Viking Gold (35 page)

Redknee pushed himself
backwards, into the shadows, as far from the clank of armoured men running his
way as he could.

“Open the door, then,” their
leader said.

Red-beard removed the iron
bar and pushed the door.

Their leader squinted in the
darkness. “You sure you didn’t overdo it on the mead last night?” he asked
Red-beard. “I don’t see anyone.”

Redknee’s eyes, accustomed to
the gloom, saw where they could not. Their leader had long black hair and a
hard jaw. He’d seen him before. Only three times, granted, but he knew him
well. He cursed for not recognising the ostentatious mail coat sooner, but he’d
thought its owner dead.

Mord stepped further into the
cell. “It smells rank,” he said, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The blade
whizzed past Redknee’s nose, drawing a sliver of blood, but he dared not move.

“Nothing,” Mord said
conclusively, turning from the cell.

Redknee remained still as
Mord stalked into the corridor.
Please
, he thought to himself,
please
don’t secure the door
.

Mord turned to Red-beard.
“Draw the bar over the door,” he said. “We don’t want anyone surprising—”

Red-beard had begun to shut
the door, but Mord had frozen. “Wait!” Mord cried, holding the tip of his sword
up to examine it.

Redknee’s stomach lurched. He
pressed the back of his hand against his nose to stem the bleeding. In that
instant, he saw Mord turn and charge towards him, realisation on his face. He’d
seen Redknee’s blood on his blade.

Mord sped into the cell.
“Come out my little dungeon rat,” he said, brandishing his sword, “or I’ll run
you through.”

Redknee held his breath as
Mord lunged at the darkness.

“Wait, Sir,” Red-beard said,
handing Mord a torch.

Mord grabbed it and swept the
cell with the flickering light.

Redknee
blanched as the flame passed in front of his face.  Caught.

Mord
shoved Redknee to the ground and pressed his foot into his back. “What were you
doing in there?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Redknee
spluttered, truthfully. Blood ran down his face from where Mord had struck his
cut nose. A hot, metallic taste filled his mouth; he tried to spit it out.

“What’s that you say, boy?
You
were
going to attack us! Do you know what the punishment is for
that?”

Redknee shook his head. “I
was imprisoned.”

Mord laughed. “Ah, the great
Sven Kodranson’s whelp, locked up by the boy king. Tell me, mud rat, what did
you do?”

“Nothing.”

“It must have been something.
Steal the boy king’s sweetmeats, did you?”

“No. It wasn’t Thorvald. It
was Gisela.”

“Ah, bested by a
girl
.”

“She’s a sorceress—” Redknee
stopped. He was giving too much away. He didn’t know why Mord was here, and he
didn’t want to give him information he could use against Thorvald. “What are
you looking for?” he asked, changing the subject.

Mord removed his foot from
Redknee’s back. “Why should I tell you?”

Redknee shrugged. He guessed
it was the
Codex
. “I might know where it is, that’s all.”

Mord looked thoughtful.
“You’re friends with the Irish girl?”

Redknee nodded cautiously.

“Well,” Mord continued.
“We’re looking for
her
. My father is anxious to find her … and, well,
anything she may have in her possession.”

“I can take you to her.”

“I don’t know—”

“She’ll run away as soon as
she sees you. She trusts me.”

“True. But—”

“Don’t you want to get to her
before your brother? You would please your father.”

Mord’s eyes lit up. “Yes.
I’ll show that Skoggcat,” he said, grabbing Redknee and dragging him to his feet.
He called after his men. “Forget the tunnel. I’ve a new plan.”

And that was the last thing
Redknee heard before the roof collapsed.

Dirt
filled his mouth, choking him as he tried to breathe. He coughed; attempted to clear
his throat. If he didn’t, he would drown here, in this dry black sea, far from
sunlight, far from
Valhalla
. Where no Valkyrie would find him.

He heard scraping noises
coming from above.
Rescuers?
He kicked and clawed at the soil in a
wretched parody of swimming; tried to call out, but the mud muffled his
screams.

