Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1)

by Norris, Màiri

  VÍKING SWORD:

  A FALL OF YELLOW FIRE

  The Stranded One

  Book One

  of the

  VÍKING BROTHERS SAGA

  ♥

  Màiri Norris

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The wonderful Hurstwic website, The Viking Answer Lady and the Viking section of Regia Anglorum have been invaluable in the writing of Víking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire - The Stranded One. The superb Hurstwic Viking Combat Training dvds were, and will continue to be, essential tools in creating the battle scenes. Those segments could not have been written without the guidance found therein.

  I also wish to express my gratitude to my friend, Lane McFarland, for the excellence of her help in the editing of this book.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the curious, adventurous, intrepid, spirited, indomitable peoples known as “the Vikings”. May the memory of their days on this earth never fade.

  DISCLAIMER

  Everything possible has been done to insure this book is free of historical, grammatical, typographical and formatting errors. Please forgive those few that may have slipped past the many eyes that searched for them.

  GLOSSARY

  A guide to the Old English and Old Norse words used in this story. For those interested, a further glossary of Old English ‘places names’ is included after the Author’s Notes at the end of the book.

  OLD NORSE

  Ægir—primary Norse god of the sea and ocean; generally thought to be dangerous and cruel

  ætt—clan; extended family unit

  Andskoti—adversary; ship name on which Brandr and his comrades sailed; captained by Karl

  Austmannaskelfir—”terror of the eastmen”; nickname of Brandr’s father

  berserkr—one who fights as if crazed

  Bjarki—bear; Brandr’s given nickname

  björr—a strong Víking liquor usu. made from apples and honey

  blót—a sacrifice

  drekar—warship; dragon-prowed

  flyte/flyting—[Old Norse ‘flyta’; Old English ‘flítan’]; a contest of insults performed in a poetic, ritualistic style, usu. held in a feast hall; contestants in this battle of wits were judged by the observers; it was a pastime much enjoyed by both Vikings and Anglo-Saxons

  Frækn—valiant; the name of Brandr’s sword

  Frithr—to come to an agreement or settle a dispute; also, the name of Sindre’s axe

  godi—leader of a district; temple-priest (see Author’s Notes)

  Guthrum’s Kingdom—lands ruled after 878 by Viking king Guthrum in eastern England, bounded loosely by the River Thames to the south and River Lea to the west; later part of the Viking controlled area called “Danelaw”

  Hauss—skull; ship name on which Brandr and his comrades sailed; captained by Brandr

  Heithabyr—Hedeby, Denmark; a major Víking trade center

  húdfat—seaman’s kitbag; very similar to our modern day sleeping bag

  Huginn and Muninn—the two ravens of Odinn

  inn Danski or Danski—from Jutland or modern Denmark; Dane/Danish

  jarl—high-ranking noble; similar to English title/rank of ‘earl’ (Anglo-Saxon ‘eorl’, which in a later era was replaced with the title ‘duke’); I have used ‘jarl’ and ‘thegn’ as being similar in meaning, but a Saxon Eorl/Viking Jarl was higher in rank than a thegn

  kaupskip—a class of trade ship

  lítill blóm—little flower or little blossom; the endearment Brandr uses for Lissa

  melrakki—white fox; Sindre’s nickname, because his hair and beard have always been white and in his fighting character he is seen as being wily and sly as a fox

  miklimunnr—loud mouth

  Mjóllnir—name given to Thorr’s hammer

  Músa—mouse; Sindre’s pet name for Brandr

  nei—no

  nidingr—lit. “nothing”; moral stigma pertaining to a contemptible person, without honor or integrity; often a criminal

  Njord—Norse god of sea and wind; generally considered good

  Nornar—’women of destiny’; there were three, and they determined the moment of death for each child born

