V for viking trilogy, p.1
V for Viking Trilogy, page 1
V for Viking
Trilogy
Vengeance of the Viking
Valor of the Viking
Valley of the Viking
Magnus Hansen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Magnus Hansen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design purchased from: depositphotos.com
Table of Contents
Vengeance of the Viking
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Valor of the Viking
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Valley of the Viking
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Contact Information
Vengeance
of the
Viking
Magnus Hansen
Chapter 1
March, 977AD, South-West Coast of Norway
Rocks and dirt cascaded down the precipitous mountainside as Torleif scrambled to find his footing. Intense pain stabbed his eyes as he looked at the steep, snow covered path before him. His snow-blindness set in early that morning. Every time the Norseman blinked, it felt like his eyelids were scraping over sandpaper.
Torleif glanced at the jagged ridge above him. Only a few hundred more feet to go until he reached the top. He then turned around and saw a blurry shape climbing its way towards him. Squinting to see more clearly, he could see that it was a man. Even though he couldn't see the details of the man's face, knew that it was Dagr.
That bastard.
When the encampment found out that he had escaped, it was Dagr and two other men who gave pursuit. After one day, two of the men gave up. They complained of hunger and stated that the unruly slave was not worth the effort.
Now, two days later, Dagr had finally caught up to him.
As Torleif squinted, he could see the man grab an ax from his belt, point it at him, and yell, “Stop now, you motherless dog!”
Torleif did not reply, as he was startled to see a large blurry shape move between the trees and lope towards Dagr. He then heard a low snort that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. To the left of Dagr was a giant brown bear and her cub!
The bear stood up on two feet and let out a bloodcurdling roar, as the cub ran into the brush to hide.
He could see Dagr take a step back, as the bear crashed through the brush and charged towards him. Torleif felt a rush of adrenaline and grudging respect as he watched Dagr stand his ground and raise his ax above his head.
The enraged bear lunged at Dagr, who jumped to the side, just barely escaping the swipe of a huge paw. Dagr then swung his ax down and buried it deep into the side of the bear's neck.
Giving a short yelp, the giant bear was more shocked than hurt. It turned towards the man and bit down on Dagr's shoulder, violently shaking him back and forth.
Fueled by desperation, Dagr gripped the ax, still embedded in the bear, and yanked it out. Blood sprayed onto the white snow as the bear roared once more. He then drove the pointed tip of the ax handle into the bear's eye.
The two were locked in a death grip. As the bear clamped down again on the man's shoulder and shook its huge head, Dagr violently jabbed the pointed ax handle deeper into the bear's eye.
The giant bear suddenly froze and started to convulse as the pointed ax handle plunged into its brain. The animal let go of its prey and awkwardly staggered a few feet into the trees. It then dropped to the ground, dead.
Dagr grasped his shoulder and tried to stop the bleeding, but the damage was too severe. Weak from hunger and loss of blood, the Norseman dropped to his knees with a grimace.
Seeing that the danger was over, Torleif casually walked down the trail to meet his pursuer.
“Come to finish me off, eh?” murmured Dagr, who was now sitting on the ground, cradling his shoulder. He barely had the strength to move.
“Why should I do that?” replied Torleif. “Nature will take its course.”
The slave stood beside Dagr now. He was immensely relieved that the pursuit was finally over. Three days of running – starved and snow blinded, were finally at an end. He looked over at the bear. It was just a hulking brown blotch on a background of stinging white snow. He then looked at Dagr. Torleif's damaged eyes could not make out the details of Dagr's wounds, but he saw plenty of blood – enough blood to know that the man would soon be dead.
Too exhausted to care, Torleif reached out and grabbed the ax from Dagr's clenched hand. He heard the man utter faint curses as he easily wrestled the ax from him. He then walked towards the dead bear and knelt down beside it. Reaching out, he grabbed a tuft of hair and pulled it taught, as he violently sawed through the coarse fur with the edge of the ax.
It was bloody work, but Torleif managed to cut a few strips of meat from the bear's shoulder. He chewed the coarse, raw meat as best he could before gulping it down. A few more mouthfuls would give him the strength to gather wood and build a fire. Finally, he could have a proper meal after three days of running.
Night closed in quickly. The vast, imposing peaks cast long shadows across the bleak, snowy mountainside. Torleif scoured the ground for dry twigs and branches. After twenty minutes of gathering dead branches and kindling, he had enough wood to keep him warm for the night.
By this time, Dagr was rasping – fighting for each breath. He lay there motionless, save for the labored heaving of his chest.
“No supper for you,” joked Torleif.
