The Dream of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic (Saga of the Iron Dragon Book 1)

by Robert Kroese

  The two guards escorted Gabe outside, so they stood next to Ragnar.

  “Reyes?” Gabe said as he saw her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Rescuing you,” Reyes said. “Are you okay?”

  “Banged up, but I’ll live.” He glanced at the fat man in the fine clothes. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Harald Fairhair,” Reyes said, with a nod. The fat man shot a glare at her.

  “You kidnapped the King of Norway.”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time. I think Sigurd has convinced them to trade you for him.”

  Gabe nodded slowly.

  Sigurd and Ragnar had a brief exchange in Norse, which Gabe couldn’t follow. If he had to guess, he’d say Ragnar was balking at Sigurd’s demands. But a word from Harald seemed to settle the matter.

  “Við höfum samning,” Sigurd said to Reyes. Reyes looked to Gabe, who shrugged.

  Sigurd pointed to Gabe, and spoke again to Ragnar. He gestured for Gabe to approach.

  Ragnar hesitated, but then nodded. He spoke an order to the guards, who reluctantly released Gabe’s arms. “Ganga þá,” one of them muttered. When Gabe didn’t respond, the guard kicked him in the lower back. “Ganga!” he barked. Gabe stumbled forward.

  Ragnar growled something to Sigurd, but Sigurd kept his sword tight against Harald’s neck.

  Gabe stopped. He’d expected Sigurd to release his hold on Harald. “Reyes, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Reyes said. “Outside, he… I thought he was going to kill you-know-who.”

  “If he does, we’re all dead. Even if our gunmen can actually hit something, they don’t have enough ammo to—”

  “I know, Gabe. Just be ready.”

  Gabe nodded and swallowed hard. He couldn’t blame Sigurd for wanting revenge on Harald. Gabe had never had a family, so he could only imagine the rage Sigurd was holding in right now.

  Gabe took another step, and Ragnar yelled something. Sigurd shook his head. Harald gasped as the blade dug into his throat.

  “Sigurd, please,” Reyes pleaded. “You have every right to do this, but you can’t. Please.”

  You can’t, Gabe thought. Interesting choice of words. Not you shouldn’t, but you can’t. He wondered if it was true, what Schumacher had said. Paradoxes don’t exist. Harald Fairhair had lived well into the tenth century, dying only after he’d united all of Norway. Did that mean Sigurd couldn’t kill him? What would happen if he did?

  Sigurd yelled something to Ragnar. Ragnar looked displeased, but he muttered an order to one of the men near him. The man bowed, and then he and several others disappeared around the side of the fort. Sigurd said something to Reyes, but she shook her head, not understanding. Gabe remained standing, halfway between Ragnar and Harald, not daring to move while they waited. Gabe recognized one word Sigurd had said—hestar—so he had an idea what Sigurd was asking for.

  He was proved correct shortly thereafter: the men who had gone away returned, leading horses—seven of them altogether, enough for Gabe, Reyes, Sigurd and his men. Smart. If they were going to get out of this, they needed to be able to make a quick getaway. He saw Reyes breathe a sigh of relief as she realized Sigurd didn’t intend to kill Harald after all. Not yet, anyway.

  Emboldened by Sigurd’s demand, Gabe spoke up. “Gun,” he said, looking at Ragnar. “And silfr.”

  Ragnar growled a curse but he pulled the pistol from his belt and then grabbed the rolls of solder from somewhere in his cloak. Gabe walked toward them and took them with a bow. He holstered the gun and slid the solder rolls into a pocket. He was about to walk to Reyes when Sigurd said something else. Ragnar cursed again, more vehemently, shaking his head.

  “What does he want now?” Gabe asked. He wondered if he should have let the gun and solder go. If Sigurd kept thinking up more demands, Ragnar was going to lose his patience.

  “I don’t have a clue,” Reyes replied.

  Sigurd made his demand again. “Nei!” Ragnar snapped.

  Sigurd pressed his sword against Harald’s neck, and Harald growled something at Ragnar. This time, Gabe made out a name: Jannik.

