Viking Raiders (3 page)

Tom stuck his tongue in his cheek and frowned. “Right,” he said to Isis. “Maybe the dragon's back means the longship.” He pointed over to the boat's carved front.

Isis nodded and stroked a purring Cleo. “Yes. It seems pretty obvious that the riddle is talking about a journey over the sea.”

“Perhaps we'll be going somewhere in that boat,” Tom suggested.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask Isis if she knew what Valhalla was, they heard shouting and loud voices coming their way.

Tom looked round and spotted a group of tall, terrifying men. They wore helmets and fur cloaks. At their sides, they carried the longest broadswords he had ever seen. They were running, like a herd of angry moose, down to the longship. The only obstacle that stood between them and their vessel… were Tom, Isis and Cleo.

“Are those the Vikings you were talking about?” Isis asked quietly.

“Yes,” Tom said, gulping. “I'm afraid so. They tried to look as fearsome as possible in the hope that their enemies would keel over with fear just at the sight of them.”

“Well, that little trick won't work on me,” Isis said. But Tom could tell from the quiver in her voice that she didn't feel as brave as she was pretending to be.

Cleo yowled when she saw the strangers and darted into the folds of Isis's cloak.

At the head of the group, Tom noticed a Viking who was as tall and broad as a door – a hulking, muscle-bound man compared to the others. Bright-red hair hung down his back in wild, matted clumps. His bearded, ruddy face was covered in freckles. In his huge hand he swung a gleaming axe.

“Do you think that axe is meant for us?” Isis asked.

The red-headed giant thundered towards them. His steely gaze was fixed on Tom.

“We're about to find out,” Tom said, trembling like a jelly. “Please don't kill us!” he shouted, holding his hands above his head in surrender, as the stranger came to a stop and loomed over him. Hardly daring to look into the Viking's fearsome face, Tom stared at the man's boots instead. He had the most enormous feet.

Tom hoped the Viking had understood his plea for mercy. Everywhere else that Anubis had sent them, he and Isis had magically been understood. He just had to hope that his English words had come out in Old Norse.

Beside Tom, Isis skipped backwards and forward. Her fists were balled, but next to the huge Viking, she looked like a chick trying to pick a fight with a cockerel. “Come on, then, you big red hairball!” she shouted up at him. “You don't mess with a princess!”

Cleo hissed and swiped a claw at the Viking. The little cat's stripy fur was standing on end. Tom admired his friends' courage.

“I am Erik the Red!” the man said in a voice so deep it seemed to come from his toes. He grabbed Isis by her cloak and held her up so that her fists punched helplessly at thin air. “And I'm going to knock your brains out for skulking about near my boat.”

“Please let her go, sir, she's only a little girl!” Tom pleaded, desperate for Erik to release Isis.

“Little girl?” Isis shrieked, outraged. “There is nothing little about me. I am royal – and I fight better than you ever will.”

Erik burst out laughing and dropped Isis back to the ground in a heap of plaits and furry cloak. Cleo rubbed up against her, checking that she was all right.

“She's a feisty one, isn't she?” Erik said to Tom. “Where did you find her?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Tom said, laughing nervously. He decided to draw Erik's attention away from Isis, in case she annoyed him again. “So where are you and your men off to?”

Erik set his helmet straight on his head. As he did so, Tom caught a whiff of sweat and damp.

“We're about to go on a little expedition,” Erik said. “There's nothing like a bracing ocean voyage to blow away the cobwebs.”

Tom looked at the dragon at the helm of Erik's longship and remembered the words of the riddle. “Setting sail on your
long and thin
boat, are you?” Tom said loudly, trying to attract Isis's attention.

But Isis was busy trying to pull Erik's red beard.

“Sailing
across
stormy seas
, eh?!” Tom shouted.

Isis finally turned to Tom and winked. “Can we come too?” she asked Erik, innocently.

Erik's fiery eyebrows bunched together in a terrifying scowl. “Children on a Viking raid? Are you trying to insult me?” he boomed. “This is a looting party, you know. Do you have any idea what me and my men will be doing?”

Tom pursed his lips and swallowed hard. “Er, setting fire to people's houses? Stealing? That kind of thing.”

Erik grinned and slapped Tom hard on the back. “Precisely, lad! That's no pastime for a youngster like you. You'd only get in the way.”

Tom felt their chance slipping away… if he didn't hurry up and convince Erik to let them come, they'd never get the amulet and he'd be stuck in freezing Scandinavia forever.

“We're brilliant fighters, aren't we, Isis?” he said.

Isis nodded. “Yes! Sword fighting with knights. Net fighting with gladiators. You name it, we've done it.” She mimed shooting an arrow from a bow. “
I've
been specially trained in archery by the captain of my father's Royal Guards.”

Erik took off his helmet and started to scratch his scalp. His lips twitched, as if he was trying hard not to smile. “Tell you what,” he said. “Prove to me you can fight, and I might let you come with us.” He put his fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing wolf whistle. “Ho! Bjørn,” he shouted to a blond-haired warrior, who was loading a sack on to the longship. “Throw us over some armour and an axe or two. These youngsters want to come with us!”

With the crew of the longship gathered round to watch, Erik rammed a helmet each on to Tom's and Isis's heads. Tom's was far too big and fell over his eyes.

“Why don't these helmets have horns?” he asked, pushing it back up.
Vikings in films and cartoons always wore horned helmets,
Tom thought.

Erik looked down at him and frowned. “Horns? Don't be so stupid, boy! If we had horns on our helmets, the enemy would be able to grab them and just wrench them off our heads. You don't give your enemy helpful handles, son. What a funny idea!”

He gave them axes that were so sharp and lethal-looking that Tom wondered if he'd make it on to the boat with all his arms and legs.

“Now, if you're going to chop each others' heads off, be sure you don't dent the helmets!” Erik chuckled.

Finally, he passed them each a round shield that was made from wood and covered in iron rivets.

“Right.” He clapped his hands. “Get on with it then. We need to set sail soon.”

The Viking crew stamped their feet on the ground. “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” they chanted.

Realising they had no choice if they were to find the amulet, Tom and Isis shrieked at the tops of their voices, rounding on each other with a
clang!
of metal as their axes met.

Isis backed away, wrenching her axe apart from Tom's. Tom waved his above his head, in a bid to look as menacing as possible.

“Huh! Anyone can do that!” Isis said, lifting her weapon into the air and swinging it round.

Cleo skipped between Tom and Isis, mewing loudly and chasing her tail.

But Tom could tell Isis was struggling with the weight of the axe, as her arm faltered. Suddenly, Cleo darted into her path, sending Isis off balance. Seizing the opportunity, Tom knocked her helmet clean off her head with the flat of his axe's blades.

“AAARRRGGGHHHHH!” he cried and split the helmet on the ground clean in two with his axe.

The watching crew exploded into deafening applause.