Viking's Prize (37 page)

“Hah! Trygvi’s bastard’ll not find you, lest I
will it!” Hrolf taunted, having overheard Elienor’s prayers.

Filthy and reeking from the prison pit she’d been
cast into, Elienor struggled to keep her dignity. She’d not deign to reply, she
told herself, for every time she did, Hrolf committed some atrocious act upon
her person such as spitting down at her through the bars. The man was vile!
Jesu, but it felt as though she’d been imprisoned for years. Hell had nothing
in store for her after this!

The hours passed so slowly by. There was naught
for her to do but sit and listen to the grating sound of Hrolf’s voice. Her
legs and backside ached from inactivity. But at least they fed her well
enough—small consolation though it was.

“Olav, the fool... he’s turned every man against
him with his oppression and his threats!” Hrolf declared. ‘Tor truth, there is
no one who would betray us to him now—none that I know of! Though there
are some who would betray him,” he said cryptically, and then snickered. “As
you shall soon see..

Still Elienor refused to respond. Instead she
listened, for in the last days she’d gleaned much information from Hrolf in just
such a manner. Braggart that he was, Hrolf seemed pleased to goad her night and
day, and through his prattling she’d managed to discover that her pit graced
the hall of an old abandoned steading located on an isle in the middle of a
marsh—thus accounting for the sour smelling soil.

“Even those who might have followed the Christian
faith will not now because Olav will not suffer them to choose of their own
will! He shovels his own grave, I tell you, and he’ll pull his bastard brother
down with him when he plunges down into it. Alarik, the fool, he’s simply too
loyal for his own good... and you, witch, will insure me his ruin, and then
shall you watch as I shovel putrid soil over them both!”

Elienor covered her ears and prayed for strength,
forcing herself to ignore Hrolf’s mockery of Alarik and his horrifying
prophecy. Dear God, she prayed, bear me through this...

Even through her hands, she heard the rise of
voices and uncovered her ears, trying to make them out.

“Your God will not aid you!” Hrolf scoffed,
snickering nastily.

A quiver raced down Elienor’s spine at the all too
familiar declaration. Her heart pounded frantically as the muffled voices grew
in clarity, finally catching Hrolf’s notice, as well. He quieted, pivoting to
face the men that entered, and then howled wildly with glee. Walking out of her
sight to greet the newcomers, he laughed again and declared, “At last... at
last! But then I knew you’d come!”

“Dispense with the crowing, Hrolf!”

Elienor cried out softly, recognizing the voice.

‘The information I bring comes with a price...”

A long silence.

“What price?” Ejnar’s gruff voice asked.

There was another pause and then Bjorn declared,
“Your daughter, Ejnar... your daughter and land of mine own if you should
depose him ..

Ejnar guffawed. “Bastard!” he said, without
animosity. “You’ll bed her yet, will you not? Persistent... bold... I like
that... very well, Bjorn, Erik’s son. If the information you’ve borne me today
proves worthy, I shall indeed grant you my daughter at long last! What say you
to that?”

Elienor heard a grunt and ensuing sigh, and
imagined Bjorn relieved.

Was this then the betrayal she’d dreamed of?

“If she’ll have you,” Ejnar added sagely.

“She’ll have me!” Bjorn avowed.

Ejnar laughed once more. “‘Tis baffling is it not...
that a man’s weakness should eternally lie betwixt the legs of a woman? Some
day, I warrant, the crafty bitches shall rule all the lands!” And with that
declaration, all three roared with laughter. “Come,” Ejnar charged. “Let us
hear what you have to say...,” and with that, they moved out of hearing
distance.

When Hrolf swaggered into view moments later, his
eyes were alight with unholy mirth. Snickering, he bent, unlocked the grate
excitedly, and swung the cell door wide. “Come out, come out!” he beckoned
ominously. “‘Tis time at last!” And with that, an anticipatory grin split his
red beard and face.