  Ragnar at last agreed, dispatching two men to get Jannik. The man went into the building and returned a couple minutes later, prodding Jannik at the point of his spear. Jannik’s face was dour but ashen. Sigurd smiled as Jannik approached. He pulled his sword away from Harald’s throat.

  Harald breathed a sigh of relief and took a step forward, but Sigurd reached out and put his hand on the king’s shoulder, speaking a quiet command. Harald froze. Sigurd turned to Reyes and said, “Gun.” He looked at the gun and then at Harald, who scowled at him.

  Reyes nodded. She raised her gun to the king’s head. Gabe watched in silence. He hoped Reyes knew what she was doing.

  Sigurd strode toward Jannik, sword drawn. He said something to the spearmen, and they grabbed Jannik by the arms, pulling him toward the wall. One of them spoke an order, and Jannik reluctantly climbed onto the wall. The men pointed their spears at him as Sigurd approached Jannik, speaking to him in a slow, even voice. Jannik shook his head desperately, mouthing the words: “Ekki! Nei!”

  Sigurd spoke to the guards and they stepped away. Jannik’s eyes darted left and right, but before he could make a move, Sigurd swung his sword, slicing a long, deep gash in Jannik’s belly. Jannik cried out, clutching at his gut to keep his entrails from spilling out. Gabe spoke another sentence and then pressed the point of his sword into Jannik’s sternum. Jannik whimpered, took a step backward, and fell into the ravine.

  Turning away from Jannik, Sigurd wiped his sword on the snow and sheathed it. He strode toward Reyes, giving her a nod. Harald glanced at Reyes and she nodded, lowering her gun slightly. Harald strode across the courtyard toward Ragnar. Gabe hurried toward Reyes.

  Sigurd barked an order at his men, and they began to mount the horses. Reyes kept her gun trained on Harald. Sigurd asked Gabe a question, pointing at the horses. Gabe nodded. “We can ride,” he said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Reyes said. She’d ridden a pony once when she was sixteen.

  “The horse knows what to do,” Gabe said. “Just hold on.” Fortunately these horses actually had leather saddles and stirrups; Norsemen were known to ride on saddles made of turf, with no stirrups. “Watch,” he said, pointing to one of the men mounting his horse. “Climb up from the left side, just like they’re doing. Here, give me your gun.”

  Reyes handed him the pistol and he held it on Harald, who remained standing next to Ragnar, just outside the door of the fort. The two men looked angry but resigned. Gabe had no doubt they were plotting their own vengeance, but they would not seek it today. Once Reyes and the others were in their saddles, Gabe handed the gun back to Reyes and got on the last horse. Sigurd was already directing his steed toward the road down the mountain. The others followed single-file, the two gunners still holding their pistols at the ready. Gabe brought up the rear.

  They left the courtyard and began to make their way down the hill.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Thea Jane Slater dipped the wooden ladle into the soapstone pot, extracting a sample of the bubbling brown liquid. She blew on it to cool it and then took a cautious taste.

  It was bad, but not terrible. Half an hour earlier the soup had tasted like boiled cardboard with chunks of rabbit meat. Scrounging around the ruins of several of the houses in the area, she had managed to come up with three sprigs of thyme and a small wooden container of salt. Now it tasted like boiled cardboard with chunks of rabbit meat, hints of thyme and too much salt. Still, at least it was hot and offered some variety from the porridge and dried fish she and O’Brien had been eating.

  “Smells fantastic,” O’Brien said from behind her. He hadn’t moved since the Norsemen had laid him on the bench the previous evening. He’d fallen asleep almost immediately and continued to doze on-and-off throughout the day. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was chattering semi-coherently about his childhood on the
stormy world of Tarchon. How much of this was due to boredom and how much was due to the pain meds was hard to say.

  “It smells better than it tastes,” Slater said with a sigh. “I was a pretty good cook once, but the selection of ingredients here is decidedly limited.” The valley denizens who had fled to the east had been kind enough to leave them an ample supply of food, but it was comprised almost entirely of oats, barley and various types of dried meat and fish. They wouldn’t starve, but even the dried IDL meals were beginning to seem attractive in comparison. The main ingredients of the soup were turnips, onions, barley and rabbit.

