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A Viking's Tale (Charon & ScarletAngel)

C

coins4charon

Super-Earth
Joined
May 13, 2012
Location
Living on the Raggedy Edge
PROLOGUE

Orm broke fast with his fellow captains with a large horn of strong dark beer, roasted joint of mutton stuffed with garlic cloves and herbs and a few slices of dense rye bread. They laughed and joked as they ate; old friends who had gone “a-viking,” or raiding together these past ten or so years. There to his right sat his uncle, Jorund Ulfsson who was now deep into his fifties, his beard gone nearly all silver. It was he who first took him to sea fifteen years earlier and the one Orm looked to as both his Chief Counsel and a second father. To Orm’s left sat Thorgrim Thorgimson, quick with a jibe and even faster with his sword. Friends since boyhood, the two had been on many adventures together and counted each other brother. Beside Thorgrim sat Hakon Snorresson, a barrel-chested man with a black beard and dark eyes. His reputation for viciousness had earned him the nickname Slader- butcher in the common tongue. But here at the table amongst friends he was jovial. Lastly, sitting across from Slader was Hrafn Ragnarson, perhaps the best traveled of them all. He loved to regale them with stories of his expeditions to far flung lands and always brought home the rarest treasures each year.

As Jarl, Orm called them to order. “Friends…Grubbi,” he slapped his uncle’s shoulder, “we will be long remembered in song and poem for what we set out to do this day!” The men pounded their fists on the table in agreement. “The fool refused to pay his Danegeld- he thinks too much of himself.” He rose as he spoke, upending his chair and the men again pounded on the table even louder, sending dogs to dark corners of the longhouse and cats scampering into its rafters. “He knows that ‘The Bear’ and ‘The Hammer’ of Ivarsgard sail with me!” He slapped his uncle and Thorgrim on the shoulders. “He KNOWS I have but to call upon ‘The Butcher’ and ‘The Raven’, two of my closest sworn captains and everything he hold dear is FORFEIT!” The men erupted from the table as Orm reached his crescendo, pounding now so hard that crockery fell to the floor and the very timbers from which it were made might split. He waved his hands and the men stopped their pounding. “We sail with the tide, and three nights hence he shall pay his due in full.” The men found their horns, filled them and toasted to their success before heading out into the chill predawn and towards the docks.

“You know, I hate that nickname nephew.” Jorund was smiling as his hand cupped the back of Orm’s neck and squeezed tightly as they walked. “I may be an ‘old wrinkled face’ as you call me, but not too old yet to take you over my knee as I did when you were a boy and give you the flat of my blade.” He shook Orm a bit as he spoke. “You woke the fire in their bellies- your father would have been proud.” Orm thought then of his father Ivar, a great warrior and chieftain who died ostensibly of illness during the winter, but fought a last single combat- sick as he was, to secure his seat in the afterlife. For a few moments during the fight Orm caught glimpses of his Jarl- the ferocity of his attacks, until he was cut down. A good death. “Worry yourself not,” Jorund continued as he caught Orm’s eyes traveling upward towards the heavens. “Valhalla’s gates couldn’t have kept him out.” By that time they’d reached the docks where the townspeople of Ivarsgard had gathered to see them off, maidens sang the old songs, priests made their incantations and everyone wished them good winds and success.

The two men met the other captains at the dock and they wished each other fair winds before heading to their respective longships. The intricately carved bow stem of each captain’s ship reflected their sigil- a bear, war hammer, and a raven on three of the ships. Hakon had mounted a headsman’s axe, polished so brightly it looked of silver to his bow. Orm approached his ship and was happy to see his crew at their oars, their brightly painted shields lashed to the gunwales. Seventy men worked as one. He stopped at the bow stem and reached up, touching it for luck. It was carved in the likeness of his namesake and clad in copper, for Orm meant ‘dragon’ in the language of the North and the fiery dragon began to glow as it reflected the first rays of the morning sun. “The fool shall pay- and dearly.” He swore as he boarded the ship and they set sail.
 
A few miles away from the rocky Irish coast lay a small village. It was unremarkable as far as villages went but it was surrounded by several miles of lush farmland. In the center of this village there lay a small stone castle, surrounded by a great fence with guards posted at various points. Other then that there was a minimal military force, most of those who guarded the lord and his daughter were militia. They knew how to handle themselves but faced against well armed men they’d likely be slaughtered. Still Lord St. Rose was confident to the point of cockiness and it was one of his greatest faults.

His lovely daughter Aingeal was a bright well taught lass that was quite the beauty indeed. Her hair was a long ashy blonde that fell in ringlets down the small of her back and framed a sweet innocent face with large green eyes and plump young lips. Her skin was as pale as only a noblewoman’s could be and she was always dressed in the latest fashions. At the moment she was out in the garden working on her needlepoint in a pale blue dress that hugged her smooth inviting curves. Normally she’d be out horseback riding or practicing her archery but she was being punished for a late night escape attempt, this was made obvious by the two militia members watching over her from afar.

Her father approached her with soft but audible foot steps. “Good morning love.” He said placing a hand on her shoulder. “Da…” she said by way of greeting displeasure obvious in her voice. “I wish you wouldn’t speak to me like that.” He scolded glaring down at her in a displeased fashion. “I wish you wouldn’t lock me up in a gilded cage Da.” Was her response. Knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with her he sighed softly. “Come in for the morning meal lass, perhaps a full belly will make you a wee bit more thankful for what you have.”

Reluctantly she stood brushing off her skirt and following after him. After the morning meal her father would be off to survey the progress the serfs were making on the summer crops leaving her alone with no one for company but the silent guards assigned to make sure she remained on the property. All that managed to do was darken her mood more so then it was already. It was cloudy today, there was a high chance it was going to rain. They needed rain, it would be good for the crops. Such a shame she was going to be stuck inside, she loved to dance in the rain.
 
