To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) (4 page)

“Jakob decreed his father can live. The old king will spend the rest of his days at your Gotland ringed fort.” Sven’s black stare met Lord Hakan’s. “I pledge the same to you and your family
if
you help.” 

“The boy can’t make that decree. He doesn’t have control. Gorm does. And false oath or not, you dance to Gorm’s tune.”

“We were ready to make Jakob king.” Sven slammed a fist on his thigh. “A peaceful transition. And it was for a time. That’s why we waited until you journeyed to Frankia.”

“Because you know King Olof is the true king.”

“And you’d kill for him,” Sven said, slowly. “Because of that, Olof accepted exile. He wants no more violence.”

Helena inhaled soft and quick, the trifling sound enough to draw her husband’s attention.  His ice-blue eyes flickered when he looked at her, and she nodded, a secret passing between them. A bond tethered them implicit in what remained unsaid.

Sven cleared his throat. “As you know, the Dane returned with a few berserkers and laid claim to the throne. Men got nervous.”

Helena shuddered under Sestra’s arm at the mention of the fierce breed of warriors. One had attacked her late spring. Her quick thinking saved others that day, a show of courage the people of Uppsala wouldn’t forget.

“Now you want Gorm gone,” Lord Hakan said. “If I cooperate with you, my family and I live peacefully on Gotland. Is that it?”

A grin split Sven’s bushy beard. “You always were quick to see the lay of things. Of the two problems on my hands, Gorm is one you can solve.”

“If it means killing him, I’m ready.”

The words slipped easily off the White Wolf’s tongue. Sestra had heard whispers of a long-standing hostility between Gorm and Lord Hakan, the kind that dug in deep and wouldn’t let go.

“I thought you’d be interested,” Sven chuckled. “Word’s already spreading that you’re back.”

“Where is he now?”

“Far north of Uppsala. He’s moving south, farm by farm. Anyone who doesn’t bow to him sees their farm burned.”

“Still setting fires.” Bitterness threaded Lord Hakan’s voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Keep him from burning more farms.”

“And not kill him?”

Sven folded his arms comfortably over his girth. “When the time is right, you will. He has too many men. We need reinforcements from Aland first.”

“You want me to lead him on a chase to buy you some time?”

“Yes. He’s so blinded by his hate for you that he’ll chase you through every forest and take half his men to do it.”

“Leaving fewer warriors in Uppsala,” Lord Hakan’s voice rumbled deep and amused. “You want to divide his forces, easy targets for the kill.”

“‘
Never walk away from home ahead of your axe and sword
.’” Brandr. His rough voice quoted Viking wisdom.

Every male in the longhouse nodded. The words straight from Odin were bred in them with mother’s milk.

“No,” Helena wailed. “You can’t do this.”

“Shhh. It’s the only way.” Hakan soothed her, scooting closer to her on the bench. “We’ll never live in peace until Gorm’s dead.”

“We must have control before the other berserkers arrive,” Sven explained. “The Black Wolf of Hedeby and his men are coming. Gorm has promised them much wealth if they fight for him.”

An uneasy current spread, each man looking to the other. Brutal to the bone, the cold-hearted Black Wolf was known far and wide. Born of outlaw parents, he roamed Viking realms and beyond, his lethal talents offered to the highest bidder.

“I must burn this longhouse to appease Gorm.” Sven’s voice boomed. “Then I’ll tell him I’ve killed your sister, Halsten, and their daughters. It was Gorm’s express wish.”

Lady Mardred cried out from the shadows, but her husband stepped coolly forward. “And in gratitude we leave with our lives. Is that what you’re offering?”

“You must disappear.” Sven waved a hand at chests lining a far wall. “Leaving most of your wealth behind. Otherwise the Dane will question why I’m empty-handed when I see him again.”

Lord Halsten’s one fist curled tightly. “What better way to show your false loyalty than to give away my wealth.”

Lady Mardred slumped on a bench. Sestra glared at Sven, her pulse quickening. His decree was the price paid when kingdoms crumbled, a fact she’d seen too often.

The bearish Viking looked to Brandr. “Cut Hakan free.”

A home would be destroyed tonight, and the people who lived here sent away. Forever. To Sven and the Aland men, it didn’t matter. Even Lord Hakan accepted this fate, his voice joining the battle plans. His zeal to destroy a long time enemy lit a fire in his ice-blue eyes.

