Soul's Fire (The Northwomen Sagas Book 3)

by Susan Fanetti

  So the honorable army of Mercuria would stretch the rules of engagement and send them on their way to Hell.

  “It’s good you brought him back alive,” Leif said, staring off at Vidar, on his knees and tied to a post.

  “Is it?” Brenna asked, her tone suggesting that the answer to her question was no. “How old a girl?”

  Astrid shrugged. “Young. Small, but many of these people are smaller than we. Her chest was yet like a boy’s, however.”

  Vali growled and took two fierce steps toward Vidar. Astrid reached out and grabbed his arm. She held him back, but only because he allowed it.

  “His fate wasn’t in my hands, and it shouldn’t be in yours. It should be decided among us all.” She turned to Leif. “Should it not? Is that not what you mean that it’s good I brought him back alive?”

  “Yes. Vali, the raiders of my clan were not all so pleased to have their appetites curbed. When the treasure was great, they were appeased, but if more here than Vidar feel resentment, we must deal with it now, before we make another assault.”

  “You would let him live, if the people will it?” Vali had taken Vidar’s actions personally, as had Brenna. Their eldest, Solveig, was about the same age, and they seemed to be thinking of their girl when they thought of the young urchin in the woods.

  “It falls on us to ensure the people will his death. If they move to take his head for what he did, then we are all of an accord. The disappointment of the village might fracture us unless we can unite around something. Let it be Vidar.”

  That was Leif’s strategic mind at work. Astrid had thought no further than her conviction that a jarl should not act unilaterally unless he had no other choice. Their people were not subjects to any king. They were freepeople who used their voices in their own governance. Leif had power because he had earned it. If he took more than he earned unto himself, then their world wobbled.

  But he had thought beyond that and saw both the danger here and the possibility. They had come away from their first foray all but empty-handed, and they had lost fighters to the effort. Many among them had never before experienced a disappointment in a raid. If others felt as Vidar did, that any spoils, even the flesh of the innocent, were better than none, and Leif executed him for it without trial, then they could well find themselves facing a war within the camp.

  Vali’s raiders were different. Karlsa was different, smaller and more humble, and the jarl before Vali had been like him. They had never known a time when raiders were free to satisfy any lust. But those who had known Åke remembered a time when Vidar might have brought the body of the girl back to camp and crowed over what he’d found.

  Leif was right to let Geitland’s raiders have their voice now. If he presented the question to them well, they might be influenced by the will of Karlsa, and their voice would turn Leif’s edict into a compact instead.

  Astrid grinned. She was impressed. “Yes. It should be that.”

  “Only if you can shape their will with your words. He’ll get his chance to speak as well.” Brenna crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Vidar. Astrid saw the man bow his head, averting his eyes from the legendary God’s-Eye.

  Leif smiled and set his hand on Brenna’s shoulder. “I am almost as good with words as your man is, and far better than Vidar. Let’s do this as we should, so we can return our attention to the raid. There is treasure here, and we are standing on the greater share of it.”

  The land under their feet. Astrid looked between her boots. It was not so magical. She preferred the land of home.

  ~oOo~

  With the exception of those on lookout duty, all the raiders came together near the main fire for an impromptu thing, at which they would decide the fate of Vidar, accused of attacking a child in the woods.

  Leif and Vali stood together, the two jarls allied, but it was Leif who spoke. “We are come together because Vidar Arvidsson is accused of attacking a peasant child. Astrid brings the accusation.”

  Astrid strode forward and scanned the group, trying to know the feeling behind the faces before her, but they seemed simply interested, for the most part. She had their respect, she knew, and that would carry her voice well. So she spoke. “I came upon Vidar in the woods there”—she pointed in the direction—“he had a small girl beneath him. He had stripped her bare. Her body was so young it was still like a boy’s. Vidar bashed her head in with a rock. I found him thus and brought him back to the camp to meet the justice of the thing.”

  At the last, she had turned to face Vidar straight on and burn her gaze into him. He stared back and leapt into his defense before her own mouth had closed. “The girl came at me and hit me with a rock!”

  A rumble of surprised chuckles greeted that assertion—which Astrid believed to be a falsehood. She believed wholeheartedly that the girl had first struck out from the ground, in a brave attempt to defend herself. At the chuckle, though, Vidar understood that he’d taken the wrong tack. A claim of self-defense against a child was not a warrior’s claim.

  Someone in the group called that out in words: “You could subdue a child no other way than with a rock?”

  Another voice rose. “Why was she unclothed?”

  Vidar blinked and glanced around at the men and women surrounding him. He changed his approach. “What does it matter? She was a peasant! We ransacked the village and found nothing of value! It is my right as a warrior to take the spoils I find!” With the arm Astrid hadn’t broken, he slammed his fist into his chest.

  “That is your defense, Vidar? That raping and killing the child was your right?”

