Night of the Berserkers Read online

  “Something is not right.” My head was clearer that it had been for months. Maybe years. Every day, I woke with a buzzing noise in my head—some days it was so loud I could barely think. It was always there, even on days I could ignore it.

  As soon as I’d caught this woman’s scent, the noise was gone.

  A shout from castle gates told me we’d been spotted. A contingent of guards marched out to meet us, no doubt to investigate our captive.

  Lars, listen to me. This morning I heard a man howling in pain. Ivar spoke into my mind. It woke me. I had to touch my mouth to be sure the sound did not come from my own mouth.

  I pressed my lips together. I knew what he’d meant. Every moon, more warriors went mad. It was the curse we bore.

  This woman... there is something special about her. Ivar stroked his beard.

  “That marks her strange,” I said gruffly. We both studied our captive, with her wan face and wild blonde hair. Her forehead creased as if in pain, her grey eyes unfocused. Fey. It would be easy to believe her a fairy creature, fallen into another world.

  And now at our mercy, Ivar finished my thought. I turned my glare on him. Sometimes I thought he could read my thoughts, as well as sharing his. He raised his hands in defense, and then the group of warriors were upon us.

  “Lars, what have you found?” one called Gaul asked.

  I turned reluctantly, stepping between him and the woman, shielding her. Part of me wanted to protect her, but my suspicion and hasty actions had delivered her into the hands of the king’s guard. If the commander deemed her dangerous, the warriors would tear her apart.

  I made my voice light. “A sweet smelling flower. Ivar and I found her growing near our lord’s castle.”

  “She does have the sweetest fragrance,” Gaul sniggered. “What is she?”

  “A fairy creature.” I shrugged, and the warriors laughed.

  “Not a creature. A lady,” Ivar spoke up and at his voice, the maid whipped her head around.

  7

  Yseult

  A voice cut through the throbbing in my head. A dark bearded man was speaking to me, brown eyes probing mine. I was surrounded by warriors, wearing helmets of beaten metal that glinted dimly in the sun. Rough hands held me fast.

  “Answer us,” someone growled—the blond one holding me. I was trapped between two warriors, one with long blond hair, the other dark and swarthy, with a close-cropped beard.

  “What?” With relief I found I still had a voice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I licked my lips. “Please, I mean no harm.”

  “Make way for the commander,” someone cried, and the warriors before me parted for one taller than all of them, wearing a shining helm and a red cloak. All but the men holding me saluted, with the fists to breastplates.

  “Look what we’ve found,” a warrior crowed.

  “Commander,” the bearded man stepped forward, his deep voice almost musical, soothing to me. “Lars and I were on patrol and came across this maid. We have reason to believe she simply got lost and strayed too close to our lord’s home. She is not a threat.”

  “No? Have you questioned her?”

  “She seems to have just woken from slumber. She is confused.” The swarthy man placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. Reassurance? Or a warning?

  I remained silent, hoping the commander would think me simple.

  “I see. I have never heard of a villager venturing so close to the king’s castle. Not willingly.” The commander peered at me closer. Our eyes met; I felt a jolt of something. By the way the commander’s eyes widened, he felt it too—a rush of power. I reached for it, but it danced away, leaving me shivering as if I’d been stung. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

  “You say she was simply lying in the field?” The mean-looking man at the commander’s left asked.

  Meanwhile, the commander leaned closer, angling his head as he took in a deep breath. “What is that delicious scent?”

  “Commander, if I may—” Ivar started, and stopped when his leader held up a hand.

  “Bring her to my tent.” The commander turned on his foot to lead the way, and his cloak flared out behind him.

  “All right, lass. Now you’re in for it,” the cruel warrior crowed. He grabbed my arm and pulled me forward, my foot hit a rock and I cried out.

  “Have care,” their leader ordered, looking back with a frown. Between the slit in the shining helm, brown eyes met mine.

