Vikings' Brides Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  To have such luxury, people must fight; people have to spill blood, and wars must be won. As long as threats like the Jackals roam in the wilderness, we will never be safe.

  “Sir Wulf,” Abram says, breaking the silence rendering through all three hundred men. He is still carrying his bow and arrow, but his muscles have grown. “I wish to prove to you that I can fight. When we return from this battle, I beg you; please train me.”

  I scoff. “Aye, my friend. But first…”

  He rounds on me. “Do not! Don’t tell me to do any menial chores anymore. I will chop no more firewood. I will carry no more boulders. I want to learn to wield a sword.”

  “You didn’t let me finish, Abram.”

  He stops, a quizzical look on his face.

  “I shall train you in the advanced techniques of swordplay when we return victorious from this battle. But first, catch.”

  I toss him the extra sword I’ve been carrying in my belt. The steel shines in the snowy air for a moment, and then with a single outstretched arm, Abram grabs it… and catches it by the hilt. He holds it high above his head, and instead of tumbling to the ground, he holds it strong.

  His eyes go wide. He turns it this way and that, testing his strength, pure disbelief in his eyes. Finally, a light brightens in his mind, and he understands.

  “Sir—Sir Wulf!”

  “Aye,” I say with a large grin on my face. “Now you can swing it without chopping your own head off.”

  “I understand now. You have been building my strength this whole time,” he says. He raises his voice shout over the army. “I can lift a sword! I can fight!”

  Cheers go around, and everyone bangs on their shields. It’s all a bit much, but the happiness is needed. It helps the mood shift. The air is lighter, and everyone has somewhat of a better expression on their face.

  The only man who refrains is Warlord Einarr. His wife is missing. And now his son is charging into battle. I can only imagine how I would feel if Rian was marching alongside me to rescue Lilith.

  Einarr hangs back and comes to my side.

  “My apologies, Wulf. I should not have treated you with anger. Thank you for finding the way to lead to her.”

  “Aye,” I nod. “I understand. If Lilith were there, with our child, I would stop at nothing to rescue her.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Warlord Einarr says, his mouth tight and stressful. “Thyra is pregnant, too,” he says. He looks up from his feet, and his eyes tell me how sad he is.

  “Warlord—”

  “—If anything happens to her and my babe, I want you to do me a favor.”

  I gulp. There are only a few ways this conversation can go, and I have a feeling I know the exact road we are about to take. “Warlord Einarr, do not say what I think you are about to say.” I keep my voice low so no one can hear me.

  “No, you listen to me.” He sets his cold eyes onto mine. The scar on his face disappears under his beard, and the question of how he got it runs through my mind. Only a few people know. The Lord and his Lady. That is all. When someone asks, he always puts a blade to the person’s throat and asks if they want one of their own.

  “If anything happens to them, I want you to kill me.”

  I stop walking, and the warrior behind me slams into my back. I step out of formation, and Einarr follows me to the edge of the treeline. “You can’t mean that. I couldn’t have heard you right.”

  “I would want to die under my best warrior. The one I know would give me what I need.”

  “What of Lord Grimkael? He is your best friend.”

  His eyes soften when he hears his friend’s name. “Aye, that is why I cannot have him do it. He won’t. He will call me foolish.”

  “It is foolish,” I hiss, but his eyes harden from the insult. “You are smarter than this. You cannot—”

  “I will. That is an order, do you understand? Stick your blade through my heart.” He holds his hand over his chest, and I can do nothing but stare.

  I shake my head and take a step forward. “I can’t. You are more than my Warlord. You are my mentor. You’ve taught me everything—”

  “There is nothing else I can teach you. I’m asking you, Beowulf, put me out of my misery.”

  “You are stronger than this. You are stronger than—”

  “I am not. Just as you would not be. I saw you in previous battles. You didn’t care if you died. A part of you wanted to. And now your heart is back, and if anything happened to her, you’d want to die.”

  “Einarr! Wulf! Let’s go. Don’t fall behind,” Lord Grimkael yells at us from the front.

