Viking Conspiracy

by S. T. Bende

  And hope that when it came to an end, I’d be able to pick up the pieces and carry on.

  Chapter 21

  OUR CROSSBOW WAS A success. Not only did it perform as predicted, but it proved so easy to handle that even Katrin had braved a shot . . . and come within thirty feet of the target, which she claimed was a personal best. We’d promptly handed the schematics off to our makers for immediate full-scale production, and sworn them to secrecy regarding the design. If everything went as planned, we’d have mechanized bows for each of our archers—and a handful of trainees—within the week.

  After my Monday classes, I marched through the snow to outbuilding two. Erik and I had our standing sword-fighting lesson after my afternoon archery class, and I walked into the training room expecting to find Erik by the broadswords we’d been working with for the last few weeks. Instead I found him standing by a rack of long sticks, a glint in his eye.

  “You look entirely too happy,” I deduced. “I’m nervous.”

  “You’re getting comfortable with the sword, so it’s time to switch things up.”

  “A bõ staff? I didn’t know you guys used these in . . . whatever year this is.” I crossed the room and picked up one of the weapons.

  “I’m not familiar with that name, but stick-fighting is an artform our clansmen are taught from the time we’re old enough to walk. If I had a piece of silver for every time I’ve taken Axel down with these . . .” A nostalgic smile broke out across Erik’s face.

  “Yeah, yeah. The good old days. I get it.” I tossed the bõ from one hand to the other, weighing it. “So, what are we learning today? Besides how to kick Axel’s butt?”

  “Let me start by saying that I don’t anticipate you ever being in a position where you have to defend yourself from a surprise attack.” Erik began.

  “O-kay,” I said slowly.

  “But in the event that you do, and you don’t have a weapon with you, a stick can provide a strong impromptu defense.” Erik picked up a weapon and paced in front of me. “If you’re in a forest, remove a tree-branch and snap it to a length roughly proportional to your height. If you’re in a dining hall, break a chair and use one of the legs. If you’re in your room—” His voice cracked.

  “I get it,” I said gently. “Curtain rod, chair leg—lots of breakable options.”

  “Right.” Erik pulled himself together. “Like I said, hopefully this will never be an issue. But if it is, the basic sword-fighting principals apply—try to catch your opponent off guard, go for the leg sweep, strike hard, and strike fast.”

  “No mercy?” I bit back my smile.

  “Exactly.” Erik nodded solemnly. “The most important thing to establish off the bat is the balance. In the heat of a fight, you may not have much time to work this out, but even if you take just a few seconds, it’s important to swing your stick, and get a sense of its center point. To be effective, you need to become one with your weapon—just like you do with your sword, and your bow and arrow.”

  “Got it.” I found the center of my bõ and twirled it in my right hand, moving my wrist in a figure-eight pattern so the stick circled easily at my side.

  “Now switch hands,” Erik instructed.

  I did, quickly discovering twirling a five-ish-foot-long stick with my non-dominant hand was far from a walk in the park.

  “Try again,” Erik said. I picked my stick off the ground, and twirled again. This time, I lasted ten seconds before I hit myself in the back of the head.

  “Ow!” I dropped my weapon and rubbed my injury.

  “You okay?” Erik didn’t move to help me.

  “I just clocked myself with a stick,” I said drily. “I’ve been better.”

  “I don’t see any blood. Go again.”

  “Jeez, sympathetic, much?” I picked up my stick and twirled slowly. This time, I held my arm as far from my face as I could manage.

  “It’s more important to me that you survive than that you like me.”

  I gripped the stick in two hands and stared at Erik. “Have things gotten worse?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Raynor hasn’t returned, and our report from Valkyris East is a few hours late. It could be the weather. Or it could be something else.”

  “Did we send a rider to check on them?”

  “If their report hasn’t come in by nightfall, we will. Standard procedure.” Erik spun his bõ in one hand. “Now get back to work. Just fight me left-handed, for now, since you seem more confident with that one.”

