by Speer, Flora
“You even tricked your brave friend Rodfos,” Sven continued. “That was unkind of you, Erik. Rodfos paid dearly for your falsehoods.”
“What have you done to Rodfos?” Lenora’s mouth went dry as she recalled the red-haired sailor.
“He was a hard man to kill,” Sven said. “He wouldn’t tell us where you had gone, but we found another man who remembered seeing Rodfos and Torgard together, so we followed Torgard to Kiev, hoping to find you. Our guess proved correct.”
Lenora staggered with the shock of Sven’s news. She leaned against a tree for support and tried vainly to blink back the tears. “Rodfos,” she whispered. She could only hope that Rodfos had met in the afterlife the woman he had loved long ago, the one she had reminded him of.
“Rodfos will be avenged,” Erik promised her.
“By whom?” Sven sneered. “You are all going to die just as soon as Snorri arrives. I would like to do the job myself, but I promised I would wait for him.”
“Erik,” Lenora said, “I want a sword.”
“To do what?” Sven laughed.
“To use it. I killed Hrolf. I may kill you, for Rodfos’ sake.”
Sven looked surprised at her angry words.
“You won’t have the chance, wench,” he told her.
Halfdan put his sword into Lenora’s hands. She grasped it tightly, feeling its great weight tugging at her muscles.
“I have Bone-biter,” Halfdan said, pulling his battle-ax from his belt.
“You would let a woman use your sword?” Sven scoffed.
“Only this woman. I won’t be without a sword for long. I’ll take yours, once I’ve killed you.”
“You are welcome to try, Halfdan.”
“Please let me go,” Torgard begged, still straining at his bonds. “Please. I’ll leave here, I won’t bother anyone, I promise.”
The stream of pleading words was cut off as Sven casually stabbed Torgard. Sven straightened, stepped back, and met Halfdan’s battle-ax. He fell without a word. Halfdan picked up Sven’s sword.
“I told him I’d have another one soon,” he said cheerfully. “Be careful now, Lenora. Watch your back.”
“I will.”
Sven’s men surged forward, determined to avenge their fallen leader. There were only four of them, but they were large and strong, and blood-lust flamed in their eyes.
Lenora stood with her back against a tree. Erik and Halfdan stood before her, protecting her. Each quickly brought down a man. They had fought without shields, having packed their own into the boat, but they now picked up the shields of Sven’s dead comrades.
Lenora watched, holding her breath, as the men fought, dodging around trees, ducking blows, retreating only to return to the attack, shields raised to ward off blows as they slashed and parried.
Halfdan was wounded. Lenora saw the blood running down his arm, but he laughed and, dropping his shield, tossed his sword to his other hand and kept on fighting. In a short time Sven’s men lay dead.
Lenora began to bandage Halfdan’s arm.
“No time for that now,” Erik panted. “Do it later. Into the boat, Lenora. Halfdan, help me push it off.”
A familiar harsh laugh floated through the trees; a bulky body forced its way through the underbrush.
“What’s this? Sven dead? Am I next? If I had known you were going to be so brave, cripple, I’d have brought more men with me.”
“I have been waiting for you, Snorri.” Erik left the boat, which he had been pushing toward the river, and turned to face his brother. Bjarni stood beside Snorri.
“Where is Freydis?” Snorri demanded.
Erik told him. Lenora noted that Erik did not mention the disputed hoard of silver. Snorri’s face grew red with rage as he listened.
“Now, Erik, I am going to feed you to the eagles at last. As for you, you miserable slut,” he roared at Lenora, “How dare you pose as my sister? I should have killed you the first day I saw you.”
Snorri’s battle-ax whirled in his fist as he took a step toward Lenora. Before he could let it fly, Erik’s sword sliced across his arm. Snorri dropped the ax and pulled his sword out of its scabbard with his good hand. Erik lunged at him again. They fought, snarling and panting, dodging among the trees, until Lenora lost sight of them in the thick growth.