  Norræner menn—Northmen; Vikings [O.E.-Nordmanna]

  ordlokarr—one who shapes words with great care

  Ragnarók—the end of the world in Viking belief

  sax—short sword or knife, typically 12-24 inches long

  serk—Viking woman’s underdress; long sleeved, ankle length; very full, possibly gored

  skáld—[same as Old English ‘scop’(shope)]; master poet; singer/songwriter; minstrel; very highly respected

  smorrebrod—a Danish open-faced sandwich on rye bread, topped with a variety of foods, served with cold beer or sour milk; the term ‘smorrebrod’ was first used in Denmark in the 1840’s; see Author’s Notes

  snekkja—”thin and projecting”; smallest and most common Viking warship

  Sólmánudur—Viking summer month, June 19 - July 22

  smokkr—Viking women’s apron-style overdress, with loops at the shoulders held in place by large metal clasps (‘tortoise’ style very popular)

  Stethi—anvil; ship name on which Brandr and his comrades sailed; captained by Sindre

  thing—an assembly to discuss local or regional issues, or settle legal/judicial disputes; the national meeting or parliament (althing), met first in Iceland in 930 A.D.

  tik—female dog; used as a curse

  Valkyrja (pl. Valkyrjur)—”chooser of the slain”; females who selected and carried warriors fallen in battle to Valhóll

  Valhóll—Valhalla, the “Hall of the Slain”; located in the great hall of Asgard, governed by Odinn (Odin)

  víking (to go í-víking)—v. piracy; battle at sea; a raid to gain furs, bullion, slaves, or other treasure; or, a trade journey

  víkingr—n. sea-rover; pirate; raider; trader; one who participates in piracy/raiding/trading; only those who went i-víking were víkingrs

  OLD ENGLISH

  cyrtel—Saxon under-dress, female, floor and wrist length

  Fægennes—joy; the name of Turold’s sword

  gást—ghost; spirit of one who is dead

  leóf—sir; ‘dear sir’; respectful form of address to a male to whom one is under authority

  orgelword—arrogant or insolent speech

  syrce—Saxon over-tunic; female; knee and elbow length, worn with headrail (wide scarf) and mantle (covered shoulders and torso); also, braies—baggy knee length pants; Saxon male

  wicing—Víking

  VIKING TIME-KEEPING

  Vikings used sundials and measured time by seasons. They also implemented an imprecise, seasonal day-measure based on the sun’s position in the sky, called a dagmark (day-mark), of which there were eight:

  Middag—Midday (noon)

  Undorn (eykt)—Mid-afternoon

  Mithr Aptann—Mid-evening

  Náttmál—Night-Measure (darkness falls)

  Mithnætti—Midnight

  Ótta—After midnight (the time before dawn when the night was darkest)

  Mithr Morgun—Rise-Measure (loosely, dawn; but actually when people woke up, remembering that in mid-winter in the northern climes, the sun barely rose over the horizon, while in mid-summer, it never really set)

  Dagmál—Day-Measure

  To speak of time between two dagmarks (similar to our ‘half-hour’ units), the Vikings would say it was “evenly near” both marks. E.g., if the sun’s position was between Middag
and Undorn, they would say it was “evenly near Middag and Undorn.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kingdom of Westseaxna ríce - the southern coast some ten leagues east of Eaxanceaster - Angelcynn

  Early Summer – 882

  The battle was lost, but the fight was far from over.

  Brandr Óttarrson cursed the ill timing that had turned the certain victory of his raid into a rout. On the strength of rumors of treasure, and hoping to gain silver and slaves, he had set out many days earlier from his home in Ljotness to assail the hamlet of Yriclea on this Odinn-cursed southernmost coast of Alfred’s kingdom. The portents had all been good, the runes promising success and wealth untold.

  They camped on the shore of a tiny inlet while they scouted the settlement and the cliff-sheltered bay leading to it, but he had known, the moment he laid eyes on the village, it would be no great feat to overcome. Still, he had entertained a single doubt, and called for discussion with his brother, Karl, and his father’s younger brother, Sindre.

