Divide and Conquer (7 page)

Or rather, what had just begun. The tower shuddered under the onslaught. Stones splintered walls. Arrows zinged through the open window, embedding in the wooden floor by her feet.

“We have to find someplace safe!” Riq shouted, and they crawled toward the stairs. A sea of Franks pushed against them, racing toward the top of the tower to take up defensive positions. The men wore battle dress: thickly padded tunics and metal helmets. Some carried swords and shields, and others had bows and arrows. Just looking at them made Sera feel more vulnerable in her simple woolen tunic.

“This way,” Bill urged, taking her elbow and pulling her into a narrow, dark corridor. She’d only taken a few steps when she heard Riq grunt behind her. She turned to find him being pulled in the opposite direction by a large Frankish soldier.

“Only two hundred men on this side of the river to defend the tower,” the soldier said, shoving a wicked-looking sword into Riq’s hands. His wrist bent awkwardly under the weight of it. “We need all the manpower we can get.” He began dragging Riq up the stairs.

“Wait!” Sera called out. She swallowed and tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I’ll help, too,” she offered. She’d already been separated from Dak; she couldn’t lose Riq as well. Behind her, Bill hissed for her to be quiet.

The soldier squinted at her as if seriously considering her offer and then scoffed. “You should be back across the river with the other children. What you’re still doing here I don’t know, but you’re well and trapped now.” He nudged Riq toward the staircase where he was swallowed up by the rush of men. “You want to help?” the man asked. “Stay out of our way.” And then he, too, was gone.

Sera tried to run after them but Bill kept his hand tight around her arm. “He’s right, Sera,” he said, but she didn’t want to hear it. She felt like she was losing complete control of everything. Dak’s role was to use his historical knowledge to figure out the Breaks and how to fix them. Riq’s job was to make sure they could always communicate with those around them. That left Sera, whose only contribution was to make sure the Infinity Ring warped them to the right place and time. And even that wasn’t so complicated that Dak or Riq couldn’t figure it out if they needed to.

Which meant that Sera’s real responsibility was keeping the three of them together. They’d been in 885 for less than twenty-four hours and she’d already failed. Miserably.

As if sensing how upset Sera was, Bill gently squeezed her arm. “He’ll be okay,” he said. “They both will.”

Sera shook her head. “How can you know? Everything about history has already changed, thanks to us, and we don’t know if it’s for the better or worse.”

He took her hand in his, which felt a little awkward at first until they sorted their fingers out. “From my point of view, I can definitely say it’s changed for the better,” he said softly, causing Sera to blush.

She really wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Ever since they’d left home, she’d been so focused on fixing the Breaks that it never occurred to her to think about how their meddling with history affected those they met along the way. She thought about the first Hystorian they’d met, Gloria the butcher, and how her eyes had grown wide when they told her about airplanes and men on the moon. Did she then spend the rest of her life dreaming about such things, or did she go about her ordinary duties as if she’d never met three kids from the future?

Just then, there was a tremendous crashing sound. A few stones fell from the ceiling and shattered at her feet. A long crack snaked up the wall, letting in a slice of sunlight and the sound of men shouting and swords clashing. Another jolt jarred the tower, and Sera and Bill stumbled as they tried to catch their footing.

“It isn’t safe here,” Bill shouted at her over the din of battle. “Follow me.” And then he was leading her through the dim corridor, his hand still holding hers tightly.

They passed a few narrow slits in the walls that Bill explained were arrow loops, meant to allow men inside to fire arrows on anyone attacking. As they passed by each one, Sera snuck glances outside, trying to catch glimpses of the battle. Hundreds of ships lined the river, each one stuffed with men wearing chain mail and helmets, waving swords or shooting at the tower with bows and arrows. All of them moved toward the bridge, disgorging their cargo of soldiers on the nearby shore. Here they joined others digging at the foundation of the tower with pickaxes and shovels, trying to tunnel under the thick wall.

Along the northern bank more Vikings prepped trebuchets and catapults, lobbing stones and flaming pots of oil over the walls of the fortified city. The sky was thick with projectiles, the air dingy with smoke and loud with shouting and screaming. Church bells rang and Viking horns blew as if the two sides could war with sound alone.

Bill drew her through a tight passage into a tiny circular room with a high domed ceiling. “It’s an old turret,” he said. “They changed the design of the tower after this room was built, and most people forget about it. We should be safe here for a while. At least until the bridge clears enough for us to sneak back to the city.”

Narrow gaps were spread along the wall at knee height and Sera pressed her face against one. “Murder holes,” Bill explained. He pointed out how the sides of the holes flared out at steep angles, narrowing the view. “Men can kneel here and shoot crossbows, picking off soldiers outside, but it’s almost impossible to get an arrow back in.”

He leaned against one of the walls and slid until he was sitting. His legs took up a good portion of the floor space, so that Sera had to sit with her knees tucked against her chest. She could still feel the floor trembling beneath her as stones struck the tower. Even though it meant watching the ravaging forces attacking them, she couldn’t help but look outside, trying to catch a glimpse of Dak.

She hoped he was smart enough to keep far, far away from the battlefront. But she also knew him well enough to be pretty sure he’d never stay away from the center of action. “Please don’t be stupid,” she murmured to herself.

