Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2011 Alexandra O'Hurley
ISBN: 978-1-926950-77-8
Cover Artist: LF Designs
Editor: Caitlin Ray
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my Mother and Daughter—Hopefully, one step closer to Harbour View...
NIGHT OF THE DRAGON
A Berserker Mate's Story, 1
Alexandra O'Hurley
Copyright © 2011
I'll ask of the berserkers, you tasters of blood,
[…]Wolf-skinned they are called. In battle
They bear bloody shields.
Red with blood are their spears when they come to fight
[…]The prince in his wisdom puts trust in such men
Who hack through enemy shields
—Haraldskvæði, Thórbiörn Hornklofi
Ninth Century poem in honor of King Harald Fairhair
Chapter One
Ryden padded through the battlefield, jumping over the battered corpses and broken bodies littering it, along with discarded armaments and wrecked weapons. Lifting his head to the darkening sky, he sniffed the scent of blood on the air, the smell making his entire body tremble. He inhaled deeply before howling into the wind. The roars and cries of his brethren met his ear, giving him some sense of calm that they had too made it through without death claiming them as it had so many others.
He also knew they were all on edge, the taste and scent of blood making the line between man and beast blur. Disheartened by too many sieges as of late, he turned towards his king, in hopes some peace would lay ahead before more warfare ensued. Fighting was his way of life; he had been born and bred to wage war. But even the strongest of warriors eventually needed time to sooth their wounds before sent into battle again, and needed time to face their own humanity.
Shifting back into his human form, the blood of the many he had killed still smeared his skin, laid on his thick muscles in drying clumps, as he could taste the tang of iron on his tongue. King Harald smiled down from him from atop his horse, oblivious to his appearance, men here were used to battle and blood. It was a way of life for most, and death was a daily occurrence.
“You have all done a great thing here today Ryden. This battle will be the turning point, I can feel it. Collect the others and ride out to Hafrsfjord immediately. Kjotve is amassing the collective kingdoms there. We must defeat him and swiftly.” Herald looked out over the battlefield, pride glowing in his weathered eyes, the deep set wrinkles creasing a face etched by war and harsh climate.
Ryden’s stomach knotted. Dying was part of living, and no one knew that better than he, but the lust his king had for battle recently was chilling. “My liege, I am honored you again use us to aid the cause, but my men are battle weary, and have fought in countless battles as of late. Let me give them two days rest, and then we will move swiftly to Hafrsfjord. Two more days will not allow your foes to be victorious.”
“Gyda will not have me unless I am king over all Norway. I will not fail in this. She must be mine.” Ryden watched the man’s eyes glaze over, sightless except for his mind’s eye, obviously thinking of the woman who ensorcelled him. A shiver raced up Ryden’s spine, fear leaking out through his body.
“You will not fail; we will not let you, Your Highness. My men have stood by your side as we did your father, and his father, Gudrød. We will not let your family down. But even we must have our rest; we are war weary and need but two days.”
Harald looked contemplative for a few moments. “I shall give you but one. I do not have time for your weakness. Now, gather the others and get them away from this scene of death and give them their rest. I will meet with you in two days hence, and plan Kjotve’s demise.” Harald turned his mount and kicked the animal’s flanks before the animal shot across the battlefield.
Bowing as he watched the man go, he twisted and turned, forcing his body back into his wolven form once Harald was out of sight, howling his call to his packmates. Rayne met him almost immediately, racing alongside him, to meet up with the others. Eryck and Erulf were next, each bellowing a deep throated growl as each rose up on two rear paws in the form of a mighty grizzly and shifted back to a man’s form. Joran and Jakob’s wolf form crawled from the woods surrounding the soft open circle, and soon after the six nude, blood-stained men stared at each other within the ring of trees they stood.
“One day’s rest, then off to Hafrsfjord. Meet in Romsdal on tomorrow eve, and we ride.”
All six switched to their wolven selves and scattered to the wind, seeking what little peace they could.
The following night, the six gathered horses and gear from their camp, and sped towards Hafrsfjord, trusting their animals to get their weary bodies to the next bloodied scene. All knew this battle would be the culmination of the war. Ryden was fatigued, as were the others. Considering he and his men were immortal, he was afraid that exhaustion would spell disaster for them all. Harald had used them hard these past few years, hope filled Ryden that Hafrsfjord would be the end for the near future.
Gyda, the beautiful daughter of Eirick, King of Hordeland, was as exquisite as she was deadly. This was not the first set of wars fought on her behalf, and Ryden hoped Harald would be able to tame the wench. Stories filled with mystery surrounded the woman, and Ryden disliked all he had heard, but he better than anyone knew that stories were not always true. Many people feared he and his men, as many should. But they had all heard tall tales woven about them that were laughable at best.
The men arrived on the outskirts of the settlement after riding all night, and scented the air, following their noses to an encampment that housed Kjotve’s armies. Watching the men there, it saddened Ryden to know that many of his countrymen would die by his hands, but he would always show fealty to his king.
