Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (17 page)

“Oh.” She sat back down. The stout branch could wait. “I am Lissa of Yriclea, only my village no longer exists.”

He handed her a chicken leg and generous hunks of cheese and bread. “The Northmen?”

“No.”

“Ah. A neighboring thegn then, with a desire for that which is not his. A common complaint in our day.”

She was too busy devouring the chicken to answer.

He let her eat until she was content. “Mead?”

She nodded and took the skin. “It is a good batch.”

“Aye, it is. So then, Lissa of Yriclea-which-is-no-more. Before we discuss the rescue—or not—of your companions, perhaps it would help pass the time if we get to know each other better. I have already told much of myself, but you should know I was rather alarmed when I realized the soldiers were nigh.” He flashed an engaging grin. “I thought they were after me. I fear my engagement at Aldwulf’s manor did not end well. He is master of a large and wealthy holding a league south of Searesbyrig. I have performed there before, but that was when the old thegn was still alive. Elstan was an honorable man, but his son does not appear to have inherited his sire’s better points.”

He waved a half-eaten wing in the air. “Important guests graced Aldwulf’s halls when I arrived, and he contracted with me to entertain for five nights. I did so, and rather well, if I may be so bold. But yestre morn, when I was ready to leave, the thegn refused to pay for my services. I hardly need say the refusal did not sit well with me, and I fear I became rather…adamant, that he keep our bargain. He conjured a feigned slight by which I had insulted him—I will not sully your lovely ears with the details—to excuse his theft, and asked if I preferred to leave in one piece or become a permanent resident of his holding pits.

“I considered my options and decided to accept his generous offer to keep all my parts attached to my body. I am rather fond of them, as you might guess.” He popped a handful of blackberries into his mouth and chewed with enjoyment. “When I caught a glimpse of the hearth companions slinking through the trees a short time ago, I thought Aldwulf had changed his mind and sent them to make an end of me. I am curious to learn if I was indeed their quarry, and their purpose changed when they came first upon your friends.” He slanted a look at her. “If you wish to free them, I will help, if only because I am wroth with Aldwulf. He owes me.”

Lissa stared across the rippling current at a nesting water bird. A flash of red-gold in the sun-dappled branches above marked the presence of a cautious squirrel. She sighed. Though she had not given her oath, as had Alwin, she knew herself bound to Brandr by invisible chains. He had told her there would be no going back, no changing her mind. At the time, she had disregarded his words, and laid her plans accordingly. Now she understood the fullness of her folly, for in so short a time as they had been together, he had become of too great importance. She could not leave him, or the others, to face nigh certain death, not even the volatile Sindre.

“It is likely these men followed us. They came nigh us yestre day as we lay hid, and we believed they knew naught of us. Brandr thinks their leader sensed our presence, and returned later to track us.” She turned to Turold. “How would we rescue them?”

Disappointment shone briefly in the green-tinged depths of his gaze, and his finger traced the line of her cheek. “‘Rescue’, she says. What foul luck, that they should find her, first. Ah, but a man can always dream.” He sat straight, his tone becoming brisk. “Tell me of the Northmen and the boy, how you came to travel with them.”

∞∞§∞∞

“Lissa! It is time to move.”

Turold’s whisper in her ear brought her back to wakefulness, startled to find he held her against his chest. “What…? Why are you…? Why am I…?”

Chuckling, he interrupted her stuttering queries. “Think naught of it, fair maid. You needed warmth. We shared heat. Naught more. Not that I did not enjoy your sweet form tucked close to mine, but truly, it was mere convenience. Come, we must make haste.”

She got to her feet, grateful for his support, for her legs were stiff with cold. Dawn would come soon. The night breeze swirled the humid, earthy scent of the river around them and carried the sharp yip of a hunting fox. Swiftly, they made preparations.

Turold swung her back up onto the riverbank and followed. “Earlier,” he said as he caught her hand and guided her through the dark trees, “before you decided I would make a fine blanket, I did some scouting.”

“You left me?” She had not meant to accuse, but knew her words came out that way.

