Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (35 page)

What has been done with them? Surely, Talon will not harm them.

This was her fault. None of her friends would be in this trouble had she fled Yriclea when Brandr left her at Lady Eadgida’s grave to go inside the walls. She screamed beneath the palm clamped over her mouth and drummed her heels against hard shins. The big warrior simply readjusted his grip. Chills numbed her heart as frustration nigh made her crazed. If she could get her hands on him…!

Her gaze moved over the other men in the camp. Of the score of Saxon warriors present, the only ones she recognized were Talon, Wat and four hearth companions from Yriclea. One man stood off to himself on the far side of the fire. His clothing proclaimed him a man of wealth, while his stance revealed him a man of power and privilege. He turned his face into the light. Behind the hand that gagged her, she gasped. He was the same noble who had walked in the market with Talon, earlier in the day. He observed the proceedings, but did not interfere.

Another flurry of movement brought her gaze back to the combatants. She heard Brandr say something to Talon, but his words were too low to discern. Talon’s expression hardened.

Brandr’s expression was tight, controlled, the face of a fearsome warrior, deadly and sure. Heart in her throat, she watched as he went on the offensive. As if invisible restraints were removed, the two proud warriors roared in rage and closed in a titanic struggle for supremacy.

∞∞§∞∞

Lissa was in danger. Brandr had known trouble was coming, had forewarning of it since the previous day. Yet, he had let his guard down to focus on her, instead of on
guarding
her. He should have set all the men to watch. He should have been on the woodbank, instead of in camp, but some primal need to have her close, under his hand, had played him false and betrayed his instincts. Now she was captured, and he might well fall, and Sindre too, leaving her at the mercy of another man.

Nei! He refused to accept his own failure as reason for her to be trapped in a marriage she had sought to avoid, had depended on him to insure she escaped. But then, he had not been able to think straight since he first laid eyes on her as she confronted the end of the only life she had ever known.

He searched the shadows for her and found her, confined in the arms of a massive warrior, a true match for Sindre. Her eyes were huge above the man’s big hand that covered her mouth, but she seemed unharmed. Apart from an understandably overwhelming desire to take off the man’s head for daring to touch her, he decided, for the time being, she was safe where she was.

He eyed Talon over the edge of his shield, and circled his adversary, fighting to harness his rage and direct it into the fray. Talon had demanded a duel between them to settle the matter. The noble with him had agreed.

With all of his little flock in their hands, he had accepted because he had no choice. But it would end here. He would not fail her.

The battle he faced would be exceptionally difficult, for he could not fight to kill. Were Talon to die at his hand, Lissa would not hold it against him, but she would grieve. He could not put her through more pain, but he had measured the intent in the first marshal’s eyes and knew he would not offer the same restraint. Talon intended to kill him.

He was up against a warrior of the same caliber as he, an opponent worthy of his skills and respect. He mentally shook himself, shunting aside everything but the moment. He needed his focus, all of it, on surviving, on winning this battle, for Lissa’s sake.

He lunged and Frækn came into ringing contact with Talon’s blade, then he fell back. He searched Talon’s eyes and saw the flicker for which he waited. With a roar the first marshal echoed, he leapt across the space separating them.

Sparks flew. The continuing crash of their blades rang across the coppice.

Talon lunged with a short edge blow.

He sidestepped it and countered with a stab Talon deflected.

The first marshal followed with a cutting arc, low and fast, below his shield.

He leapt straight up, sensing the blade barely missed his feet. He came down on something unseen in the shadows and it turned his ankle. He staggered, and went to his knees. Talon came at him intending to take off his head, but he dropped both shield and Frækn and threw himself hard to the side, rolling out of range. He lunged to his feet, axe in hand, and threw the weapon. Talon grunted as it impacted his shield, breaking off a piece of the edge.

He dived for Frækn as Talon recovered from the powerful blow, and came up on the other man’s right side, nigh behind him.

Talon spun on his heel and angled an upper cut.

