Book Galley Template

by Desconhecido

  His firm tone and hard look set her back. She drew a shaky breath and nodded. She had to honor their agreement no matter how much her heart wanted to run after her sister.

  She went with the man back to the camp and then let them load her on the ship with the other women. They took the precaution of chaining her to one of the oar holes near the bow of the ship. She hunkered down to wait. She hated waiting! The merchant and his son soon joined them. The merchant’s worried glances at her did little to make her feel better. Just for fun she grinned with all her teeth showing. Wisely, the Northmen chained him out of her reach. With a toss of her head she turned her back on them. She’d never been on a longship before. Even compared to her father’s fishing boats it seemed spartan. No real deck, or hold or any shelter of any kind within its hull. Flat planks covered the bottom of the ship well below the rail. Small trunks doubled as seats for the oarsmen. She crouched behind one as they wouldn’t let her sit on it. She figured they wanted her out of sight. They’d tied the other three women closer to the bow of the ship. The dragon’s head on the arching prow seemed alive in the swirling fog. Waves gently rocked the ship and for a while the only sounds were the creak of wood and the sighing of the waves.

  * * * *

  “Eirik, we need to get moving. Gods only know what they’ll do to the girl!” Fridgeir looked worriedly at the woods.

  Eirik paused a moment. “Arinbjorn, go with Fridgeir. See if you can pick up their trail. Stay in hearing range. We’ll be right behind you.” Fridgeir gathered himself and started checking for signs on the ground with Arinbjorn. The fight and fog wouldn’t make it easy but years of leaf litter would help. He sought the calm of the woods to aid him.

  “Knut, Floki, since you’re here, you’re with Fridgeir. Stay out of his way and watch their backs,” Eirik ordered them.

  Eirik whistled a short series of rising and falling tones and headed for the edge of the woods. Men began to gather out of the fog. Eirik held his fire in check. It urged him to plunge into the woods in wild pursuit. That would serve no one save the wild men.

  “What are our losses? What’d they take?” Eirik looked for his senior men, Cedric, Steinolf, Leif.

  “A few cuts and bruises but none bad or dead,” Cedric replied.

  “They took a good bit of the food stores the raiders had here,” Leif reported. “Tried to take those young slaves but couldn’t get them loose fast enough. Ignored the men altogether.”

  Steinolf joined them. “Seems like they were more interested in stealing and running than killing us. Used the fog to let them get close.”

  Eirik nodded “They’re painted men—heard stories about them stealing whatever they can. Fierce but not very well-trained fighters.”

  “We’re wasting time! They’ve taken the girl as well as provisions. They could be gutting her right now!” Giermund sounded unusually serious.

  A disembodied voice spoke from the gathered men, many cloaked from clear view by the heavy fog. “Chase through woods they know well, in a fog, just to retrieve one underage girl? She’s not one of ours!”

  Someone else joined in. “These forest men know the woods better than the even the beasts that live here. They’ll ambush us for certain. They may not be well armed but a spear will kill you whether tipped in iron or stone!”

  Eirik’s voice commanded their silence. “It’s a matter of honor. Promised her my protection and not even the painted forest men steal from us! Fog or not, we need to move swiftly. Steinolf, you’re charged with guarding the camp. We can’t afford to neglect the watches either.”

  Someone handed him his mail and he buckled it on as he spoke. He quickly named off those to join him. He took only thirty men, leaving the rest to guard the camp. Two men brought Fridgeir and Arinbjorn’s axes but Eirik waved off the mail—too much to carry. They followed Eirik up the creek a short way. Eirik paused and an eerie wolf’s howl came from his lips. An answer came from upstream and some lengths into the woods. They continued upstream, sometimes walking in the stream when bushes hugged the sides too tightly. Now and then they would call to Fridgeir to make sure they still paralleled him.

