Vicious

  BRUTAL SAGA BOOK FOUR

  James Alderdice

  VICIOUS Copyright 2019 James Alderdice

  Cover by Warren Dezign

  Map by Anna Stansfield http://artofannastansfield.blogspot.com/

  Digital formatting by: Hershel Burnside

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  LOSTREALMS PRESS

  Contents

  1. Waves of Ruin

  2. Dogs of War

  3. The Gatekeeper

  4. Teeth in the Dark

  5. Grim Choices

  6. Three Birds, One Stone

  7. Cheating Death

  8. Loose Ends

  9. Gates of Empire

  11. A Womans Wiles

  12. The Fisher King

  13. The Holmgang

  14. The Key

  15. Salvation

  16. Whispers of the Goddess

  17. Valhol, I Am Coming

  18. Break the Spell

  19. Escape the Walls

  20. On Familiar Ground

  For Jeanine, who always believed

  1. Waves of Ruin

  Waves broke on the keel as the ship raced up and down the tumultuous sea. Though the storm was not what caused the sailors so much fear, for roaring pirates hounded their wake.

  A trio of arrows raced through the air in a high arc. “Argh!” cried a man transfixed with a clothyard shaft through his gizzard.

  Gathelaus and Niels held to the rigging as the wretched heaving bore them above the view of the pitching sea. Niels lost what little amount was left in his guts to the spilling deck.

  “Why aren’t they loosing any more flame arrows?” he asked once he had the wits to speak.

  “Too wet, they don’t dare have flaming braziers on deck. Would be as much a danger to themselves as anything.”

  “How can you just stand there?”

  “I’ve never been much of a puker. I could count perhaps all of them on one hand. You should have seen me outside Cross Plains in Cisco. Waltz was there. I painted that room I stayed in with vomit. I think I might have been poisoned.”

  Niels shook his head wearily. “I suppose I should thank the storm for not allowing them to board us yet.”

  Gathelaus nodded. “Might send us both to the bottom.”

  “Someone must have said you were aboard though huh?”

  “Must have,” agreed Gathelaus.

  “Your friend, Ole?”

  Gathelaus shook his head. “No, he would never betray our trust, but any number of men might have accepted a few coins to spread the word. Vikarskeid would surely offer to pay much for my capture.”

  They were suddenly splashed by briny deep as a great wave spilled over the gunwale.

  “A few more like that and they won’t need to try and sink us.”

  “Aye,” agreed Gathelaus. “I best come up with a way to end this.”

  Niels wondered after his Lord, but remained attached to the ropes, wary of slipping on his own vomit and sea water.

  Gathelaus made his way to the galley and glanced around for items to begin his diabolical working.

  Niels made his way slowly behind him. “What are you looking for? How can you eat at a time like this?”

  “I’m not eating until this is done. I have an idea,” shouted Gathelaus over the gale. He had a few jars of lard, and a side of bacon.

  Niels eyes went wide. “What are you planning?”

  “Just get me a small section of sail. Something as large as the mizzenmast will do.”

  Niels nodded, unsure of what Gathelaus planned. The storm would rip any sail to shreds and only the fearful rowers were keeping them ahead of the pirates.

  Niels fell twice returning with the sail to Gathelaus. “I’m sorry its all wet. What are you planning?”

  “Help me smear this lard all over it. Quickly now.”

  They each opened the jars of lard and spread the smelly substance over the sail until it had a fine coating.

  “I don’t understand. What is this going to do?”

  “You’ll see. The wind is in their face, but they are driving hard to catch us. Maybe even in a few minutes, but this will change their minds.”

  “What the smell?” asked Niels, trying to wipe his hands down on the gunwale, then realizing he was touching vomit.

  “This will take them down or they’ll take us down in moments,” said Gathelaus. “They’re getting tired of rowing so hard to catch us. I think they’ll loose a few flame arrows in a moment or two if only to make us slow and fight the fire. Then we will be chickens ready for the plucking.”

