Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance) (24 page)

“The fire has died.” He raised his head and inhaled. “Smell you the wood burning?”

Ghazi mimicked Dráddør’s actions. “Nay. ’Tis the sweet scent of damp ash and smoke. Do we go?”

“Aye.”

At that moment, thunderbolts lit the bay below. Jagged white streaks waged violent battle in the sky. Ear splitting cracks rented the air.

Dráddør signaled the men forward.

’Twas as if Heimdallr had carved a path into the cliffs for them to descend to the bay.

It took less time than he expected to hit the coarse sand of the beach.

He waved the gesture for hold and scanned the cove.

The fire had indeed gone out.

A sudden outburst drove the rain high and he glimpsed the backs of men huddled in two groups on either side of the tents. Dráddør wanted to get inside the smaller tent before allowing his men to engage with Godfraid’s.

He sank onto his stomach.

Ghazi did the same.

The storm continued to rage. Lightning erupted with each drag forward. The bay rang with explosive crackles and booming thunder. The skies emptied in pounding pulsation. Nary a soldier noticed them crawling at a snail’s pace along the sand. As luck had it, Thor’s bolts lit only their enemy. Not a single lightning strike gave away their approach.

They made it to the base of the cliffs and the black rocks shadowed their advance.

Dráddør rose to a crawl when he squeezed into the narrow space 2tween the tent and the cliffs. He sliced the canvas slowly until he had just enough space and set one eye to the tiny opening.

What he saw made his heart sing with joy. Hjørdis and Evie were tied back to back. Both girls were both bound and gagged. Two men guarded them. One was half-awake, the other fast asleep. He drew back and signaled Ghazi of the presence of two men and ordered Ghazi to take the one on the left.

Holding up a finger, then another, the moment he lifted the third, Dráddør sprang into action. He unsheathed his sword and sliced the canvas apart with one blow. Pivoting he continued with a wide, arcing swing and cleaved the bent neck of the sleeping warrior.

Not a moment later, Ghazi plunged his dagger into the other man’s heart.

Hjørdis waggled her brows.

Evie twisted to see him.

Dráddør touched a finger to his mouth.

Working quickly he cut the ropes binding them, and freed their hands and feet. He scooped Hjørdis up. Ghazi gathered Evie.

They backed out of the tent in unison.

Dráddør led the way to the cliffs.

He handed his sister to one of the waiting warriors.

Ghazi signaled two men to follow him and the warrior to the top.

Thunder and lightning flared anew.

Roaring his rage, he set his berserker free. ’Twas the signal his men awaited. At once the wind died. Thunder ebbed. The rain abated.

The bellows of a horde of Vikings charging in full battle-lust ruptured the sudden silence.

Dráddør grabbed his hammer and rushed into the melee on the beach. He slashed and hacked his way to the second tent, using both sword and hammer to decimate any who barred his way.

The roars and shouts of men fighting face-to-face, the clash of sword against sword, the howls of injured warriors, all drowned the storm’s renewed frenzy.

Dráddør sprinted to the front of the large tent.

Two of his warriors raced alongside him swinging their swords at any who tried to approach.

A figure darted out of the white canvas.

Twin bolts of lightning sizzled the sand and illuminated the man.

Wazir Niketas.

Dráddør leapt high in the air and swung his hammer as he hit the ground.

Blood spattered in a wide arc.

Niketas’s skull shattered.

Full blood lust drove him.

He found a short squat man inside the tent cowering in one corner. Dráddør smiled. The man answered to the description of Arnfinn’s brother, Lord Néill. He crouched to attack stance, sword in one hand, hammer in the other. He lunged forward and sliced open the vein at the man’s left elbow.

The roar of thunder receded and the man’s shriek of pain fractured the momentary silence.

Néill clutched his wound. “I have gold coin. Spare me, and I will pay you.”

“’Twas for Evie.”

“I have jewels, opium. Take them and go.” Néill frantically tried to sop the blood spurting from his elbow with the hem of his tunic.

Dráddør swung again and severed Néill’s right hand at the wrist. “’Twas for what you did to my wife, Xára.”

Néill yowled.

“Where are Godfraid and Magnhildur?”

“You cut off my hand,” Néill screeched.

“’Twill be your cock next. Where are Godfraid and Magnhildur?”

Dráddør smiled when the lout tried to protect his pecker with the dripping stub of his missing hand.

