The Dream of the Iron Dragon

by Robert Kroese

  “I’m not even going to ask,” Slater said.

  “It was actually Sigurd’s idea,” Reyes said. “Not the solder. The kidnapping.”

  Sigurd had thus far remained silent, but his eyes lit up at the mention of his name. Reyes turned to him, pantomiming a sword being held to her throat. “Harald,” she said, and pointed her finger at him.

  Sigurd nodded but said nothing. He finished his soup, said a thank-you to Slater, and got up, setting the bowl down on the bench. He walked quietly to the door and went outside. The other three Norsemen continued to stare into the coals, saying nothing.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Slater asked.

  “Harald’s men killed his son,” Reyes said. “These people see a lot of death. They’re used to it, but…”

  “But they killed his son,” O’Brien said. “I know cultures vary, but that’s not something you just get over.”

  “It was horrible,” Slater said. “They murdered half the village and burned most of the village. I thought we were all going to die.”

  “I was pretty sure I was a goner too,” Gabe said. “It’s a miracle we all survived.”

  “No more splitting up,” Reyes said. “From now on, we stick together.”

  “Agreed,” O’Brien said.

  “These people are going to want vengeance,” Reyes said.

  Gabe nodded. “The Vikings were big—are big—on vengeance. Sigurd can’t even begin to mourn his son’s death until his murderers are killed.”

  “I thought the men who killed him were part of the first wave that attacked the lander,” Slater said.

  “They were,” Gabe replied. “Most of them, anyway. A dozen or so limped away.”

  “But that’s not enough.”

  “No. Revenge is personal with these people. Sigurd wanted to do it himself.”

  “You’d think his bloodlust would have been sated after what he did to Jannik,” Reyes murmured.

  Slater glanced at Gabe. Gabe shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

  The door opened and Njáll entered. They greeted him and Slater got him a bowl of soup. He and the other Norsemen seemed very happy to have a hot meal; if they found the soup disagreeable, they didn’t show it. When he’d downed his first bowl, Njáll explained through a series of gestures that Sigurd had agreed to take the first watch, and that Njáll had volunteered to be second.

  “God, he must be exhausted,” Slater said. “Maybe I should…”

  “Forget it, Slater,” Reyes said. “Let Sigurd do his thing.”

  “We don’t actually expect them to attack tonight?” Slater asked.

  “Not likely,” Gabe said. “Harald doesn’t know how much ammo we have, and he’s lost over a hundred men already. I think he’s going to err on the side of caution. In any case, time is on his side.”

  “How is that?” Reyes asked.

  “Harald Fairhair united all of Norway. It’s a historical fact. If we run to Uslu with these people, all we’ve done is decide where Harald is going to attack next.”

  “You think we’re that important to him?”

  “He’s seen our ship and our weapons. Yeah, I think we’re that important.”

  “But our ship was destroyed and we’re almost out of ammo.”

  “He’s not after the objects themselves, Reyes,” Gabe said. “I mean, yeah, he’d have loved to get his hands on the lander, but these people understand the concept of technology. What he’s really after is what’s in our heads. He thinks we know where he can get more guns, or how to make them. And he’s right. Any one of us has enough knowledge in our heads to reshape Europe.”

  “I’m a biologist,” Slater said. “How do you figure I’m going to reshape Europe?”

  Gabe ticked off items on his fingers. “Crop rotation. Germ theory. Evolution.”

  Slater was dubious. “If Vikings torture me for my knowledge of the twenty-third century and I start talking about crop rotation and natural selection, they’re going to cut my head off just to make me stop talking.”

  “Point is,” Gabe said, “Harald is right, although maybe not in exactly the way he thinks. O’Brien could teach them how to refine iron into steel. Reyes could teach them about electromagnetism. I could teach them field medicine. Any one of those discoveries, introduced at the right place at the right time, could change the world.”

  “So what do we do?” O’Brien said. “If Uslu isn’t safe, then where?”

