Desire's Hostage: Viking Lore, Book 3 Read Free Page A

many sailors, but Alaric had wanted a small crew, partly to have enough room for all the equipment they’d needed, and partly to keep Eirik’s risk of losing so many able warriors from Dalgaard low.
    At last the ships were secured, and the crew eagerly began streaming onto the beach where Alaric, Madrena, and Rúnin stood.
    “Let’s head up the river and look for a good place to make camp,” Alaric said lightly to his men. Even still, the others followed his lead as he withdrew his round, painted shield from the side of one of the longships.
    The river cut a wide ribbon through the hills on either side. There was enough of a flat, sandy bank to allow the Northlanders to walk two by two with Alaric in the lead. Madrena and Rúnin walked on silent feet behind him, their postures relaxed but their eyes restlessly scanning their surroundings.
    At a bend in the river, a wider, sandy expanse spread out between the water and the trees. A scattering of rocks and sticks littered the sand, but those would be cleared away easily enough. Alaric trotted ahead of the others to scout the area, his apprehension at last dissipating. This site might as well have been handed to him by the gods, for he couldn’t imagine another spot more suited to his purpose.
    “’Tis perfect!” he shouted over his shoulder to the others. “We’ll gather the tents from the ships and—”
    The words died in his mouth as his eyes landed on what he’d thought a moment before were a few scattered rocks and sticks.
    His boot crunched down on a skull.
    A human skull.
    Blackened bones jutted from the sand, which was stained gray long ago by ash.
    His abrupt halt must have drawn the attention of the others, for suddenly he was surrounded by Northmen, their weapons unsheathed and their shields held at the ready. Alaric hardly registered their battle-readiness, however. He tore his eyes from the dozens of charred bone fragments and tried to pierce the forest with his gaze.
    Leaves and branches rustled, teasing him. The woods were withholding their secrets. Awareness honed his senses, though. His eyes darted with each flicker of movement in the boughs and underbrush.
    “Alaric!”
    Madrena’s voice was taut with unease. His gaze snapped to where she stood frozen at the edge of the forest. Her sword was drawn, but her eyes were focused on a large stone at waist height.
    He sprinted to her side, unsheathing his sword as he went. When he skidded to a halt next to her, his eyes locked on the rock she was staring at.
    Upon its weathered surface, two Northland runes had been carved. One was the symbol for man, and the other for ash.
    ’Twas a crudely rendered message, for runes aligned with different sounds and were not representational. But the meaning, simple as it was, came through clearly.
    This was a place of death. Death for Northlanders.
    Ice stabbed Alaric’s belly.
    He opened his mouth to give an order to his crew to move back to the ships, but a flicker at the edge of his vision once again had him snapping his head around.
    Another flash of red.
    This time, Alaric didn’t hesitate. He exploded into a sprint toward the figure lurking deeper in the woods.
    Noise erupted as Madrena bolted after him, though he didn’t bother waiting for her. Alaric distantly heard her calling to Rúnin and the others over the pounding blood in his ears.
    The red blur was indeed a human. A fleeing human. Though the figure moved swiftly and with a familiarity for these woods, Alaric was like an angered bear crashing through the forest. Naught would stop him, he vowed, and he hurdled himself through the trees.
    He was drawing closer despite the fleeing figure’s agility. The figure cut suddenly and sharply to the right, darting back toward the river.
    He couldn’t have set the trap better himself. He followed, but made a less severe angle. He’d pin the lurking observer between himself and the water. Then he’d have his answers.
    Alaric’s legs and lungs burned, but he