“You cut off my hand.” Néill raised the mangled, messy stump to his face.

“Pay attention!” Dráddør bellowed.

Néill jerked to him.

He sliced a wide gash on Néill’s thigh and severed a thick vein. Blood spurted high into the air. “Where are Godfraid and Magnhildur?”

“Dead, they are dead. In the tunnels.”

Néill’s face started to lose all color and Dráddør knew the man rode death at a gallop. But he wanted Néill to see him take the last blow.

Dráddør dropped his sword, clasped his hammer with both hands, and raised the vibrating weapon over his head. “This eve you die at the hands of Dráddør the Viking known as Hefnd Hamarr!”

He shattered Néill’s skull with one blow.

Glowing red berserker rage took hold of him.

Dráddør sprang back into the battle.

’Twas only when the rain subsided that his fevered slashing and hewing halted.

He swiped at the sweat dripping from his brow and surveyed the bloodied dead bodies littering the scarlet-tinged sand.

A full rout was in place. Dozens of heads bobbed in the waves. Godfraid’s men were retreating to the three ships docked in the bay.

“Take no prisoners,” he bellowed.

The enemy warriors left standing stampeded to the ocean.

Dráddør considered chasing after the men for only a moment.

He had seen no sign of Godfraid. And Néill had said he and Magnhildur had died in the tunnels.

Getting Evie and Hjørdis back to Lathairn was of the utmost import.

“To the langskip,” he roared.

* * *

“Do you head back to Bita Veðr on Brökk’s return?” Xára asked, as she bounced a babbling Jorunn on one leg.

“Aye. I am anxious to get home for my husband will notice I am with child soon. He is like a mother hen when I am carrying a babe. I must not walk too far. I am not eating enough. The evening air is too chilly to take a stroll.” Skatha rolled her eyes.

“’Tis the same with Konáll. I cannot tell you how annoying it is to be carried everywhere. ’Tis not as if my legs have ceased to function. I own there are days when I want naught more than to clout him. ’Tis glad I am that I took your advice when you visited in the spring, Skatha.”

Xára frowned. “What advice?”

“I suggested Nyssa add on a moon or so to the day she truly expects the babe. ’Tis wearing to have your husband ask all day long if you are in pain or if the babe has started to come.”

Xára digested Skatha’s advice. She nuzzled the back of Jorunn’s neck. ’Twas an amazing smell. “When does Konáll believe the babe will come?”

“Near the winter solstice. But our son will make his appearance before this moon wanes.” Nyssa grinned. “And I have decided not tell him when my pains begin. I have assisted in many births and the first child seems to want to linger in a woman’s womb. My poor husband will be a dithering fool if my labor goes on long.”

The sound of booted footsteps reached Xára’s ears. “Tighe comes. I hear him speaking with someone.”

“’Tis a marvelous talent to be able to hear e’en the grass grow. Methinks ’twould be useful should you ever go to court.” Skatha’s violet eyes danced. “Think on it. You would know all the gossip about yourself.”

The women and Jorunn had spent the last two days and nights together. It had proved to be not only entertaining but informative. Xára’s cheeks warmed when she recalled all the intimate knowledge Nyssa and Skatha had shared with her.

Neither woman felt a twinge of embarrassment about speaking of coupling, and they oft argued about various swiving positions. When Skatha declared she favored the dog stance, Xára had been bewildered. When Skatha explained in minute detail what she meant, Xára’s face had heated nigh to steaming.

The door opened and Tighe strode in followed by the Egron.

Xára braced herself for grim news. She handed Jorunn back to his mother and stood. “You have found Ívarr?”

“Aye. The boy is alive. He fell from the cliff tunnel and has broken his arm. His father is bringing him to the great hall.”

“Thank the lord. I had expected the worst. The smithy must be overjoyed.” Xára beamed. She gave Tighe a quick hug. “Thank you.”

The color came and went in Tighe’s face. He turned to face Nyssa. “Are you up to healing the boy, Nyssa? Konáll will have my head if anything happens to you in the process.”

Nyssa looked to the ceiling for a moment. “The gods save me from hovering warriors. Bring the boy. After Xára, a broken arm will be naught. Skatha will stay with me. I do not want anyone else in here. There is enough talk after what happened in the hall the other morn.”

“None saw much other than the black poison oozing from your neck, but ’twas enough to set the tongues a-wagging,” Skatha declared.