  “Uslu isn’t safe, but it’s probably the safest option for now,” Gabe said. “There’s no way we can survive on our own at this point. We don’t speak the language, we don’t know the terrain or the people, we don’t have much in the way of supplies.”

  “But if we go with them,” Reyes said, “we’ll be putting them in danger.”

  “Yes,” Gabe replied. “But we can also hold our own in a fight. My suggestion would be to stick with Sigurd’s people as long as they will have us.”

  “And then?” Slater asked.

  “I don’t know, Slater. I’m tired and sore. I don’t think I have it in me to plan more than a day in advance at this point.”

  “We’re all tired,” Reyes said. “We need to sleep.” The three Norsemen had already lain down. Brynjarr was snoring loudly.

  “Agreed,” Slater said. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It took them until after sunset the following day to get to Uslu. They got a late start, as Reyes and Gabe spent the morning rigging a stretcher that could be carried between two horses lengthwise. They strapped a pair of long poles to the saddles of the horses and then hung the insulation-panel-stretcher from the poles with pieces of cattle sinew Sigurd had found in the ruins. It would still be a bumpy ride for O’Brien, but the sinew would absorb at least some of the shock.

  Sigurd led the way on foot, followed by Njáll and Brynjarr. The seven horses came next. Reyes rode the first one; behind her were the two horses carrying O’Brien’s stretcher. Gabe and Slater followed on the two horses after that. The last two horses carried only food and other supplies. Reyes had suggested that they take turns on the horses, but Sigurd insisted that the Norseman walk. Gabe was recovering from his injuries, and Sigurd was convinced that Reyes and Slater would only slow them down. Reyes felt guilty about it, but she couldn’t deny being relieved that she wouldn’t have to try to keep pace with the Norsemen. Her calves still ached from running after Sigurd to the lander two days earlier. Being stuck on a spaceship for six weeks was poor preparation for traveling forty klicks cross country over rough terrain.

  Having nothing to occupy her other than staying atop her horse, Reyes had plenty of time to think. Gabe was right about Harald: he would never stop looking for them. They’d counted on twenty-third century technology to give them an advantage, but in the end it turned out to be a liability. They’d have been better off rigging the lander to self-destruct immediately, getting as far away as they could and doing their best to blend in. Now they were a target for the most powerful man in Norway and all of his sycophants. From what little she could understand of what Sigurd had told them, the current jarl of this area, Ari Birgirson, was no friend of Harald’s, but Ari had to know his territory’s days as an independent jarldom were numbered. Harald had been consolidating his power in Norway for twenty years; besides Ari’s jarldom, only three petty kingdoms in the southwest and a few communities in the valley remained independent. Would Ari trade them to Harald for a guarantee of continued independence? Reyes found it hard to believe Sigurd would knowingly lead them into such a trap. Whatever the others thought of the spacemen, Sigurd seemed to have accepted them as true allies. Even Sigurd could make mistakes, though—he’d already made a big one by assuming Harald’s men would attack the lander rather than the valley. On the other hand, Ari would be a fool to trust Harald. According to Gabe, Harald had eventually conquered all of Norway. Assuming they couldn’t undo settled history, Ari was doomed to either die or accept Harald’s dominion.
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br />   Uslu was a village of a few dozen buildings clustered north of a fjord that led ultimately to the sea. The travelers were warmly welcomed by Ari Birgirson and his wife, Astrid, who had been advised of their impending arrival by Arnulf and the others. Reyes gathered that arrangements had been made for them to stay with some of the locals that night. Reyes, as the leader of the spacemen, was invited to stay at Ari’s house. Gabe and Slater stayed with the local butcher’s family, a few houses down, and O’Brien was put under the care of an elderly woman and her daughter, who spent their days weaving wool cloth. Unable to communicate in more than the most rudimentary manner, Reyes enjoyed a quiet meal of boiled chicken and bread with Ari and Astrid, after which the family retired for the evening. Reyes slept in the main room with their three young children.

