Page 66 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3

Eirik!

Without seeing his attacker, without chance of defending himself, he’d been struck down. The brute placed his foot on Eirik’s back, levering upward to withdraw his sword, then kicked him over so that Eirik’s eyes were upon the stars.

If those eyes were still capable of seeing, I couldn’t tell, for there was no movement, and my heart froze.

No! It cannot be. You’re not dead!

Eirik!

You must get up!

The sob that rose in my throat choked me.

I must go to him. Help him.

I struggled again, knowing I had to get free. Though my arms were pinned, I kicked back against my captor’s shin.

“Bikkja!” He spat the curse and wrenched me about, letting go only to slap me hard across the cheek.

The world spun, and I felt the brute’s shoulder in my belly.

“Eirik.” I tried to raise my head, to make him hear me, but there was no breath in my lungs. I could see nothing through my tears.

We were heading away from the settlement, skirting along the edge of the trees, down toward the meadow, then cutting through branches that tore at my hair. Still, we pushed on, until I heard the river.

Deposited on my feet once more, I found my knees wouldn’t hold me.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Nothing made sense.

If they would only leave me, I would curl up under the trees and close my eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t real. If I went to sleep, wouldn’t I wake later and find it all to have been a horrible dream?

But I wasn’t to be left. There were four small boats sitting low in the glimmering water. Around us, others were slithering down the bank and jumping aboard.

I was yanked too hard and landed on my behind. We slid together over half-rotten leaves before I was swung over the side of the last vessel and shoved into the bow.

This was how they’d come, unseen, but from where? And with such stealth.

For what purpose? To capture me? It made no sense.

To destroy Svolvaen? We’d harmed no one.

To plunder our stores? They’d taken nothing.

I looked at the faces surrounding me—men like those who’d been feasting in our hall. Men with blood on their hands. They reeked of smoke.

The boat was near full, and those closest surveyed me. One, whose eyes were gentler than the rest, inclined his head in my direction. “What’s this, brother? We were told to take no one. He’ll break your arm for it, or your neck.”

“None of your business, Thoryn.” My captor sneered. “Besides, there’s different rules for me. I do as I like.”

The other man frowned.

“Cast away. We’re done.” The call came from the front.

The one who sat beside me brought a length of twine from under the seat, and I watched mutely as he bound my hands.

“Say a word or give me any trouble, and I’ll sling you over.” He pulled the final knot tight, then grinned, showing two teeth missing. “I might do it anyway, but I won’t think twice if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”

As we cast off, I looked back, hoping I would see Eirik—wanting to believe he was unharmed and had managed, somehow, to follow.