Night of the Berserkers

by Lee Savino

  “And now the king says I must return to him.”

  Ivar sighed. “He’s decided he wants you as his bride.”

  I nodded. “If he takes me to wife, how long will I survive?”

  “Not long,” Ivar answered. “It depends. Some women weaken and die right away others bear him many sons. But after time, all of them perish. If not by his hand…” he trailed off and I answered for him.

  “By his magic leaching their essence.”

  Tristan spoke up. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

  “Shhh,” I stopped his promises with my fingers on his lips. “You cannot. You are his commander, sworn to protect him. If he knew—”

  He pulled down my hand and kissed it. “My life is yours.”

  “And mine,” Magnus stepped from the shadows. Despite his great size, he moved swiftly and knelt close. “Along with my blade.”

  Lars and Ivar also knelt, murmuring the same.

  I couldn’t stop tears tracking down my face. “You don’t even know me.”

  “We beheld you first in our dreams. You hold the power to free us from the battle rage,” Tristan said.

  “Our meeting was foretold,” Ivar murmured.

  I knew it was true. From the first, I felt I knew these men. I told them this, and their glad expressions broke my heart. These warriors would fight for me. But for naught. Against the mage’s magic, they would die.

  “We will find a way to stand against him,” Tristan said. “You said he was trapped for a thousand years.”

  “Yes,” I hesitated, then spoke my greatest fear. “But the lore said he was bespelled by one of his wives, who found a way to ensnare him, and joined her strength with all the others to stand against him.”

  “But he has no more wives,” Ivar said.

  I pressed my lips together. I did not know what it meant. Had my coming back in time changed the pattern of events?

  A hard knock on the door drove the warriors to their feet. Sword drawn, Magnus opened it, and scowled at the one beyond.

  “The king requests his lady at midnight.” I recognized Gaul’s voice.

  I let my head sink into my hands. So soon. I had hoped for a reprieve, hoped he’d change his mind.

  “Noted,” Magnus said, and started to shut the door in the messenger’s face. There was a struggle, and Gaul pushed his way into the room. His left eye was blackened from a fist, and even though Ivar and Lars blocked his way, his eyes landed on me with hate.

  “I have more to say,” Gaul spat in my direction. “She must dress in the clothes he sent to her. She must look like a queen. By order of the king.”

  “She will,” Tristan said. “Now leave us.” His voice cracked with power, and to my surprise, Gaul obeyed.

  Magnus slammed the door behind the retreating warrior. “He grows bold,” the giant warrior growled.

  “We will deal with him,” Tristan said. “And with those who follow him.”

  “I’ll go with him now, and keep an eye on him,” Magnus said, and bowing to me, left.

  “Lady, you should rest. You don’t have much time,” Ivar said. “We will leave you alone.” He tugged Lars arm. The blond darted forward, leaned down and gave me an impish kiss. “Till we meet again,” he waggled his brows until I couldn’t help but smile at both warrior’s retreating backs.

  Tristan leaned closer to me. His hand rested on my nape, and I winced. Frowning, he tugged away my gown and sucked in a breath.

  “Lady, who has harmed you?”

  Craning my neck, I noted the bruises livid on my skin. “The mage touched me.” His hand had left a collar of bluish marks.

  Tristan’s whole body tensed, but his voice was cool. “Don’t show Magnus. It will send him again into battle madness.”

  “Is Magnus fully healed?”

  The anger emanating off the commander dimmed somewhat. “He is. Miracle of miracles.”

  “Out on the practice field he terrorized all who dare spar with him.”

  “That’s Magnus,” Tristan chuckled. “He will never be gentle, but thanks to you, he has his right mind. Truly a boon. A ray of sunlight on this dark day.”

  “Good,” I closed my eyes as exhaustion washed through me.

  “You should rest,” Tristan made to leave, and I caught his hand.

  “Please. Stay with me.”

  I curled against him. Slowly, as if afraid he might scare me away, his hand came to stroke back my hair.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said when I was almost asleep.