  I let the men carry me forward, still reaching desperately for a protection spell. My lost magic was like a limb cut off, one I kept trying to use. How long had it been since I’d felt the flow of power through me, waiting, rising to meet my needs? I felt bare, stripped naked.

  The men carried me to a tent on the edge of the field, dwarfed by the stone fortress. More warriors stood in formation, here the grass was trampled, the flowers gone.

  “Inside,” the leader motioned, and as he stood aside holding the open the tent flap, I knew suddenly what he was. His helmet mimicked those warriors I’d seen ancient murals. Centurions, they called them. Leaders of men. Conquerors.

  Either the spell had delivered me to a land where men dressed like warriors of old, or I was a thousand years back in time. My guess was the later. My gut churned. I would not have to fake weakness now.

  The commander crossed his arms over his chest. For a long moment he only studied me. “You may leave us,” he said to the three other warriors.

  “Sir—”

  “Now, Gaul,” the commander ordered. “I can overpower one woman.”

  More salutes, fist to chest, and they left with a flutter of tent fabric.

  He didn’t look at me, but I felt his curious perusal like a touch, something barbed, sharp on the edge of it. I shuddered.

  “Who are you?”

  I closed my eyes at his voice. Somehow familiar, it probed deep and set me reeling.

  “If you will not answer me, I must find a way to loosen your tongue.”

  I looked around the tent. An unlit brazier. Armor crafted in a way I’d never seen before. I was no longer in my own country, my own time.

  Goddess, had my sisters known what would happen when they wrought the spell? What had they done?

  I swayed on my feet. I had to keep my wits about me. I had to survive.

  “Sit,” the commander indicated a bench.

  When I looked up at him, surprised he’d be so courteous, he shrugged. “Cooperate and I’ll keep you from harm.” He nodded to the seat again, and I sank into it, stunned. He wasn’t lying.

  “Who are you? Why are you so near the king’s castle?”

  I cleared my throat. “What king?”

  “King Lycaon.”

  I nodded slowly. I’d heard the name, in the lore my sisters unearthed. It was one of the Corpse King’s.

  “Are you strange or simple? Those are the only two reasons you’d not know my lord’s name.”

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  He removed his helm. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong face, hollowed cheekbones and a cleft in his chin.

  I startled. Somehow, some way. He looked familiar. He was staring at me as if he felt the same. But it was impossible. Whoever this man was, he’d lived and died a milliennia before I was born.

  “You are lost?”

  “I have been traveling,” I answered slowly. “I lost my way.”

  “So you lay down to sleep in a field?”

  I didn’t answer his mocking question.

  “What is your name?”

  I hesitated. Names have power. But here, in this place, I had none. “Yseult. And yours?”

  He also gave pause, but I sensed for another reason. “Tristan,” he uttered reluctantly, as if the name was foreign. As if he had forgotten.

  “And you are commander of the king’s army?”

  He put his boot on the bench beside me and leaned closer. “Why would a maid concern herself with that?”

  “I w
ish to know the rank of my captor.”

  “Your captor is the king himself. I act in his stead. I’ll ask you once again… what is your purpose here?”

  “I promise I mean you no harm.”

  “That is for me to decide.” He rose abruptly. “Guards,” he called. Ducking under the tent flap, my blond and swarthy captors came to my side, grasping my arms. Tristan stalked out of the tent. “Bring her with me.”

  “Commander,” the swarthy one began.

  “Yes?” The commander’s gaze snapped to his man, even at the periphery I felt the weight of his gaze. This one had power.

  The swarthy warrior held up under the heavy displeasure. “Where will you bring her?”

  “She has trespassed on our lord’s land. She may be a spy.” The commander paused. “Do you defend her, Ivar?”

  The blond warrior on the side of me frowned at his companion.

  Ivar weighed his words a moment, then said. “No.”

  “Then come.” The commander’s cloak swirled as he stalked ahead.