  I nodded. “How do we do this?”

  “There are three basic attacks—left and right strikes, which are diagonal slashes to either shoulder, and jabs, which are the same as they are with your sword. Jab to the gut, the groin, or the face if you want to immediately debilitate your opponent.”

  As opposed to having a long, drawn-out stick fight? Gut, groin, or face it was.

  “Show me?” I asked.

  Erik nodded. He demonstrated the strikes before moving on to jabs. When he’d finished, he stepped back. “Now you.”

  I practiced the motions several times on my own before trying them on Erik. He blocked each blow with apparent ease, our sticks coming together in near-deafening claps.

  “Again,” Erik demanded when we’d worked through fifteen rotations.

  “I’m tired,” I admitted. “The movement is different enough that I’m not used to it.”

  “Wait until we take on axes.” He grinned. “But go again.”

  I ignored my screaming abdominal muscles and ran through the circuit again. And again. And again. When I was fairly confident my arms were going to fall off, Erik granted us a brief water break. Then he returned to the center of the arena, stick in hand.

  “We’re going to work on power, now. Your strength should come from your legs—they’re going to be the force behind every blow. Bend like this”—he demonstrated—“and launch yourself into each move.”

  He showed me the sequence, this time exaggerating the movements from his lower half. Then he stepped back and held out his hand.

  Here goes.

  I mimicked Erik’s movements, bending my knees and throwing myself into each strike and jab. He parried with seeming ease, but I noticed his stick trembled slightly with my later attempts. And by my tenth rotation, his forehead was definitely sweating.

  Nice!

  “That was good,” Erik praised. “Now let’s practice parrying.”

  “Or we could take another water break?” I asked, hopefully.

  “We could,” he agreed. “But there’s not going to be break time in a fight. And if—”

  The wail of a horn cut him off. My knuckles whitened as I held tight to my stick. “Is that . . .”

  Erik’s eyes locked in on mine. Fear rippled across his face as the horn blared, three short blasts followed by a long one. I’d heard that pattern only once before . . . the day Bjorn’s ship had sailed on Valkyris. It had been carrying Ingrid, Vidia, and Axel, but we hadn’t known that at the time. The only thing we knew was that—

  “We’re under attack,” Erik barked. He kept his grip on his weapon while he hurriedly crossed to the wall. He grabbed a mid-sized blade and slid it across the floor. While I snatched it up, he chose a second, broader sword for himself, and strode for me. He transferred both weapons to one hand and wrapped the other around my back, pulling me close.

  “I love you,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t die.”

  I stood on my tiptoes, tugged his head to mine, and kissed him soundly. “Back atcha,” I whispered as I pulled breathlessly away.

  Then I slipped both of my weapons to my left hand and slid my right into Erik’s. Together, we jogged out of the arena and into the cold, winter air.

  The atmosphere outside was eerily calm.

  “Where is everybody?” I looked around, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Dusk had nearly settled, and as the late afternoon sun dipped below the mountains, it cast eerie shadows across the island. Valkyris was ba
thed in a sea of blues and purples, the tail end of the alpenglow that would give way to darkness within an hour. A chill had settled in the air, but there was something else . . . something sinister that hovered over the island, and sent goosepimples rippling up my arms. I released Erik’s hand and transferred my bõ to my right hand, raising my sword in my left. “Something’s not right.”

  “The attack isn’t here,” Erik deduced. “It’s on the mainland. Or in one of our settlements. Follow me to the war room, now.”

  Erik ran toward the castle. As he moved, he called over his shoulder. “In the event of an off-island attack, our warriors stage on the first floor while the general addresses her officers in the war room.”

  “That’s where everyone is,” I surmised. As we neared the castle, I saw a handful of people running toward us. Apparently, everyone knew this protocol but me.

  “Upstairs. Hurry.” Erik ran for the castle door. The guards wrenched it open and Erik hurtled through it, with me close on his heels. We raced up the grand staircase, hung left at the top, and didn’t stop until we reached an imposing double door. Erik stopped so quickly I very nearly rammed right into him. I veered to his side just in time, tucking my sword into my belt and gripping my stick tightly in one hand.

