The Legends of Orkney

by Alane Adams

  Surt’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think they will remember us?”

  “They have no love of mankind. If we have to remind them of our bond, we will do so.”

  Bellac snarled. “Let me show those frost giants what my love feels like.” She pounded one metal-clad fist into the other.

  Surt waved a hand. “Let us hope our alliance holds. What of the Eifalians?”

  Arek laughed. “Their magic is weak. Their only skill is to read auras and fire arrows.”

  Even Surt laughed. Arrows could hardly penetrate their thick skin.

  “Ready the men. We leave in the morning. We’ll make land here.” He stabbed his finger on a point just east of Skara Brae. “Lukas and Bellac will lead the ground troops. Destroy everything in your path as you move toward the capital. Take no prisoners.”

  His two generals snarled with delight.

  “Arek and I will lead the aerial assault from the boercats.”

  Arek bowed. “Orkney will be ours before the moon wanes.”

  Chapter 13

  Howie sat on the rampart, swinging his legs and whistling to keep himself awake. Sentry duty could get pretty boring, but a squire had to pay his dues. Fact is, he couldn’t even remember the days he had passed his time playing video games and watching movies. Heck, he could hardly remember his last name, let alone his parents or his nine brothers and sisters.

  “Vogelstein,” he whispered to himself. “Howard Ronald Vogelstein.”

  Sometimes saying his name helped remind him who he was. A kid from Pilot Rock, Oregon, who loved Chuggies burgers and scary movies.

  He had promised Sam to stick close to Skara Brae and play the role of Protector, but he was antsy, wishing he were off on a grand adventure like his friends. Not to mention that Rego and Teren had nearly chewed his ear off when they had discovered that Sam and that pair of witches had disappeared. He had told more lies than Pinocchio.

  “Hey.”

  A slender figure dropped down next to him. It was Selina, the girl who had taught him everything he knew about holding a sword. Dabs of flour dotted her face from her work in the kitchens. She elbowed him and slipped a crunchy fresh roll in his hands.

  “Anything out there?” she said, swinging her legs alongside his.

  He shook his head, tearing a chunk of the thick bread with his teeth. “Not even a stray rathos.” He tossed a piece to Lingas. The bird caught it out of the air and then ate it daintily. Damarius didn’t even raise his head from his paws. The Shun Kara had barely eaten or taken interest in anything since Perrin had left him behind.

  Selina searched the area. “Where’s Jey? I swear that boy flirts with me more every day.”

  Howie smiled. “Jey’s all right. Once you get used to him.” He suddenly sat up straighter.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He pointed at the horizon. A small cloud of dust moved quickly across the fields. It was a rider, bent low over the front of his horse and whipping it as if it were being chased by a pack of wolves. He squinted. It looked like a Falcory. Maybe Beo was back.

  Howie ran to the railing and whistled, calling down to the gatekeeper, “Rider, coming in fast. Open the gates.”

  Howie clambered down the stairs with Selina and Damarius a step behind. Something about the rider told Howie it was not good news. The gatekeeper had just raised the gate as the horse broke into the square. Howie held up his hands, waving at the animal to stop. It reared up, nearly unseating its rider.

  “Whoa, there, nice and easy.” He grabbed the reins and calmed the horse. It was streaked with sweat and gray foam. Its flanks quivered, and its chest heaved, eyes wild with fear.

  The rider was a Falcory in his early twenties. Howie didn’t recognize him. He collapsed as Howie helped him down. When Howie pulled his hands back, a sticky dampness clung to them.

  Blood.

  Two guards helped Howie carry the wounded man up the stairs into the Great Hall. Howie sent a serving boy for the physician as Captain Teren entered the room.

  “What’s going on, Howie?”

  “A Falcory arrived,” Howie said, lifting up the leather jerkin the man wore to reveal an ugly hole where someone had speared him. “Looks like he ran into one of Surt’s men.”

  Teren kneeled, frowning. “This is one of Beo’s men.”

  Then Jey was there, shoving Howie aside as he dropped down by the man’s side. “Turoq! What has happened? Where is my father?”