  She heard O’Brien grunting in pain and turned to see him attempting to sit up.

  “Easy,” said Slater.

  “I’m starving,” O’Brien said. “Can’t eat lying down.”

  “Then let me help you.” She gathered up several of the skins and wool blankets from the other benches and brought them to O’Brien. She put her hand under his back, helping him lean forward, and then stuffed the skins and blankets behind him. O’Brien lay against them, breathing a sigh of relief. Even such minimal movement clearly caused him a great deal of pain. The good news was that there was no sign of serious internal bleeding or organ damage. With a few weeks of rest, he’d heal completely. Unfortunately, they were going to have to move him again soon.

  Reyes had contacted her about an hour earlier to let them know that she, Gabe, Sigurd and the others were on their way back. Reyes had been sparse with details, but she’d made it pretty clear they wouldn’t be safe in the valley for long.

  She wondered once again if she and O’Brien should have gone east to Uslu with the other denizens of the valley. Reyes had left it up to her, but Reyes had indicated that several of the Norsemen blamed them for provoking Harald’s attack. But where else could they go? The people of this valley were the closest thing they had to allies.

  She ladled some of the soup into a wooden bowl and brought it to O’Brien. “I can’t find any spoons, so you’ll just have to drink it,” she said, handing him the bowl.

  O’Brien nodded, inhaling deeply from the steaming bowl. He took a sip from the edge. “Delicious,” he announced, with such enthusiasm that Slater nearly believed him. She ladled a bowl for herself and sat down next to him.

  “What a clusterfuck, eh?” O’Brien said.

  “The soup?” Slater said. “Or…?” She gestured vaguely around her.

  “I was talking about our mission going… well, off the rails.”

  Slater shook her head. “Off the rails doesn’t even begin to describe it. Things have gone so wrong that it’s almost like we’re coming back around to right.”

  O’Brien took another sip of the soup. “You’re still thinking this is a chance to rewrite history? To somehow prepare humanity for the Cho-ta’an?”

  “No. At this point in history, the Cho-ta’an are such a distant threat, they’re not even worth worrying about. I just mean that… well, you have to admit that even with all our advanced technology and wealth, things in the twenty-third century are pretty screwed up. And not just because of the Cho-ta’an, although that’s a big part of it.”

  “I don’t know,” said O’Brien. “I’m a geologist. Two hundred years ago, I’d have been lucky to get a grant to visit the Grand Canyon. Thanks to the IDL, I’ve visited eight planets.”

  “Is it really because of the IDL, though? What could humanity do with those resources if all our energy wasn’t devoted to fighting the Cho-ta’an? And how much time did you really get to work on any of those planets? The IDL has no use for academics; they want iron and uranium.”

  O’Brien shrugged. “You can’t think like that. I’m thankful for the opportunities I get.”

  “You’re married, aren’t you, O’Brien?”

  O’Brien hesitated. “Yeah. Eight years.”

  “Kids?”

  “Two. A boy and a girl.”

  “You like being away from them for months at a time?”

  “Drop it, Slater.”

  “I didn’t mean to be insensitive. All I’m saying is—”

  “I know what you’re saying. You’re trying to put a nice spin on things, convince yourself that traveling back in time to medieval Scandinavia was just what you needed. Well, it’s not what I need. What I need is to go home and see my wife and kids again. But that’s not going to happen, because they won’t be born for thirteen hundred years. In answer to your question, I didn’t like being away from my family for that long, but I sure as hell didn’t sign up to vanish without even a chance to say goodbye. So maybe spare me the rationalizations.”

  Slater nodded, and they finished their soup in silence. O’Brien was wrong, though: she wasn’t trying to convince herself of anything. She had never wanted to be in the IDL. She’d never even wanted to be a pilot. She would have been happy to spend her life tromping through the wetlands of Antheia, studying the millions of species of plant life native to her home world. But she was the third youngest of a family of eleven, and her parents didn’t have the money to send her to an academy to study biology. So instead she enlisted in an IDL flight-training program, which promised to pay for her schooling if she served three years of active duty.

