“You two sneak up that way. I will be the distraction and draw them toward shore. Later you can loop back to where we met and go to the ship from there.
“If it comes to that,” Friar Inge said and wiped his sweaty face with a sleeve. “God’s dirty little cheeks, this dust! The grit gets everywhere, and it stings!”
“Jah,” Declan agreed, “and washing must wait till we get above the pond,” pointing at a stream entering from among the green trees.
“Assuming everything goes according to plan,” Finn said.
“At least there have been no draugr about,” Declan said with a dim smile.
“I doubt they would be. The corpses may still be around but do not trust that we are safe,” Inge cautioned. “The manitou may not like the sun, but they will tolerate it if necessary. It is possible they made it into the mine.”
Unhappy with the thought, Declan gave Inge an irritated headshake.
“Let us cross over and get up that talus pile to see what we can find,” Finn suggested.
Farther up the stream a set of large boulders gave them an easy crossing. They hopped over and climbed the piles while Bergamot waited below, the broken rocks made it too difficult for her to follow. The three men peeked over the ridge line and surveyed the little ravine.
Inside the hollow, the remnants of the mining camp had nearly rotted away. Old sheds and foundation stones had sagged into weedy lumps and piles. Dried out by years of hard sun and winter frost. Nothing stirred save for the occasional dust devil. Tucked far in the back if the ravine was the shaft entrance. Nearly invisible if not for the old wagon ruts that led to the stream and crumbled rocker boxes.
“What do you suggest?” Finn asked.
“I think that there is no way to approach unseen, so perhaps we should not try to be clever,” Declan suggested.
“A frontal assault?” Finn was stunned.
“Are you mad?” Inge demanded, incredulity scrawled on his face.
“Berserker,” Declan replied, hooking a thumb at his chest.
“Oh, well. In that case,” Inge waved a dismissive hand at Declan.
“Wait, Meistari Declan has a point,” Finn said. “He is a berserker, his skills in battle are beyond reproach.”
“My apologies, meistari,” Inge said sincerely.
“I will draw them out and you two ambush them. The uneven ground could give us advantage. If there are twenty or thirty men inside, we could take them,” Declan suggested.
“No. They would never leave their well defended position,” Inge shook his head. “Why should they?
“The chance to kill me? They must want revenge,” Declan said.
“They are not stupid, despite being vikings,” Inge disagreed. “They saw what you did. There is no way they would give you the chance to repeat your heroics if there was an easier way to kill you.”
“Inge is right, meistari. They will not be drawn out, and you would never make it across.”
“If they would not come out, I would rush right in,” Declan said offended.
“I do not mean to be rude, but what if they held knives to the throats of the Kronadottirs. What then?” Finn asked.
“They-” Declan began to protest, face falling.
“They are vikings. Jah, they would,” Inge interrupted. “And there you would be. Thumb up your bottom and then you would be dead, possibly the Kronadottirs, too. We cannot afford to take chances.”
Declan frowned, not yet willing to give up the idea.
“In addition, what if they still have archers?” Finn pointed out. Declan narrowed his eyes at the idea of being shot down by archers.
“They would not even have to show themselves or leave the mine. You would be dead from assailants unknown as you showed yourself, framed in the mouth of the mine. A perfect pincushion,” Finn pointed out.
“A splendidly dressed one, too,” Inge joked to relieve the tension.
“I…” Declan started then stopped again. “Fy da! You are right.”
A refreshing gust of wind blew over them. Inge sighed with relief.
“What do you propose?” Declan asked Finn.
“Your plan is good but needs a slight change. Instead of going straight in, you would-” Something moved in the ravine, cutting off Finn’s thoughts.
“Oj! Look!” Friar Inge hissed and pointed. The men crouched as low as possible.
Three figures and a dog ran from the mine’s mouth. They circled to the right of the entrance and unknowingly ran right toward the three observers. A man dressed in a charcoal cloak and cowl with a fawn Havarian mastiff running alongside and followed by two cabin boys, long strawberry blond ponytails streamed from under their hats. Declan started, barely able to stop himself from standing up.
