The Invasion Read online

  Colborn was left alone with piles of gear and a mist rapidly moving in through the valley and the knowledge that he would be sweeping the floor and mocked by the village on his return. That Raven was a bad omen after all.

  3

  Colborn took out some of his frustration by kicking a nearby tree stump until his toes felt bruised in their boots. Still angry but exhausted, he sank down onto somebody’s bedroll, miserably contemplating his fate.

  It was too bad to be relegated to guard duty just because he was new to raiding. He’d worked just as hard with the rowing on the way over and deserved a chance at the treasure. It was especially bad with this stupid bet hanging over his head. If he returned emptyhanded, he would be the laughing stock of the village as well as having to wait who knew how much longer before he could get married.

  He began a mental list of the various horrible illnesses that Thurmond could become afflicted with in the next few days. With their leader incapacitated, the Vikings would be forced to elect another leader, and he, Colborn, would be only too glad to take on the responsibility. And when they next attacked a rich village, he would make sure that everyone got a chance for some gold, no matter whether he was new or not.

  This pleasant daydream kept him going for a while, until he realized that the mist had thickened until he could hardly see ten feet into the distance. The mist also served to muffle all sounds, so it was almost as if he’d gone deaf. He couldn’t hear his Viking comrades or anything from the raid that was presumably taking place. The sound of screams and shouting would surely have traveled? He couldn’t even hear the nearby river or the wind through the grass. Only the creaking of his own leather armor as he strained, trying to make out something in the mist.

  He rose to his feet and paced in a circle around the bundles of gear that he was supposed to be guarding. It was disconcerting not being able to see or hear anything and his head filled with visions of imaginary enemies that might be waiting just out of sight. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he tripped over an unexpected bundle that was lying a little apart from the rest. Irritated with his own jumpiness, he picked it up and slung it over to lie with the rest of the gear.

  Just as it fell on the pile, he heard—isolated and unmistakable, coming through the mist—the cawing of a raven. It was so distinct that the bird might have been perched on a branch next to his ear. The same shiver ran through him as the reality of his predicament, alone and practically blind and deaf on foreign land, dawned on him. For a moment his knees froze in place and his breath stopped in his chest. He was too scared to move and stood frozen in the chilly mist, the cawing echoing in his head although the sound itself had now ceased.

  After a few seconds, he let out the breath and pulled himself together. Moving would help so he forced himself to pace backward and forward. The movement stopped him from giving into the blind terror that threatened to seize him. All the same, it felt like hours before the clinking of weapons and familiar voices told him that his fellow Vikings were making their way back to the spot.

  The others were buoyant with the success of the raid. The village had been home to a local tax collector who had hidden plenty of gold in his house—gold, which was, of course, now the property of the Norse nation. Haldor and Ove were particularly jovial, recounting stories of their run-in with the village’s blacksmith, who they’d left chained to his own anvil while they made off with the weapons and tools.

  “He had a lovely wife and all,” joked Haldor. “Too bad Thurmond called a retreat before we’d had a chance to introduce ourselves to her.”

  Colborn gritted his teeth and tried to quell his growing rage. Fortunately, Thurmond didn’t give them long to stand around and ordered the start of the march back to the coast.

  The night was so far gone that they didn’t make it far from the raided village before daybreak. With the party loaded down with gold, Thurmond didn’t think it prudent to march through the day and ordered a stop in yet another small patch of forest. Guards were posted around the perimeter of the trees and a camp was made in the center where the Vikings cracked open the mead that they’d brought along and toasted and laughed, swapping stories of the raid.

  In true Viking fashion, each warrior tried to outdo the others in the exaggeration and implausibility of his tale. After a few hours of drinking, they all settled down to sleep, and magnificent snores ensued as a testament to the potency of the mead.

  Colborn had been happy to volunteer for guard duty this time, even though it meant foregoing his share of the mead. All the celebration had only reminded him of his own miserable fate. Doomed to return home, no better off than he started, and forced to go and sweep Ove’s floor. Ove had apparently felt bad about the bet and had come to Colborn to offer to let him off, but Colborn knew it was no good. The bet had been witnessed by too many men, and they would never let him live it down if he backed out now, so he had scornfully rebuffed Ove’s offer.

  With a shrug, the older Viking had gone back to join the festivities, leaving Colborn to stare out of the trees at the lovely scene of hills and heather. He was starting to regret ever setting foot on this cursed land.

  When the Vikings fell asleep, Haldor came to relieve Colborn from guard duty. “Chief’s orders,” he said blearily when Colborn protested. “We’re all to be well-rested for the trek back and the voyage tomorrow.”

  So! When he wanted to guard, he wasn’t even allowed to get his own way then. Colborn went back and surveyed the sleeping forms of his fellow Vikings, wishing he could give some of them a hearty kick while they were nicely incapacitated.

  He sat down with his back against a tree and closed his eyes, but then opened them again as an idea struck him. Ove and Haldor had talked about being ordered to leave the village before they had had a chance to properly pillage the blacksmith’s house.

