Viking Warrior

by Judson Roberts

  As I neared the spot where my false trail had turned away from the river and headed into the forest, I knew I’d reached a critical point in my plan. I had to abandon my false trail now and cut over to the island, but I needed to be certain that when the dogs came this way they would lead the hunters with them into the forest, away from the river. A short distance from where I’d made the turn and headed into the woods, I made water against the base of a tree. Hopefully the strength of that scent would pull the dogs to it, and away from my true path. Then I backtracked the rest of the way along my false trail to the point where I’d turned and headed toward the depths of the forest.

  Bracing my foot on a stone so it would leave no telltale mark in the earth, I leapt as far off my trail as I could. My new trail, the true one, commenced perhaps five feet from the old. It was the best I could do with so little time. I knew, the trackers would eventually find this second trail. The most I could hope for when that happened was that they would misread it and not realize what I had truly done. To help confuse them, at the river’s edge I turned with my back to the river and stomped my feet hard into the soft soil, creating a deep and obvious sign. To anyone who found the imprints, I hoped it would look as though I’d jumped from the tree to the bank, across the narrow span of river beyond the root end of the tree.

  Standing on a stone again so as not to leave evidence that would show my true path, I leapt across the gap from the bank out onto the root mass, climbed over its tangled arms down to the trunk, and hurriedly ran along its length to where I could drop down onto the island.

  The dogs’ voices were much louder now. From their sound, I guessed they must be close to the point where my trail had first reached the river and divided. I murmured a prayer to Odin for victory over my enemies.

  I suddenly realized that the baying of one of the hounds was gradually fading, while the other was growing louder, and I knew my pursuers had split up. So far, my plan was working.

  Moving quickly, I tied one end of my spare bowstring to the top of a small sapling growing in the sandy soil of the island. Crouching behind some bushes a few feet away, I pulled the string until the sapling was bent partly over, then pinned the end of the bowstring against the ground under my foot. I took five arrows from my quiver and stuck them point-first in the sand in front of me, and readied a sixth arrow on my bow.

  The hound appeared from behind the thicket where, at dawn, I’d hidden and spotted the ducks. His sudden appearance startled me, for he was tracking silently now, except for occasional whines as he zigged and zagged, nose to the ground, following my scent. He ran back and forth along the bank, sniffing the ground. Then he stood, his front paws up on the trunk of the tree, and bayed loudly. He’d found where I’d first climbed up onto the fallen trunk to cross over to the island early that morning.

  Moments later, two riders appeared. One was a member of Toke’s crew, the other the villager named Kar. Both had arrows nocked on their bows and at the ready. I stared at Toke’s man and let the focus of my gaze tighten until I saw only the point on his breast under which his evil heart beat.

  I let the bowstring slip from under my foot, and the sapling whipped upright. Both men were skilled. Their arrows passed through the sapling’s branches. Had the little tree concealed an enemy, he would have been dead.

  I stood. My first arrow hit Toke’s man full in the chest. Kar snatched a second arrow from his quiver and was laying it on his string, but my arrows were at the ready in front of me and I was faster. My second shot skimmed past the front of his leg and buried itself almost up to its feathers in the side of his horse’s chest.

  Kar’s horse reared and he dropped his bow as he grabbed wildly for the reins, trying to keep from falling. The hound, who’d spied me when I stood, bounded snarling up onto the fallen trunk of the tree and charged along it in my direction.

  I hadn’t anticipated his attack. I snatched a third arrow and pivoted toward him, snapping off a quick shot as he leapt. My arrow almost missed, striking him far back in the side a split second before he crashed into me and knocked me flat on my back. He stood astride my body, his snarling face above mine, his long fangs bared. Then, with a growl, he turned to snap at the arrow jutting from his side. It was all that saved me from losing my throat to his fangs. I seized his neck with both hands and forced his head back and held it there, my left hand buried in the thick fur under his jaws, while I snatched my dagger free with my right hand and plunged its blade into his chest, over and over, until he died.

