The Pagan's Prize (16 page)

"You will stay on board." Rurik's gruff
command was the first words he had spoken to her since the previous evening. "And
if I don't?" Zora glared at him as he turned his attention back to his
men, dismissing her. "Maybe I, too, would enjoy a chance to walk on dry
land again."

"Don't try me, Princess," Rurik muttered as
he moved away.

This new threat echoing dangerously the one he had
hurled at her yesterday, Zora knew that she would be a fool to press him
further. The last thing she wanted was to encourage another incident like the
one in the tent. The very last thing.

After the boat was rowed to the shoreline, she watched disgruntled
from her perch on the prow as Rurik and his men jumped overboard. Yet her
annoyance became amazement as the thirty-foot vessel was hoisted bodily onto log
rollers with much grunting and cursing—Kjell and Arne heaving near the front
while Rurik and Leif pushed from the stern— and propelled along the short
portage trail until they came to another narrow river.

Marveling grudgingly that the combined strength of her
four captors accomplished such a massive task, Zora wondered if they might make
camp for the night before moving on. Her mouth watered at the thought of
freshly cooked meat. And such a stay might afford her an opportunity to elude
them.

But when the boat was shoved without delay back into
the water, she was keenly disappointed. From Rurik's determined expression as
he hauled himself over the railing it was clear he aimed to press onward to
Novgorod. No doubt he wished to deliver her as quickly as possible to her
uncle.

Her time to escape was ebbing away.

Kjell seemed distant, rarely affording her even a
sideways glance. He must have taken Arne's grim warning to heart, and perhaps
feared that Rurik might very well raise his sword against him if he took her
part again.

In fact, no one seemed to pay her much heed, especially
Rurik, although despite his obvious efforts to avoid her, she was convinced
from the tense set of his shoulders that he was acutely aware of her presence.
He avoided her gaze, too. But whenever their eyes did chance to meet, she never
failed to shiver at the forbidding coldness in those vivid blue depths.

He hated her, she was sure of it, which was no less
than she felt about him. And when she overheard him talking to Arne that
evening about a second portage within another three days journey, she knew it
might be her last chance to win her freedom before they reached Novgorod.

She began to make preparations, what few she could.
First tearing a strip from her blanket and fashioning a pouch for provisions.
Then she started to take all her meals in the tent, eating only a meager third
of her dried, salted fish and by now stale bread and stashing the rest.

She would need food once she escaped, enough to last
her until she reached the nearest town where she planned to seek refuge at the
parish church. Surely the presiding priest would help her return to her father.
Tmutorokan was the leading see of the Orthodox faith in Rus, the site of some
of the earliest conversions from paganism to Christianity, and Mstislav's
lavish support of the Church was well known among the clergy. She could always
argue that for the priest to refuse her aid could bring censure upon him from
the patriarch of Constantinople, a threat only a fool would take lightly. So she
watched and planned.

***

When they finally reached the portage by midafternoon
three days later, her pouch was full. Again, Rurik wasted no time in ordering
his men over the side. Zora was ready, too. When he commanded tersely that she
remain aboard, she retreated to the stern and sat obediently upon a rowing
bench, in false meekness. Inside she was a raw bundle of nerves, her heart
hammering.

Be still and be
wary!
she chided herself, clasping her hands tightly to contain her
nervousness.
Watch for the right moment
and then seize it!

She averted her gaze as Rurik stripped down to his
trousers, focusing instead on the chirping birds fluttering in and out of the
dense trees flanking the portage. But Rurik's bare chest was so bronzed and
massive that she couldn't help peeking at him out of the corner of her eye.

It was a good thing she was soon to escape, considering
how attractive she found him. Then, she remembered all too well the pressure of
those powerful arms wrapped around her, the sleekness of his skin over hard
muscle. She frowned, growing angry with herself.

"Excuse me if I've offended your sense of modesty,
Princess, but the afternoon sun is warm," he said sarcastically. Zora
swallowed the tart response that flew to her lips. In a concerted effort to
appear as amenable as possible, she offered him a smile.

