Viking Gold (10 page)

“Yes … I killed him.” Ragnar lunged
forward, but Redknee was behind him. “Where are you? Is this some sort of
magic?”

Redknee stifled a laugh. His
keener eyes gave him the edge. He swung his sword at Ragnar’s back. But the
older man dipped forward at the last moment and the blade nicked his hair.

Ragnar spun round. The
lightning came thick and fast as Redknee fended off a barrage of iron. He felt
himself being pushed out of the cave, towards the beach. He tried to hold his
ground, but it was difficult just meeting the speed and strength of Ragnar’s
blows. The mouth of the cave yawned above them, and then they were outside, in
the full cauldron of Thor’s fury.

Ragnar’s men circled them. He
heard someone shout, “It’s just a boy!” The others laughed and he realised his
seaweed mask had dried out. The men crowded in, banging their shields. At first
Redknee ignored it. Then he tried to gain strength from their taunts. Energy
crackled all around him. The sea air whipped his hair and lashed his skin. He
felt strength rise inside him, age-old strength. He
could
do this. He
was fighting the man who killed his mother, and he would take him down.

A foot shot out from the
circle, knocking Redknee onto his back. Faces teemed above him, mocking. Ragnar
pressed his sword against Redknee’s throat. “Who are you?” he demanded, kicking
Flame Weaver
from Redknee’s hand.

“Your nemesis.”

Ragnar laughed. “I like your
pluck, troll boy. Reminds me of myself at your age.” He flicked away the last
strand of seaweed covering Redknee’s face. His smile faded. “I know you. You’re
the boy who rescued the slave girl in the woods. Look what that bear did to my
face.” He tilted his cheek, showing Redknee the curdled flesh. “You’ll pay for
this.” He signalled to two of his men. They dragged Redknee to his knees and
tied his hands. “If I’d killed you in the fight,” Ragnar whispered into his
ear, “you would’ve gone to
Valhalla
as a warrior. Instead, I’m going to execute you like
the whelp you are, and you’ll go to Fólkvangr, with the cowardly and weak.”

Redknee heard the scrape of a
sword being sharpened behind him. He clenched his muscles for the impact and
stared at the horizon. The black ship was only a short distance from the shore.
Behind her, the heavens swelled like an angry bruise. The dark silhouette of a
ship off her stern caught his eye. He squinted through the dim light and his
heart quickened. It was following her.

Could it be Wavedancer?

He turned to Ragnar, who had
stopped sharpening his sword and was admiring the gleaming blade. “Mord won’t
share the treasure with you,” Redknee said.

“What?”

“When I was in the forest, I
heard Mord talking about his plans. I heard him say to Toki there,” he nodded
toward the giant, “that once he had the book, he didn’t need you. He was going
to keep the treasure for himself.”

“Hold your gibbering tongue
and prepare to die,” Ragnar said, raising his sword above Redknee’s neck.

“Wait!” Redknee searched for
something to say, anything. “If I’m about to die, can I ask one last question?”

Ragnar paused. “Alright.”

“Did you kill my father?”

“I’ve killed many people,
troll boy. You’ll need to give me a better clue than that.”

“My father was Erik, son of
Kodran the Wolf.”

“I didn’t know Erik had a
son,” Ragnar said, lowering his sword. “This changes things.”

The
black ship rose onto the beach. Grinning, Mord leapt from the bow and splashed
through the surf. He held the goatskin package he’d taken from the village high
out of the water.

Ragnar turned from Redknee
and opened his arms to greet his son. They hugged and slapped each other on the
back. “Come now,” Ragnar said, his face glowing with excitement. “Let’s see the
map.”

“I’ve searched through the
Codex
,”
Mord said. “But there doesn’t appear to be one.”

Ragnar’s shoulders dropped.
“Then it’s all been for nothing.”

“Maybe not. I’ve brought the
girl who can speak book words.” Mord snapped his fingers and Sinead stepped out
from behind him. The wind flattened her dress against her body and her green
eyes shone like steel. Redknee looked away. She was a traitor.

