The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  He sighs, dropping his hands from mine and placing them on his hips. “That may be, Aurelie, but a leader must remain strong in the face of adversity. It is what our father would do and it is what must be done.”

  “And my opinion—as the victim—has no bearing upon your judgement?” I ask, breathing hard to suppress the wretchedness I feel.

  “Aurelie…” There is frustration in his voice as he continues a conversation he clearly thinks should now be concluded. “You know full well that judgements in law are not advanced by women. You are a strong and beautiful lady—an ambassador for Donrose—and yet you have no place in these decisions. Now please accept that the pronouncement has been made and the sentence will be carried out at sunset.”

  I shut my eyes, processing his words. It seems that the shutters of Donrose are well and truly closed and there is no way out. With the well of emotion in me threatening to spill over, I excuse myself from my brother and retreat to my chambers to think over recent events. I feign an exhaustion that could easily be true, keeping the real reasons for my uneasiness to myself. Upon reaching my rooms I change into a long dark gown and dismiss Anne, finally allowing my tears to fall and unleashing the torrent of sadness that has built since I’d learned the news of Anders’ demise. I check the position of the sun and calculate that he only has a few hours left, my heart breaking as the realisation sets in.

  Watching the light disappear I grasp the extent of my dilemma. I have escaped the fetters of Anders’ submission, only to be shackled by the constraints of my own home. I had no say in the Viking camp and apparently, still have no say here in Donrose. The liberation from my so-called oppressor seems all the more ridiculous in light of Anders’ fate. How can I reconcile these unfolding events? How can I watch the only man who has ever stirred my affections die by the noose this day, knowing that it is my own brother who casts the final judgement and that I have no power to intervene?

  Irritation and grief fill me. The tears bring little relief, but after some hours and with the sun making its way to the horizon I know it is time… Time to decide where my true loyalties lie: to the place in which I was born or to the man who has awoken the woman in me. Clutching Aurora at my side, I don my hooded cape, and sink a goblet of wine as I brood upon what now must be done.

  * * *

  I emerge into the courtyard to find it brimming with people. Between wars further afield and the recent invasion, our numbers are somewhat dwindled and yet it seems almost everyone has turned out to witness the execution of the foreign oppressor. I make my way through the crowds, keeping my presence concealed by hiding behind my black hood. I am largely unnoticed—the entirety of the people’s attention being absorbed by what is taking place on the wooden platform erected for the event.

  I want to be close to where the noose now hangs from a strong and ancient overreaching oak tree, and yet I do not want my presence to be revealed. I glance upward, assessing the platform and am reminded of the one in the Viking camp which Anders had cast judgement from. The likeness of our two peoples weighs down on me as I advance toward it. The irony that Anders and my brother are apparently very similar leaders resonates deeply within me. I recall the words of Anders earlier when I had expressed regret at Bowen’s verdict—that he too would have cast the same judgement—and I shake my head wearily, wondering how I can ever choose between the lives and loves of these men.

  There are long moments of near silence, where the only sounds are the whispers of men and women around me. The tension builds, becoming almost tangible as the crowds await the convicted man. I swallow hard, using the handle of my brother’s favourite sword, hidden beneath my length of black cape, to bring me courage and strength. The first fanfare marks the entrance of Bowen, the king regent of our lands now in all but name. He strides forward toward the people, raising his arms high in the air and releasing a great surge of emotion from the crowd. Cheers and yells fill the air around me until he lowers his arms, gesturing for the crowds to settle.

  “Good people of Donrose!” His voice is low and steely. “We are gathered to witness justice after the invasion of our lands and this castle, not yet seven sunsets ago!”

  At this the men around me yell, expressing their anger and allegiance to the rule of Donrose. Bowen absorbs their responses, allowing them to settle again before he continues.

  “Today I bring you justice for the months of war, justice for the pillaging of your houses, justice for the breach of our castle, and justice for all those who were slain as a direct consequence of the Viking invasion!”