  Erik glanced at me. “You good?”

  I nodded.

  My breath hitched as he reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. With my free hand, I grabbed his wrist and brought his palm to my lips.

  “I love you,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his calloused skin.

  “I love you, too.” Emotion clouded his eyes, but it was gone in a blink. He leaned forward, pressed his lips lightly to mine, and pulled away. He opened the door, and held it for me to step through.

  Inside, Freia stood at the head of a long, rectangular table. She moved pieces around a large-scale model on the tabletop while a dozen seated officers looked on. Halvar stood just over her shoulder, occasionally chiming in to answer the officers’ questions. Erik had explained enough over the past few months that I knew this was the war cabinet—the group who oversaw not only Valkyris’ security, but also the expansion and protection of its colonies. They were hand-selected by Freia from among her most-respected warriors and leaders. And according to my quick count, they were overwhelmingly female.

  God, I loved this place.

  “Erik. Saga.” Freia waved us over. “Take your places.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered. Heat crept all the way to my ears. I was late to my first ever war meeting.

  “Apologies for our delay, General.” Erik dipped his head.

  Freia pointed to two empty chairs at the far end of the table. Without a word, I scurried after Erik and planted my butt in one of them, letting my weapons fall to the floor with a loud clatter.

  “Sorry,” I whispered again. I was seriously the worst at this.

  To their credit, none of the ladies at the table gave me a second look. The one next to me leaned over, quietly catching Erik and I up.

  “Valkyris East didn’t report in so one of the riders did a welfare check. He just reported back. Clan Ragnar sent a small attack party, and though our warriors seem to be holding the first wave back, two more ships were spotted offshore. They should be arriving within half an hour.”

  My God.

  Erik leaned his weapons against his chair and folded his hands together. His knuckles whitened with the terse grip.

  “What’s our offensive strategy?” he asked his mother. “Obviously, you’re planning to head them off.”

  “We need a team on Valkyris East to back up our warriors there,” Freia ordered. “Ragnar’s fighters are strong, and it’s not clear how long they can be held back. Gerta and Johanna, I want your teams on the ground. If you need reinforcements, send up the distress signal—the riders will be instructed to watch for it.”

  “Yes, General.” Two red-haired women saluted.

  “Axel and Erik, lead the riders to the boats,” Freia continued. “It’s nearly nightfall, and you should be able to move undetected. Approach from behind and light up those ships. Dragon fire, flaming arrows—whatever it takes to make sure they never reach the colony.”

  “Yes, General,” Axel said. I hadn’t noticed him when I’d come in, though he occupied a seat just two over from Erik.

  “Mikali, make sure our scouts continue to scan for threats. I want at least two riders checking in every quarter-hour with the watch huts, and reporting back to you. If you hear of any new threats, I want to be informed immediately.”

  “Of course, General.” A woman with jet-black hair nodded tightly.

  “The rest of you, man the island,” Freia concluded. “For all we know, this is a diversion. If another wave is coming for Valkyris, we don’t want to leave it unattended.”

  The remaining officers voiced their agreement.

  “Time is of the essence, so move swiftly. And may the gods be with you.” Freia placed her hands together as if in prayer, and bowed her head. The rest of the table mirrored the movement, so I folded my own hands and dropped my chin to my chest.

  I didn’t look up until I heard the scraping of chairs on the ground floor. The officers were rising to their feet, so I hurriedly snatched my weapons from the ground and pushed my chair back. I stood, following Erik and Axel to the corner and waiting for my instructions.

  “The ships are sailing from the north. They’ll probably expect an attack from the mainland, so they’ll be keeping their eyes to the east,” Axel summarized. “Erik, I want you leading a team from the west. It’s dark enough that so long as none of the dragons flame, you’ll be able to approach undetected. Wait for my team to launch the aerial attack from the north. We’ll fly in from behind, and send a wave of blazing arrows directly into the ship. At that point, your team can fly low and light them up at close range.”

