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by Desconhecido

  The trader swallowed hard. Eirik inhaled the sweet smell of fear growing stronger on him. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement. I’ve already a buyer for her—we could split it. A full four weights of gold.”

  The fiery redhead snarled at the merchant. “You lying man-whore! You swore you’d protect her! Gutless goat-humping weasel!” Righteous anger spurred her attempts at freedom. With a last wiggle she got free. She leaped at the merchant, kicking him over before the Northmen could react.

  “Get her off me!” he screamed like a frightened child. Hands bound behind his back, he twisted and tried to squirm away from her rage. She pinned him down by sitting squarely on him clawing at his face with her bound hands. The gathered Northmen roared with laughter at the sight. A mostly naked, bloody and furious woman clawing like a wet cat at the fat trader’s face—best entertainment they’d had in days. Blood ran where she marked him as he desperately writhed, trying to dislodge her.

  * * * *

  Laughing almost too hard to stand, Fridgeir pulled her off. She managed a quick kick to the trader’s groin, making him scream even louder. She laughed and fought Fridgeir’s hold. He held her firm against him. She twisted her head and bit his cheek leaving clear impressions of her teeth just above the line of his blond beard. The feel of his strong male body triggered a panic that set her to struggling harder. “Let go of me! Dog-humping demon spawn!” she screamed while trying to kick and twist her way loose.

  Fridgeir simply shifted his hold, lacing his arms under hers with her hands behind her head. “Keep it up and I can snap your neck! Though I’d rather not.” His voice sounded more amused then angry.

  Self-preservation set in and she heaved a breath to still the panic she felt. Getting herself killed wouldn’t save her sister.

  “Got yourself a wild one! Better be careful she doesn’t bite it off!” Giermund teased while others continued to laugh and enjoy the show.

  “That’s what gags are for,” he shot back. Northmen snickered while Arinbjorn helped him get her tightly wrapped up in his cloak and back on the ground at his feet. She didn’t make it easy.

  They turned back to the merchant. “Where were we?” Eirik asked after he caught his breath from laughing. “Oh, yes the girl. Only half? I can manage more than that on my own.”

  The merchant managed to squirm back onto his knees. He kept a wary eye on the redheaded woman as he returned to negotiating. “But you’d have to find the right buyer. I’ve already got it arranged.” He glared at the redheaded woman and smirked.

  “No! Leave her be, you cock-sucking goat lover! She’s just a child.” The redhead tried to fight her way loose again. Fridgeir placed his foot meaningfully on her neck.

  She glared up at him. “Demon-spawned northland beasts!” At his cocked brow she got quiet but glared daggers at him.

  Eirik looked at the young girl closely. “How old are you, child?” he, asked settling on to his heels to look her in the face. She cowered away from him.

  The wild one answered for her. “She doesn’t speak, not since that man thing, the Witch King, destroyed our village. She’ll be twelve next moon cycle. She’s not even a woman yet! Leave her alone!” She hissed and struggled until Fridgeir leaned slightly on her neck.

  Eirik studied the girl and Fridgeir’s new slave. “Sisters,” he stated as much as asked.

  The redhead glared but answered, “Yes. Please don’t hurt her, she just a child.” Her voice took on a pleading note.

  Eirik looked meaningfully at Fridgeir to see if he wanted her as well. Fridgeir looked at his feisty prize then back to the girl, and he gave a subtle but uncertain shrug.

  “For now, the girl stays with us, hairless worm.” Eirik turned back to the merchant. Fear and anger warred on the man’s face. Eirik wondered who he’d promised the girl to and for how much. “Now—how soon will that ransom arrive?”

  The merchant refused to meet Eirik’s stare as he replied. “Another day and they were to take me to Alhenia to meet my brother and get the ransom.”

  “Liar!” the redhead snarled. “They spared five of his men and enough crew to sail their ship. He sent them to Alhenia. From there, they have to ride a good two days to Jonnah’s crossing where their main compound is. After they return to Alhenia they’re to sail north until they see the watchtower on the lower cliff. That was three days ago.” She smirked at the merchant, who glared angrily at her, then blanched at the cold look on Eirik’s face.