The men rowed effortlessly from the docks and into the fjord but only until they could raise sail. The wind caught the five ships, breathing life into them and they surged forward slicing through the dark water. Orm loved the feel of the ocean spray and the towering snowcapped mountains on either side of them as he stood in the bow of the ship. As he moved aft, he touched the silver hammer pendant which hung from a cord around his neck and offered a silent prayer to the gods for both a quick passage and that their endeavor would find success. Before long they left the high mountains of the fjord and into the open sea.

The gods heard his prayer and sent strong winds to speed their voyage; the seas smooth and glass, and all too soon the island emerald green with its rocky coasthove into view. Olm checked the sky, a few hours until dark to be sure and then signaled his fleet to slow. They followed his course, taking care to stay far offshore and not be spotted by passing vessels. Only when the sun had finally gone to rest beyond the edge of the world did they turn inland. The moon was high when they dropped sail and picked up their oars again, the men pulling hard against them. Another hour of rowing and they were now headed up the mouth of a great river, slipping silently through deep green pastures ,the only sound their oars lapping at the water and the occasional bleating of sheep.

The boats ran aground on the muddy banks and the Vikings, fully armed and armored clambered over the sides and waded ashore. The keep was a few hours march from where they’d come ashore, as Orm had wanted it. Orm leapt over the side and waded ashore to meet his captains. After they greeted one another he gave his orders. “Any man who stops to pillage, loot or rape is to be instantly struck down. Am I understood?” The captains nodded their understanding. “We need to surprise the keep – I will not have that ruined by some idiot who can’t keep his cock in his pants a few hours longer.” Again they nodded. Orm moved on to give the order which he knew would be the hardest for his men to keep. “The village IS NOT to be sacked, but put anyone who resists to the sword. Once we have the keep, your men are welcome to its cellar and all that it holds. A guard of 50 men will remain with me and you will be free to range wherever you’d like- other villages lay nearby. I will need you and all of your men back by nightfall, should someone be foolish enough to come to his aid.”

It was a near impossible order to execute. The mere sight of valuables, women or alcohol would spurn the men into a bloody frenzy. But they had their orders. “As you command, my lord.” Jorund was the first to reply and the others quickly followed suit.

“Then let’s have them and make St. Rose howl.” Orm left the captains and waded into the Viking horde. There were perhaps 200 of them. Some would stay with the boats to be brought upriver once the fighting was done, but he would still march with a force well over 150; he intended to crush the Earl and his guard.

He slid his shield across his back and donned a polished steel helm with bronze filigree- the helm of the Jarl over his head. He was well over six feet tall with eyes of ice blue and a strong build. He kept his blonde hair long and in a single braid which reached the middle of his back. His beard, which he normally let hang naturally, was now braided in two spikes, capped with silver beads which jutted from his chin- a sinister look which kept it out of the way for the upcoming fight. Around his neck he wore a thick torc also of silver, each end a dragon’s head. He was well ready and eager for what was to come.
 
When the evening meal rolled around Aingeal had decided to give her father a bit of a break. It was obvious he wasn’t going to take back her punishment with her giving him the cold shoulder to buttering him up. She brought in the evening meal made sure his favorite bread and stew was prepared and even helped a bit in the kitchen. She dressed in his favorite green dress and even braided her hair just as he liked. It seemed to be working well enough because they were speaking pleasantly with one another and afterwards she went off to bed.

It went without saying the small village wasn’t ready for an attack of any kind, nor were they expecting it. As the sun began to set the serfs were dismissed from their tasks and allowed to go home. With their meager earnings hey were able to purchase food for their families St. Rose was many things but he did at least make sure they didn’t die of starvation. The older male had also become surprisingly lax with his small military force. No one had attacked them for decades, despite the farmland it was a relatively small settlement.

As he sat in the study drinking his evening scotch he felt as though something was off. There was a charge in the air that made him uneasy and he began to worry for his daughter more then his people. She was in the prime of her life and there were many young noblemen who wanted her hand in marriage. Restlessly he walked up the hall and ascended the stairs. He found his daughter fast asleep beneath the covers but it did little to settle himself. He called his captain of the guard and had the young man get together a small group of men to patrol the outlying farmlands. He was certain it was nothing more then paranoia but one could never been too sure. Then he went to bed.

Meanwhile in the rain a small force of about ten men made their way through the driving rain hunting vainly in the darkness for any sign of a disturbance. It truly was hopeless though, it was raining too hard for torches so they were practically running blind. It was made more difficult by the fact the wheat was almost ready for harvest so it the tall sweeping waves impaired their vision further. They never saw the Viking party coming through the woods at them, even if they had they would not have survived.
 
They threaded their way through the vales, the rain completely muffling their movement, avoiding the crofter’s huts and the few villages along the way. It is a beautiful country, Orm thought to himself as they marched. The men were in good order, avoiding the temptation of plunder did more to keep it that way than anything else and the Jarl absently touched the pendant again bidding his luck continue. He passed the word that no battle cry be raised until they gained entrance to the castle.

Their luck held until they reached the edge of the village. His scouts had found a route which led them closest to the keep; but nevertheless it still lay in the center of the village. The sun was just beginning to wake in the east and he knew they would have to make a dash for the gate and gain quick entry; otherwise it could become messy work and the village would bear the brunt of it. He hadn’t allowed the men to cut trees and build scaling ladders; the noise of chopping would have been heard for miles, even in the rain, and aroused suspicions. No choice but a mad dash. What he wouldn’t give for a score of berserkers right now. Suddenly he struck upon an idea. He pulled off his helmet and quickly unbuckled his sword.

“What in Odin’s beard are you doing?” It was Thorgrim at his side, puzzled as he watched his lord pulling at his armor. "You should have pissed before putting it on."

“Help me get this off- yours too. I need 20 men, strong with sword and light of foot. We must take the gate and hold just long enough for the rest to join us.”

