"Lord Lewis – " Rudolf began, not daring to believe he was right until the man confirmed it.
"Hush, Wulf. You're here to play, not tell tales about better men than you or me! The birds in the trees have ears, you know." He tried to tap his nose and missed. On purpose, Rudolf suspected.
Rudolf lost three games in quick succession before Lewis held his hand up. "They're gone, I think," he said. "And you have been wasting time in Viken, instead of practising strategy. I'm disappointed in you, Rudolf."
"I was busy fighting real battles for my king, instead of pretend ones where nobody dies, Lord Lewis."
Lewis shrugged. "Harald did fine without you for all these years. Why did he have such need of you now? Did you not tell him about the Albans?" He made the first move.
Rudolf shoved his own pawn forward. "Harald has need of no one any more. His son, my cousin, sits on the throne now, to the annoyance of all his neighbours, who feel his lands and crown belong to them instead." He studied Lewis's second move, and captured his pawn, setting the piece upon the rock beside the chessboard.
"So you have been practising, after all." Lewis regarded the board, and made his move. "Why are you here?"
"To play games with you, it would seem," Rudolf said bitterly, watching Lewis capture his first piece.
"Nay, the game is but the beginning. If you want to capture the queen, you must be ready not just to serve your king, but to become one." Lewis moved his queen into the middle of the board, a move which to an inexperienced eye looked reckless, but Rudolf knew it was anything but.
"Does she still live, Lewis?" He moved his knight to where he might tempt the queen.
"Angus believes so, or he would be home by now. Much like my son, who is one of the young men assigned as Portia's personal guard. If she's still on Isla, as I believe her to be, you'll need an army to free her. Do you have an army yet, son?"
Rudolf's knight claimed another pawn. "I have three ships full of men, but it is not enough," he admitted. "I need more than men, or ships."
"Aye, you're right. You need allies. Powerful ones." Lewis gleefully captured the knight. "Your king's in danger, son."
A rabbit exploded out of the underbrush, flew along the beach and scrambled under a rock, where it sat, quivering.
"Let's go for a walk, Wulf," Lewis said loudly, seizing Rudolf's arm with one hand and the full mead jug with the other. "My old legs get tired, sitting for so long."
Their listeners had returned, Rudolf guessed.
He feigned drunkenness alongside the suddenly unsteady old man, as they made their way along the water's edge. Lewis let out a few scraps of song, slurring the words, before changing to another tune that he murdered as well.
"Which is your boat?" Lewis whispered.
Rudolf led the way, and Lewis leaped aboard. He shoved the boat into the water and was well out of bowshot before anyone could reach them.
"I hope you weren't lying about that ship, son," Lewis said. "You'll have allies aplenty if you can free them of the Alban curse. The Albans have guest right, and most of our lords are still honour bound to defend them."
So that's how they'd done it. Taking over the islands in a night would have required a lot of coordination. Perhaps Donald was not as stupid as they'd thought.
"Is there anyone I can ask?" Rudolf said.
"Well, there's me, but all I can give you are men, and supplies. If you want to win, what you need is a witch."
"I thought all the witches on the islands had died out," Rudolf said. From what he'd heard, it had been no loss. Some of them had enjoyed the evil they wrought.
Lewis laid a finger beside his nose. No missing it this time. "That's just what they want you to think."
The ships came into view, and Lewis's smile widened. "Oh, you've done well. This new king must like you. When I was a boy, I'd have said three Viken longships could conquer the world. When this is all over, I hope to be able to say it again."
TWENTY-TWO
The tiny rock island Rudolf rowed up to looked like nobody lived on it – let alone some powerful witch.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Rudolf grumbled, forcing his frustration into each stroke of his oars.
"Absolutely," Lewis replied, settling contentedly in his seat. Of course he was content. He didn't have to row.
"How do you intend to find your witch?"
"No need, son. She will find us. Unless I miss my guess, she already knows we are here. The real challenge will be persuading her not to set fire to our boots. Or the boat." Lewis eyed the gunwales. "I hope you can swim."
