Viking Gold (48 page)

Footsteps echoed across the
packed earth floor. He looked up. Ragnar and Mord were leaving. This was his
chance. He nodded to the boy in thanks for his help, scrambled out of the den
and collected his sword. The night shook with war cries and the sound of steel
on stone, but Redknee kept hidden in the shadow of the longhouse as he crept
round to the entrance. He threw the curtain back and ducked inside before being
spotted.

Surprise registered on
Sinead’s face. “Redknee,” she said. “I didn’t expect you.” She clutched Silver
as he trotted torwards Redknee and held him close to her, like a shield.

“I’ll bet,” he said, edging
forward. “Now, give me the
Codex
.”

Sinead frowned. “Why …?”

“I heard you talking to
Ragnar.
Telling him everything.
”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly.
Astrid was right. A slave can never be trusted.”

She picked up the
Codex
and held it to her chest. “It’s not what you—”

Cold air blasted his back.
Redknee spun round. Ragnar stood in the doorway. When he saw Redknee, his eyes
widened. Taking the advantage, Redknee sprung at the bigger man, and, using his
own weight against him, flung him inside. Ragnar fell heavily to the floor and
Redknee pressed his stolen sword into Ragnar’s throat.

“Go on,” Ragnar sneered.
“Kill me, send me to
Valhalla
. But then you’ll
never
know the truth.”

“Don’t give me lies,” Redknee
said. One sharp jab would end it all. “I want my face to be the last thing you
see before you die, hate the last thing you know. This is for my village, for
my mother, and for my—”

“Stop it,” Sinead said,
rising from her seat. “You’re choking him.”

“Stay back – that’s the
idea.”

Ragnar’s eyes’ bulged, his blank
eye especially throbbed, spittle appeared at his lips, but he still managed to
croak out a few words. “Do it for your village … and your mother. But your
father … I never touched a hair on his damned head.”

“Liar! I heard you admit it.
In the forest, before you attacked my village.”

Ragnar laughed without mirth,
a dry raking sound. “You’ve got me. It was worth a try. I did fight Erik
Kodranson. But he was still alive after the fight. Though rather the worse for
it. Sven spirited him away.” Ragnar paused, looked up at Redknee’s face, his
good eye narrowed. “You know, you’re more like me than you realise.”

Redknee hesitated. Perhaps
this
was
his one chance to discover the truth about his father. Perhaps
Ragnar knew more … was more … than he’d thought. Toki’s strange story had
spoken of two brothers and their friend, and the love each had for a beautiful
woman. Had it been more than a story…?

“
You
,” Redknee said,
hands trembling, mouth dry. “
You
are my real father?”

Ragnar’s laugh turned into a
desperate rasping for breath.

Sinead grabbed Redknee’s arm.
He shrugged her off, but relaxed the pressure on Ragnar’s throat a touch. He
had to hear this. Had to face this new nightmare.

Ragnar gulped for air before
focusing his watery eye on Redknee. “Not sure if that question is a compliment,
young warrior. But, no, I am not your father.”

Tension seeped from Redknee’s
body. He knew what he had to do.

“Well then,” he said,
knuckles whitening on the sword-hilt, “it’s time to pay your dues.”

“Stop!” Sinead called out,
her face white with fear. “He is
my
father.” 

Redknee’s
mind reeled. How could Ragnar be Sinead’s father?

How?

“The monastery,” Sinead said,
reading his expression. “Ragnar visited the monastery just after your father
and Sven. They were meant to go together, share the pickings. But Erik and Sven
betrayed Ragnar, went on their own. That was when Ragnar met my mother. Toki’s
story was for me.”

“But—”

“It’s true,” Ragnar
spluttered. His face had turned grey. “Your father and uncle double-crossed
me.”

The curtain flew open. Mord
entered, followed by Skoggcat. As soon as Mord saw Redknee he drew his sword.