The Hammer loved the idea of course- it was brash and the stuff of legend. “At least put your leather back on,” he asked, “something to slow their blades my lord.” Thorgrim sent the order for 18 others to join them.

“No time brother.” Orm managed to say as he shrugged the chainmail up over his head, letting it fall to the ground. He buckled his sword belt and prepared his shield, emblazoned with the copper dragon. As an afterthought he slid the helmet back on- so his men might see it in battle and know it was him. Within minutes the 20 were assembled and ready to go. “How far do you make it Thor?” He asked.

“A few cables at least, not that it matters. I’ll be first to the gate anyway.” He was smiling broadly offering the bet.

“Fair said brother. What say we make this interesting?” He turned to the rest of the men who were to make the run. ‘Two gold coins; one from the Dragon and one from the Hammer for the first man to make the gate.” Thorgrim shook his head; now it was Orm’s turn to smile broadly as he patted him on the back. “Now we’ll see how fast you run my friend.”

They were crouched, like feral cats ready to pounce at a single word. Orm looked to his left, right and behind at his men, free of armor carried only weapon and shield. “Tonight we drink either in the castle or Valhalla. With me warriors of Ivarsgard!" He broke into a run the men behind him. Dogs began barking as they broke through the trees and down a narrow street. Thor was there at his side keeping pace and the two shared a smile, running as they did in their childhood, only this run had a bloodier finish. They didn't keep the lead for long however before eight or nine younger warriors passed them up, each hoping for the gold.

The gate still hung open and the first sign the two guards posted there had that anything was amiss was six crazed Norsemen crashing into them and swords driven deep into their bellies as the Viking battle cry went up. In an instant the remaining men, Orm, Thorgrim and the rest were through the gate and on the attack.
 
The shouting woke the Lord of the castle with a start, he knew that sound. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with the barbarians from across the strait. In his younger years he actually fought with them and saw many people die at their swords. Shooting up in bed he sounded the alarm, the small score of men from the barracks lept up dressing themselves in armor and grabbing their swords. “Vikings!” he shouted in horror alerting the household staff. “Protect my daughter!” a young male servant nodded and shot down the hall.

Lady Aingeal was woken by rough calloused hands shaking her form she shot up in bed accidently backhanding the poor boy before realizing something was wrong. “Vikings my lady we must take you to the wine cellar.” He handed her, her dressing robe and she covered her white sleeping gown tying the sash tight around her slender waist. Her ladies in waiting followed after her the four of them running through the servant’s passages and into a small room hidden in a false wall of the wine cellar.

It was furnished and had a small store of dried food, a panic room of sorts incase they were actually every invaded. Her father had demanded the servant’s stop keeping it tidy and replacing the spoiled food but they did none the less. She was thankful for it now. “What of my Da?” she asked the serving boy who frowned. “I’m sorry my lady, last I knew he was dressing to fight with his men.” She jerked up. “I must go get him, he’s too old! Those men will slaughter him.” She tried to get passed the dark haired male but he was far to strong easily pushing her back into the chair while her ladies huddled in a corner.

“If we are very quiet.” Seamus began. “Then we can hide here for many days and eventually we can sneak out through the passage that leads to the stables.” But they needed to be very, very quiet. The slightest whisper, shuffle, sob or cry would alert anyone in the otherwise silent cellar to their presence and the wall the room was hidden behind was very obvious. Taking a deep breath she moved to her few ladies holding them close to her. They just needed to wait that was all, everything was going to be fine.

Lord St. Rose was with a small platoon of men guarding the vault once he knew his daughter was safe. He knew they’d come here as soon as they could, it had all his money and priceless artifacts, including a portrait of his daughter painted on the eve of her 16th birthday. Something he’d obviously forgotten about otherwise, he would have destroyed it to protect her.
 
The fight through the gate and courtyard was quick and fierce, many of the militiamen never had the chance to drop their swords before being cut down. A few tried to defend themselves and fewer still managed to wound or take down a raider. Orm, Thorgrim and a group of ten or so rushed the keep, but the steward inside managed to get the door shut and locked before they could get in.

Orm laughed as he surveyed their work. "Who do we owe the gold? he cried out when the fighting in the courtyard had ended.

One of the men came forward to claim his prize, bleeding from the side of his head where an ear used to be. He gladly took the coins, seemingly unaware of his wound.

The Jarl looked back at the thick oak and iron door that kept him from St. Rose. He turned back to his men. "Break it down!" He shouted and stepped away. Suddenly arrows fell amongst them, fired from the rooftop. "As if the rain wasn't bothersome enough." He yelled to Thorgrim, their shields raised instinctually to protect themselves. He felt the impact of one on his shield. "Lucky for us it's only a drizzle!" He was in very high spirits.

A battering ram was fashioned in short order and the men set to work bringing the door down. The door was made of strong Irish oak and with each impact of the ram the boom was near deafening.
 
The boom echoed in the large building sending servants running for whatever hidey hole they could find. Some were in closets others hid in the passages, a few even hid under their beds. St. Rose ordered them to not waste their lives by trying to fight the men and most were more then happy to obey them. There were a few of course generally the older gentlemen who worked the stables or gardens on the estate. They were going to fight even if it meant dying.

Down in the cellar Aingeal had her hands over her ears trying to drown out the sound of the oak beginning to splinter while the archers tried in vain to kill at least two or three of the remaining men. It was so hard to believe after so long that they were being invaded by vikings. 30 years of peace her father said, while they went for the villages closer to the rocky coast. even the highly trained men that came from the larger cities had problems holding them back. Her father should have known the peace wouldn't last much longer.

Lord St. Rose felt his heart thud with every strike against the strong doors. Even his men seemed spooked most of them never having picked up a sword in their entire lives. He could only hope that the serving boy could keep his daughter safe long enough to smuggle her out of the castle in three days time. Then they could make their way to the next town and warn them that the barbarians were moving inland taking prize farmland in the process.