As if on cue, her eye caught on a small figure darting through the throng of Vikings. Sera had been in enough PE classes with Dak to recognize his awkward gait as he ducked behind a pile of discarded bloody shields.

“Dak!” she cried out, banging her hand against the wall. But all she could do was watch, and hope none of the flying debris — from either side — would hit her friend.

This wasn’t like dodgeball (a game that Dak never excelled at) — these flying balls could kill!

A single shield detached itself from the pile and started moving haltingly across the battlefield. The wooden circle was huge, at least as tall as Dak, and he teetered under the weight of it. A band of Vikings streamed around him, racing toward the tower with bloodcurdling shouts and roars, but one of them must have knocked into Dak because he tripped and went sprawling.

Just as he started to push himself up, a massive bolt shot from the tower and tore through the air. It barely grazed Dak’s head before skewering seven Vikings who’d been running along behind him.

From somewhere above she heard men cheering as one of them shouted, “Tell the kitchens we have a human kabob for them to cook!”

Sera cried out as the men staggered and then fell. Dak’s face went white with shock and he crouched, seemingly frozen, completely out in the open where anyone could take aim at him.

She heard someone screaming and realized belatedly that it was her, calling Dak’s name and telling him to move.

D
AK COULDN’T
move. The bolt had come so close to his head he could swear it had created a new part in his hair. He heard the sickening sound of the sharp metal tip striking the Vikings who’d been running behind him and then the grunt as they collapsed. Dark red blood seeped from their chests, turning the ground around them to a scarlet mud.

The reality of where he was and what he was doing struck him like a battering ram against a fortress gate. He was unarmed and unarmored in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. On the positive side, he’d put some distance between himself and Gorm. But getting killed now wouldn’t be helping anyone, least of all himself.

For the briefest moment the violence around him paused, and he thought he heard someone scream his name. He stared up at the tower only a hundred yards away, trying to seek out a familiar face. It was useless, and he knew it. Riq and Sera would be safe inside the island fortress by now — far, far away from the danger of battle.

But then he thought he heard that same voice shout for him to move. He didn’t even question where the command came from. Instead, he just obeyed, tucking into a ball and rolling sharply to his left.

An arrow whizzed through the air with a high-pitched whine, striking the shield underneath Dak with a solid
thwunk
. Two inches to the left and it would have speared his shoulder.

That’s all it took to get Dak to his feet and sprinting back toward the Viking camp — facing Gorm seemed like the better option at the moment. As he ran he cut from right to left to make himself a more difficult target. He’d just crested a low hill when he saw a line of Vikings — hundreds of them — racing for the battlefield, their shields held over their heads to protect themselves from the rain of stones and arrows.

It was pretty clear pretty fast that Dak would be trampled to death if he kept going. He had no option but to pivot on his heel and run along with them, letting himself get caught up in their roaring energy. Tucked among the massive bodies and huge round shields, Dak felt nearly safe.

It was almost as if he were one of them.

As they approached the tower the sound of stones hitting shields became as deafening as the screaming around him. A reed-thin boy holding a tall pole with a pennant streaming from the top grinned at Dak as they ran alongside each other. Dak had just started to smile back when the boy’s eyes went wide and his teeth turned a pinkish red. When he fell to his knees, Dak saw a thick spear protruding from between his shoulder blades.

Horrified, Dak took a step forward — his instinct was to offer help even though he knew there was nothing he could do. The boy said nothing, just held out the pole, shoving it into Dak’s hands before collapsing. Dak stood there, his hands gripping the pole, no idea what to do next.

One of the other Vikings must have seen the look of terror and confusion on Dak’s face, because he slapped his back in what was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture but ended up sending a jolt of pain through him.

“You’re the standard-bearer
now, boy.” He gestured up at the flag. “That’s Siegfried’s seal there. Upon your life, you cannot let it fall. Best watch yourself — holding it makes you a target. The Franks would do anything to get that flag as proof of victory.”

And then the man was off, and Dak was left in the middle of battle staring up at the scrap of cloth hanging limply from the top of the pole. A sluggish bit of breeze found its way to him, lifting the flag so that he could see the banner clearly. If his heart wasn’t already frozen in fear, it would have sprouted icicles.

He recognized the symbol Siegfried used for his standard. He’d seen it before on the lapels of Tilda the Lady in Red, etched into the belt buckles of the Amancio brothers, and scraped into a wall in 1792 Paris. It was the symbol of the SQ, and it was apparently now Dak’s responsibility to protect it.

“What in the name
of mincemeat is Dak thinking?” Sera groaned. She and Bill knelt side by side, staring out the murder hole to where Dak stood, holding a flag that lifted in the meager breeze. “He’s just made himself a target!”

Beside her, Bill tensed and cursed under his breath, using a word the device in her ear refused to translate.

“What is it?” she asked, dread already pooling in her stomach.

“I recognize the emblem on that standard,” he said. “It’s the symbol of the men who attacked Lindisfarne.”

Sera frowned. “The symbol of the SQ. That’s why we’re here — Siegfried is SQ, and we have to stop him from amassing power.”

Bill pressed his face against the hole again and spoke as she did the same. “It’s not just that one banner I’m worried about. It’s all the others.”