  “Hmm?”

  “The four of us spoke. We can find a way to get you out.”

  I raised my head, no longer tired. They’d help me run. But then what would happen to them?

  “I was sent to find a way to stop the Corpse King from destroying my people.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “No. They should’ve sent another. One used to fighting without power. As it is, I do not know how to face him.”

  “So what then? You offer yourself up to him? What crime did you commit to be sacrificed so?”

  I gazed at my hands.

  Tristan cursed and kicked at the unlit brazier sending wood flying.

  “And if it does no good?”

  “I must try,” I whispered.

  “Why did they send you here with no weapons? With nothing to use against him?”

  “I have my wits, my looks.”

  “Your innocence.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You will be sacrificed on the mage’s altar, and none of your people will even know what happened to you.”

  I prayed that would not happen.

  His shoulders hunched, helpless. Even without his helm, commander’s cloak, and armor, he was the picture of a powerful man, frustrated. For all his strength, he was unable to protect me.

  I laid a hand on his arm. “I will be all right.”

  “Will you? Do you know what my king does to innocent women? He charms them. He takes them to bed. He keeps them in his harem and gets sons on them. And when he is done, he sacrifices them to build his power.”

  “You have seen him do this?”

  “I have watched… too many. All our mothers. And then his children…”

  I steadied myself. I’d heard horrible stories of how the mage treated his children. “What of his children?”

  “All sons. We become his army. All half-brothers. We share a close bond. We also have great power.”

  “Until his magic drives you mad,” I said. “In my time, we call the mage “The Corpse King.”

  Tristan barked a bitter laugh. “We are his soldiers. We leave the corpses.”

  I put a hand on his arm to stop his self-censure. “You are an honorable man. The mage holds many in his thrall, in this time, and in my time, as the Corpse King.” I did not tell him why we called him so. In my time, the Corpse King raised the dead so that they walked and served him, animated by the worst of evil magic—necromancy. “He will not stop until he has enslaved all of us. That is why my people fear. That is why I must face him. I must, Tristan, it’s why I have come.”

  “Yseult.” He cupped my face. I waited for his kiss, but he only held me, studying my face with sorrow marring his. “If I let you go, would you run?”

  “No.” But I let my gaze drop for I did not know my own fortitude. I hoped I would make the courageous choice.

  “Then ready yourself. I will take you to him.”

  I prepared myself for the Corpse King’s summons in the same way I had prepared for my sister’s spell. I bathed, not a full luxurious bath, but a quick one with a bowl of water and a bit of cloth. I used my shift to dry, and reluctantly shrugged on the gold gown. The king had sent slippers with his gifts, and after washing my feet, I put them on. I found a brush in one of the women’s rooms. Saying a prayer for its owner, I attacked my hair, leaning over the fountain to peer at my reflection. Pale, with dark circles under my eyes, I looked like a ghost. My hair haloed around my head. Try as I might, I co
uld not get it to fall flat.

  Finally, I braided it down my back and wove in a few moonflowers. They released a strong scent when crushed, and for a time I played with them, enjoying my gift while I could. I’d never had a lover try to charm me.

  “Lady,” Tristan entered the courtyard, his helm under his arm. He slowed as he approached me, and touched a finger to my hair. “The most beautiful flowers bloom in darkness.”

  I let out a shaky breath. “From where I come from, I am not considered beautiful.”

  “Then your people are blind.”

  Or I hid my beauty behind my witch self, my strangeness, my power. “I wish we could’ve met sooner, then.”

  “Yseult, it’s not too late to run.”

  “I cannot. My sisters are waiting for me, a thousand years back in time. I must find a way to defeat him and send the knowledge back. Even if I do not survive.”

  He drew me close, his lips at my forehead. “I cannot do this. I cannot bring you to him. Don’t ask me.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, pushing up to press my cheek to his. I had never needed a man, but in this time, in this world, I needed Tristan like my lungs needed air. If I did not touch him. I would die.