  This brings another impassioned cheer from the people around me.

  “It will also bring justice for my sister, your Lady Aurelie, who was taken from the walls of this castle and used for the unholy gains of Norse until her rescue at my hand.”

  There is a gasp from the crowd. Those nearest me, who have recognised my presence in the crowd, eye me with horror. I shrink back into my cape, rueing the fact that he has chosen to make public this matter of such personal significance to me. I begin to make my way left, through the crowds of people and toward the place where the ancient gallows wait.

  “In the absence of my father; our lord and king, I, Bowen of Donrose have cast judgement on the prisoner, Anders Elkstrom, Prince of Norse and the Nordic north.”

  I pause at Bowen’s words, acknowledging a number of realisations. My father is absent, and most likely dead. The thought is rightly wretched, and yet I am reconciled to it, knowing how much he had loved to demonstrate his prowess on the battlefield. In many ways, dying with his men at war would have been his desired ending and I find solace in this knowledge.

  I also acknowledge the full name of my protagonist for the first time, the man who has brought me such trials and such joy. I run his names through my mind, considering each one in turn, and applying them to the man I have come to know. As Bowen resumes, I continue on my way until I am tucked at the very edge of the crowd, just inside the furthest pocket of the audience. There is another fanfare and I twist to my right in time to see Anders being led onto the gangway by two well-armoured guards. Now secured by large, unforgiving rope, his hands are bound in front of his navel and his ankles are also fettered with a short length, significantly inhibiting his movement. The clothes on his body are ripped, revealing fresh slashes when his skin has been met by a whip. I wince inwardly as I count the welts and bloodstains on his torso, swallowing back the tears that instinctively want to rise at the sight. Despite his poor treatment, his vast frame is upright, his head proud and his eyes remain impassive, neither welcoming nor denying the sight that awaits him.

  Naturally the crowd welcomes the sight of their oppressor in bondage with predictable glee. The man to my left is near ecstatic as Anders is led past Bowen and across to the waiting noose. He is brought to stand a little more than ten feet from where I now wait, and guided to a wooden substructure that rests unsteadily under his feet. With my long raven hair and face hidden by the walls of my cape, neither he nor his guards notice me stepping out from the legions of people. The first guard places the noose around Anders’ neck, turning so that his back is to me. I see him tighten it against his skin, and then fall back to his rear, awaiting my brother’s orders.

  I eye Anders from under the edge of my hood. His face seems calm and yet beneath the steely exterior I imagine the torrent of emotions that rage through him. The sound of Bowen’s voice draws the attention of the masses back to his position on the stage.

  “Anders Elkstrom, Prince of Norse and the Nordic north, you have been charged with the crimes of attacking Donrose, slaying her people and abducting her princess. You have been found guilty of these crimes and will be hung until you are dead. If you have any final words then you may speak them now…”

  I hold my breath, watching Anders as Bowen speaks. At the pause, he raises his chin just a little and strains left to look at my brother.

  “I do not recognise the laws of this land. As prince of the north my deeds can only be jud
ged by my father, the true and rightful king. No man of Donrose shall ever dictate to me.”

  I hear the emphasis he places in his final sentence and something about his tone makes my muscles clench inwardly. Even at this moment I am still commanded by his presence. There is a palpable silence as his words echo through the courtyard and then, at the gesture of Bowen, the guard behind him kicks away the precarious wood beneath his feet, causing Anders to fall forward. The rope at his neck tightens and begins to squeeze the life from him.

  I see the deed in slow motion, as though I am once again in a dream. Revealing the sword held at my thigh, I pull Aurora from her sheath, raising her into the air and I charge the short distance to the waiting noose. Her blade, so underused in recent battles, shines against the early evening light as I run and leap at the line strangling Anders. I have no idea when the guards realise what is transpiring, but I do not see them move from my peripheral vision until I have already made contact with the rope, attacking it just above his head and as high as I can reach from the small platform below. I swing at the line as though my own life depends upon it and in truth, the analogy is startlingly accurate. Aurora has a sharp and dangerous blade. The rope is badly damaged and reduced to a small twine that severs rapidly until it finally surrenders to the weight of its prisoner and sends Anders crashing to the ground below.

