by Desconhecido
* * * *
Eirik glanced back from where he stood in the bow. “Good to be back at sea!” Eirik took a deep breath of ocean air and grinned at his friends, as always near the bow where he liked to be. Most kings and even thanes wanted to sail their own ships, but Eirik trusted the old dog. He’d decades of experience and a true passion for it. So Eirik let the old man do what he did best and took the time to enjoy the ride.
Fridgeir looked to the sleeping forms at Eirik’s feet. “For once, I’m anxious to get home!”
Eirik snickered and turned back to watching the moonlight. Since they ran a greater risk of hitting something in the water sailing at night, they didn’t do so very often. It made a rare treat for Eirik. He loved the glow of the bow wake, the moonlight glistening down and the way sky and sea blended. It looked like they could sail the Fire straight up into the sky. He breathed deep, expecting to feel the peace of the sea enter him, but instead his fire stirred restlessly. He turned to watch their wake.
“What is it?” Fridgeir asked, following his gaze.
“I don’t know, yet. But my fire’s up.” Just then the wind shifted and they had to scramble to reset the sail. A chill hand ran down Eirik’s back. Magic, dark magic, rode the wind like the stench of a rotting swamp. Eirik checked out the other ships but they seemed fine. Other than a shift in the wind, everything seemed as it was—but Eirik could feel the dark magic, smell it on the wind. His fire rose with the hair on the back of his neck. Somewhere behind, trouble chased them.
“I want us sailing closer,” he ordered. The horn sounded and they closed, with the Drake and Serpent one each side of them.
“Eirik!” Sverrir called from the Drake. “Smell that magic?”
“Unfortunately,” he called back. “Can’t find a source though. I want us sailing tighter together and keep a watch behind.”
They sailed on, though slower with the wind refusing to hold a steady course.
Chapter 18
Day 9, all day
Daybreak found Eirik standing in the stern of the ship. He’d pulled himself up the carved tail of the Dragon’s Fire and studied the sea behind them. Finally he caught sight of them. Ships following, and surprisingly, gaining. He only counted two but judging by the size of their sails, bigger than the Fire. Eirik felt the fetid breath of magic blowing stronger and from the direction of the two ships.
Cedric joined him. “How in the seven hells are they gaining on us so fast?”
“It’s got to be the Witch King’s ships! I can smell the magic. I think that’s what’s driving them,” Eirik replied, keeping a close watch on the two ships. “They’ve been gaining on us since the wind shifted.”
“What do you want to do?” Hjorr on the Serpent asked.
Eirik considered. “Let’s see what they do first. Stay together and keep moving!” he hollered back.
“They may just want to see where we’re going!” Hjorr called.
Eirik nodded. “Could be. But that foul wind worries me.”
“Me too!” Sverrir called over. “But I agree, let’s wait to see what they do.”
Eirik issued orders to his company. Men set arms and mail near to hand and readied the ship for a sea battle. Just in case.
* * * *
The wind shifted, steadied and began pushing them toward land as well as sailing north. They continued past nightfall. Fridgeir curled up behind Eireann to get some rest. Knowing she was awake, he stroked her arm softly. He felt a thrill when she relaxed against him.
“Fridgeir, what do they want?” she asked him over her shoulder.
“Don’t know, but the wind’s driving us closer to shore. Makes sense if he wants something we’ve got. It’d be easier to take if we’re trapped or run aground. Assuming he can control this wind,” Fridgeir answered. He softly brushed stray hair back from her face.
Eirik sat onto his heels, back against the prow. “Eireann, you said that amulet helped you escape the Witch King. How?”
Eireann sat up. “His men put us in livestock pens waiting to be picked up by the slavers he’d sold us to. One of his witches used some enchanted string to create bars we couldn’t break. I touched the amulet to it late at night and it dissolved. I set everyone loose but the guards heard us. I…” She hesitated, then drew a breath. “Some held them off to give us a chance. I had to get Saibh out. I couldn’t stay and fight. I don’t even know how many made it but I know some didn’t…” Her voice trailed off in regret.