  * * * *

  Fridgeir paused when the trail vanished in the shadows of the deep woods. Painted men lived in the forest all their lives. They considered themselves one with it and moved through it like wisps of wind. Rumors had it they practiced human sacrifice to appease their bloodthirsty forest gods, as well as cannibalism. Fridgeir took a deep breath and let it all go. He took the time to hear the forest as he had the night before. To feel the life within. Birds and beasts avoided men or hid very still when they passed. He listened to the quiet and followed it. He found a faint trace here, a bruised branch there. A smell that didn’t belong. He’d learned from an old tracker, a man who’d been one of the painted ones before becoming civilized. He’d taught Fridgeir well. Fridgeir stopped on the bank of the stream. He could see tracks on the far side but his instinct told him it went nowhere.

  Too obvious. He looked up and down the stream but saw no sign, smelled no oddity, and silence came from both directions. He called to Eirik in a series of bird songs and waited.

  Soon Eirik’s wolf howl sprang softly from the lifting fog. Fridgeir answered with a wolf’s yelp, just as quiet. Eirik and Cedric joined them.

  “Looks too easy—see any trace as you came up?” Fridgeir whispered close to Eirik’s ear.

  “No.” Eirik closed his eyes and breathed deep. A faint smell hung in the still air. “Upstream then into the woods there.” He pointed toward what looked like an impenetrable mass of bushes. “Keep alert, they may know we follow them.” He took point with Fridgeir to his left and Cedric his right. Arinbjorn called with a hawk’s cry. The others would follow closer now.

  * * * *

  Eireann tried to find some sort of peace. As the excitement from the fight wore off, worry set in. Those men had seemed intent on taking her and her sister. Why? She recalled stories told by travelers of savage men of the forest—painted men. She shivered. Those tales told of men and women who disappeared never to be seen again. Or were found mutilated or worse, half eaten! She fought the despair welling up.

  I might never see my sister alive again! But Fridgeir went after her. And Eirik, a berserker. Many tales told of their inhuman strength and speed. Of senses heightened far beyond any normal man’s. And the unpredictable rage that often drove them to savage acts, even against their own kind. Yet she hadn’t seen any such rage from Eirik. In fact, he seemed quite easygoing most of the time.

  Half a dozen Northmen sat guard on the drekkar. Nearest to her sat an old man casually watching nothing in particular. A single long braid faded to white with age hung past his thin shoulders. Nimble but weathered hands braided rope without any notice from his faded blue eyes. Despite his age and seeming disinterest, she had a feeling little escaped his attention. She shifted to a more comfortable position. He focused his hawk’s gaze on her.

  “He’s a berserker, isn’t he? Eirik.” Her question sounded like more of a statement.

  The old man nodded. “Yup. If anyone can track forest men in their own woods, he can. And don’t underestimate your master. Fridgeir has an uncanny ability to track. Some used to tease him that he was half forest man.” The old man warmed up to his tale. “He’s one tough fighter, too. Only man I know that’ll spar with Eirik. Good man. You’re lucky you caught his eye.”

  She snorted softly. “Yeah, lucky!”

  The old man nodded sagely. “Yes, lucky. He’ll treat you far better than Floki would have. And he’s one of the High King’s inner circle. A prestigious place many free women covet.”

  “And yet he chooses a slave over one of your Northwomen. Let me guess, they don’t bite hard enough?” She made the retort with a cocky tilt of her head.

  The old man and those near him laughed. “Likely true. But don’t think that means he gets off on hurting women. He’s just more playful than most.”

  That got a good laugh.

&n
bsp; She let it drop. Something else bothered her. “High King? He’s that Eirik?” She tried to sound casual despite the chill running up her spine.

  The old man nodded with a wicked look.

  She dropped her head to stare at her hands. The High King of the five kingdoms of the north! Things just kept getting better. Still in his teens, he’d earned the name Dragon Heart for the swift and vicious efficiency of his raids. Many of them on the Wild Isles. No man caused greater fear in the hearts of men and women alike. Save maybe the Witch King.

  “Why would your people let a berserker hold the throne? I thought they often turned on those around them in a murderous rage.” She felt confused.

  The old man drew a breath. He sat up a bit. “The High King’s line has carried the fire for generations. Makes ’em stronger, faster and they heal quickly. He can hear better, see clearer, somehow sense things other men can’t. And in battle they’re damned hard to beat. Especially if they keep their fire under control. Which he does. Don’t go thinking he’s some kind of mindless beast! He’s one of the smartest kings we’ve had in some time. Clever and true to his word. Those painted men of the woods made a serious mistake attacking us and taking your sister.”

