Viking Quest

Without conscious thought, Lena’s warrior instincts kicked in, and she charged toward the assassin. He must have heard the pounding of her footfalls, for he looked up, alarm flashing in his eyes. Every feature of his face became emblazoned on her memory. The cowardly murderer spun and fled, and while her sole impulse was to run him down and choke the life out of him with her bare hands, Lena stopped beside her husband’s once powerful body. She fell beside him, her dress sweeping through the river of blood that flowed down the chiseled stones, and cradled his head in her lap.

(Lena and Caitlin)

“Caspian,” Lena directed as she rushed down the hall. “Ready three, no four longboats, one of them Gil-, my flagship. Send word to the Vikings. We need a force of sixteen men per vessel, twenty for the Fafnir, plus a helmsman and captain for each. You are with me and second in command. Make sure they are a trustworthy lot. The king’s life is at stake.”

“It is done, milady!” Caspian saluted with a tap of his left fist to his chest.

Lena’s focus was so fixed upon planning her mission, that she didn’t even see Caitlin walking down the corridor, and ran smack into her. “Excuse me,” she offered in apology.

“Did I hear ye right?” Caitlin asked. “Ye’re about to embark upon a voyage?”

“Yes, as soon as possible,” Lena replied as she lengthened her stride, but her young shadow kept pace. “The king is gravely ill; time is of the essence.”

“Then I’ll only ask for a moment of ye time.” Caitlin stopped and opened a chamber door. “This is the guest room I was assigned. Will you please step inside for a wee bit? I promise not to keep ye.”

 I knew bringing this girl home was going to be trouble, Lena thought, but her feet halted. “Is something wrong with the accommodations?” she asked, and followed Caitlin into the room.

“No, everythin’ is wonderful,” Caitlin assured her. Then the young woman’s demeanor shifted from appreciation to animation. “Take me with ye!”

(Hrolf and Gunnar)

The fierce mastiff, Gustav, sitting erect at Hrolf’s side, perked his ear and turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. The dog let out a deep woof before relaxing in recognition of the man. “My lord, you sent for me?” Before Hrolf realized it, Gunnar stood beside him.

“Yes,” he replied, lowering his bow. He looked up at his champion. “You have made a pledge to Odin, Thor, and the gods of old, and you have sworn your allegiance unto me.”

“This is true, my lord. My fathers served the Norse gods and they wait for me in Valhalla. Why should I denounce them? You, the king’s brother, are our best hope for a future. What do you wish of me?”

“I want you to join Lena’s voyage to Greenland.”

“You wish me to bring back the healer,” he responded with hesitation. Gunnar was herculean in stature, a competitive fighter, and brash where genteel manners were concerned, but he was above all an honorable man. Hrolf must be careful how he used this champion to avoid losing his service.

“No,” Hrolf corrected. “I require you to make sure that the mission fails. You see,” he explained with a gesture of his hand. “If it is Svein’s time to die, then that is what the gods have decreed. This hopeless quest to retrieve a so-called Christian healer is folly. I want you to sabotage the expedition. If enough things go wrong, then they will turn back.”

“I think I understand,” Gunnar replied with brows scrunched in concern.

“It is our time, my vassal,” Hrolf smiled, putting his hand on the big man’s arm. “Out with the old, in with the new. When I am king, it shall be you—not a woman or a slave—that commands our Vikings. You, Gunnar, in the position you were destined to fill. Think about that when you are out at sea.”