Fault (Book 1 of the Vikings Series)

Chapter 31

The ocean seems to go on forever in every direction. When the sun begins to rise, I adjust our course slightly heading south. It’s been a three days since we left Antrapar and so far we’d seen nothing. Briar’s been relatively quiet, only taking the helm when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I don’t sleep much, though. The longer we sail, the more I realize this is a fools errand. The chances of us finding this land in the ocean are seeming as likely as finding Valhalla. One of the sails snaps overhead in the wind.
Briar appears by my side moments later. He stares forwards, arms crossed.
“We don’t have enough water to sail forever,” I say, breaking the silence.
“How many days?”
“Probably two. This ship didn’t have any supplies. It’s just what we brought,” I answer.
“Terrific,” Briar says sarcastically. “What do we do….”
“What?” I ask. Briar runs forwards towards the bow. “What is it?!”
Briar looks back at me, eyes wide.
“Land.”
 
Sure enough, the silhouette of land grows larger and larger on the horizon. We sail along the shore before coming to a large fjord that snakes through the mountains. Briar takes the helm and I grab my bow, searching the shore for any enemies. Fjords mean people and people usually don’t like visitors. It’s quiet, the only sound is the hull of the ship slicing through the water. All we have to do is find a stream that empties down one of the mountains.
Suddenly, a large thunk echoes across the open water. I lean over the bow and see an arrow lodged into the hull. I climb up onto the mast and search the shore. Another arrow hits our ship, closer to Briar. He crouches down behind the wood. I scan the shore and see a flicker of movement. That’s all it takes. I pull my bow back and aim at where the figure had ducked back into the underbrush. The arrow flies across the distance. A short cry pierces the air. Briar stands up.
“Vern!”
He points forwards and I see the problem. Up ahead, the two edges of the fjord come together. If we try to pass, we’re fair game for any of the archers and defending from both sides wouldn’t be in our favor, even if we had a shield wall.
“Head to shore.”
I jump down into the waist deep water, bow in hand. Briar splashes down behind me. We climb up onto the shore ready for anything.
“Just find water. We aren’t here for a fight,” I say in a low voice.
“I don’t think that’s up to us,” Briar replies, axe in hand.
The wind rustles through the tree canopy, covering any other noises.
“That archer couldn’t have been alone.” Briar looks around us, obviously not fond of this situation.
Finally the wind stills and I notice how strangely quiet the woods are.
“Briar,” I breath.
In that same second an arrow sinks into the bark of a tree just inches from my face.
“Run!” I yell. Briar and I take off up the slope. Sticks snap behind us. Evidently no one ever taught out pursuers to be quiet. I draw an arrow and whirl around, sending an arrow into the first of the warriors following us. He falls to his knees, slowing the entire group down.
“To the ridge.” Briar sprints in a new direction ahead of me. I follow him, gaining ground from our attackers.
I load two arrows onto my string and take down another two warriors. Before I turn back to keep running I get a better look of their numbers. The group is huge. At least thirty men.
I look around, searching for some way to escape. There are none. The slope is covered in trees and littered with fallen leaves. Losing them would be impossible, unless.. I pull my bow up onto my shoulder and use the tip of an arrow to rip off a piece of my tunic.
“Vern!” Briar shouts.
I look up, noticing we’ve run up to the crest of the mountain. I slow to a stop.
“What are you doing?! We need to keep running!” Briar objects, already starting to run down the opposite side of the hill.
I yank a piece of flint from my pocket and strike it against the arrowhead. Sparks fly over my hand, burning my skin. I glance over my shoulder. The closest soldiers are only a short distance away, well within firing range. Briar runs down the other side of the ridge, too far away to offer any help.
More sparks fly over my hand as I hit the stone again. I hold the fabric by the arrow and strike one last time.
By some miracle, the fabric catches. I wrap the flaming cloth over the arrow and load it onto my bow. Three, two, one, I count down and shoot the flaming arrow. It hits a large pile of leaves just in front of the group of warriors. The flame quickly spreads and the warriors suddenly turn their attention to putting out the flame. As they scramble I fire arrows to keep them on the other side of the ridge. Shouts raise up from further up on the ridge and I spin to see a whole other group of norsemen approaching. I retreat in the direction Briar had gone. Finally, I catch him in the valley. Before we have a chance to react, we’re surrounded. Several warriors surround us, somehow coming from all directions.
I pull back an arrow but it’s no use. Briar drops his axe beside me, giving up the fight.

One of the men steps forward, bravely approaching us.
I don’t lower my bow and keep it aimed at the man’s left shoulder.
“Vern,” Briar warns under his breath.
The man chuckles.
“What will it take for you to give up?”
The crowd of warriors joins him in the mockery. Without a second thought, I release the arrow and the man drops to the ground, clutching his arm. The warriors are silent for a moment before they leap towards us. A knife is pressed up against my neck and I drop my bow immediately. They drag Briar and I away from the fallen leader. Several of the warriors kneel down beside him. He sits up, just like I knew he would. By the look on the man’s face, I can tell he knows it too.
A piece of cloth is tied over my eyes and I’m forced to stumble blindly towards wherever they are taking me. I can hear Briar stumbling beside me, occasionally groaning each time we miss a step on the uneven terrain. At least they haven’t separated us, yet. Not like it helps. I count at least six pairs of footsteps within an arms distance. The thought makes me  grin. At least shooting their leader has gained me a small amount of respect. The ground evens out under my feet and more noises fill the area. We walk a long time on this path before the men throw me to the ground. I fall to my knees but keep my head up, sticking with my mood of defiance. My hands are tied behind my back.
“Keep him here until Mikael comes,” a voice commands. The majority of the footsteps recede off into the distance. I try to search for any sign that Briar was near me but find none.
When the blindfold is finally ripped from my face, I realize there is only one person near me. For a moment, I’m disoriented. The hall I’ve been brought to is larger than anything I’ve ever seen. Large pillars run alongside the open structure, reminding me of Antrapar.
My focus turns back to my captor. I stare into the eyes of the warrior I had shot an arrow at. His shirt is stained with blood and a large bandage is wrapped around where the tip had grazed him. He glares at me evenly. The man holds an arrow in his hands, one of my arrows. He pokes the sharp tip under my chin, forcing my head up.
“Not so brave now, are we?” The man questions.
“We didn’t shoot the first arrow,” I respond calmly.
The man suddenly pulls the arrow back and drives it forwards across my face. My cheek suddenly feels like it’s been set on fire. The burn combines with the sickening feeling of blood dripping down from the wound.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Slow, calm footsteps. A tall man wearing a large cloak stands beside us. He evaluates the situation as if it’s completely typical.
“King Rasmus, sir.” The man who had hit me now bows his head.
“Mikael,” he addresses the man who stands across from me. “Is there a reason we’re taking prisoners?”
“This pathetic oaf isn’t a prisoner. I just haven’t gotten around to killing him yet.”
“So I see.”
The king draws his sword and slices through the ropes that bind my hands. I start to stand but he points the sword at my neck and I return to my knees. Mikael crosses his arms, obviously upset I’ve been freed.
“You aren’t from here. Who are you?” Rasmus asks, though I can tell he doesn’t really care.
“My name is Vern.”
Mikael raises the arrow in the air, done with the pleasantries.
“Let me kill him! He shot me.”
Rasmus studies my face, probably trying to decide if I’m telling the truth.
“No,” the King says. 
“Sir?” Mikael asks, lowing the weapon.
“I asked you your name.”
“I told you, it’s Vern,” I respond.
“Never mind. Kill him,” Rasmus orders.