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

by Norris, Màiri

  Her hopeful spirits fell. Turold was right about the battle at the mill. Her víkingrs were still in danger. Though her gaze returned again and again to the path behind, she saw naught.

  Turold led. Oswulf, bow in hand, kept watch on their rearward way, and assured her they were alone. Still, not until she was safe once more in Brandr’s embrace did the trembling in her limbs finally cease.

  ∞∞§∞∞

  Deepening shadows crept in slow motion along the line of trees in which Wat of Yriclea hid. He watched as the younger Northman banked the fire by the coppice pond. A slow smile tugged at his mouth as the Dane stood and under the guise of stretching, let his gaze wander the trees lining the woodbank.

  His respect for the warrior increased. No witless child was this víkingr. He sensed the observation, but took pains to hide it. So well did he succeed that only one such as himself, who knew well the tactic, would guess at it.

  He pulled away from the trunk of the half grown alder against which he slouched and slid behind it, using its bulk to conceal his withdrawal. When the others in his party slept, the Dane would come searching.

  Wat did not intend to be found.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Curled in Brandr’s húdfat, Lissa sighed and rolled over for…well, she had lost count of how many times. After he had banked the fire for the night she, with the others, had sought her grassy bed, but had woken soon after from a fretful sleep filled with formless, unpleasant dreams. She had been on edge since returning from Basingum. Brandr had taken first watch. That he was also uneasy, she knew, and his disquiet fed hers. Since sup, he had not ceased to prowl the camp, then the woodbank, then the camp again. Finally, he had disappeared for a time, only to return a while later. He crouched beside the fire like a warrior of the old tales, the set of his shoulders tense and the gleam of his eyes visible in the faint glow of the coals.

  He watched her…she could feel his gaze upon her. Sensitized by his unblinking watchfulness, her skin felt as if countless tiny swords pricked it from within, for the look he turned upon her was not the familiar one of desire. Rather, it seemed as if he willed her to find a hidden place, and crawl inside.

  Abruptly unable to remain immobile, she threw aside the fold of the sleep sack and came to her feet.

  Though he made no visible move, it seemed to her he jerked. “What do you do?”

  “I go into the bushes. I have need of privacy.”

  He rose, the whole powerful, menacing, agitated length of him unwinding in one lithe motion. “I will come with you.”

  “Brandr, no. I will be just there, beyond the light. You will still be able to see my shadow.”

  His head lowered. The fierce intensity of his look stole her breath. Her pulse beat a score of times before he spoke. “Be quick.”

  Her skin crawled. The weight of his gaze was heavy upon her as she stepped toward the camp boundary. His voice, low and deep, vibrated across the space between them. “That is far enough.”

  She turned. “Brandr, you can still see me.”

  “Já. Do what you must do.”

  “Not while you watch!”

  She did not have to see him clearly to know his jaw clenched. “Go a little farther, but do not leave my sight! Stop when I say.”

  Again, she started toward the large bush that was her goal. “Stop.”

  “Brandr!” His tension made her want to scream, but she had to go. “I must have privacy…and I need it soon! At least, allow me to move behind the bush.”

  His growl rumbled all the way to where she waited. “The bush, then. Not a step farther. Be quick!”

  She nigh ran the rest of the way to the offending shrubbery. As she circled around behind it, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Brandr had not moved except to lift that disconcerting gaze to the surrounding woodbank.

  She followed his line of sight, shuddered and put her back to him, thinking how frightening it would be, lost among the trees at night. The forest was dreadful when one was alone, outside the safety of walls. The darkness twisted everything, transforming ordinary objects into ravening monsters. It teased the mind with real and imagined terrors. Like now, for instance. She was certain she heard a stealthy footfall nearby. Her skin prickled. Her eyes flitted from one shadow to another. Did one of them move, or did her overwrought mind imagine it? She rushed to finish her business. All at once, she was terrified. She had to get back to Brandr.