“Please father,” Mord said.
“We must go. Sven and his men are nearly upon us.”

Ragnar nodded. He dragged
Redknee across the sand and aboard the black ship. “You’ll be of use to me yet,
troll boy,” he said, pushing him onto the deck.

Ragnar left Redknee where he
was sprawled and went to stand with Mord at the prow. He slung his arm casually
over his son’s shoulder and began giving orders to the men. Father and son
looked easy together. Happy. Even murderers, it seemed, showed affection to
their sons.  Skoggcat hovered near them, a sunstone in his hand. On seeing
Redknee he scowled, and slunk towards the stern.

As soon as Ragnar turned his
back, Redknee tried to free his wrists. But the rope was bound fast. All he
could do was wait. He hunkered beneath the gunwale and watched as Ragnar’s men
pushed the black ship into the water. She bobbed for a moment as they climbed
aboard. Then the drum started. The men rowed in time and the black ship charged,
battle ready, through the surf.

Sinead scurried over and
knelt beside Redknee. She had the book under her arm. “You all right?” she
asked.

He ignored her and stared out
to sea.
Wavedancer
was about three ship-lengths off their starboard
side. He could just make out his uncle’s bulky silhouette behind the dragon
figurehead.

“Answer me,” she said, this
time grabbing his shoulder.

He spun to face her. “Good
people are dead – my
mother
is dead. Did you strike a deal with Ragnar
when he kidnapped you in the forest? Agree to give him the book. Is that it? Traitor!”

 “No! You have it all
wrong,” she said, her face paling. “I gave them the
book to make the
killing
stop
.”

“Your lies make me sick,” he
said, scrambling to his feet and pushing past her, but there was nowhere for
him to go on a ship filled with enemies. So he turned to confront her again and
froze as a lone arrow pierced the deck between them.

“By Odin’s eye!” he
exclaimed, gaping across at
Wavedancer
as the men prepared to release a
second volley. “My uncle can’t know I’m here.”

“Or he doesn’t care,” she said. 

Before he could argue, a
cloud of arrows darkened the sky, blotting out the sun. He ducked under the
gunwale as best he could, while Sinead huddled at his side, Mord’s precious
book raised above her head.

Ragnar’s men hid beneath their
shields and, moments later, the sound of steel tips thrumming into upturned
wood drowned out the waves. Three more volleys followed. The rhythmic
whoosh
– thud, whoosh – thud
only punctured by the occasional cry of the stricken.
Yet most of Ragnar’s men survived the onslaught unscathed. When it seemed that
the last of the arrows had landed, Ragnar lowered his arrow-studded shield and
called to Redknee.

“Troll boy,” he said. “Your
uncle thinks pissing on us will make us cry. It’s time to show the old dog this
ship has teeth.”

With
a nod, Ragnar ordered his men to push their rowing to full speed. The black
ship cut through the water, heading straight for
Wavedancer
. Timbers
groaned as the black ship rammed
Wavedancer’s
starboard side, the iron
hull of the black ship shattering her soft wooden boards. Iron hooks flew
across
Wavedancer’s
bows, binding her to the black ship in a reluctant
embrace.

Uncle Sven took the
initiative, boarding the black ship before Ragnar’s men boarded
Wavedancer
;
slashing at anything that moved with his axe. Koll and the rest of the
villagers followed, met by a wall of Ragnar’s men. With his hands tied, Redknee
knew he was easy meat. He tried to push onto
Wavedancer
, but it was
impossible.

He saw Sven wield his axe
against a terrified oarsman then change direction in one smooth move, swinging
his axe towards Redknee. He watched, open-mouthed, as the steel blade whizzed
through the air, headed for his chest. His uncle was going to kill him and all
he could do was stand and watch. Only when he looked down did he realise his
hands were free, the piece of rope that had bound them curled at his feet.

“Get out of here lad!” Sven
said. “You’ve done your bit.”

