Viking's Prize (38 page)

By God, he’d not let either Hrolf or Ejnar
perish—not before he was able to discover Elienor’s whereabouts!

And if by chance they’d harmed her... he’d rip the
entrails from whomever was directly responsible and feed them to both Ejnar and
Hrolf!

Faced with his fury, the first two men to confront
him were felled at once. The third, the black-haired leader of the vessel,
swung an axe at his head. Alarik dodged it, parrying with his sword. Like thunder,
metal clashed against metal, and the mighty force of Alarik’s blow hurled the
man backward against the gunwale, his spine cracking with the impact.

Yet another Dane rushed at him.

Alarik moved toward the man with deadly purpose.
Dragvendil sliced swiftly to wrest the life from him—there was no mercy
to be shown, for if he did so, he’d not survive the day. With a muttered curse,
Alarik shook the man free of his weapon, feeling no satisfaction as the Dane
tumbled back over the gunwale into the ocean to swim with the beasts of die
sea.

By God, he’d not be satisfied until every last
Dane and Swede that had sailed against them this day was slain!

Nor would he rest until Elienor was again in his
arms and Hrolf’s blood blackened his sword!

CHAPTER
33

With the last vessel cleared, Alarik made his way
one ship closer to his destination. Behind him, blood ran in rivulets. The
fighting had been so intense, his mind so centered upon Elienor, that he was
completely unaware of the moment the tide turned against them.

At long last, he was near enough to leap the
distance unto Ejnar’s burning skeid, but he froze abruptly. At the shock of
seeing her, his chest felt as though ‘twould rend in too.

He watched, paralyzed, as Elienor, bound to the
burning mast, struggled to free herself. He violet eyes pleaded with him across
the distance. His gut twisted, and for the longest instant, he could not move.

And then he made his way toward her once more.

Though Elienor shouted, Alarik seemed not to hear
her.

He fought his way toward her, leaping gunwales as
though they were nonexistent. She shook her head frantically. “Nay!” she screamed.
“Nay!”

With a terrible crack a ship collided against
Ejnar’s skeid. Jolted by the impact, Elienor screamed.

Spying Olav clinging to the serpent head upon its
prow, her chest constricted painfully. No time—dear God, no time! Even as
she burst into hopeless tears, she wriggled one hand free of its bindings, and
without a moment to spare, she began at once to release the other.

As she worked the loops, the vision before her
transformed to the smoky scene of her nightmares—it was smoke, not mist,
she realized with mounting fear.

Fire raged about her.

More horrible a death she could not imagine! Even
after having spent so long confined within what amounted to no more than an
open grave, Elienor could no longer feel afeared of that particular nightmare
any longer. In the last month she’d faced every horror possible... or so she’d
thought.

Her chest constricted as sheer panic assailed her.

Aboard the Longserpent, Olav fought savagely. As
Elienor watched with bated breath, arrows converged upon his ship. At once his
men scattered for the gunwales, shouting and leaping over them into the sea.

As her gaze was drawn again to Alarik, her binding
fell free. Her heart twisting, she broke away, screaming that Alarik go, that
he leave her and save himself. Desperately, she tried to find a path through
the flames, but could not, and she screamed again as arrows and spears flew
past her head.

Alarik watched, his mind refusing to accept what
his eyes beheld. Even in peril as she was, Elienor screamed fearing for him, shouting
that he leave her. All about her, Ejnar’s ship was ablaze, burning with Elienor
trapped upon it. He’d never reach her in time, nor did she seem to want him to.
Helpless to do aught, he watched as the mast splintered and groaned, collapsing
sideways upon the Longserpent beside it.

Damn her, he cared not what she wanted.

He’d be damned if he’d simply let her die!

Flames burst and scattered.

In the confusion more men clamored over the
Longserpent’s gunwales. Olav himself scaled to the highest point of his dragon
prow, shouting at the top of his lungs. Torn between wanting to aid him and to
save Elienor, Alarik chose Elienor, knowing that his brother could hold his own
well enough. Elienor could not Twas up to him to help her or watch her be
consumed before his very eyes. The fire was spreading too rapidly. He only
hoped Olav would last until he was able to return to aid him. Yet even as he
made the decision to leap the distance to Ejnar’s skeid, his blood turned cold.

As he watched, Olav raised his shield unto the
heavens. “I surrender this battle to you, filthy Danes, tor ‘tis all but lost
to me!”

Alarik could not believe his ears. Confusion and
outrage erupted within him. “Nei, Olav! Nei!” he shouted furiously. In his mind,
his brother was taking the coward’s way out “Nei!” he bellowed.

Olav spared him not a glance. His mind set, he
continued at the top of his lungs, “I stand, as God is my witness, at no man’s
mercy, but at God’s instead! Thus I curse your heathen souls! May you rot in
hell!” Having said that, he finally turned to smile ruefully at Alarik, letting
loose his grip upon the dragon head. Plummeting into die sea feet first, he
sheltered his head with Ids shield to escape the arrows that flew at him. An
explosion of bubbles burst from beneath the shield as he fell and then the
shield shifted and slid into the murky water as his mail carried him downward.
His crimson mantle snagged free. It billowed on top of the water, a grim,
silent marker.

Her heart twisting, Elienor watched as Alarik cast
down his precious sword. She knew an instant of inconceivable panic as he
peeled off his mail, flinging it wrathfully down upon the deck. He glared down
into the water where Olav had vanished mere seconds before, and then, letting
out an angry roar, turned to face her once more, his eyes locking with hers
across the flames, his chest heaving in fury. Elienor could see, even at this
distance, the blinding emotion burning within him.