Brandr caught it on his blade, forcing the other’s sword to slide harmlessly away, then followed the movement through, arcing Frækn around and up into a downward vertical blow. Talon leapt back, but he followed him and lunged with a short stab meant to incapacitate. Talon took the jab, letting the tip embed in the wood of his shield, then sharply twisted the shield, trying to jerk Frækn from his hand.

As the sword came loose, he used the momentum from the strength of Talon’s wrench to drop and roll to his own shield. He grabbed it, lunged and charged his enemy, full speed. The mighty crash as they collided nigh deafened him. He sought to force Talon back, but equal in strength, neither gained. They broke apart. Blade to blade, they traded blows, fighting silently.

The distinctive odor of blood reached his nostrils; whose, he did not know. There was no time to wonder. Talon aimed another slice at his legs but he dropped into a squat, bringing the shield into protective play, then lunged up and forward with great force to slam against the other man. Talon refused to go down.

He needed to finish it. Both of them were tiring. If Lissa was to be free, he could not risk getting himself killed. With a fierce yell, he moved in with a savage, blinding series of blows that kept the other warrior off balance. Talon dropped his sword and with two hands, wielded his shield in both defense and attack.

Hammer of Thorr, I cannot get past his defenses!

He kept up the unrelenting assault, forcing Talon back and back until the other man came against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Talon stumbled, recovered, and threw the shield at him, before swinging around behind the tree to come in from the other side.

The action broke the pattern of his blows, and now Talon gripped a seax, the blade of the long knife glinting in the light of the fire.

He threw down Frækn and pulled his sax. Again, they circled, then came together in a series of furious slashes. Talon suddenly lunged and they closed, grappling.

His hand grasping Talon’s wrist, he tried to twist the other man’s arm. When that proved unsuccessful, he managed a blow to Talon’s head with the butt of the sax’s grip. Talon retaliated, his forehead slamming Brandr’s mouth in a stunning blow.

He felt the skin split. His mouth filled with blood. He lashed out with his foot, hooking his heel behind Talon’s. At the same instant, he changed tactics and gave a mighty heave. Talon tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his back, the seax flying from his hand.

He followed him down, jamming his elbow into the first marshal’s gut, forcing from him a resounding
whoof
of air.

His blade was at the other man’s throat.

Talons eyes glittered. He waited for death.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Hold!” A voice, commanding and edged with power, echoed through the coppice. “Hold!”

Instinctively, Brandr obeyed the deep-toned command. Talon froze. They held like that, unmoving, for countless moments.

“Kindly refrain from killing my new first marshal, young man,” the voice continued. “I have need of his services.”

Panting, Brandr blinked sweat from his eyes and spit blood. “Do you yield?”

Breathing just as hard, the first marshal gave a slight nod.

He rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, backing out of range, then turned to look for the author of that compelling directive.

The nobleman stepped from the shadows into the invisible circle that had defined the fight. He gazed at Brandr. “You did well to obey. Had you not, I would have had to kill you, and I have no wish to see either of you die this night. Beyond that, my daughter would be deeply distressed were the first marshal to be taken from this world, and I suspect your lady would feel the same about you.”

His tone was conversational, his expression in the firelight that of a man well pleased.

Brandr raised his left hand to his swelling mouth, only to discover blood also dripped from a long, shallow slash on his forearm. He had not felt the cut. He glanced at Talon, who stared back.

Blood also dripped steadily from a cut that ran along the line of the first marshal’s right jawline.

Brandr relaxed.

Talon nodded and sheathed his seax.

He decided to hold onto to his sax for a little longer.

The noble put his hands behind his back.

At his movement, Brandr’s head swung back to him.

The noble smiled. “I am Thegn Heorulf of Andeferas. I allowed this fight because I wished to test the capabilities of the good Talon.” His gaze swung to the first marshal. “I must say, Talon, I am impressed. You have comported yourself well, my friend.”

Talon blinked a few times, but said naught.

Heorulf gestured toward the warrior who held Lissa. “I believe all can settled quite peaceably if we allow the young lady to voice the thoughts that have plagued her in recent moments. Uctred, release her.”