Delirious with pain, Dagr whispered, “To hell with you, slave.”
Torleif shrugged. What was the use of arguing with a dead man? Besides, it was getting cold. It was time to make a fire.
He knelt down and furiously rubbed two sticks together. Fine shavings of bark and twigs finally started to smoke after several minutes of exertion. Torleif gave a grim smile as the flame spread to the twigs and small branches. He then walked to Dagr, grabbed his feet, and dragged him further away from the fire.
“I don't want you getting too warm, now,” Torleif said. He was no slave. At least, he wasn't until his capture six months ago by Dagr's clan.
Walking back to the dead bear, he knelt down and cut out several pounds of bear meat. He stuck a pointed stick through the meat and propped it above the flames of the campfire. The fire spat and crackled as the flames eagerly burned through the dry wood.
He then gazed out into the woods below him. Still nothing but blurry shapes. He clenched his eyes shut. The stinging sensation was unbearable. Taking two handfuls of snow, Torleif gently cupped the snow over his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. The cold dampness provided some measure of comfort against his burning eyes. Snow blindness is temporary, he told himself. The pain should dissipate in a couple of days.
After a few moments, he removed the snow from his eyes. It was getting dark now, which eased his discomfort. The blinding light from the sun was all but gone.
He picked up the ax that was lying beside him and once again walked towards the vague shape of the bear. “You won't be needing this now, will you?” he asked indifferently to the bear as he began to cut the ruff hide off the bear's back.
The bear was far too heavy to roll over, so Torleif did the best he could by cutting the skin from belly to back, then from shoulder to rump. With both hands he tugged and jerked at the hide until it grudgingly worked loose from the bear's muscle and tissue. He was left with a five foot by six foot section of hide that he could use as a blanket. At the very least, it would keep him warm for the night.
He sat down in front of the campfire and covered himself with the bloody hide. The blood and gristle from the bear hide soon froze to his clothes. Torleif grunted. It's better than not having a blanket at all, he mused.
He looked once more in the direction of Dagr, but could see nothing beyond the light of the campfire. He only heard the faint rasping of labored breathing.
“Good night, Dagr,” said Torleif, with a faint hint of amusement in his voice.
Torleif was awakened a few hours later by the sound of crying. It was a strange wailing sound, almost like a human baby. He instinctively reached out and grabbed the ax beside him, then slowly and quietly as possible, he rose to his feet.
It was early morning, and still dark. The campfire had gone out. Only the faint glow of orange embers remained. Listening intently, he could tell that the crying was coming from the direction of the dead bear. For a brief moment, Torleif thought th
Tightly gripping the ax in his right hand, he crouched and silently walked towards the nerve-wracking sound. He squinted his eyes, but could see nothing but total darkness before him.
Torleif stopped, then carefully walked in a circle around the cries of anguish. It was definitely coming from the dead bear. Scratching his beard, it slowly dawned on him what the sound was. Yesterday, when the mother bear attacked Dagr, he had seen a small cub run away.
Approaching closer to the wailing noise, he finally saw the outline of a small cub nuzzling against its mother's stomach. Probably hungry, thought Torleif.
Relieved, he turned around and walked back to the campfire, noting that life was difficult for all living things in this harsh land.
He woke up a few hours later, as the sun's morning rays washed over the mountainside...and his burning eyelids. As he opened his eyes and sat up, he could see the bloody carnage of the campsite. Last night, it was far too dark to see all the blood from the struggle between Dagr and the bear. But this morning, between Dagr's wounded shoulder and the skinned bear, it looked like he was camped in the middle of a slaughterhouse.
It was then that Torleif heard a small squeak next to him. He looked down and squinted his eyes, as the little cub woke up and sleepily looked back at him. How unusual for a wild animal to sleep next to a human! The bear hide that he was using as a blanket must have reminded the cub of its mother.
He reached down to pet the little bear and was promptly bit on the hand for his efforts.
“Ow, you little bugger,” he exclaimed with a grin. “Stop biting, or I'll skin you next,” he joked.
After patting the cub on the head, he stood up and straightened himself out as best he could. The blood from the bear-blanket had congealed and dried to his clothes overnight. Torleif literally had to peel the blanket off his chest.
He lay the bear hide on the ground. The cub looked up at him and let out a single squeak.
“Indeed,” said Torleif.
He inhaled deeply. The air was cold and crisp. Torleif noted that this was the first morning in six months that he was a free man, and the air tasted so much sweeter for it.
Picking up the ax, he tried to stoke the embers of the campfire, but to no avail. The fire was completely dead. He debated on whether he should start another fire, or start walking towards home.
