Viking Ecstasy (39 page)

The total eclipse was brief, but in that time, Ingmar's Vikings were decimated. The Egyptian warriors who sailed under Tabor's command, unlike their leader, never for a moment doubted Tanaka's vision. Unhindered by surprise, they had reached for their bows and arrows as everyone else stood transfixed, watching the sky. Their targets had been picked in advance; and, though they fired blindly in the darkness, they fired accurately. The toll they took upon Ingmar's men was enormous.

When at last Tabor could see again, he rose to his knees, searching first for Sven, then for Ingmar. Sven, too, had lain prone upon the pier so that he would not be accidentally struck by an arrow from his own men. When his gaze met Tabor's, he smiled and drew the long, lethal sword at his hip.

"Where did Ingmar go?" Tabor asked.

Sven nodded down the pier, and Tabor looked just in time to see Ingmar's broad back disappear into the crowd as he knocked people down in his headlong escape.

Tanaka got to her feet with Tabor. All around her she saw the horrible evidence of the effectiveness of her prophecy. Many of Ingmar's men had frozen in place when the eclipse occurred; they had been the first to perish under the barrage of Egyptian arrows.

The moment the sun regained its reign over the sky,

Tabor's men escalated their attack, using both arrows and swords as well as fighting spears. Though shorter than their Scandinavian counterparts, the Egyptians fought mercilessly and skillfully. Each man had heard of the horrors that had befallen their high priestess when she had been kidnapped and held captive by the Vikings. Tanaka herself was a forgiving person; the warriors from her homeland were not.

"See that she is protected," Tabor said to two of his men, taking Tanaka's arm and pushing her toward them.

"No, I want to stay with you," she shot back, fighting against her husband. She was afraid that if they were separated, she would never see him again.

"Where I am going there will be bloodshed and killing," Tabor replied. "You do not need to see your husband do these things. Stay here. The wounded need your help."

He cupped her face in his huge, calloused hands, touching her gently, his eyes asking for a greater understanding than words could communicate. He bent low to kiss her first on the cheek, then on the mouth.

"There are things I must do," he said. "I do not want your gentle heart to have to see such actions. You are a loving woman who would best serve the men who serve her by tending to their wounds. Take their pain away, my darling, and I will do what needs be done."

He kissed her on the lips again, then turned away. Tanaka watched, two crystal tears on her cheeks, as her husband strode down the pier with Sven at his side. It was best, she knew, to let him hunt down Ingmar on his own. The stars had dictated long ago that one day Tabor and Ingmar would settle their feud man to man; and, while Tanaka hated that truth with every fiber in her being, she had come to accept it.

Steeling her courage, she began shouting orders for the wounded to be brought to her, concentrating on the task she had been assigned, praying that her husband's prodigious strength and cunning would see him through this one last battle against his deadliest enemy.

T
abor moved at an easy trot, holding his huge broadsword in his right hand, his dagger in his left. Already, the battle was being decisively won by the Vikings under his command and many of the vermin who sailed with Ingmar were on the run, putting as much distance between themselves and the men who attacked them as possible. The dark-skinned "Vikings" who sailed with Tabor appeared to have the wrath of the gods behind them.

Occasionally, he'd catch a glimpse of Ingmar through the crowd and he'd feel a fresh burst of anger surge through him. He had to pace himself. Though many of Ingmar's men had turned tail and run, there was still the possibility that one of them, singling Tabor out, was drawing a bowstring on him at this very moment.

Tabor had learned his lesson well. He would not forget that foolhardy behavior had nearly cost him his life once before.

Tabor and Sven ran shoulder to shoulder, their eyes darting right and left, scanning the sparse crowd, looking into the eyes of the people they passed. It was their shared belief that the eyes were the window to the soul and if there were to be an attack, intentions would be revealed in the eyes.

"Ingmar is mine," Tabor said as he jogged on.

Sven did not reply. He knew that the hatred between the two was more than just that of two combatants. It was a blood feud that could only be dealt with personally. Tabor himself must kill the man who had betrayed, deceived, and very nearly murdered him.

They ran inland until they came upon Hugh, who waited in ambush with his bow, an arrow already notched. In unison, Tabor and Sven paused a fraction of a second—just long enough for Hugh to raise his bow and take quick aim —then each leaped to the side, away from the other.

Hugh, confronted with two targets instead of one, was confused. An inferior soldier, he inadvertently aimed between Tabor and Sven, hoping to hit one of the two instead of shooting toward a specific target. When Tabor and Sven leaped to the side the arrow passed between them, leaving them unharmed.

Hugh realized his error the moment he released his shot, and he ran immediately. He ran as if he feared the Anubus, the jackal-headed Egyptian deity who Tanaka said escorted the dead on their journey to the afterlife. The Vikings were too close. He could not stop running, notch another arrow, and take aim; and panic overtook him.

