The Viking's Consort (Clan Hakon Series Book 3)

by Quinn Loftis

Myra took the spade. “Thank you. This will be immensely helpful in the herb garden.”

  “If you need anything else, just let me know,” Amund said.

  “Thank you,” I replied with a wave.

  He shrugged, turned, and marched off. When he was out of earshot, Myra yelled, “Watch out,” then tossed the spade at me.

  Yelping, I jumped backward. The shovel landed pointed end down in the ground right where I’d stood seconds ago. I glared up at the witch. “You couldn’t have thrown it to the side of me?”

  “I wanted to see how much the shieldmaidens have taught you.” She grinned. “You’re definitely quick on your feet.”

  I had a few choice words I wanted to retort, but I thought it would probably be better if I just kept my mouth shut. She was a witch, after all. I didn’t want her to turn me into something unsavory.

  “Close your eyes,” Myra instructed. “Hold out your hand, then let the magic inside of you seek out the magic in the book. They will be drawn to each other.”

  I did as she said. Slowly, I began to walk around the inside of the circle, one hand holding the spade and the other held out in the air. I imagined I probably looked like I wasn’t right in the head, but such was often the outcome when magic was involved. Or so I was learning.

  “Anything?” Myra asked.

  “Hold your caldron, witch,” I said. “I’m trying to focus.” Myra grumbled something about the younger generations having no respect for their elders. I didn’t bother to respond because I was beginning to feel warmth in my hand. Stopping, I slowly began to crouch. The closer I got to the ground, the hotter my hand became. When I finally made contact with the cool grass, my hand felt like it could set the blades on fire.

  I snapped my eyes open. Myra watched me intently. “I think this is it.” I took the spade, then plunged it into the ground. It was somewhat soft from recent rain, so it wasn’t difficult to shovel the dirt out. When I was beginning to break a sweat and nearly cursing Hilda for burying the stupid book so deep, my spade hit something solid.

  “Finally,” I blew out. I gave the object another prod to ensure it wasn’t simply a rock. It had a hollow sound, like wood. When I began to remove dirt around the object’s edges, a square shape eventually revealed itself—a small wooden box. A few more shovelfuls and the box began to come loose. I fell to my hands and knees to grasp the box, pulling and wrenching until the thing came free. Brushing off the dirt, I sat it on the ground. I could see no devices or designs upon its surface, just pitted wood. There was a hinged lid, but no lock or clasp. With little effort, I pulled open the lid and peered inside.

  The inside was completely clean and empty except for one item. A thick book. “Either this is her book, or some other crazy oracle has been burying things in Hilda’s circle,” I said without taking my eyes off the tome. What its protective box lacked in terms of decoration, the book more than made up for. It was thickly leather bound, its cover the color of mahogany. Two filigreed metal bands held it closed. The corners were riveted with ornate metal designs. In the center was another circular metal design. In the center of that, there was a green gem that appeared to glow of its own accord.

  I reached in and removed the book, half expecting to receive some kind of magical jolt when I touched it, one last protective measure put in place by the oracle. Instead, I only felt its soft leather cover and sharp metal inlays. It was heavy, as though it carried the weight of the world inside. Maybe it did. Secrets, after all, could be massive burdens.

  I stood, leaving the box, and clutched the book to my chest. When I took a step toward the ring of rocks, Myra halted me with a word.

  “Stop,” she commanded. “You might be able to hop in and out of that circle as easy as you please now, but the book, I’m sure, is bound within.”

  “Um, okay.” I was sure Myra could read the confusion on my face. “What happens if I try to take the book?”

  She shrugged. “Could be any number of things. Maybe the book simply hits an invisible brick wall and falls to the ground. Maybe it disintegrates. Also, the frying-bacon scenario we spoke of earlier is still a possibility.”

  “Great. What do I do then?”

  “In order to leave the protective circle, you need to bind the book’s magic to your own…obviously.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And how might one bind a magical book to oneself, pray tell?” I grimaced.

  Myra shook her head. “Wow, that woman didn’t teach you anything, did she?”

