Ragnar & the Slave Girls (Ragnar the Dane)

by Byrne, Lily

  “You’re a god. Are you Thor? I know about Thor. I’ve heard of him,” she gabbled.

  “I’ll be Thor if you want me to.”

  She gave a little moan of admiration, twining her fingers in his beard and stroking his lips. Perhaps whatever drugs she’d been forced to take weren’t so bad after all.

  *

  As Bjarni strapped on his sword, Ifay appeared in front of him, her pale shift dress almost shimmering in the fading light.

  “Master,” she whispered.

  “I said not to call me -”

  “Sh!” she hissed. “You are mistaken. Silver is on the side of good, not evil. Do not destroy it.”

  “What?”

  “To destroy silver will be to bring about destruction.”

  “What?”

  “You must hurry or we will all be lost.”

  “What’s a slave doing here?” snapped Steinar. “Get back to your work, woman. We’ve got men’s business to see to.”

  Ifay smiled at Bjarni, and hurried away into the darkness, leaving him wondering what on earth she meant.

  *

  The sorceress approached Kjartan. Now wearing a red linen dress, it revealed her scrawny figure, sagging breasts, wrinkled arms and cleavage. He thought she must be over forty.

  “It’s time,” she intoned.

  The wolf men began murmuring a chant. They passed a bowl around from which they drank in turn. The contents took effect immediately, and they groaned and fell back against the rock wall. But their lethargy only lasted a moment, then they grabbed unwilling women and began fucking them. The men without women carried on the chanting, louder and louder. As moans rent the air, the temperature in the cavern rose, becoming muggy and oppressive.

  Kjartan watched these scenes with interest so he didn’t notice the sorceress moving closer.

  “Take this.” She pushed some ground-up leaves towards his mouth. He moved his head to avoid them but with no hands to protect himself, he couldn’t prevent her from thrusting them between his lips, forcing him to chew and swallow the bitter leaves.

  She stood over him, her wrinkled flesh and sparse hair making him feel sick. But then she began to change. Her hair became thick, black and lustrous, her skin smoothed, and her breasts swelled abundantly. She ripped down his trousers and climbed on top of him, fitting his now erect cock inside her. He pressed upwards, she ground down and they moved together.

  How lucky he’d been to find a woman as beautiful as she.

  “Ah! You will father my children. You will start a new race. Oh! Oh!” she groaned. “You will make me a queen! Oh!”

  What a great idea. He’d always known he was special.

  The overwhelming gush of orgasm surged up and he let it go, let it rush inside her, panting with release. An air of invincibility overcame him; nothing could stop him.

  “And now you must give yourself to me entirely-oh - you must give yourself,” she moaned. She beckoned a wolf man and gave him a long and lustful kiss, after which he presented her with a dagger.

  She raised it above her head. Kjartan struggled to think clearly, but the blade was gleaming in the light, distracting him. He blinked hard and shook his head, then gazed round to see the wolf men kissing their women, fucking them, women sucking their cocks, and even a few men kissing or fucking each other. But no one moved to help him and he wriggled, trying to escape.

  “Stop!” roared a voice.

  *

  Kjartan twisted his head round to look and in the process, upset his assailant’s balance. She struggled to stay on him so he wriggled more. His chest was slippery with sweat so clawing at it made no difference and she fell to the ground. His whole body sweating far more than usual, he needed water.

  Bjarni and his group of Huskarls rushed into the cavern, armed to the teeth. Bjarni took on the first man to challenge him and struck at his head. The man raised his arm and blocked the sword, not seeming to notice the cut he received.

  “Take your power!” shouted the sorceress. “Take it from the wolf!” She picked up the dagger and returned to Kjartan.

  Bjarni hacked at a wolf man but again he parried the blow. He’d already cut the man but he didn’t bleed. Glancing round, he noticed all the Huskarls retreating, forming a circle, fighting back-to-back. The enemy had a motley collection of weapons - spears, axes, farm implements - but they used them with extreme ferocity.

  The sorceress raised her dagger over Kjartan, shouting incomprehensible words as he struggled, trying desperately to avoid her.