  Eirik nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm…we’re three days north of Alhenia, so we have at least…what? Four, maybe five days? Fridgeir, Arinbjorn, keep the girl with you and safe, for now. Let’s see what else we have here. Hroald, Ingvar, tie these two beardless worms to those posts with enough rope to sit and no food or water.” He turned and indicated the trader with a jerk of his head. “Maybe it’ll help him speak the truth next time.”

  Eirik doubted the soft, squishy-looking man could take a night hanging on the post but just being tied to it might help loosen his tongue. He ignored the merchant’s mewling protests as they dragged him and his son over. The redhead laughed and taunted him. Eirik turned his attention to the rest of the loot.

  Torches were lit to help them sort through the goods and decide what to take. They’d had word the merchant was selling to the Witch King and would be returning with a good deal of gold. The raiders got to him first but they weren’t too hard to find. Eirik’s people kept track of most of the raiders in the area for just this reason. Every now and then, they took something he wanted. This camp was well known to the Northmen and the first place they’d looked.

  Fridgeir chained his new woman to a stone post a few feet from the fire ring, with just enough room to sit up while he helped sort through the loot. He took the precaution of binding her feet with a leather strap that would let her walk slowly or let him spread her legs enough. He smiled suggestively at her as he secured them and ran his hand up one shapely calf. She snarled and tried to kick him. He grinned bigger. Arinbjorn finished securing her sister to the post next to her.

  “Better have a gag ready, shield partner, and something to tie her feet to!” Arinbjorn teased. “They don’t call them the Wild Isles for nothing!”

  * * * *

  The men snickered as they left. A water bag landed next to her making her jump. One of the other men winked suggestively at her. She carefully took it and smelled before drinking. It only contained the watered wine the raiders drank. She took a careful sip. Didn’t taste of anything else. She drank slowly, a little at a time so she wouldn’t get sick after so long without much. The chains kept the sisters from touching but they managed to get fairly close. The woman tugged the cloak around her as best she could with her bound hands. Nothing to do now but wait to see what these vicious beasts did with them.

  * * * *

  Eirik looked over three other young women from the Wild Isles, huddled together. The oldest looked about sixteen, the other two maybe fourteen or fifteen. A prime age for the slave markets and much more valuable as unmolested virgins, so they hadn’t been abused like Fridgeir’s claim had. At least physically. Two of them cried hysterically and cowered away from the Northmen. The third glared at them in defiance. She no doubt knew how much she was worth in one piece. Eirik waved for them to be returned to the rings that had held them. He didn’t bother to tell his men to leave them alone. Any man who took one would own her as part of his share and young virgins were generally worth more than a Northman wanted to pay. Most preferred a woman with more experience anyway.

  A smallish wooden chest held gold and silver coins, a leather pouch of loose jewels, cups, jewelry and other valuables. Next to it sat the large barrel filled with fine woven wool cloth and well-tanned furs that had been used to pack decorative pottery clearly made in the Wild Isles. Around the inner sea such wares were considered exotic and valuable. Two smaller casks held wine. Another larger chest held women’s clothes, a small bag of jewelry, a matched brush and comb set of bone inlaid with bright she
lls, and some housewares. It looked like the kind of things the wife of a prosperous merchant might own. Eirik looked speculatively at Fridgeir’s prize staked down not far away. Perhaps it had been hers, not that it really mattered any more. All of it belonged to the Northmen now.

  “Arinbjorn, hang onto this chest.” He pointed to the one with the clothes—if nothing else, Fridgeir’s prize would need more than just his cloak to wear. He took the bag of jewelry and shook it open to see exactly what lay inside. A pendant necklace of gold with an amber drop and matched earrings. The workmanship indicated it had come from near the shores of the midland lakes far to the east. Not high quality but nice enough to have been a bride gift. He tossed it in with the gold and silver. The raiders also had plenty of food stores both on the ship and stored just behind the fire ring where they cooked. Mostly grain, some root vegetables, and dried meat for the stew simmering over the fire.