  8

  Tristan

  Sunlight hit the woman’s hair, turning it to white flame. The light flickered around her face, the pale eyes, sharp nose and wide mouth taunting me. Recognition danced out of reach. At first, I pushed it, but when she opened her mouth and spoke—I heard the voice that haunted me at night, echoing from my dreams.

  Tristan. Every night, she called to me. Without her, I’d have forgotten my name long ago.

  Sometimes, I wondered if it’d be easier to forget. It was dangerous to hope. It was dangerous to feel.

  “Commander,” Ivar was at my elbow, speaking softly. I met my half-brother’s serious eyes. Under his beard, his mouth turned down with worry. “Have care. This one is more than she seems.”

  “I know. I will uncover all her secrets.”

  “Have care,” Ivar repeated. “Some things are best left unseen.”

  I considered this. Ivar’s mother had the gift of far-seeing. I often wondered how much of that gift she passed on to her son. “Do you know something about her?”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “She is… familiar.”

  “She is to me, too,” I answered before considering my words. I did not want to share the elements of my dream with anyone, even Ivar who of all the warriors I led might best understand. “That is strange, is it not?”

  “But,” Ivar looked away as he struggled to defend the maid. “That signifies nothing. Perhaps I have seen her in a village. An ordinary maid. We should let her go.”

  “Nothing about her is ordinary.”

  Ivar’s shoulders slumped. He knew it to be true.

  “She came almost to the gates of our lord’s castle without being caught. There is something fey in her scent.” Not fey—beautiful. But after many days bowed under the stench of dark magic, a clean, fresh scent was suspicious. The one that brought such relief must be powerful indeed. “I cannot just let her go.”

  After a long, searching look, Ivar nodded. I motioned to the men to string our captive up and readied myself to interrogate the maid who was more than she seemed. If I did so loudly enough, perhaps Gaul would be placated. Perhaps I could then let her go, without danger of him reporting her presence. Even now he paced in the shadow of the castle wall, his face lit with cruel excitement as Lars and Ivar led the woman to the whipping post to be strung up. One of the watching warriors brandished a whip and snapped it. The crack made her flinch, but she made no sound. Gaul smiled.

  I motioned for the watching warriors to leave and took their place. My own whip was coiled at my belt. I did not want to use it, but I would if I must. Better to make a show of questioning her. Better for my lash to drive her to answer than another’s. Better she bore the brunt of my scrutiny than the king’s.

  9

  Yseult

  At the foot of the great wall, there was a scaffold set up with a single rope hanging from it. The blond warrior held me while his companion looped the thong around my wrists. Once they stepped back and pulled the rope until my arms stretched over head and my toes brushed the ground. I was hung like a side of meat, at the commander’s mercy.

  Tristan stalked around me, his crimson cloak fluttering behind him. He wore his helmet once more; it made him look cruel and unyielding.

  I bit my lip, straining to find a rock or clump of grass to push my foot against, to give relief.

  For a few minutes, the guards watched me struggle. Gaul’s mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “This is the part where you beg,” he called.

  What would I beg for? My life? I had one purpose. My sister’s spell had dragged me through time. They waited on the other side, but not for my return. I only had to live long enough to send them knowledge on how to defeat the Corpse King.

  Grasping a handful of my hair, the commander tugged my head back.

  “Please,” I whispered. If I had my power, I could lay these men flat in an instant.

  “Why did you come?”

  “I was sent. I mean you no harm.”

  “Did you come with a tribute?”

  I shook my head.

  “Where are your people?”

  “We were separated.”

  “Did they deliver you here for a purpose?”

  I couldn’t lie. I bit my lip.

  My questioner shook me a little by my hair. “Do you mean to harm this fortress?”

  I shook my head. Not the fortress, or even the warriors in it. I wasn’t even sent to harm the Corpse King, for doing so might unbalance the scales of time. I had one purpose, and one alone: find the spell to stop the mage and bring it back to my own time. I only had to survive long enough to carry the message back to my sisters.

