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

by Norris, Màiri

  He laughed outright. “Arrogant of speech, am I? I should punish you for that bit of insolence, but I will be merciful and forgive you. This time.” He pulled his sax and brandished it in her face. “Do it not again, or I will not be so lenient.” He handed the weapon to her, grinning at her disgruntlement. “Cease your pouting. I am in need of your nimble fingers to trim my beard, before I begin to look like one of your countrymen. Then you will show me that pendant we spoke of in the night.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I am glad to see you hale this morn, Alwin,” Lissa said. She traipsed directly behind him along a sheep track down a steep incline. Brandr strode many paces ahead, and Sindre farther behind. Above them on the brow of the hill towered the remains of a stone building so ancient she could not guess who its builders might have been. Below them spread a broad plain of open meadow, through which a brook meandered, before the land began to thrust upwards again in undulating, tree-blanketed mounds. The sky had cleared except for a few high clouds brushed across its expanse like folds of sheer bleached linen. The air was crisp and faintly hazy, but the sun promised later warmth.

  She lightly touched his shoulder when he did not answer. “Did you fare well during the night with the víkingr? I heard him, you know. He did much speaking. I feared he would toss you into the rain. His temper is unpredictable.”

  Alwin skipped a little, ignoring the precipitous fall so close to his feet. “Aye, he was very fierce, and offered many threats and insults. I think it is his way.”

  “What did he speak of for so long a time?”

  He threw a laughing glance over his shoulder. “I asked to hear of his greatest victory in battle. I listened. He bragged much.”

  She giggled, but was impressed. Who would expect a lad to possess the cunning to pull the serpent’s fangs by appealing to his vanity?

  “Lissa? Were you taken in a raid?”

  Sudden pain lanced, and she blinked away quick tears. “No. Not as you think. The víkingrs raided my home, but before they could do more than break through the gates, others came. They ran off the Northmen and destroyed the village. These two,” she made a vague gesture toward Brandr, “came later. I chose to journey with them.”

  “But the master, he says you are also a slave, and you wear the collar.”

  “In his eyes, I am. But not in my heart.”

  His thin little face cleared. “I like that. I choose also to be free in my heart.” He paused. “I think you are very sad your people were hurt. I did not mean to make you unhappy.”

  “You did not. I was already sad because people I loved died. I do not think of it. In time, it will grow less painful.”

  He nodded. “You miss them. Me, I miss my mother and little sister. It is like something heavy that hurts on the inside.”

  “Yes. What happened to them?”

  “They ate bad meat. They died.”

  “And your father?”

  “He died, too. I do not miss him.”

  He said no more, and she did not ask. Some things needed no explanation.

  They reached the base of the hill before she continued. “I do not remember my mother or father. They died a very long time ago, during a raid by slavers. I was but three summers. I was fortunate, for I was sold to a good man, who gave me to his wife. She was a kind mistress. She freed me, not long ago. My life has been good, and I was happy.”

  “What will they do with us, Lissa? Will they make us cross the great sea to their land in the north?”

  Her attention was diverted as they caught up to Brandr, who stopped to lift her over a very old, dangerously tumbled line of broken stone fencing with small yellow flowers blooming around its base. The look from his azure gaze as he set her back on her feet made her wonder if he had overheard her conversation with Alwin, who scrambled as easily as a goat over the obstacle. By mutual consent, they waited for Brandr to move ahead again before she answered.

  “Brandr said his home lies on the coast of the Sea of Germania.”

  “My pa said the Northmen sell the slaves they capture, and oft they are taken to terrible places very far away. Think you the master will trade us, too?”

  “I do not know what he plans, and it is not good to worry about things one can do naught to prevent.”

  “Maybe we can.”

  She halted mid-stride, then had to hurry to catch up again. She twisted to look behind to make sure Sindre remained out of hearing, and hoped Brandr was also far enough ahead their words did not reach him. Her heart was suddenly tripping faster than her steps. “What mean you?”

  “Have you not thought of escape?”

