Page 65 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
Another roar of laughter rose from within the hall. As Sylvi glanced up, she caught my eye. I sighed, somewhat wearily, knowing that the revelry would continue long. There had been much to prepare in the past weeks, in readiness for this celebration, and we were both exhausted.
However, Sylvi only smiled. “’Tis been too long since there was merriment, my lady. We must let them have their fun.”
She was right, of course, but I was reluctant to face again the men’s rowdy jests and foolery. The door of the longhouse was wide open this night, and it would be easy for me to slip out, just for a while.
Filled with so many, the longhouse was warm, and my arms were bare, but Eirik had given me a wedding gift—a knee-length cape of finely woven cloth, trimmed with the russet-coloured pelt of a fox he’d hunted this winter past. I draped it about my shoulders, glad for it as I stepped out. A breeze shivered the forest leaves.
There were only a few hours of darkness, for it was high summer still, but the true night was upon us now. Further down, there was the distant light of torches. Even tonight, the watch were keeping guard, and I imagined them impatient at their posts, waiting to be relieved, that they might join the carousing.
I walked some way up the hill, eager to leave behind the unruly celebration. It was my habit to seek the evening air, for I was oft disturbed by fretful dreams, and they’d plagued me much of late. Perhaps that explained my tiredness.
I breathed deeply, willing myself to let go my fears. Eirik and I were married, and nothing could prevent our happiness. Soon, I would tell him of the babe, and he would want to believe that it was his.
Yet, something gnawed within me. I knew not what the gods of my new home would make of my falsehood, but the omniscient God of my old life would not approve. In my heart, nor did I.
I looked skyward, as if seeking the answer there, and the clouds parted to show me the moon. Full and low hung, it filled the sky with so much light, I was dazzled, but only momentarily. No sooner had the orb revealed itself, than a shadow passed over from which a skull seemed to form, the jaw open in a leering grin. I wanted to look away, but the vision held me transfixed.
Never before had I seen such a thing, though I knew the summer skies were said to play tricks in the same way as the winter borealis.
The next moment, from the corner of my eye, I saw some movement, or heard a footfall, but whoever was there was quicker than me.
A hand of steel closed about my throat, while another clamped over my mouth. My shriek of protest came to naught and gained me only rougher treatment, for I was yanked from where I stood, my ribs crushed as I was dragged away, my arms pinned and my feet skimming the grass.
It’s just a prank! One of Eirik’s men come to carry me back.
Except it could not be, for whoever this was, his handling of me was far too rough. He made no attempt to speak, nor to return me to the ground, and we were not heading toward the longhouse but away, in the direction of the forest.
I lashed out, punching his leg, then raking my nails. Wriggling one arm free, I jerked my elbow hard into his thigh, then again. With a curse, he turned me upright, and I twisted to claw his face, but I merely scratched the tough leather encasing his chest. His fingers were still pressed to my mouth, and I bit them, only to have my head shoved back violently for my trouble.
At last he spoke and with deadly calm. “Try that again, and I’ll snap your neck.” His eyes were cold, his face one I’d never seen before—a face without emotion.
And then I saw the flames.
My abductor had brought me some distance, but I could see clearly that the turf of the longhouse was alight. The moon was clear once more and the scene well-lit. There were perhaps thirty men, some still tossing their torches upon the roof and through the door.
It had happened so fast. I’d walked outside and had seen no one, but they must have been hiding behind the houses, crouching in the shadows.
The night had filled with screaming and desperate shouts. Several emerged from the longhouse door. They were in no state to defend themselves—unarmed, disoriented, as stunned as me. Their attackers let them blunder, lurching with blinded eyes, but their weapons were already drawn.
No!
My own shout of warning was muffled by the hand that held me fast, fingers digging into my cheeks.
More of our people emerged through the door, falling to the ground, gasping for breath.
Eirik!
I saw him, and Helka, too, coughing through the billowing smoke. The hem of Helka’s gown was alight. Eirik threw her to the grass and rolled her, sprawling across to stop the flames. He did not see the man who approached, who stood over him with a raised sword. In his wedding finery, none could doubt my husband’s status. He was the Jarl of Svolvaen.
There was a rushing, crackling sound as the timbers beneath the turf caught light and large chunks of the outer covering fell into the space below.
No need for moonlight now. The oil-soaked torches tossed upon our home had made quick work. The whole sky seemed to burn.
Amidst the horrible glow, I saw the man loom over Eirik, taller than those around him. The flames illuminated his face.
Terror struck my heart. Beneath that amber blaze, his skin was red and puckered, framed by a mane of hair that glinted copper, and his eyes were dark with hatred. With both hands, he brought his blade high and plunged it downward, piercing Eirik’s body.
I screamed so loud, that even the iron hand upon my face could not silence my cry.