He didn’t need to be told
twice. But before he could do anything he felt a dizzying lurch as the ships
came apart. Someone had cut the hooks. Men crashed beneath the waves, still
locked in combat. It was his last chance. He saw Sinead cowering amidships. An
arrow pinned her skirt to the deck. He ignored her tugging. She didn’t deserve
his help. Instead, he seized the book from under her arm, tucked it beneath his
tunic and flung himself into the air.

Wavedancer’s
side slammed into his chest. Winded, he clutched at
the rail above as the sea crashed over his back. But the wood was slick and it
was hard to get a grip. He felt himself being tugged below, his lungs filling
with water …

A
hand reached out, pulling him up and onto
Wavedancer’s
deck.

“I thought you could swim
better than that, lad.” Koll smiled down at him. “But I didn’t know you could
fly.”

Redknee held the book away
from his dripping clothes and squinted up at Koll.

“By Odin’s eye! What’s that?”
Koll asked.

“Ragnar called it the
Codex
Hibernia
.”

Sven marched across the deck.
“Give it here, lad.” His uncle took the book, satisfied himself the goatskin
wrapping had protected it from water damage, and locked it inside a wooden
chest.

Redknee heard the patter of
small feet behind him and turned to see Silver bounding across the deck. He
knelt and bundled the pup into his arms.

Koll smiled. “I knew you’d
want us to bring him.”

“Thanks,” Redknee said, as
Silver covered his face in slobbery licks.

Sven grunted. “We can go
now,” he said, turning to the men. “Every hand to an oar. Let’s teach Ragnar a
lesson in seamanship.”

They rowed until blisters
split their hands and their arms felt like lead. And still the black ship
followed; a menace on the darkening horizon. Redknee pulled his oar with every
muscle in his body. In front of him, Koll did the same, his biceps flexing with
each stroke. Sven ordered the sail raised, but kept them rowing, eking every
last drop of speed from
Wavedancer.
She was lighter; longer than the
black ship – and should have been faster – but her hull was taking in water and
they daren’t put into shore or Ragnar and his men would be on them like a swarm
of locusts.

As
night fell, and the black ship receded, Sven allowed them to take turns rowing.
When his break came, Redknee flexed his stiff fingers. He felt as if his hands
had been melded to his oar. 

“You did well today,” Sven
said.

Redknee turned to see his
uncle looking down at him. Blood stippled his cheeks and his brow glistened
with sweat. The gash to his shoulder had been roughly bandaged. “I’ll take your
oar now,” he said.

“I can manage,” Redknee
answered, adding, “You fired at the black ship when I was onboard.”

Sven laughed. “When you
scampered off on that old nag, I didn’t think you’d actually catch up with
Ragnar.” He ruffled Redknee’s hair. “Don’t look so serious. If I’d known you
were onboard, I’d  never have given the order. I’m impressed, though. I
can see I underestimated you, but you mustn’t be so foolish in future. Now move
over and let me have a go. You must be dog-tired.”

“Is this it?” Redknee asked without
moving. “Are these all the survivors?”

He glanced round the deck.
Olaf, Koll, Harold and Karl were rowing, as was Koll’s wife, Thora. Magnus held
the tiller. There were a few men from the outlying farms Redknee vaguely
recognised,  and the Bjornsson twins. But that was all.

“A handful of women and
children live,” Sven said. “I sent them to old Knoffson’s farm. They’ll be safe
there.” He paused, laying his hand on Redknee’s shoulder. He seemed stiff,
formal. So different, Redknee thought, to Ragnar’s easy way with Mord.

“I’m sorry,” Sven said
eventually. “I’m sorry about your mother. I’ll miss her too.” He took a deep
breath. “Ingrid and I were … great friends. Did you know she and I were
betrothed once? Before she met your father. When he died—”

“You don’t care about her,”
Redknee said, pushing Sven’s hand away. “You don’t care about any of us. All
you care about is that stupid book.”

“That’s not true.”

“My mother said my father is
still alive. Do you know about that?”

“Oh lad. The poor woman was dying.
She was delirious; she had no idea what she was saying.”