Viking Gold (3 page)

Ragnar’s man stopped. He
turned just as Redknee looked up and their eyes met through the bars of the
cage. Sinead stood in an attempt to hide Redknee. But she was too late. Then,
just as the warrior drew his sword and bellowed for help, the rope came away in
Redknee’s hand. Before Redknee could stand back, Sinead was out of the cage,
fleeing for the trees. But Ragnar’s man was quick to block her escape.

Redknee grabbed Sinead’s hand
and pulled her the other way. There was a clear route past the campfire and
round the far side of the lake. But as they neared the campfire, Ragnar caught
up with them, anger burning in his eyes.

“You again!” he said, drawing
his sword and lunging forwards.

Redknee sprang back, just
dodging the flames. His knife was no match for Ragnar’s sword. Thinking
quickly, he grabbed a branch from the fire and thrust it in Ragnar’s face. The
big man flinched, slipped on the ashes, and, twisting to miss the fire, landed
at the bear’s feet.

Sinead yanked the tether and
a moment later the bear was free.

Redknee
and Sinead made for the forest. As they wove through the trees, the pup still
tucked safely into Redknee’s tunic, they tried to close their ears to Ragnar’s
terrible screams.

They
zigzagged through the forest, branches snatching at their faces and legs, the
pounding of hooves only a few paces behind. Eventually the sound receded and
Redknee felt certain they’d lost Ragnar’s men. But like fleeing deer, the two
of them tore blindly on. It was only after a long while that he felt Sinead
ease her pace.

“Have we lost them?” she
asked, gasping.

Redknee motioned for her to
stop, as his own heart hammered in his chest. He listened to the darkness. To
the sounds of his mountain. The shadows heightened every whisper. Sinead stood
rigid beside him.  He reached out and took her hand in his. Her skin felt
hot despite her soaking.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I
can’t hear the horses.” The fear in her muscles eased. “But we have to get back
to the village. Ragnar and his men plan to attack at first light. And he’ll
want revenge after your trick.”

Sinead snatched her hand away.
“You mean untying the bear? What else was I to do? We were trapped.”

“All I’m saying is, if Ragnar
survived being mauled, he’ll be looking for us.”

“Oh,” Sinead gulped. “We
should hide, then. No point heading to the village when we know that’s where Ragnar’s
going.”

“What? And leave my mother
and uncle to die? Ragnar said he wanted to kill Uncle Sven. Just like he killed
my father.”

“Well they’re not my family.
I’m just a slave. I don’t owe my captors loyalty.”

He grabbed her by the elbow.
“You owe them your keep and protection—”

“Look, I held my tongue,
didn’t I? I didn’t tell them the way to the village. That ought to buy your
precious family some time.”

“They’ll find the place soon
enough – they’ve got this far,” Redknee said, letting her go. “But that
was
loyal of you.”

“I was afraid,” she said,
rubbing her elbow. “I thought Ragnar would kill me if I told him. Once he had
no need of me.”

“Typical,” Redknee said. “A
slave thinking of herself first. Especially a Christian one.” He sighed. “Look,
we’re wasting time. You do what you like.” He stomped off but paused after a
few strides. He had no idea where he was, or even if he was going the right
way.

“You’ve no clue where you’re
going. Do you?” Sinead called. “Ooh, the great Redknee – jarl of the mountain –
totally lost.”

“Be quiet!” Redknee spun
round. “You might not care about raising the alarm, but I do.” The night had
already faded to a smoky grey and he could see the outline of individual trees.
He ran his hand over the trunk of a tall pine. A fleece of moss shrouded its
north side. He turned to Sinead.

“Oster-Fjord lies west; if we
go …,” he calculated west from the position of the moss, “… that way,” he said,
pointing towards a bracken-covered escarpment, “we should reach its shores. We
can follow the water to the village. Are you coming?”

The pup slid from Redknee’s
tunic and stretched on the ground.

“What’s that?” Sinead asked.

“What does it look like?”

Sinead glowered. “A skinny
little wolf cub.”

The pup yawned, baring every
one of its sharp teeth and its long stretch of pink tongue. Then it sauntered
over to Sinead and nuzzled the hem of her dress.

“Hey,” Redknee said. “Don’t
be a traitor!”

“Aw, he likes me.” She
scooped him up and the pup obliged by licking her chin. “Don’t be jealous. He
just has good taste.” She set the pup on the ground. “Where did you get him?”

“Rescued him.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “Quite
the hero tonight.”

“Yeah, well,” Redknee
muttered. “No point wasting more time.”

“Does he have a name?” she
asked.

He shook his head.

“What about Silver?”

“What about it?”

“Because of the mark on his
forehead, and he might bring you luck.”

Redknee shrugged. Hunting
dogs didn’t have names. “Come on,” he said, following the command with a low
whistle. The pup trotted over. “Good boy,” he said, bundling it into his arms
and starting to walk. He called over his shoulder to Sinead. “If we make good
time, we can still reach the village before sunrise.”

“Wait, what am I to do?” she
asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to return to the
village.”

“Why not? Isn’t my mother
kind to you? You’re her favourite slave.”

“Yes … she
is
kind …
for a pagan. But I … I don’t want to be a slave anymore. I thought we were
running away. I want to go home.”

Had
he been running away? He wasn’t even sure himself. He
sighed. “Look, I
have
to go back. Besides, isn’t this your home now?”

“Wait!” Her voice sounded
strangled.

He shook his head and kept
walking. “I don’t have time to waste. It’s nearly light.”

She scuttled after him, falling
into step at his side.

He grinned. “So, you decided
to come with me after all?”

She glowered at him. “Not
much choice.”