  He motioned for Niels to take one end of the sail and they each held it firm though the wind threatened to lift them from the rear of the deck.

  “Let it catch good and go high, when I give the signal.”

  The stiff breeze caught hold and lifted Niels from his placement on the deck once. “That was too close.”

  “Now!” shouted Gathelaus.

  They released the dark sail and it lifted and flew with the wind toward the rapidly approaching pirates.

  Niels had not noticed, but the pirates had loosed another flaming arrow. It struck the grease smeared sail and the whole of it burst into flame. Then it struck the prow of the pirate ship. Fire covered the front of the pirate’s ship and men screamed. Someone must have lost control of their own lamp for the fire quickly spread and they had ceased rowing after the sloop.

  “With any luck, they’ll go down and be eaten by sharks but in any case, we have time to slip away.”

  “Lucky bastard,” growled Niels.

  “Hey!”

  “Luck, my king,” he corrected.

  “That’s better. I seem to remember, that’s one of things you said to me when we first met too.”

  Niels nodded, watching black smoke rise beyond the surging waves. He could no longer see the pirate ship, but the billowing darkness told them they were saved form at least one of their problems. “I remember.”

  Years earlier…

  2. Dogs of War

  Dawn rose blood-red over the Hellespont, turning the bay of the Golden Horn into an open wound. Upon Dyzantine towers, defenders watched in horror as invading ships choked the gateway to Dyzantium like maggots in carrion. A great taut chain between the city walls and the Tower of Hammett repelled the invaders, but for how long?

  Aboard over two hundred Kentsian transports, the wickedest dogs to ever wear the Black Cross donned their armor, chain-mail and thick woolen padding. They beat their shields and raised their broad swords. Banners flapped in the morning breeze. Prayers and curses flowed equally. A tidal wave of men and steel, they were the greatest amphibious invasion ever assembled on the Gallinese Peninsula. From swaying ships, they gazed upon massive sea walls, lofty towers, ornate palaces, and church spires reaching to an azure sky.

  And they lusted for what they knew lay within.

  Soon enough, they muttered, it would be theirs, treasure and women, golden and wanton. Soon enough the decadent Queen of Cities would burn.

  Among the largely To
lburnian and Kentsian crusaders, a pair of unlikely allies, foreigners, readied their mounts aboard the horse-transport. Gathelaus Thorgrimson, a towering Vjornish mercenary, passed a skin of wine to the poet and Paladin knight, Niels Von Eschenbach. Whereas clean-shaven Gathelaus was broad-shouldered with flowing blond hair—Niels, a son of Hawkton, was bearded and lean with close cropped dark hair. They appeared to be complete opposites, one in the white tunic and black cross of a noble knight, the other with a collage of mismatched chainmail, a barbaric fur cloak and studded leathers. Each had joined this crusade for divergent reasons. Wealth for one, absolution for the other. After their recent siege of the city of Zara on the way to Dyzantium, Gathelaus's goal was much the likelier.

  “Have you ever dreamt of its like?” asked Niels.

  Gathelaus shook his head. “I would not have believed Valhol looked so grand.”

  Niels shrugged at the mention of the Northman’s paradise. Gathelaus was the only pagan he knew, and it surprised him that the foreigner had joined the crusade at all. But with the double-dealing of the Kentsians and the unscrupulous behavior of the Tolburnians; it made Niels smile that the most honest man in the entire crusade was a pagan mercenary.

  “The chain keeps us from violating the bay,” shouted the divisional commander, Jacques of Avenges, as he made a crude gesture, bawdy laughter followed. “We land at the Tower of Hammett. And we will triumph! We'll enthrone Alexious and then you bastards, then you will feast!”

  The men at arms cheered, but Gathelaus and Niels knew the truth. Restoring a dispossessed princeling was the Tolburnians and Kentsians smokescreen, the true goal would benefit the rival city-states and make Kentsia master of the Iraythian.