Then there was the loud sound of wood splintering and many of the remained militia took a visible step backwards. The door had given there was nothing stopping them now unless the archers were as good with swords as they were with bows. In fact the leader of that troop called them off and demanded they arm themselves and go down to face these men. Anything to buy their lord more time.
 
Outside, a dozen men, six to a side, drove the battering ram home against the door while others created a roof of shields above their heads, overlapping them to give some form of protection. They had been at it for the better part of ten minutes and the door looked finally ready to break. Although the rain had stopped the arrows continued to fall and Orm could see that a number of his men had been wounded; a few killed as a result. He was growing more frustrated with each successive crash of the ram, cursing the Irish oak of the door. The arrows were a nuisance; the bow a weapon for cowards as far as he was concerned, infuriated the men who spewed insults at them, calling them old women and much worse, challenging them to fight like men.

Hrafn approached and nodded as Orm met his eye. “Perhaps they can’t hear your knock, my lord.” He joked, seeing that the Jarl was growing impatient. “I can put more men to the task.” An arrow struck the ground near their feet, but neither man seemed to notice.

The Dragon nodded and the Raven called for more men. As Orm turned his head to look towards the tower another arrow glanced off the brim of his helm and sliced into his left bicep. He cursed as he felt the blood begin to run down his arm, warm, sticky and steaming in the morning air. "Get it DONE!" He yelled at the men crossing the courtyard to be nearest the door. The next blow dealt a thunderous crack, the door caving in. The final blow drove the door open and Orm led the men through.

"Ivarsgard!" The battlecry rang out as he charged and his men took up the cry. They decended on the militia like ravenous wolves, the Vikings anger fueled by having been needled by the arrow fire. Now they would take their revenge. The Jarl charged the man in the center of their line. Orm's sword came down hard, but the man managed to bring up his shield just enough to keep his head from being cleaved. The Dragon kicked the shield hard, both driving the swordsman back and freeing his blade. In the same motion he hacked low and left, catching a militiaman just below the knee, nearly severing the limb. His eyes never left his original foe. In the chaos of battle he was master. The tip of Orm's sword was low and menacing as he closed on the swordsman who had regained himself and was preparing for Vikings next attack.

The Jarl spoke in a loud voice and in the enemies tongue so they would understand. "I am Orm, son of Ivar, son of Ulf, Jarl of Ivarsgard and Jorpeland! Our quarrel is not with you, but your master! I give you my oath- lay down arms you shall keep your lives! Ask yourselves- are your lives less dear then his? Would he spill his blood for you? Continue to resist and we will kill everyone here... and in the village."
 
“Put them down.” Came a weary voice from the back near the vault. All heads turned towards the proud Lord in his freshly polished armor. His blonde hair was streaked with gray and green eyes very much like his daughters gazed at the Jarl. “We do not need to risk the lives of every woman and child in this village over a few acres of farmland. These barbarians can be monstrous but they do have honor.” As far as Lord St. Rose was concerned as long as his daughter got out safely he didn’t mind dying for her. He was old and tired now, no longer the quick duel wielding fighter he’d been in his youth. His people, while he was hard on them, were important and if there was a chance they could be spared he would take it.

“Before I let you kill me all I ask is for your word as Jarl you will take care of these people.” He began being certain everyone in the castle heard them. “Taking care meaning not killing, raping, beating or driving them into the dirt as slave labor.” Gregory St. Rose was almost a head shorter then the great man before him but he carried himself as only a once great warrior could. “Everyone in this building will serve as witnesses.” He gestured to his men who had dropped their weapons and knelt before the Vikings. Some of the younger men were shaking fearing that their lives would be ended the moment their Lord took his last breath. “What say you?”

Down below in the hidden cellar room Aingeal listened to his small speech via a small pipe system that led downwards into the secret room.. His voice was shaking in such a subtle manner she doubted anyone else but her could tell. He was frightened and there was an edge to his voice that meant he accepted there was a high chance he was going to die. Even if he somehow beat Orm, the rest of the barbarians would kill him before he could even draw his swords again. The thought broke the young woman’s heart and she vowed to get out of the castle and warn the other villages as soon as possible.

“I should dress in something a bit more respectable don’t you think?” she said after a moment keeping her voice low. Changing her cloths would keep her distracted so she didn’t feel the need to rush to her father’s rescue. The eldest of her ladies in waiting nodded. Reaching into a small closet she pulled out a well cared for green dress. It was out of season but it was better then running around in her night cloths.
 
Orm faced the Earl speaking to his men as he did, instructing them to stay their weapons. He was pleased that St. Rose saw the sense in his words and his ruse worked; he never actually intended to put the village to the sword. But the offer came at a price. He’d thought to send the militiamen back to Ivarsgard as thralls, slaves in fact. They would have fetched a good price, even if they were useless with a blade. He would have to come up with a different use for them instead.

The Jarl studied the Earl a moment longer, looking for any sign of deceit. All he saw was a man, resigned to his fate. “St. Rose, before you have my answer, first I must thank you for your invitation to visit your country. Your fields are full, your cows and sheep fat.” As he sheathed his sword and took off his helm he continued. “Had you not refused to pay tribute, I would never have had thought to voyage to such a ripe land. Who knew such riches lay inland?” He began to approach St. Rose, unstrapping the shield from his right arm as he crossed the room and passing it to his sword arm, still bleeding from the arrow wound. “You have my word.” Orm offered his forearm to seal the surrender.
 
"Fair enough." He said saddened by the fact he was the reason the vikings were going to invade his home country. "Though in my defense the sum you demanded was outrageous for a small farming community." even as he spoke he gripped the vikings forearm and squeezed gently nodded his head and backing away. Out came his short swords he worked them like a dancer even for his age. His men gave their lord a wide berth so he had room to work. "I do hope you feel inclined to give me a warrior's death."