  She spent two years in training and another year flying IDL supply missions in the asteroid belts of the Procyon system. She left the IDL to pursue an advanced degree in xenobiology, but by the time she finished her degree, funding for research positions had dried up. The only people who were hiring were the IDL, so she went back, and spent another three years hopping from planet to planet, mostly writing summaries of other peoples’ research. She was convinced that no one ever read the reports, but somebody must have, because she got short-listed for the one of the first missions conducted by the IDL’s new Exploratory Division. Ten weeks later she was training for the mission to the Finlan Cluster. That’s where she had first met O’Brien and the others. None of them had met before; the Exploratory Division had only existed for six months at that point, and was made up entirely of service members drawn from other branches of the IDL.

  Slater had never been much for socializing, but she had gotten to know O’Brien and the others fairly well. Of all of them, she thought she had the most in common with O’Brien, but she saw now that she was wrong. O’Brien didn’t resent the IDL, despite the fact that it had kept him separated from his family for weeks or months at a time. In contrast, O’Brien’s naturally cheerful personality couldn’t hide his disdain for this strange new world in which they found themselves. Slater had no illusions about the challenges they faced here, but to her this place represented opportunity. They were in danger, yes, but they were free to face that danger how they saw fit. Reyes was technically in charge, but at this point only habit was reinforcing that authority. Their ship was gone and the IDL wouldn’t exist for twelve hundred years. For all practical purposes, the military command hierarchy had vanished, along with their mission an all the petty regulations and protocols that went with it. For once, Slater felt like she was living life unscripted.

  They sat there in silence for some time. The longhouse had no windows; the only sources of light were a small smoke hole in the ceiling and the dim red glow of the coals. Outside it grew dark and Slater was drifting to sleep on the bench when she heard a sound outside. Instantly awake, she got to her feet. The wooden bowl fell from her lap and clattered on the hard-packed earth floor. Grabbing an iron cooking knife, she faced the door. A burly man opened it and stepped inside. After a moment of terror, Slater recognized him as Sigurd. She put the knife down.

  Reyes and Gabe came in behind him, along with three other Norsemen who had accompanied Sigurd. Slater breathed a sigh of relief and put down the knife. Slater ran to hug Gabe. “You’re alive!” she cried. “I didn’t think we were ever going to see you again!”

  Gabe groaned, wincing at the embrace. Slater backed off, examining his face in the dim light.

  “My God, what happened to you?”

  “It looks worse than it f
eels,” Gabe said.

  “Jesus, I hope so,” Slater said. “Sit down. Reyes, are you okay?”

  “Gabe got the worst of it,” Reyes said. “It’s really good to see you two.”

  “God, that smells amazing,” Gabe said, approaching the soapstone pot.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Slater replied. “I did the best I could with the materials on hand.” She picked up her bowl from the floor and began ladling some of the soup into it.

  Gabe sat on one of the benches, resting the bowl in his lap. Sigurd took a seat to his right, and the other three men found places to sit as well. Slater found some more bowls and began serving the rest of them. She was handing a bowl to Sigurd when she heard a horse neighing outside.

  “She’s being modest,” O’Brien said, opening his eyes to see the newcomers.

  “Was that…?” Slater asked. Despite her travels, she’d never seen a horse before.

  Gabe nodded. “Horses. Njáll is tending to them.”

  “Where did you get horses?”

  “Stole them from Harald. Had to make a fast getaway after Reyes kidnapped him.”

  “Making friends all over Norway, I see,” O’Brien said.

  “Holy shit, so you weren’t joking,” Slater said. “You really did kidnap the King of Norway.”

  “Had to,” Reyes said. “Gabe got himself captured by Harald’s men.”

  “You left out the part where I fought off a hundred of them single-handedly.”

  “And nuked our ship, I hear,” O’Brien added.

  Gabe shrugged. “I was sick of that thing anyway.”