  The next day was devoted to funeral services for those killed in the attack. After breakfast, the survivors, along with the spacemen and several dozen residents of Uslu, including Ari and Astrid, met in a field at the edge of town, where they buried the dead in a mass grave. Each of the fallen was respectfully laid to rest, one by one. Some of the more badly mutilated corpses had been cleaned up, but for the most part they were buried as they had fallen. Most of the men were buried with spears or axes, and sometimes shields. The blacksmith was buried with his hammer. All of these things had been carried from the village specifically for this purpose. It seemed like a tremendous waste to Reyes, given the immense value of these items and the poverty of the survivors, but it was not her place to complain. In any case, there was enough animosity toward the spacemen among these people without her making things worse. Fortunately, it seemed that most of the villagers had come around to the idea that the spacemen’s arrival was more a convenient excuse for Harald than the cause of the attack. Only a few of the survivors—notably the one woman, Hella, whom Sigurd had warned them about, shot them hateful glances. The rest were neutral at worst, and most seemed to appreciate the foreigner’s presence at the ceremony. After the burials, the assembled spent several hours listening to stories about the fallen. Reyes could understand little more than the names, but such was the skill of the various storytellers that several times she broke into laughter and many more times was reduced nearly to tears.

  A feast commemorating the dead followed, held in a large hall in the center of town. It was the first meal Reyes truly enjoyed since their arrival. There were several types of meat, from rabbit to pork loins, as well as bread, a variety of fish, hazelnuts and the ever-present porridge. For drinking, there was buttermilk, beer, ale, and even a little red wine. Reyes and her crew ate and drank their fill, pausing only to thank their hosts profusely for their hospitality. Reyes made sure that some food was brought to O’Brien, who remained mostly bed-ridden.

  She didn’t know how long it would last, but she was determined to enjoy it while she could. Ari—a ruddy-faced, stout little man without a hair on his head—stood during the middle of the feast to give an eloquent and heart-felt toast to the fallen. Reyes couldn’t understand a word, but again found herself strangely moved by the poetry of the Norse words.

  At some point, Ari and Sigurd left the table to retreat to a back room, and Reyes felt a twinge of concern as she realized important decisions were going to be made without her. In the end, though, there was only so much she could control. For now, they were dependent on Ari’s hospitality and Sigurd’s friendship. Glancing across the table, she caught a moment of worry on Gabe’s face as well. Neither of them liked having to rely on allies they knew little about, but there was nothing to do now but hope for the best. They couldn’t afford any more enemies in Norway.

  *****

  Sigurd sat down in the heavy wooden chair across from Ari Birgirson.

  “For Yngvi Sigurdson,” Ari said, raising his cup. “May he have smooth sailing to Valhalla.”

  Sigurd raised his own cup and downed the wine. A pleasant heat filled his chest.

  “Frankish wine,” Ari said, when he had emptied his own cup. “Ten bottles cost me twenty yards of homespun.”

  “Too pricey for me,” Sigurd said. “But you are a wealthy man. And I appreciate you dipping into your stores for the sake of my son and the others we have lost.”

  “The gods gave us wine for such times as this,” Ari said. “He was a brave and strong boy, and he died protecting your home from Harald’s thugs. I am sure he drinks in Valhalla even now, probably of a much finer vintage than this!”

  “As we may, in the near future,” Sigurd said.

  Ari shook his head. “I am too old to die in battle. I’ll leave such glories to younger men.”

  “Then you will not stand with us against Harald’s men?”

  Ari frowned. “Is that why you came here? To convince me to make a stand against Harald?”

  “I came to bury my son. But I do not intend to flee from my enemy. I have dealt with the traitors who betrayed my people, but I will not stop fighting as long as Harald remains alive.”

  “You intend to go to war with the king?”

  “Norway has no king,” Sigurd said. “Harald is a pretender whose ambitions outstrip both his wisdom and his grasp. The foreigners have forced his hand and weakened him. They claim to have killed more than a hundred of his men.”

  “And you believe them?”

  “I’ve seen their weapons. They are like nothing else on Earth. Men armed with such weapons could bring down giants.”