For the most part Lord St. Rose seemed like he had a bit of fight in him but it was obvious his age was making it hard on him. Lightly armored like he was it was easier for him to move but he was not quite as fast as Orm. Even though his men knew their lord was going to die they couldn't help but hope he would win. While St. Rose had speed on his side Orm had sheer size and force. However the fighter in the older man refused to let him just lay down and die.
 
The Jarl understood the desire for a warrior's death, as his own father had wanted. He could see the pride in St. Rose's eyes as he spoke and knew he could not deny him. Orm nodded, and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "On my oath, you shall have it. We have a saying in Jorpeland. 'The one who passes sentence must also swing the blade.' There is time yet for it, but not now- the morning is young and there's much to be done." With that he changed the subject.

He ordered his men to gather up the dropped weapons, bind the prisoners and find a place to lock them away- he didn’t want any surprises after his own men were roaring drunk. He then called for his captains, thanked them for their work and bid them send men back to the ships to bring them upriver. Then they could go their separate ways, taking their crews to seek whatever plunder they might find. Thorgrim, Hrafn and Snorre all eagerly departed while Jorund sent his second in command in his stead. “I’m getting too old for pillaging, but I do like the fight.” He explained. That left Orm’s crew of seventy and they were hungry for plunder.

“As I swore,” he called to his men, “the wine cellar is yours. One of you- bring me a flagon of the whiskey they make should you find it. Otherwise, anything will do. A fight always leaves me thirsty.” His continued giving orders.

“Grubbi, take some men, see to the wounded and find the cooks if they still live. Put them to work. We have many to feed, so let us break fast and celebrate our quick victory.”

"And what of your arm, nephew?" Jorund asked.

"For now, send someone to bind it, I am fine uncle." The wound had nearly caked over as he was no longer swinging his sword, but the length of his arm was streaked in rivulets of blood, making for a gruesome sight.

He turned back to Earl St. Rose. “Do you have any men on patrol? I extend to them the same terms should they surrender. In the meantime, show me to the vault.”
 
"I sent a small scouting party to see to the farmlands late last night. I would not be surprised if they were killed by your men. However if you did not see them given their speed they should be somewhere in the northern wheat fields if they kept up a good pace." He pointed to a map and circled the area with his finger. It was very hard to treat an invader like a guest despite the agreement they reached. At least his people were going to be safe it was all he could ask for and his daughter. He was willing to give Orm everything he wanted except for his daughter.

"The vault is this way." he gestured over his shoulder and led the large man through a narrow hall to a large door that seemed to have four different keys. At the moment he had all four but normally they were spread throughout his captains. One by one he placed them in their locks in a very specific fashion until the door clicked open. Within there were piles of gold and small treasures, paintings, gilded weapons and on the far wall a painting of a young woman with ash blonde hair and blue eyes. Beside that was a picture of an older woman with dark auburn hair and equally green eyes though they seemed exotic and dangerous.

Rather then draw attention to it he instead gestured to the gold. "I don't know what you intend to do with it all but here it is. Not quite the amount you wanted as tribute but none the less." he stepped aside after handing the keys to Orm with a soft sigh. It wasn't as though he was going to need the money once he was dead. "The weapons really have no use but they're nice trophy pieces." really his gold and money just sat here waiting for the right man to propose to his daughter. This was her dowry but once the vikings had it she'd be living on the street. It was painful to imagine but it was worst imagining what the vikings would do to the beautiful young woman.
 
Orm followed St. Rose’s finger as it raced along the map. Something about the Earl’s demeanor vexed him, but he couldn’t quite finger it. In all the seasons he’d gone a-viking he’d never had a prisoner quite so accommodating. Even the fat abbot of Iona had to be pressed harder. As he listened someone approached, applied a salve to his wound and wrapped it tightly.

“I’ll have a closer look later my lord, when you are ready. It may need stitching.” Orm simply nodded as followed St. Rose to the vault.

It was well constructed and the Jarl knew it would have been very difficult to breach had it come to that. He was also impressed by how intricate the locking system was; he’d never seen anything like it, which only served to pique his curiosity. The stronger the lock- the dearer the treasure. The contents inside brought a smile to Orm’s face. The men shall be pleased with their share, he thought as he reached out, picked up a handful of coins and tossed them back. The weapons caught his eye. The Earl was right, they were merely decorative but he unsheathed a sword and admired the craftsmanship and skill it took to produce. He slid it back into its scabbard and placed it where he found it.

He continued through the room silently, slowly flipping through the various paintings, picking up an object here and placing it down again as things caught his eye. Eventually he reached the paintings hung on the back wall. Both women were beautiful, in different ways. He looked at one and then the other, studying them. The younger woman’s hair was a few shades darker then his own, as were her eyes and he wondered if the painting did her beauty justice. Even a fool could see the resemblances. After what seemed an eternity he turned back to St. Rose smiling politely and simply asked, “your Lady and daughter I presume?”

Orm didn’t wait for his answer before continuing. “Where are they Earl? I pray to the gods for their sake that they are either here in the castle under my protection, or so far away there is no chance that my captains or their men will find them. I cannot protect them outside these walls.”
 
"You needn't worry." St. Rose said smiling bitterly. "My wife died of pneumonia some ten years ago and my daughter...she drowned in a nearby river about a year after that painting was done." it was the first thing that came to his mind and it was somewhat close to the truth. Aingeal had almost drowned after the painting was finished, but a guard saved her. Of course Orm didn’t need to know that. While the old Irishman was willing to give up his land and people, he was not going to subject her to these barbarians. As long as she stayed in the secret room for a couple of days she’d be able to sneak out and warn the other villages. He could only hope once they cleared the basement of its whiskey and alcohol they’d have no reason to be down there any longer.

