her shoulder, Evelyn began attacking Freya and Astrid with a fury, driving both women back. The witch moved so quickly her motions were a blur. She was muttering as she fought, so I knew she was likely casting spells that gave her superior strength and speed. And it was clear Evelyn’s enchanted sword carried a powerful magic because every time it struck one of the defender’s shields, there was a crackle of electricity and the oak would splinter with a hiss, sending shards flying in every direction. I watched as another stroke completely obliterated Astrid’s shield. The shieldmaiden threw down the leather strap that had been holding the shield to her arm. Freya tried to move in front of Astrid to protect her clanmate, but Evelyn was too quick. She somersaulted forward, slicing sideways as she rolled by Astrid. Evelyn’s purple sword connected with the thick part of the shieldmaiden’s thigh. Astrid screamed as she fell to the ground.

  The scream shook me out of my stupor. I bolted toward then, drawing my own short sword as I ran. Blood poured from Astrid’s leg, making the stone floor slippery. I joined Freya as she attacked Evelyn, our swords ringing off hers as she parried our attacks with ease. Even as I fought, I could feel my magic pulling me backward toward the shieldmaiden on the ground behind me. The need to heal was so strong I could barely focus on the fight. It made my movements sluggish. Freya couldn’t break through Evelyn’s defenses, and I offered little help. The woman appeared to have no trouble fighting us off. Still, I was determined to bring the witch down.

  “Allete,” Freya barked. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I would have thought it obvious,” I said between heavy breaths. “Trying to kill this witch.”

  “Don’t you think you should be helping Astrid? She’s bleeding out!” Freya grunted as she blocked an overhand strike from Evelyn.

  “Kinda busy right now, Freya.”

  “Astrid is busy dying,” Freya said.

  “And if I stop to heal her, I can’t help you. Evelyn will kill you.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Al,” the shieldmaiden captain screamed. “Heal my friend!”

  I broke off my attack, then turned to Astrid on the ground. As soon as I did, the magic pulling inside me was satisfied, like an annoying itch that had finally been scratched. What I saw almost caused me to lose my lunch. Astrid was white as a sheet. The blood surrounding her body ran across the floor, seeping into the cracks in the stone floor. “Astrid, Astrid,” I said, slapping her face. “Are you with me?” She didn’t respond.

  “Damn it,” I placed my hands on the gash on her leg, and hot sticky liquid covered my hands.

  “Healing power, heed my call,

  Overflow and do not stall.

  Knit this wound and make it whole,

  Restore the health the enemy stole.

  Staunch the flow of crimson red,

  Seal it off as I have said.

  Return what’s damaged back to new,

  Let all be well, the pain is through.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, I h
eard Astrid’s breathing return. With it, I exhaled a sigh of relief. I tried to jump in to rejoin the fray, but I immediately swayed and fell back to my knees. I could barely lift my arm, must less effectively wield my sword. Two battles raged beside me. The streams of power coming from Myra and Gisele still connected both women, and they focused all their will upon defeating the other. Freya, much to surprise, held off Evelyn’s magical attacks. But I wasn’t sure how much longer either woman could hold out against the witches.

  I needed to help one or the other, but I didn’t know which one. On the one hand, Myra was my mentor. I needed her to help me continue my magical training. On the other, Freya was my captain as a shieldmaiden. And she was a clan member. But most of all, she was my friend. I grabbed my sword, lumbered to my feet, then I took a shaky step toward Evelyn.

  Freya had not survived the battle without injury. At some point, she had also lost her shield. Now, she fought with only her short sword, which was becoming more and more notched each time it met Evelyn’s magical blade. And though it didn’t appear the shieldmaiden had slowed, Freya was bleeding from several minor cuts. I swung my sword at Evelyn, but such was my exhaustion she easily parried my blow.

  “Nice of you to join the party,” Freya said. “How’s Astrid?”

  “Mostly dead, but not completely.”

  “You two should give up now,” Evelyn snarled. “You have no chance to defeat me.” I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I heard a tremor in the witch’s voice.

  “Shut it, witch,” Freya growled, then swung her sword with all her might in an overhead arc. It was Evelyn’s turn to laugh as she easily blocked Freya’s strike.

  I hated I was virtually useless in the battle. The expenditure of magic it took to save Astrid’s life had spent my energy. Then a realization hit me. Evelyn had to be using vast stores of magical energy to hold her own against Freya, a hardened warrior. In a fair fight, Freya would’ve mopped the floor with Evelyn in seconds. It was only the witch’s magic that kept her from being cut to bits. But Freya didn’t realize it. She could tell Evelyn was fast, so she employed tactics she might use against another quick opponent, using all her strength to overpower the witch. Instead, she should have employed the tactics she normally did against fighting stronger male opponents—outlasting them.