  She debated her answer. Had Brandr set the boy to discover if she harbored such hopes? A moment’s thought dissuaded her. Sindre might use guileful methods to discover secrets, but Brandr was of a different sort. If he wished to know a thing, he would confront her, and she would be hard pressed to keep her thoughts to herself without lying. He had a way of seeing past her small deceptions, and knew when she spoke an untruth. He had caught her at it twice, and the last time, threatened to punish her if she transgressed a third time.

  She decided to offer a partial truth. “When I first came with them, I considered it.”

  “And now?”

  “I am not sure it would be possible. One of them is always on guard at night, and I think they would quickly catch us if we tried to run during the day. Did we manage to elude them, survival would be very difficult for two such as we, weaponless and alone.”

  “And you do not wish to leave the master.”

  The matter of fact statement caught her off guard, but after learning of his cunning with Sindre, she should have expected it. She did not answer. He said naught more, and she thought that was the end of it.

  Then he said, so quietly she almost missed it, “Is it a very terrible sin for a man to break his word of honor, even if he thinks keeping it might mean bad things for him?”

  She thought about that one for a while. “My lady taught me one should always keep their promises. Else how could anyone ever trust aught they say?”

  His shoulders rose in a sigh. “I feared so.”

  “Alwin, did you promise not to run away?”

  “Aye.”

  “I see. Well then, it seems you are bound to your word as long as Brandr owns you. But should he sell you….”

  He whirled to walk backwards while hope blazed in his eyes, which for the first time, she noted were light brown with little gold flecks. “That is a good thought. I will hold to it. I do not wish to be a slave until I am old.”

  He faced forward again and began to whistle.

  Her gaze skipped ahead to light on broad, muscular shoulders that promised protection, warmth and the fulfillment of dark desires that made her face burn.

  Neither do I. Not even to belong to him.

  ∞∞§∞∞

  The sun was well on its way to the western horizon when Brandr raised a hand to call a halt. At his feet, a wide river coursed, deeper than any other they had yet encountered. The current appeared strong, the surface marred by no more than a smooth ripple. He could not see the bottom. The banks were thick with willows and rushes. Downstream, otters eyed them warily, while mated swans trailed by cygnets hissed at their intrusion and urged the chicks in the opposite direction. In the eye of his thoughts, he searched his father’s map and concluded he stood on the verge of the river named Afen in the Saxon tongue.

  He scratched at the healing wound in his side while he mulled whether they should ford the water or make camp. His reluctance stemmed from a frustrating day spent hiding, once from a scouting troop of king’s soldiers that came upon them as they crossed a major road leading north, and again from a plodding farmer herding a cow along a track Brandr had believed deserted. The animal had nigh given them away when it turned its head to moo at them in dull curiosity, but the peasant, apparently intent on naught but urging the creature to where he wanted it, had paid it no heed. Then they all but stumbled into a group of
pilgrims who had the annoying audacity to leave the greater safety of the road where they belonged, to trek overland.

  The final encounter had almost led to bloodshed when a ceorl had popped without warning out of a hole in the ground a few paces in front of them. What strange impulse possessed the man to dig the well, or ditch or whatever it was in the middle of an empty pasture he could not guess, but the witless farmer had been fortunate he had faced away from them. As one, they waited stock still as he picked up his shovel, shouldered it and walked away without ever looking back. Had he seen them, he would have died with Sindre’s Frithr in his chest before he could cry out. The pit would have become the fool’s grave.

  Já, the land here was entirely too well populated for peace of mind.

  He turned. Sindre, Lissa and Alwin waited, silent at his heels. “We cross. We are too near some large town, Wiltunscir, or more likely Searesbyrig, if I am correct. I believe this is the river called Afen. I want to put it between the city and us. Take off your boots. Lissa, give me your sash. We will roll everything, with the swords, in the húdfats. Sindre, you and I will ferry them to the other side. Lissa, can you swim?”

  “No.”