Her room had been successfully ransacked and cleared out by several of the archers that attacked them from the eve of the castle. They had thrown most of the gowns out into the small pond behind his daughter’s room after she escaped. The sheer weight ensured they’d sink to the bottom. “Is there anything else you need?” he suddenly asked as though he was eager to change the subject and put the painful memories behind him. He had indeed been unusually welcoming up and to this point but there were some things he was not willing to give up to the Jarl. Since he was going to be killed he doubted he’d need the money, he only wished he thought to send some with his daughter. If only they had a little more time before they were attacked he would’ve.

Moving past Orm he exited the soon to be emptied vault with a heavy heart. Lord St. Rose was lucky the large man had been wounded; otherwise he probably would’ve been killed right then and there. “I wish to take our battle outside so none of the young servants need to see their Lord killed.” The front yard would be the best place it was open and gave him more space to move around. The back had the garden and the pond; he didn’t want to risk the Jarl seeing any of the jewels or cloths that had been tossed back there in an effort to hid Aingeal’s existence from him.
 
The Jarl listened as St. Rose spoke and could see the pain evident in the man’s eyes. He glanced back at the paintings once more before The Earl asked what more he needed. "You have been very gracious Lord St. Rose and I understand your desire to be reunited." He said turning back and following him out of the vault. Orm’s lieutenant stood waiting outside the door.

“Divide the contents between the men. There are two paintings on the back wall- see that they are left undisturbed.” The lieutenant nodded and called down the passageway for assistance as the two noblemen made their way back out into the front courtyard.

The Dragon called for his armor, pulling the chain shirt on over his head and then his helm. He called for St. Rose’s sword to be returned to him as the Viking belted his back on. Lastly he slid his shield onto his right arm and called for an axe. The shaft was nearly three feet long and the axe head curved in a deadly crescent. Orm lazily rolled the axe a few times in front of him feeling its balance and then approached his adversary who stood ready in the center of the courtyard. Orm offered his arm again for the Lord to clasp. “In another time, I think we could well have been allies. I will look after your people as if they were my own. You will have a good death St. Rose, and your people will know that in the end you stood and faced me.” St. Rose might consider him a barbarian or savage, but the truth of it was they shared a sense of honor. “On your command Earl.”
 
((Forgive me I'm not very good at combat roleplay. I hope you can work off it. Sorry it's a bit short especially after the wait RL you know?))

St. Rose rolled his shoulder back to make sure the leather armor he wore was still oiled. It was very little defense against the large broad axe but it gave him freedom of movement. Drawing his rather large broad sword he backed up several paces before holding it in a defensive position. He knew he wasn't going to last long but he had to try.

Then he nodded praying he'd at least be a challenge to the big man. Gazing over to his left he noticed the small window that marked the small hidden room his daughter was in. For the briefest moments he could swear he saw her ashy blonde hair but then it was gone and the small window was blocked up by several decent sized stones making it unnoticeable. "Be safe." he murmured in Gaelic. "I love you lass." then he turned his attention to the fight.
 
A sense of calm came over the Viking Lord as he readied himself for the fight. Things were always clearest to him in the thick of battle. Every motion an opponent made gave him subtle clues. The way a man shifted his weight, or how a shoulder moved- everything, however small or seemingly insignificant signalled an intent. In these moments, with death hanging in the balance, time seemed to slow for Orm. He saw everything. He caught the glance Lord St. Rose stole back towards his keep, but could not hear the words. He caught movement in the periphery of his vision and his head snapped in the direction his opponent was gazing. Did a stone move? He looked closer, but couldn't see how it was possible. But he was sure he'd seen something. The bang of a sword against a shield brought his attention back to the melee.
[/b]
The Dragon beat his chest with his axe hand saluting Lord St. Rose. They closed the distance between them as the viking raiders encircled them.

"I will take you before you tire your Lordship" Orm's voice was respectful and without bravado. "You shall have a good death and those who knew you will long remember that in your final hour, you stood, fought and died bravely as a warrior."

The Earl simply nodded, his mind focused on what lay ahead and taking his secret to the grave. The two men began the dance of death. Slowly turning as they sized one another up. Orm knew it would not be an easy victory by any means, desperate men had little to fear and felt even less. The Viking saw the attack in St. Rose's eyes a heartbeat before the man first swung his sword and blocked it with his shied. St. Rose pressed his attack, cutting and hacking with his blade trying to find an opening. Orm blocked the blows with his shield, turning as he did so, forcing the Earl to overextend. He brought the axe down hard at the Earl's neck, but St. Rose managed to block the blow just before it struck home

Orm realized in that first attack that St. Rose must have once been a fine warrior otherwise he would have had no hope of defending while so overextended. The only fault the Viking could find in him was that he had let himself grow complacent, his muscles were straining to rememebr the training. The Earl had regained his position and this time it was the Viking who attacked. He swung the axe overhand, once, twice, three times in quick succession forcing the Earl to bring up his shield to defend. On the forth swing Orm took a half step in, hitting the shield with the shaft, the axehead above it. In a fluid motion Orm pulled back, down and hard on the axe, hooking the top of the shield and jerking it downward. Orm's arm came up and he drove the axe forward, the shaft sliding along the lip of the shield and there was a tremendous clang of steel on steel as the axehead smashed into St. Rose's helmet pushing him back off balance. The Viking chopped low with his weapon and St. Rose managed to get his leg clear before the axe struck him.

The Earl's sword swung for the axe handle as it passed by. He struck it, but because he was off balance, it did little to the shaft. St. Rose planted his rear foot, catching his balance and pressed forward as his sword began to remember. He suddenly felt more alive then he had in years and as the memories flooded back of the battles of his youth, his prowess with the sword became more evident. He stabbed low, driving the Viking's shield downward to block and then with a deft twist of his wrist the blade flew upwards catching the Viking on the arm.

Orm felt the impact of the blade on the chain rings and them crumple beneath the force of the blow. He grimmaced at the hit but now was not the time to concern himself with it. He was still holding his shield and as he swung the axw downward to regain his own momentum he bobbed the shield up and down to be sure his arm wasn't broken.

