God's Eye (The Northwomen Sagas #1) (30 page)

He pushed her down on her mat and tugged roughly at her shift, exposing her below the waist. Then he untied his breeches and dropped his soft, sour-smelling heft on top of her. Chained to the floor as she was, there was little she could do except stare at him and imagine the vengeance she would someday claim.

But his floppy worm wouldn’t stiffen. He pushed it at her pathetically for a while and then grabbed her hand. “Take me in hand, slave, and if you try anything, I’ll find a branch to do you with instead.”

She yanked on him, resisting the strong urge to pull until it came off. His rank breath filled her head as he panted in increasing frustration, but still his little man wilted.

When he took hold of her jaw, she knew what next he intended, and she was not willing to lie still for that, no matter the price of her rebellion. She twisted her head free. “I will bite it off.”

Igul punched her hard in the face, and blood gushed from her nose. Then he punched her between the legs, and Brenna was shocked by the pain that flowered into her belly and through her chest. It stole her breath.

He stood then, and Brenna remained still, despite the blood washing down her throat and the fire churning up her belly and chest.

“No food or water for you,” he grunted as he closed his breeches. And then he left.

Brenna rolled to her side, pulling her legs and arms in against the pain, and choked up blood onto the dirt.

When she had her breath back, she put her hands to her face and, with a quick and practiced motion, reset her nose. It wasn’t the first time she had done so in her violent life.

She was strong enough for all of this. She was.

She was.

She had to be.

Two hundred and thirty men and women in three longships. Vali had his horde.

In Karlsa, they had found a small contingent of Åke’s men making themselves at home in the great hall. With the help of locals unhappy with the interlopers, Vali and his friends had dispatched them, taking no new losses despite their weakened condition.

Then they had taken a few days to heal and regain their strength, and to persuade Vali’s clansmen to take on the jarl. Finding allies eager to demand an answer for the death of Snorri, they had taken a few more days to prepare their ships for war.

Two days again on the water, and now Geitland emerged from fog before them.

Vali stood at the prow of the main ship, his chest bare, his axes in their rings at his hips. The sails were full, showing the colors of Jarl Snorri Thorsson, and the warriors and shieldmaidens behind Vali stood. As they neared the docks, they began beating their shields with their weapons.

Let Åke mistake them not; this was no peaceful visit.

Scanning the town, Vali saw that Åke was slow to respond to the coming threat. Their ships were nearly at the dock before armed men appeared in force on land. Archers fired first, and at his call, Vali’s warriors threw up their shields.

He stood where he was, unshielded, his axes at his hips. When an arrow came at his chest, he caught it and threw it into the water. No other came near him, despite the thunder of arrows hitting the shields behind him.

He did not release his archers to respond, though in each ship they stood ready, arrows nocked.

Another volley from the shore, and he heard the grunt and splash as one of his men was struck. Still, he did not release a response. He could sense the restlessness around him, but he knew his plan.

As soon as the water was shallow enough, warriors jumped from the ships and surged to the shore. Åke’s archers did not release a third volley. The force on the shore stood pat, waiting.

Vali had his ship brought right to the dock, and he jumped onto the slatted wood as soon as the vessel came abreast of it. Unaccosted, he strode toward land while Åke’s men stood with their weapons raised and watched him.

He scanned the crowd but did not see Brenna or Leif. The first, he meant to save; the latter, he meant to kill.

When he stepped onto land, he stopped. “I challenge Jarl Åke Ivarsson to single combat!”

As he spoke, his force made land and stood in a thick row across the town’s shoreline. For the first time in ages, Vali was not outnumbered.

He scanned the crowd again, this time not looking for particular faces, but seeing all the faces before him, and he understood. Åke had sent his ships out. His most powerful fighters were off raiding. The town defense would fold quickly to the invasion. Vali had won already.

But perhaps his plans for Leif would have to wait. Leif was a powerful raider, and no jarl would keep such a warrior back from a raid.

In the meantime, Vali doubted that the old jarl would have weathered a second voyage in the same season, so he knew he would have at least that revenge.

Again, he called out, “I challenge the jarl! Here and now!”

The town was almost perfectly silent. Vali stood, alert, and waited. Then the crowd facing him—which was as much populated by townspeople as by fighters—split in two, and his former friend, Leif Olavsson, walked toward him, dressed in his boiled leathers, his sword in his hand. He had been kept back after all. Curious.

Viger walked with him, standing just behind and carrying Leif’s shield. Vali spared a moment to sneer at the smaller man. Viger had been part of their betrayal, too. But Viger had not been so great a friend as Leif had, and so Vali’s need for vengeance against him was less. He would be content if Viger died, no matter how.

Vali pulled his axes, and at that, his fighters shifted into even greater readiness.

Leif stopped. “Vali Storm-Wolf. Jarl Åke accepts your challenge and sends me, Leif Olavsson, as his champion.”

An acceptable response according to their ways, especially considering Åke’s age, but Vali found it craven. If he was strong enough to perpetrate horrors, he should have been strong enough to answer for them on his own. “I will gladly kill you, Leif, for the hurts and betrayals you have made against me and mine. But I will see Åke on my axe this day, whether he stands like a man in combat, or dies a coward’s death instead.”

Then Leif did something Vali thought exceeding odd: he smiled. “I understand. I would offer another plan.”

Without any other warning, Leif turned hard and brought up his sword. He slashed Viger’s throat so quickly and cleanly that the dying man stood, still holding Leif’s shield, blood washing down his chest, for a long, stunned moment before he fell.

