Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1)

by Jerry Autieri

  "This is better than clearing trees," Alasdair said. "I'm glad King Erik relieved us of that work."

  Yngvar chuckled. "You were worried one would fall on you."

  "God protects me, lord." But Alastair's eyes unfocused as he likely imagined a tree trunk crushing him to the ground.

  Yngvar retrieved the heavy bucket of pitch. Thorfast and Bjorn were already atop the deck, both of them also naked to their waists and glistening with sweat. Thorfast put down his bucket to reach for Yngvar. Once he pulled him over the rails, Alasdair followed. The other men were already working at the opposite end of the ship.

  "Looks like your admirer is here again," Thorfast said, trying to pretend he had not noticed anything. "She's got an eye for you."

  Bjorn's laugh was like a seal barking. "You think it's him she fancies? She likes strong men, and I'm the strongest here."

  "And the one with the thickest skull," Thorfast said, flinging a basket of wool to Bjorn's feet.

  Thorfast casually glanced over the rails and across the field of grass that led to Erik Blood-Axe's hall.

  Erik's wife, Gunnhild, watched him from across the distance. Her servants followed her and a hulking brute of a man trailed behind all of them. He wore a mail shirt and helmet that had been scoured to gleam with the slightest light. In the bright sun, he burned like a candle flame.

  Gunnhild reminded Yngvar of Kadlin. Her hair was not as white, but she was tall and winsome as Kadlin. She bore herself with pride and dignity, and even from this distance Yngvar felt the power she radiated. He had not seen her up close, but from afar she seemed fair and clear-skinned with a rose-red bloom to her lips. She always seemed to show up wherever Yngvar was working and lingered in the distance before moving on. At evening meals where Erik had his men gather in the hall she never acknowledged him. Granted, Yngvar and the others sat by the front doors, the seats of least honor.

  "Do you know, I learned why he is called Blood-Axe," Thorfast said. He and Bjorn were already down in the hull, painting their pitch along the strake they planned to caulk.

  "Ain't it because he breaks skulls with an ax?" Bjorn asked.

  "No, it's because he killed all his brothers to become king of Norway." Thorfast cocked an eye at Yngvar. "He only has one brother left now, and he chased him out of Norway. You what his name is?"

  Yngvar shook his head, distracted with Gunnhild and her troupe. They were turning to leave, but the blazing guard headed toward the ship.

  "His brother is Hakon the Good. They call him that because he's a Christian."

  "Praise be to God," Alasdair said, drawing an angry growl from Bjorn.

  "Spent time in Wessex," Thorfast said. "And it turned him against the old gods, I suppose. But that's why Erik hated the name so much. Hakon the Good stole his throne and now he's trying to bring Norway back together. So Erik killed all the wrong brothers, and he must be bitter about that."

  "How do you know so much?" Bjorn asked.

  "I just learned all this last night. Unlike you two, I talk to the others. If we're going to find a way out of this mess, we're going to need a lot of friends."

  Yngvar remained at the rails, watching the tall guard approach. Alasdair stood with him and looked up with a frown.

  "Are we in trouble, lord?"

  "I don't know. I'll go down to meet him." Yngvar pointed at the wool and pitch. "Get to work on this. I won't be long."

  Yngvar landed in the soft beach sand, clapped his hands together to knock away loose wool, then approached the guard. He stood a head taller than Yngvar, his massive body intimidating at such proximity. Sunlight beamed off the rings of his chain shirt.

  "You are to come with me," the guard said. He did not even meet Yngvar's eyes, but scanned up to the ship. "Tell them you will be back later. Don't make me wait for you."

  He nodded at the commands. Both Bjorn and Thorfast now stood beside Alasdair along the rails. Yngvar put his hand on the back of his head, squinting up into the sun.

  "I've got to go with him. I'll be back soon. Just keep working on this so we don't get behind."

  The guard and Yngvar then marched across the grass in total silence. Yngvar looked back, but no one was watching him from the shore. The largest group were the men who had carried the last ship ashore, and they were now seated in the grass at rest.