The Earl blocked and parried another flurry of blows. Orm took a step back, resizing his opponent.

The Earl was feeling more confident now, he'd struck the Viking a blow, two in fact and Orm had done little to him. His breath was coming a bit shorter now, unaccustomed to the strenuous work. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he wondered that if he should kill the Viking Lord, would his men give up and leave, or slay him where he stood. He rolled his sword and tapped it lightly against his shield inviting the Viking to attack.

The Dragon atacked, this time faster and more viciously. A large piece of St. Rose's shield was snapped away as he was forced back. Orm's men were shouting now, watching their chieftain on the offensive. Earl St. Rose slashed at Orm's head and the Viking ducked out of the way- he'd seen the sword shoulder a half beat earlier turn. He countered with a vicious strike which embedded the axe in his opponents shield. He jerked on the axe, pulling St. Rose towards him, trying to free the blade. His shield hand grabbed the shaft of the axe as well and he used the momentum to throw St. Rose from his feet, freeing the axe as well.

It was over in an instant, St. Rose never saw the blow. As he tumbled off his feet he felt the axe pull free from his shield, he felt the ground as he landed and then nothing.

Orm pulled the axe from the back of St. Rose's helmet, using his foot to hold the corpse still as he pried. His men cheered and their voices carried over the wall and into the village. Triumphant, Orm raised his axe for all to see. "By right, I claim this keep, and all properties and holdings of my vanquished foe." The men roared again. "Prepare a feast to celebrate!" He shouted and when the din died down he continued. "I am Orm, now lord of these lands and the people of the village are now my vassals- you shall not bring them any harm. There is gold enough in the old Earl's vault- it is being counted and shares will be given. You will buy or trade with them- any man who steals shall deal with me." He waited to gauge their reactions and when he was satisfied they understood he released them and made his way back towards the keep tossing the axe back to the man he'd borrowed it from. "A fine weapon," he called- perhaps you'll name it 'Earlslayer.'

He crossed the courtyard and as he reached the steps to the keep the image of the Earl just pefore the fight flashed into his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment reliving it and what he thought he'd saw from the corner of his eye. Unconvinced that it was just a trick of the light, he began to follow the wall of the keep studying it closely, wondering what he saw. He followed it for a long way without finding anything and when he did finally look up he was standing in the gardens of the rear courtyard. There was a small pond in its center and a large number of ornamental trees and plants arranged around the grounds. He looked around, taking it in for the first time and found it quite nice. Turning he looked back at the keep. High on its wall there were numerous windows and he thought the view from them must be rather good. The air smelled like rain and a soft breeze blew on this side of the keep. Something than caught his eye beneath the near window. Stuck into the mortar of the stone wall, a small ribbon of fabric fluttered gently.
 
From her hidden room in the cellar Aingeal sobbed brokenly into a pillow she’d been trying to embroider. Even with the stone hiding her view it was hard to mistake the sound of an axe hitting flesh, her father was dead. It had been inevitable if she was honest with herself, her father was old and it had been quite sometime since he picked up a sword with the intention of killing someone. Her ladies in waiting all hovered around her and the male serving boy had a stricken look on his face. St. Rose had been like a father to him, he couldn’t believe the old man was dead now.

Unfortunately for them a group of men working under Orm reached the back of the cellar. They’d been unusually quiet despite the joyous occasion or perhaps the serving boy just hadn’t been paying attention. However one of them heard her soft crying despite the fact it was muffled and all three froze thinking it some manner of spirit before they realized the wall panel was the slightest bit different. “We should get the Jarl.” One whispered, a young man by the looks of him with his beard just coming in. The other two nodded. Quick as they appeared the headed back upstairs with the inhabitants of the small room none the wiser.

“We should leave tonight Lady St. Rose.” The serving male said patting her shoulder comfortingly. “It is too dangerous to stay for the three days your father wanted us to stay.” Looking up at him with tear stained cheeks she nodded in agreement. “You’re right in three days they could probably invade several more of the small villages.” As much as she wished to mourn her father it was not an option.

Meanwhile back up top the young man approached his Jarl kneeling respectfully. “I apologize for interrupting my Jarl but a few of the men think there may be someone hidden in the cellar, we heard crying and soft voices behind a wall. It sounded female but we were not certain if we should check or not. Would you like to see for yourself?”
 
He had nearly drifted off in his chair when Grubbi shook him awake to hear the young warrior's report it seemed days since the last time he'd truly slept and he had used nearly all his remaining energy during the fight. The dragon nodded and rose slowly, wanting to see for himself. As they walked back towards the vault the Jarl asked where they'd heard the voices.

"Near the back, my lord. Quiet it was, but I am sure of what I heard."

The stronger the lock, the dearer the treasure. He remembered the vault door and pieces began falling together. The glance back towards the keep. Now it occured that where he looked was in the direction of where the vault lay. The scrap of fabric hanging from the window. It was a dark blue and looked to be of fine quality, even from where he stood on the ground. He spoke low to one of the men accompanying him and watched as he ran back the other way. That wiley bastard, Orm smiled as it all made sense. That wiley, lying bastard. He really couldn't fault the man however, he was certain he'd have done the same. As they aproached the door to the vault Orm entered slowly and watched as the young housekarl pointed in the direction he'd heard the noise. Orm stepped lightly to the back wall and placed his ear upon it, listening for any sound. He heard nothing. He frew his dagger slowly and began probing along the wall's seams, discovering the gap.

There is certainly a latch to open it he thought, and in the same instance realized that there would also be a barred from the other side.His mind raced as he considered many possibilities. There might be only a small room beyond, in which they were trapped. But that made little sense to him since the vault door would be locked and they'd have no other means of escape. That might be the case- those hidden inside would wait it out and then make their escape when the attackers were gone. No one bothered to lock an empty vault after all.

