Viking Gold

by V. Campbell

  Sinead’s face broke into a smile. “You’re alive,” she said, rushing towards him, Silver bounding along behind her. “I thought Ragnar had you …” her voice trailed off when she saw his bloodied face.

  “It’s nothing,” Redknee said, kneeling to give Silver a hug. “Gisela imprisoned me for talking to Thorvald about life above ground. Probably saved my hide.”

  “Gisela has vanished,” she said with a snort. “We’re discussing what to do.”

  Redknee scanned the group. He saw that Koll, Olvir and Brother Alfred were amongst them. “Where’s Astrid?” he asked.

  Thorvald stepped forward. He looked gaunt. “Both of Astrid’s men died fighting Ragnar. We think she left with Gisela.”

  “What do you mean, left?” Olaf demanded.

  Sinead spoke before Thorvald had the chance. “Gisela stole the Codex in the mêlée. We think Astrid has gone with her.” She hung her head. “It’s all my fault. I should never have read the part about forests of gold.”

  Thorvald stopped. “I’ve come as far as I can.” He pointed to a weathered door. “That leads out to a river. Follow the river down stream to a waterfall. Gisela goes there to cast her spells. If she believes your book contains magic, that’s where she’ll be.”

  Redknee said goodbye to Silver, thanked Thorvald, who had volunteered to look after the pup until they returned, then stepped out to a bright autumn day. His eyes blanched at the contrast with the dark tunnels.

  The river wound through marshy brown fields edged with rush and figwort. He and Olvir helped Sinead pick her way through the mud. It was slow going. Olaf and Harold brought up the rear. Magnus and Koll ran ahead, acting vanguard.

  They heard the falls long before they saw them – a thunderous, ear-splitting roar to mock Thor. When he reached the cliff edge, Redknee peered over into a swirling granite cauldron fed by a flume of water a hundred feet tall. Spray moistened his skin. He closed his eyes and revelled in the cool sensation.

  Sinead stared, wide eyed. “The water looks like milk. I’ve never seen anything like it. In Ireland we had—”

  “No one’s interested,” Koll said, making towards stone steps worn into the cliff.

  Olaf laughed as Sinead stomped after Koll. “I don’t know what you’re so pleased about,” she said. “I thought you hated the Codex. You wanted to sail home.”

  “That was before it became personal,” Olaf said, drawing his sword. “Still don’t care about the book – but if I find that stinking Ragnar behind these falls, I’ll gut him like a herring.” He turned to Harold who was shuffling down the steps behind him. “Isn’t that right, son?” he said.

  Harold snivelled and his mouth seemed unable to form words. Drool hung from his nose. Olaf took a linen square from his tunic and wiped it away. “There we go, lad,” he said, patting Harold on the back. “A Viking doesn’t go to war with snot dangling from his face.”

  The steps were steep and slick with water. As they descended slowly, they heard chanting coming from a ledge about halfway down. The ledge disappeared behind the curtain of water, hiding whoever was speaking. Redknee pointed to a narrow, moss-covered path that led along the cliff wall, joining with the ledge. “We can use that,” he said.

  Koll edged onto the first foothold.

  Redknee turned to the others. “We have to be ready at the far end. We’ll be in single file, whoever is behind the falls will have the advantage.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Olaf said, holding up his sword.

  Redknee turned to Sinead. “You wait here.”

  “I will not.”

  As he stared into her stony eyes, he wondered why he’d allowed her to come this far. It would have been much safer for her back at the tunnels.

  “I’ll tie her up for you,” Koll said.

  “No need,” Sinead folded her arms over her chest and reluctantly stood aside. “I’ll wait.”

  Redknee followed Koll onto the ledge. It was so narrow he had to press his body flat against the cliff; cold rock grazed his cheek. Olvir followed him, then Magnus, with Olaf and Harold bringing up the rear. The chanting grew louder. A different, higher voice, answered. Astrid’s perhaps? He clung to the cracks in the rock face and prayed it was only Astrid and Gisela on the ledge.

  Koll disappeared behind the spray. A woman’s scream echoed through the gorge followed by the sound of iron clashing against iron. Redknee froze.