The big man set her on her feet—Brandr was startled at the gentle care he took—and let her go. She raced in his direction. He braced for the impact of her body as she flung herself at him, but after that battle, he was hard put to it to stay on his feet. As it was, he staggered a little as he embraced her, but with her arms encircling his neck, and her sweet mouth covering his face with kisses, she seemed not to notice. Tears streaming down her face, she said not a word, just clung to him as if he was the last thing solid in the world.

“You see?” Thegn Heorulf’s mouth twitched. Brandr met his gaze. “A wise man knows when all is well, and also knows when to leave well enough, alone.” To Talon he said, “I believe the lady has made her choice, Talon. But for your peace of mind, we will seek confirmation.” He turned a stern gaze on Lissa, who stiffened in Brandr’s arms. “Young lady, do I take it from your action here that you are under no threat or compulsion to stay with these Northmen? I will have the truth, now.”

Brandr tightened his hold. He might be sure of her answer, but felt too rattled by events to take any chances.

She never hesitated. “Leóf, I have been and am compelled to remain with this man.”

It was Brandr’s turn to go still with shock.

What does she say? She cannot mean it!

But the noble only chuckled. “Ah, I see it well. But perhaps you should explain your words before your young man decides to start battle anew.”

She turned her head to him and he suddenly understood the noble’s comment. Love blazed from her eyes. A deep, shuddering sigh vibrated through his soul. He ran the back of a finger along her cheek. “What is it you would say, Lissa?”

“That I am compelled by love to be with you. That wherever you go, I am driven by desire to follow.”

His heart swelled, and he laughed, and found her lips. The kiss was not long, for his mouth hurt, but it left them both trembling with need. At its end, she exclaimed over his lip and the blood that dripped from the slash in his forearm. To get her to leave off fussing, he used the arm to catch her tight to his side and hold her there, while he wiped his blood from her face.

“There. You see, Talon?” The noble’s tone was chiding. “You worry for naught.”

Brandr set Lissa from him, but kept her hand in his. He faced his adversary. “Know this, Talon of Yriclea! I love this woman, Lissa of Yriclea. I have not dishonored her, nor has any other with me.” The first marshal’s eyes fired at his words and Brandr gave an inward nod. The man was a true friend, and cared much for her welfare. “I will never release her, but I will have her to wife, and she will bear my children. I swear to you, upon my honor, I will provide, protect and care for her for the rest of my days. Does this satisfy you?”

Talon held his gaze for a long, searching moment. He looked at Lissa. “You are well, Lissa?”

She nodded against Brandr’s shoulder.

“This is truly what you want?”

Again, her head bobbed.

Finally, he said, “Then aye, Northman, it does. I release Lissa of Yriclea to your keeping.”

He stretched forth his hand. Brandr clasped his wrist in solemn accord.

“Excellent!” Thegn Heorulf clapped his hands. “As I expected, it took only a few simple words to repair the matter peaceably.” He shook his head, and then chuckled. “Warriors are always so quick to settle their differences with blood.” He turned to the hearth companions who guarded Sindre. “Let him go, and see to the scop. Bring the others back to the camp.”

Talon cleared his throat. “I would ask one final thing, my thegn.”

“Ask it.”

Brandr knew the question before Talon opened his mouth. The first marshal spoke softly, though there was none nigh to hear but those who already knew of what he would speak.

“The gold. Do you have it?”

Lissa tensed in his arms.

He met the first marshal’s look. He made no answer.

Talon sighed, a deep exhalation. “Just so.”

He turned away to speak to Wat, who had just come to stand beside him.

Brandr set Lissa from him. She hurried to Turold’s side. The scop was muttering and flapping his hands at the attention being paid him. Assured the skáld was not badly hurt, he set about restoring order to his little flock.

Sindre, now on his feet, arrested his attention. His gaze was centered on Lissa, but then flickered in his direction.

Brandr was staggered by the wistful regret in Sindre’s eyes. His uncle looked away, but not quickly enough.