  I’d lost sight of Kar when I’d fallen under the hound’s attack. Was he waiting now, bow at ready, in case I reappeared? I could see nothing showing above the edge of the riverbank. Staying low, I eased myself from under the dead hound’s body, found my bow, and fitted an arrow to its string. I picked up a stone, and tossed it into the brush a few feet away, then stood up, drawing my bow as I did, searching for any sign of my enemies.

  Toke’s man lay on the ground, dead. His horse was gone. Farther back from the edge of the river, Kar’s horse had fallen, and had pinned Kar’s leg beneath it. I could see him kicking and pushing at the dead horse with his arms and other leg, try to shift its weight aside.

  I remembered my prayer to Odin. He had heard and had granted me victory. A God who listens to men and answers their prayers deserves thanks. I took my dagger and slit open the dead hound’s belly. Reaching inside, I felt until I found its heart, and ripped and cut it free. I hung the heart as a blood-offering in the branches of the little sapling I’d used as a decoy. Hopefully the ravens, Odin’s messengers, would find it there.

  Up on the bank, Kar was calling loudly for help. I gathered my weapons, rinsed the blood from my hand in the river’s waters, then crossed the tree-bridge and approached where he lay, trapped by the body of his horse. I intended to kill him. He’d hunted me and would have killed me without mercy. I had an arrow nocked and ready across my bow.

  He’d propped himself up on one elbow and held a small axe in his other hand. As I approached, he cocked his arm back, as if ready to throw. It was a brave gesture, but he had no chance of beating my arrow. He knew it. I could see the knowledge of his death, and fear, in his eyes.

  For some reason, his fear moved me and cooled the anger in my blood. He wasn’t part of Toke’s crew. He was not a murderer. He was from the village, folk who had long been friends with Harald and Aidan. He thought he was hunting one of their killers.

  “Toss your axe this way,” I told him. “Gently, but quickly, and I’ll let you live. There are things I need to do, and I do not wish to have an axe thrown at me while I’m doing them. Do not make me kill you. I have no wish to.”

  “Why should I trust you?” Kar asked, his voice quavering from his fear. “You are a bandit and a murderer.”

  “I am neither,” I answered, “but I do not have time to argue the matter with you. Think on this: If it was my wish to kill you, I could easily do so now, without trying to persuade you to lay down your weapon. Think you of my shot from ambush. Do you think it was an accident where my arrow struck? I could have killed you instead of your horse. I have no quarrel with men of the village. Only with Toke and his crew.”

  I lied when I told him I’d hit his horse on purpose, but he did not need to know that. The man stared at me, as if trying to read my soul through my eyes. I wondered what he looked for and what he saw. Whatever it was, it must have been enough.

  Kar tossed his axe at my feet. It was a handy size, both as a tool and a weapon, and I decided to keep it. I gathered Kar’s bow and the bow belonging to Toke’s man, and chopped them both through with the axe. I saved their bowstrings, and added the better arrows from both of their quivers to my own. The rest I destroyed.

  On the body of Toke’s man I found a leather pouch filled with bread and salted pork, and a leather skin filled with water. I found more food in a saddlebag on Kar’s horse and added it to the pouch, then slung it and the waterskin over my shoulder.

  Kar had been watching me silen
tly.

  “Was your leg injured when the horse fell on it?” I asked.

  “Aye. It feels as though it’s broken.”

  “Good,” I said. “When they capture the dead man’s horse, use it to return to the village. This is not your fight. Tell that to Einar, also.”

  Kar started. “How do you know his name?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. “And when you get back to the village,” I told him, “remember these words and tell them to Hrodgar: The honeyed tongue conceals a black heart. Toke is not to be trusted. The line of Hrorik is not ended.”

  I realized I couldn’t let Kar tell the others where I went. I walked over to him with the axe in my hand. Fear filled his eyes again.