Cursing Lewis for a fool, nevertheless Rudolf brought the boat up to shore and beached it. He waited for Lewis to climb out before dragging the coracle up beyond the high tide line. This time, his wet boots might work to his benefit, if the witch was as volatile as Lewis said.
Lewis led the way up the rocks and onto a rise. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "Lady Rhona, I have a proposition for you!" he shouted, turning to repeat his offer to the other three corners of the island.
"I'm already betrothed, and not to that beast of a man." The sharp female voice came from behind them.
Rudolf whirled. The diminutive girl stood on the sand with her hands on her hips.
Lewis gestured for Rudolf to say something.
"I am no beast, lady," Rudolf said gravely. "I am Rudolf Vargssen, Prince of Viken. I have come from my cousin, King Reidar, to cast the Albans out of the Southern Isles."
She sniffed. "Just you and old Lewis here? You have no chance, Prince of Viken. Not without an army that can match the Albans."
"I have three ships." Rudolf pointed.
"Is this the wolf we are waiting for?" Rhona demanded.
Lewis inclined his head. "He is."
She marched around Rudolf, looking him up and down. "What is your stake, Prince of Viken? What do you get out of saving the Southern Isles?"
Rudolf had never feared anyone so much as he did this dark-eyed imp right now. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out of his inexplicably parched throat.
"He wants Lady Portia," Lewis supplied.
Rhona's eyes narrowed. "Lady Portia is no prize, like the women of other lands. She is the Lady of Isla, and if she does not like you, may heaven help you, for no one else will."
Rudolf laughed. "Portia liked me well enough before I left. If she likes me still...well, I guess we shall see. As long as the lady is safe, I will be satisfied."
"She is safe enough. My betrothed guards her with his life."
"My son has sent word?" Lewis asked eagerly.
Rhona eyed Rudolf, then answered, "When he can. His letters are carried in secret and left in a place only he and I know. The lady lives, and so does he."
"How goes the hiding, Lady Rhona? Are your sisters sick of fish yet?"
Rhona turned her glare on Lewis. "They complain constantly. The sooner this war ends, the better."
"Would you like to help with the war, Lady Rhona?" Rudolf ventured.
She pursed her lips. "My father will not approve."
Lewis laughed. "Old fool. He thinks my son should save you, for what man would follow a hero who got himself saved by a maiden?"
"Something of that sort."
Lewis jerked his head at Rudolf. "We can blame the victory on the Viken. I'm sure he won't mind."
Rudolf stiffened. "I prefer to fight my own battles, but I am not such a fool as to refuse the help of an ally. There are shieldmaidens among my people, Lord Lewis's late mother among them, who fight alongside their men. If you can assist my army..."
"Ha!" Rhona bit her lip, and the bush behind Lewis burst into flame.
He yelped and ran down to the water, but the fire followed him, blistering the very sands to glass until the sea steamed around him. "I told you! This witch can burn anything! With her on your side, you can't help but win!"
Rudolf fell to his knees. "Lady Rhona, I beg you to help me free the Southern Isles from the invaders. I will give you any
thing you ask."
She tilted her chin downward so that she might regard him. "I want all I've ever wanted. My husband. Free him from his oath to Portia, so that he can come home and marry me." With a wave of her hand, she extinguished the fire and a breeze came out of nowhere to blow away the smoke as though it had never been. "What would you have me burn first?" The fire burned in her eyes now, and it was a terrifying thing.
"Myroy Isle, and every other island where Albans seek to hide," Lewis said, splashing out of the sea. He shrugged off Rudolf's and Rhona's stares. "What? I'm the Lord of Myroy. I can burn it if I want to." He fumbled around under his cloak and pulled out the jug of mead Rudolf thought he'd left on the shore at Myroy. Lewis uncorked the jug and lifted it in a toast: "To winning this damned war!" He drank deeply.
Rudolf held out his hand to Lady Rhona. "Do we have an accord?"
Her hand seemed so small in his, but the heat in her fingers reminded Rudolf that power came in many forms. "We do, Wolf Prince."
TWENTY-THREE
Rudolf rowed ashore under cover of darkness. Lewis snorted awake mid-snore as Lady Rhona leaped into the water to help Rudolf drag the boat beyond the waves.