  “Well, there wasn’t a lot of time for training, what with the kidnappings and escapes, and, oh yeah, your sister murdering her!”

  Oh, crap. That just sort of came right out. I did not mean to tell Myra something so awful in such a snotty way.

  Her mouth dropped open, and she blinked several times. “Gisele killed Hilda?”

  I nodded, not sure what else to say. Not wanting to relive the moment, I didn’t plan to share the details unless Myra insisted.

  “I’m so sorry, child,” Myra said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Hilda,” she whispered, and it was obvious she wasn’t speaking to me.

  I stayed quiet, letting her have the time she needed to process the information. After several minutes, she opened her eyes. There were unshed tears glistening in her aged eyes, but she had gathered her composure.

  “All right, it’s a straightforward process,” she said, getting right back to the business at hand. Not going to lie—I was really glad she hadn’t asked for details. “Magical objects are bound through blood.”

  “Of course, they are,” I muttered. “And that means what? I cut myself, sprinkle my blood on the book, say some magic words, and then poof, I get to be the book’s new owner?”

  “That about sums it up. You’re not as dull as you look. Maybe Hilda wasn’t completely foolish in choosing you as her successor.” Myra said Hilda’s name with even more fondness than she had before, and I knew she probably felt some sort of kinship with the oracle. They both, after all, had suffered at the hands of Gisele.

  “She didn’t choose me. There was this whole prophecy thing…never mind. Just tell me the words to say.”

  Myra guffawed. “That’s up to you, Little Princess. I wouldn’t begin to know the magic words Hilda used to bind that book. You just better hope they’re hiding somewhere deep down in that little oracle head of yours. Otherwise, I might as well go down to the village and get some ink and a quill.”

  I glanced at her sideways. “Why is that?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Forget what I said earlier, you are as dumb as you look.”

  “That’s a bit rude. I’ll have you know—”

  “If you can’t remove the book,” she interrupted, “and we obviously need the information contained within the book, then the only way for us to take that information is for you to start reading and me to start writing. And given my age and arthritic hands, I’d prefer not to spend several days atop this hill acting as your scribe. So, dearie, get to slicing and start wracking that little brain of yours to find the right magic words.”

  I growled but complied. In a flash, I pulled a dagger out of my boot and gripped it in my hand, one the many edged weapons I now carried on my person thanks to Freya. It’s official, Dayna would think I was a total arse kicker. Tucking the book under one arm, I pushed the blade into my palm. I was proud to say I didn’t even tremble. But I had to confess to wincing a bit as the steel bit into my flesh.

  Just as quickly as I’d retrieved it, I wiped the blade on my pants and resheathed it. Carefully, with my uninjured hand, I pulled the book from under my arm. Pressing a finger to the green stone that pulsed on the front of the book, I felt warmth travel up my hand, my arm, my shoulder, and all the way up to my head. Suddenly, Hilda’s voice echoed in my mind.

  Earth and stone, hide and tree.

  Bind this magical tome to me.

  Muttering the words, I watched my blood soak into the stone. I felt the magic within me being transferred to the
object. After a few heartbeats, the stone stopped pulsing and the warmth disappeared. A weight seemed to be lifted from my shoulders, one I hadn’t even realized I carried.

  “Well done.” Startled, I almost dropped the book in the dirt. Myra stood right next to me, gazing over my shoulder.

  “I guess it worked,” I said. “You don’t smell like bacon.”

  “Indeed.”

  “What now?”

  “Now, I’d like to see what Freya and those shieldmaidens have taught you.” There was a gleam in her eyes as she said it. “We can start uncovering your former mentor’s secrets this evening. Magical books are best examined properly under the cover of darkness. Swordplay, however, that’s a daytime repast.” She pointed back down the hill in the general direction of the training area.

  “You’re as bad as Hilda. You just want to see my tail get handed to me.” I closed the book, then held it against my chest. It felt as if it were a part of me now, some sensitive part that shouldn’t be out in the open, exposed in the light of day, on display for the gods and everyone else to stop and take a peek at.