  The old man smiled with pride. “He earned his name honestly. They’ll pay in pain and blood! And your Fridgeir will extract his fair share of it. They’re much alike, those two—fearless and strong warriors who count their honor worth more than their lives. True Northmen both.”

  His faded blue eyes held her with their intensity. “I know the deal you made. They’ll honor it even if it costs them their own blood. And I’m not just talking Eirik and Fridgeir. Eirik gave his word to you and his whole company will bleed to honor it.” He looked thoughtfully at the woods. “But I expect it’s those savages who’ll do the most bleeding.” He turned to her again. His gaze bore into her intently. “It’s a rare thing for a High King to bargain with a slave. If it hadn’t been Fridgeir who asked, things might have been different.”

  She nodded, deep in thought. She still didn’t think of herself as a slave. As a free woman, she made deals all the time. In truth, she’d offered Fridgeir what was already his by rights. The magnitude of it hit her. His words of the night before echoed in her mind. He wanted her as his bedmate, not a soulless drudge, and he would let no other harm her. Armed with only his long knife, he’d stood over her to protect her as if she were his mate, not his slave. She knew he’d taken at least one cut because of her. And now he risked his life to bring her sister back. A matter of honor despite the fact she’d been less than completely cooperative, or even polite. She drew a deep breath and promised herself she’d honor their pact. No matter what he asked of her. No matter what it cost her. I’ll even try to curb my tongue…

  The old man smiled knowingly and winked, then went back to watching nothing at all.

  Chapter 7

  Day 3, noon

  The sun stood just before its highest point when the mist finally gave way. They wound through shady woods for a good distance, on a well-worn game trail. They came around a bend and halted suddenly. The dense trees gave way to a sunny grove of large well-spaced trees. What was left of the raiders hung from spears driven through their shoulders into broad trunks. Their clothes had been stripped and symbols much like those painted on forest men cut into their chests. And their genitals had been completely cut off! A slow, agonizing death, at least for those not already mortally wounded. Some hadn’t bled at all from the spears impaling them. Others had long streaks of dried or drying blood coursing down them. A grim testament to how long each man had suffered before death ended it. Eirik motioned for quiet. He heard someone breathing hard. Just off the trail a raider still clung to life. His breath heaved in short bursts, almost stopping then starting again. Eirik pulled his blade and quickly thrust it into the man’s heart. His breath choked then sighed out as peaceful death claimed him. Eirik wondered how long he’d hung there. A branch crunched under his foot. Looking closer he realized it was a bone. A human bone—these weren’t the first men left to die here. Thankfully a quick survey showed no redheaded girl hanging among them.

  The others’ grim looks echoed his own. They moved on silently. It couldn’t be far now.

  * * * *

  The smell of smoke and the sound of water ahead alerted them. They’d finally tracked the painted men to their lair—they'd made camp on an island in the midst of a fast-flowing stream. The island’s perimeter was surrounded by a wall of wooden stakes and brambles. Anyone attacking them would have to cross open water to do so then break through the wall. Eirik, Fridgeir, Arinbjorn and Cedric huddled behind a screen of brush, surveying the situation. Eirik waved Fridgeir to go upstream and check things out. He called on his fire-heightened hearing. He could make out voices in the camp but he couldn’t understand their speech. He started counting distinct voices. At least twenty men, maybe as many as twenty-five. A large group and fierce fighters when cornered. He heard maybe a dozen women and fewer children. No one really knew anything about their social structure. Few ever saw their camps and lived to tell. He listened harder.

  Where is she? Then he heard a man talking angrily and the whimper of a girl. The sound of a slap and a girl crying. Saibh. He moved upstream a little and listened again for her crying. Then downstream. Near the back on the far side. Over her sobs, he couldn’t hear the sounds of a man sporting. Good! So far they hadn’t savaged her.

  Fridgeir returned and they moved deeper into the woods to talk.

  “No cover on this side but the stream narrows on the far side. Banks are steeper. Could be done, but not easy,” Fridgeir whispered.