  She had taken a single step back to camp when she sensed the presence behind her. She froze. A large, calloused hand clamped over her mouth. Locked against a hard male body by a brawny arm wrapped around her waist, she was lifted and carried into the darkness. She struggled, but his hold was too powerful. The whole thing happened so fast there was no time to call a warning.

  “Lissa!” Brandr’s roar filled the coppice and echoed through the forest all around.

  Pandemonium broke out in the direction of the camp. Weapons clashed. Bryda screamed, but the cry was abruptly cut off.

  It drove her nigh witless with fear for all of them, but especially for the víkingrs. She prayed Alwin would have sense enough to stay down. Bucking and kicking, she clawed the arm that shackled her, but the warrior held her fast. She jerked her head backward and hit his chin. He growled a curse. His hold tightened. When she sought to bite the soft flesh of his palm, he shifted his hand to cover her nose, as well. Unable to breathe, she had no choice but to cease fighting. He moved his hand again, and she gulped air. He did not take her far before he stopped. She hoped he would release her, but he did not move, only waited.

  If only she could speak! She would tell this warrior of her love for Brandr and her desire to go with him. She would beg him to let her talk to Talon. Then, perhaps, this nightmare would end.

  As quickly as it began, the clash of battle ceased.

  Oh, merciful saints! What was happening? She had to know. A memory rose and she acted without thought, letting her body go utterly limp. The warrior grunted. He seemed to wait, as if uncertain what to do with her, then laid her at his feet. He took a step toward the camp, then another. She sensed he listened. She waited. He took a third step, and another. She launched herself from the ground into the surrounding darkness. The sharp oath he uttered was not one she recognized. That he followed so closely frightened her so much she recklessly threw herself along, seeking only to elude him. It seemed almost that she flew. How she managed not to careen into a tree, or trip over a root and slam head first into the ground, she never after knew.

  The metallic clang of weapons broke out anew, but it came from her right. She swerved toward it. It sounded as if only two combatants engaged, sword against sword. Still harried by her captor, she never slowed until she broke into the camp clearing. The warrior nearly plowed her down when she stopped without warning. He confined her so that both her arms were secured above the elbow, and he again clamped her mouth. He dragged her back into the shadows, but this time, did not haul her away from the scene. She could clearly see all that happened.

  Someone had kindled the fire into a blaze, and torches were set into the ground around the camp’s perimeter. The illumination revealed Brandr and Talon, swords drawn, circling like rival wolves preparing to fight for leadership of the pack. Talon made a sudden feint to the right and she jerked in response. Brandr easily deflected the blow and stepped out of reach.

  Why does he not engage?

  Fear blazed for both her friend and the man she loved. It was maddening to feel so helpless! She fought again to free herself.

  Saint’s bones! Why will this great, witless fool not let me speak? This could be ended now, before either is hurt, if only he would remove his hand.

  As before, her struggles only caged her more tightly in his grip, though not once, despite that she had to have hurt him with her scuffles, had he harmed her. He simply constrained her.

  A rapid glance further around the camp revealed Sindre lying on his back. Even from across the clearing, she could feel the waves of rag
e that rolled off him, but he was helpless. Two men guarded him. One pressed the edge of his sword across Sindre’s throat, while the other rested the tip of his weapon against his privates. Nearby, Turold lay unmoving. Whether or not he still lived, she could not tell. There was no sign of Alwin, Bryda or Oswulf.

  What has been done with them? Surely, Talon will not harm them.

  This was her fault. None of her friends would be in this trouble had she fled Yriclea when Brandr left her at Lady Eadgida’s grave to go inside the walls. She screamed beneath the palm clamped over her mouth and drummed her heels against hard shins. The big warrior simply readjusted his grip. Chills numbed her heart as frustration nigh made her crazed. If she could get her hands on him…!

  Her gaze moved over the other men in the camp. Of the score of Saxon warriors present, the only ones she recognized were Talon, Wat and four hearth companions from Yriclea. One man stood off to himself on the far side of the fire. His clothing proclaimed him a man of wealth, while his stance revealed him a man of power and privilege. He turned his face into the light. Behind the hand that gagged her, she gasped. He was the same noble who had walked in the market with Talon, earlier in the day. He observed the proceedings, but did not interfere.

