Page 30 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)

F lames guttered as Sestra darted past the last torch staked in the ground. The strong resin smell followed her as she climbed a knoll and walked into the pitch black forest behind the king’s hall. Leaves crunching underfoot, she slowed her steps to let her eyes adjust to the dark.

Music drifted from the hall, and she halted mid-step to listen. Goat bone flutes trilled deceptively light-hearted notes, preparing revelers for the awful hour sacrifices would begin. When drums pounded, it’d be time for the men.

She clutched her skirts and picked up the pace to find Emund. Her mind raced with the bold plan. If every part didn’t fall into place; if others didn’t follow through as expected….

If. If. If. What would worry get her?

A tall, cloaked form slipped from behind a tree ahead, and she froze. Hands pushed back the hood, revealing carrot orange hair.

“Emund?” she whispered.

“I’m here.”

She scurried deeper into the line of trees and Gunnar popped out from behind a bush. He too was cloaked. Emund scanned his surroundings, and satisfied they were safe, he started pulling her behind a tree.

She grabbed his arm. “Wait. Ella is coming.”

“Gunnar,” Emund notched his head toward the feasting hall. “Go wait for Ella and bring her to the stone clearing.”

Emund led her uphill further into the woods to a place with two sizeable rocks.

He bid her take a seat, and he did the same beside her.

Through the trees, smoke billowed high and thick from the hall’s smoke hole.

Torches burning around Uppsala’s ancient tree glowed beautifully like shining amber pieces on black cloth.

The warrior’s eyes glittered sadly in the moonlight. “We waited for you at Lord Hakan’s farm.”

“Not long enough.”

He looked away, suitably chastened. Brandr was a respected fighter of notable skill.

Emund’s young shoulders drooped under his cloak as if he alone bore the burden of responsibility.

If he’d been there, Brandr would have gone safely away from Uppsala instead of sitting tied up, waiting to be sacrificed.

She shuddered. Vikings could be beautiful and fierce yet so brutal.

And because Emund wasn’t waiting for them, she had another night with Brandr. Her rough bahadur declared his love for her, and she for him, but the gift of more time together came at too high a price.

Emund scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Everything fell apart after you left. One of Sven’s Aland warriors turned out to be a spy for Gorm.”

“I know. The one with the red beard.”

“Einar.” He sighed. “Suddenly everyone tried to flee Uppsala. It was chaos, trying to help people escape. Gorm came with all his men and set fire to much of Uppsala. What was left, he gifted to his followers who arrived from Jutland today.”

“The plan to divide his forces didn’t work,” she mused, her fingers holding back the side of her hood.

From this place in the woods, she viewed the charred remains of what once was Uppsala’s market place where foreign traders pitched tents to hawk their wares.

Homes of Viking craftsmen were gone. Frosunda known for fashioning the finest elk bone needles, the silversmith, the glass maker who formed beads of every color, all manner of goods and people… lost.

Foreigners vanished at the first whiff of trouble. Not Uppsala’s merchants. They were either dead or gone, their homes and livelihoods scorched in the Dane’s grasp for power.

“Gorm stole many ships to stop people from leaving.” Emund pointed deeper into the forest. “He stores the vessels in the north inlet belonging to Lady Astrid. Gifts for the Black Wolf’s men when they come.”

She pushed off the rock and marched to an opening in the trees. Facing north, she spied scattered outbuildings. “And despite his efforts to stop the Dane, Brandr’s tied up.”

Emund stared at the moonlit harbor. “Waiting to die.”

“He won’t die,” she said, sharply. “And you’re going to help him escape.”

“How? Lord Hakan won’t be here until dawn.” He nodded at the harbor where a moonbeam split the blackness. “That’s when Sven arrives with ships and reinforcements from Aland.”

Sestra drummed her fingers on the tree trunk, keeping an eye on one building in particular.

Emund was a gentle soul who always followed orders.

He was entrusted to care for her and Helena on Lord Hakan’s ship when they journeyed as thralls to Uppsala.

A newly minted warrior, Emund had served the chieftain for little more than a year.

The young Viking likely didn’t know about Brandr’s rescue from a galley ship years ago.

Nor did he know he faced a rebellious woman who’d risk all for the man she loved.

“For now, the harbor is empty of rescuers. No one else is here but us.” She pivoted on her heel to face him “We’ll follow my plan to save Brandr.”

“How?”