  Rather than follow a track into the village, the guard led him east away from the settlement. Yngvar waited for an explanation, but finally he could stand no more.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  The guard did not break his stride, but gave a small smile. "You will enjoy where you are going."

  Glancing back at Yngvar, the giant man had eyes like clear water. Despite his smile, his gaze was predatory and cruel.

  "Remember, I'm a hostage. If you harm me, you are defying your lord's will."

  The guard nodded. "Any harm to you will be done of your own will. You'll understand soon enough, if you haven't figured it out already. Are you so witless to not understand where we are going and why?"

  He thought of Gunnhild and swallowed hard. His breath suddenly felt short. Could she really be arranging a meeting with him?

  They passed through whatever spruce trees had remained from their tree-clearing exercise of the prior week. At the bottom of a low rise was a small home. The thatch was bleached nearly gray and the log walls were black with water stains. A thin curl of white smoke raised over the roof, where two black crows turned their heads at their approach.

  "In there," the guard said, raising his strong arm toward the house. "I'll wait here."

  Yngvar stared at his clear, mirth-filled eyes, but when the guard said nothing more he descended the slope to the home. The door was rickety and open. A single push sent it creaking into the yellow light beyond. A feminine voice, husky and warm, called to him.

  "Enter, Yngvar Hakonsson. Do not keep me waiting."

  Gunnhild left no doubt for her intentions. If there were features in the room beyond a small hearth and furniture decaying in gloomy corners, he did not see them. A bed dominated the single-room home, and it was piled with furs and wool blankets. The frame and posts of the bed were fresh hewn from logs, unlike anything else inside. She sat on the edge, her bare calves extending from the bottom of her blue skirt that had caught on the bed. Yngvar's pulse quickened at the sight of her shapely flesh. When had he last been with a girl? That maid he had chased into the forest more than a year ago? She was nothing compared to the full-bodied woman enticing him. Her hair was unbound and flowing over her shoulders, light gold that shimmered in the light. Her cheeks were high and her red lips full.

  "You are a handsome man." She slid over on the bed, and patted the space beside her. "I have enjoyed watching you at work."

  If he fled now, perhaps she would leave him alone. Yet if he rejected her what form might her vengeance take? Her smile was inviting but twisted with a hint of wicked pleasure. Did she know the dilemma she had placed him in? Yngvar swallowed hard and lingered in the doorway.

  "Do not defy your queen," she said. "I cannot wait any longer."

  He had no choice. Sliding up beside her, Gunnhild wasted no time. He was without a shirt, and soon without his pants. She guided his hands in revealing more of her milky skin. He trembled both from anticipation and the terror of taking what belonged to Erik Blood-Axe, the man who had murdered all but one of his brothers. The thought nearly vanquished his lust, but in the end Gunnhild was a skilled woman.

  Yngvar had not counted the hours he had dallied with her. At first tenuous, he soon abandoned restraint to his base instincts. No matter how tired and sore his body had been, the time with Gunnhild had rejuvenated him. Even the remaining pine and wool on his hands no longer troubled him. As they lay intertwined on the bed, Gunnhild examined his fingers and idly pulled bits of wool from what still clung to him.

  "Your husband will kill me if he finds out," Yngvar said, his reason finally restored after his lust had exhausted.

  "Very few get a
taste of royal flesh, and many would gladly die for that chance." Gunnhild put his hand between her soft, warm bosom and smiled. "Besides, my husband is not a jealous man. He has his women to entertain him. I have my young men. We do not question each other's indulgences."

  Yngvar had no answer for that. It soothed his fears to believe it, so he chose to accept her claim. They lay still for a short while longer, then she got up and dressed. Yngvar admired her full curves and thin waist. Her gooseflesh was obvious in the flickering light of the hearth. After dressing, she combed out her hair. "I will leave first. You will wait until I'm gone and then return to your companions. We will meet again." She kissed his forehead. "Soon."

  It was nightfall when he stumbled back to the village in time to make the evening meal. To his shock, Gunnhild was present with her clear-eyed guard. She doted on King Erik at his table, never troubling Yngvar with a second look. In fact, both Erik and Gunnhild seemed happier than ever.