  Another flurry of movement brought her gaze back to the combatants. She heard Brandr say something to Talon, but his words were too low to discern. Talon’s expression hardened.

  Brandr’s expression was tight, controlled, the face of a fearsome warrior, deadly and sure. Heart in her throat, she watched as he went on the offensive. As if invisible restraints were removed, the two proud warriors roared in rage and closed in a titanic struggle for supremacy.

  ∞∞§∞∞

  Lissa was in danger. Brandr had known trouble was coming, had forewarning of it since the previous day. Yet, he had let his guard down to focus on her, instead of on guarding her. He should have set all the men to watch. He should have been on the woodbank, instead of in camp, but some primal need to have her close, under his hand, had played him false and betrayed his instincts. Now she was captured, and he might well fall, and Sindre too, leaving her at the mercy of another man.

  Nei! He refused to accept his own failure as reason for her to be trapped in a marriage she had sought to avoid, had depended on him to insure she escaped. But then, he had not been able to think straight since he first laid eyes on her as she confronted the end of the only life she had ever known.

  He searched the shadows for her and found her, confined in the arms of a massive warrior, a true match for Sindre. Her eyes were huge above the man’s big hand that covered her mouth, but she seemed unharmed. Apart from an understandably overwhelming desire to take off the man’s head for daring to touch her, he decided, for the time being, she was safe where she was.

  He eyed Talon over the edge of his shield, and circled his adversary, fighting to harness his rage and direct it into the fray. Talon had demanded a duel between them to settle the matter. The noble with him had agreed.

  With all of his little flock in their hands, he had accepted because he had no choice. But it would end here. He would not fail her.

  The battle he faced would be exceptionally difficult, for he could not fight to kill. Were Talon to die at his hand, Lissa would not hold it against him, but she would grieve. He could not put her through more pain, but he had measured the intent in the first marshal’s eyes and knew he would not offer the same restraint. Talon intended to kill him.

  He was up against a warrior of the same caliber as he, an opponent worthy of his skills and respect. He mentally shook himself, shunting aside everything but the moment. He needed his focus, all of it, on surviving, on winning this battle, for Lissa’s sake.

  He lunged and Frækn came into ringing contact with Talon’s blade, then he fell back. He searched Talon’s eyes and saw the flicker for which he waited. With a roar the first marshal echoed, he leapt across the space separating them.

  Sparks flew. The continuing crash of their blades rang across the coppice.

  Talon lunged with a short edge blow.

  He sidestepped it and countered with a stab Talon deflected.

  The first marshal followed with a cutting arc, low and fast, below his shield.

  He leapt straight up, sensing the blade barely missed his feet. He came down on something unseen in the shadows and it turned his ankle. He staggered, and went to his knees. Talon came at him intending to take off his head, but he dropped both shield and Frækn and threw himself hard to the side, rolling out of range. He lunged to his feet, axe in hand, and threw the weapon. Talon grunted as it impacted his shield, breaking off a piece of the edge.

  He dived for Frækn as Talon recovered from the powerful blow, and came up on the other man’s right side, nigh behind him.

  Talon spun on his heel and angled an upper cut.

  Brandr caught it on his blade, forcing the other’s sword to slide harmlessly away, then followed the movement through, arcing Frækn around and up into a downward vertical blow. Talon leapt back, but he followed him and lunged with a short stab meant to incapacitate. Talon took the jab, letting the tip embed in the wood of his shield, then sharply twisted the shield, trying to jerk Frækn from his hand.

  As the sword came loose, he used the momentum from the strength of Talon’s wrench to drop and roll to his own shield. He grabbed it, lunged and charged his enemy, full speed. The mighty crash as they collided nigh deafened him. He sought to force Talon back, but equal in strength, neither gained. They broke apart. Blade to blade, they traded blows, fighting silently.