  “Think about what I said,” Einarr pleads. He isn’t a man that begs, but I am going to take a wild guess, this is me witnessing one of the weakest moments of his life. It reminds me that even the strongest men can fall.

  No matter the brute strength and size of the body, the heart can only take so much before pain rots the insides. Warlord Einarr spins on his heel and turns away from me, leaving me gaping at his retreating form.

  Shaking my head clear of what just happened, I run back toward the front where Trident is. We are always in the same formation. It’s Lord Grimkael and Warlord Einarr, then me and Trident. Jericho is next, along with Erik, Abram, and then the rest of the army.

  “What was that about?” asks Trident, always curious and never able to keep to his own business.

  “Ah, you know Warlord.” I slide my eyes to my leader in front, and I see how his head is slightly turned, listening to our conversation. “He threatened me to find Lady Thyra first thing. If I didn’t, he would off my head.”

  “He wants everyone’s head,” Jericho mutters from behind me.

  Trident peers over his shoulder and sneers, “Well, if you did your fucking job, maybe everyone wouldn’t have to worry about their heads.”

  “Save it for the battle coming up, alright?” I place my fingers against Trident’s cheek and jerk his head back to the front. If we can’t get our heads out of our asses, this battle may be over before it begins. And it won’t be the Jackals that kill us, but our own hands.

  “I’m going to spank her arse,” Warlord Einarr hisses through his teeth, staring into the darkness that the trap door reveals. “How the hell are we going to fit three hundred men in these tunnels?”

  “Single file line. It will be long but must be done,” Lord Grimkael explains. “This is our only upper hand.” He unfolds the drawing that Alaric made and points to the spot that matches where the trapdoor is. “He came out this way, the boy. He says it leads to the Jackals. This is it. This is how we end this once and for all.”

  Lord Grimkael walks down the dirt stairs first, followed by Einarr, and then me. The first thing I notice is not only is it dark, but it is cold and smells damp. The heavy smell of earth is in the air, and critters scatter along the walls. I can’t see them, but I can hear them. And I shall never admit it, but I fucking hate bugs.

  And I also have a thing about being in the dark. I’m not perfect. I hate not being able to see where I’m going, what my feet are hitting, and what else—or who else—is out there. I’m not afraid of the dark, no, I’m not a wee bitch, but I’m apprehensive of it.

  “How is there a torch lit?” Lord Grimkael says, grabbing the burning piece of wood with his hand. “We are not alone. Tell everyone. Pass it down. Be at the ready,” he orders. His long fur disappears into the shadows.

  My hands rub along the tunnels, getting a feel for where I am. I need to be able to picture how it looks in my head.

  “According to the drawing, we take the West tunnel,” Lord Grimkael calls back. “Can’t believe I’m taking instructions from a boy.” He folds the paper back up and slides the small square in his belt.

  I follow my leaders, trying to tune out Trident’s heavy breathing behind me. He never does well in small spaces. It is the one thing about himself he refuses to give up. I don’t ever push, but I do wonder. Focusing my efforts on how my surroundings look again, I notice that
the dirt rubbing against the pads of my fingers isn’t as grainy as the earth we walk on. It’s thicker, damper, smoother. Only one place has earth like this, and it is where Lord Grimkael killed his brother.

  “Goddess,” I whisper from the realization. This can’t be right. I hope, for all of our sakes, that I am wrong. It has been a long time since I’ve scoped the area so far from the kingdom, so perhaps things have changed.

  “What?” Trident asks, slighted with trepidation.

  “Nothing. Talking out of my arse.” I swallow, knowing deep down, I’m right. If the Jackals have been using Krane’s old home as a base, rotating where they live, so we never get a true location of them, but also living right under our noses the entire time, Lord Grimkael will never forgive himself.

  I’m not sure how long we walk. The air is getting thinner, and the fire in the torch starts to sway, threatening to give from the lack of air to keep it alive. I can feel it in my lungs, the slight pinch of not being able to breathe in all the way. It keeps me focused more. The slight fear of not being able to breathe gives me a jolt of adrenaline.