Meanwhile, Bjarni attacked Halfdan. He hefted his short-handled spear, a confident smile on his face. Bjarni was proud of his prowess with this weapon. Lenora had often seen him in the practice yard at Thorkellshavn, working on the twisting throw for which he was justly famous.
Halfdan moved forward, sword in hand. Bjarni let go of the spear with an effortless thrust that spun it through the air and imbedded it deep in Halfdan’s chest. Halfdan dropped the sword and crashed backward like a great tree being felled.
Before the spear had left Bjarni’s fingers, Lenora had begun to run toward him, holding the sword Halfdan had given her. Bjarni reached for his own sword, but Lenora was too quick for him. Before Bjarni ‘s blade was free of its scabbard, Lenora had struck at him, and he went down.
Lenora turned to Halfdan, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking with grief and rage combined. Kneeling, she lifted his head onto her lap.
“You are a true friend to avenge me so soon. And with my own sword.” Incredible as it seemed, Halfdan was smiling at her, although his voice was weak. “Where is Erik?”
Lenora looked around to see Erik moving toward them through the underbrush.
“He’s coming now. Halfdan, we have to get that spear out of you.”
“Not yet. Let me talk to Erik first.”
Erik came to them quickly. He knelt and clasped Halfdan’s hand.
“Brother,” Halfdan said.
“Brother. I wounded Snorri, but he ran away.”
“He would. He’ll be back.” Halfdan took a deep, obviously painful breath. “Don’t cry, Lenora. This is a good death. My own Valkyrie will come for me soon.”
“Oh, Halfdan.” She could not stop the tears.
“When you see Freydis, tell her my last thoughts were of her. Get you safely to Miklagard, Erik. Don’t worry about a funeral. I don’t need one.
“I’ll raise a rune-stone for you.”
“Carve on it that I died in Gardariki in a good cause.” Halfdan took another difficult breath.
“Give me my own sword. I want it in my hands.”
Erik picked it up and laid it in Halfdan’s cold hand, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.
“Lenora used it well,” Halfdan murmured, his voice weaker. “She has avenged me. She killed Bjarni.”
“Lenora did? Yes, she would.”
“Now, Brother, pull out the spear and let me go.”
Erik rose. He placed his hands on the spear handle and tugged. Halfdan grunted in pain. Erik tugged again.
“Stop it, stop it,” Lenora cried. “You’re killing him.”
“It has to be done. He’s dying anyway. Better quickly with us here than leave him to the wolves, or to Snorri and his men.”
“Try again, Brother.” Halfdan’s voice was calm. “I would help you, but I’m indisposed.”
Erik looked at Lenora. “Help me,” he said.
“No, I can’t, I won’t.”
“Lenora,” Halfdan whispered, “do it for me.” His blue eyes met hers in a painful plea.
Reluctantly, Lenora set her hands over Erik’s on the spear shaft and together they pulled. And pulled again. As the spear came out they stumbled backward.
“Freydis…” Halfdan’s last breath whispered away on the wind. Lenora fell beside him, weeping uncontrollably.
“Enough of that, Lenora. Come away.”
“We can’t leave him like this.”
“There is nothing we can do for him now. He wanted us to save ourselves. Come on.” Erik pulled her toward the boat.
“Why aren’t you crying?” Lenora demanded, still unable to stop her own tears. “He was your blood-brother.”
“Norsemen n
ever weep for their dead. You should know that by now.” Nevertheless, there was a hard, tight look to Erik’s mouth, as though he was holding back a cry of pain. He pushed at the boat, and it began to slide into the river.
“Get in,” Erik ordered.
“Wait! Please wait for me.”
At the sound of a woman’s voice, Erik spun around to face this latest intrusion, sword in his hand once more. A tall, slender figure in a tattered dress ran between the trees, her long hair streaming behind her.
“Help me,” she cried. “Don’t let Snorri capture me again.”
The woman stopped abruptly, looking at the bodies that lay scattered among the trees. She stepped to one and nudged it lightly with her foot.
“Sven is dead. I’m glad.” She looked more closely at Erik. “You are Thorkell’s other son.”