And in that instant, a dark foreboding swept over
Elienor, a presentiment more sinister than any she’d ever known.

The time had come, she knew, and the realization
chilled her to the bone.

CHAPTER
32

Alarik was beginning to wonder that mayhap he’d been
mistaken.

They’d made the journey to Vendland to meet with
Burislav the Pole entirely without incident, and now upon their return there
was yet no sign of Ejnar, or Hrolf. His gut twisted with the thought, for it
had been weeks now since he’d seen Elienor.

For the first time he considered that he might not
see her again.

Nei, he would find her, by God! If it took the
remainder of his days, he would find her.

Altogether they sailed with nearly seventy-one
vessels in their entourage, and men enough to crush the life from any army
Ejnar could amass upon his own.

And crush him they would...

If they could find him.

Along with sixty of their own well-manned
warships, they’d managed to recruit another eleven of the Jomsborg Viking’s.
Still, something beleaguered him now...

Something...

Above them, the sun shone bright as the Goldenhawk
glided over the waves, its proud hawk’s head soaring majestically before them,
but the breeze swept dark clouds directly into their path. The threat of a
storm gave rise again to his feeling of foreboding.

About them the air was calm...

Too calm...

Instinct told him something was amiss, and he
hadn’t lived so many years by disregarding intuition.

The gut feeling had begun when first their departure
from Vendland had been delayed, but he’d attributed his unease to his agitation
over recovering Elienor. Now he found cause to wonder whether it had been a
planned conspiracy. Scanning the waters ahead, he spied their escort, the
Jomsvikings—they’d granted their ships much too easily, he thought, and
his sense of unease intensified.

And now that he considered it... Burislav, too,
had handed over the lands Olav had requested much too promptly... with nary a
protest...

An hour past, the lead Jomsviking ship had bid
them follow, saying that they knew well the safest route through the island
sounds... that the water was too shallow in places for the Longserpent and the
Goldenhawk to pass through. At the time it had sounded reasonable enough...
though now...

His hand went to the hilt of his sword as he
inspected Svolth’s chalky coastline rising in the distance. It appeared
forsaken and deserted, but something wasn’t right...

Something...

And then he spied them and cursed roundly.

In that instant, the clouds moved over them and
the skies darkened forbiddingly as he motioned across the frothy waters to Olav
upon the Longserpent.

Before he could speak, from another ship, the
Shortserpent, came an anxious shout. “My king! Do you see them?”

An undeterminable number of ships made their way
swiftly forward, coming like hungry rats from behind their refuge. Even as they
advanced, the Jomsviking ships fell back from their midst.

“Betrayed!” Alarik roared to Olav. “We are
betrayed! Lower the sails!” he commanded his men at the top of his lungs.
“Secure the ships!”

“But there are so many!” someone bellowed from
upon the Crane.

Olav’s gaze snapped about. “Let not my men think
of fleeing!” he warned. “Never have I fled in battle! May God reclaim my soul,
but we’ll not flee now!” He pivoted to Alarik. “Know you who commands the fleet
that sails against us?”

Alarik squinted as the sun burst through the
clouds once more, its brightness blinding. He shook his head, turning to Olav,
his hand shielding his eyes. “Appears to be Svein Forkbeard with his bloody
Danes!”

“Humph! We should have no fear from that quarter!
There is no courage in those Danes! Who else dares challenge us this day?”

“The Swedes!” Sigurd bellowed with contempt at
Alarik’s back.

“Hah!” Olav scoffed. “Better it would have been
for them to stay home and lap their sacrificial bowls than to attack the
Longserpent and encounter our weapons!”

“My lord!” someone interjected from upon the
Longserpent. “Haconson the jarl sails beside them, as well!”

Olav, his visage dark, turned to regard the man
who’d spoken, and then focused once again on the approaching ships. “Now
there,” he remarked, brooding suddenly, “we would be wise to keep our guard!”
He turned to Alarik, shouting across the water. “Very likely he considers he
has a bone to pick with us. We might expect a smart fight with that force. They
are as Norse as we!”