  What if there was some treasure left in the village, waiting for an enterprising young Viking to come along and take it? He didn’t know how many of the village’s inhabitants had been left alive, but it was certain they’d be busy putting out fires and taking care of the injured people. For once it was a blessing that he, Colborn, didn’t look like a typical Viking. He’d be able to stroll in and help himself to leftover treasure that the others hadn’t grabbed. He’d win his bet, have something to bring home, and would doubtless earn respect and acclaim for having done it all by himself. It was a brilliant plan!

  Jumping to his feet, he froze for a second as he realized it would be better not to alert the rest of the Vikings of his departure. It would be just like that miserable old goat Thurmond to forbid him to go!

  A glance around showed no one was awake so, he tiptoed out of the camp and back to his guard post, where it was no surprise to find that Haldor had fallen asleep and was snoring peacefully.

  Colborn shook his head and then stepped over the sleeping form and strode off in the direction they’d come from some hours before.

  4

  Colborn’s way back to the village followed a series of valleys that ran parallel with the river. The sun, which was oblivious to the struggles and triumphs of humans, shone cheerily down as he walked. Although he appreciated the warmth, Colborn couldn’t help feeling that the weather was rather inappropriate, given his covert mission and the devastation that must await him in the village that his comrades had sacked. He was therefore slightly relieved when the sun disappeared behind a cloud and a few curls of mist came creeping around his feet. Although it made it more difficult to see, it was at least more in keeping with his mood.

  Concentrating so hard on the weather, he almost didn’t notice when he returned to a familiar scene. He looked up and was startled to realize that he was already back in the very same valley where he’d guarded the gear during the night. There were scuffed areas in the grass where the Vikings had stamped around and dumped their baggage. And there was the dismal tree stump that he’d kicked out of frustration. Excitement rose inside him like a great beast giving him strength, he was nearly at th
e village!

  Just then, in a repeat of what had happened during the night, a big cloud of mist appeared out of nowhere. It quickly moved toward him like a living beast and he felt its cold breath as it engulfed him in its embrace.

  Colborn was blinded so thoroughly that he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. Heart pounding, knees shaking, he stood still, cursing the strange weather of this foreign land, and begged for it to clear. But as he stood there, he was chilled to hear the same distinctive sound of the raven cawing. Huddled, frozen to the spot the terror of the previous night came rushing back.

  Cold pressed all around him, seeping through his furs and leathers and stealing the air from his lungs. Why had he done this? Why had he thought he could be a raider when Thurmond obviously didn’t! Now he would die here in this accursed land and never take a wife to his bed.

  Desolation covered him just as much as the mist and for a moment he thought that he would panic, start to scream and shout. To trash about like a child or a woman caught in a nightmare. How his comrades would laugh. That thought calmed him and as it did, a slight breeze blew, swirling through the mist and clearing it somewhat.

  Colborn could see far enough to continue and relaxed slightly. The tails of the raid had been detailed so he recognized a tree. He was close. He was about to start up the hillside to the village, when a flush of heat raised the hair on his arms. He was no longer alone. The gloomy tree stump that had been the recipient of his frustration all those hours ago was now occupied by a cloaked figure.

  Colborn was transfixed, not sure whether the figure was real or a ghost and once more his heart beat against his chest and his legs refused to move.

  As he stared, the figure rose, mist swirling around its feet, and started toward him.

  Grasping his sword hilt uncertainly, he considered running for his life. He now regretted his rash action in leaving the Viking company and journeying alone. It was easy to be brave when surrounded by large men who knew how to fight and were on his side. Now he wasn’t so sure that he was cut out to be a hero. As the cloaked figure got nearer, Colborn backed away slightly, stumbling clumsily over the uneven ground behind him.

  “Do not be afraid.”

  The voice coming from the depths of the hood sounded female. A pair of white hands raised the draping hood and revealed a woman with long curling black hair and piercing dark eyes. Not a ghost then. The woman was past the bloom of youth, but still strong and healthy… where had she come from?

  Colborn gawked as she unfastened, and then dropped, the cloak entirely, letting it fall to the ground. Underneath she wore a white robe that draped around her body and attached at her neck, leaving her arms bare. One arm bore decoration in the form of a chunky gold armlet that was twisted and shaped in a distinctive Celtic design.

  Colborn’s eyes fastened onto the armlet greedily. Gold! It must mean that she lived in a rich village and perhaps there was plenty more wherever she came from. If he could gain her trust, perhaps she would lead him to it and he would be able to steal a fortune to take back with him.

  The woman was simply standing looking at him, so he attempted to communicate with her. “Uh … Greetings!” he ventured. “Where did you come from?”

  The woman smiled. “You are far from home, young warrior.”

  Colborn drew himself up. “I’m not young!” he exclaimed, “Or at least, I am fully grown. And how do you know I’m not from around here? As a matter of fact, I live in a village just a day’s journey in that direction.” He gestured vaguely inland.

  The woman shook her head. “You are wearing the armor of a Norseman. You are not a native of this land.”

  Colborn stared down at himself. She was right! He couldn’t pass for a villager in this gear. How lucky that he’d met her before entering the village. Perhaps he could change out of his armor before continuing. Or better still; borrow her cloak to cover it.