  “Then tie up your skirts, lest they become too heavy and drag you down. This river is deep and the current is slow, but strong. Should you flounder, do not panic.” He sketched a scissor-like motion, ignoring Sindre’s snigger. “Kick your feet and paddle with your hands, like this. It will keep you on the surface until I can reach you.”

  She looked at him as if he asked her to flap her wings and fly back to Yriclea. He stared her down. What he asked might encroach on her modesty, but was a necessity. With their hands full with the sleep sacks, he and Sindre would have difficulty rendering aid if she lost her footing.

  A few moments later, the quality of the silence brought his head up from the task of re-folding the húdfat.

  By the eight legs of Sleipnir! The river water had better be winter-cold. Já, frozen would be best.

  He could not help himself. He stared. Lissa’s bare lower limbs were as mind-numbingly shapely as a man could imagine. Her slender feet were feminine and dainty. He had to clench his fists to keep from reaching.

  Mine! She is mine! I can touch. I can hold. I can take…. But not here. Not now.

  At Sindre’s low, appreciative growl, he fought an almost irresistible urge to draw his axe and hew his uncle’s head from his shoulders. Alwin gaped too, slack-jawed. Lissa stared at the water, hands clasped, her lovely face glowing with heat.

  A snarl rumbled from his chest. “Enough gawking! Lissa, into the river, now! Alwin, you are next.”

  The glance Sindre threw him bespoke a taunting hunger. He felt the skin of his face heat, for the need rode him, as well. Hindsight suggested it would have been wiser had he ordered Sindre to heft both húdfats while he hauled Lissa across like the baggage, but the damage was done. Reminding himself the order was given for her safety, he followed her into the water. Regrettably, it was not icy as he hoped, but maybe it was chill enough.

  Alwin sloshed, chest deep, a pace or two in front of him. The boy had taken it upon himself to grasp Lissa’s hand and the two of them supported each other.

  He wanted to rip Alwin’s hand off. Lissa was his! He did not want even the youngling to touch her.

  The current strengthened at the deepest section, but the two managed well enough. They were almost at the far bank when a brilliant flash of blue and red-gold streaked within a handsbreadth of Alwin’s face to hurtle into the water beyond. The boy screeched, dropped Lissa’s hand and stepped backwards, arms windmilling. He lost his balance and went under. At the same time, the kingfisher, wriggling meal in beak, shot from beneath the surface to disappear into the branches.

  By the time Brandr tossed the húdfat to the bank and heaved the gasping, flailing youth to his feet, he was as soaked as Alwin. Sindre choked on his laughter and Lissa had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with mirth.

  “Perhaps,” he said, his hair dripping into his eyes, “we are not meant to travel much farther this day.” His exhaled, a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Alwin stinks, and since we are now both thoroughly wet, I say we all wash. We will make camp in that clearing yonder.”

  Alwin squawked as if someone had pinched him. “Bathe? Nay!”

  “I would have the slave stay dirty, Músa,” Sindre said, still chortling. “His smell is so bad it surely drives away predators. Even the scavengers would have naught to do with him.”

  “You stay put,” Brandr said to Alwin as he waded out. He rummaged in the húdfat and brought out Lissa’s sash. Splashing back into the water, he handed it her, pointing upstream to where a thick growth of leafy tree branches grew far out over the surface. “Those will screen you well. Go.”

  Still chuckling, she accepted the sash and splashed off with it high above her head.

  He turned to Alwin. “Strip, and scrub well, thrall, including your hair and clothing, or I will do it for you.”

  The threat was effective. Alwin went to work getting out of his filthy clothes.

  Brandr was squeezing water from his tunic when he noticed his uncle gaping. Sindre closed his mouth and started to grin. “Are we certain this lad is not, in truth, a sweet-faced female?”

  Brandr stared at the clean, red-faced, golden-haired boy glaring back at Sindre through eyes of deep golden brown. The child was handsome indeed, but who could have seen it beneath so many coatings of grime?

  That odd sense of familiarity struck him again, but before he could catch and hold it, Alwin’s eyes snapped to the tree line behind them. His belligerent stare altered to one of stark fear.