  “Come on,” Olvir said, placing a gentle hand on Redknee’s shoulder, “remember what you told me before?”

  Redknee looked into Olvir’s young face and shook his head. All of a sudden, he felt dizzy. He dare not look down, into that churning foam – falling would bring certain death.

  “You said there was no way back – some things have to be done.”

  Redknee steadied himself. Olvir was right. There was nothing for it now. Taking a deep breath, he drew his battleaxe and leapt through the falls. Water pounded his face, blinding him for precious seconds. By the time he opened his eyes, the tip of a finely tempered steel sword pressed against his Adam’s apple. Flame Weaver.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Ragnar said, grinning. “Now drop your axe.” Redknee hesitated; Ragnar pushed the tip of Flame Weaver into the hollow of his throat. “Do it.”

  Cursing to himself, Redknee complied. Ragnar kicked the axe off the ledge. He was grotesque up close. The burned skin on his cheek had hardened like week-old porridge.

  “Don’t stare at me, lad. Just because life is yet to touch you. If everyone wore their character on their face, there’d be much less vanity.” Redknee didn’t mean to obey, but he felt himself lowering his eyes.

  The ledge opened to a cave that reached back into the cliff, large enough for several people to stand. Koll was on his knees before Mord, two of Ragnar’s men holding him down. Astrid and Gisela cowered behind them; Astrid’s face was pinched with fear. Gisela had the Codex in her arms. Three other armed men crowded the ledge.

  “We’ve more in common than you think,” Ragnar continued, raising his voice above the thunder of the falls. “Did you know your mother stayed with me for a time when her husband abandoned her to go raiding?”

  “Don’t listen to that turd-eating troll,” Koll said.

  Redknee glanced at his friend, the skin around his left eye was broken; blood smeared his cheek, but Koll still found the strength to smile.

  “I don’t believe you,” Redknee said, meeting Ragnar’s eye. “She stayed with Ivar.”

  Ragnar smiled and shook his head. “No, no, young troll boy. Not then. Not once your uncle, the thieving double-crossing snake, had the Codex. Before. When we were all still friends. Though, what a fool I was to trust in the friendship of those brothers.”

  “You lie. It is you who double-crossed them. You wanted the Codex for yourself. My father ... Erik … he was only seeking a better life. One free of tyrants like you.” As Redknee spoke, he realised the irony in defending a man he knew wasn’t his real father, but by Odin’s eye, he wasn’t going to let that affect his hatred for Ragnar.

  Ragnar snorted without mirth. “And where was he going to find such a life?”

  “You tell me,” Redknee replied. “Isn’t that why you attacked my village? Killed my mother and countless others? Chased us across the sea? All to get your hands on that bloody book.” He pointed to the Codex, still in Gisela’s arms. “Are its secrets worth all the lost lives?”

  At that moment, Olvir tumbled through the falls, landing at Mord’s feet. Mord quickly relieved Olvir of his bow and pressed his foot into Olvir’s back, pinning him to the ground.

  Olvir glanced up at Mord. “I thought you were dead.”

  “You should be so lucky,” Mord said, grinding his heel into Olvir’s spine. The boy whimpered.

  Ragnar turned back to Redknee. “Any more uninvited guests I should know about? Should I expect the pleasure of your most honourable uncle?”

  Redknee shook his head but in the same moment Magnus charged through the falls, slamming
into Ragnar, knocking him over. Flame Weaver skittered across the floor. Thinking Magnus was going to seize the chance to drive his sword into Ragnar’s belly, Redknee made for Flame Weaver, but Magnus hesitated, giving one of Ragnar’s men time to jab him between the eyes with his pommel.

  Ragnar stared at Magnus’s unconscious body. “Best thing you could’ve done,” he said, patting the man-at-arms on the back. “Now,” he said, collecting Flame Weaver and turning to Redknee. “I believe you have something I want.”

  “Me?” Redknee asked, shaking his head. “It’s you who—”

  “The Irish girl,” Ragnar snapped. “Where is she? The one who reads Latin.”

  Please, he thought, give Sinead the sense to stay outside.

  “Tell me where she is, or I’ll …” he cast round, grabbing Olvir and hauling him to his feet. “I’ll toss the boy in the drink.”