By the time he did, Leif had turned back to Vali. “I am your friend, Vali. Always have I been.”

Vali had no time to make sense of that turn, because Leif’s move against Viger had incited Åke’s men to fight. Chaos churned around them, and Leif was already fighting for his life.

Vali charged up into the fray.

~oOo~

The defensive force Åke had kept home from the raids was no match for Vali’s horde of angry warriors seeking redress. The townspeople fought or ran, as was their wont, but Vali held his people off from chasing the runners down. They had no need to decimate Geitland. Vali made it his primary mission to seek out any of Åke’s men who had been in Estland with them. He found none besides Viger and Leif—and seemingly Leif had not betrayed him after all.

But he
had
. He had taken Vali out of the fight and allowed Brenna to be taken. A true friend would have alerted him to the danger and fought at his side—as he was doing now. Vali had been so full of black rage for so long that he could not believe in Leif’s assertion, even as they fought side by side and slaughtered Åke’s men. As he hacked and slashed, he had no time to sort it out. But he kept his eye on Leif and never turned his back.

As the number of enemies dwindled and he could turn his attention from the fight, he grabbed Leif’s arm. “Brenna?”

Breathless and splashed with blood, Leif nodded. “It has gone hard for her here, but she lives, my friend. She carries a mighty warrior’s heart in her chest. She was at the stables this morning.”

Vali’s heart sagged as relief pushed despair from it. Brenna was safe. He nodded. “First, Åke. I will not risk him escaping or doing more mischief. I will wear his entrails around my neck.”

They ran together toward the great hall. Orm, Bjarke, and Astrid saw them and ran up as well. As they approached the door, Vali surveyed the area and knew for a certainty that they had won. He did not think more than a few of Åke’s force had survived.

Before he opened the door, he turned to Astrid. “Brenna is at the stables. Will you bring her to me?”

Astrid gave Leif a poisonous glare and then nodded at Vali. “I will. Watch your back.” She spat at Leif’s feet and trotted off with her axe in her hand.

Astrid had been sworn to Åke, just as Leif and Brenna had. She had been left for dead in Estland when she’d resisted Åke’s cowardly, clandestine departure. Vali thought there could be no clearer condemnation of Leif’s complicity than his clanswoman spitting at his feet.

He would decide what to do about Leif later. For now, he opened the doors to Åke’s great hall and stormed into the dark.

The hall was empty but for a few goats and a couple of cats. He had expected Åke to be protected, but there was no one at all, neither fighter nor family, in the hall. Vali ran back to the private quarters and found no one. Had the coward already run and escaped?

If so, Vali would not be far behind. He turned to Leif. “Is this yet another betrayal?”

“He was in his seat when I left, Vali. On my arm ring, I swear.”

“The arm ring on which you swore to Åke?”

Leif made a frustrated sound. “I am with you. I kept you alive. And Brenna, too. It was the only way.”

Brenna. Without another word or hesitation, Vali stormed back out into the daylight and ran for the stables.

All around him, he saw frightened townspeople, mostly women and children, hiding just inside their doors, or under wagons. But they were all safe now. He could hear that the fighting was over. All that was left was the collective moan of the injured.

Just outside the stables, Astrid stood in tense readiness, her axe raised. As Vali came up to her, he saw what held her at bay—and a fury immense and white-hot soared into his head. He roared loud and long, until his breath and voice gave out.

Åke had Brenna. He held her before him, one hand around her slim throat. His other hand held a long, jeweled dagger, its point pressed into her flesh, under her ear, already deep enough that a thin line of blood trickled down, disappearing behind the shackle she wore.

She was shackled. A heavy chain sagged from it and was looped around her waist like a belt. She was filthy and skinny, her face badly bruised, and Vali could see the damage that vile iron band had done to her lovely, pale throat.

“Brenna!”

Brenna’s eyes locked on his, but when she tried to answer, Åke pushed the blade in a hair deeper and snarled, “She is mine!”

Vali tried to stay calm and find his next move. “She is not. She is mine—my wife. More than that, she is her own. And you will pay for all the harm you’ve done her.”

“No. I will have your word that my family and I may leave Geitland well-provisioned and unharmed, or I will put this dagger into her brain.” He pushed it in a little deeper still. Much farther, and he would kill her. Vali tried to see his way to save her.

Then Brenna turned her head in Åke’s grip. The movement made the blade slice her neck, and her blood poured from the wider wound. With that very blood, her life force leaving her body, she freed herself. It made Åke’s hold on her and on the dagger, both, slip, and then Brenna simply dropped to the ground.

Vali wasted no time. He swung his main axe with another mighty roar and planted it in Jarl Åke Ivarsson’s head. He fell at once, a look of dumb surprise frozen on his face.

While the jarl’s body still twitched, Vali dropped to his knees and gathered his wife in his arms. “Brenna!” Leif handed him a length of linen, and he pressed it to her bleeding neck. That shackle—he wanted to bring Åke to life again so that he could end it more painfully.

Brenna laid her hand over his. “Vali. When Leif told me you lived, I knew I’d see you again in this life. But I wanted to kill Åke.”

Vali chuckled, and the sound seemed oddly choked to his ears. “It was my turn to do the saving, shieldmaiden.”

She smiled. “I don’t think it was.”

Her blood had soaked through the linen. “You need a healer.”

“It’s not mortal. I have survived worse.” She clutched at his arm. “Olga?”