  Four raiders had surrendered on the ship, three more on the beach. Eirik looked them over, considering if they would be worth keeping long enough to sell. Dirty bodies blending with filthy clothes. Their stink alone could ward off wild animals! But they seemed fit and healthy enough to be sold.

  “Ingvar, secure this bunch downwind.” He stared at the prisoners. “You lot behave and you live another day.”

  * * * *

  Any seriously wounded raiders were dispatched, and all the bodies stripped of all valuables. Their weapons weren’t high quality but could be traded or melted down for the iron. Like most of their kind, they wore their personal wealth as adornments: earrings; rings; chains hung with coins; beads and anything else of value. It was all added to the chest with the coins. An old stone pendant on a braided leather string caught Eirik’s attention. His fire flared—but not in warning. Old power lay beneath the pendant’s surface, but not witch magic nor evil of any kind. He held it under a torch for a better look. Cedric, his mentor and right, studied it with him.

  “That’s interesting. It looks like the triple goddess of the westernmost isles. Wonder who that hairless worm took it off of?” Cedric held his hand out and Eirik dropped it into his hand. He turned it over. A quick glance and he called to a grey-haired warrior not far away. “Hey, old wolf, come take a look at this.” The man sauntered over. “What do you think, Steinolf? Witch magic?”

  The older man took it gingerly and turned it back and forth in the torchlight, examining both sides. Pale blue eyes studied it closely while wiry strong fingers caressed its polished surface. “No, not witch made. Older I think. It’s pretty worn, but I’ve seen one of these before. It depicts the three faces of the great goddess of the Wild Isles. This is the maid or warrior, this the mother or chieftess and last is the crone or wisewoman. Not sure what the symbols on the back mean. They made talismans like this to counter curses, increase fertility or for healing. I'm not sure what this one might be able to do. If it had just the face of the crone or wisewoman, it’d likely be for protection against curses and such. The mother for fertility. Can you feel any magic in it?” He handed it back to Eirik.

  Eirik nodded. “Not evil, like witch magic. It’s different. Hmm, could be useful if we can figure out what it does. I’m going to hang onto it.”

  The others nodded agreement. Eirik’s nature made him resistant, if not outright immune to most magics. It would be safe in his care.

  Chapter 2

  Day 1, evening

  The raiders had left a decent stew simmering over the fire. Unfortunately they’d only planned on their own three dozen or so. Eirik’s company totaled over seventy if the ship’s crew were counted. Some of the Northmen had added water, dried meats and more of the root vegetables they found nearby but it would need to cook a while longer. It would make a decent dinner along with heavy trail bread full of nuts and dried fruit.

  With dinner a while off yet, Fridgeir decided to check out his prize a bit more closely.

  “Get away from me! Demon spawn!” The redhead hissed and kicked at him when he reached for her feet. He caught the leather strap he’d tied her feet with, dragged her flat and staked her down.

  “Goat-sucking demon spawn! Leave me alone!” she snarled and spit at him. She could do little else with her hands stretched over her head and her feet pinned. The raiders hadn’t secured her so well, preferring to try beating her into submission. Panic fueled her intense anger but at the moment, it had no outlet.

  Fridgeir folded onto the ground beside his new slave looking her over. The torchlight only gave hints as to how bad she’d been beaten. He pulled open the cloak wrapped around her. The tattered remains of an undershift still hung from her shoulders but did little to cover her. The neck had been cut open exposing her breasts. One showed some swelling and faint teeth marks from a bad bite. Her neck sported many bruises from repeated chokeholds, though none hard enough to permanently damage her. Her swollen lips matched the large bruise over one eye and he thought he saw finger-shaped bruises on her jaw. Perhaps from someone holding her tightly so she couldn’t bite them.

  “Spineless boyman! Going to gag me next? Afraid I’ll bite it off?” She struggled with her ropes but they held.

  He softly touched her face and felt a slight tremble in her. He gently ran his hands along her, feeling for areas that made her flinch.

  She wondered what he was doing, it felt like he was checking her over, not stroking her for sex. All she could do was hope he wouldn’t be too rough with her. Near panic filled her at the thought of him laying on her. But she refused to give in to it.