Fridgeir’s hand laid softly on her shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of. You did what you could. At least they had a chance.”
Eirik sat thinking for a while. “There’s nothing to touch the amulet to. But I know there’s dark magic at work here. I can smell it, feel it in my fire.”
Eireann stared at her sister, apparently deep in thought. “It may not have to touch. I’m trying to remember what my grandmother said. She told all these wild-sounding stories about the priestesses of old.” Her brow knotted in frustration. Then, “Wait! It’s an ill breeze, right?” She was suddenly excited.
“You could call it that,” Eirik agreed.
“One tale told of a village beset by an ill wind—people and livestock kept getting sick. They hung the amulet on a post at the edge of town and the wind had to go around it. It broke the curse.” Eireann looked up at Eirik hopefully.
Eirik’s eyes narrowed in thought.
Cedric joined in. “Might be worth a try, hang it from the stern. See if that breaks it off.”
Eirik looked to Steinolf.
“Worth a try, but I must say, I don’t like letting that hairless boyman think he can chase us off!” Steinolf added firmly.
Eirik stood up and carefully made his way aft. He called over to the Sea Serpent. “You tired of letting these beardless boys herd us around like sheep?”
Hjorr laughed. “Past tired! What’d you have in mind?”
Eirik turned the other way. “Sverrir, what do you say we turn the tables on these dogs?”
A younger voice answered. “I say it’s about time, if that counts.” The youngest brother, Bergulfr sounded eager enough.
“Now or at dawn?” came Sverrir’s reply.
“As soon as we’re ready, we let loose our sails, come about and take the fight to them, if that’s what they really want!” Eirik answered.
Hjorr jumped in. “And what about this cursed wind? Hate to have to row the whole way!”
“I have an idea. Not sure if it’ll work but we acquired an amulet of the triple goddess. Long story, but it may be able to counter this ill wind. We’ll hang if from our prow, you two follow slightly behind, in a tight vee formation. If it works, it should shake them up a bit. If not, we wait for them to come to us or we row. Hjorr, slip behind us when we close. Grapple where you’re needed most.”
Eirik turned to his company. “Get ready—ring mail, helms. I want fire arrows readied and grapples. Eireann, you stay in the bow with the other women and keep down! Find her a shield to cover them with.”
Men hurried to comply while they let the Fire gradually slow.
Eirik sat onto his heels by Chloe. “Need to borrow that amulet for a bit. She’s looking much stronger now so I don’t think she’ll miss it.”
Chloe carefully unwrapped her tiny daughter. Eirik smiled and stroked the tiny girl’s cheek as he took the amulet.
“She’s put some weight on.” He gave her mother a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
He made his way forward and with Fridgeir steadying him, secured the amulet to hang from the Dragon’s mouth. He felt a change in it. His fire flared but not from dark magic.
“Let’s do it!” he called loudly.
Oars were run out and rowers readied. Almost as one the three drekkar let loose their sails. Rowers heaved on the oars to turn the Fire. The Fire shuddered and turned in a tight circle. Now facing the way they’d come, they waited on the wind.
The wind hissed chaotically around them. Then picked up a different track.
He grinned to the rest of the ship. “Ready to board!” he yelled, loudly enough so he hoped the people on the other ships could hear. It gave them a chance to break off and would give Eirik a better idea of their true intent.
The only sound Eirik’s superior hearing could pick up were commands of confident leaders. No communication between ships. He heard a creaking sound. Clouds drifted across the face of the moon. Ships disappeared on the dark sea.
“I want light on their deck! Get those fire arrows ready!” he called, for his men’s ears only. Their best bowman had already shifted forward. A small fire box smoldered below the sides of the ship, well out of sight. No need to advertise their presence.
A loud thunk heralded the launch of a large bolt from a ballista. Eirik’s night vision spotted it easily. It would miss them, barely. “Ballista!” he called out. It hissed by, landing just aft of them.