  “Maybe, or maybe I want to watch you grow as you become the powerful woman you are destined to be.” Myra placed her hand on my shoulder. Squeezed it gently. “It is an awesome thing to behold—watching good leaders rise up and give their people hope. You and Torben have no idea how much turmoil you will prevent if you stop Cathal and Calder. All our actions have a ripple effect, and yours will be felt through generations to come.”

  “No pressure,” I said as we marched slowly back down the hill.

  “I’ve only had her in my life for a mere moment. But that brief glimpse of what it could be like with her has given me a thirst that cannot be quenched by anything but her. If I cannot have her, then I want no life at all.”

  ~Brant

  “Hurry up,” I growled as I paced back and forth along the small dock that served as a mooring point for our clan’s ships. We hardly had a harbor, but our small cove was protected and deep enough to handle our longships with ease. I’d wanted to be gone with the sunrise. Instead, it was already mid-morning and Torben, my clanmates, and King Albric’s men still loaded the two cogs Myra had brought from England, as well as finalizing plans for an invasion of Tara.

  “It’s a three-day journey, Brant,” Torben said. “A couple of more minutes isn’t going to bring you any closer to Dayna.”

  Hoisting my hammer, I unceremoniously tossed it over the side of the English ship where it landed with a clunk. I briefly wondered if I might’ve put a hole in the flimsy vessel. Though Myra and Albric’s men she’d brought with her both repeatedly assured me the ships were seaworthy, I had my doubts. I’d much prefer one of my own clan’s longboats to these strange, stubby tubs. But since that rat Cathal had burned them all, I was left with these floating piles of driftwood the English called ships. “But I’m not going toward Dayna, am I? I’m playing messenger boy,” I said to Torben. “Do I even need to go on this trip, Jarl? Can’t these men take our message to King Albric? I should stay here and guard the clan in your absence.” I gestured toward Albric’s men, who were busy loading the boats.

  “I’ve already given you my reasons,” Torben said. “Albric’s men cannot communicate our plans to the king. They won’t know our battle strategies. They won’t know what’s been done to the other clans. They don’t know our numbers, our strengths in battle, none of the information the king will require. Only you know that. Besides, I won’t be gone long, and the clan is perfectly protected by the shieldmaidens. The last thing they need is a great lumbering oaf glowering at them while they’re trying to train.”

  “I could help them train.”

  “You could not. Freya knows how to properly prepare them. She knows how to leverage the skills and abilities of a woman fighter, as well as how to compensate for their weaknesses. You do not. All you know is ‘Me Brant. Me smash things with big hammer’. That’s not the kind of training they need.”

  “I’d like to smash something right now,” I muttered.

  “Listen, the sooner you reach England, the sooner you’ll be able to return with Albric’s army and we can deal with Cathal. Then we can pursue Calder and rescue Dayna from the witch.”

  His words only agitated me more. Hearing the plan laid out like that made me realize with painful clarity how long it would be before I saw my English princess again. And reminded me that my woman was in the clutches of a witch who was doing gods-knew-what to her. I swore loudly, yelling to those gathered nearby. “That’s it. I’m going whether you all are ready or not!” I grabbed the rope mooring the English vessel, untied it, and tossed it into the ship. Then I clambered over the gunwale and started hoisting the ship’s lone square sail, wishing the tub had more than one rowlock.

  “Brant, maybe you should wai—” I heard Allete’s voice on the dock. I sensed more than saw Torben silence her with an upraised hand as he shook his head. He knew me better than anyone. Knew my patience was gone. The time for plans was over. Now was the time for action.

  “You’d best climb aboard. Don’t think for a second he’s going to wait on you.” Torben spoke to the three of King Albric’s men we’d agreed would accompany me back to England.

  There were shouts and curses as the men dropped their burdens, then hurried after me onto the ship as it pulled away from the dock. The last one had to leap. He barely made it, landing with an oomph as his belly hit the gunwale and his comrades had to haul him over the side.