  The distinctive odor of blood reached his nostrils; whose, he did not know. There was no time to wonder. Talon aimed another slice at his legs but he dropped into a squat, bringing the shield into protective play, then lunged up and forward with great force to slam against the other man. Talon refused to go down.

  He needed to finish it. Both of them were tiring. If Lissa was to be free, he could not risk getting himself killed. With a fierce yell, he moved in with a savage, blinding series of blows that kept the other warrior off balance. Talon dropped his sword and with two hands, wielded his shield in both defense and attack.

  Hammer of Thorr, I cannot get past his defenses!

  He kept up the unrelenting assault, forcing Talon back and back until the other man came against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Talon stumbled, recovered, and threw the shield at him, before swinging around behind the tree to come in from the other side.

  The action broke the pattern of his blows, and now Talon gripped a seax, the blade of the long knife glinting in the light of the fire.

  He threw down Frækn and pulled his sax. Again, they circled, then came together in a series of furious slashes. Talon suddenly lunged and they closed, grappling.

  His hand grasping Talon’s wrist, he tried to twist the other man’s arm. When that proved unsuccessful, he managed a blow to Talon’s head with the butt of the sax’s grip. Talon retaliated, his forehead slamming Brandr’s mouth in a stunning blow.

  He felt the skin split. His mouth filled with blood. He lashed out with his foot, hooking his heel behind Talon’s. At the same instant, he changed tactics and gave a mighty heave. Talon tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his back, the seax flying from his hand.

  He followed him down, jamming his elbow into the first marshal’s gut, forcing from him a resounding whoof of air.

  His blade was at the other man’s throat.

  Talons eyes glittered. He waited for death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Hold!” A voice, commanding and edged with power, echoed through the coppice. “Hold!”

  Instinctively, Brandr obeyed the deep-toned command. Talon froze. They held like that, unmoving, for countless moments.

  “Kindly refrain from killing my new first marshal, young man,” the voice continued. “I have need of his services.”

  Panting, Brandr blinked sweat from his eyes and spit blood. “Do you yield?”

  Breathin
g just as hard, the first marshal gave a slight nod.

  He rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, backing out of range, then turned to look for the author of that compelling directive.

  The nobleman stepped from the shadows into the invisible circle that had defined the fight. He gazed at Brandr. “You did well to obey. Had you not, I would have had to kill you, and I have no wish to see either of you die this night. Beyond that, my daughter would be deeply distressed were the first marshal to be taken from this world, and I suspect your lady would feel the same about you.”

  His tone was conversational, his expression in the firelight that of a man well pleased.

  Brandr raised his left hand to his swelling mouth, only to discover blood also dripped from a long, shallow slash on his forearm. He had not felt the cut. He glanced at Talon, who stared back.

  Blood also dripped steadily from a cut that ran along the line of the first marshal’s right jawline.

  Brandr relaxed.

  Talon nodded and sheathed his seax.

  He decided to hold onto to his sax for a little longer.

  The noble put his hands behind his back.

  At his movement, Brandr’s head swung back to him.

  The noble smiled. “I am Thegn Heorulf of Andeferas. I allowed this fight because I wished to test the capabilities of the good Talon.” His gaze swung to the first marshal. “I must say, Talon, I am impressed. You have comported yourself well, my friend.”

  Talon blinked a few times, but said naught.

  Heorulf gestured toward the warrior who held Lissa. “I believe all can settled quite peaceably if we allow the young lady to voice the thoughts that have plagued her in recent moments. Uctred, release her.”

  The big man set her on her feet—Brandr was startled at the gentle care he took—and let her go. She raced in his direction. He braced for the impact of her body as she flung herself at him, but after that battle, he was hard put to it to stay on his feet. As it was, he staggered a little as he embraced her, but with her arms encircling his neck, and her sweet mouth covering his face with kisses, she seemed not to notice. Tears streaming down her face, she said not a word, just clung to him as if he was the last thing solid in the world.