  Or fear.

  I’ll take either one right now, considering the situation. We must have been walking for hours; I’m not sure. Time is hard to tell down here. Water starts to slosh under my feet, which means we have gone deeper into the ground. The liquid is freezing, matching the cold temperatures above on the surface. My teeth begin to chatter, but all that drives me is the need to get this war over with and crawl back into the warmth my Lilith holds.

  “Stop!” Lord Grimkael shouts. “What is this?”

  “Thyra!” Warlord screams, and from the tunnels being so narrow, the loud boom rumbles the fragile dirt, and it dusts onto our heads and eyes, nearly blinding me.

  Damn it to hell; I can’t see anything. The torch isn’t as bright anymore. I have no idea if Lady Thyra is okay, or dead, or unconscious. Goddess, please let her be okay. I do not have it in me to kill my Warlord.

  “About damn time,” she says. Instantly, a wave of relief settles over the whole army. Her voice is light and refreshing. Much better than the deep baritones of the men around me that I’ve been stuck with hearing over the last few days. A woman’s voice is nurturing to a man’s soul and mind, giving us the care we need in order to go into battle strong.

  The world, I firmly believe, would be weak if we didn’t have women by our sides, giving us softness and kindness. Something men lack, yet crave.

  “You’ve been down here waiting for us? Why? I’m going to—”

  “Oh, I know what you’re going to do.” I can tell by the irritated hitch in her tone that she is rolling her eyes. I don’t need light to tell me that, not when Lilith gives me the same tone. “No, I hurt my ankle. I can’t walk, Einarr. I only wanted to find my father. I found him. He is beyond this gate. I can’t open it. I don’t have the strength.”

  “Don’t ever do that again, do you understand me? You could have died down here. And what would I have done?” Lord Grimkael moves the torch closer, and that’s when I see the Warlord’s hand on Lady Thyra’s stomach. “I would have died,” he whispers, and it is only loud enough for the people up front to hear it. “Give me water and food. Now!” he barks, and Lord Grimkael is at his friend’s side, giving him jerky, fruit, and fresh water.

  Lady Thyra seems exhausted, on the verge of death. If we didn’t find her when we did… another day or so without food and water, she might have died. I can understand Warlord Einarr’s panic.

  “Beyond this gate, beyond this iron about another mile is everything you need to find,” she rasps, her breathing labored.

  “Sir Troy?”

  “I found him slipping through this gate, but he closed it right when I got to it. He told me he loved me, and he disappeared. I wish I knew, Einarr.”

  “It’s okay. We shall find him.” He turns to Lord Grimkael, his feet sliding against the water, causing it to slosh. “I can’t go with you. I must take care of her. I’m not leaving her.”

  “You must. I’ll be here,” she objects.

  “No.”

  “Einarr, think reasonably—”

  “No! You have no idea what can happen to you down here alone. I’m not leaving my pregnant wife in the cold. I’m taking you back to the castle right now.”

  “I can’t walk.”

  “I’ll carry you then.”

  “It’s two days!” she tries and argues.

  “Two days of my love in my arms? I think I can manage. And maybe you’ll learn not to run off again and learn something from this.”

  “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We shall talk about this later,” he croons, and then picks her up in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. “I’m sorry. She and my babe come first, Grim. I cannot go and leave her, and I don’t trust any of the warriors to make sure she gets back safe. She’s my wife. My responsibility.”

  Lord Grimkael sighs. He doesn’t sound happy, but he also sounds like he understands. “I know.”

  “Good luck, brother. I’ll be waiting for your return.” And with that, Einarr leaves us to our own defenses. A part of me is worried. He is our backbone, our strength, our ruthlessness. His power exudes from him on the battlefield, and all of his warriors soak it up. How the hell can we win this without him?

  A cold sweat falls over my body, and doubt starts to trickle in. Without him, we have no direction.