  But a job is a job mused Gathelaus.

  The rising Tower of Hammett grew closer and the yeoman shouted at the knights to ready their chargers.

  “For Alexious the fourth and the true church of Dyzan! We shall conquer!” called Jacques raising his sword and war-standard. “Death to heretics!”

  The transports bridge splashed down as a hailstorm of arrows struck. The screams of men and horse shattered the arrogant cheer of seconds before. Bolts and ballista smashed into the crusader ranks as Dyzantine pike-men lined the Iraythian shore.

  The foremost crusaders either died or hesitated. Blood spilled over the deck and the thick scent of oozing copper punched into nostrils.

  “If we sit—We die! Charge!” roared Gathelaus, kicking his war-horses flanks and forcing the beast to leap over the top of fallen comrades.

  “We could be heroes,” grated Niels through his teeth as he and a dozen others followed. Crusading archers and footmen leapt into the fray loosing their own at the Dyzan enemy.

  Gathelaus deflected a thrusting pike and slammed his great sword through the skull cap of the nearest Dyzan on the right as the trained war-horse bit the soldier to the left. The stunned bitten man lost his pike and then his life to Gathelaus's blade.

  Niels's charger trampled a flanking Dyzan as the young knight took the beach.

  Cutting a bloody swath through the enemy ranks, Gathelaus and his charger were splashed with gore.

  The still clean Niels caught up to Gathelaus shouting, “I need my chance!”

  “You'll get your chance. There are more!”

  Six score Dyzan infantry rushed toward the crusaders, shouting righteous indignation. They were answered with unholy steel. The crusading knights hacked their way through the bravest of defenders and made formation on the shore with lances poised.

  Facing the terrible array of yet more mounted crusaders landing every moment and the coming wall of lancing steel, the Dyzans did the sanest thing they could.

  They turned and ran.

  The charging knights ran down the more stalwart of the Dyzans, though most dashed back toward the Tower in blind panic. A short wall of stone with an arch precluded the mounted knights from following, but sighting the lowered drawbridge and panicking Dyzans, Gathelaus dismounted and ran after the fleeing Dyzantines. His armor was heavier than that of the pike-men he raced after, but Gathelaus was not yet winded running along the beach front.

  Catching up the last couple stragglers, he slammed them headlong into the cobblestones, knocking them senseless.

  Spotting the hulking warrior with more of his allies at his heels, the Dyzans began raising the drawbridge. Cranking under the strain of a dozen men, the iron-buckled door jerked upward, abandoning six Dyzans to the closing enemy.

  The Tower did not have a moat, but a six-foot ditch ran its perimeter. As the tip of the drawbridge was at eye level, Gathelaus leapt, grasping the lip with claw-like fingers. He and two other crusaders pulled themselves over the edge and slid down just as the gate slammed shut.

  The three enemy warriors stood within the tower.

  “Surrender,” Gathelaus snarled.

  The astonished Dyzan captain gasped, “You surrender! There are twenty of us to three of you!”

  Grinning like a madman, Gathelaus drew his sword and went to his bloody work. The other two crusaders following suit.

  Pike-men went for their weapons, but these were too long and ungainly to use within the shallow courtyard. A crossbowman shot a bolt at Gathelaus from scant few feet away, but this glanced off the fold of plate armor protecting his heart.

  The angered Northman sent his blade through the crossbow and the breastbone behind it. That simple red fate was repeated a dozen times.

  Shouting for help, the Dyzan men ran for the stairs as the Vjornish juggernaut mowed them down.

  Gathelaus glanced for the release mechanism on the gate but was too hard pressed with his work to release the chained lock. The other two knights slew the archers and Dyzan captain, then set to work opening the gate.

  As Gathelaus struck down the last man, his senses prickled. Something moved just out of clear sight in the shadows. Too thick and low to the ground for a man, Gathelaus's mind reeled at the imagined threat of demons and trolls. The unseen nightmares his grandfather spoke of lurking in his frozen homeland.