  The words of Ifay echoed through Bjarni’s mind: “Silver is on the side of good, not evil. Do not destroy it.”

  Bjarni punched his opponent with all his strength, knocking him out. He grabbed the axe and threw it wildly at the sorceress. It spun in the air, catching the light of a hundred torches, then stuck in her chest with a sickening crunch.

  She staggered backwards, gurgling, and all the wolf men stopped in their tracks, turning towards her. All their wounds began to bleed.

  The Huskarls seized the initiative and leapt on them, stabbing them through their chests, cutting their throats, knifing them in the back when they tried to run.

  Kjartan watched helplessly, then Bjarni appeared by his head.

  “I’m under orders to save you. You’re the hero today.”

  “You know, you’re my best friend. I really love you.” His parched mouth hurt when he smiled.

  Bjarni laughed and peered into his eyes, which looked darker than usual. He realised the pupils were wide and enlarged: Kjartan must be drugged.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure that feeling will wear off.” He finished untying Kjartan’s hands and went to release his feet. “Don’t think much of your clothing. You could have dressed better for the occasion.”

  Kjartan smiled and sat up, pulling on his trousers. “Thanks.” He tried to stand but couldn’t.

  “Come on, then.” Bjarni put his arm round him and helped him stagger across the floor, avoiding the fighting men. He sat him down at the cavern mouth for a rest.

  A movement above caught Bjarni’s eye and he gasped as Saehild and Ljotr climbed down the cavern wall.

  “You killed my mother!” shouted Ljotr, slashing at Bjarni with a sword he’d taken from one of his kin.

  Bjarni dodged, and looked from him to Saehild in confusion. Ljotr smiled, then clapped his hands. The pain from the scar on Bjarni’s arm lifted, the skin itching as it does when a wound heals. It was as if he’d taken a tonic; strength filled him, his mind cleared and everything became obvious. Knowledge poured into his brain and he gasped, looking again from his wife to Ljotr.

  “This is where Saehild’s been coming,” he stuttered, it all making sense. “My arm! You-you poisoned me!”

  “Not quite,” sneered Ljotr, his wolf mask round the back of his neck like a hood. “Are you so stupid? It was an enchantment. You and your foolish, slow-witted brothers.”

  A few Huskarls turned towards him, but they were too busy with their opponents to do anything. They’d all realised the nature of their former comrade now, though.

  “You’re the one who’s been fucking my wife!” snarled Bjarni, lifting his sword.

  “Yes, well done,” smirked Ljotr, “She doesn’t want you. She’s part of my clan now.”

  “She’s married to me, though.” Bjarni swung his sword wildly at his rival but he parried it.

  Screams of pain and growls of anger filled the air as the Huskarls massacred the wolf men. The fire smoked, the flames dying as the victims did.

  *

  Saehild turned to Ljotr’s mother and crouched next to her.

  “You’re the -” The sorceress panted.

  “The what?”

  “The one. You must lead them now. Until Ragnarok.” Her voice was faint and dry.

  “Lead the wolf men?”

  “I am dying anyway. You lead them on. To a better life. Your sex heals their wounds. Like mine did once.”

  She slumped towards Saehild, who
leapt back, letting the sorceress’s body fall forward onto the bloodied and filthy cavern floor with a thump.

  She thought about those words. She could lead now and have her own army of men adoring her, following her every command, having sex with her.

  And smiled.

  *

  Bemused by the drugs he’d been forced to take, Kjartan watched everything. The wolf’s head shrine climbed off the wall, became a real wolf and slunk away. He screwed up his eyes. Had that really happened?

  The battle slowed as the wolf men were not armed or trained well enough to take on the soldiers, so at last those still alive took the opportunity to escape, dragging the healthy women with them. The Huskarls stood panting, bloodied and exhausted in the middle of the floor.

  A cry from above made Solmund look up. On the ledges along the sides of the cavern lay the kidnapped women from Byrnham, chained to shackles hammered into the rock.

  “By my father’s beard!” He nudged his companions. “Isn’t that Baegstan’s daughter?”