  Lord Grimkael clears his throat. “Men! Don’t forget why we fight. What we came here for. We fight for our village. Our lands, our people. Our families. I know your faith is in Einarr, as it should be, he has been training you for a while now. But do not forget that his fight is the same as ours. I count on you, men, to carry on his fight. To match his ferocity with your own. We have always had two Warlords—myself and Einarr. But we are missing one today. I order each of you, down to the last, to fight with honor and glory as befitting a Warlord. Nay, this day, we shall not have the strength of only one Warlord. We shall have the strength of three hundred proud Viking Warriors!”

  All the warriors stomp their feet and pound on their chests. It almost sounds like a song with nearly three hundred people banging their armor. Lord Grimkael gives us his back and lifts his leg, kicking the iron gate down with ease. We follow him, but I can’t help the uneasiness in my stomach. Without Einarr, we are at a serious disadvantage. I know his strategy. I know how he likes me to fight. I know what he expects of me.

  Putting my fear aside, I do what a warrior always does. I follow my leader, ready to fight for him. My heart races when light starts to come through at the end of the tunnel and the round of hands hitting against their swords thrums through the tunnels. This is it. This is the moment we have been waiting for.

  When we break through the next gate, I expect to see the Jackals ready and preparing for war, but when the sunlight hits my eyes, I wince from staying in those dark fucking tunnels for too long. When I finally get my bearings, what I see nearly makes me trip over my feet.

  Two dead bodies. Their heads are gone and stuck on a spear.

  “What the fuck?” Trident says what we are all thinking.

  The snow is tainted with blood, ruining the natural beauty that winter has.

  “That reckless son of a bitch,” Lord Grimkael curses under his breath. “I’m going to kill him once I get my hands on him.”

  “You think Troy did this?”

  “I know he did. That’s how he always shows what he has done.”

  “He has a signature? Bad fucking ass.”

  “Or mad,” I say to Trident. A man must hold a lot of anger to show off his killings like that.

  “I’d be too if my wife led the Jackals,” Lord Grimkael says. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but I didn’t expect him to do this. I haven’t seen this side of him. King Leif gave me a brief overview of how… dangerous, Lord Troy can be.”

  “The man is a hero. Why isn’t he a warrior with us?”

  “Because Trident
, the difference between him and us, is he enjoys the kills. Revels in it. King Leif made sure he never had the chance to destroy himself, but it seems he broke.”

  A low horn blows from the watch towers. I suppose they know we are here now. So much for the surprise attack. Lord Troy took that away from us.

  “I hate this place.” Lord Grimkael swings his sword in the air. “It seems all my demons lead me here.”

  The rusted iron gate opens, and Jackals sprint toward us. It isn’t a slow walk. No attempt at truce or any type of negotiations. They are full force, pure, killing machines, and they are coming for us.

  An arrow hits the ground right in front of my feet, burying itself in the snow. I tilt my head up toward the sky and see a black cloud getting closer to us. Only it isn’t rain that is coming. It’s a hail of flaming arrows. And they are coming directly at us.

  “Shield! Get your shields,” Lord Grimkael shouts. Everyone falls to their knees, myself included. I hold my shield and get in formation until we form a tight barrier, every inch covered. I grunt, keeping the heavy iron above my head, my muscles bulging with exertion. One by one, the arrows bang against our shields, thudding into the iron. It reminds me of thunder.

  “Up!”

  It’s all I need to hear from our leader. Right as we stand, our knees wet with snow, everyone throws their shields onto their backs. We have just enough time to block the first wave of Jackals. They are skinny, malnourished, and have rotten teeth. Their skin is raw in certain places, and they have a mad gleam in their eyes. They aren’t all there in the head. It’s like they lose their minds to the frenzy of battle.

  Not like us. We are proud Viking warriors. We hold ourselves with honor and fight to protect ourselves and our loved ones. As they charge toward us, my mind flickers to my family. Lilith. Rian. The babe.

  I shall do anything to protect them. Anything.

  “To death!” Lord Grimkael shouts.

  “To death!” we respond as one. And we charge the enemy.

  Three hundred noble Vikings meet a thousand Jackals in a vicious fray. Swords clash, and men cry out in rage and pain.