"It is your ship, Lord Rurik. I would suppose that
you can do whatever you like upon it."

Studying her for what seemed an interminable instant,
his eyes alight with suspicion, he finally muttered, "So I can." Then
he swung his legs over the railing and joined his men in the shallow water.

Zora exhaled in relief. She was finally alone! She
waited until Rurik and his men were absorbed in pushing the vessel from the
river and lifting it onto the log rollers before she hurried into the tent and
grabbed the pouch, stuffing it down the front of her tunic. The dried fish was
pungent and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She hoped that she reached the
church quickly. Surely the priest would feed her well.

Hastening back outside, she was about to retake her
seat when the boat suddenly tilted dangerously to one side. She barely caught
the railing in time to prevent herself from falling. Rurik's sharp commands
filled the air, and as Leif rushed around to help right the vessel, leaving
only Kjell on the starboard side near the bow, Zora knew instinctively she had
found her chance. The boat was barely level before she had clambered over the
side, her feet landing upon a huge log.

"My lady, what are you doing?" came Kjell's
astonished voice.

Her heart racing, Zora ignored him. She jumped to the
ground and ran for the trees. It seemed that within seconds she had reached
their safety, but she plunged on, prickly brambles scratching at her, the thick
forest before her nearly as dark as twilight.

The brittle sound of branches snapping caused Zora to
gasp in fright. Someone was crashing through the woods behind her. Oh, God,
Rurik? She began to run faster, her panting breaths tearing at her throat and
her legs pumping furiously as she dashed through the trees.

"Princess Zora, stop! It's not safe out here!"

Relief flooded her that it was only Kjell, but she knew
that Rurik might be close behind him and she ran all the harder.

"My father has great influence at Yaroslav's court,
my lady! You don't have to run away. Come back and I promise that he will help—"

Kjell's words ended so abruptly that she imagined from
his sharp inhalation of breath and the dull thud that followed that he must
have tripped and fallen. She even dared to believe when she heard no more heavy
footfalls behind her that no one else was even near to catching her. As she
came to a small clearing, she paused for the barest instant to catch her breath
and she shot a glance over her shoulder.

What she saw made her heart lurch. Kjell was lying
facedown upon the ground some thirty feet away, a bearded, disheveled man
leaning over him. She almost retched when the stranger yanked a bloodied axe
from the middle of Kjell's back, then he straightened and grinned at her.

"'Tis a good thing you ran into the forest when
you did, Princess," he called out in a strange, guttural voice. "If
you'd stayed with the ship a second longer, you would have been attacked along
with the rest."

Rurik and his warriors . . . under attack? Was that why
he hadn't come running after her with Kjell? It was then that Zora heard the
distant sounds of shouting and the ominous ring of metal against metal echoing
through the trees. Her gaze, widening in horror, moved from the stranger's face
to the dripping weapon in his hand.

Holy Mother of
Christ, what sort of men attacked passing ships without first determining if
they were friend or foe?
Could it be that they held no allegiance but to
themselves . . . cared about nothing but their own gain as any ruthless
marauders might . . . ?

Zora thought no more, realizing with chilling clarity
that she, too, was in grave danger. She spun, only to come face-to-face with
four more bedraggled men who had sneaked up behind her. Before she could flee,
the closest one grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder and twisted her around in
such a way that her back came up hard against his stomach, a knife suddenly at
her throat.

"My lady, is it? Princess?" he said in her
ear, his breath smelling of rotten eggs. "You'll have to tell us more
about yourself, wench. If it's true what the Varangian called out to you before
Yurik caught him with his blade, we'll have nabbed a lot more for this day's
work than any gold we find on the ship."

"Aye, but what I want to know right now," piped
up one of the others, "is why she stinks of fish?"