****
Ten days later, King Harald Fairhair stood victorious upon the battlefield, with his six bloody Berserkers behind him and his new queen standing to his left. Looking down upon Kjotve as he kneeled at the king’s feet, King Harald demanded his fealty.
Kjotve looked upon the whole of them, eyes black with anger, his body shaking in rage. “You will see that the witch who stands beside you was not worth all of this. You have killed your countrymen, for naught. She will bring you nothing but death and despair, this witch. Trust me in this. She will curse you all and your lands.”
Harald turned to gaze at the round soft blonde curls that created an innocent halo around Gyda’s head. She turned, rubbing the fine hairs of Harald’s beard and smiled at him sweetly. For all that looked upon the pair, it seemed like nothing more than a couple in love. So sweetly Gyda gazed upon her new husband, no one could see the truth in Kjotve’s words until she uttered two words that destroyed the mirage. “Kill him.”
Ryden’s insides froze at her sweetly spoken words. He had heard the beautiful woman truly was a witch and feared she controlled Harald. This moment would be the proof of those tales, and Ryden held his breath, awaiting his king’s reply. Remembering the many battles before, Harald had always shown mercy to the fallen kings of those besieged lands. Ryden had often asked him if he worried about those men warring against him again, to have Harald laugh and tell him that the best members of his cou
rt were those he had beaten and then given back limited power.
But now, Harald turned to Ryden, grim eyed and slack jawed. “Take his head, Ryden.” Ryden knew in that moment, his king was but a puppet.
Ryden stood still, unsure of what to do. He had always been loyal to his king, but if the witch was in control, it was not Harald’s true will. Looking at his pack, he searched their eyes, hoping to see in them the answer to his dilemma. He had always followed the orders of his liege, but he felt instant contempt for his new queen. He had not yet taken an oath of fealty to her.
Gyda stepped away from Harald’s side, stepping in front of Ryden, placing her soft hand on his arm. “Take his head, Ryden. It will bring me joy.”
Ryden felt the soft pull from her magic coil through his tightly wound muscles. Tingling down his spine, the soft whisper of her call almost pulled him, as fatigued as he was from battle. Had he not been immortal, she would have easily swayed him. But her call was for naught.
Her eyes blackened as she realized her power held no sway over him. Winds picked up, fanning dirt and pebbles about, stinging as they crashed into his skin. Lightning pounded overhead, and the now blackening sky lit up with each charge of electricity. Gyda’s soft curls whipped about her head as her eyes switched from black to a soft glowing red and iridescent scales swirled along her face.
Looking upon the men standing before her she shrieked. “You refuse me?” She gazed upon Kjotve, twisting her hands in a ball front of her as she gathered energy from her core. With that, a ball of fire stuck Kjotve, burning the man within seconds. Turning around she began to twist her hands before her as she glared at Ryden.
Erulf and Eryck stepped forward, quickly drawing wards in front of Ryden to fend off some of her magic. They were almost too late, as another burst of fire barely missed Ryden’s head. Erulf and Eryck continued to draw wards closer to her to bind her powers, before she could collect more energy. Rayne, morphing into his wolven shape, stalked to the back of the woman, trying to get close enough to cut her down, as Joran and Jakob unsheathed their swords, coming at her from both sides.
Harald stood frozen, unseeing, until Gyda noticed the wolf behind her. Using her thrall, she pulled Harald at her back facing away, to prevent Rayne from striking her.
The wards were not much against her strength, and as she blasted each with her energy, each ward popped and sizzled in bright blue in the air around them as she broke through them. But it was enough to cause Gyda to weaken if only from excess use of her skills, trying to get through the haze of littered wards. It bought the men time.
Drawing all her strength, she laughed at the men. “You may think you have won, but I have Harald. I banish and I curse you.” She rose, her feet lifting from the ground, a purple smoke swirling around her lower body as she floated closer to them. “Former enn tusen år, vil du ikke finne kjærligheten, vil du ikke finne lykke, og du vil ikke spre din ætt. Og jeg vil finne din elskere, og jeg vil drepe dem alle foran øynene dine.”
Gyda turned around, pulling the dazed Harald behind her, wrapped them both in her soft woolen röggvarafeldur hanging from around her neck and disappeared from sight. Ryden felt as if his life force had been sapped as she left, pulling the happiness from his heart and soul. Looking around at his men, he saw the same distant look haunting their faces.
Four wolves and two bears left the woods that night, never to be seen again in Norway. After over sixty years of blood, battles, and corpses, the Berserkers were unsure of the path they continued to travel, and their oath of fealty, forced on them at birth, was now worthless.
****
Freyja stood before her throne at Sessrumnir watching the thousands of souls within her Hall, eating roasted goat and barley cakes, and swilling mead by the cask full, the rough cheers of the valiant echoing up to the cavernous ceiling. She loved the sounds, her whole body thrumming with the life they brought to her and this place. The golden walls inset with precious gems surrounding them were not as lovely to gaze upon than the ruckus laughter of strong, fierce men.