Helena grabbed Sestra’s hand, her grip shaky. Wetness splashed their fingers. Tears. The men, set on intrigue and enemies, missed the silent weeping.

Tremors shook her body as she comforted Helena, but these were not from fright. Thralls, along with the young and old, would live underfoot while warriors trampled the earth. The best of men couldn’t save all the innocent from the horror.

Her lips twisted. The life of a Frankish slave woman mattered not at all.

If only she had a weapon and knew how to use it…

“You spoke of
two
problems,” Brandr said, his knife sawing Lord Hakan’s bindings. “If a forest chase to divide Gorm’s men solves one, what’s the other?”

“Find Gorm’s treasure. The hoard is somewhere in Uppsala, marked by a white stone with runes painted red…”

Her head snapped up.

A white rune stone marked with red.

“…if Gorm doesn’t have the treasure, the Black Wolf and his men won’t fight for him,” Sven finished.

“Do you know where he hides it?” Brandr asked.

“One of the islands.”

Hakan rubbed his wrists. “Which one?”

She shut her eyes, fresh pain gripping her chest. The darkness couldn’t stop disturbing visions from passing through her head. Farmsteads burning. Young and old put to the sword. Malevolent warriors raiding farms, snatching women and…the screams. Shaking, she couldn’t block out the awful sound.

Berserkers were coming.

A white rune stone marked with red.

“The berserkers will demand to see payment before they fight,” Sven explained. “If someone could find the hoard, steal it—”

“No one knows where he buried this treasure?” Hakan broke in. “Not even Astrid?”

The highborn woman known to them all shared Gorm’s bed.

“Astrid told me about the stone. She fears Gorm, wants to be free of him, but she doesn’t know which island.”

A white rune stone marked with red.

No, the highborn woman wouldn’t know where the stone rested. Sestra opened her eyes to the orange-gold blaze. Quivering chills scored her skin. This must be what happens when courage demanded action. She wanted to help, but she had no power, no weapons. She was a thrall, the lowest of the low. This was too much to ask of a woman in her position.

To speak up…to act…

Free or slave, there was no hiding. She pulled away from Helena.

“Sestra?” Helena’s watery blue eyes blinked.

“Don’t worry.”

Lord Hakan faced her as did the Aland warriors. Sven scowled and stretched his arm to the door as if to banish her. Breathing deeply, she met his glower with one of her own.

Vikings understood one thing: boldness.

She stood tall under the weight of male stares. Brandr reached for her, but she braced a hand on his chest. Was he going to tell her to keep silent and stay out of the way?

She’d lived all her life doing that. Not anymore.

“I know the island you seek.” Her voice rang clear in the longhouse. “I’ll lead you there.”

Brandr grabbed her, the slanted line deep between his eyebrows. “How did you gain this knowledge?”

Chapter Three

Skalds claimed Odin fashioned the earth from the remains of defeated giants. He tossed their broken bones aside, the fragments forming islands. This morning the Norse god dressed Uppsala and her islands in thick, white mist, an innocent color when blood would spill and homes would burn.

The swirling fog kissed Sestra’s skin and messed with her curls, the damp air friendlier than her companion. She faced a churlish Brandr in a tiny boat cluttered with nets and baskets.

They were out to fish should anyone ask.

The Viking had showed up at sunrise with Lord Hakan at the Fyris River and swore an oath to protect her on this quest for stolen treasure for none doubted Gorm had stolen it. They were to deliver the hoard to Lord Hakan’s farm further upriver where someone would wait for them. Yet, all through the stealthy journey, Brandr hardly spared a word nor did he give reason for staying.

“You missed the ship to Gotland,” she said, uncoiling her braid.

“I know.”

Their little vessel sliced through water, powered by muscle and sinew rippling under his tunic. The boat hugged a shoreline dense with ancient trees and mist, vigilant guards hiding sacred Viking burial mounds. Water gurgled past two weathered posts marking the Haga River, entrance to the healer’s forest. Passing the mouth of the Haga, Brandr smoothly steered their boat toward open water.

She’d finger combed the wavy mass falling to her waist, the red vivid against her new black cloak. “I thought you wanted to get away from here, seek your new life on Gotland.”