“Cover!” Eirik called. Shields were raised overhead for protection. A small volley of fire arrows from their enemy lit the sky. Most fell short of lighting up the Fire—but showed Eirik’s archers where to aim. He whistled softly. One fire arrow streaked in return. It flew high, not to hit a target but to shed light. Two more archers stood and fired, aiming for the sail. Two more after that. It took that long for the other ship to reload the ballista. Three Northmen’s arrows found their marks and held. The sail caught fire, lighting the deck.
A thunk of the ballista. Eirik’s voice rang out again as he yelled, “Let go the sail!” The sail slacked and turned with the wind as the ship veered. The ballista’s bolt brushed the edge of the slack sail and landed in the ocean behind them. The sail sang tight again and the Fire leaped back on course. The archers now aimed at well-lit targets scurrying about on the deck of their prey.
“Aim for the ballista!” Eirik yelled loudly, again hoping their enemy would react. Sure enough the operators dove for cover. But the Northmen’s arrows rained down everywhere else and two more fire arrows caught in the sail. A few screams reached them when their arrows found tenderer targets. Now they were too close for the ballista to hit them.
“Cover!” Eirik yelled again and the men raised a wall and roof of shields. Arrows skittered off or stuck in the ship. No one took a hit but some of the arrows started to light the ship afire. Eireann grabbed a bilge bucket and dowsed the closest flames. One of the crew got the others. The enemy’s sail burned brighter and their ship lost speed. Eirik watched with satisfaction as they scrambled to cut their sail loose before it set the whole ship on fire. The Dragon’s Fire was almost on them.
“Ready grapples!” Eirik positioned himself to be the first one over. His fire flared into battle rage. He held onto enough of himself to keep thinking, remembering tactics and formation. Outwardly he waited quietly, inside, his berserker fire roared through his veins. Gods above I love this!
Their sail went slack and the sound of grapples contacting wood with a solid thunk filled the air. The enemy scrambled to unhook them. A few overexcited fellows thought to board the Fire. They died before they hit the deck. The enemy’s ship rode a few feet higher in the water than the drekkars. Eirik’s men would have to climb up about two feet. He grinned as the ships slapped together. He made an inhuman leap, his hands closed on their rail and he vaulted over. He used his momentum and the shield strapped to his arm to shove men back. He pulled his sword at the same time. He held his ground, allowing others to follow. He ducked a glancing blow to his head and slashed at another foe. His fire roared as hot blood sprayed over his blade. The copper smell filled his nose, almost drowning out the sweet smell of fear. His lips pulled into his wolf snarl. He blocked with his shield to the left and defended his right with eerie speed and strength until the others joined him. Cedric on his right, his brother on his left and Fridgeir and Arinbjorn at his back. They had done this many, many times. His fire roared through his veins—he was exulting in it all.
* * * *
Fridgeir grinned as another foe died on his axe. He swung in a short arc in the close quarters. The spear reaching in from the side for Eirik splintered under his blade. He shifted and the butt end smashed the unlucky soldier’s face in. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He never felt more alive than in this moment at the beginning of battle. Before fatigue and the stench of death took over. Eirik shifted directions and Fridgeir flowed with him, always at his king’s back.
Eirik laughed and surged forward slashing a man’s gut open as he went. Another’s head nearly left his shoulders from the strength of Eirik’s blow. Hot blood sprayed his face and he laughed.
Fridgeir remembered the first time he’d heard Eirik’s wild laugh in battle or seen his wolflike snarl. It had chilled him to the bone. And the uncanny red glow behind his bright blue eyes froze those who saw it. That glow meant death to follow and there was nowhere to run!
Shouted orders from desperate leaders failed. The Northmen swarmed the ship like a pack of hungry wolves on a flock of lambs.
Fridgeir followed as Eirik honed in on the leader, fighting near the ballista in the back. The enemy fought hard, like the cornered rats they were. Fridgeir was well aware how a demanding fight excited his king’s fire even more—how he thrived as he inhaled the intoxicating odor of blood, fear and death. All too soon Eirik’s sword crossed with the leaders. The man shouted orders better than he fought. Eirik parried a slash with his shield and gutted the man with a single thrust. He kicked the screaming man off his sword and looked for another target. Too late. The ship belonged to the Northmen. Eirik’s fire-backed gaze locked on him for a moment then began to die back. A more human look returned to Eirik.