The Nave was upon them, and the men here were in higher spirits, knowing the veil between the living and the dead would thin on this one night a year. The proud warriors would have their one chance to walk the Earth and see the loved ones they had left behind before returning to her Hall, to celebrate each eve until another year passed and they had their chance once more. The soldiers’ energies fed Freyja, and the love of all things Earthly kept their souls from withering away like rotting flesh from bone.
“My Queen, Odin approaches,” whispered one of the advisors at her left.
He would have to come and ruin my good mood. Freyja rolled her eyes, knowing nothing good ever occurred when Odin left Valhalla. Stepping back, swirling her cape around her, she sat upon her throne with a flourish, holding her head high, wanting to look as regal as possible when the errant god walked into her Hall.
And she didn’t have to wait long.
Thunder roared and lightning flashed as the large double doors burst open with a crack, the sound reverberating through the enormous space. Odin stood in the center, the inky black of night a curtain behind him, illuminating with the occasional flashes of his anger. His golden hair curled and fluttered with the winds, at mercy to his emotions. Lines etched around his eyes, deepened due to his apparent anger, and his golden orbs glowed from across the room. He looked past the crowd, directly at Freyja and her heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second. That was until she told her head to take over for her loins and remember what an arrogant ass he was. Stomping towards her throne followed by his entourage, the sea of people parted, allowing her a view of the deity himself.
“You dare steal from me, woman?” He had barely reached her when Odin erupted in anger.
Freyja couldn’t stand it when Odin’s face puckered up like he smelled rotting fish. “I have not stolen anything of yours.”
“The souls your Valkyrie took this morn? Five hundred souls were to come to Valhalla, the final two hundred were promised to you here at Sessrumnir. Yet, all seven hundred warriors are right here, feasting and drinking instead of seated at my table.”
“Seven hundred souls celebrate here because they chose to come with my Valkyrie, not because I forced them into my Hall.”
“Choice? There is no choice. I want my souls and I want them now! You will see to their delivery to Valhalla by sunrise.” Odin turned from her, stomping back towards the double doors without her submission.
You are a greedy, insolent child. “Or what?”
Odin paused in midstep, the anger radiating off him like a thick fog that threatened to contaminate the whole room, suffocating all within it. Freyja stood and took a deep breath, holding it in her lungs, feeling the burn come as she refused to exhale.
Odin turned around, inspecting her from head to foot, the wrinkling of his nose showing his disdain. “I have allowed you to take from my warriors to sustain Sessrumnir for eons in return for your Valkyries’ help. Have I given you too much that you feel the need for more? Perhaps I will choose to collect them all. And then where will you get your power?”
Freyja slowly stepped down from her dais, one step at a time, keeping her gaze leveled on Odin. She moved to stand before him, her hands on her hips, feet shoulder width apart. She held her ground, trying to show no weakness. “How will the warriors find Valhalla without my Valkyrie?”
“Woman, you will do your duty, and so will your Valkyrie.”
Freyja closed her eyes, knowing they were in a stalemate that the argument could go on forever if she allowed in. And stating the obvious answer to his challenge would equate to an out and out decree of war. Shifting to a new strategy, she walked to the nearest table, grasped a tankard of mead and swallowed half the liquid before dropping it to the scarred wooden top.
“The Nave is near.”
“And your point?”
“The veil thins. There is little difference between life, death.”
“Stop playing your
games, woman, and spit it out. I grow older standing here awaiting your point.”
Freyja smiled at Odin, as the plans began to formulate in her head. Looking down to her feet, she saw invisible scales ripple across her skin in excitement before she was able to tamp down her glee. “Your warriors will be brought to you by sunrise.” And perhaps, I will just replenish my stores with your live warriors, and leave you to your dead.
Chapter Two
Click-click-click-click-click. The metal gears moved into place slowly, and then a silent, weighted pause. Screams reverberated as the descent began. A swooshing sound signaled the drop, as bodies were returned to the ground, the metal friction echoing through the field. Silence filled the air again as the task was completed. Click-click-click-click-click. More screams followed, with the clicking noise heralding the end was near. Karli looked up to see the next group of people about to be dropped from two hundred and thirty feet above her. Those screams were a joy to her ears, hearing them allowed her to know they were doing their jobs right.
No better sound on Earth than the screams of delight coming from a roller coaster.
Karli finished strapping on her radio, and plugged her earpiece into one ear before stepping from the staging area into the park. As an operations manager, she loved walking from area to area, watching families enjoy themselves, kids squealing in glee, parents running to keep up, and it was a necessity as well to ensure that her team was doing their job. And now was an even better time to be in the park, as their annual Halloween celebration, Scream Town, was nearing its culmination.
At dusk, the family friendly park became a maze of haunted houses, haunted hayrides, and goblins tucked into every corner, ready to spring out and scare, and the roller coasters kept on running, too. The screams from the coasters added to the ambiance of the Halloween festivities. Add in the light shows, kids in costume, traditional holiday goodies, as well as the nightly fireworks shows, and her job was just that much more fun than usual.
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