Alarik tipped his head, his gaze returning to the
approaching bulwark of ships. He’d known Olav would turn people against him
with his heavy hand, but he’d never have guessed so many.

They were far outnumbered.

With his foot propped imposingly upon his prow, he
shouted brisk commands to his warriors, urging them to make ready their
weapons. Men scurried about, lashing ships together, readying themselves for
battle at sea. Alarik merely stood scrutinizing the approaching ships...
searching... searching... and then he saw them... Ejnar’s twin skeids, vessels
made on specially fine lines and thereby swifter than most other ships, and his
gut twisted. A shuddering coursed through him as he gazed at the twin set of
striped sails. It was not fright that caused it, for he had no fear of dying
should it be his destiny. It was every man’s fate to die someday... rather it
was the thought of dying without telling Elienor what was in his heart.

He didn’t want to die without seeing her once
more, didn’t want to live without her, and the realization struck him like
lightning and thunder... not only did he love her...

He needed her.

The glitter of Olav’s armor caught his eye
suddenly as he glanced toward the Longserpent. As Olav had, most of the men had
worn their full armor for this treacherous sea voyage, but Olav’s mail was made
of a new and thicker weight. No mere arrow could pierce it. A most peculiar
presentiment came over him as he watched Olav riding his dragon prow, his
magnificent gold helm shining in the sun and his gilded shield and sword held
ready in his grasp. Alarik was driven to call out to his kin across the
churning water.

Olav turned to face him.

‘Take care, mine brother,” Alarik charged.

The smile Olav returned was arrogant. “Nei, mine
bror, ’tis you who needs must take care!” His eyes sparkled mischievously, and
then suddenly there was no more time for talk.

As the legion of drakken approached, arrows flew—some
ignited—and fell like lethal rain from the sky.

Within another moment drakken prows collided
fiercely. Grappling hooks were hurled both ways, securing the enemy ships to
their own, allowing men easy passage from ship to ship.

The whoosh of arrows was a merciless roar in
Elienor’s ears. She’d been bound hastily with ropes to the mast. And still
Hrolf taunted her.

“I cannot wait to see the bastard’s face when he
spies you!” he told her. Reaching high, he ignited the sailcloth above her with
the lighted pitch torch he held in his fist. The billowing fabric caught at
once, and the flame licked swiftly upward with the sweeping breeze. He laughed
hideously. “Now to seek out the bastard!” he informed her, snickering. “And I
shall cleave him in two with mine blade as he watches you burn!” He sniggered
malevolently. ‘Tell, me, Fransk witch... will you watch each other die? How
poetic an ending!” He laughed again. “Tis one for the skalds, I’ll warrant!”
And with that he left her, leaping over the gunwale, onto the nearest vessel,
forsaking her to the flames.

Elienor watched him make his way from ship to
ship, knowing it would be futile to scream out a warning. Over the clamor of
war nothing would be heard. And with so many ships surrounding them, she had no
inkling where Alarik might be. She could only pray... and continue to
manipulate the ropes, for she’d managed to loosen them already...

Sweet Jesu—she had to free herself!

This was her nightmare come true!

She had to save him.

Furiously, she worked at the ropes, bruising and
chafing her tender wrists with her efforts. But she didn’t care.

She had to warn him!

Or die trying.

When the first ship collided with the Goldenhawk,
Alarik knew not to give his opponent time enough to board. In a battle at sea
It was common practice to board a vessel, clear it, then take it for one’s own.
He took the offensive, and with a fierce battle cry that sent shivers down the
spines of many, he leapt aboard the smaller vessel, keeping his eyes upon the
striped sails of Ejnar’s skeids that were his destination. When before his eyes
one of the ship’s sails caught flame, erupting with the wind, reason fled him
entirely. He fought feverishly, with the insanity attributed to the berserkers,
whose legendary lust for killing drove them into veritable madness in the heat
of battle.