He shrugged, focusing beyond her. “I’ll take another boat.”

“If there’s one to be found.” Head tipped sideways, she braided her hair with practiced ease.  “Don’t forget you said this wasn’t your fight.”

The corner of his jaw ticked. “I remember what I said.”

“Then why are you here?”

He squinted at her as though she’d gone soft in the head. “Because I’m looking for the treasure with you.”

With you
.

Her hands curled around her braid. Two words changed everything, bound them together and made them partners in this hunt. But more went on than his curt explanation gave. Brandr pulled long and hard on the oars, searching the distance, his hawkish eyes reading the mist the way others read runes. He avoided eye contact, a feat considering their knees almost touched from facing each other in the small boat.

She cast a nervous glance over the side rail. The size of their vessel on open water didn’t help her confidence.

“Is that how you want this to be?” she asked, tying the bottom of her braid. “We work around each other instead of with each other?”

“I lead, you follow. That’s how it’ll be.”

She nodded sagely at his edict, refusing to let him get under skin. “Well, you’re not in this for the silver and gold. I saw your face when Lord Hakan offered the reward. You were just as surprised as I was.”

“I didn’t stay for the reward, but I’ll take a palm of silver coins.” Brandr’s voice was stone rasping stone.

A palm, the Viking measurement used in trade, equaled a handful. Lord Hakan had told them upon the treasure’s safe return, they could both take one palm as reward. She cupped her hand. Would she grab twenty coins? Or thirty? Under her lashes she studied Brandr’s big hands wrapped around the oak oars. He’d grasp twice as much as her.

“You surprise me.” Her fingers skimmed morning’s vapor crowding the boat. “I’m beginning to think you are a man of honor.”

Water swished from Brandr’s long, determined strokes. His body flowed back and forth, a rhythm that was as calming as it was…agitating.

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth curling up. No doubt last night’s conversation crossed his mind. “Don’t confuse me for a hero. Gunnar volunteered first.”

“Did he? Then why are
you
here and not him?”

Brandr checked one side of the boat and levered the oar’s tip on a half-submerged tree. “Never send a boy to do a man’s job.”

“Gunnar’s hardly a boy.”

“He’s a whelp.” He steered them around the fallen tree, his shoulder and back muscles bunching under black wool. 

How was it Vikings were so big? Brandr settled the oar back in place, his gaze crossing hers with banked intensity. Warmth flushed inside her. He was muscle upon muscle, strength and bone with wet, black curls clinging to his neck.

Hard and soft.

One curl hung longer than the others. The uneven line had to be the work of the warrior cutting his own hair. Did no one take care of him?

“The whelp looked old enough to me,” she said, eyeing the curl. “You expect me to believe this is about doing a good job?”

“Doesn’t matter what you believe.”

She leaned forward, folding her arms about her midsection. Her knees bumped the plank seat between Brandr’s legs, and his warrior’s thighs snapped together, a reflex she was sure, but she’d make her point. The Viking couldn’t escape.

“You can try and sound as uncaring as you want, but I know better.”

Brandr grunted, and she scooted back on her narrow seat. He’d waded all night through chill waters, loading the three waiting vessels in the river. During the night, many came to the river’s edge pleading for a place on the ships. News had spread quickly. Gorm was burning Uppsala with plans to set fire to all the ships.

Soon no one would be able to leave.

Come sunrise, Brandr quietly surrendered his spot to an old man. She’d surprised both men, emerging from the root cellar during their exchange. The old man raced to the ship as Brandr’s silver stare challenged her to say something. Between the heavy vegetable basket in her arms and the frantic calls of Lady Mardred, she couldn’t.

Now he sat with her, a riddle to unfold. And there was the reward, an unexpected boon. Like Brandr, she’d take it. Would her new lord allow her to purchase her freedom?

If
they returned safely with the treasure.

She huddled on her seat. Water rippled harmlessly, darkening here, the depth too great to see the earth below. Morning would be better if the air cleared, but Brandr navigated like a man born to wind and water. She’d already described to him which island they sought when they started.

Light scraping noises brushed the boat as three gulls squawked overhead. Brandr paused to study the birds and the treetops poking through fog. A cluster of islands rose from the mist.