The smell of smoke was carried on the wind, and Tabor knew that Ingmar's ships had been set ablaze. It didn't surprise him. The Egyptian soldiers were an unforgiving lot, and they held Ingmar responsible for the misfortunes of their high priestess. They did not want peace with Ingmar the Savage, they wanted revenge and retribution. Not even Tanaka's forgiving nature could stop them from seeing that justice — Egyptian style — was meted out.

Ahead of them, Hugh ran as fast as he could, his arms pumping as he labored to stay ahead of his pursuers. But the years of intemperate living had taken its toll upon his body and soul, and now he would have to pay the ultimate price.

"Don't catch him too soon," Tabor said, maintaining a pace that kept him close enough to Hugh so that he could not rearm his bow yet far enough away so that he felt he still had a chance. "He'll lead us to Ingmar."

Hugh looked over his shoulder and stumbled, his arms flying out as he nearly fell face down in the rutted road that led out of Karak. He dropped his bow in his struggle to break his fall. Then, regaining his footing unarmed, he continued on, running faster than before. He tossed away the quiver of arrows he'd slung over his shoulder to lessen his load, and the laughter he heard from the two men following him told him that although he was winded and nearing the end of his strength, the stronger Danes were far from exhausted.

Men and women, some of them recognizing Tabor, others simply sensing that he was a dangerous man not to be bothered, rushed inside their homes. This was not their fight.

Hugh's legs were growing weak, and he stumbled frequently. Tabor's mouth was set in a grim, determined line as he followed, letting his quarry wear himself out before ending the confrontation.

They wove their way through the heart of Karak, past the tawdry taverns, the sail-repairman's shop, and the hostels for itinerant sailors, and then Hugh's legs failed him. He landed hard on his face in the dirt, his lungs on fire, his legs molten lead.

Hugh tried to wipe mud from his palms. He dug in his tunic for the small, hidden dagger, but Tabor's right fist connected explosively with his jaw. Hugh's head snapped back, but before he could tumble and sprawl, Tabor caught him by his leather vest, hoisted him to his feet, and tossed him into Sven's waiting arms.

"Where's your brother?" Tabor asked.

Sven held Hugh's arms pinned to his sides. Tabor removed Hugh's dagger as he voiced the question.

"I don't know," Hugh replied, when his breathing had calmed and the ringing in his ears had quieted enough to make speech possible.

"Where?" Tabor repeated.

When Hugh did not immediately respond, Sven tightened his arms around the man's ribs in a bone-crunching squeeze. The cowardly assassin's face turned blue. Sven relaxed the muscles in his arms, and Hugh sucked in breath.

"He's going ... to the . . . women," Hugh said between gasps.

Tabor cursed loudly. He should not have been surprised that Ingmar would surround himself with people. Since he had no regard for any life other than his own and he knew that Tabor would protect the innocent, being surrounded by women lent Ingmar a decided advantage.

"You turn traitor on your own brother so easily," Tabor said, shaking his head. "You and Ingmar are of a feather."

"I owe him nothing!" Hugh replied, struggling to salvage some sense of dignity. "He's never done anything for me."

Tabor could listen to no more. Hugh was everything that Tabor found repulsive in men.

"Be merciful," Tabor said to Sven. "He's told us where to find his brother." Then he turned on his heel and jogged away.

Hugh felt Sven release him, and the joy that swept over him was so great that he nearly fell to his knees and wept with happiness. It seemed almost unimaginable to him that he should be captured by Tabor and Sven and live to tell about it.

"Let me know when you have caught your breath," Sven said, unbuckling the clasp that held his sword at his hip. "Then we can begin."

"B-Begin?" Hugh did not like the implacable, lethal expression he saw on Sven's face. "You heard Tabor! He told you to be merciful! He ordered you to be merciful!"

"And so I shall be." Sven tossed his sword and axe aside, then loosened his shirt at the throat so that it would not constrict his movements. "Have you caught your breath?"

Hugh, on the verge of hysteria, realized that Sven intended to fight him bare-handed. Man-to-man, Hugh didn't stand a chance.

With quivering pathos, Hugh reminded Sven, "Tabor told you to be merciful."

"I have allowed you to catch your breath and regain your strength. Your death will be quick and clean. That is more mercy than you deserve." His voice dipped low as he added, "And that is more mercy than you showed my friends when you slaughtered them nearly a year ago. You must answer for those murders now, Hugh."

Sven advanced slowly, his eyes cold and blue.

Far away now, Tabor continued on, not slowing his pace until he saw the collection of small, unkempt huts at the outskirts of Karak. These were the homes of the prostitutes who made their living from the sailors that traveled through the port. When Hugh had said that Ingmar had gone to the "women," Tabor knew immediately that he meant these women. Ingmar liked to surround himself with prostitutes. He bragged that he never had to pay for sexual favors, finding it easiest to rape prostitutes, who put up less of a fight. When the deed was done, there were no fathers, brothers, or uncles seeking revenge in defense of the family honor.

Tabor listened carefully. He heard nothing. The only sounds came from the pier, where the Vikings fought Ingmar's men.