As he still had some cooked meat from last night, he decided to forego the fire. He walked over to the bear and cut as much meat from it as he could. The cub watched from a distance.
Torleif then walked over to Dagr and nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Did you have a good night, Dagr?” he asked the obviously dead Norseman.
Getting no response, Torleif reached down and took off the man's coat. “You won't be needing this, I suppose.”
Prying the clothes from the dead man's body was difficult. Rigor mortis had set in, and the cold weather stiffened his limbs. Torleif had to crack a few of Dagr's joints before he was able to wrest the coat free. After taking what he could from the dead man, Torleif walked over to the campfire and picked up the bearskin. He then looked down at the cub.
“I'm sorry, little one,” he said. Torleif then walked south, towards the direction of his village of Rykinsvik.
Every few hundred meters, he would glance over his shoulder and see the young cub struggling to keep up. It was evident that the little bear was getting tired, as it kept falling farther behind every time Torleif glanced behind him.
With an exasperated sigh, Torleif turned around and walked towards the cub. As he approached, the cub sat down on its haunches and raised its front paws.
“Ain't you a cute little bugger,” said Torleif.
“Rawr,” growled the cub as Torleif picked it up and carried it like a baby. Too tired to struggle, the cub happily teethed on his hand.
“Harrumph,” noted Torleif as he continued to walk south.
Luck was with Torleif, as the weather remained sunny and clear. The cub wasn't much of a bother, either. As he walked, he would set the little cub down and it would run back and forth until it got tired. Torleif would then pick it up and continue south. After an hour the little bear would start to struggle in his arms and he would set it down again. This went on for the entirety of the journey, much to the delight of the cub.
The unlikely pair stopped several times a day for food and rest. Torleif ate the remaining bear meat. Unfortunately, the cub refused to eat. Was the cub was too small to eat solid food? This concerned the Norseman greatly, as each day that passed by, he grew more attached to the little bear. Luckily, he knew of a man back home by the name of Brynjar that might be able to help him.
It was another two days before he finally reached Rykinsvik. The first house he saw was located on the outskirts – quite a ways away from the other buildings in the settlement.
The house belonged to Hugin and Munin – priests of Odin. The reason the house was set aside from the rest of the community was because of the strange nature of the priests. They were born as conjoined twins. Even though they held a position of respect, most of the people in the village shunned their strange nature.
Infants who are born with physical deformities were normally put to death, usually by placing the baby deep in the woods and exposing it to the elements. However, an exception was made with Hugin and Munin. When they were born into this cruel world, a birthmark in the shape of a raven was found on the conjoined twin's shoulder.
“Such omens are a serious matter!” exclaimed the village priest, who went on to say that the raven was a sign from Odin.
It was agreed that the baby would be spared, much to the horror of the mother and father. In fact, the father immediately left on an expedition after the baby was born. He stated that no devil-spawn could possibly come from his seed, and accused his wife of laying down with a demon.
The incessant speculation from the villagers drove the mother to a severe mental breakdown. Not long after, she took her life by slitting her throat. It was then up to the village priest to raise the baby, which he did with fervent devotion.
After their priest-ward passed away, Hugin and Munin, (named after Odin's ravens) became the village's new priests. Now in their late twenties, the priests spend most of their time getting wasted on mushrooms and praising Odin.
Raising his weary arm, Torleif knocked on the door of Hugin and Munin's cabin. A few moments later the door swung open, revealing the conjoined twins. All four of their eyes were wide with surprise.
“Torleif! We thought you were dead!” exclaimed Munin.
“I didn't think he was dead,” argued Hugin.
“Well, Hugin's right this time,” said Torleif.
“You brought a bear cub! Where did you find him?” asked Munin.
“And what's his name?” added Hugin.
“I've decided to call him Chubbers. I got him up north.” Torleif nudged his way into the cabin and set down the small cub, who promptly started running around and knocking over furniture.
“This is a good sign. One of our own has returned! Let's have a drink,” said Hugin, as the two priests made their way to the kitchen to grab a wine skin.
Torleif eagerly accepted the wine skin and took a long drink. He then sat down on a wooden bench to rest his weary legs.
Hugin and Munin awkwardly shuffled to the bench on the other side of the table and sat down.
“This is big news,” said Hugin. “What did Haldor say?”
“What did Ingebjorg do when she saw you?” asked Munin with a sly grin.
“Haldor doesn't know I'm back, nor does anyone else,” said Torleif. “And what's with that sly grin, Munin? Don't tell me that Ingebjorg has taken up with another man?”
“Ha! It wasn't two days after you were reported missing that she took up with Randulf,” said Hugin.
