It had been nearly a month since Ragda’s departure to Hafrafell, leaving Aiya behind to study the landscape where their war would be waged. Durham’s dense forests, fertile fields, and winding rivers offered both opportunities and challenges. The River Cam, she determined, would serve as their best entry point for invading York, provided they could keep their presence hidden.
Aiya had sent Jaril and a handful of his men to scout settlements along the river. Any village or outpost that could alert the Northumbrians to their movements needed to be neutralized. Secrecy was their greatest weapon, and the element of surprise their only chance at success.
While waiting for Jaril’s return, Aiya and Esma spent most of their time learning combat skills—an endeavor that proved as frustrating as it was necessary. Gunnar, one of Jaril’s most seasoned warriors, had taken it upon himself to train them. His methods were brutal, and he had no tolerance for mistakes.
Gunnar was as imposing as a man could be, tall and broad, his physique seemingly forged by the gods themselves. His body was covered in rune-like tattoos, the most striking of which wrapped around his neck and head—a wolf chasing a fleeing woman, its jaws snapping at her heels. His remaining dark hair was cut short and slicked back with a mix of spit and grease, while his braided beard ended in two wooden beads carved with ancient symbols. But it was his eyes that unsettled Aiya the most—cobalt blue and piercing, they seemed to see into the souls of those who faced him. She imagined they were the last thing many of his enemies saw before their journey to Valhalla.
"You must always stay a step ahead of your opponent, Aiya," Gunnar barked before sweeping her feet out from under her with a well-placed kick.
Aiya hit the ground hard, the dried grass and dirt knocking the wind from her lungs. Gasping, she rolled onto her side and reached for her fallen axe just in time to avoid his boot slamming into her chest. Rising to her feet, she tightened her grip on the weapon and steadied her stance. Gunnar circled her like a predator, his eyes unrelenting.
She knew his next move would come swiftly, so she made hers first. Swinging her axe high above her head, she aimed for his left side, forcing him to parry. Their weapons collided with a metallic clang, and she seized the moment to strike low. Her boot connected with his chest, sending him stumbling back a step, but the force of the impact unbalanced her as well, nearly toppling her in the process.
Gunnar laughed, shaking his head as he regained his footing. "Good. You’re learning."
He tossed his axe to the ground and sat beside it, resting his arms on his knees. Aiya approached cautiously, a triumphant smile on her face. But before she could savor her small victory, Gunnar grabbed her ankles and yanked her legs out from under her. She hit the ground once more with a gasp, glaring at him as he stood over her.
"Never assume you’ve won until your enemy is dead," he said, patting her head mockingly.
Aiya scowled, sitting up on her elbows. She scooped up a handful of dirt and flung it at him, earning a chuckle from the grizzled warrior.
The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows over the camp. The sea beyond roared against the rocky shore, its restless waves heralding the approaching storm.
"The gods are coming," Gunnar said, pointing to the horizon as lightning split the sky. Moments later, thunder boomed, reverberating through the ground beneath their feet.
Esma, standing near the beach, turned and raced toward them. "The gods are coming!" she shouted excitedly.
Aiya sighed, brushing dirt from her hands. "The gods may be coming, but they seem to be bringing rain. And rain won’t help us tonight."
Esma ignored her cynicism, her excitement undeterred. Gunnar, however, wore a grin of quiet amusement, his dimples briefly softening his otherwise stern face.
"Has Jaril returned?" Aiya asked, glancing toward the forest.
Esma shook her head. "No word yet."
Aiya’s chest tightened with worry. What if they’d been caught—or worse, killed? Pushing the thought aside, she straightened her shoulders. "Let’s prepare the camp for the storm. Move everything away from the shore."
---
By morning, the storm had passed, leaving the air crisp and the world calm. Yet there was still no sign of Jaril, and Aiya’s unease deepened.
"We should search for them," she said to Gunnar as they sat around the fire.
"They’re fine," Gunnar replied, tearing into his breakfast—a large sturgeon he had caught earlier. He bit off the fish’s head and spat it into the flames before continuing to gnaw at its flesh.
"Then why haven’t they returned?"
Gunnar shrugged, unfazed. "Jaril is thorough and capable. He’ll return when he’s ready. Now sit down and eat."
Aiya scowled as he tossed a wooden platter of fish at her feet, sand clinging to its surface. "Thank you for the added crunch," she muttered, wiping at the fish before taking a reluctant bite.
Esma stifled a laugh as she watched the exchange from across the fire.
Their banter was interrupted by shouts from the beach. Aiya sprang to her feet, her heart racing as she ran toward the treeline. One of Jaril’s scouts emerged from the forest, his face pale and his voice urgent.
"The English are scouring the shore just east of here!" he called. "They’re heading this way!"
---
The camp was a flurry of activity as they worked to conceal their presence. Aiya and Esma dismantled the tents, burying them under branches, leaves, and dirt. Gunnar and the scout extinguished the fire and hid their remaining supplies. Every second counted.
As they retreated into the forest, the sound of horses grew louder. From their hiding places among the foliage, they watched as four armored horsemen rode along the beach, followed by a dozen foot soldiers. The men spread out, scanning the area methodically.
"They’re looking for someone," Aiya whispered to Gunnar, clutching the axe he had placed in her hand.
"Likely Jaril and his men," Gunnar replied grimly. "We should move deeper into the trees."
Aiya hesitated, her eyes fixed on the horsemen shouting orders. One rider wore bright armor emblazoned with an unfamiliar crest. She strained to hear their words.
"There must be more! Find them—they couldn’t have gone far!"
Gunnar tapped her shoulder, urging her to crawl backward. Reluctantly, she followed his lead, signaling to the others to do the same. Once they were safely out of sight, they rose to their feet and pressed deeper into the woods.
"They’ll find the camp eventually," Gunnar said, tightening his grip on his axe. "We need to keep moving."
---
By dawn, the forest opened to reveal sprawling fields of crops and flowers. Beyond the fields stood a fortress, its high stone walls crowned with torchlight. Guards patrolled the ramparts, their movements barely visible in the distance.
"The heart of Durham," Aiya murmured, her voice heavy with recognition.
"What is this place?" Gunnar asked.
"A holy city," she replied, her gaze fixed on the fortress.
"We’ll be safe here if we blend in," she added. But as she looked at Gunnar, with his rune-marked skin and towering frame, she sighed. "Though I won’t hold my breath."
---
They buried their weapons near the edge of the woods, save for Aiya’s hidden dagger, which she slipped into her boot. With their disguises in place, they ventured toward the castle, hoping to find sanctuary. But as they passed through the gates, Aiya couldn’t shake the feeling that danger lurked just beneath the surface of this seemingly peaceful city.
Her instincts, she knew, rarely lied.
YOU ARE READING
Conqueror Queen
Ficção Histórica✯Sequel to A Viking's Rage✯ Her whole life she had been mistreated, now it was her turn for revenge. She wasn't just a slave anymore, she was Aiya Einardóttir now, and she would conqueror the whole world if she had too. Now she seeks revenge on Lord...