  “But the foreigners are not interested in a war with Harald.”

  “They are in a war, whether it interests them or not.”

  Ari sighed. “Sigurd, my hospitality has no limits as far as you and your people are concerned. But you have made an enemy of Harald. And these foreigners….”

  “The foreigners are our allies. And our guests.”

  “And by extension, my allies and my guests, is that it? No, I’m sorry, Sigurd. You and the foreigners can stay for a few days, but then you must move on. I am not inclined to submit to Harald’s rule, but I will not volunteer my people to be slaughtered in service of your futile attempts at vengeance. You must take your war elsewhere.”

  Sigurd leaned forward. “You call my quest to avenge my son futile?”

  “I call it what it is,” Ari said, meeting his glare. “Bold. Necessary, perhaps. But futile. Even with these foreigners’ help, you’ll never get close to the king.”

  Ari’s remark struck him like a blow. If only Ari knew how close he had gotten! A flick of his wrist, and Harald would be dead. But he’d given up his chance. Why? To spare a man he’d only met two days earlier? No, he’d spared Harald because the woman, Reyes, had begged him. Sigurd thought of his failure and felt shame. There was a reason he’d left the kidnapping out of his story when he’d told it the night before.

  “Perhaps you are right,” Sigurd said. “Perhaps I will fail in my effort to kill Harald. If so, I will die trying.”

  “Ah,” said Ari. “And that’s what you’re really after, isn’t it? You seek penance, not vengeance. You hope to be forgiven for your failure by dying in your attempt to kill Harald.”

  “I seek to kill him. Whether I die is of no great importance.”

  “Then I suggest you put aside your self-pity and do what it takes to get your revenge.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You have told me how powerful these foreigners’ weapons are. You have told me of their metal ship, which soared through the air. It is clear that wherever they are from, they have knowledge of weapons and crafts far beyond anything we have imagined. What if these people are the key to your vengeance against Harald?”

  “I have told you I will not ask them to fight for me.”

  “Your anger has clouded your mind. I’m not speaking of launching an assault on Harald tomorrow. I’m asking you to think to the days ahead. What do you think these foreigners are up to?”

  Sigurd frowned. “Their ship crashed. They are just trying to survive.”

  “For now, yes. But they are unable to return to their
home. With your help—yours and your men’s—there is no reason they cannot survive, and even thrive. At some point, they will stop running. And when they do, they will be a force to be reckoned with.”

  “That may be, but there is no place in Norway for us to go. Even my friends and kin reject me now.”

  “Then leave Norway.”

  “You would have Harald chase us from our home.”

  “He has already done so. If you truly seek vengeance, there is no place for you here. Go with the foreigners somewhere you can bide your time and build a force to oppose him.”

  Sigurd shook his head. “That could take years.”

  “And if it does? You prefer to die without plucking so much as a hair from Harald’s beard?”

  “Where then shall we go? Shall we take our horses across the sea to Anglia?”

  “Surely your mind is not so clouded that you have forgotten the seasons.”

  Sigurd leaned back in his chair, regarding Ari. “You suggest we join the raiders going south.”

  “I suggest nothing, but merely speak the truth. If you wish to survive long enough to have your vengeance on Harald, you must leave Norway—and soon.”

  “You know of an expedition that is leaving from Uslu?”

  “I do indeed. The boats have already arrived. Men are coming from all over the south of Norway. Four ships, with forty men on each. They leave in a week, weather permitting. I believe they plan to spend the summer raiding in West Francia.”

  “You seem well-informed of this expedition, Ari. Am I correct to assume you have an interest in it?”

  Ari smiled. “Little happens in this area without my involvement,” he replied. “However, in this case my concern is only that you escape Norway in one piece.”

  “And avoid dragging you into a war with Harald.”

  “A war is unavoidable. However, I’d prefer to delay it until the odds favor our side.”

  “When will that be?”

  “When you return to Norway with a fleet of ships.”

  Sigurd laughed, but Ari was not smiling. “You really believe that will happen?”