Footsteps brushed through leaves from Gunnar and Ella trotting fast. Gunnar carried the pitcher and two drinking horns.

Ella held out folded black clothes. “I have the clothes.”

“How you ask? With these for a start,” she said, taking the clothes from Ella. “Now both of you turn around. Ella, help me change my clothes.”

Gunnar obliged her request, but Emund didn’t. He planted both hands on his hips and pressed her.

“What’s your plan?” he asked testily. “As I see it the moon is less than an hour from midnight and the four of us are sorely outnumbered.”

Her breath came faster. Time was running out.

New instruments joined the bone flutes, a sign Mabon’s celebration picked up speed.

She untied her boots and toed them off. Ella picked them up, and Sestra stepped into the moonlight all the better to see what she was doing.

Men had gawked at her with less than night to cover her skin.

In one fluid motion she dropped her cloak. “Ella will distract the guard.”

The slave girl nodded. “I can do that.”

Sestra whipped the tattered tunic over her head, adding, “When she does, you and Gunnar will walk out of the outbuilding with Brandr.”

Gunnar spoke over his shoulder. “A bold plan, but what happens when the guard finds his captive’s gone?”

She traded her tunic for trousers and pulled them up over her hips. Her bottom wiggled…such freedom in trousers. “He won’t.”

“You can’t be sure,” Emund said, watching her lace up the trousers. “He’ll raise the alarm—”

“When the alarm is sounded it’ll be too late,” she said and raised her arms for Ella to drop a roomy man’s tunic over her head. When her face cleared the neckline, she finished, “You’ll have taken Brandr far away from here. Gorm won’t be able to touch him.”

Gunnar turned to face her, the pitcher still in one hand and the drinking horns in the other. “Am I missing something?” He held up the pitcher. “I doubt this is enough ale to get the man drunk.”

“Ella, my boots.” Sestra crouched down and slipped one boot on and then the other. “The ale is enticement for the guard to sit with Ella.” she said, her fingers flying over the garters.

“What happens when the guard finds Brandr gone?” Emund asked his voice suspicious.

Sestra stood up and gathered her hair at her nape. “He won’t.”

Ella handed her a leather thong to bind her hair. Both men looked to the other, frowns writ on their faces.

“This is a bad idea,” Gunnar began.

“It’s the only idea.” Hair secured, she put on her cloak.

Emund lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “You want to take his place.”

He glared fiercely at her, his hand a manacle on her arm. Carrot-haired Emund appeared to have more bite than she’d first thought.

“I will take his place,” she said, her chin tipping high.

His sky blue eyes measured her before he let go. “We can’t promise that we’ll be able to save you.”

“I know.”

“What?” Gunnar stepped around Emund. “You can’t be serious. Don’t you want to live?”

Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

She’d done no more than changed her clothes but the way her heart pounded she could’ve charged a steep hill.

She had to wait until mead and Frankish wine flowed heavily inside the king’s hall.

The celebrations would cloud their minds and slow reactions.

For the all the revelry going on, the Dane would hold the sacrifices much later in the night.

Music throbbed, louder with more instruments.

A lone warrior walked out from the shadows to the ancient tree. The man blew on Uppsala’s bronze lur, the long single note blast causing a roar to erupt inside the hall.

Emund’s face turned stony. “They’re sounding the call for war. With our own horn.”

“Doesn’t that make you want revenge for what they’ve done to Uppsala?” She said quietly.

“I do.” The feminine voice spoke up in the darkness.

All heads turned to Ella. Night’s pale light shined on glossy jet black hair. Her fragile profile was as soft and white as the moon. The welt showed purple beside her ear as she glowered at Uppsala’s ruins.

“And we don’t have much time,” the sweet thrall said with all finality.

“I want to live,” Sestra said but her throat tight. “As much as I want Brandr to live.” “You have my vow that I will do everything I can to come back for you. I don’t know how, but I will,” Gunnar promised.

His glower reminded her of her fierce, tied up Viking.

“Thank you, but if something happens—” Her voice cracked and she cupped her mouth, holding back a cry. “If something happens, please tell him that I want him to live to build his ships on Gotland.”

Ella rubbed her shoulder. “Shhh,” the maid cooed. “If they don’t tell your brave warrior, I will.”

Sestra didn’t want to die. Strange numbness came with the certainty of what she was about to do. She’d faced death on the island and won. Was it too much to hope she’d outsmart it again?

Clearing her throat, she stood tall. “We don’t have much time. Are we ready?”