She heard in his voice the smile she could not see. “You were completely safe, else I would not have done so. Fortune favors us. I think they expect no trouble, for they have left but one man on guard. They do not know yet about us.” He stopped and brought his face close. “I wish to make sure they
never
learn of you, so you will do exactly as I say, or we will take not a step further. You must trust I know what I am doing. Have I your word you will obey?”

There was no mistaking the thread of iron in his voice. He would haul her away and never look back if she refused. “If it must be, I will.”

“It must be. Have you further questions about what you are to do?”

“No.”

They skulked through the silent woods. He stopped again, divested himself of his packs and breathed close to her ear. “They made camp in a clearing. We draw nigh. You will wait here. I will deal with the guard, then return. Stay quiet.”

Before she could protest, question or otherwise respond, he was gone. She untied her sash of belongings and laid it beside his satchel. The wait seemed dreadfully long. Little noises in the undergrowth disturbed her, for she could see little but the black outlines of trunks and branches. Just when she began to think he had abandoned her, or worse, been captured, he suddenly loomed from the night.

She gasped and fell back, her whisper harsh. “You could have warned me you were returning!”

The smile was back in his voice. “Where would be the merriment in that?” He found her hand and closed her fingers around the hilt of a knife. “You will need this. As I expected, each of your friends is secured with their back against a tree. Their arms have been stretched round the base and tied at the wrists. It is our job to sever those bonds. I will take the big one. You free the other. Do not forget to give him the knife. He cannot cut the rope that fetters his feet without it. We will release the boy when the soldiers are no longer a threat. Remember. As we draw nigh the camp, take your time. Check your footing before you settle your full weight. The men sleep, but they are warriors and accustomed to listening for sounds of danger, even in slumber. If you snap a twig, it will awaken them. If that happens, do as I told you. Drop to the ground, and stay still and silent. I will come for you. We will seek safety, and try again later. Ready?”

Her heart was thumping so loud she feared he might hear it and make her stay behind. “Yes.”

“You have courage, fair maid. Would that I had found you before he did.”

Her lips curved. Had she not met Brandr first, she might wish the same.

They covered the final distance to the camp more quickly than she had dared hope. Up ahead, the gleam of embers marked the camp’s location. Soon, Turold was pointing out the tree where Brandr was tied. She could make it out, but only just. He patted her arm and moved away.

Terrified she would make some noise that would alert the soldiers, she eased forward, and almost ran into the tree. Peering around it in the glow of the coals, she realized the Saxons had not allowed the men to clothe themselves in their tunics. The belt containing the gold was no longer around Sindre’s middle, nor was it visible elsewhere she could make out. She wondered what had become of it. From the brief glimpse she got of Alwin, the youngling remained naked, and huddled as if cold.

She knelt, her fingertips running lightly down the bark. Her hand made contact with something hard and very warm. Brandr! He did not appear to feel the night’s chill breath. The muscles of his bare arm jerked beneath her questing fingers. Tracing the curve of his forearm to his wrists—the right one of which felt oddly misshapen, somehow—she found the leather lashing and hesitated. The way they had him tied, it would be difficult to cut the binding without slicing into his flesh.

Teeth mauling her lower lip, she set the blade to the leather, relieved to find her task easier than she feared. The knife was sharp and the hide strands parted easily, but before she was through, Brandr gave one mighty heave and the last of the leather separated. His right hand wrapped itself around hers to gently squeeze, and again that sense of something wrong with its shape assailed her. Then, before she could think to put the hasp of the knife in his palm, he had it. Her part was over. She slid back into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brandr woke from a troubled, uneasy sleep, wondering what had awakened him. Within the faint light of what was left of the fire, he could make out the four slumbering shapes of their captors, and the shadowed forms of Sindre and Alwin across the camp. He winced as he tried to ease the strain on his arms. The Saxon captain had not been happy with their lack of answers to the questions he asked, and the response he offered was painful, even for young Alwin.

He admired the boy’s refusal to speak. He had more pluck—and a greater sense of honor—than he had credited, and had acquitted himself well in the face of what was, for him, a terrifying situation.