  When he reached her pelvic region, she flinched big. He carefully felt her inner thighs and then between them. She didn’t flinch again but torchlight showed her biting her lip and a hint of tears in her eyes.

  “How many?” he asked softly. It made him angry that anyone would treat a woman like this but he carefully kept his voice neutral. No point adding fuel to her fire or letting her think she could manipulate him by playing the victim.

  “Like I counted!” she retorted angrily.

  “You’re hurting pretty bad already. It would go easier if you cooperated. It doesn't have to hurt,” he suggested and stroked between her breasts.

  “Keep dreaming, demon spawn! No way I’ll make it easy for you. Pig-humping man-whore!” She spat at him again.

  “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my slave now and I take care of what’s mine.” He softly caressed her cheek and barely drew his fingers back in time to avoid her snake-quick bite. He heaved a sigh—She really isn’t going to make it easy.

  “Here, let me help you sit. It’ll be dinner soon. And keep those teeth to yourself unless you want to spend the night staked down like this and gagged.”

  She glared at him but when he let her legs loose she looked too shocked to fight. He gently helped her sit and carefully covered her with his cloak again, tucking it up around her crossed legs. Her breath hissed in pain as she sat.

  Fridgeir rose without a word. He hated to see her hurting like that. He glanced over his shoulder to see her staring at him in open-mouthed confusion.

  * * * *

  “Eirik.” He found him looking over the raider’s stash of food and personal items with Cedric and Leif. “Anything in that mess for pain?” he asked hopefully.

  Eirik shook his head. “Not like they had a healer’s kit! Other than liquor, all we’ve found is some whore bane. Best we can do is the willow bark on the Fire with the wound kit. Should help some.”

  Njals jumped up to fetch it from the Dragon's Fire.

  “And some real wine or maybe that liquor if it’s stronger, she’s hurting pretty bad,” Fridgeir explained.

  Cedric handed him a pottery flask. “Not sure what they call it, but it’s strong. I don’t think getting her drunk enough to pass out is a good idea but some should help. The whore bane would take the pain away for a while but she’d be sicker than a beardless boy after her first good drunk!”

  Fridgeir shook his head. He’d seen what it did before. In small doses it kept a women p
liable, addicted and helped prevent pregnancy. A dose large enough to kill her pain would leave her puking and sick for a good day or more. Slavers often used it on new slave women. It not only made them easier to handle later but caused miscarriage. Not much of a market for pregnant slaves. He’d bet they’d used it on her already.

  “Hopefully this’ll do with the willow bark tea.” Fridgeir hefted the flask and made to walk off. “I’m hoping if I show her some kindness she’ll stop fighting me so hard.”

  Cedric called, “Wait, Fridgeir. I have a suggestion for you.”

  Fridgeir waited patiently. Cedric possessed lots of experience with new slaves and women of the Wild Isles in particular, since his mother came from there.

  “She’s full of fight, may not know how to be any other way. But you’ve got an edge—her sister. Use it. She might be more cooperative it there’s something in it for her.”

  Fridgeir’s brow furrowed. “How do I use her sister?”

  Eirik grinned slightly—he knew what Cedric meant. “We could offer to keep her safe, not sell her as a slave.”

  Fridgeir nodded thoughtfully. “That might work. Good idea, Cedric.” He turned to Eirik. “The young one could be worth a lot. Can we ask the company to ignore that just to make my life easier? I suppose her worth could come out of my share but…” Fridgeir hated to get special treatment just because he was a close companion of Eirik’s but he also didn’t want to pay for the younger girl. It would likely cost him more than he’d make off the whole trip.

  Eirik toed the dirt in thought. “We might also use it to get more information out of her. I get the feeling she knows a lot more than she’s said. And about more than just this beardless merchant. She mentioned a run-in with the Witch King. I’d like to know more about him.” His companions nodded agreement. Sooner or later, the Witch King might grow strong enough to challenge them. Eirik liked keeping tabs on his enemies.

  “I’ll see if she goes for it,” Fridgeir replied. “Any other advice? I don’t have a lot of luck with slaves, or free women for that matter.” The others snickered at his understatement.