Free Viking Gold by V. Campbell

to the sea. Low branches raked
his face and chest as the piebald thundered along the treacherous path. The
ground fell away steeply to his right. Below him, the water glittered between the
trees.
    The outline of the black ship
flickered in the corner of his eye. His heart raced as the snake figurehead
drew level with him, jet eyes glinting in the sun. He heard Mord shout to his
men to row faster and the wooden beast edged ahead.
    He had to get to Ragnar
before Mord was able to come ashore and rescue him. They likely had a meeting
point. A big, sandy bay, where their ugly ship wouldn’t be forced to navigate
treacherous rocks.  He dug his heels into the mare and hunkered down. The
sound of the oars cutting the water fused with the thud of the mare’s hooves.
Hull to nose, nose to hull, they went, each tree trunk a marker.
    The mare was lazy, trying to
slow, but he pushed her back into a gallop. Her rough gait jarred his bones,
but soon the trees sped past in a blur and it seemed to him like the swish of
the oars began to recede.
    Redknee knew this coast
almost as well as he knew the mountain. It wasn’t far until the jumble of
cliffs opened to the chalk-lined safety of Cave Bay . He pressed his heels deeper into the mare’s sides.
He’d played in Cave Bay as a child and an idea was forming in his head.
    Only, he had to get there
before Mord and his rescue party.
    The path swung away from the
water, rising steeply until Redknee could look down on the heads of Mord and
his men. Steel helmets glittered like silver coins. They were nearing the mouth
of the fjord. As soon as they reached the open sea, Mord would order up the
sail and the black ship would slide through the water faster than Redknee’s
reluctant mount could run. His only chance was to cut across country. Aim for Cave Bay , and pray
he’d guessed their plan right.
    Redknee turned the mare from
the path and into the woods. She hesitated at first, slowing to a trot as she
picked her way through the bracken. He shouted at her, dug his heels into her
sides. This was no time to be prissy. Cutting across the headland would only
save time if they kept pace.
    ◊
    They
came out of the woods high above a sandy bay sheltered on three sides by white-faced
cliffs. He’d reached Cave Bay . Redknee peered at the horizon; wind and rain tore at
his hair. The black ship was rounding the headland. It would reach the bay
soon. He’d been right, but he didn’t have long. The mare puffed heavily.
    “Well done,” he said, patting
her mane.
    He dismounted and stayed low,
using the yellow jewelled gorse that crowned the bluff for cover. He saw the
horses first. Three brown mares and a grey stallion tied to a piece of driftwood
bedded in the sand. The stallion harried one of the mares – biting her neck and
kicking her legs. Ragnar’s horse was vicious as its master.
    He couldn’t see Ragnar and
his men, but the presence of the horses told him they must be nearby. As a child,
Redknee had hidden in the maze of caves that pocked the soft rocks. Ragnar must
be sheltering in one of those now.
    Redknee crept back from the
cliff edge. He would have to use his plan. He rummaged in the undergrowth. He
needed to be careful; these cliffs were deadly if you didn’t know what you were
doing. If only he could remember—
    A hole emerged from between
the leaves. He pulled the grass aside and listened. Nothing but the rumble of
waves.
    He looked out to sea. The
black ship turned into the bay; he had four minutes, maybe five. He scavenged
around, tearing at roots; sticking his face into the dirt like a hungry pig.
But the ground was bound tight. There were no more openings. 
    Yet he remembered the place
so clearly – a deep chamber in the rock that led to the caves below. Why
couldn’t he find it now? Nettles stung his hands as he wrestled with the
undergrowth. Then, beside an old rowan tree, he found a hole the size of a big
porridge pot. He pressed his ear to the dark.
    Laughter echoed