  Alasdair had greeted him merrily, but Thorfast and Bjorn acted much cooler. Throughout the meal of flavorless barley soup and an over-salted mutton, neither had said more to him than they had completed the first ship and started the second. Finally Yngvar took a deep gulp from his ale and let the mug thud on the table. The other men filling the hall did not bother with him, but Thorfast and Bjorn both stared at the mug.

  "What choice did I have?" he whispered harshly, wanting to scream but realizing eyes and ears were always ready to pick up gossip. "What would you have me do? Could you imagine the revenge? We're talking about a woman used to having her way. Do you think we'd ever get home if I refused?"

  Thorfast cocked his head as if to speak, but instead shook it. Yngvar noted a tuft of wool clung to his white hair. Bjorn spoke up instead.

  "We're just jealous, is all. I'm better looking than you, so why do you get picked for the fun?"

  Thorfast turned on Bjorn. "It's not jealousy, you oaf. It's the danger we're all in now."

  "It's just him waterin' his man root," Bjorn said. "Why make it our problem? And you are too jealous. Your face turned so red when Yngvar went off this afternoon I thought you had burned it in a forge."

  "That's true," Alasdair said. "You even called master Yngvar a horny git."

  "For once the boy and I agree," Bjorn said. Thorfast's mouth opened in outrage, but he said nothing.

  "Enough of this," Yngvar said. "What's done is done. I doubt she'll call on me again, and if she does I'll try to discourage it."

  They completed their meal, arguing over how upset Thorfast had been. By the end of the night they had so many laughs at Thorfast's expense that all of them were in a better mood. When the evening crowd broke up, Thorfast clapped Yngvar's back and offered his apology.

  The next day they returned to work caulking ships.

  Gunnhild's warrior appeared and Yngvar left with him, giving a sheepish look to his companions.

  The pattern repeated three or four times a week for weeks, always at the same abandoned house. The weather was steadily warming and his trysts with Gunnhild had left them both covered in early summer sweat. Yngvar came to anticipate the days, for Gunnhild was skilled and passionate. They did little more than satisfy themselves in each other's bodies, and Gunnhild did not linger in idle conversations. Yngvar surprised himself as being the one who longed for something more personal.

  All the while King Erik continued on as if he did not know of their encounters. He had even visited Yngvar and the others at work, and praised them for their efforts. Thorfast had pressed him on a date to ransom them, but Erik had only offered a gusty laugh before leaving. That same day, Yngvar laid with his wife and took additional pleasure in making her quiver beneath him.

  Their swords had been returned as promised, but Yngvar did not receive Gut-Ripper. He immediately suspected Bregthor had grabbed it for himself, but as far as he could tell the sword had simply vanished. Bregthor and his men were now so separated that Yngvar hardly saw them. Erik always gave them tasks out of the village and away from Yngvar or his friends. In the end, Yngvar settled for his longsword and hoped he would find Gut-Ripper.

  One night Yngvar returned late from an encounter with Gunnhild while Erik was gone. He slipped into the barracks without anyone caring where he had been. But as he made to lie down for the night, Thorfast spoke up.

  "You've got to use Gunnhild to make Erik keep his promise to ransom us. We've been gone for months, and summer is here. No better time to travel south. It has to happen soon or we'll never see home again. We'll be caulking ships and clearing fields for the rest of our days. Is that what you want?"

  "Of course not. I've not forgotten what we've dreamed of all these years."

  "Good," Thorfast said. The barracks darkened as the last candle extinguished at the far end. Men were already snoring, so Thorfast whispered. "And don't forget Bregthor. He's becoming Erik's man. Since your face is always buried between that woman's legs, I guessed you wouldn't have noticed."

  He sat up on the pallet, trying to make out Thorfast's face in the gloom. Yet there was no moon and he remained little more than a vague outline.

  "Oh yes," Thorfast continued. "We might've got our swords back, but we're still shoveling shit for Erik. Bregthor, Davin, and his other fools are worming their way into duties that look much like those given to hirdmen. Wouldn't he be much safer in King Erik's service rather than returning to Frankia to be tried for Brandr's death? You've not forgotten Brandr, have you?"

