by Desconhecido
“Gods, Fridgeir! You don’t want her, I do!” someone from the far end called. “I can think of a few places I wouldn’t mind her teeth!”
Another laughed and swung his hips provocatively. “Me, I just want those nimble lips and strong tongue!”
Fridgeir smiled broadly. “Hah! You’ll just have to keep wishing.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Such talented lips!”
She snorted and shivered hard. Fridgeir urged her to sit, and wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her back against his chest to share his warmth. For the first time, it didn’t trigger even a hint of panic. She sighed and relaxed against him. Saibh took her hand, looking a bit worried.
Fridgeir teased them both. “Almost had both of you in the water. Good thing Sven grabbed the little one before she went in after you. By the way, is it a family thing? An inherited urge to bite?”
Saibh blushed.
Sven rubbed his arm. “Mean set of teeth for such a small girl!” Again the longship was filled with laughter.
Something bothered Fridgeir. “You said he started it? Did he actually attack you?”
Eireann shivered a nod. “As soon as he’d sent Jargeir over, he turned on us. I’ve seen that look before—he meant to kill, not capture.” Fridgeir nodded deep in thought. Eirik might find that really interesting!
* * * *
“Your master should know better!” Eirik towered over the captain, who was groaning in pain and clutching his gut. “Why did he send you after us? Finally taken all leave of his senses?”
The man didn’t answer. Eirik squatted down and grabbed his head off the deck. “Answer me and I’ll end it. Don’t and you could linger for days.”
The man sputtered. “I don’t know why. We were just told to attack any Northmen or raiders that messed with his merchants. Didn’t even know whose ship it was! Ask the admiral on the Dark Dawn.” He gestured vaguely toward the other ship. His breath heaved and he coughed. “He might know more.”
Eirik’s fire purred, drinking in the man’s pain, the smell of his blood and fear. “One last question, how many of these ships does he have?”
The man shook his head then doubled over, coughing and screaming from the pain it caused. Eirik motioned and Cedric pulled the man’s head up and to the side. Eirik’s seax sliced his throat cleanly. He absently raised his hand to lick the fresh blood off his gloved knuckles. His fire still surged like molten metal through his veins, demanding more blood! But no one stood to oppose them. Hopefully the others had gotten more information. A survey of the other ship showed it under Northmen control. Fire lit the deck from the burning mast and ballista. The smaller Sea Serpent had first joined the Drake but now tied to the other side of Eirik’s prey. Hjorr smiled at Eirik as he and his men dispatched the wounded enemies and aided any of their own.
Eirik gestured. “Open the hold, let’s see who’s manning the oars.” Two of his men opened the hatch. Eirik leaned over and let his eyes adjust to the dark. His lips twitched almost into a smile. Not everyone in the hold wore a slave’s collar!
“You’ve one chance to live. Throw out your weapons and crawl out. Or wait and I get to spill more blood!” Eirik didn’t try to hide his excitement at the prospect of more bloodshed.
“Coming out!” a voice called. Three men tossed out spears and whips, then climbed the ladder. They quickly found themselves on their knees and bound. Along with four other survivors, all wounded but not mortally. Out of a complement of nearly eighty men!
Eirik swung onto the ladder and dropped into the hold. He surveyed the chained rowers. Men of varying origins, some so dark-skinned Eirik could barely make them out. Most didn’t even bother looking at him. He smelled fear under the fetid stink of unwashed bodies.
“Anyone down here want to live?” Eirik asked.
Someone snorted rudely. “There aren’t any women down here. Unless you’ve run out of those and are looking for some male ass,” a man with the reddish curly hair of the Wild Isles said.
Eirik laughed. Obviously not the reaction the other expected. “Let me guess, you’re from the Wild Isles. Which also means you know exactly how insulting we find that!”
The man sighed resignedly. “Better to die on your blade now than as one of your bloody sacrifices!”
“I asked if you wanted to live, not if anyone wanted to offer themselves to the gods,” Eirik replied. “Although truthfully, the choice isn’t yours. I’ll promise not to sacrifice any of you or put you to death. Unless you try something stupid.”
Feet shuffled but no one else spoke for a moment. Then the red-haired man replied openly, “Living is generally better than dying.”
Eirik heard murmurs of agreement. “Good! Tell me things I don’t already know and you might even go free.”
That started a murmur among the slaves. Eirik counted only twenty—obviously some of the fighters manned the oars part of the time. He walked down the row. They looked fit and relatively healthy. Although the four with red hair looked pretty ragged around the edges, especially the mouthy one. He’d earned more than a few bruises and whiplashes with his wagging tongue. Satisfied, Eirik climbed back out.