  The Huskarls struggled up the crumbling rock to the captive women. Most were thin, grey-faced and lifeless, some breathing with difficulty. Only some had the spark of life.

  “They seem to have died from lack of food. It’s strange,” said a Huskarl, helping a stumbling girl past Kjartan. Then the soldier changed into an eagle and flew off. Kjartan frowned. He didn’t know what was real anymore.

  A baby wailed and another Huskarl walked past carrying tiny twins. Was he imagining them, too?

  *

  “She doesn’t want to come back to you,” snarled Ljotr to Bjarni as they continued fighting.

  “You’re not taking her! She deserves better!”

  “What, back to your boring life? She can be my queen.”

  “She’s my wife!”

  The mighty clang of their swords echoed round the cavern as Ljotr raised his blade to counter Bjarni’s down strike. Fuelled by humiliation and new-found strength, Bjarni struck to the left, right, high, low, forcing his opponent to defend as hard as he could.

  The remaining Huskarls exchanged glances and hustled the surviving women out of the cavern.

  “Shouldn’t you help Bjarni?” asked Kjartan of Solmund, as his strength returned.

  “No, it looks like he needs to defend his honour. I can’t believe none of us knew about his wife and that coward.”

  “Even I didn’t,” mused Kjartan. “Must have been witchcraft.”

  “Hm.” Solmund sat down for a minute, rubbing his beard. “That would explain why no one ever heard or saw the murderers, too.”

  “A weird business.”

  “You should come back to the Huskarls. You did well today.” Solmund smiled at the exhausted Kjartan, who smiled back.

  “Better get on with it.” Solmund got up to help the others.

  Kjartan waited behind as the others left, holding a torch so no one would sneak up on him. He became aware of weeping and growls nearby, so grabbing a sword from a dead wolf man, he followed the sound. His torch light revealed the entrance to another small cave and he slipped inside.

  The torch on the wall showed a wolf man in the throes of fucking a woman, who whimpered while he groaned and slavered in brutal satisfaction.

  Kjartan crept up and pressed his sword to the man’s ribs.

  “Get off her or I’ll kill you.”

  The wolf man froze, drew himself out and turned. Producing a sword, he slashed at the blond Dane, catching his arm, but Kjartan whipped his own sword round and cut his throat.

  Pushing the body out of the way, Kjartan helped the shaking woman up, her eyes huge and wet.

  “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.” He peered at her. “Aren’t you Mildrith?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “I’m Kjartan. I know my reputation but I won’t hurt you.”

  “Who’s going to want me now? I’ve been defiled by the wolf cult.” She wept.

  “Well, no one’s going to know if we don’t tell them, will they?”

  “But …”

  “I’ll keep it secret if you will.”

  He helped her along the uneven rocks and she stumbled, wincing.

  “Did he hurt you badly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on.” Kjartan lifted her up in his arms and carried her towards the exit. He reached a fork in the cave tunnels.

  “Are we lost?”

  “No. Wait a minute.” She was so light and hungry he didn’t need to put her down. He sniffed the air in each passageway, the left smelling musty and stale, the right fresher. So he took the right one.

  “Your hair is so pale.” She twirled a strand of it round her finger.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re the blondest man I’ve ever seen.” She touched his beard in wonder.

  “Yes. Everyone says that.”

  “Is all your hair blond? All over?”

  He smiled. “Maybe you’ll find out one day.”

  *

  Bjarni and Ljotr’s swords resounded and rang, echoing round the cavern’s rocky walls as they tried to find each other’s weak spots.

  Saehild clutched her dress to her neck. Bjarni took a quick glance at her as she winced at every clash of metal, although her other hand fondled her breast. Then Ljotr’s sword cut his arm, reminding him of the last time, and his rage grew even hotter.

  “Coward!” Bjarni roared, slashing at him viciously. But Ljotr, in a fighting trance, moved swiftly, striking him harder and more often.

  “You couldn’t get your own woman so you took mine,” taunted Bjarni, breathing fast.

  “You should have looked after her better, fool!” Ljotr growled.

  *

  “Ah, there you are.” Ragnar met Kjartan at the entrance to the caves. “Mildrith? Is that you?”