  “You must find a way to fight him,” he said. I stayed silent, for I could not. I had no weapons.

  Tristan drew out his talisman. “Take this. My mother thought it would protect her against him.” The moonstone flashed in the darkness. “She gave it to me. I give it to you, lady. It is yours.”

  I nodded and bowed my head, so he could fasten it around my neck.

  “I will return,” I told him. “I will face the Corpse King and return.”

  A great shadow fell across us. Magnus, looming in the doorway.

  “It is time.”

  19

  Yseult

  Our march to the king’s chambers took little time. All along the halls, Berserkers lined the way. I saw Gaul and a few of his followers scowling at me, but most of the faces were watchful, waiting.

  At gilt doors, Tristan halted. I turned with him to face my honor guard. “We go on from here alone.”

  Lars, Ivar, and Magnus all looked worried.

  “I will be fine,” I told them. At least I knew what I would face. The Corpse King might try to seduce me, if that failed he would try to use his magic to overwhelm me. He could easily rape my mind, leave me his slave, a shell of a woman he could use to bear his sons. He would absorb my spaewife magic if he could.

  Somehow, I would fight.

  Tristan guided me to the doors, which drew open without a touch and set the shadows whispering.

  For a moment, I leaned into Tristan.

  “Yseult,” he breathed, and I willed him not to ask me to run. If he did, I would say yes. But it would mean his death, and mine. If he wished, the Corpse King could find us anywhere. There was no place we could go.

  “I’m fine,” I said. He studied me with dark eyes that saw more than I would have him see.

  “Very well.” He kissed my brow and withdrew. “Return to me.”

  My new gown swirling about my legs, I strode into the Corpse King’s lair. My boldness lasted but a few steps, when I saw the long hall leading to a low dais, and a bed. Again, there was no sign of the Corpse King, but I slowed, my neck prickling. Someone was following me.

  Halfway to the bed, I caught sight of the silvery shapes of women surrounding me. If I turned to look, they’d disappear into the shadows. The former wives, all ghosts.

  Tonight, they were my companions, as well as a warning of what I could become.

  “You wore the gifts I sent you.” The rich voice in the dark, startled me. I stopped short. The king stepped into the room, wearing a mage’s robe and a crown on his head. I dropped into a curtsey, and he waved a hand to call me to him, but I could not will my feet to move.

  “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “A queen. Worthy of a king.” This time he raised a hand and an unseen force drew me forward. My heart pounded but I was frozen in the grip of magic. “You will rule beside me, Yseult. And whole worlds will fall at our feet.”

  He touched me, and I was no longer in his chambers. I stood on the battlements again, watching the Berserkers fight. This time they were not sparring, but marching forward, advancing to the far corners of the earth while the king and I watched.

  The mage spoke in my ear, “With the power we have, none can stand in our way.”

  The vision fell away. The king turned me to face him, tipping my chin up. His touched burned a little, but in the face of his beauty, I was dazzled.

  Tristan. Someone whispered. Ivar. Lars. Magnus.

  Where did I know these names?

  As the king held me, the ghosts rippled the air around us. Our sons. They are our sons. Only you can save them. Women’s voices. The spaewives.

  “It is time,” the mage said. His deep voice rolled over me, pulling me under. He took my wrist, tugging me towards the bed. My mind rebelled even as my body followed.

  Yseult, the ghosts whispered. The necklace. Use the stone.

  Necklace? I’d forgotten. My free hand went to my breast where the stone lay nestled between them. Such a pretty stone, to pretty to be hidden.

  I touched the chain, and pain seared into my mind. Not pain, power. Like my old strength but magnified, more. Channeled perfectly through the stone. I was still Yseult, a spaewife. But, for a time, at least, I could reach my magic.

  Then the king took my other wrist. I lost hold of the stone and all my strength faded away.

  I struggled a moment, and he slapped me, hard.

  “You will obey me,” he ordered, and my spine turned to water. If he weren’t holding my wrist, I would’ve collapsed.