  “Why use arrows at all?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be more effective for our dragons to just flame the boats straight away?”

  “It’s too risky,” Axel said. “We’d need to be in short proximity to do that, and we’ve already seen that the allies are willing to kill dragons. We’re better off distracting them with arrows—and hopefully diminishing their numbers as we do so. Then Erik can send the firewall in.”

  Fair enough.

  Axel crossed his arms. “I want Saga with me. She’s one of the best shots we have, and I promise I won’t let her die.”

  What was it with these men and that word?

  “You’d better not,” Erik threatened. “Saga, are you all right with this?”

  “Riding a dragon into war and murdering intruders with my flaming arrow shots?” No! “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” Erik nodded. “I assume the riders are awaiting instructions on the floor?”

  “I told them to wait for me in the Dragehus.” Axel turned on one heel and marched for the door. “Figured it’d save us a few minutes.”

  “Good call.” Erik laced his fingers through mine and pulled me after Axel. We’d nearly reached the door when a gentle voice made me stop.

  “Saga. A word?” Freia still stood at the head of the table. I shot Erik a look before releasing his hand, and approaching his mom.

  “Yes, General?”

  “Saga.” Freia placed a hand on my arm. Warmth flowed from the touch, filling me with a quiet confidence. “You do us proud.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said honestly.

  “You misunderstand.” She shook her head. “You’re here to take on a fight that isn’t yours. The loyalty that shows; the honor . . . you’ve already done us proud.”

  Moisture pricked at my eyes, but I blinked it away. “Thank you, Freia. I won’t let you down.”

  She reached up to squeeze my shoulder. “Sweet girl. You never could.”

  Erik’s hand at the small of my back was the only thing that kept me from throwing my arms around Freia in a very un-warrior like moment of affection.

  “Saga,” he murmured. “We nee
d to go.”

  “Right.” I drew my shoulders back.

  “Be careful, my son.” Freia clasped Erik’s elbow. “Come home safe.”

  “I always do,” he promised.

  He leaned forward to kiss his mother on the cheek. Then he shook his father’s hand, a look of understanding passing between them before Halvar’s gaze shifted to me.

  “Be well, Saga,” Halvar said.

  I pushed my nerves down and squeezed Halvar’s hand before letting Erik guide me out of the war room, into the hallway, and through the corridors of the castle to the Dragehus.

  Here we go.

  Chapter 22

  THE DRAGHUS WAS A hive of organized chaos. Two-dozen riders and trainers moved between the supply area and the stalls, saddling the dragons and loading them with the weapons and tools needed for our mission. Though all of the dragons were being dispatched, half would stay behind with their riders to guard Valkyris, while the other half would go off with Erik and Axel. Erik’s team would fly south before circling around to flame the boats from the west, while I’d go north with Axel and another rider named Jax. It was a fairly cut-and-dry mission—one that should be over almost as quickly as it began.

  So long as we did everything exactly right.

  No pressure.

  I stepped carefully through the craziness, navigating the path to Deathknell’s stall. A pile of cold-weather clothes were neatly folded on the stool outside my dragon’s door. While I stared at them, one of the trainers relieved me of my weapons. She promptly deposited them into Deathknell’s net.

  “Suit up,” Erik called. He stood at the stall beside mine and was already trading his cloak for what seemed to be some kind of a weatherproof cargo jacket. The black fabric was covered with pockets, into which someone had stuffed an array of close-range weapons. Rope peeked out of one pocket, metal handles on a chain from another, and needle-like objects protruded from the ones at Erik’s triceps.

  “Are those blow darts?” I asked incredulously.

  “Rider uniform,” Axel offered by way of explanation. He now stood outside the stall to my right, shrugging into his own fur-lined cargo coat. “One of the explorer teams recently returned with a few, along with samples of the herb used to poison victims.”