Tabor was certain there were women inside the homes. He could sense their presence. And there was at least one man — Ingmar — hiding in their midst, holding Tabor's battle-axe in his hands and waiting to kill the Son of Thor.

"Ingmar, come out and fight me like a man." Tabor demanded but received no response. He was not surprised. Ingmar had no interest in a fair fight. If there was to be an end to the blood feud between them, Tabor would have to seek his enemy out and force the final confrontation.

Tabor grinned. It was fitting that Ingmar hid among the prostitutes.

Two women huddled in a corner of the first house. They turned frightened eyes to Tabor when he kicked their door in. Ingmar was not hiding within.

"Where is he?" Tabor demanded.

"He's a bad man " the older of the two women replied in a quivering voice. "If we tell you, hell kill us for sure. He's killed for less, I tell you!"

The woman's fear was genuine, marrow-deep. Tabor demanded no more of her. He moved on.

There were three more small homes, and he was certain that Ingmar lay in ambush in one of them.

In the second home, three women cowered in fear. When he asked for Ingmar, they claimed he was not there. But the puffy red eye he saw developing on one of the women told him that Ingmar had been there—recently —and that his presence had been in no way welcome.

When Tabor left that house, instinct told him that in the next house he would find Ingmar . . . and the final battle would begin.

He put his boot to the flimsy door, and it splintered, bursting open, swinging crookedly upon its ancient hinges. Tabor peered inside but did not enter. Behind a mattress, lying flat on the floor, a young woman stared up at him, terror in her eyes. Then another woman apeared, slightly older than the first. Hesitating, she pressed a professional smile upon her face and rose out of hiding.

"Come in," she cooed. "I know exactly what you're looking for, and you won't need that sword and dagger filling your hands to get it."

She smiled, lewdly revealing a missing tooth. She stepped closer to the door, waving to the frightened girl behind her to rise and greet their guest.

"Back," Tabor said, keeping his sword and dagger at the ready.

"But there's no need for—"

"Now."

She stepped backward then, nearly stumbling over the mattress that had hidden her. Tabor paused at the door, his senses alert. The old prostitute babbled, her wiles eluding her. The young one looked at Tabor as though he promised salvation.

"Come on in," the older one said. "Let me show you what you need."

Tabor stepped over the threshold, and the girl screamed, "Behind the door!"

In a move that drew as much on instinct as experience, Tabor lunged to his left and blindly threw his dagger at his unseen enemy. He hit the dirt floor of the house, rolling immediately, lifting the huge broadsword for defense, holding the long haft with both hands.

He righted himself, raising up to his knees, his broadsword horizontal to block a strike. And then the battle-axe, the one that Ingmar had stolen from Tabor to use against him, fell harmlessly to the ground at the Viking's feet.

Without a second thought, Tabor dropped his sword and retrieved the battle-axe that he had lost long ago when Ingmar's arrow sliced through his biceps.

Ingmar reeled backward on his heels, shocked by Tabor's unexpected move and the courage of the young prostitute who had betrayed him. Tabor saw the blood dripping from Ingmar's cheek and realized that while his dagger had not dangerously injured his foe, it had jolted him, cutting his face and forcing him to drop the battle-axe.

"Hiding behind skirts again, eh, Ingmar?" Tabor asked, rising quickly to his feet.

Ingmar said nothing. He had no weapons. Only a short knife still buried in the pocket of his jacket. He had believed that the prostitutes of Karak were all too frightened of him to betray him.

"Outside," Tabor said.

"I have no weapons."

Tabor hooked the toe of his boot under the blade of the broadsword and gave it a kick, sending the weapon flipping through the air. Ingmar caught the long handle quickly, a smile of surprise creasing his bearded countenance.

"Outside," Tabor repeated. "You've got a weapon now. It's you against me."

Ingmar chuckled as he stepped outside into the sunlight. He wondered, but did not care how Tanaka had made the sun disappear. He was alone now with Tabor, their only audience a cluster of prostitutes. If he could not defeat Tabor in their duel, Ingmar would run. It did not matter to him if he lost face in front of these women.

"They hate you, you know," Tabor said, squaring up against Ingmar. The familiar feel of the battle-axe's smooth, thick handle in his hands filled Tabor with security and confidence. With this battle-axe, he felt certain that he would not—could not —be defeated by Ingmar the Savage.

"The women? So what? I take the ones I want and leave the rest to do business. They mean nothing to me. Nothing at all."

The two men circled each other slowly, looking for an opening in the other's defenses, knowing that one wrong move meant death.

"They may mean nothing to you," Tabor said, hoping his words would distract, ready to use every tool and trick he'd gleaned over the years to defeat Ingmar. "But one of them warned me about your trap. Without that warning, you would have had me."

A muscle twitched in Ingmar's jaw as he clamped his teeth in anger. He had always hated women, though he needed their bodies for sexual release, and this betrayal infuriated him.

"She'll be sorry," Ingmar vowed. "I had a little fun with her," he said. "Just a little pleasure, and she turned against me!"