* * * *
Eireann crouched behind the shield they’d given her, keeping Saibh and Chloe well covered. Without warning six men jumped from the Witch King’s ship. One leaped on Jargeir, standing guard nearest them. Before anyone could react he had Jargeir over the side and turned to the women with an evil grin. He leaped toward them with his sword raised to slash. Eireann threw herself to her feet and put her full weight into the shield. The sword hit and skittered across the shield, twisting the man off balance and nearly sending Eireann flying back. She struggled for footing as the ship rocked and slapped against the side of the other vessel. The swordsman recovered and came at her more from the side. Once more she threw her weight behind the shield but this time he was ready for it. He grabbed it and twisted, trying to yank it out of her hand. Never one to back down, she shoved into him. The ship rocked hard and together they went over the side.
The cold water shocked her but, a fisherman’s daughter, it wasn’t the first time she’d been in deep ocean water. Her skirt interfered with her legs and she began to sink. Quickly she twisted it up and tucked it in her undergarment waist. She kicked for the surface.
The water churned not far out from the ship. The moon cleared the clouds as she ducked under. Jargeir and the swordsman fought each other. She surfaced for a deep breath then kicked under and swam strongly to them. The swordsman seemed to be winning, until Eireann’s teeth closed on his exposed arm! He jerked and Jargeir got control of the knife. A single thrust and the swordsman sank to the depths, leaving a trail of blood in the water.
Eireann grabbed under the wounded Northman’s shoulder and kicked up. Together they broke the surface. A rope slapped the water not far away. Eireann turned to swim on her side, still supporting Jargeir. He joined her in swimming but the fight, lack of air and blood loss sapped most of his strength. She reached the rope and wrapped it under his arms. She held the end as they were towed back to the ship.
She still had a struggle keeping both their heads above water. They hauled him in while she clung to the rope, breath heaving. Strong arms reached down and nearly yanked her arms out of their sockets pulling her up. She shook seawater from her eyes. Fridgeir held her steady and wrapped her i
n a cloak. Her body shook with cold and exhaustion.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you could swim well!” He sounded relieved, angry and proud at the same time. “But you could have drowned too!” He guided her back toward the front, and dropping his cloak, started helping her out of her soaked linen dress.
She shook with cold as Fridgeir wrapped her in his cloak. She looked to see how Jargeir fared. Men helped him strip his wet clothes and leather. Blood ran from his arm and hand where the other man's knife had cut him. Another gash along his ribs showed how close he’d come to being skewered.
Fridgeir smiled at him. “Good fight!”
Jargeir shook his head. “Not really, let the hairless worm knock me overboard! Wasn’t about to let him gut me or drown me!”
“Any time you live and your opponent doesn’t, that’s a good fight!” He rubbed Eireann’s shoulders as she shivered with cold, and asked her, “What demon possessed you to attack that man like that? You were told to stay put, stay down.”
She shivered a shrug. “He started it.”
Jargeir guffawed as he pulled on dry pants. “That woman’s teeth are one mean weapon! Never heard someone try to scream underwater before!” Peals of laughter rang out.
Fridgeir shook his head in mock anger. “What did I tell you about biting?”
An evil look crossed her face. “You want to string me up on the mast and beat me? I’m already naked…”
Fridgeir couldn’t help laughing at the retort, along with a few others.
Chloe looked confused as she cleaned and bandaged Jargeir’s arm.
Eireann explained between shivers, “The first time he saw me I was hung from a pole mostly naked and already well bruised from being beaten.”
Fridgeir grinned. “And just as defiant as now!”
She snorted. “If you want a more submissive slave you could always check out Chloe’s companions. I’m sure they don’t bite.” She flashed him a lewd wink, running her tongue over her teeth. More laughter ensued.