  Turoq’s eyes fluttered open. He grasped at Jey’s shirt. “Your father led us into the Caverns of Inizza. But it all went wrong. That fire-breathing she-monster knocked down a rockfall with its tail, trapping them inside. A few of us got out and went for help, and then the red devils in the sky arrived.”

  Teren turned white as a sheet. “Surt’s army has reached that far into Orkney?” he whispered. “How many?” He gripped the man’s arm. “How many were there?”

  “A dozen or so. They were on the backs of wild beasts.” He choked down some water Teren fed him. “They rode them like flying demons, shooting flames and launching spears that could kill a man from the sky. Then they burned our huts to ash and left.”

  “You were brave to come and warn us. We will send help as soon as we can. I’m afraid it could be awhile.” Teren stood as the physician arrived. “I must meet with the council. Howie, with me.” The captain moved quickly away, barking orders out. The physician had Turoq taken to his infirmary, leaving the two boys alone.

  Jey looked like he had been sucker punched. Howie touched his arm, but he pulled away.

  “My father’s not dead,” he said, his face gray.

  Howie had his doubts, but he didn’t argue. “I’m sure he’s fine. Teren will send help as soon as he can.” He started to follow Teren when Jey’s words stopped him.

  “No. Someone has to rescue him. Now. I’m leaving.”

  Howie turned around, shaking his head. “Bad idea, amigo. You can’t go up against that Safyre monster alone.”

  Jey’s eyes were desperate. For once the cocky kid was at a loss.

  “Then come with me.”

  Howie stared at him as all the reasons he shouldn’t ran through his head. Skara Brae was doomed if they didn’t come up with a way to slow that army of Surt’s. The idea that had been running around in the back of his head popped up. It was a wild idea, but it was better than nothing. And if it bought them some time, maybe he and Jey could play at being hero.

  He nodded, clasping Jey’s shoulder. “I’m in. You gather some supplies and horses while I tell the captain how to hold off Surt until we get back.”

  Howie slipped into the High Council chambers. Teren sat around the table with his best remaining men, the redheaded Heppner on Teren’s left and the wiry Speria on his right. Rego was giving an earful to Teren.

  “There’s no way we can stop Surt with what we’ve got. Maybe we need to be thinking of our options.”

  “What do you mean, dwarf? What other choice is there than fighting?” Teren demanded.

  Rego shrugged, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “There’s surrender,” he said bluntly.

  Speria jumped up, slamming his hand on the table. “We’re Orkadian soldiers, sworn to defend this land from any and all who threaten it.”

  “That’s right,” Heppner added, shoving his chair back to join him. “We’ve stood a thousand years against all intruders. I reckon we can handle a few ugly fire giants.”

  Rego’s face was red as he shouted back, “You think I like the idea? We have no weapons that can take down those boercats. They’ll burn us from the sky, drive us out, and then come in force by land and tear down the walls of the castle. Surrender may be the only option if we are to survive.”

  “You mean be their slaves?” Speria said incredulously. “No chance. I’d rather die in battle than settle for that.” The others murmured their agreement.

  “What of the people?” Rego said quietly. “What of their wishes? Do we give them no choice?”

&nb
sp; The two men stared each other down. Teren aged in front of Howie, but his face remained resolute. “I am responsible for making that decision for them. We have to figure out a way to hold off Surt until we get reinforcements. Now, does anyone have any ideas?”

  There was silence all around.

  Howie slouched down from his perch on the windowsill. “Yeah, I’ve got one.”

  Teren eyed him hesitantly, then waved him closer. “All right, squire, tell us, what magic can you conjure up to save us?”

  “Well, it’s not magic; more like a big fake-out.” He waggled his hands in front of his face mysteriously.

  “He’s wasting our time,” Speria scoffed, but Teren held his hand up for silence.

  “Let the boy speak. Odin chose him as Protector once before. Go ahead,” he nodded encouragingly to Howie.