"It's my provisions! I—I stuffed them down my
tunic." Her legs weak with fear, Zora tensed when the man holding her
began to grope at her chest. "I was running away!" she added
hoarsely. "I—I'm a princess, just as you say . . . Zora of Tmutorokan. The
Varangians were taking me against my will to Grand Prince Yaroslav's court in
Novgorod. My father is Mstislav, his brother—"

"Silence, woman! Your bawling is making my head
ache!" As her captor held the cold edge of the knife more firmly to her
throat, he grabbed the collar of her tunic and ripped downward, her pouch
tumbling to the ground. "Aye, that's what reeks," he announced. His
large, dirty hand slid over the sash binding her breasts. "I'd wager the
wench is as sweet-tasting as she looks."

"No!" Zora cried as the sash was torn from
her body, baring her breasts to their hungry eyes. She crossed her arms
protectively in front of her. "Please, I told you I was a princess. My
father has offered a thousand gold grivna for my safe return!"

"There'll be plenty of time to talk of rewards
later," growled her captor. His palm was as rough as pine bark as he
stroked her, his foul breath hot upon her neck. "After the rest of the
band has had a chance to try you. Don't you agree, Yurik?"

"Aye, indeed." The man who had murdered Kjell
gazed over her greedily. He wiped his bloodstained axe across his tunic, an
evil grin stretching his face. "Why don't we have some fun now, before the
others see what we've found? They're busy stripping the ship and those dead
Varangians anyway. Aye, let's have her get down on her knees . . ."

Horrified tears sprang to Zora's eyes. She was pushed
down to kneel upon the hard ground, the blade still pressed to her throat. She
gazed up in shock when the man called Yurik stepped in front of her. He dropped
his broadaxe to the grass and began to work at his trousers.

"That's right, swine! Pull out your puny flesh for
all of us to see," came a grim voice from the trees. "Then kiss it
farewell."

Cursing, Yurik wheeled around at the same moment a
spear sailed through the air with deadly force, striking the man holding Zora
right through the neck. He teetered lifelessly, blood spurting in a scarlet arc
from the wound while his knife fell to the ground. Zora sank back on her heels,
so stunned that she couldn't move even when the dead man toppled like a felled
tree behind her.

Her eyes were fixed upon Rurik as he stepped into the
sunny clearing, his powerful body drenched with sweat and spattered with the
lifeblood of his enemies, his stained sword, Branch-of-Odin, in his right hand.
His face was hard, harder than she had ever seen it, and when his bone-chilling
battle cry shattered the silence and he rushed at his dumbstruck opponents, she
knew that she had never witnessed a more terrifying sight. He was no longer a
man but a warrior, brutal, invincible. It made her tremble just to look upon
him.

Yurik was the second to die, his axe no sooner in his
hand than Rurik's sword severed his fighting arm from his body. His piercing
screams reverberated around the clearing, and sent two of his comrades to
flight. The one who remained stood rooted in terror. He fought for no more than
a moment before he, too, met his end, his entrails gushing forth pink and glistening
from a hacking blow to his stomach.

Zora bent over and retched then, nearly choking on
bile.
 
Yet her violent heaving was not
enough to drown out the horrible screams of one of her captors who had tripped
in his haste to escape only to find Rurik bearing down upon him.

"Stand up and die like a man!" Rurik's harsh
command was an ominous death knell for his by now incoherently babbling
opponent.

An eerie silence fell over the clearing, and Zora didn't
need to look to know that the man had been slain. Sickened, numb, and shaking
uncontrollably, she clutched her torn tunic to her breasts and waited for Rurik's
terrible wrath to next fall upon her.

It never came. She glanced up to discover that he was
leaving the clearing, and without affording her even a backward glance.

"What—what if there are more of them?" she
cried in disbelief, looking around her fearfully and growing queasy again at
the bloody carnage surrounding her.

Rurik stopped, his chest heaving painfully from
exertion, and met her eyes, his blinding battle rage having subsided enough for
him to answer through clenched teeth. "The last man fled. He will not
return."

Indeed, if he believed she was still in danger he would
never leave her side, but he suspected that the last robber was a coward and
would run until exhaustion felled him. Fighting his overwhelming urge to go to
Zora and gather her in his arms, Rurik stood his ground and forced his voice to
remain hard.