  “It is my right. You are no king, Leif Olavsson. You are no god. You lead us. You do not rule us.”

  He didn’t deny the rape, though Astrid knew he had not gotten so far. She began to wonder at that, and then understood—he had decided that it stood his manhood better to have taken the girl than to have had Astrid deny him the chance.

  Men. They behaved as if their mind, heart, and soul all resided in that one small piece of their flesh. In a man such as Vidar, perhaps they did.

  When Vidar was finished, a long moment of quiet took over the group. Leif let it settle around them before he stepped forward again. “Vidar stands accused. He doesn’t deny Astrid’s accounting. Instead he claims that taking and killing the child was his right. And there was a time when that was true. He also reminds me that I am not a king, nor a god. I know this to be true. I have no wish to rule you. But I hope I have earned your trust to lead Geitland. As Vali has earned the trust of Karlsa, and as we together lead this raid.”

  He walked in a near circle, around the group. “Now it comes to us all to decide Vidar’s fate. Is his defense honorable? Is it just? Should he—should any of us—have the right to take absolutely anything we have the strength to claim?

  He stopped and scanned the group. “Or should there be more to us than that? Is treasure taken from the weak treasure that brings us honor? Do the gods look down on Vidar today and see that he is strong and mighty? Are they proud? Do they toast his claim in Valhalla tonight? I wonder—are the gods pleased with any of us? Are they glad of the easy way we’ve had these past few years? Or do they see us growing fat and soft in our plenty, and mean us to take a lesson?”

  As the warriors registered that surprising question, Leif walked back to stand at Vali’s side, then turned and went still.

  “As Jarl of Geitland, I am daily asked to give counsel. I give it now. We all knew disappointment today. We took a village that was too poor to be worth taking, and we lost strong warriors in the effort. But our enemy fought hard against us, and there is honor in that victory, despite the lack of treasure. We faced a worthy opponent. For this raid to bring the honor that we mean it to bring, we will face this strong foe again before we leave. If we would regain the gods’ favor, then we must earn our treasure. We must wrest it from the mighty hands of a king, not slide it from the frail arms of a child.

  “That is my counsel. My opinion. But this dec
ision is not mine to make. We all must decide together. If you would see Vidar struck down for his actions today, raise your arm ring.”

  There was little hesitation. From where Astrid stood, it seemed that the decision, with the single exception of the accused, was unanimous.

  Vidar looked around at his clanspeople and allies in shock. “You would have my head over a Christian child?!” The group was quiet. Vidar spat on the ground. “You think the gods will be pleased with you for that? For putting that little scrap of filth over me? I have nigh twenty raiding seasons!”

  A Geitland raider named Karl stepped out from the group and punched Vidar in the face. When he fell to his knees, others came from the group and restrained him.

  Leif turned to Astrid. “The honor is yours, unless you do not wish it.”

  She absolutely wished it. Pulling her axe from her back, she went to Vidar. “You can kneel and accept your fate, and hope the gods are mollified enough to remember what honor you have and open their doors to you, or I can bind you to the stump like an animal, and you can go the way of one. Make your choice.”

  He glared at her, trying to find courage to clear the terror from his eyes. He went still, and, after a moment, his restrainers stepped back.

  “An honorable choice.” Astrid stood before him and looked him in the eyes. She swung her axe and struck true.

  ~oOo~

  As the sun began to set and raiders were well fed on meat and mead and leiv bread, Astrid sat with the jarls, and Brenna, and a few others who were close to either Leif or Vali. Jaan was among them, but Astrid’s mood had tamped her appetites for all things, so she wasn’t vexed by his presence.

  They were discussing their next move. Scouts had located the castle and found soldiers well away from the walls. This was another unusual thing. Kings tended to cower inside their walls and send soldiers out through the gates in groups to be slaughtered before they sent treasure out instead.

  But this king had sent a large group of armored men to make a stand away from the castle, near the far edge of the forest.

  “I cannot fathom how it serves his purpose to put the soldiers away from stone walls,” Jaan said. “It only makes them more vulnerable, does it not?”

  Jaan was an Estlander, brought up a peasant outside a prince’s great stone wall. He could imagine nothing stronger, even after years raiding with Vali.

  Vali leaned toward his friend but directed the answer to them all. “The walls limit their vantage for attack and focus their enemies. We know to send our arrows to the top and our blades to the gates, and no soldier will come from anywhere but those. This king has learned that lesson as well.”

  “But they are still dressed in their shiny metal,” Jaan countered. “They carry their silken flags and sleep in silken tents. The spies found their camp, even in these woods, from more than mile’s distance. This king hasn’t learned all our lessons.”

  “We took the village,” Astrid reminded them. “They’ll send a man to parley. If this king is like the others.”

  “This king has yet to be like any other, as I understand.” Brenna, who had not raided in these lands before, had been quiet through the discussion, but the point she made now was made well.

  For a moment, the friends and leaders were quiet, considering that truth.