  As the eldest of their father’s five sons, Karl was the commander of their expedition, but one night at table before leaving, Brandr was ordered by their sire to lead the raid. It was to be a test of his ability to command. If successful, he would become a hersir in his own right, as were Karl and Sindre. The reward would also include a gift of land, a rich wife and his share of the wealth, which would aid in the obtainment of his dream. That was a goal his father did not approve, but when had he and the Austmannaskelfir, the mighty Terror of the Eastmen, ever seen eye to eye?

  Between mouthfuls of bread and roasted lamb, Karl had muttered he was still a bare-cheeked youngling with much to learn, and certainly needed the experience. He had cuffed his brother for the tease—all the while boldly fingering his fine, close-cut beard—but was well pleased with his father’s decision.

  They met to discuss their strategy for the attack on Yriclea onboard the Andskoti, one of their three dragon-prowed drekars, captained by Karl. His brother, seated on a chest between the deck beams, a cup of björr in hand, leaned forward with his arms on his knees. “What is it that concerns you, Bjarki?”

  Ignoring the inappropriate use of his childhood nickname in what was, essentially, a council of war, Brandr moved his sword, Frækn, out of the way and sat opposite his brother. “If the rumors are true, Yriclea guards great treasure.” In the light of the shielded lamp, he looked from Karl’s curious expression to the lazy amusement that was his uncle’s usual mien. “Why then does the settlement appear to have no great defensive strength?”

  Neither man moved, but he sensed their sudden interest.

  “Maybe they believe themselves well enough protected,” Sindre said. “These Saxons are no match for us, but against their own…,” he shrugged, not bothering to finish the sentence.

  Karl grinned. “Perhaps the thegn is a sly one and seeks to mislead. He wishes to declare there is no treasure by offering no exceptional defense.”

  “Or maybe,” Brandr countered, “it is a ruse, a deception, meant to instill false confidence in an enemy. Maybe the village is much better protected than it appears.”

  The gleam in Sindre’s eyes intensified. “Are you suggesting, Músa, we abandon the raid?”

  Brandr hid a wince at the hated appellation—mouse—that was his uncle’s pet name for him, but Sindre’s comment did not come as a surprise. His uncle cared naught for odds. He believed in himself and his own capabilities, and let chance fall where it may. “I say only that it seems too easy, and we must beware the possibility of a trap.”

  “Your point is well-taken.” Karl threw a glance at Sindre. “It is worthy of consideration.”

  Discussion of best ways and means to launch the raid followed, with the final decision that since they could not hide their approach, a direct assault would be best. Under the light of a full moon, they left the inlet and rowed the drekars to a point just off the bay, and weighed anchor to enjoy a rest period while they waited for first light to attack.

  In another sign that Odinn and Thorr favored their venture, clouds rolled in to shield their presence. The heavy black canopy overhead delivered no rain and dissipated by dawn, but did bring a dense, blanketing fog to cover their approach to the village.

  His confidence had surged. It was a matter of but momentary conference to change their battle strategy to one of stealth.

  Yriclea’s defenses had been no more difficult to overcome than first expected. There were no traps, and the village was not expecting their strike. What could not have been foreseen was the large war band of Saxon hearth companions, which had chosen to raid the settlement on the very same morn.

  He clenched his teeth, indignation intense that he and his men had done all the preliminary fighting and taken the gates, only to lose the battle. They had prowled like phantoms along the walls of the fortress, unseen and unheard, almost reaching the main entrance before the guards on the wall sensed their presence and sounded the alarm. They returned the challenge, and surged forward to form an overhead shield-wall to protect those battering the palisade gates. They had only just broken through, when attack had come from their flank, taking them completely unaware.

  He still did not know how many men they had lost at that first clash, but when the seemingly endless horde of warriors streamed out of the confusing, billowing mists and fell upon their warriors, Karl, fighting with him at the gate, advised withdrawal. He agreed. There was greater honor in living to raid other villages, and though the Nornar might have destined this day as his time for the journey to Valhöll, he refused to seek death, for him or his men. Raising his blowing horn, he sounded the notes signaling retreat.

  They gathered their wounded, and ran for the drekars. It had been all they could do against the overwhelming odds to fight their way clear.

