Free Viking Gold by V. Campbell Page B

forgotten at high tide the sea filled
the cavern almost to the brim. But it wasn’t quite high tide yet – there should
still be a dry ledge – leading to a way out, and, hopefully, to Ragnar.
    He pulled himself from the
water and felt his way in the darkness. Relief filled him as he realised he’d
found a big, flat platform with a passage heading off it. He listened at the
entrance and heard laughter. Ragnar was still here.
    Just as he’d remembered, the
walls and floor were thick with seaweed. Quickly, he gathered up armfuls of the
stuff, teasing the oily yarns through his fingers, separating and flattening
each strand. All the while, the storm roiled overhead, lighting the cavern as
he worked. Finally, he wound the seaweed about his head and body until he was
unrecognisable.
    He
found his sword lying on the ledge, and followed the laughter till the passage
became so narrow he had to hold his breath to squeeze through. It was quieter
here. The howl of the sea was far away, replaced by the tinkling of water
through a thousand unseen cracks.
    A flash of lightening showed
Ragnar and four men sitting round a campfire in a cave beyond the passage. Redknee
shuffled forward and crouched behind a rock.
    “Three cheers for Ragnar!”
one of the men shouted, raising his drinking horn and glugging the contents.
    Redknee saw Toki, the giant
with black teeth, raise his horn for a moment, before stumbling backwards and
collapsing in a drunken heap. The others laughed.
    Ragnar stood. “Thank you, but
you brave men must take your share of the credit. And so must my fine son,
Mord.” The men nodded and raised their horns to this toast, while Ragnar
continued. “It’s true I’ve promised you great riches. But there’s still much to
do. King Hakon has charged us with unravelling the secrets of the Codex
Hibernia and the treasure of which it speaks . We must go to a place
the Christians call the Promised Land, which lies many days voyage to the west.
There will be danger. But we are Northmen, and we do not shirk at the prospect
of a little sea spray.”
    The men roared at this. As
they raised their horns again, lightning struck, ripping apart the darkness.
Without thinking, Redknee leapt into the light and snarled, “I am the cave
troll. Thor is my master.”
    The men gaped in horror.
    Redknee went on. “You have
wronged Thor by attacking a village under his protection. He demands
satisfaction.”
    “We’re done for!” one of the
men shouted, throwing down his horn and running away. As the others fell about
in confusion, Redknee ploughed into the mêlée, swinging Flame Weaver before him. Lightning flashed off the blade, chased by the ever-gaining
thunder.
    “There’s no such thing as a
troll,” Ragnar called. But his men ignored him, their terrified shouts filling
the cave. One ran straight into the wall, knocking himself out cold. Another
burned himself tripping over the fire. Redknee caught the edge of a man’s cloak
with his sword, scratched another’s arm. One by one, the men fled, leaving him
alone with Ragnar. 
    “Such brave warriors,”
Redknee said. “So skilled at butchering women and children.”
    A bolt of lightning lit
Ragnar’s mangled face. “You’re not a troll,” he said, shielding his good eye from
the glare.
    Darkness fell again and
Redknee skirted past him. “How can you be sure?”
    “I met one once.”
    “Really?”
    Thunder shook the stone
rafters.
    “Yes … I killed him.” Ragnar lunged
forward, but Redknee was behind him. “Where are you? Is this some sort of
magic?”
    Redknee stifled a laugh. His
keener eyes gave him the edge. He swung his sword at Ragnar’s back. But the
older man dipped forward at the last moment and the blade nicked his hair.
    Ragnar spun round. The
lightning came thick and fast as Redknee fended off a barrage of iron. He felt
himself being pushed out of the cave, towards the beach. He tried to hold his
ground, but it was difficult just meeting the speed and