Behind the escapees angry shouts could be heard and then the woosh of arrows that snapped on hard stone.
“You svikari!” one faint voice screamed from the mouth of the mine.
“Domine coeli, tueri liberos!” the cloaked man shouted, revealing he was a priest. The gentle gusts of wind gathered into a giant dust devil, surrounding the trio and scattering arrows in mid flight. One arrow was deflected over the three watchers and clattered into the rocks behind them. It surged out, filling the whole ravine with stinging yellow sand strong enough to scour wood and draw old debris into the air. The escapees disappeared behind the clouds of sand. The vikings were driven back into the mine as their quarry escaped the ravine and turned down the fjord to the shore.
Bergamot stood up, ears quirked and head tilted at the sight of the other dog. The escapees stopped short, startled by Bergamot’s sudden appearance out of the yellow grass.
“Solveig!” Declan shouted and stumbled as fast as he could down the rocks to meet her.
She squealed with joy and ran to him.
“Solveig!” Mirjam shouted at her sister.
“Keep running, my Tign!” the priest shouted. “That wind will not last long. Do not squander it! Heavenly spirits do not wait on a girl’s affections. Even if she is a Kronadottir.”
Solveig had no time to protest as Declan grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. Inge, Finn and Bergamot joined the rest as they all made their escape. Behind them the clatter of falling wood and stone could be heard as the dust devil gave out.
“Move! Move! Move! Ow! Move!” Inge chanted at everyone as he stepped on pebbles and bulled his way through dry branches.
“I am fine too!” Mirjam grumped at Declan as she watched the two run ahead.
Fleeing downhill was easier than climbing the slope, but the group was more prone to trips and falls on the dry uneven terrain. The girls slowed them, much to the frustration of the strange priest. Halfway down, a viking arrow nearly pierced Inge’s head. It struck a tree trunk instead. He let out a loud expletive at the archer who dared shoot his way.
Inge looked back and saw two dozen vikings in hot pursuit.
“We must make a stand,” Declan said. “Solveig, Mirjam, you go with these priests. It is time I did my duty.”
“No!” Solveig shouted and grabbed his sleeves. “You will not throw your life away! I forbid it!”
“Solveig!” Mirjam shouted.
“My Tign,” the priest said, his cowl pulled far forward, “let your berserker fight. I will get you to the Silfryxen safely.” His voice brooked no disagreement.
The priest looked at Finn and Inge. “Brothers, will you stay with the berserker or come with me?” he asked.
“You have done well to free them. Go and finish your work. The two of us will stay and fight,” Inge said with a nasty grit. “Thu vethur we will.”
Finn watched Bergamot. She was acting strangely toward the priest’s dog, unwilling to get close but refusing to take her eyes off him. The fawn coat was matted with blood from muzzle to paws
“Finn?” Inge said. “Are you with us?”
“Greithr. What? Jah, I stand with you. Go in peace, Brother,” Finn said to the priest who gave a faint bow.
“Come, m
y Tign, leave them to their bloody task. You need not see any more death today.” The priest ushered the two girls on.
As they retreated down the slope, Finn realized that Bergamot had been growling the entire time. He felt a tug on his hip bag and looked down to see an arrow now stuck through both sides, narrowly missing his thigh.
“Finn! By God’s loaded dice! Pay attention!” Inge shouted.
“Bergamot! Drepte, han!” Finn ordered and pointed at a cluster of archers. The dog charged, two arrows stuck in her packs. Then a third before she was on them, like a fox among chickens.
With a prayer and a roar, Declan charged, shield up, deflecting the few arrows aimed at him before the remaining archers drew their saxes to fight hand-to-hand. Finn and Inge saw why a berserker was so lauded. He was unstoppable. The vikings scattered among the trees trying to find an advantage. His axe tore through all who stood against him, shield smashed to flinders by dozens of blows. Inge lost his harpoon, its barb stuck in the chest of a viking. He picked up the dead man’s spear and used it instead. Bergamot ran down the final archer who chose discretion too late.