  Howie put his palms on the table and leaned in, eyeing the group. “Okay, so there was this ancient guy—he was emperor of China once upon a time. This bad guy wanted him and everyone that lived there dead. Dude didn’t have much of an army, so he came up with this idea. He had his men create a fake army. They made a ton of soldiers out of clay and put them out on the battlefield. They stood them up in battalions with real shields and swords. Then they set smoke-pots so the field was blurred, so you couldn’t really see. He ran some of his men among them so there were people moving about and shouting to each other, so that anyone looking would think it was an army of soldiers.”

  The men around the table looked skeptical.

  Howie ignored their looks and continued. “When the warlord arrived to attack, he saw a battlefield filled with men. He wasn’t expecting that kind of resistance, and he turned around and left. The people were saved.”

  Howie waited to see if they would burst out laughing, but there was a long stretch of silence broken only when Speria grunted, looking at Heppner, “Is that the dumbest idea you ever heard?”

  Heppner nodded. “Yup. Even dumber than that time he called up an army of the dead.”

  Speria looked back thoughtfully at Howie. “Course, that turned out all right, now, didn’t it?”

  Teren drummed his fingers on the table. “Even if we were desperate enough to consider it, we don’t have clay around here.”

  “That’s the brilliant part,” Howie said. “We’re gonna make an army of dummy soldiers.”

  Rego snorted. “The boy has lost his mind.”

  “No, hear me out,” Howie said. “We got stacks of old armor piled up in the basement of the armory. Plus all the Balfin ape-men armor we recovered. We stand it up out in the cornfields. With enough smoke and mirrors, Surt won’t know what to make of it.”

  Speria scowled. “Surt’s not going to believe it for long. He’ll find out our army is a bunch of empty tin suits and then laugh himself silly as he burns us all to the ground.”

  “But that’s the point, right?” Howie defended his little battle plan. “To get him to hold back long enough for the big guns to arrive. Sam is out there doing something. I know my friend; he’s going to fix this. Maybe we just have to trust in that and hope that Mrs. Abigail brings back a pack of witches, and Keely and Leo ride in with an army of frost giants in tow.”

  The men looked around the table at each other. Teren drummed his fingers. Speria rubbed at the scruff on his face. Heppner tilted his chair back, shaking his head side to side.

  Speria finally spoke up. “The boy’s got a point. We have enough rusted armor to outfit a legion.”

  Heppner’s chair hit the ground with a thump as he glared at his comrade. Then he sighed, “We’re short on helmets, but I suppose that lazy blacksmith can make us some more.”

  Teren studied the group seated at the table, his shoulders squaring. “I say we give the boy’s plan a shot. Unless someone has a better idea?”

  There was silence. Rego twitched his whiskers side to side, then stood up. “I say we have as much chance of surviving this as a pig on Christmas. So what are we waiting for?”

  Teren stood. “Speria, you lead a group down to the fields and begin assembling the dummy soldiers. Use all the old shields and armor you can find. Make them look real as you can. Heppner, to the blacksmith. I want helmets, shields, swords, whatever he can hammer out. From now on, everyone works on Howie’s plan.”

  The two soldiers nodded and left.

  The room emptied. Howie watched them leave, unable to shake the nagging feeling that Rego was right and Surt would probably burn them to the ground with one puff of his boercat.

  Chapter 14

  Valkyrie warriors had few limitations. They never tired; they were able to fly for hours in the form of the swan and transform instantly into warrior mode and do battle. Their swan form displayed the golden shield and helmet of their armor, their swords tucked under their wings, ready to access at a thought.

  As Geela crossed the great waters that stretched between the Orkney islands, she wondered if it had been a mistake to join with the gods. She was tired, deep down in her soul. She had served for close to two centuries now, never questioning the orders, never doubting her mission, never once asking if this was what she wanted.

  A maiden when the goddess Frigga had found her, she had been fighting off a rival landlord after her father had died and her mother had taken ill. Her younger brother, Emmet, had gone to get help. The lord thought she was easy prey for his ruffians and had tried to take over their lands, but she had drawn a sword and battled for their rights. She had been pinned down, having taken out over a dozen of his men, but their numbers were too many.