  "Loki's tongue! What's crawled up your ass tonight?" Yngvar collapsed back down and rolled over.

  The pleasant rhythms of the last few weeks had mesmerized him. He was failing as a leader to the men who relied on him to get them home. None had said aught to him, but then they were not given to speaking their minds. They trusted to him, that was all they needed. Yet he had not only lost sight of his goal, but allowed Bregthor to quietly slip from justice.

  Worse still, if Bregthor was gaining favor with Erik, then how much longer before that became trouble for Yngvar and all the others?

  He clenched his fist, wishing to strike himself in the head for his foolishness. Tomorrow could not come soon enough, for he burned to correct his course.

  If it was not too late already.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Yngvar rolled off Gunnhild's soft, warm body. Salty sweat trickled over his lips and down his back, absorbed into the sheets as he faced the rafters above. The sun filtered through holes in the thatch roof, slivers of yellow light in the gloom. He was still flush with pleasure and his thoughts floated free. Staring at the holes in the ceiling, he guessed that when it rained the house would become unsuitable for continued use. There was already the vague scent of mold upon it. Perhaps he should thatch the roof himself.

  Gunnhild sighed, then turned on her side and slipped toward the edge of the bed. "We will not meet for a while yet. Erik has returned from his trip, and last night he was demanding of me. I can't keep up with both of you."

  Yngvar chuckled, wiping the sweat from his face. "The king's needs come first."

  She said nothing more. Yngvar watched her combing her golden hair, admiring the curve and unblemished skin of her naked back. She was years older than him, though by how much he did not know. Not enough to matter in most ways, but in bed she far outstripped him in experience and skill. How lucky he had been to take up with her.

  "I will call you again when I am ready," she said, slipping her green dress over her head. With both hands she flipped her hair out of her collar and over her shoulders. "Be ready for me, my young warrior."

  He smiled. Then his stomach burned with fear. He had forgotten his resolve from two nights before, where he vowed to press Gunnhild for aid. Just seeing her and the promise of her sweet breath on his face had caused him to forget.

  "Wait, there is something I must ask." He stretched to brush her skirt, but she recoiled as if he had struck her. The reaction caused him to snap back as well. "Sorry, I just want to discuss something with you."


  She stared at him, her bright eyes narrowing. "Make it quick. I'm expected at the hall soon."

  He had never asked anything of her before, and was stunned at her sudden change. He smiled in hopes it would soften the edge her gaze had assumed, but she continued to look at him more like a thief than a lover.

  "King Erik has taken us as hostages, but the longer he waits to ransom us the less he will earn for our release."

  Gunnhild's lips curled in a smile. "How so? Does your father love you less each day?"

  It was a good question, particularly since Yngvar had not considered what he had planned to say. He had blurted out whatever came to mind. How he hated battles of words. That was for Thorfast and not him. He had best stick with the truth.

  "I fear King Erik is absorbing us into his ranks rather than treating us like true hostages. Summer is here and the time to travel is now. Frankia is not so far that a trip will need more than a few weeks. I hoped you could lean on him to send us back."

  Gunnhild's expression softened into a smile, and she at last looked aside from him. She gathered her brown linen cloak and flung it around her shoulders. "My young warrior, what if I want to keep you here for myself?"

  Gods, would she do that? Why hadn't Thorfast or Ander Red-Scar warned him of that possibility? This was a disaster.

  She began to laugh, covering her mouth with her pale hand. "Your expression is worth a wagon of gold. You are a terrible liar and even worse at hiding your thoughts. I won't keep you here, but I am not eager to see you leave. I've not tired of you yet."

  Tired of him? Another thought that hadn't occurred to his naive mind. What then? Gods, what trap had he set foot in? No wonder Thorfast considered them all in worse danger than if Gunnhild had never took an eye to him. He wished he could be as smart as his friend, then maybe he wouldn't find himself in so many binds.

  "Your friend has made an impression on the king, though. What's his name, the one with the lazy eye?"