  In a split second I drop to the ground with him, loosening the knot at his throat and hearing his first intake of breath. I see both guards moving on me and instinctively I fall back, Aurora in position once more as they make their charge. I halt their offensive with relative ease. The guards are large and strong and can out-power me, but I was trained by the best swordsman in the land, and I easily outmanoeuvre their first attacks. In the heat of the moment I am vaguely aware of my brother’s voice booming across us, calling for more guards. I swing Aurora hard at the guard to my left, connecting with the end of his own blade and knocking his weapon from his hands. It falls flat to the ground and within seconds it is in the hands of Anders, now composed and standing just beyond me.

  “Cut me free, Aurelie!” he cries as we move beyond the oak as fast as his ropes will permit.

  Even in this moment of danger, the irony that this man is asking me to cut the binds that hold him is not lost on me. However, I have just rescued an enemy of Donrose from death and my fate is now sealed. I need Anders in the most fundamental way. I use the edge of my blade to slice the ropes at his wrists and then raise the same blade at the charging guard beyond him. This one is strong and has momentum on his side. He knocks me off my feet and I land on my left side. Pain splinters through me in an instant and the remnants of my injury at Magnus’ hands reignites. The guard, probably a man who has known and protected me since birth advances over me, raising his blade in a predatory way. All around me there are the sounds of shouting and crying. I hear the crowd, shocked and angry and the approaching boots of more of my brother’s army.

  Glancing up at the guard, time seems to stand still. I see the blade over me and feel the ache in my torso, but somehow I am unable to move or resist him. He lifts the sword over his head, as though he is going to strike and instinctively I raise Aurora in a futile attempt to defend myself. I swear I can feel my heart pounding inside of my chest, all too aware that it may be about to beat for the final time. As the blade moves down toward me, I flinch, recoiling into myself and lying flat against the ground.

  “Cease!” I hear my brother’s voice from over the rising noise. “Do not hurt the Lady Aurelie!”

  The order makes the guard hesitate and it’s then that a third blade intercepts from my right. It swings at speed and meets the guard’s blade, sending him reeling backward. My head snaps up to see Anders standing over me, his remaining binds now freed by his own weapon. He reaches out his left hand to me, his palm an invitation to attempt an escape we are almost certain not to manage. I leap to my feet, taking his hand as my body now fills with a new energy. He approaches, pressing himself against me.

  “Do you trust me, Aurelie?”

  His voice is deep and breathless. I reply in an instant.

  “Yes,” I say, gazing up at his towering form standing over me.

  “Drop your weapon,” he commands.

  I blink up at him, every fibre of my body wanting to query the order and yet knowing that the act could cost us both our lives. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I do as I am told without question. I open up my hand, feeling Aurora fall from my fingers to the soil below.

  In a split second he moves behind me, grasping my wrists in his left hand and holding his blade against my collarbone. I freeze instinctively, overawed by his power and ability to contain me. Anders shifts my wrists left, pressing himself up against me. It’s our first physical contact since I had visited him earlier in the dungeon and this time he is totally in control. My body responds instantly, my breathing becoming even more laboured as it acknowledges the man who has so regularly mastered it.

  In front of us Bowen descends the platform and paces toward me. Betrayed by his only sister, he looks crestfallen and my heart goes out to him. Whatever my feelings for Anders, he is my brother and a part of me will always love him.

  “Stay back!” Anders’ voice looms large over the proceedings.

  As though they recognise his foreign tone, the crowd finally falls silent. A number of Donrose guards make their way behind Bowen, clutching their swords as they approach.