Xára agreed. The great hall and village were all abuzz with talk of magik healers and seidrs. And Evie’s disappearance. Godfraid and Magnhildur’s sudden departure. In truth, the people of Lathairn had never had so many topics to discuss.

“Egron, take another with you and bring the boy here. Xára, you and I will go down to the hall and keep the smithy and his wife company. You know them and can help to ease their worry,” Tighe ordered.

“Will you take Jorunn until we are done, Xára?” Skatha held up her son.

“Aye.” Xára plucked the boy from his mother’s arms and set him on one hip. “We will leave the door open.”

As they made their way down the hall, a notion occurred to Xára. She halted at the open door to her chamber.

“I need to get something from my room. Here.” She shoved Jorunn into Tighe’s arms. “Hold him for a moment.”

Xára searched for a shawl while trying surreptitiously to peek at a bewildered Tighe. When she had seen his memory, his one lingering regret had been not being able to hold his son before the boy died. Mayhap by holding Jorunn, Tighe’s raw grief would ease.

“You did that a-purpose,” Tighe accused when she emerged into the hallway.

“Aye. Was I wrong?”

“Nay. He is a solid handful. How do you make it look so easy to hold him still?” Tighe gave Jorunn back to her.

“You hold fast to him,” she replied. “Babes wriggle like a worm on a fish hook.”

A sudden sense of urgency made Xára pick up her feet. ’Twas a buzz in the air akin to the sizzling anticipation that heralded the explosive break of a violent storm.

Pandemonium reigned in the great hall. Hordes crowded the large room. Men, women, and children occupied every available bench.

’Twas nigh noon and she realized ’twas the Sabbath. All had been to mass, and, as was the custom, Lathairn served the noon meal for the keep’s people and the nearby villages.

Xára frowned for there seemed to be twice as many as normal. She scanned the chamber and glimpsed a few familiar faces. Faces that suggested either Konáll or Brökk had returned.

She spied Ghazi in the midst of a crowd of warriors.

Her heart soared.

Dráddør was back.

Tighe turned to her. “Mayhap you should return to Nyssa’s chamber. When warriors return from battle, their blood lust remains high. Dráddør, Konáll, Brökk, and I will have to speak with the men. Ívarr should be with Nyssa and Skatha now. I will handle the smithy and his wife. Will you go, Xára?”

She didn’t want to. She yearned to see Dráddør. To throw herself into his arms. To find Evie.

“I will go, but you must send Evie and Hjørdis to us at once.” She
knew
,
knew
that the girls were safe. Otherwise the crowd would’ve been subdued and somber, not excited and boisterous.

“A’course.” Tighe signaled two of his men to escort her.

Jorunn stuck his thumb in his mouth and rested a grubby cheek on her chest as they walked. Xára loved holding the babe and, when not a breath later, the boy’s entire body relaxed on soft sigh, she had to kiss the top of his head.

They arrived just as Egron and another warrior exited the doorway.

“What are you doing back here?” Skatha asked. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Is he asleep?”

“Aye.” Xára carefully gave Skatha her son.

Whilst Skatha occupied herself settling her son in a wooden cradle, Xára retreated to a corner to give Nyssa some privacy with Ívarr.

Ívarr lay on the bed covers, his left arm at an impossible angle. The boy was alert, but wore the glazed look of one coping with agonizing pain.

“Come, Xára,” Nyssa ordered. “Sit with Ívarr and talk to him.”

She needed no further urging and rushed to sit next to Ívarr. “We were worried about you, Ívarr. I am so happy to see you alive and well. Nay, I understand your arm is broken, but Nyssa will help it to mend and ’twill be just like it used to.”

“Evie?” Ívarr’s voice was hoarse.

“Lord Dráddør sailed to retrieve her, and he has just returned. Evie will be here anon. Do not worry.” Xára captured his uninjured hand 2tween hers and rubbed to warm his cold flesh. Immediately Ívarr’s memory of what had happened in Jennie’s chamber assailed her. She attempted to school her features into a complacent expression and let the boy’s hand fall onto the bed sheets.

“I am sorry milady. I could not stop them.” Ívarr’s face lost all color. He bit his lip.

Xára tried to distract the boy for out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that Nyssa was about to set the bone back in place. “Magnhildur is dead. Do you hear what I say, Ívarr?”

He shuttered his eyes. “I jumped on her and we went off the cliff. I am glad she is dead. ’Tis not Christian, I know, but ’tis the truth.”