  “Oh Ragnar,” she wept. “I thought I’d been left behind.”

  Kjartan tried to hand her over to his friend, but she clung to him.

  “Take her outside. She’ll feel better there. I’m going to see Bjarni.” Ragnar strode off, worried.

  *

  Ljotr and Bjarni were both tiring now, groaning with effort as the heavy swords seemed to gain weight with every blow. Their fighting figures were lit by dying torches which threw misshapen shadows across the cavern.

  “I think you should call it a draw,” said Ragnar as he hurried in.

  “Never!” snarled Bjarni, trying to lift his blade.

  “In that case, Saehild shall decide.” Ragnar knew this would not please his friend but he’d rather see him disappointed than killed. He turned to her.

  “I choose Ljotr,” she said. Her hair, which she used to keep so clean and neat, now hung down her back, unwashed and matted in a loose braid. The fur waistcoat she wore revealed the new mark of Aegir’s helm and the sign of Fenrir on her shoulder.

  “Why? You are my wife,” said Bjarni, sheathing his sword. “You’re supposed to stay with me.”

  “I can’t. I love Ljotr, and we are now kin.”

  The dark-haired Dane gave his usual teeth-baring smile.

  “Where will you go?”

  “Ljotr and I will go west. The others of the pack will follow and we’ll form a new one.”

  “The pack? Can you hear what you are saying? You’re talking like a witch.”

  She laughed, the torch light flickering in her eyes.

  “What will your sister do without you?” interrupted Ragnar. “Remember Aelfwyn?”

  “She has you. And her son. And her parents. She will do well.”

  A chill ran down Ragnar’s spine. Why did she call them Aelfwyn’s parents, not her own?

  “Come,” said Ljotr. “Enough talking. We need to strengthen ourselves for the journey.”

  She nodded.

  “Goodbye then, wife.” Bjarni didn’t know what to expect. “We are no longer married.”

  She smiled at him with little recognition and he realised her whole body shook.

  “We are no longer married,” she re
peated.

  “Hurry!” snapped Ljotr.

  They slunk out.

  Bjarni and Ragnar exchanged glances.

  “That scared me, brother,” gulped the blond. “She’s not who she used to be.”

  “I know. It makes me sick what those wolf men did. Come on, let’s go out into the fresh air.”

  He set off with anxious steps, followed by his friend.

  *

  Outside in the darkness, Kjartan peered into the distance.

  “Look.” He patted Ragnar’s arm and pointed. Two figures resembling Ljotr and Saehild strode westwards in the moonlit countryside. Others joined them from the trees and undergrowth, until the group became many.

  The three Danes paused, staring after them.

  “Anyway,” said Ragnar, shaking himself out of his trance. “We must gather the survivors.”

  As it was night, one of the men had made a fire to keep wolves away. Everyone huddled round it, warming themselves.

  The Huskarls hurried round, helping the women they’d saved from the cult, giving the parched and starving creatures water and food. Most were too weak to sit up, so the men had to support their heads.

  Aelfwyn put the baby twins to her breast. Ragnar sat down next to her. “Do you want to look after these as well?”

  “Oh, yes! Please! If I can’t have any more of my own, I want these. They are two girls.” She beamed at her husband. “But where did they come from?”

  “Solmund found them at their dead mother’s breast. Those wolf men didn’t feed the women. They let them starve, because all they were interested in was their own pleasure.”

  “What?” Aelfwyn flushed with anger. “Cursed men! They don’t understand women! If men want us to have babies, they have to feed us. They just had sex with those poor women and didn’t give them food? What selfish, cruel -”

  “Don’t forget insane and drugged. They aren’t normal men, remember.”

  “It’s no excuse. And why didn’t that woman in charge know to feed them? What horrible, merciless creatures!”

  “Er - yes.” Ragnar backed away from his wife’s anger and went to carry on helping out while she arranged the babies at her breasts, muttering darkly to herself.

  A girl of twelve sat gazing at the homely scene, tears running down her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Aelfwyn asked, shifting about to get comfortable.