  Eirik filled him in. “She’s near the back of the camp on the far side. I think inside a tent or shack from the sound. She’s crying but I don’t think she’s been abused much, yet.”

  Fridgeir nodded. “I thought I heard something back that way. Arin and I can make it but we’ll need a distraction.”

  Eirik grinned. “You two head upstream before crossing. When you’re in position, make a wolf whine, soft. I’ll hear you.” He turned to Cedric and said, “Let’s give them a short head start then bring the men up.”

  * * * *

  Fridgeir and Arinbjorn picked their way silently through the woods far back from the stream, avoiding the dense brushy growth hugging the banks of the stream, soaking up the sunlight. They found a log that almost got them across, then a couple of stone hops and they didn’t even get their feet wet. They moved into the wood to head back downstream. Once across from the camp, both men secured their long axes to their backs and prepared to cross the stream again. They’d have to climb the bank of the island to get into the camp and that would take two hands. If anyone saw them, they could be killed before they could draw their weapons. But neither man hesitated.

  * * * *

  The rest of the company came up silently near the edge of the woods. Eirik sent five downstream just a bit and five upstream. They’d burn the painted men out if they had too, using embers and arrows covered in pitch. Eirik listened and finally heard Fridgeir’s call. He stood, and with Cedric and Leif flanking him, stepped into the open across from the only break in the crude wooden wall. A woman’s shrill voice rang out. A few moments later and a large man stepped into view, wearing no more than a loincloth and leggings. Fanciful whorls, dots and lines covered his entire body in hues of russet, white and grey. Clay stiffened his hair and beard in wild curls and points. Leather cords strung with crude stone beads, feathers, shells and even coins hung in thick loops around his neck. All but obscuring the painted man boobs supported by his prodigious gut. He showed no emotion on his fat painted face but Eirik could hear men scrambling around inside. He faintly heard Fridgeir crossing the stream.

  They stared at each other a moment longer. Eirik called fire to his eyes. He had to give the man credit for not flinching, despite the fear Eirik smelled growing on him.

  “I am Eirik Dragon Heart and you took some things of mine. Return them and liv
e. Otherwise, I hope you have made peace with whatever gods you worship, because you will die.” He raised his voice enough to be heard and let his matter-of-fact tone add impact to his words.

  The leader hesitated, seemed to listen to someone beside him. Eirik heard a woman’s soft voice, apparently translating. He gibbered a few words, and the woman spoke, barely loud enough for Eirik to hear her.

  “Great Tree says he will kill the girl if you try. Go away, she belongs to him now.” The female’s voice trembled with fear.

  Staring hard into Great Tree’s eyes, Eirik replied evenly, “Harming the girl won’t change the end, only the middle. I will cut off his manhood then cut the living lungs from his body and smile while he chokes to death. Any who harm the girl will join him as sacrifices to our gods. If you know who I am you know I speak truth.”

  The big man listened, his eyes narrowed in anger, and his next words sounded outraged. This wasn’t a man used to being challenged.

  The woman translated again, her voice shaky with terror. “Many will die if you try to take her back. You will die. Girl will certainly die.”

  Eirik nodded slightly at Cedric. He called and the men up and downstream showed themselves and blew the embers into fire.

  “We’re not afraid to die. There’s honor in dying in battle. But I think your people will do most of the dying.” Eirik’s hand now rested on the hilt of his sword. Over the voices and other noise, he couldn’t hear if Fridgeir had reached the girl.

  The enraged man dragged the woman out by her hair and struck her so hard blood flew. He yelled at her and she tried to muster some volume to reply for him. “Girl will die first!” she shrieked. Eirik saw him make a gesture to a few of his men. They headed in the direction of Saibh. Time for negotiating had ended.

  Eirik’s eager wolf grin caused near panic in the men behind the leader. He whistled and fire arrows flew into the wood and bramble wall. A few caught and flames licked up through thick smoke. Eirik’s war cry brought the rest of his men out of the woods. The opening in the wooden wall only allowed two to enter at a time. Eirik drew his sword and with his shield as a ram, leaped into and across the stream. Cedric on his right and Leif on his left, both about a step behind him. A loud whistle let him know both that Fridgeir and Arinbjorn had the girl—and they were cornered.