  A growling revealed the new threat. A pair of great dark hounds bolted from the shadows, massive beasts with spiked collars and fearsome temperaments. Both eyed Gathelaus and his companions readying to flank them. These would prove much more difficult than the Dyzan pike men.

  Gathelaus backed toward the gates release lever, though he daren't let his guard drop against the big black hounds. Seconds counted, any moment more Dyzantine soldiers might arrive with crossbows and feather him.

  The hounds worked in concert, leaping at a crusader from two sides. As one knocked and pinned him down, the other tore out his throat and face. The knight, helpless as an overturned turtle, screamed and then gurgled his frothing terror. Gathelaus and the other knight moved in with swords, but the wily hounds leapt back, the damage done.

  “I'll hold them off. You open the gate.”

  The knight balked. “No. I'll hold them off. You open the gates.”

  Gathelaus snorted but went to the gates wheel-lock. He pulled at the chain, locking the lever with his left hand—keeping his sword at the ready for the hounds. The lever would not budge for a single hand, it might not for both hands. Gathelaus supposed it took a half-dozen Dyzantines to shut the thing.

  The baying hounds remained just out of sword-swinging reach.

  “Hurry, I can hear the Dyzantines coming!” cried the knight, as he waved his sword at the hounds inching closer.

  “Then slay those dogs and help me,” retorted Gathelaus, throwing his shoulder against the lever.

  The knight glanced over his shoulder at Gathelaus for a fraction of a second and the hounds leapt. Again they knocked the knight over and this time each had at his decorated neck. Fangs crushed flesh beneath chain-mail and the knight had no breath to scream.

  Wheeling, Gathelaus slashed the ear from one and barely cut the other across the foreleg. It was not a mortal wound but would slow the beast down. Keeping his back against the wall, Gathelaus left no room to be flan
ked or knocked over.

  Barking as if possessed, the ear-less hound on the left came snapping to within a foot of Gathelaus.

  Swinging cold steel at the brute, Gathelaus sent his blade too far.

  The hound dodged and leapt, clamping down on Gathelaus's mailed right forearm.

  The iron links held, but the canine pressure was intense. Kicking at the hound charging on the left, Gathelaus slammed the biting dog against the lever. It yelped and let go, but the other bit down on Gathelaus's cloak yanking and pulling him off balance.

  Recovering, the ear-less dog lunged with jaws wide.

  This time Gathelaus met it with armored elbow and knocked teeth loose. Slashing his broadsword, backhanded, he caught the second along the ribs, and dispatched it.

  The toothless and one-eared hound wasn't ready to give up. Howling like a wolf it came on again.

  Gathelaus swept it aside but not without the hellish hound scratching his face as it strove for his throat. The clawing and snapping knocked the sword from his grasp. Drawing his dagger, Gathelaus cut the hound in one fell motion. It dropped near its mate, not to rise.

  Dyzantine soldiers scampered down the stairs with short swords, spears and crossbows, shouting in chaotic astonishment at the courtyard littered with torn bodies.

  Dropping his sword, Gathelaus wrenched the wheel-lock like a titan, releasing the drawbridge. Waiting behind the gate, dozens of crusaders rushed inside and took the Tower in an orgy of bloodthirsty ruin.

  Niels appeared beside Gathelaus. “I hate big dogs.”

  “You mean you're scared of them?”

  “Yes, you’re one lucky bastard to still be alive.”

  Gathelaus shook his head. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

  3. The Gatekeeper

  Mere moments and it was over, the crusaders held the beach and Tower of Hammett. They called Gathelaus “the Gatekeeper” afterward, because Murello the minstrel, sang that Gathelaus was the golden hero whom opened the Tower. Regardless of that bravado and verse, the rank and file soldier acknowledged he saved them a prolonged siege on what should have been a formidable obstacle.