“I am, but I don’t know you.” Erik did not relax his guarded stance. His eyes flicked behind the woman, looking for possible attackers, then moved back to her face.
“I am Maura,” she said.
Erik looked perplexed until Lenora explained.
“I recognize her. She’s an Irish woman Snorri brought home as slave for Thorkell. Your father later gave her to Sven.”
“I remember now.”
So did Lenora. Bitter memories came back to her. This was the woman whose gloriously beautiful, red-haired presence in Thorkell‘s bed had made Edwina so unhappy. She was no longer lovely. She was pale and looked half-starved. She lifted one hand to push back her lank, dirty hair and her sleeve fell away, revealing bruises on the pasty-white flesh of her bony forearm. She saw Lenora looking.
“Snorri did that, and Sven did worse,” she said, looking straight at Erik. “I escaped while they were fighting you. Wherever you are going, it will be better than remaining with Snorri. Take me with you.”
“Am I to drag two women with me all the way to Miklagard?”
“I won’t be any trouble to you,” Maura said hopefully.
“That’s what Lenora said before we left Thorkellshavn, and she has been nothing but trouble ever since.”
“Trouble!” Lenora glared at him, forgetting for a moment her grief over Halfdan. “I have been more help than trouble and you know it.”
“Were you help when you had to be rescued from Attair?”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, don’t waste time quarreling,” Maura begged. “Snorri will return soon. He has more men at his camp. We must leave here.”
“That is exactly what we are going to do, once my lazy slave gets herself into my boat.”
Lenora, too angry to respond, climbed over the side, moving Halfdan’s cauldron to make room to sit down, barely resisting the urge to heave it at Erik. She would settle this foolishness about her being his slave again once they were safely away from Snorri.
Maura tried to get into the boat after her, but she was too weak. With an annoyed exclamation, Erik picked her up and dumped her in. He gave the craft one last shove and leapt aboard as it spun out into the current. He moved to the stern and took the tiller, steered into the middle of the river where the current was strongest, and headed south.
Chapter 22
“Open the sail,” Erik ordered brusquely. “If you want to travel with me, you will both have to work.”
The two women strained at the twisted hide ropes. Maura was too weak and exhausted to be much help, but Lenora hauled with all her might while the small square sail slowly lifted and caught the wind. They sailed until after sunset, until the clear sky was a deep lavender-blue and a nearly full moon rose, lighting the empty river with silver.
Lenora had expected they would stop when darkness came, but Erik continued at the tiller. The river’s current was strong, pulling them southward, past the dark forest and the pale, ghostly beaches of the islands dotting the river. There were no sounds but the ripple of the water, punctuated now and then by a soft command from Erik. He spoke seldom, and Lenora suspected he was thinking of Halfdan.
It was not until the moon had nearly set that Erik directed the boat toward a beach on one of the islands and told them to lower the sail. The women climbed out, stiff and weary, to help him pull the boat up onto the sand.
“We will be off again at dawn,” Erik said. “We’ll take turns standing guard, and I don’t want either of you to fall asleep when it’s your turn. Snorri is sure to come downriver after us, and we had better watch out for Attair too.”
The mention of Attair reminded Lenora of her argument with Erik. Somehow she had to convince him she was a free woman, but for now she was too tired. She collapsed onto the sandy beach and fell asleep at once, not caring that she had no covering. It seemed she had only blinked her eyes when Erik was shaking her shoulder and telling her it was her turn to keep watch.
“Wake me as soon as it is light enough to see the river,” he instructed.
She sat on the sand in the darkness, leaning against the side of the boat, listening to the water moving past the little island.
Erik had told her once that the journey from Kiev to the sea was the most dangerous part of the voyage to Miklagard. It took at least forty-two days and sometimes much longer, with dangerous rapids and violent nomadic tribesmen along the way. They had no choice; they had to go on, for behind them were Snorri and Attair, either of whom would soon be at their heels.