In the next instant, he was running, leaping,
hurtling over the churning water toward her.

Just as in her dream.

And in that instant, she heard the unholy
laughter, and her eyes followed the sound. As in her dream, she found Hrolf
upon yet another ship, with his hand poised in midair. Time stood still as his
arm reared backward, then forward, the handle cocked in his tight grasp, the
axe aimed...

Directly at Alarik.

In the same instant she saw Hrolf heave the weapon
through the air, she watched as another blade was embedded within Hrolf’s back.
Sigurd. Elienor could discern the look of thwarted surprise on Hrolf’s face
even as he toppled forward into the churning water.

Yet there was no time to feel vindicated, nor even
relieved.

God help her, but she knew what she must do. She
took a fortifying breath and propelled herself through the flames, screaming,
running, and like Alarik, she hurled herself through the air, her skirt ablaze,
trying to deflect the blow of the axe from him.

In the instant before they collided in midair, she
saw Alarik’s look of stunned surprise, and then they hit, their bodies twisting
together violently.

With a hoarse shout, Alarik attempted to catch
Elienor to him, failing. In the next instant, an axe handle came from nowhere,
striking her aside the head. With a soft gasp of pain, she closed her eyes.

And then they were both within the water.

Saltwater stung his eyes, but he kept them wide,
desperate to locate her... her kyrtle... her hair... anything... anything to
seize hold of.

He twisted wildly within the water, bubbles exploding
all about, blinding his vision. His weight carried him down... down, until at
last he caught sight, not of Elienor’s, but of Olav’s billowing red-gold hair.
Instinctively, he seized a handful and propelled himself bade toward the
surface to recover Elienor.

Olav had been holding his breath, trying in vain
against the weight of his mail to resurface. His lungs near to bursting he
clawed at his brynie with a frenzy born of panic.

Alarik, his lungs beginning to ache as well,
fought desperately to regain the surface. Saltwater stung his eyes, and he
closed them a mere instant to ward away the burn, then reopened them to find
Olav kicking him away.

Alarik shook his head, angrily denying the
unspoken command, and again tried to resurface, clutching Olav’s hair tight
within his fist.

It was then that he caught sight of Elienor above
him, her tattered sapphire silk gown blending with the sea itself. Light as she
was, she drifted down past him, her body lifeless, and in a sudden panic,
Alarik reached out to seize her, releasing Olav momentarily to snatch her about
the waist, and then he drove again to regain hold of his brother. Grasping
blindly, his fingers secured a hold on the gleaming ring that bobbed around
Olav’s neck.

Alarik tried in vain, once more to resurface, in
one hand holding the brother he’d served so long—in his other, the woman
he loved. Christ, how he loved her!

He needed them both.

And by God, he’d save them both!

Resigned to his fate, Olav shook his head
furiously, waving Alarik away in desperation, urging him to save himself and
Elienor while he could.

Alarik’s lungs pained him beyond anything he’d
ever known, but he dared not give in, nor even loosen his grip upon the mortal
weight he clutched.

He peered up wretchedly at fire fading halo of
light. It grew more distant with each passing second. How could he simply let
go? How could he choose to release his brother—his blood?

Yet in his arms Elienor remained lifeless and he
knew he must decide.

With no hands to swim with, and only his feet to propel
himself he sank down further still, until he faced Olav in the darkening water.

Olav’s cheeks were bloated, his eyes bulging, set
in the deepest scowl Alarik had ever beheld. He struggled against Alarik’s hold.
“Go!” he exploded, and the command erupted with a profusion of angry bubbles.
By the time the single life-ending word reached Alarik, it sounded no more than
a faint rumbling to his ears. Below him, Olav thrashed wildly as he took the
burning saltwater into his lungs, and with his last coherent gesture, he jerked
his body violently.

Through the fist that held the leather cord around
Olav’s neck Alarik felt the spasms that coursed through his brother’s body, and
then abruptly Olav, too, became limp and grew heavier, carrying him down...
further down...

Still Alarik could not release him, but his
strength ebbed, and his fingers went numb about the cold metal ring, and there
came a final instant when he knew he could delay no longer. If he didn’t
release Olav, Elienor would die for certain.

He could choose life, or he could choose death.

But It was not his destiny to choose at all, for
just then Olav slipped from the leather neckband that held him imprisoned in
Alarik’s grip.

Pain knifed through Alarik’s chest as he felt the
sudden weightlessness—yet he could delay no longer.

His breath exploding from his lungs, he struggled
toward the faded light above, leaving a trail of urgent bubbles in his wake.

He only hoped he was not too late for Elienor!

By the blood of the White Christ—what if he
were?

His chest burned until it seemed his lungs would
burst.

Odin help him—God help
him—anybody—the Light was too far!

God, he’d sell his soul to reach it.

He’d take Elienor home, to her uncle, if she
wished... if only...

Too far!

His vision faded black momentarily, and then, when
it seemed he could hold no longer, he broke through the spume and was breathing
once more, gasping for life-saving air.

He’d held Elienor so tightly that even had she
come to and been able to take a breath, it wouldn’t have reached her lungs, and
he let out a guttural cry as with the last of his strength he hoisted her up
into the air.

Vaguely, he was aware she didn’t come back
down—and then hands reached down mercifully, seizing him, dragging him
from the sea, Elienor’s ring held in a death-grip within his fist.

The impact to her belly as Elienor was hoisted up
and down against the ship’s gunwale drove the water from her lungs. She
coughed, spewing saltwater. Gasping and choking, she struggled for breath. For
the briefest instant, she opened her eyes, saw him not, and cried his name
before succumbing again to the blackness that waited to claim her.