  Redknee glanced at the curtain of water. Where was Olaf? He had to delay. “Why do you need Sinead? he asked. “Is it to read Latin?”

  “That’s of no concern to you,” Ragnar said, dragging Olvir forward until his toes met the edge and his face glistened with spray.

  Olvir pressed his eyes tight shut.

  Redknee remembered Mord had been looking in the Codex for a map. “It’s just, there’s a map in the book. You don’t need Latin to follow a map. If you’ll let me show—”

  Ragnar frowned at Mord.

  “The rat lies,” Mord said. “I looked thoroughly. There’s no map.”

  Ragnar turned back to Redknee. “Is she outside?” he demanded. “Shall I go see?”

  “No!”

  Ragnar ignored him. “Bring troll boy,” he said to one of his men before releasing Olvir and disappearing through the spray. Reluctantly, Redknee shuffled out behind Ragnar, the tip of Red-beard’s sword pressed into his back. Ragnar crossed the ledge in a couple of bounds; displaying the agility of a much younger man.

  On reaching the steps, Redknee was relieved to see Sinead had gone. There was no sign of Olaf and Harold either.

  “Ah,” Ragnar said. “I have misjudged you. I thought you lied, but I see I measured you by my own—”

  “Throw down your weapons and we’ll give you the girl.” Olaf appeared at the top of the cliff, holding a dagger to Sinead’s throat. Harold cowered behind him, a look of twisted glee on his face.

  “I knew you wouldn’t have left her behind,” Ragnar said, grinning at Redknee.

  Anger rose from Redknee’s gut. What was Olaf playing at?

  Ragnar turned back to Olaf. “Don’t be stupid. You’re outnumbered. Hand me the slave and I’ll let you and your son go unharmed.”

  “You and whose army?” Olaf replied.

  “If I call, twenty men will rush to my aid.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Shall we put it to the test?”

  The steps were slippery and the man-at-arms behind Redknee was young and clumsy – the kind of youth whose joints seem yet too big for their limbs. One well-placed blow would give Redknee the moments he needed. He shifted his weight, planting his feet wide apart. He would only get one chance. Twisting, he drove his elbow up and under his captor’s chin. The youth fell back. Redknee lunged at Ragnar, drawing Harold’s dagger from his boot; pressing it against Ragnar’s throat and grabbing Flame Weaver before the bigger man realised what had happened.

  The youth recovered and hurtled forward.

  “Stay where you are,” Redknee growled. “Or I’ll carve my name in your master’s neck.” Ragnar raised his hand and the youth backed down. Redknee turned to Olaf. “Leave Sinead, and go.”

  Olaf shook his head and lurched backwards, dragging her with him. Harold peered over the cliff. He spat in Redknee’s direction then hobbled after his father until he was out of sight.

  “Right,” Redknee said to Ragnar, pushing him back onto the ledge towards the falls. “You have a few things I want.” Before he went further, Redknee turned to the youth. “Stay here,” he said. “If I see you so much as wriggle your little toe, I swear I’ll cut off Ragnar’s ears and feed them to the pigs.”

  “Do as he says,” Ragnar said and the youth nodded solemnly.

  Redknee forced Ragnar along the ledge and through the falls.

  “Father!” Mord cried, his face wide with surprise.

  “Stand back, son. Redknee means us no harm. We’re like family to him – as I said before, we looked after his mother when she was abandoned.”

  “You killed my mother.”

  “An unfortunate mistake.”

  “Stop lying. Just order Mord to release my men and return their weapons.”

  Ragnar nodded. Mord pushed Olvir forward and directed his men-at-arms to release Koll.

  Koll rubbed his wrists where the men had held them. “Fart-breathed puke-eaters,” he said, delivering his captors an evil look.

  Magnus was still out cold. “Wake him,” Redknee said.

  Olvir shook Magnus.

  “What happened?” Magnus asked as he came round. “Did we win?”

  “Just seeing to that,” Redknee said. He turned to Mord. “I’m taking your father with me. You and your men will remain here, and, once we are far enough away, I’m going to release him. But I won’t do that if you come after us. Alright?”

  Mord nodded reluctantly.

