Free The Lord of Vik-Lo: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 3) by James L. Nelson Page B

“Very well, let us get the oars out,” he growled, and slowly, quietly, the men pulled the oars down from the gallows and passed them along. Then from overhead, a young man named Otr called down to the deck. He was the most nimble of the crew and Grimarr sent him up regularly to search the horizon, because Grimarr did not care for surprises.
      “What is it?” Grimarr asked.
      “It’s a ship, Lord Grimarr,” Otr replied. “Some many miles away yet. But it seems to be making for us.”

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
     
     
     
    A slaughter was inflicted on the foreigners at the islands of eastern Brega, and another slaughter of them at Ráith Alláin…
                               Annals of Ulster, 852
     
     
     
     
     
    There was a dream that came to Lorcan mac Fáeláin every night, or nearly so. A golden chalice, heavy and bejeweled, sat on the top of a table. It was an arm’s length away, he had merely to reach out and take it up. There was no one around, no one to stop him. But when he stretched out his arm the chalice was just beyond his grip. He struggled and fought to extend his arm that last little bit but no matter what he did he could not grasp the prize.
      Lorcan did not need a priest or a druid or any reader of dreams to tell him what it meant. It was clear enough, a truth that he lived every day.
      Ruarc mac Brain’s authority grew weaker the more often he was gone, off with his little whore at Tara, where he now spent more time than he did at Líamhain, his seat of power in Leinster. The local rí túaithe were not happy about this, and Lorcan was able to exploit that fact. His influence was growing daily, thanks to his own strength and cunning. Rule of that part of Ireland could be Lorcan’s; it was there for the taking. Yet it remained just beyond reach. The frustration and anger Lorcan felt in his dream world was nothing compared to that which he felt when he was awake.
      So close, so damned close!
      The dubh-gall were a thorn in his side, but they had their uses, such as their sacking the monastery at Fearna which Lorcan intended to turn to his advantage. The loyalty of the rí túaithe could be had in many ways, but the easiest was to simply buy it with silver, and silver they had at Fearna in abundance. Lorcan had intended to sack the monastery himself, but when he received word that the dubh-gall were bound for that place he saw his opportunity. Let Grimarr Giant and Fasti Magnisson carry out the raid, then take the silver and gold from them. That would spare Lorcan any repercussions from preying on his fellow Irish (though it happened often enough he did not think there would be any great outcry) and enhance his reputation as one who would stand up to the heathens.
      So damned close…
      After the dubh-gall had finished with Fearna, Lorcan and his men followed the longships from the shore. Happily their progress was slow, the winds light and contrary. One of the ships, it seemed, had started taking on water, so the dubh-gall had beached it, and from his concealed spot Lorcan watched as all the plunder was loaded aboard the second vessel which sailed off on its own. This was too good, a gift from God. Lorcan had anticipated attacking both ships at once, resulting in a hard fight of evenly matched sides. But now it would be two to one.
      Lorcan continued to follow the ship’s progress, watching every foot of her voyage - or so he thought. He had sprung his trap with perfect timing, had cut down the dubh-gall bastards as they came. He had personally split Fasti Magnisson’s skull like firewood and taken great pleasure in doing so. But the plunder from Fearna was not on board. Lorcan had not had the chance to tear the ship apart in his search, but he had seen enough to be sure it was not there.
      Fasti must have stopped somewhere along the way and hidden it ashore. It was the only explanation. Where, though, Lorcan had no idea. The only ones who might