  I could not die this morn. Not yet.

  The commander let go of my hair to stroke it thoughtfully. I’d lost my braid, but at least the locks were still clean. Mostly. He picked a few strands of dried grass out.

  “What sort of people send an innocent girl to spy?” Tristan mused.

  “She’s telling the truth.” Offered the swarthy warrior. Ivar, they called him. He still watched me closely, eyes unblinking as a raven’s. I avoided his gaze, lest he see more than I wished. “She hasn’t lied yet.”

  “Perhaps she was part of her people’s tribute.” The blond warrior offered. “She is a maid. Untouched.”

  Tristan scoffed and paced away, but the blond drew closer.

  “Lars,” Ivar said in warning, and though the blond warrior stopped in his tracks, he looked more interested in me by the second. Raising his head, he sniffed the air.

  “Have you ever caught such delicate scent? It’s intoxicating.” Lars ventured closer, a dazed look on his face. My feet scrabbled in the dirt, trying to dance away. Something was happening, something I didn’t understand. The blond warrior leaned into me, sucking in lungfuls of air until my hair stirred with his breath.

  “Commander,” Ivar called, and the red-cloaked leader turned.

  “Lars,” he barked.

  The order snapped Lars out of his trance. Shaking his blond head, the warrior returned to his place.

  Tristan turned his attention to me. “Tell us what land you hail from.”

  “Alba. Beyond the sea,” I told him, and all three warriors frowned. The expression looked so similar on all their faces, I wondered if they shared a common ancestor.

  “Where is that?”

  “Where is here?” I asked.

  “You do not know the kingdom of Lycaon?”

  I tried to remember the lore my sisters had learned. “Arcadia?”

  The warriors exchanged glances.

  “I heard King Lycaon hailed from Arcadia before his travels brought him to new lands. New lands he then conquered.”

  “His kingdom is vast. His power unmatched,” Gaul said.

  “His warriors are also legendary,” I attempted a smile, but the strain in my arms was too great to make it more than a grimace.

  “Loosen the rope,” the comm
ander ordered.

  Gaul jerked back. “But—”

  “Now.” The commander’s brown eyes studied me from behind his helm. I tried to remain stoic but couldn’t stop my sigh of relief as the rope allowed my feet to touch the ground.

  “What is your purpose here?”

  To find a spell to kill his king. To stop the mage from all he would achieve in my time. Any other answer I gave would be a lie and these warriors would know.

  The wind swirled around me as I waited.

  With a sigh, the commander pulled something from his belt and held it under my chin. A whip made of braided strands. He used it to tip my head back. “I have no wish to mark such pretty skin.”

  “I’ll do it.” Lars offered.

  “No,” Gaul said. “We know your skill with a whip. You would strike her in a way that gives her no more pain than the passing wind.”

  “Silence,” the commander ordered. Lars winked at me.

  Ivar cleared his throat. “Perhaps, commander, you should just let her go.” Dissenting murmurs ran through the ranks of guards.

  “A possible risk to our lord?” Gaul spoke up.

  “She is a maid,” Lars retorted.

  “She is dangerous. She has trespassed and must be punished.” Gaul spun in a circle as he made his announcement. His loud voice drew more warriors. I bowed my head, feeling their bloodlust. They wanted me stripped and flogged, if for no other reason than entertainment.

  “Enough,” the commander snapped. “Gaul, return to your post.”

  The commander stepped close, his face close to mine.

  “Do you wish to return to your people?”

  I nodded.

  “Who are you, then? And what is your true purpose?” his breath warmed my skin. “If you answer, I can let you go,” he spoke into my ear.

  I blinked at him, but there was nothing but honesty in his steady gaze. He truly wanted to let me go.

  I licked my lips.

  “Commander, if you cannot stomach questioning the prisoner, I will take your place,” Gaul said, stalking closer. “The king won’t want you going easy on a spy.”