He stopped and looked her in
the eye. She was still breathless from their run and her skin was flushed the
pale pink of the river salmon. “You’re wrong, Sinead,” he said. “There’s always
a choice.”

Redknee
stood on the cliff and stared at the huddle of longhouses below. They’d reached
the village at last. Purple light stretched across Oster Fjord, turning the
beach a pale lilac. Dawn came early this time of year.
Wavedancer
stood,
tall and proud against the gleaming water. A fine oak ship. A fine prize.
Finished, save for the dragon figurehead Uncle Sven would attach at the launch
ceremony, her curved silhouette contrasted with the squat bulkiness of the
longhouses.

Already, plumes of smoke
twisted into the early morning sky. Redknee felt his stomach grumble. His
mother would have her porridge pot over the fire. He could dry his wet feet. He
started to run.

“Come on,” he called to
Sinead.

She had taken the pup from
him, and held it tight as she tried to keep up with his new, faster pace. He
tore down the path, skidding on loose stones and half-tripping on exposed
roots. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to get home. Trees sped past in a
blur. Green, brown, orange.

Orange
?

He was being followed, and
one name flashed through his mind.Before he could do anything, Skoggcat ripped
through the trees and knocked him flat. But he had misjudged the distance and
kept going, past Redknee, until he dropped over the edge.

Redknee scrambled to his feet
and ran to where Skoggcat had disappeared. Sinead was already peering over.
About half a man’s length below where they stood, Skoggcat gripped a naked root
with one hand, his feet dangling in the air. They were still far above the
village. A fall from this height would kill a man instantly.

“He must have been following
us all along,” Sinead said.

Redknee nodded. How could he
have missed the signs? Ragnar’s threat – fear for his family – had distracted
him. That was the only explanation. Even so, Skoggcat must have been quiet as
the dead.

 “What should we do?”
Sinead asked.

Skoggcat stared up at them,
terror pinching his tattooed face. He reached for the root with his free hand,
but the movement loosened the earth and he slid lower. A tiny noise, barely a
whisper, came from the back of his throat.

“He’s trying to speak,”
Sinead said.

Redknee pulled her from the
edge. “We should go. He’s seen the village. If we help him, he’ll only tell
Ragnar the way.”

Sinead’s face turned white.
“But—”

“Oh, so this is different to
running off without telling my family about Ragnar’s attack?”

“
No…
I
mean—”          

“He was trying to kill me,
Sinead. It’s not my fault he fell.”

“But it’s so cruel.”

“Life’s cruel,” he said,
walking away.

Sinead caught up with him and
placed her hand on his elbow. “Life might be cruel,” she said. “But you’re
not.”

“Please help me
…
,
”
came the disembodied plea.

“I’m going back,” she said,
gathering her skirts and turning round.

He sighed. She might see
rescuing Skoggcat as an act of mercy, but her charity would only bring death to
those Redknee cared about. And yet …

To slay a man in battle was
honourable. To leave him to die slowly—

That wasn’t the Viking way.

He turned on his heels and
went to where Sinead lay on the ground with her arms stretched over edge of the
cliff. The pup sat beside her, watching her every move.

“I can’t reach,” she gasped.

He leaned over. Skoggcat’s
hand strained to meet Sinead’s smaller one. “He’ll attack us as soon as he’s
up,” Redknee said.

Skoggcat shook his head. “I
promise I won’t.”

“How do we know you won’t
lead Ragnar to our village?” he asked.

“My father thinks I’m
useless. He’ll believe I didn’t find anything.”

The root Skoggcat clung to began
to give way. Sinead screamed.

Reluctantly, Redknee lay on
the ground and lowered himself, face first, until he was hanging down the rock
face from his waist. He felt the blood rush to his head and closed his eyes
while he regained his balance. When he opened them again, he immediately wished
he hadn’t. The village looked nothing more than a tiny speck, hundreds of feet
below. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus instead on
Skoggcat. 

The youth stretched for
Redknee’s arm, but he was still too far away.

This
was a bad idea. He couldn’t help Skoggcat, and now he was going to die trying.
He glanced over his shoulder at Sinead’s expectant face and sighed.

“Grab my feet,” he said. He
felt her sit on his ankles. He wriggled further out, over the edge, until he
felt his feet lifting off the ground. “Hold on!” he called over his shoulder.

“I am,” she replied. “There’s
nothing else I can do. You’re going to have to grab him quickly.”

Redknee felt a tug at the hem
of his trousers and realised the pup was holding on too. He grinned to himself.

Skoggcat was closer now.
Redknee could just brush his fingertips. If he could only reach a bit—

The cliff splintered beneath
Redknee’s chest, spraying shingle over Skoggcat’s head; plunging Redknee lower.
Once Redknee steadied himself, he realised it was the boost they needed. He
reached for Skoggcat; grasping his hand just as the root came apart and tumbled
to the valley floor.

His arm creaked as Skoggcat’s
full weight swung from his wrist. The youth was heavier than he’d expected. He
felt sharp rocks scour his chest. His heart raced; Skoggcat’s weight was
pulling him over the edge. Redknee tensed his stomach and arms.

“I can’t pull you back up,”
he said to Skoggcat. “You’re going to have to climb over me.”

Skoggcat nodded and Redknee
braced himself as he felt the youth’s hands, knees, then feet, grind into his
spine.

For a terrible moment, he
thought Skoggcat would kill Sinead as soon as he was up then push him to his death.
The moment he felt Skoggcat’s weight go, he scrambled backwards and sat on the
path, panting. He felt like he’d been torn apart on the rack.

Skoggcat stood a short
distance away. Redknee eyed him warily. Sweat glistened on his painted skin. Up
close, he was even stranger than Redknee had first thought. Naked, save for a
pair of wool breeches and an amber necklace; black stripes criss-crossed his
chest and arms.