"My lady..." Rudolf began.
"Shut it, Wolf," she snapped. "Your lady's not here. Lewis?"
"We check the houses. See if there's anyone left. Then I alert the tavern." Lewis smiled evilly.
The only lights in Uig were in the tavern, but Rudolf checked anyway. House after house was empty – people and their possessions gone. He met up with Lewis on the road to the beach. "No one left," Rudolf said.
"I found a few hiding, but they only came for supplies. They'll return to the caves tonight." Lewis squared his shoulders. "Are your men ready, do you think?"
Rudolf smiled. "Light the lamp, and you shall see."
Lewis unshuttered his lamp, and an answering light flared to life in the bay.
The sounds of a Viken drinking song floated across the water.
"Hey, I know that one," Lewis said. He seized Rudolf's hand and broke into a run.
"Vikens! In the bay! In ships!" he shouted, repeating his frantic call to arms all the way up the road to the tavern. He staggered through the door, breathlessly announcing, "Vikens in the harbour!" before he collapsed spectacularly on the floor.
Rudolf had to step over Lewis to enter the tavern. "I saw them too," he said. "Invaders!" He didn't need to pretend. Albans were enough to bring a genuine snarl to his face.
The men he'd taken for Islanders earlier in the day rose from their seats and headed outside with grim purpose.
"Vikens! To arms!" The shout from outside issued from more than one mouth.
The barman set out two cups and filled them, then pushed them toward Lewis. Lewis took one, and gestured for Rudolf to take the other.
"Fill one for yourself, man," Lewis commanded, and the barman obeyed. All three men lifted their cups before Lewis continued, "To victory!"
The barman drained his cup, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "So it is time, then?"
"Time to fight!" Lewis slammed his empty cup on the counter. "Come on, son. Drink up, or you'll miss it!"
Rudolf did not need to be told twice. Down went the mead, and it was with the memory of sweetness on his tongue that he said, "Leave town now, if you want no part in the battle."
The barman slapped a greatsword on the bar, followed by a bow and a clacking quiver of arrows. "I'm no coward. Lead the way, my lord."
Rudolf returned to the now deserted street. The Alban drinkers had run off for reinforcements and the unmistakeable march of booted feet in the distance heralded their arrival.
Rudolf cupped his hands round his mouth and let out his loudest warcry. A faint answer came from the boat in the bay. The rest of his men were in place, then.
The booted feet quickened their pace and for the first time, Rudolf saw them. As though every Alban he'd ever killed in his boyhood had come back to life, carrying torches as they raced to take their revenge. But not tonight. No, tonight they passed him by, headed for the beach.
The Albans formed up along the shore, lifting bows and nocking arrows. Runners made haste along the lines, carrying buckets of oil and torches to set the fire arrows alight.
In the bay, the Sea Wolf's sodden crew struck up a tune again, louder this time. They paddled parallel to the shore, still singing.
"Fire!" someone shouted, and the arrows flew. Arcing across the water to shoot the waves, sending up puffs of steam before they sank.
"Again!"
More arrows flew, but the boat was out of range.
Frey rose from his seat and bellowed, "The shore's that way, you fools! Turn this boat around!"
The singing men proceeded to row the boat in a circle, following the curve of the bay. Arrows rose and fell, but didn't hit their mark.
"Cease fire!" The Alban commander had seen sense. "Wait until they are in range!"
But Frey was not as drunk as he seemed, and every man aboard the Sea Wolf knew to keep their distance, however loudly they sang.
While Frey kept the Albans distracted, the rest of the Vikens crept out of the dunes. All of the raiders were veterans who'd fought the Opplanders under Rudolf's command – the enemy would not know they were there until they wanted them to. And then, it would be too late.
Rudolf silently signalled where he wanted his men. When they were in place, he let out another warcry.
"Vikens in the town!" came the shout from the beach.
Arrows rained down on the houses, setting fire to roofs and walls alike. Vikens poured from the houses and into the street, running from the town as though fleeing from the fire.
The Albans gave chase, only to find the way blocked by a hay wagon that hadn't been there on their march in.