“
Don’t
…,” Ragnar
said, eying his sons, “…
do anything stupid
.”

Mord hovered nervously in the
doorway. His face glistened with sweat. Skoggcat stood perfectly still.

Redknee kicked Ragnar firmly
in the shoulder. “Stand,” he said, adding, “
Slowly
.”

Ragnar hauled himself to his
elbows, watchful of the blade at his throat. Sinead eased backward, gripping
the
Codex
to her chest, her eyes flicking between the men.

“What should I do father?”
Mord asked, fear shaking his voice.

“Watch your good for nothing
brother.”

Skoggcat made a hissing
sound. It was the first time he’d drawn attention to himself. Mord scowled at him
in disgust.

Redknee prodded Ragnar in the
back with his sword. “On your feet, old man.” Ragnar glowered at Redknee as he
struggled upright.

“Where are you taking my
father?” Mord asked. “Are you going to kill him?”

Was
he going to kill Ragnar? He hadn’t thought that far in advance.

“Not if you get out my way,”
he offered.

Mord glanced at his father.
Ragnar nodded, and, reluctantly, Mord stood aside.

“You know,” Redknee said to
Mord, pushing Ragnar forward. “Don’t believe a word your father says. You think
he’s going to share Saint Brendan’s treasure with you? I’m betting he didn’t
tell you this slave girl is his daughter.” He motioned to Sinead with his
elbow.

Mord sneered. “Of course I
know that. But what does it matter to me? Her mother was an Irish peasant. I am
his legitimate firstborn. I will inherit everything.”

“Think about it,” Redknee
said. “Why was he so keen to find her again? A daughter can be worth a hundred
sons when it comes to marrying time.”

Mord stared at his father.
“You mean to form an alliance?”

“No,” Sinead cried. “He
lies!”

Mord’s eyes darted between
Redknee and his father, as if trying to find the truth in their faces.

“Stand back, son. You’re
making this worse.”

“Who is it?” Mord asked, his face
suddenly red with anger. “Who is to take my place at your right hand?”

“You know King Hakon’s
eldest?” Redknee asked cautiously.

“Princess Asa?”
Mord said.

Redknee bit his lip. This was
quite the gamble. Did King Hakon even have a son? “I meant his
heir
.”

“Prince Halfdan?”

Redknee nodded.

Mord slumped. “Then it
is
true.”

“Ragnar needs your share of
the treasure for her dowry,” Redknee said, praying there was a shred of truth
in this guess. Redknee thought he had Mord with this last comment; he was nearly
out the door with his hostage and Mord looked as if he was ready to kill his
father himself. Skoggcat had been slinking in the shadows, watching his
brother, watching Redknee, but still keeping his distance. Redknee was going to
do it. He was going to get away.

Then
the curtain opened and Olvir burst in, his bow drawn and ready. But it took him
vital moments to assess the situation. Mord, however, reacted with animal
efficiency, grabbing Olvir by the neck and slicing his windpipe from left to
right in one sharp, fluid motion.  Blood sprayed Mord’s face. Olvir raised
a hand to stem the flow. His attempt was useless. Blood drenched his hand,
bubbled from his mouth, streamed down his chin and arm. He gurgled wordlessly
before sliding towards the floor.

Redknee pushed Ragnar aside
and flung out his arms to catch his friend. He was too late. Olvir’s lifeless
body lay in a blood-soaked heap, fingers still curled round his prized bow.

His father out of danger,
Mord lunged for Redknee. Numb with shock, Redknee could only watch as Mord
aimed for his belly. There was a flash of orange, Mord stumbled, his speed his
enemy as he tumbled headlong towards Redknee’s boots.

Recovering his senses,
Redknee grabbed the
Codex
from a stunned Sinead, leapt the spread-eagled
Mord and made for the unguarded door. As he sped into the night, he heard a
hissing sound from the shadows. Skoggcat had repaid his debt.