  And then Frigga had been there, blasting her horn and swooping down from the sky to pluck Geela out of their grasp before they ran her through. She had fought it at first, wanting to go back to her family, but Frigga had shown her how empty that life was. The men had taken the land, and, even if Geela had stayed, there was rot in the vines that plagued the farm for years. She only wished she’d been able to say goodbye to her mother and to find out how Emmet had fared.

  Frigga had done her a favor, Geela knew, ignoring the salty tear that leaked from her swan eye. A big favor. One of the raiders would have taken her as his wife and forced her to be his servant. She was far better off as a golden warrior of the Valkyrie, but sometimes her human-self asserted its contrariness.

  Like now.

  She felt sorry for the boy. Vor had always been kind to Geela, honest to a fault, and had seen her struggle with accepting life with the Valkyrie. Vor had often offered kind words of encouragement. Geela trusted Vor in ways that Frigga couldn’t understand, even though her loyalty lay with her queen. Vor’s words of caution weighed on her.

  Movement in the water caught her eye. Something large, like a small island, but mobile. Geela veered sharply to her left and soared lower over the ocean, enjoying the spray from the whitecaps.

  The wet smell of feral wolf reached her at the same time the waves parted and revealed a mass of fur and gnashing teeth pawing through the water. Geela reared back, her wings flaring out as she squawked in surprise.

  It couldn’t be.

  Fenrir? The giant wolf Odin had banished to Groll? The beast was swimming freely in the ocean, but how was this possible?

  She gritted her teeth. The boy. Of course. Was this part of his plan or Loki’s? Geela didn’t have time to puzzle it out. The distant shores of Garamond were within reach. Fenrir could not be allowed to make land.

  A beast like Fenrir would devour, destroy, and ravage anything he came in contact with. She soared toward the paddling wolf, transforming from her swan form to warrior. She gripped her gleaming sword between two hands. He wasn’t aware of her presence. She still had the element of surprise. If she could come up behind him, she might land a lucky blow to his skull.

  But Fenrir must have sensed her because his ears pricked up and he turned, snapping at her as she landed on his back and aimed for a spot behind his ear. She missed, tumbling forward, and hit the surface of the water, skipping across it as she regrouped.

 
The water frothed as the wolf paddled furiously, swiping at her with his paw. She brought her sword up, thrusting it into the tender part of his pad.

  Fenrir yowled. She hauled herself up by grabbing clumps of his fur and ran up to his shoulder, diving to reach the soft vulnerable spot under his neck so she could sever his artery.

  She got her blade up, but the wolf swung his jaw hard to the side and knocked her in the head. The solid bone acted like a hammer and jarred her helmet so hard that stars danced behind her eyes. She was flung backward into the water. A cloak of darkness settled over her as her body went limp.

  It must have been some time later when warm rays of sunlight licked at her face, bathing her with golden warmth and energizing her blood. Geela sat up with a gasp, coughing and spitting up water. She was on a ship, sailing across the water, fast and low.

  Skidbladnir.

  Her hand rested on the deck. Magic flowed in the boards under her fingers. Somehow, she’d found her way onto the very ship she had been searching for. Wiping her mouth, she staggered to her feet, reaching for her sword.

  There it was, strapped to her waist securely. She touched her head. The golden helmet she wore was missing. Her breastplate was in place, but she felt exposed without her gleaming headpiece.

  Voices and the sound of laughter rang out from the back of the ship. Still dizzy, she stepped carefully so as not to faint and headed for the sounds.

  They were children, three of them. The boy she recognized as the Son of Odin, and two girls, one only a waif. She sniffed. Witches. Her lip curled. She hated witches. She had forgotten the boy was one of them. What does Vor see in him? she wondered as she prowled forward, sword in front of her.

  They seemed unaware of her presence, laughing among themselves and chattering like monkeys. The small girl wore Geela’s helmet, prancing around in it like it was part of a costume. They had no weapons other than daggers strapped to their sides. The older girl kept one hand on the wheel. Did they not realize the great injustice they had done, releasing Fenrir? The savage beast would devour entire villages, and these children acted as if they hadn’t a care in the world.