  “You said you would not kill me,” he protested.

  I turned the axe so the back of the blade, where it joined the shaft, was facing forward.

  “I will not,” I answered, “but you must sleep for a time,” and I swung the axe against his head.

  I could hear the thundering of hooves in the distance. I wanted to leave a message for Toke’s other men. I’d never learned how to read the runes or write with them, but I knew a few of the characters. I knew the rune “haegl,” because Harald had carved his name in runes on the doors of his bed-closet at home, and I recalled the shape of the first letter of his name. I knelt now over the body of Toke’s dead warrior and carved it in his forehead with the point of my dagger:

  My vengeance was for Harald, and I wanted Toke’s men to know that—and to feel fear.

  Sheathing my dagger, I turned and ran across the tree-bridge, dropped down onto the island, and headed for my hiding place under the great tree’s roots.

  From where I lay hidden in the dark womb of earth, deep in the heart of the roots, I tried to picture the progress of the hunters from the sounds I could hear. Horses approached on the near bank, the root side of the river, coming out of the woods from where they’d finally found where I’d leapt from my false trail and headed for the island. I’d known it wouldn’t fool them forever, but it had kept them away long enough. They were following the dog, which barked occasionally as it ran. I heard shouts of alarm and knew they must have spotted the bodies of their comrades on the ground across the river.

  I could hear the voice of Einar, the tracker from the village, as he studied the ground and explained what he read there to the others.

  “See the deep footprints here. He must have leapt from the tree’s end across the river’s channel here.”

  “But the trail in the forest led nowhere,” another voice said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. There were several trails to follow. At least one of them was a false trail, laid to set a trap,” Einar replied. “Maybe all the trails we’ve found were false, and we’ve yet to find the true one. This is not an unthinking beast we’re following. It’s a man, and a clever one at that. If we’re not careful, we’ll become the hunted, and not he.”

  They galloped off along the riverbank, no doubt headed back to the ford, to cross back over the river and reach the ground where their comrades had fallen.

  Several times during the afternoon I heard the crunch of footsteps on the sand of the island. Once I heard the whining of a hound on the trunk of the tree somewhere above my head, and a voice calling it to heel. I wondered how skilled a tracker Einar was. No true trail led away from the ambush site, showing the way I’d left. Would he realize I was still hiding somewhere nearby?

  They camped that night on the shore near where Kar and Toke’s man had fallen. Once I thought I heard angry voices, but could not distinguish the words. The smell of roasting meat drifted across the river to where I lay, burrowed deep within the roots at the base of the tree, and made my mouth water. Kar’s dead horse had provided them an impromptu feast. I dined instead on salted pork, stale bread, and sips of water. It was food, and I was grateful for it, for I was hungry.

  While I lay cramped and uncomfortable in my little burrow, I marveled at how readily I’d become a killer. When Harald had taught me how to use weapons, I’d sometimes wondered whether, in real combat, I would have the will to use them against another. When the time had come, I’d crossed that bridge without thinking. It was only now I realized that I was changed. I had faced the test and passed it. I was blooded. I didn’t even know for certain how many men I’d killed, for during the attack on the estate I’d fired many arrows at dim shapes or sounds in the dark. I did know that no matter how many I had slain, I regretted none of their deaths. I knew, also, that I was eager to kill again. Many men must die before Harald and the others would be avenged.

  My pursuers did not make an early start in the morning, waiting instead until full daylight. I smiled a grim smile at that. After yesterday, they feared an ambush. Even after they left, I stayed hidden up under the roots of the fallen tree. I’d laid a trap for them. I needed to beware, now, that they might try a ruse or trap in return to catch me.