“Search the hold for anything of value. Bring the slaves topside but keep them chained together,” Eirik instructed.
Cedric approached with his report. “We lost five here on the deck and six more missing. We’re still searching the water. Would have been more but that woman of Fridgeir’s can swim too!” He shook his head in amazement. “Had to fight off a few men intent on killing them and according to reports, she did a fair job.”
Eirik’s brow raised in concern but waited for Cedric to finish.
Cedric paused. “We’ve a dozen wounded badly enough to be out in the next fight. And plenty of minor injuries.”
Eirik nodded thoughtfully and turned to Hjorr. “You take any losses?”
Hjorr nodded. “These demon spawn fight hard! We only lost five here, not sure about over with Sverrir. I split us up. And twice that number injured.”
Eirik set his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “And we thank you for joining us. Could have been much worse. See if you can nudge this ship closer to the other so we can talk with your brothers.”
Hjorr let out the rope on the grapples and his men manned their oars to tug the Witch King’s ship around.
Sverrir had similar losses to theirs.
“What about our captives and slaves?” Hjorr asked. “That’s a lot of men to drag around.”
Eirik looked to Sverrir to get his opinion. “Truth, but I hate cutting unarmed men. No fun at all. But we need to decide quick, this ship’s going to burn.”
Eirik nodded. “I can see that.” He looked over the twenty slaves and six survivors from the lead ship to add to the twenty slaves on the ship he stood on. Unfortunately, the officers had fought to the death so they had no more information than before. “Let’s put all the Witch King’s men on one of their small boats. We can split the slaves between us. It might make us ride a bit low but I think we’ll make it.”
Men hurried to carry out Eirik’s orders. Each of the Witch King’s ships carried two landing boats with oars and small sails. They readied one for the surviving sailors.
Eirik had them toss a couple water bags to the Witch King’s men. They’d left the oars onboard, but no sail.
“That’s likely not enough to get you to land but, well, not my problem. If any of you should see your master again, give him my regards. Perhaps I should pay him a visit soon.” Eirik grinned wolfishly, leaving no doubt as to the kind of visit it would be.
* * * *
Eireann watched them loading the slaves off the Witch King’s ship. She thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. But from her spot in the bow, she couldn’t see well. Fridgeir still had her wrapped up in his cloak and arms, getting her warm.
“Eireann? Is that you? What…how did you get here?” A red-headed slave sounded as confused as he looked. She stood up to get a closer look at the man being secured to
a rowing post.
Instead of answering, she asked questions of her own. “Last time I saw you, Penllyn, you’d joined the Witch King’s army. Piss someone off with that big mouth of yours?”
He shrugged with a guilty smile tugging at his lips. “What can I say, never could take orders. Not even from men.”
“That’s putting it mildly!” she retorted.
Fridgeir stood up behind her. “I take it you two know each other?”
She grinned wickedly. “A former suitor of mine.”
He snorted rudely. “I seem to remember you doing the chasing, not me! Randy woman had to try every man on the isle!”
She drew herself up. “Ha! Just not willing to settle for someone lacking certain…” she looked him over dismissively, “attributes, shall we say.”
He looked around aggressively as people laughed, but was quick to reply.
“Oh, I see—well that explains it. You’ve finally found yourself a man hung like a horse? I’ve heard rumors about these savages.” That got the boat laughing but good.
She shrugged and licked her lips suggestively. “Maybe not horse-sized…but certainly man-sized!”
Penllyn glared at her. “And here I’d worried these last few years that these savages had split you open when all they’ve done is split your legs along with your lips! If it was a good beating you wanted all you had to do was ask!"
Her eyes narrowed. “These men didn’t beat me. Raiders did. You could even say the Northmen rescued me.”
From the corner her eye she noticed Fridgeir offering Arinbjorn a sly wink.
I suppose he thinks I’m coming around!
“Rescued you? They torched our village, killed everyone they didn’t enslave!” he retorted angrily. “How could you just cozy up to them?”
“They didn’t raid our village, your master did. The Witch King lied to you, to all of us. He slaughtered those he couldn’t use. A few of us escaped before being sold into slavery. These men may be savage fighters but I doubt they’d throw old people down a well to die!” Her anger flared higher at the memory. Fridgeir set his hand gently on her shoulder, teased her neck with a finger.
Penllyn looked more upset than surprised. “I’d wondered,” he replied bitterly. “Part of why I wound up in chains. He sent us to destroy a village. I couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. Guess I’m the lucky one. Most who refuse him end up lifeless hulks.” He sighed heavily. “Demon-spawned man-beast! I pray he rots from the inside out for eternity!” He swore, then thought a moment. “Although ending up the slave of Northmen might not be so much better!”