PART IV

HOME

Redknee
burst into the night, Silver darting behind him. Together they turned from the
orange glow of the bonfire and hurried back along the shadowy alley. He heard
the jangle of a mailcoat, the thud of heavy boots behind them. Then silence.
Whoever it was hadn’t followed them down the alley. They’d gotten away.

His mind reeled with
questions. Big questions.
If Ragnar hadn’t killed Erik, what had become of
him?
Both Toki and Ragnar had said the same thing – Erik Kodranson, the man
he knew as his father, was still alive after his fight with Ragnar. But their
stories raised yet more questions. If true, then
Sven
was the last
person seen with Erik. And that raised one terrible possibility … a possibility
Redknee was fighting to push from his mind. He needed to speak to Olaf. No one
else knew his uncle as well as the old warrior. He would make Olaf tell him the
truth. He’d come this far, now he needed answers.

Redknee skirted the
longhouses, climbed over an abandoned stretch of wall and landed softly in the
darkness of the forest. He needed to forget about the Flint People and their
war. Olvir, he couldn’t forget. He felt responsible.
Was
responsible,
for the boy’s death. If only he hadn’t hesitated when Sinead claimed Ragnar as
her father …

Four
days later Redknee heard the sea, long before he saw it. For a sailor, a
Viking, that deep rumble gave the strength to push on. It seemed to have the
same effect on Silver, and he bounded onto the sand, ears pricked, ready to
chase whatever seabirds might be foolish enough to venture landside.

The longhouse still stood on
the high side of the bay, guarding the lagoon. Why Redknee was surprised to see
this, he didn’t know. He’d only been gone eight days. Yet it seemed like a
lifetime. He ran beneath the
Svensbyan
sign, threw open the door and
strained his eyes in the dark, searching out Olaf’s familiar features.

“Olaf,” he called, “it’s
Redknee. I must speak to you.” Silence. The hall was empty. Magnus and Brother
Alfred must be outside too, he thought. He turned, ready to run back out to the
yard, and slammed into a solid wall of muscle.

“Ah, there you are,” Olaf
said gently, placing his hands on Redknee’s shoulders to steady him. “I thought
you’d be back sooner or later.”

Redknee caught his breath.
Then the words came tumbling out. “We found people – lots of people. And Ragnar
too—”

“I know,” Olaf said, a smile
forming on his lips. He moved aside.

Redknee blinked. Was he
hallucinating? Ragnar stood a little way off, Toki and Sinead at his side.
Silver growled. “
What?”
Redknee began to ask, “
… what’s happening?”

Olaf held him by the arms.
“Be still,” he said. “Nothing’s
happening
. Ragnar arrived earlier this
morning. He thinks he knows where the White Pine is. It’s sacred to the Bear
People. He’s asked for our help to find it because it’s in Flint People
territory. Apparently you have friends among the Flint People. I believe you
also have the book.”

Ragnar smiled wolfishly.

Redknee shook his head. “
No
…”

“We’re going to help him.
We’re going to join together … this is the best offer we’ll get. I don’t want
to fight him. Don’t you see … otherwise this whole trip – your mother’s death,
my daughter Aud, Karl, Thora, even your uncle – all these deaths will have been
for nothing? This way we can rescue something from it.”

Ragnar
and his men, about twelve of them plus Skoggcat and Mord, made themselves at
home in
Svensbyan
. Redknee watched in disgust as Olaf fell over himself
to make them welcome. Helped by Harold, his uncle’s second-in-command fetched
wood, boiled water and generally did everything he could to make Ragnar feel
like a jarl. Redknee reckoned there was no point trying to speak to Olaf now:
he had a new master. One he seemed just as happy serving as he had Sven.
Traitor
.
The word rose from Redknee’s guts like bile. On Ragnar’s command Olaf had
relieved Redknee of the book and his weapons and tied his hands behind his
back. Now the question spun in Redknee’s mind: was Olaf just playing a clever
game … or had he always been in Ragnar’s pay?