The noises stopped. The
rescuers were going. He scrabbled frantically. They would
not
leave him.
He reached something soft yet solid; clambered along it, using it as a ladder.
The ladder squirmed, started to kick. Something, a knee perhaps, rammed his
belly. He doubled over. A foot pressed against his head, pushing him deeper
into the abyss.

Whomever he’d stumbled across
was going to live … at his expense.

If you give up – you die.
Sven’s words reached him through the dark. He pushed
off with renewed vigour. All of a sudden, a rod jabbed his back. He turned;
grabbed what he took to be a quarterstaff. Someone began hauling him to the
surface; he scrambled upwards, using the staff for purchase, pushing off unseen
debris, helping his rescuer. He might die today, but it wouldn’t be in a black
pit beyond the Valkyries’ reach.

Air rushed his lungs.

Magnus smiled down at him. “Thought
we’d lost you there.”

“You got back safely?”
Redknee asked, surprised to see Magnus and not Mord and his warriors.

“Yes. We found Olaf and
Harold, but I’m afraid we ran into Ragnar.” Magnus looked uncomfortable. “Egil
didn’t make it.”

Redknee thought of the
captain with a soft spot for his mistress. He gave Magnus a sidelong glance.
“How did that happen?” he asked.

“Just as we were returning to
the tunnels, they ambushed us from behind some rocks. Egil didn’t even get the
chance to draw his sword.”

“And you?”

“I managed to get away.”

“That was lucky,” Redknee
said with some sarcasm, but Magnus’s expression didn’t falter. Perhaps Sinead
had been mistaken about Magnus poisoning the fish. In any event, Magnus had
just saved his life. He owed him his trust just for that. Redknee turned back
to the rubble. “There are more men in there. Ragnar’s men.”

Magnus shook his head. “I’ve
already checked. You were the only survivor.”

“But … I felt someone else
move …”

“They must have got out
before I arrived. Come on. Ragnar is attacking the tunnels, we should get
moving. I was careful, but I fear he may have followed me.”

They
hurried to the upper tunnels, to the main living quarters. There was no sign of
life.

“Where is everyone?” Redknee
asked.

“Fled.” Magnus said. “When
Ragnar came.”

Redknee peered into Gisela’s chamber.
It was empty.

Olaf stood a short way down
the tunnel, beneath one of the few remaining rushlights. The yellow flame cast
a sickly glow over his pale features. Behind him, Harold cowered in the
shadows.

“Looking for the slave girl?”
Olaf asked.

“Have you seen her?”
Redknee
said, his hopes rising.

Olaf trudged forward. He held
his sword in his right hand and a shield in his left. Blood smeared his arms
and face. “Yes,” he said, wiping the flat of his sword across his breeches. It
left a dark stain.

Magnus edged backwards.
“Don’t trust him,” he whispered. “I saw him signal to Ragnar as we entered the
tunnels.”

Redknee froze. Then
remembered he’d hidden Harold’s dagger in his boot. Keeping his eyes trained on
Olaf, he reached down and felt for the engraved handle.

“Don’t listen to him,” Olaf
said. “I was your uncle’s most trusted man. We worked together for years. And
now that you’ve succeeded him as jarl, I want to sail under your command.”

“I thought you wanted to go
home,” Redknee said, holding up the dagger.

Olaf stood a sword’s length
in front of Redknee. Harold had followed his father down the tunnel, twisted
and hunch-backed, like a malformed shadow. His face looked monstrous in the
torchlight, eyes glittering with madness. Olaf saw the shock in Redknee’s face.

“My son is not what he used
to be,” he said sadly.

“I’m sorry,” Redknee said.

“I must have vengeance for
him.”

“From me?”
Redknee asked, fear fracturing his voice.

Olaf shook his head. “I blame
Ragnar, not you. I’ll help you find the slave girl, and together we’ll keep the
Codex
from Ragnar. Then, when the time is right, we’ll seize our chance
and—”

“He lies,” Magnus blurted out
from behind Redknee. “He means to kill you!”