He licked dried blood from swollen lips and tried to isolate the stealthy sound that had brought him awake. He hoped it was not Lissa. He could not know where the guard was, but it was unlikely she could free him without alerting the man, and he did not want the others to know of her.

The faint noise came again, from behind the tree where he was secured. He tensed. No animal would venture so close. Unless the guard thought to play some game of his own, it had to be his thrall. Cool fingertips slid down his forearm and despite himself, he started. Moments later, a knife sawed at his bonds. He felt them loosen and gave a sudden flex. His ribs protested, but the last tie snapped. He caught her small hand and gave it a quick squeeze, then took from her the knife. If only now she had sense enough to slip away and hide until he could deal with the soldiers.

He sliced through the rope binding his ankles, the action sending splinters of pain through his sword hand. Motion across the fire alerted him. He froze in the act of rubbing life back into puffy wrists, surprised when his uncle lunged to his feet. Who had freed him?

He stood, biting back a groan at the stab of agony in his ribs, aware he accomplished the act with far less grace. But then, Sindre had not been beaten. The Saxons apparently, wished to take no chances with the huge warrior in their midst. He had overheard part of a whispered conversation in which the word ‘
berserkr’
was clearly voiced in sharp, insistent tones.

When he was certain he could move without falling over, he met Sindre’s look over the fire and nodded. He raised his hand in a single, horizontal slash at the level of his belly. No killing unless it could not be helped. For once, his uncle did not demur. Wondering where the guard was, he stepped to the side of the Saxon captain.

The man’s instinct served him well. He came awake and half reared from the ground, ready to fight, but Brandr already had the knife at his throat.

“Make no sound,” he whispered as he relieved the man of knife and sword.

Where was the guard?

He and the captain waited in silence. It was the work of moments for Sindre to render the other three Saxons insensible, divest them of their weapons and bind their feet and hands. Shortly after, the captain was likewise trussed.

Brandr rose. “Sindre,” he whispered. “The guard!”

Sindre nodded and made to slip from the camp, but was halted by an amused, unfamiliar voice that made no effort at quiet. “No need to concern yourselves with the sentry. He will not be coming to anyone’s aid.”

A tall man stepped into the light. He carried a sword but held it at ease. “This night’s work has been most satisfying.”

“Turold!” The angry Saxon captain spit the word.

“Aye, I am Turold of Hamwic.” He bowed slightly from his waist. “May I say, I am not particularly pleased to see you again, Captain Preed. I had hoped to leave our first encounter in the past and offer no reason for another. It is unfortunate you chose to make that an impossibility. I felt it my duty you see, to give aid to these fellow travelers who have done you and your lord no more harm than did I.”

Brandr watched the newcomer warily, wondering where Lissa was. If this man had hurt her in any way, he would kill him, slowly, despite his apparent aid in their release, but he could not ask about her without giving her presence away to the captain.

The captain started to speak but another voice, this one youthful and annoyed, cut through his words. “Would thomeone mind cutting me loothe? I goth to pee.”

Brandr bit back a grin at Alwin’s exasperated, swollen-mouthed comment as Sindre bent to do as asked. Had they knocked out one of the boy’s teeth?

“If you cannot hold it as would a grown man, go, but be quick about it!” Sindre’s words were harsh but the tone left little doubt he, too, was amused. “We leave soon and we will not wait.”

Alwin lurched to his feet, only to pitch into the Sindre’s arms when his wobbly legs refused to hold him. He mumbled under his breath while Sindre steadied him, then he stomped, groaning the whole time, until the blood flowed again. Pushing away from Sindre’s hold, he hobbled at as fast a pace as he could manage from the clearing into the lightening gloom. Dawn was nigh and the darkness was quickly yielding to the pallid light of a new day.

“Turold of Hamwic.”

The man faced Brandr.

“Your aid this night is well come. But I admit to curiosity.”

“You wonder why? It is no great secret. Captain Preed’s lord owed to me a debt. I now consider it discharged.”