Lenora stretched, moving her stiff shoulders. She could see the faint glow in the eastern sky that foretold the dawn. Soon it would be time to wake the others. If only Halfdan were with them. She wiped away a tear. She must not think of Halfdan. She would think instead of a subject that ought to bring her satisfaction.
The retribution for which she had once yearned with such a violent passion was nearly complete. Hrolf and Bjarni were slain; of the leaders of the raid that had destroyed her family only Snorri remained, and she would do anything in her power to make him pay for the blood he had shed. But there was no comfort or even relief to be found in that knowledge, and for the first time she considered the possibility that the cost of vengeance might be too high.
She had not expected to find friendship among the Vikings, yet friendship had been given to her. She thought of honest Thorkell, of Freydis, of Ingvar and Asmund and Tola. She thought again of Halfdan. Then, finally, inevitably, her thoughts dwelt upon Erik, upon the child they had conceived together in tender pleasure, and of the way he had rescued her from Attair.
Laying her head back against the boat she looked up toward the stars, but she did not see them for the many tears blinding her. So many dead to claim her tears, so little joy to be had from revenge, so much pain caused by hatred. She had in the past year wept too often from rage or bitterness or grief or frustration. These tears were different. They cleansed her heart, so that when the soft breeze had dried the last moisture upon her cheeks she felt renewed and at peace. She looked around, a little surprised to find herself still sitting in the same place. She felt as though she had ended a long and difficult journey.
It was lighter now. The sky and river were both a pale, rose-tinged gray. She saw Erik’s sleeping form stretched on the sand near her, his naked sword by his hand. She reached toward him to touch the warm skin of his face, to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead.
He caught her wrist, pulling her down onto his chest until their mouths nearly touched. She could feel his warm breath and the firm, steady beat of his heart.
“It’s almost dawn,” she whispered
* * *
They reached Vitaholm at midday. This was the place where the merchant fleet assembled each year after leaving Kiev. With summer waning and the flotilla gone on its way to Miklagard, the fortified outpost was nearly deserted, the lookout tower on the hill standing as a last, lonely sentry before the wild southern steppe-lands.
“We will stop,” Erik told them. “If there is anyone going south on the river, it will be from here. It would be safer to join a party, rather than trying to make the trip alone.”
>
They soon learned there was no such group.
“We go on quickly then,” Erik said. “If we can have no protection from numbers, speed must be our safety.”
The women pleaded for a night of rest within Vitaholm’s ramparts. Maura was plainly exhausted. She had told Lenora of being repeatedly beaten and nearly starved by the coldly sadistic Sven. Lenora feared she would not survive the trip to Miklagard, and said so.
In spite of his eagerness to be gone, Erik admitted his sympathy for the bone-thin woman. He allowed them to stop long enough to trade some woolen cloth for bowls of a hot, meaty stew, coarse brown bread, and flagons of ale from an old woman in the marketplace, who stirred a huge cauldron over a fire.
Maura ate her food with the concentrated intensity of one who has gone without for too long.
“Eat it slowly,” Erik cautioned. “You don’t want to be sick.”
“I haven’t eaten this much at one time since I left Thorkellshavn,” Maura said. She wiped her bowl with a last crust of bread, swallowed it, and licked her fingers. “That was so good.”
Well fortified by their meal, they set out again. Once more they traveled until the moon had nearly set and then slept briefly.
Attair found them at dawn, as they pushed the boat back into the river. He came with a dozen mounted companions. He signaled for his men to wait and rode alone onto the beach to confront Erik and the women.
“Get into the boat,” Erik said softly.
“I won’t leave you.” Lenora had needed only one look at Attair’s cruel, handsome face to know she would rather die at Erik’s side than ever belong to Attair again.
“Obey me, Lenora,” Erik said. “I want to be able to sail quickly.”
“Please, Lenora,” Maura begged, nervously eyeing Attair. “I’m afraid of that man.”
The two women gave the boat another shove, waded into the river with it, and clambered aboard. Lenora picked up the oars. Using them as poles, she and Maura held the craft steady, waiting for Erik.
“Erik Far-traveler, give me the woman and I’ll let you live,” Attair called.