  “All right,” he said. “You’ve got me. I’m a Viking. I’m just here to look around though. I’m not planning on pillaging or anything like that.”

  The woman gestured in the direction of Bancor village. “Your comrades have already done so. A shame that you were left behind.”

  How could she have known that he hadn’t been a part of the raid? Colborn tried to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been with a raiding group. You must be thinking of another Viking party. I suppose that there are plenty of us over here.”

  She continued, “And that tree stump still bears the mark of your frustration.”

  He stared at her, speechless. She gazed back, unmoving. He was starting to feel afraid. How could she have known that he’d been left out of the raiding party and that he had kicked the tree stump? Then it came to him. Perhaps she’d been standing there in the mist watching him. But how could she have seen him without him also being able to see her? It was uncanny.

  A familiar shiver ran down his spine. The woman was still standing looking at him and didn’t seem inclined to speak. Why was she here? He tried asking her. “What do you want with me? Why are you here?”

  “Better to ask what I have seen” was her reply

  Her cryptic answers were starting to get on his nerves. “All right,” he said exasperatedly. “What have you seen?”

  “Many things,” she said. “A company of brave men and a village of innocents. Gold that changes hands but makes nobody richer. A large castle standing proud,” she gestured toward a manifestly empty hillside, “and a young warrior, keen to prove his worth. That worth remains to be seen, however. He is proud and will easily fall victim to greed. Whether that will be his downfall is a mystery as yet undisclosed,” she paused. “As for what I want with you, I would ask you a favor.”

  Colborn brightened. She wanted a favor. Perhaps he could bargain with her. “Oh, yes? And what will you pay me for this favor?” he demanded.

  “We will discuss payment when I have explained the task,” she replied. “My request is—”

  “What about that armlet you’re wearing?” he pointed.

  She glanced at her arm. “This? No, I cannot give you that. It does not belong to me.”

  He brightened. “Oh, you stole it? Well, why not trade it to me? You won’t be able to sell it around here where people recognize it.”

  She shook her head. “I did not steal it. It was provided to me to wear as a mark of my station, but I do not own it. Furthermore, I cannot give away such a precious thing in payment for the trivial thing I ask of you. Rest assured that you will be rewarded for your efforts, but the armlet is not for you.”

  Colborn stiffened. The armlet was very valuable, she had just said as much. He would wait for a chance to take it from her. Stalling to give himself time to come up with an idea, he asked, “So what is it you want me to do?”

  “You must convince your company of Vikings to leave this shore.”

  Ha! They were planning to do that anyway. It would be a piece of cake. “Done!” he exclaimed eagerly.

  “And never return,” she continued.

  “What?”

  “You must convince your fellow Norsemen to leave and never return.”

  “Never return … But how on earth would I do that?” he exclaimed. “You must have seen while you were hiding there in the mist or wherever you were last night, I’m not exactly the highest ranked in the group.”

  “Those warriors think more of you than you realize, Colborn Olufsson,” she replied. “Furthermore, all Norsemen have a great respect for mystical forces. If you return to your companions and tell them of this encounter, they will believe you and will be warned not to return.”

  Colborn tried to get past the fact that she somehow knew his full name without being told, and considered her request. He couldn’t imagine the other Vikings taking him seriously. He would be labeled as delusional as well as skinny and a mother’s boy, and he would never hear the end of it. His situation was bad enough as it was, and he didn’t want to make it worse. Furth
ermore, he was running out of time. He needed to get to the village, find something to steal, and get back to the group before they left without him. This woman was delaying him. “Sorry,” he said roughly. “I can’t do it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business in Bancor.”

  He made to walk past her, but she flung out an arm, stopping him from passing. “Do not discard this task so lightly!” she cried. “You have been selected. A terrible fate awaits those who go against what is ordained.”

  By now, the mist had lifted enough that her words echoed through the valley and were joined by a familiar cawing sound. Turning to look, Colborn saw a raven sitting on the stump where he’d first seen the women. The spooky atmosphere was getting to be too much for him.

  “Get out of my way,” he cried. “You’ll regret it if you try to stop me.” He tried to push past her, but she proved to be inconceivably strong and he could not budge the arm restraining him.

  “Think again!” she repeated. “Think of your mother. She loves you and would wish you to survive this trip. Remember that you are your mother’s boy.”

  At the mention of his hated nickname, Colborn was suddenly raging angry. He was angry at his comrades who had teased him; he was angry at this trip which had been nothing but bad luck; and now he was angry at this woman who was preventing him from setting things right. With a piercing yell, he drew his sword, and before he realized what had happened, he had stabbed the sharp steel straight through the woman’s body.

  5

  The blade slipped into and through the woman’s body so easily that he almost imagined that it hadn’t caused any damage. Surely, she must be a spirit and therefore unharmed. However, as he pulled the blade free, the blood welling from the hole he’d created proved that theory wrong. The woman had gasped as he’d stabbed her. Now, as the red painted sword shook in his hands, she slid to the ground, clutching the wound and struggling for breath.