When the last viking fell, Declan let out a shout of triumph that rang off the steep cliff walls. Finn fell to his knees and gave a prayer of thanksgiving. Then he looked down the slope, catching a glimpse of the priest and the Kronadottirs almost to the shore.
“The Lord rebuke you, foul manitou! Begone! In Jesus’ name I bind you and cast you out!” Friar Inge bellowed at one of the corpses as it began to open its glowing green eyes. The body convulsed and was silent. Inge took out his anointing oil and began sealing one body after another.
“Finn!” Inge shouted, pointing past him.
Another body was rising as the lengthening shadows of late afternoon gave the spirits relief from the sunlight.
“By the Blood of Jesus, Lord of Heaven and Earth, I command you. Be bound and cast into the pit, foul spirit!” Finn shouted. A faint glow of angelic hands and arms tore the spirit free from the body as it gobbled out an unholy wail. The viking’s body slumped to the ground returning to death.
“This poisoned ground has made it easy for the Devil’s imps. He raises the dead at will even in the bright of day!” Inge said and hurried over to the body Finn had just exorcised.
“Only those lying in shadow,” Finn agreed.
“The sun can prevent the dead from rising?” Declan asked.
“Daylight cannot keep them from breaking through the veil. It is more akin to a cat that is forced to swim. They can do it just fine if they must but will be twice as foul tempered for it. Every spirit has its own foibles. Just as certain demons like specific sins,” Inge explained then sealed another corpse.
“Must we bury them, too?” Declan asked as he pulled Inge’s harpoon from the fallen viking.
“We should, but time is short and we have far more important tasks to attend to. It can be done in the morning if necessary. Nothing will bring those bodies back tonight, and I doubt scavengers will come around here, otherwise we would have seen them following the draugr earlier.”
“Then let us get back to the Silferyxen,” said Declan.
“After you, meistari,” Finn said and the three walked down to the shores of the Eitrfjord and the waiting ship.
41. Unearthing the Magnitude of Betrayal
Leif stood atop the forecastle and surveyed the Eitrfjord with Kaptein Gramrsson and the pilot. Once it was clear the attack was a failure, the tug’s crew had loosed the chains on its raft, creating an impassable snarl of logs. It would be hours before they could get through to open water. It was too easy to lose a paddle wheel or puncture their hull and bring the voyage to ruin.
Then again, it did not matter, for without the Kronadottirs, they would not sail. As the battle turned, Leif saw Declan make it to shore to pursue his sisters’ captors. If anyone could bring them back, he would.
At daybreak, Leif forbade his men from going any farther than the shoreline, trusting that Declan would return soon. The last window of opportunity to make the crossing was upon them. Even if God smiled and hid them in the night fog, they could not depend on such a blessing. Leif’s quest balanced on the edge of a knife.
Worry grew to unbearable degrees as the day wore on. No word or sign came, and the crew kept itself busy by tending to the wounded and repairing the ship. Fortunate winds pushed the logs clear of the fjord’s mouth. What a waste of timber, Leif thought, but thank God, He is clearing the way for us.
The ship’s crew was decimated, hardly more than a skeleton of its full strength. His huskarls survived with minor wounds, but only a few warriors were able to fight. The loss of Chaplain Hansson did not bode well, either. They had neither the time nor ability to mourn the dead properly. Thankfully, the damage to the Silfryxen was superficial, and the sailors worked around the clock to make the ship ready.
With evening coming on, Leif began to suspect there would be no choice but to risk his cargo and search for his sisters at dawn. There was no way he would leave them behind. Even if the unthinkable happened, he would not leave them here.
“Leif!” came a girl’s shout.
He turned, boggled to see Solveig poking her head over the railing, sailors helping her aboard. Leif sprinted to the edge of the forecastle where he had been keeping watch.
“Solveig! Mirjam!” he cried for joy, throwing himself down the stairs to the main deck in one jump. “Oh! Praise God! You are alright!”