  A while after they rode away from their campsite, I heard the hoofbeats of their horses clattering along the bank opposite the root end of the tree, coming up from the ford downstream. Opposite the tree, they turned and headed into the forest

  It was a short trail they were following, but the only one that led away from the ambush site. As I’d hoped, Einar must have concluded that I’d crossed the river on the tree-bridge and run into the forest after the ambush, then entered the bed of the tiny stream, wading for a time through its waters, causing the dog to lose my scent. They knew it was a tactic I’d used before, to try and throw the dogs off my trail. Einar, Toke’s two men, and the hound would range up and down the banks of the little brook, looking for signs that I’d left the streambed, and for a new scent trail. I had no way of knowing how long they’d search before Einar would suspect he’d guessed wrong. But eventually, when they found no trail leaving the stream, he would. I had no time to waste.

  I’d been ready since dawn. I climbed stiffly out of my hideaway, dropped into the shallow water, and waded toward the shore of the island. I had almost stepped from the river’s waters onto the sandy shore when something gave me pause. I stood there in the water for several long moments, studying the scene before me, trying to understand what had stayed me, before I understood. Something had protected me from what my eyes at first had missed. Perhaps the spirit of Harald, or my mother, was watching over me.

  Someone, probably Einar, had taken a branch and swept the sandy soil on the island clean of all footprints. The ground on either bank of the river was confused now with crisscrossed trails, but new footprints in the sand of the island would be clear evidence of recent passage.

  I returned through the water to where the roots hung down and, using them as a rough ladder, climbed up onto the trunk and crossed to the far bank. I left wet footprints for the first few yards along the tree’s trunk, but hopefully they’d dry before Einar and the others returned. As I passed above the island, I saw that no one had taken down the hound’s heart I’d hung in sacrifice. It takes a brave man or a fool to interfere with a gift made to the Gods.

  I looked longingly at the carcass of the dead horse when I passed the site where my pursuers had camped the night before. The thought of fresh meat made my mouth water, and I could use the strength it would give me, but I feared that if I cut meat from the carcass, the sharp eyes of Einar would detect it. He would doubtless find my trail soon enough, but the longer he had to search, the greater lead I would gain. I moved back into the forest far enough from the river to be invisible from anyone watching from the far bank, but still close enough to follow the course of the river, and set off at a trot.

  During the day, I passed two shallows where the river could be forded. At each, I ran my trail down to the water’s edge and stepped out into the river. At each, I waded a short distance upstream before I climbed back onto the bank and continued my journey on the same side of the river. I hoped that each false trail would cause my pursuers to lose time searching in vain on the far bank, trying to pick up my spoor again. My ambu
sh had bettered the odds I was facing, but also had put my pursuers much closer on my trail. I wanted to lengthen my lead on them again.

  It was not until the third shallows I came to, late in the afternoon, that I actually crossed. Holding my clothes and weapons over my head, I waded across the river through waist-deep water. Once close to the far bank, I raised my feet and floated, letting the current carry me downstream, till I came to where the mouth of a small stream emptied its waters into the river’s flow. Holding my clothes and weapons aloft with one hand and paddling with the other, I swam to shore at the stream’s mouth.

  Standing in the shallow streambed, I dressed, and over a twig fire, roasted my two duck legs and ate them. By now it was late in the afternoon. I was tired and needed a place to rest the night. I’d managed to strike a good blow, yet I was still the prey, running before hunters on horseback who had a hound to speed their search. It was wearing me down. I had to stay well ahead of them. If they caught up with me, they could surround me and pick me off with their bows when I moved from cover, or charge me from different directions like wolves move in for the kill on a deer. Either way, I would surely die.

  I waded along the shallow bed of the stream until dusk. In the last light of the day I saw a hill, steep and round like a young woman’s breast, rising from the forest floor. Climbing out of the stream, I trudged toward it. Its sides were rocky, but wooded with scattered trees and brush. The crown of the hill was bare except for low underbrush and the stump of a great ash tree that had been shattered by lightening at a point twice as high up its trunk as my height. The tall stump stood above the hilltop like a solitary sentinel, watching over the forest below. The rest of the tree lay, like the body of a fallen giant, stretched down the far side of the hill.