  “If you want your precious Aurelie alive, then I am warning you to stay back!”

  Anders’ grip on me tightens, restricting my intake of air and instinctively I try to fight against him.

  “Halt!” shouts Bowen, gesturing for his men to stand down as he takes small steps toward me.

  “You as well, my liege,” snarls the Viking behind me.

  “What do you want?” asks Bowen, his voice brimming with emotion.

  “A strong steed and safe passage from this castle,” comes the reply from behind me. “With your sister as my prize.”

  “No!” protests my brother. “I will not allow you to take her again!”

  Anders laughs behind me, a sound so chilling that it makes me belly clench. “Then you will witness her execution instead of mine!” chuckles Anders.

  He presses the blade gently against the flesh at my neck, and I swallow hard, questioning my own judgement for the first time since I left my chambers. What is Anders doing? Is he really prepared to hurt me to make his point and escape? I try to expand my chest under his vise-like grip, pushing the air through my body.

  “Enough!” Bowen sounds at breaking point. “If you want her that badly then take her—but first, let me ask her one thing.”

  “One question,” agrees Anders, who moves the blade from me a fraction, but does not relax his hold on me.

  Bowen takes a small step toward us, examining my face. “Why, Aurelie?” he says, imploring me with his large brown eyes. “Why have you done this to me—to Donrose?”

  The heavy shroud of guilt and shame falls over me in an instant. Poor Bowen—I have deceived and disappointed him in the worst way possible. I blink away tears as I try to find my voice and answer him.

  “I am deeply sorry, brother,” I whisper, aware of the very public nature of my apology. “This is not what I intended, but I have feelings for Anders, and I could not just let you…”

  “Feelings!” he screams the word out with a mixture of heartbreak and anger. “How can you have feelings for this monster?”

  “You have had your question, Sire,” Anders’ voice interrupts our emotional exchange. “Now make your choice!”

  Bowen shakes his head and throws his arms into the air. “Take her!” he cries. “I hope she shows you more loyalty then she has her own brethren!”

  Anders chuckles again from behind me. “Excuse my insolence,” he laughs, “but I have had few issues commanding loyalty from Aurelie!”

  Bowen’s face changes, screwing his features into an unpleasant ball.

&n
bsp; “Take her and leave, but do so now. You have two hours to clear our lands, and then I will hunt you down and end this.”

  “Bowen!” I gasp, shocked at his tone, even after my betrayal.

  “Go now! A steed will be prepared for you at the edge of the village.”

  I want to reach out to him, to comfort him, yet Anders is already backing away.

  “See that it is, Sire. Or your sister’s life will be the forfeit of your deceit.”

  We pace backward a few yards, Anders’ arm still clenched at my neck.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: A New Belonging

  “Open the gates!” yells Bowen, and with one gesture from him, the lever that controls entry to the courtyard is sprung and behind us I hear the wooden gates rising.

  Back we go, past the crowds that are being held in place by more guards. Several of them sneer and yell insults at me, reminding me of the time I had been led through Anders’ people in binds of my own. By the time we reach the gates they have now opened to a sufficient height for us to slip underneath. Still we continue, my strides trying to keep up with Anders, the sword still held loosely to my throat. I look back at the castle, my home, and with the hardest of hearts I realise that this will be the last time I ever lay eyes upon it.

  We pass out into the village, a small escort of guards following behind us as the sun drops toward the horizon. I move out of instinct only, my mind not able to process the consequences of my actions. True to his word, Bowen has ensured that one of his finest steeds has been secured to the village outpost as we pass through the parish. His mane of brown hair blows in the evening wind as Anders twists my body to face him.

  “Soon we will need to ride like the rising tides, Aurelie, to ensure we are over the border before our time is up.”

  Anders relaxes his grip, but maintains his hold on me.

  “I am sure Bowen did not mean it,” I mumble. “He is hurt, and…”