  “Brenna is right,” Leif said, repeating what Astrid knew they’d all been thinking. “We should not wait longer than we must. We know where the castle is, and we know where the soldiers are. At first light, we go. We will fight as if they were our own kind, and would fight alike. On the run. Archers at the fore. Shields and blades at the ready.”

  ~oOo~

  That night, as full dark took over the camp and most of the raiders had settled down alone or with each other, Astrid sat alone at the banked fire. She was unsettled, for no cause she could find. Vidar’s death had meant nothing to her. He had earned that death. The little girl in the woods—she’d had a thought or two for her, but not more than that. She couldn’t even say it had been a life wasted. Not among these people, where the girl had had no chance to make a better fate for herself than the toil and struggle she’d been born into. Astrid had seen enough of these Christian people now to know that to be a peasant woman here was no better than to be a slave among her own people. No rights, no will, no voice, no life but that which a man—a king, a father, or a mate—allowed.

  Leif had worked a marvel with his words during the thing. He’d unified the raiders as they’d begun to fragment, and he’d done more than that—he’d made them see their honor and find their fire. He’d reminded them of Valhalla, where honor was the greatest treasure, and strength and courage the greatest weapons. He had made the last of Åke’s warriors into his own.

  So it wasn’t the events of the day that had her spirit stirred, but stirred it was. The hairs on the back of her neck danced, and not merely from the breeze. Again and again, she went still, sending her ears out as far as she could, listening for something that was not there. No horn had sounded from the watch. The night was safe in these lands.

  These Christian kings attacked in daylight only, on wide fields, in neat rows. Again and again, king after king, they’d confronted the raiders in that way and were confounded by the first shield wall.

  This king had made no other move like his fellows, and yet the night should still be safe. This night especially, with no moon or stars. The woods were dense and forbidding here, and though this king might have learned some lessons, his army had been trained long, she knew, to fight a certain way. There was no path in these woods for armored knights to form their lines.

  Yet she couldn’t be still. With a huff of agitated breath, she stood and paced the perimeter of the camp, squinting into the dark beyond the wicked boundary of planted spears. There was nothing. She looked up the steep rise to the south, where the forest loomed like a wall of the darkest black in an already inky night.

  There was nothing.

  Or—

  She squinted again. Was there a lightening of the air along the ground? Walking farther from the low fire, putting her back to the camp and the few torches still lit, Astrid went perfectly still and stared. She allowed herself to blink so that her eyes wouldn’t conjure ghosts, but otherwise, she didn’t move.

  Yes. A faint wavering of light. The barest trace. In the moment she took to be sure before she raised an alarm, the trace took on color.

  A reddish-gold glow. Fire.

  “ATTACK!!” She spun back to camp and ran for her axe and shield. “ATTACK!! FROM THE SOUTH! ATTACK!”

  As Astrid grabbed her weapons and Vali and Brenna charged toward her, an arrow of fire struck the top of the tent at her side. It struck from nearly straight above.

  They meant to ride down the rise. In full dark. As fiery arrows rained down on their wooden shields, Astrid knew that there would be plenty of light for the king’s men to see their way into the camp.

  ~oOo~

  Leif had been right to expect these soldiers to fight like raiders. But they had not expected them to break what had seemed to be their sacred rules, and they had not expected anyone to have undertaken the risk of crossing that forest in the black night. Only the smallest band of raiders might have tried something like it in their own land. But an army galloped down the steep rise behind archers who had set half the camp afire and killed a score of raiders as they’d done it.

  The spear fence took the first run of mounted soldiers, and the raiders’ archers sent arrows into many of the rest. But the bodies of dead and dying steeds helped foot soldiers surmount the fence and meet raiders in their own camp.

  Raiders charged forward, warrior and shieldmaiden, seasoned and green, and met the soldiers with the fierce sense of protecting their home.

  As she fought furiously, swinging her axe again and again into the mail and plate of these soldiers’ armor, Astrid heard Vali’s Úlfheðinn roar, and she saw him, bathed in dancing firelight, leap over a mound of bodies, his axes raised high, and bury them
both into the body of the last mounted soldier, who had somehow made his way into the camp while still in the saddle. His axes buried in the soldier’s armor, Vali went down with him, off the horse, into the midst of a melee on the ground.

  Astrid knocked a helmet from a charging soldier and swung again, taking off the top of his head. He stood, surprised, and tried to lunge with his sword. Instead, he fell forward, and Astrid turned back to the place she’d seen Vali go down. She saw Brenna running in that direction, without heed of danger around her. Astrid yanked a spear from a dead soldier and heaved it, striking the one about to take Brenna down.

  She was no good with a spear, and the strike glanced from his shoulder—but it was enough to pull Brenna’s attention and to distract the soldier, and the God’s-Eye slashed her sword low, opening his belly. Another soldier was on her then, but Jaan was there with her, and Astrid left them to their fight.