He took both of his sisters in his arms, his relief overwhelming. After all the loss his family had suffered, the loss of his sisters would have been too much for him to bear. He opened his eyes, kissed them both on the cheeks and stood up, laughing at his sentimental outburst.
“I knew you would come get us, Leif,” Mirjam said kissing her brother’s cheek in return.
“I knew Declan would come,” Solveig tacked on. “But we could not have been rescued without so much extra help.”
Leif saw the priest in charcoal robes lifting his giant bloodstained dog onto the deck with the help of the crew. No hint of his sect or heraldry showed on his clothing.
“Help?” Leif asked, concerned by the newcomer. His hand rested on his sword’s hilt.
“Jah! This priest helped us escape from the mine where we were imprisoned. He got us to Declan and the two friars,” Mirjam explained.
Leif’s confusion deepened as he looked at the priest.
“Two friars? With Declan?” he asked, frowning to understand who these new priests were.
“Jah!” Solveig said. “They stayed behind and fought the rest of the vikings who chased us.”
The priest, now satisfied with his appearance, humbly waited, head bowed like an experienced courtier.
Leif motioned for the priest to approach.
“Thank you, Father,” Leif said to him. “I am grateful for the service you have done for me, my sisters and the Sveinnaettir.” The priest shuffled forward and gave a deep bow.
“Why did you change loyalties from your fellow vikings to ours?” Leif asked.
“My Tign, I never changed loyalties, for I was sent by the Lord of the Heavens to be there for the Kronadottir’s sake.” Leif scowled at the answer. Who was this Lord of the Heavens and what kind of agenda did he have? Why send this priest? Was this some strange euphemism for God that his sect used?
The priest now stood up, hands folded at his waist, and rolled his cowl back.
“You are much older than I expected for such heroics, Father,” Leif observed.
The man smiled. It was a pleasant, infectious expression for those who saw it.
“Oh, I do not know if heroics have an age. I only did what was asked of me,” the priest blushed.
“How did you rescue them?” Leif asked as he sat down using a capstan as an impromptu throne.
The priest began telling his saga. “Many had witnessed Meistari Declan’s assault on three of their karvi. Their morale was crushed. With our sjef wounded, I pushed the survivors to retreat from your w
arrior’s axes before it was too late. They took your sisters as hostages to bargain with, should you catch them. One of our number knew of the old mine, and we fled there for our protection. After we were safe, the sjef died. Nothing could be done. All I could do was keep him from becoming draugr.
“Without a clear leader, everything spiraled out of control. The surviving vikings had been cobbled together from various clans and jarldoms, leaving little unity save for plunder and payment by their patron. Something they would not get now. Unspeakable ideas about your sisters were being brazenly discussed. I could not bear the thought of the Kronadottirs suffering such things. Therefore, I tricked three vikings into showing me where they had hidden the Kronadottirs. I gave them strict instructions to not harm them in any way. Knowing their evil hearts, I followed just outside of their lamp light. As for the rest…” he trailed off, “it is best left unsaid. Your sisters have suffered enough indignity for one day.”
The shrewdness of the man! Leif could not help but be astonished.
“Incredible! Simply unbelievable!” Leif commended. “If only I had a presence of mind like that.”
“That is the wisdom of many years, my Tign. You will get there some day. Youth is the currency of wisdom, you know. Spend it carefully,” the smiling priest said.
“Indeed,” agreed the kaptein.
There came a commotion from the side of the Silfryxen as one of the captured karvi was lashed to the ship, and the remainder of the shore party and their passengers climbed the boarding ladders.
“You must understand, I joined the vikings but only participated in providing for their spiritual protection. When the draugr rose up, I did my duty and preserved the lives of all I could. No one deserves to be used as the Devil’s puppet.”
“Do you wish a reward for your acts?” Leif asked.
“What need have I for treasures on earth? My riches are stored in Heaven, my Tign.” He would not meet the Tronerving’s eyes.
“For the act of saving the Kronadottirs, I shall then pardon you for your part in attacking my ship. Furthermore, I ask that you to accompany us back to Dyrrvatn Kastali,” Leif proclaimed.
Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves Page 27