Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

“You’re doing this,” she screamed at Chessa. “I can see it in your witch’s eyes. You’re doing this. Stop it, damn you, stop it before we’re all dead.”

“Aye, I am doing it. I won’t die. When the warship strikes the dock, the men will flee in terror. Then, Turella, I will leave you, and I hope never to see you again. If I do, I will destroy you. You think this storm is strong? I haven’t stretched my powers yet. This is only the beginning.”

Suddenly, the warship struck the dock. The sound of rending wood sounded through the night, so powerful the crash that it was heard even over the wind. Men screamed and leapt from the warship, jumping onto the remains of the dock and running as fast as they could toward shore and safety.

“Cowards!” Turella screamed after them, but her voice was smothered in the wind, her mouth filled with the thick rain that poured down over them.

“Stop it, Chessa.”

“Nay, Kerek. You’d best save your queen. As for Ragnor, I believe he is still unconscious from all the mead he drank. I’m leaving now. I wanted to call you friend but you wouldn’t allow it. I don’t wish you well, Kerek. Goodbye.”

He grabbed her arm. “I won’t let you go.”

It was then Cleve said, “Release her, Kerek. She’s right. It’s over now.”

Chessa said quickly, “He knows I brought the devastation, he just doesn’t want to accept it. I will bring more if you don’t release me, Kerek, that or Cleve will kill you.”

Kerek dropped her arm.

“Save your pathetic king,” Chessa called back to him even as Cleve lifted her into his arms and lightly tossed her to Igmal, who stood on the dock.

But Kerek shook his head and ran toward Turella. He grabbed her and pulled her over his shoulder. “We will survive this,” he said, and jumped to the dock. He slipped on broken planks and dropped her. Both of them went down, knocking the breath from each.

Then, as suddenly as the terrifying storm had begun, it stopped. The air was quiet. The blackness no longer weighed so heavily. There was no more rain. A single bolt of lightning slashed through the black sky, but it was nothing, really, just an afterthought of the storm the demons unleashed during those endless minutes.

Turella sat up. She shook her head. “She could have killed us,” she said to Kerek.

He was staring after Cleve, who had reached the dock and now carried his wife in his arms. The rest of Turella’s men, those who hadn’t run for shelter into Inverness, stood on the shreds of the dock, just stood there, panting, not understanding what had happened, thankful they were still alive.

“The princess did this,” Torric said. “I don’t want her in York. She will kill all of us next time.”

“Aye,” the men said.

“She’s a witch.”

“The night was darker than an old man’s teeth. Now the moon is bright overhead.”

“We must leave.”

Kerek listened to the men, knew it was lost, and stood. He held out his hand and pulled Turella, sodden, her hair plastered to her head, to her feet.

“You are all right, my lady?”

She nodded. Then she froze still as a rune stone. Kerek stared at her. He didn’t think she was breathing, just staring beyond him. Slowly, he turned to see a tall man dressed all in black striding toward them. The moon seemed suddenly brighter overhead, indeed, it seemed to shine more brightly over the man who was coming ever closer to them. He carried no huge sword, his white hands were empty. The wind came again, but it wasn’t a raging wind, just enough so that the man’s black cloak billowed out behind him.

He didn’t look of this earth.

Turella’s warriors, one by one, became aware of the man coming toward them. They stared. They prayed and huddled together. One man drew his sword. As if he’d seen that sword drawn, the tall man paused a moment, then turned to look directly at the warrior. The warrior fell back a step, lowering his sword until its tip was buried into the wooden dock at his feet.

Turella said very softly, “Varrick? Is it really you? After all these years?”

“Aye, Turella, it is I. You dared to take what belongs to me. Should I kill you, I wonder, or acknowledge your ignorance this one time, and let you live?”

“Who is this man?” Kerek said, aware that his voice wasn’t steady, and hating himself for it. Surely this was just a man, nothing more than a single man, and he wasn’t even armed. He could walk to him and strangle him. He could kill him, but he didn’t move. “You know this man, my lady?” Kerek said, seeing the pallor of her face. She looked suddenly like an old woman, bent and frail, not the proud queen he’d loved for so many years.

Turella said, “He is Varrick. He is my brother.” It was then she seemed to remember she was a queen, not some sort of frightened old woman. She drew herself up. “You still wear black, I see, Varrick. Do you still streak blue and red paint on your face and dance around fires, chanting an ignorant babble of ancient rituals? Do you still seek out those things mortals shouldn’t know about? Do you still terrify people with your tricks?”

“Did you like the storm, Turella? Did you feel terror? Your men did.”