  “You handle this damn sail,” I said to one. “I’ll get us going.” I grabbed the oars and began to pull hard, propelling the ship out of the cove and into open water. One set of oars and one sail. It’s no wonder these English fools can’t conquer anything. They’d die of old age before they got there.

  “Meili’s speed,” Torben called after us as the ship retreated from the coast, beseeching the god of travel to bless my journey.

  “The same to you, Jarl,” I called over my shoulder without breaking the rhythm of my rowing. The same to you, I repeated under my breath. Though I wished I weren’t beseeching the god of journeys, Meilie, knowing I had a long three days of sailing ahead of me. I wished I were swinging my hammer at my enemies, asking Thor to guide my strikes. Instead, I would have to take my frustrations out on the oars, at least for now.

  In a matter of minutes, Clan Hakon was retreating at our backs. In an hour, the coastline was gone altogether. Still, I rowed without ceasing.

  “You can stop now,” one of King’s Albric’s men said, a sergeant by the name of Alfred, I believe. “The sail is full, and we are moving at speed. You aren’t helping us get there any quicker.”

  I grunted.

  “C’mon Brant,” one of the men said. “We can relax now. Let the wind do its thing.”

  My face darkened. Yet still, I rowed. I’d relax when Dayna was in my arms where she belonged, and that witch Gisele’s head was smashed under the weight of my hammer. Until then, I would row.

  Three days later, my arms were about to fall from their sockets. I hadn’t stood from the bench except to relieve myself over the side of the ship. Albric’s men finally gave up trying to convince me to stop striving at the oars. Eventually, they simply ignored me, except to occasionally bring me food and water. The food I mostly left untouched. The water I drank so I would stay hydrated.

  It was early afternoon when Sergeant Alfred yelled, “Land ho!”

  “About damn time,” I muttered, but I didn’t relinquish my grip on the oars. Not long after, we were gliding into the English harbor. One of Albric’s men worked the tiller and steered as another started working the downhaul to reel in the sail. Finally, with a groan, I stood and stretched, trying to simultaneously flex every muscle in my body at once. I didn’t think there was one that didn’t ache. I could see Albric’s castle on the hill, a massive stone structure. Scattered along the beach, I could still see swathes of soot-covered land where a burning ship had once sat, a victim of Magnus’ folly. In a few moments
, I felt the cog bump against the wooden dock.

  “Let’s go, men,” I yelled, leaping onto the dock, not bothering to tie off the ship. The fact I left my beloved war hammer on the deck in my haste was a testament to how eager I was to get this errand completed.

  “Brant, wait,” Alfred shouted from the dock.

  “Come on, you dogs,” I yelled. “Cathal isn’t going to attack himself. I need to speak with your king as quickly as possible. Thomas, get your arse up here and tell your uncle that your sisters are safe.”

  “What about Dayna?” Thomas asked as he jogged up beside me.

  I shook my head. “Torben and I think it’s best we don’t tell him about Dayna just yet. Torben is worried it will divide your father’s attention. I understand his point of view, even if it frustrates me.” I narrowed my eyes. “My question to you is are you going to be loyal to your uncle, or loyal to your cousin’s jarl?”

  Thomas’s jaw clenched. “Does Torben have a plan for getting Dayna back?”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure he does. But I’ve got a better one. I just need you to keep your uncle focused on getting to Ravenscar.” A plan had been forming in my mind as we’d traveled. Now that I was in England, I was sure I was going to follow through with it.

  “I’m trusting you, Brant,” Thomas said. “I’ll make sure my uncle goes to aide Torben, but you’d better do right by Dayna.”

  I didn’t respond. There was no need. If Thomas couldn’t see the determination in my eyes, then my words wouldn’t matter.

  Albric’s men caught up and surrounded us. We sprinted to the castle. It was a longer distance than I remembered when I’d been chasing Magnus as he carried off Allete. Maybe that was because I was running downhill, toward the coast, and now I was laboring uphill…and I’d been pointlessly rowing a boat for three days. We finally reached the castle walls. The drawbridge was lowered and the guards on duty waved us through. Apparently, they’d been expecting us. I assume I could thank Myra for this. A steward met us in the courtyard.