  In the chill, dense moisture that had begun as a key strategic advantage, but was now simply a veil for their flight, he engaged with yet another hearth companion who caught up with him. Rage blazed, goading him to fierce effort. Common sense would argue that his failure to complete his task was a matter beyond the control of any of man. Still, his father would accept no excuse, and he expected to have painful strips skinned from his hide, if he survived the rearguard action he fought and managed to return home.

  An agonized growl, so low he almost missed it, came from off to his side and just out of his sight. Karl! His brother would not allow such a sign of weakness unless he was fearfully hurt. The metallic clang of weapon upon weapon in that direction at least proved his brother could still fight, despite whatever wound had caused that groan.

  With an underhanded stab of Frækn delivered beneath his opponent’s shield, he dispatched the man and turned to aid his brother. The fighter that engaged Karl had his back to him, his weapon already arcing to decapitate. At the last moment, he seemed to sense his peril. He checked the deadly blow and started to turn, but the action was too late. Brandr’s blade thrust through his heart.

  They were not yet safe. More of the enemy advanced through the mist.

  He slung his shield over his back to free his hands and knelt beside Karl, who attempted to get to his feet. “Brother! What is amiss?”

  He sucked in a silent inhalation at the axe buried deep in the back of Karl’s thigh. Blood trickled from the wound, but if he pulled the weapon free now, it would flow like water over a fall. Best to leave it until he could get him to the ships.

  Karl’s face was white as moonlight beneath his sea-tan. “Cursed hearth companion got lucky,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “He must have thrown the weapon blindly, but it found its mark. Help me up! We have got to keep moving.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “I do not know. Hjort and Olvir were ahead of me. Where they are now, I cannot guess. In this murk, it is impossible to know for sure where we are.”

  “I think the beach is that way.” Brandr made a vague gesture to their front. “Can you stand?”

  Karl tried to grin. “Have I a choic
e?”

  Brandr returned the smile. “I could carry you.”

  Karl answered with a grimace. “Huh! And listen to you complain to Father what a helpless, snot-nosed child his heir is? I will keep up.”

  The hearth companions behind them had, for the moment, lost track of their quarry, but it was a temporary reprieve at best. Brandr picked up his brother’s fallen sword, shoved it into his hand, and got an arm under his right shoulder. Karl grunted between clenched teeth as he heaved himself up on his good leg. Brandr steadied him.

  “Lead the way, Bjarki.”

  The next few moments were among the most harried of Brandr’s three and twenty years. Karl used his sword as he would a walking stick but still, their shambling progression toward the beach was more a series of controlled staggers than a strategic retreat. Karl’s breathing was rough and too loud, though he sought to suppress it.

  Brandr could not fault him. His brother had to be in agony.

  A triumphant howl was all the warning they had as two ghostly forms materialized out of the mist before them. Brandr was fighting for their lives before he had time to wonder how the men had gotten in front of them.

  Alone, he could take on two men with only one hand free, but keeping hold of Karl would put his brother at further risk. He murmured a soft apology and dropped him. Karl threw himself out of Brandr’s sword range, his indrawn hiss of pain almost lost beneath the laughter of the Saxons.

  Thorr’s hammer!

  No time to get his shield in hand. The warriors flanked and stalked him, seeking to take him out of the action first. He prepared for the tactic with sword and axe. It would not be the first time he had beaten back multiple adversaries. The Saxon to his left suddenly cursed and went down. A lightning glance revealed the fool had dropped his guard and circled too close to Karl, who buried his blade nigh to the hilt in the man’s side.

  A snarl contorted the second fighter’s lips as he jumped toward Karl. Brandr leapt to his brother’s defense, only to curse as the warrior hurled himself back in the opposite direction. Brandr twisted as he sought to protect his flank from the unexpected maneuver, angling his sword to deflect the powerful blow, but not quite in time. The other’s blade slid down Frækn’s length in a screech of metal, and he felt its keen bite as it sliced, cutting through the metal links of his ring-shirt and padded undertunic.