Rhona freed the horse from the wagon, gave it a slap on the rump to send it away, and stared at the wagon. The hay blazed into life.
The Alban soldiers turned to go back the way they'd come.
Only to find the way blocked by another wagon, driven by Lewis. Rhona cast some spell and set that alight, too.
Panicked soldiers turned to the houses, only to be met by a hail of arrows from both sides.
Rudolf climbed atop the tavern's roof – the only one not burning, for fire arrows didn't work on sod – and set his own bow to work. Beside him, the tavern keeper proved to be a surprisingly good shot.
In the flickering orange light, Rudolf glimpsed hell – dead and dying men, crawling and crying for help that would not come. Albans, all, as his men abandoned the burning houses to climb on the roof beside him.
Men still milled around on the beach – Albans who hadn't managed to get into the town before it went up in flames. Rudolf lifted his bow to finish the job.
A hand shot out and grabbed his bow. "Nay, let them run," Lewis said softly. "Rhona can speed them on their way. They have a tale to tell."
Ribbons of flame snaked across the sand, biting at the boots of the Albans who remained on the beach. "Run, ye cowards!" she screamed. "The Wolf Prince is coming for you, and all your kind! The Wolf Prince will burn out every Alban until the Southern Isles are free of you!"
The men swarmed over the fishing boats, launching a frightened flotilla into the bay as the Sea Wolf beached itself on shore.
"Shall we go after them, sir?" Frey shouted.
Rudolf shook his head. He watched the boats drift away, reminding himself that each battle brought him closer to Portia. To home.
"The war has begun," Rudolf said.
Lewis slapped him on the back. "And we'll need more mead before it's done. Padraig, get our Viken brothers a drink!"
"Yes, my lord," Padraig the barman said.
TWENTY-FOUR
Portia watched the Albans pack their things onto their horses and head for Portnahaven, casting frightened looks around them as they went.
"Where are they going?" she asked.
"Some say to fight the Normans back in Alba, while others say they're bei
ng sent to fight the Wolf." Grieve shrugged and rubbed at a stubborn spot on his armour. "The lot of them pray that they might be sent home, for they've found a cold welcome here."
"I hope they're being sent to the Wolf, and he kills the lot of them," Portia said.
Tales of the Viken prince had reached her even here, for with Mason gone, her men shared meals and news with the Albans. News they were only too happy to bring back to her.
"They are fighting men, no different from us, truly," Dermot piped up. "And I wouldn't wish the Wolf on any man. They say he moves like a ghost, taking a town before anyone knows he is there. And he burns places to the ground, with all the people inside, too. 'Tis a terrible death, to be burned alive."
Portia paled. "Towns? You mean the Viken prince can't tell the difference between our people and Albans?"
"Perhaps. It's not like the Wolf has lived among us, my lady," Grieve said. "Or mayhap he does not care. Our people gave the Albans shelter, invited them onto land the Viken king claims. While they dwell in our halls, we must defend them, too. If he sees us as Alban allies against him, you cannot blame a man for calling us all his enemies."
"I have not taken up arms against him! Neither have you." Portia smoothed her skirt to hide her consternation. "Surely he will not consider us his enemies."
"But we will take up arms against him, my lady. We are all honour bound to defend you. We swore an oath."
She remembered. How could she not? But the thought that these men, her only friends, would be forced to die for her, was one she was not willing to face.
"Why do they call him the Wolf?" she asked. "Surely the prince has a name."
"He has many names, lady," said Damhan. "The Wolf, or the Wolf Prince. Lately, the one I hear most from the Albans is the Big, Bad Wolf." He laughed. "He sounds like a villain from a children's tale, but he frightens grown men as well as children."
"Why?" Portia persisted.
"He's a Viken giant, as big as they come," Brian said. "Any man who burns whole villages cannot be good. They say he torched the port at Myroy when he first landed, and every town he's touched since. And he is as crafty as a wolf. The Albans who fled Myroy said they would see one Viken and hurry to attack, only to find themselves surrounded and outnumbered. He has a mighty army, all giants like him, and he will not stop until the Southern Isles are his."
Blow Page 8