  Before his axe was in hand, Brandr knew his response was too late.

  A deep, well-pleased voice halted both him and Sindre in mid-turn. “Make no sudden moves! My archers will not take kindly to the threat. You will slowly toss your weapons to the opposite embankment and turn around.”

  He caught Sindre’s intent sidewise glance. His uncle’s rage was rising with every passing moment. He wanted to attack, but they had no knowing how many of the enemy awaited them. With a minute shake of his head, he ordered Sindre to obey the directive. They could fight later, when they understood what they were up against.

  Their weapons landed with a thunk in the grass. They pivoted.

  His first thought was that he should never have allowed them to stop. Fighting for one’s life was much easier on dry land. His second, that he hoped Lissa stayed hidden. The danger she would face from these men was greater than that of being left to fend for herself. His third…that he should have given heed to Sindre. The five men—two of whose arrows were aimed at their hearts—were the same hearth companions who had ridden through the meadow the previous afternoon. He had wondered if the leader sensed their presence, but when the patrol kept going and made no attempt to follow, he had deemed the man satisfied. They must have returned later and tracked them.

  ∞∞§∞∞

  “I searched for a league along the line of their passage,” Wat said as he entered camp after a long day spent tracking, “but found no sign of them.”

  Talon nodded. “As expected, the storm washed clean all tracks.”

  “Aye. However, I did meet up with a ceorl complaining of a missing lamb. He said no predator took it, for there was neither blood nor remains to be found. He believes a neighbor snatched it in retribution for the kiss his son stole from the man’s daughter.” Wat’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “The neighbor did not take it. Howbeit, our quarry does seem to have claimed another hostage. A youngling, probably a boy. They found him in a valley and took him with them when they left.”

  “You have done well, Wat. Eat, and rest.” He turned to his men. It was time to disclose his latest plan. “I believe those we hunt were stranded at Yriclea, and now seek to return home. Their detour along the coast before turning east and north was likely an effort to meet up with those traveling in the ships, but the attempt was thwarted by the king’s patrols.
We have lost their trail, but they now journey overland, on foot, and advance in a line, more or less straight northeast, toward the land of the Danes. I believe they will continue in that direction. They will stay clear of Wintanceastre, and of Lundenwic, for our king’s rule extends fully to the coast and the estuary of the Temese. They cannot reach Guthrum’s land by that path. That means their most likely course will take them farther north. My guess is, they make for Basingum. That is what I would do, and that is where we will seek them.

  “If we continue on foot, we will never catch them. Howbeit, if we can procure horses, we can move swiftly ahead of them and cut them off. Not far south of our present position, lies the village of Tyewic. The thegn is a friend, and more, he owes to me a life debt.” A little smile curved his mouth. “He is a man with a fondness for horses and the coin to afford them. He will loan what we need.”

  Wat, contentedly munching bread and cheese, met his gaze. “This idea has merit, if they stay their course.”

  “There is a risk we will miss them if they turn aside to a way we do not expect,” Talon agreed. “But it is a chance I will take. To follow on foot serves no further purpose.” The men nodded as one. He savored their approval. “We make for Tyewic in the morn.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lissa donned the clean, dry cyrtel from her sash. A sunny, grassy spot on the bank, a bit farther along where the river made a sharp bend, struck her as a good place to spread out the wet cyrtel and syrce to dry. Wondering when the men would finish their ablutions, she sat beside the wet clothing to comb her unruly curls. She had forgotten how light and free her hair felt when short, for she had been allowed to grow it out when given her freedom. It had reached halfway down her back before she sheared it for her mourning. She gave a little shrug. It would stay short, now she was a slave again.

  The gentle sway of willow fronds nearby caught her eye. Willow bark! She had need of it, to add to the tiny packet of medicinals she had carried from home. Forcing away memories of her lady’s eyes, frozen open at the moment of fearful death, she fought to remember instead Eadgida’s quiet voice and the laughing gleam in her eye, while she taught the younger Lissa the uses of the willow tree.