Redknee’s eyes darted from
Olaf to Magnus and back again. Neither moved. Redknee saw Harold stare at his
old dagger in bewilderment. His mind truly gone. Suddenly Redknee felt a rush
of sympathy for Olaf. He put a hand on Magnus’s arm. “You’re mistaken, my
friend. Olaf comes in peace. He means to help us find Sinead.”

Olaf lowered his sword, the
tension in his shoulders gone. “You’ve made the right decision. I’ve no idea
why Magnus thinks I led Ragnar here.”

“Magnus?” Redknee asked,
turning to his friend.

“Yes,” Magnus said
hesitantly, “I must have been mistaken.”

“Good,” Olaf said, smiling.
“I heard the others say they were heading for a cave. Some hidden exit?”

Thorvald’s cave.

“Follow me,” Redknee said. “I
know where they’ve gone.”

They
crept silently through the tunnels, their backs pressed against the walls, torches
low. But they encountered no one until they reached the cave. Voices echoed off
the arched ceiling, magnified a thousand times. Redknee pressed his finger to
his lips. Around twenty people stood near the cave mouth. They were arguing.
Redknee searched the crowd for a familiar face, saw Sinead’s auburn curls and
realised they were safe. He called to her.

Sinead’s face broke into a
smile. “You’re alive,” she said, rushing towards him, Silver bounding along
behind her. “I thought Ragnar had you …” her voice trailed off when she saw his
bloodied face.

“It’s nothing,” Redknee said,
kneeling to give Silver a hug. “Gisela imprisoned me for talking to Thorvald
about life above ground. Probably saved my hide.”

“Gisela has vanished,” she said
with a snort. “We’re discussing what to do.”

Redknee scanned the group. He
saw that Koll, Olvir and Brother Alfred were amongst them. “Where’s Astrid?” he
asked.

Thorvald stepped forward. He
looked gaunt. “Both of Astrid’s men died fighting Ragnar. We think she left
with Gisela.”

“What do you mean,
left
?”
Olaf demanded.

Sinead spoke before Thorvald
had the chance. “Gisela stole the
Codex
in the mêlée. We think Astrid
has gone with her.” She hung her head. “It’s all my fault. I should never have
read the part about forests of gold.”

Thorvald
stopped. “I’ve come as far as I can.” He pointed to a weathered door. “That
leads out to a river. Follow the river down stream to a waterfall. Gisela goes
there to cast her spells. If she believes your book contains magic, that’s
where she’ll be.”

Redknee said goodbye to
Silver, thanked Thorvald, who had volunteered to look after the pup until they
returned, then stepped out to a bright autumn day. His eyes blanched at the
contrast with the dark tunnels.

The
river wound through marshy brown fields edged with rush and figwort. He and
Olvir helped Sinead pick her way through the mud. It was slow going. Olaf and
Harold brought up the rear. Magnus and Koll ran ahead, acting vanguard.

They heard the falls long
before they saw them – a thunderous, ear-splitting roar to mock Thor. When he
reached the cliff edge, Redknee peered over into a swirling granite cauldron
fed by a flume of water a hundred feet tall. Spray moistened his skin. He
closed his eyes and revelled in the cool sensation. 

Sinead stared, wide eyed.
“The water looks like milk. I’ve never seen anything like it. In
Ireland
we
had—”

“No one’s interested,” Koll
said, making towards stone steps worn into the cliff.

Olaf laughed as Sinead
stomped after Koll. “I don’t know what
you’re
so pleased about,” she
said. “I thought you hated the
Codex
. You wanted to sail home.”

“That was before it became
personal,” Olaf said, drawing his sword. “Still don’t care about the book – but
if I find that stinking Ragnar behind these falls, I’ll gut him like a
herring.” He turned to Harold who was shuffling down the steps behind him.
“Isn’t that right, son?” he said.