Eireann sniggered slyly. “I’ve found they can be amazingly gentle, at least with women. Alas for you, you’re still lacking the right attributes.” The crew laughed, seeming to enjoy their sparing.
He smirked wickedly. “I know you’ve quite the appetite for sex but seriously—it takes a whole boatload of hairy giants to keep you satisfied?”
The Fire rang with laughter and invitations to help keep her satisfied.
Fridgeir smiled. “Not the whole boat, just one.” He looked down at her with a sly grin and trailed his finger down her neck and over one breast.
Eireann closed her eyes at his touch. Ashamed and excited. She hated how she wanted him to keep going, even in front of everyone! Anger overrode everything else. She looked up at her old suitor defiantly. “One with good hands, better lips and far better endowed with certain male attributes.” She dressed Penllyn down with her eyes.
Penllyn glared, then chuckled. “Cousin, I should know better than to swap words with you.”
“You’re cousins? I thought the two of you shared a bed?” Fridgeir sounded as confused as he felt.
She shrugged. “Not close—but yes, cousins. It’s a small island. And yes, we did share a blanket a few times.”
Penllyn snorted rudely but held his tongue at a stern look from Eirik.
* * * *
Fridgeir urged her to sit back down as they cast off from the burning ship. She’d spoken truth in her jesting with Penllyn. In a sense, he had rescued her. At least from a far worse fate than being his slave. A bud of hope began to grow for the first time since the raiders had taken them. His words of the night before returned. She might actually have a future, a real future. She snugged her sister tight to her and leaned against Fridgeir’s legs where he sat on the forward-most trunk.
* * * *
“Old dog, take us north!” Eirik ordered firmly. He moved to the stern of the ship to watch the smoke from the Witch King’s burning ships until it was out of sight. The rising sun highlighted the ships and the billowing smoke brightly. His fire still stirred restlessly.
“Something bothering you?” Cedric asked as he, too, studied the horizon.
Eirik drew a deep breath. “Just a vague unease. I suspect we’ll be having more run-ins with that man-thing of the Wild Isles.”
The old dog joined in without taking his gaze off the sea or his hand off the steering board. “A few more of those ships and he could bring the fight to us. Specially since he can control the wind.”
Cedric shook his head. “How does he do that? Men can’t do magic.” He turned to the slaves taken off the Witch King’s ship. “Hey, you lot, does the Witch King himself do magic or has he just got a nice stable of witches to do it for him?”
Penllyn answered firmly. “He works magic all on his own. No idea how but I’ve seen it. Another thing, he does keep a few witches around but mostly he drains them. Feeds his magic off theirs.”
A strawberry-headed man nodded. “At first no one could believe he could work magic. By the time anyone realized the threat, he’d already sucked most of the true witches dry. Not many left now. They either hide or work for him.”
Eirik turned to study the man, his eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
The man shuffled uncomfortably, then answered with a hard voice full of anger. “Witches run strong in my line. Two sisters, several cousins and three aunts. He killed them all.”
Eirik turned to Eireann. “Eireann, you told Fridgeir that man attacked you outright. Like he meant to kill you.”
She nodded.
He stared at her. “Why?”
She looked startled. “How should I know? But I’m sure he meant to kill us.”
Sven spoke up. “There were six of them. At first we thought they wanted to take the ship but it became obvious they wanted the women. When Eireann went over with that one, another took his place. We barely saved Chloe and the girl.”
Eirik drew a deep breath. “So—not just Eireann? All the women?”
The men who’d been on the ship nodded agreement.
Cedric had an idea. “Eirik, we broke that spell. Maybe they thought we had a witch onboard. One strong enough to challenge the Witch King.” He looked as concerned as he sounded.
“Makes sense.” Steinolf agreed. “They must have standing orders to kill any they find.”
“Let’s hope that’s it.” Eirik turned back to study the horizon behind them. “But I bet we haven’t heard the last of this.” The cold hand of fate ran icy fingers down his spine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brannan Black grew up dreaming about epic adventures with strong women doing heroic deeds. She’s been a belly dancer, horse breeder, mom, Reiki master and has been crazy. Really, certifiable crazy. That’s what folks say when the people in your head won’t leave you alone. When their worlds and lives seem as real as this one. Now she writes their stories, making them happy and people call her an author instead of nuts. She lives quietly, more or less, on a small ranch with her husband, multiple cats, dogs and horses.
http://brannansfantasies.blogspot.com/
epicromances.com
[email protected]
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