  “Wait,” Astrid stepped forward. “I want to come with you too.”

  “Why?” Redknee asked. “I thought you’d thrown your lot in with Ragnar.”

  Astrid shook her head. “Please, I didn’t know Gisela was planning to meet with Ragnar. I only came with her because she told me she could help me find my husband. She said he passed through Greenland two springs ago. Said she knew where he’d gone – that she could show me if she had the book.”

  Gisela laughed. “You are so foolish – I know something about your Promised Land that would freeze your blood.”

  “We’re not interested,” Redknee said, motioning to Olvir to take the Codex from Gisela. Olvir hurried forward and tugged the book from her.

  Gisela glowered at Redknee. “You think you go to an empty land where you can all live like kings. Well you’re wrong. It’s populated by fearsome warriors who possess the power to vanish and reappear at will. So fearsome are these warriors that only one man from the dragon ships lived to tell the tale. Ulfsson was his name.”

  “That’s enough,” Redknee said, sensing the tension rising again. He motioned for the others to start heading back along the ledge. Olvir went first, followed by Magnus and Koll. They were eager to be rid of Gisela’s poisonous tongue.

  “One last thing, Redknee, son of Erik,” Gisela said, rising onto her tiptoes just as she had done in the great hall only the day before. “You, who seek the truth about your father. You’ve come far, but your journey is far from over; it will yet be fraught with danger. In this, I condemn your fate to be tied to that of your gravest enemy. For it is only from him that you will learn the truth.”

  Before Redknee could do anything, Ragnar shot forward, grabbed Gisela by the neck and without pause, tossed her into the falls, her screams mingling with the thunder of the river.

  “She was bad for morale,” Ragnar said, casually drying his hands on the hem of his tunic.

  Chapter 25

  Redknee stumbled along the ledge. “Run!” he shouted to the others as he reached the steps. “Run … Ragnar has escaped.”

  “We should stand and fight,” Koll said.

  “No.” Redknee said, charging past him. “We have the Codex. And we’re outnumbered.”

  “The tunnels then.”

  They scrambled along the riverbank to the secret entrance. Redknee pulled aside the ferns concealing the door and gave a sharp knock. No answer.

  “Come on,” Astrid said. “Just open it.”

  Redknee felt for a handle, but the door was completely smooth, without a mechanism for entry.

  Koll drew back. “I’ll kick it in.”

  “No,” Redknee said, “t
hey’ll see where we’ve gone.”

  Astrid pushed him out the way. “My hands are smaller, let me try.” She worked her fingers between the door and the wooden frame and yanked, but nothing happened.

  “Hurry,” Koll said. “I can hear them coming.”

  “I’m doing my best. Unless you want to have a go with your big blacksmith’s paws?”

  “Just keep trying,” Redknee said, catching the sound of heavy footsteps beyond the riverbend.

  Olvir strung his bow and took an arrow from his quiver, ready to pick off the front-runners. Then, just as Ragnar came into sight, sword raised, face set against the wind … the door stuttered open and they all piled through.

  “Did he see us?” Magnus asked breathlessly as Koll jammed the door shut behind them.

  Redknee pressed his ear to the door; the footsteps were receding.

  ◊

  Thorvald wept into his drinking horn. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  Redknee had come straight to the main hall to tell Thorvald of Gisela’s death. They were alone apart from Bjorn, Thorvald’s chief man-at-arms, who stood to attention behind Thorvald’s throne. Redknee placed a hand on Thorvald’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. But he felt uneasy saying it. Gisela had not been loyal.

  Bjorn spoke into his master’s ear. “What your kingdom needs now, is strength – not magic. Gisela’s powers were nothing against Ragnar’s fury.”

  Thorvald nodded. “You’re right, Bjorn. I have been living under a shadow. We all have.”

  “You need protection,” Bjorn continued. “I’ll post three of my fiercest berserkers to your personal guard.”

  “Is that needed?” Redknee asked. “It’s us Ragnar is after.”

  Bjorn frowned. “You doubt I have the best interests of my king at heart?”

  “I think you’re over-reacting,” Redknee said, but as he spoke, the thick oak beams holding the ceiling above them shook, sending clumps of earth spiralling to the floor, like underground rain.