  A second later he thrust me onto the bed. I rolled to get away, and he caught my ankle, his fingers burning my skin.

  I cried out. The ghosts rose up around the bed, faint hands reaching for me but unable to take hold.

  The stone, the stone.

  The king flipped me onto my back and slapped my hands away. Catching the front of the gown, he tore neck to midriff.

  Yes, the ghosts cried.

  At my breast, the moonstone flared.

  The king bellowed, throwing a hand over his face. I rose up, but a force tore the necklace from my throat and flung me away.

  I fell as if from a great height my body battered. When I raised myself up, I was curled at the foot of the stairs in the throne room, weak and shivering. My chest bore bruises, my golden gown rent down the front.

  Gaul stood over me with a force of berserker guards. “My liege, what orders do you have?”

  “Take her away,” the king ordered from his place high above on the dais. “Give her to the warriors for their satisfaction.”

  “My lord,” Tristan marched forward, Ivar and Lars behind him. They saluted.

  “A prize for you, commander,” the king jerked his chin at me.

  Ivar and Lars took my arms and towed me quickly out of the great hall.

  “Steady,” Lars whispered. Ahead, Magnus beckoned from the door.

  Hope surged in me. They would take me from the castle. They would help me run.

  We got so far as the outer courtyard, within sight of the yard, before a brace of warriors blocked our way.

  Gaul stepped out, his weapon in hand. “She is our prize. She will be given to all of us.”

  A slick sound as Tristan drew his sword.

  “Make way,” he said.

  None of the warriors moved.

  “Make way,” Tristan shouted, and the stones rang with his command, and the push of his authority. Sweat dripped down a few warrior’s faces. Gaul gritted his teeth but did not budge.

  Behind me, more weapons rang as they were unsheathed. Ivar, Lars, and Magnus would stand with their commander. Four against the rest. They would die.

  “Wait,” I rasped, and worked to clear my throat before repeating it, louder. When no one listened, I did the on
e thing I knew would bring their attention.

  I stripped off the gown and let the moonlight wash over my bare form. Even bruised, my body tempted.

  Amid the murmurs, I tossed the fine garment to the ground and stood naked before them.

  “I yield,” I told them. “Let it be as the king commands.”

  I walked past Tristan to the middle of the yard. By the time I reached the post that stood there, Magnus was at my side. Ivar and Lars joined us.

  “Here,” I grasped the rope hanging from the post.

  “Forgive me, lady,” Ivar murmured, and tied my hands above my head. I closed my eyes and waited for the Berserkers to come and claim me. I would be fodder for their lust and it would be the end. What remained of me at dawn would be given to the king for use as sacrifice.

  A breeze caressed my face. I tilted my face up to the moon and prayed. Goddess, let it be quick.

  I waited long moments, but nothing happened.

  I opened my eyes... and saw nothing but Magnus’ huge bulk before me. He stood poised, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to fight. Ivar and Lars stood on either side of him, their swords out. Tristan stood by, too, his long cloak fluttering in the wind. The minutes crawled by and they did not leave my side. I had no powers, but I had four protectors.

  Wind picked up and then the rain came, the berserkers dispersed. Gaul led his away, muttering.

  “Lady,” Lars was at my side, untying me. As soon as my arms fell, I lurched forward, and was caught up in strong arms. Something soft and warm wrapped around my body. Red. Tristan’s cloak

  He carried me to the guard room where I’d eaten and set me on the table. He tsked as he examined my battered body and tucked the cloak tightly around me.

  “What now?” I asked him, willing my teeth not to chatter.

  “We will protect you. We will fight to get you free.”

  “The mage—I must—”

  “We will fight to defeat him. No,” he stopped my protest with fingers at my lips. “You cannot stop us. We will be your champions.”

  “Commander,” Magnus said at the door. When he stepped back, I braced myself for Gaul to enter, but instead, a warrior came in and removed his helm. I did not recognize him, but he gazed at me as if I was the Goddess incarnate.