Or there might be an escape route. Like rabbits there could be a tunnel leading somewhere- outside the wall perhaps. If that were the case then time was of the essence. They may already have escaped in the time since they were discovered. Remember to send men to search for a tunnel, he reminded himself. He was tired and he had to refocus his attention. Was there a tunnel or not? If they smashed the back wall with the battering ram, it would topple the wall and possibly crush the people beyond- accomplishing nothing. If there were a tunnel, the first time the ram struck home they'd all scurry down it and away, again accomplishing nothing. He was just considering that rabbit had many holes into and out of their warrens and if there were a tunnel there cold be multiple exits when his mind came to a halt. It was enough to do his head in. He pushed off the wall and walked back to the vault entrance.

Find me someone who knows of this room beyond. I swore that I would not kill anyone here and I will not be marked an oathbreaker, despite St. Rose's deception. So tired now, if he could just have a few hours rest he could think more clearly. But time he did not have. The Earl had seen the reason in surrendering without unnecessary bloodshed. In truth other then his, very little had been spilled at all. The Jarl rubbed his eyes and covered his mouth as he yawned. He shook his head to clear out the cobwebs and walked to the back wall.

He spoke clearly and his voice was firm- the voice of a Jarl. "I am Orm Ivarsson, Jarl of Ivarsgard and Jorpeland. Earl St. Rose is dead. He faced me in single combat and died an honorable death. He shall be buried according to your customs as he deserved." He paused listening for any reaction beyond. "I swore an oath to the Ear that neither I or any of my men would kill, enslave or do worse to anyone in the castle or in the village beyond its walls. I invite you to come out of your own volition and no harm shall come to you. I am tired and have no desire to break this wall down to pluck you out." He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, wondering if they would listen.

"My quarrel was with the Earl- he did not pay Danegeld and had to stand as an example to others who might also think to refuse. That is settled and I am now the lord and master of these lands." Again he paused listening. "You may be able to escape, I do not know yet if you have a tunnel or not. But you should know that I have released four of my captains and their crews to find their treasures elsewhere in the countryside. Outside these walls I can not ensure your safety and they swore no oath. The game is up. Now is the time to come out and give yourselves up." He wondered if they would or not, if they would charge out weapons drawn or not- as a precaution he stepped backwards from the wall with his hand upon his sword.
 
The serving boy froze his eyes widening when the Jarl began to speak to them. Had they been found that quickly? Why had he not heard whoever alerted him to their hiding place? Gazing at the three ladies in waiting then at Aingeal he gathered them close. “Listen to me.” He began. “Lady Aingeal you hide in the wardrobe, they have no idea how many are in here so as long as at least a few of us surrender he’ll have no reason to suspect there to be more.” it seemed for a moment that she was going to agree but at the last minute she decided against it. “Even if I manage to hide how do you expect a lone woman to make it to a village with barbarians running about?” she raised a brow. “You do know what they do to lone unprotected women don’t you?”

The hand maidens all shuttered and several covered their mouths. What she was hinting at was something no properly bred noble should hint at. Her father told her far more then was considered proper if she was aware that they tended to ‘enjoy’ attractive women even if said women did not want to be enjoyed. Of course the serving boy did not want to allow her to expose herself but she was his liege now that her father was dead. “As you wish my lady.” He bowed his head. Perhaps they could still escape even if they were discovered? After all there were dozens of passageways and the Vikings weren’t going to be able to guard all of them.

“We’re coming out.” He called out while the ladies in waiting gathered their things. There was nothing they could do to hide Aingeal’s rather noticeable green eyes, even if they changed her hair. Those green eyes were a common trait in the St. Rose family line and he’d likely see the similarity to her father right away. Sighing softly he undid the various latches and locks. Then he merely knocked on the panel once and it slid away. He stepped out first a young lithe man with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He looked to be in his early 20’s. Then came the hand maidens each quite lovely but with nothing that made them stick out.

Finally Aingeal followed dressed in the rather out of season dress with her long ash blonde hair braided down her back. She was a lovely woman who could be the spitting image of her mother in her younger years, if not for the hair and softer features. Emerald green eyes gazed at the Jarl with very little fear and her status was obvious because of it. Just because she did the smart thing and left the room willingly did not mean she was going to bend to his whims. The dress she wore was out of season but still looked lovely on her moderately curved frame. “I do hope you still intend to keep your word Jarl. Despite the fact we hid from you.” She said in an even tone.
 
Orm was surprised and relieved that they saw the reason in his words and decided to come out. Maybe now he might get some sleep. "Take them," he ordered, pointing to the boy and handmaids. "Put them with the others for now. Leave the Lady." He spoke in the language of the north and as his men came forward he addressed the captives.

"Lady St. Rose." Your picture does you false and I am pleased to see you still live." The Viking nodded his head slightly as he addressed her. "My men will take your servants to join the others for the time being. I intend to keep my word, so long as you do as well." A thin smile crossed his lips as he spoke. "There is food and drink prepared in the Great Hall should you be hungry. We have much to discuss."

"You know who I am, but I as yet do not know your name. What are you called Lady St. Rose? The servants were led from the room under guard and once they had left, Orm motioned for the Lady to proceed. "You of course know the way. After you m'lady."
 
She watched as her handmaidens and the serving boy were taken away. It was to be expected she supposed, after all they were technically prisoners same as she was. However if that was the case why had he not sent her with them? It made her uneasy but it didn't not show on her rather calm face. Instead she adjusted the shawl on her shoulders and began to head up the stairs.

"My name is Aingeal, Jarl." she said in a soft voice. It went without saying she knew what he meant when he mentioned her still alive. Her father probably hoped to fool him into thinking she died to avoid a manhunt. He'd always been clever like that, too bad he didn't count on his daughter's common sense and lack of fear when facing the large man. For some reason she seemed confident that he would not try to force himself on her, at least for the moment.

Keeping her head facing forewords she led him towards the great hall where the smell of cooked meat became quite obvious. It was loud too so much so she started for a moment. Never in her life had such noise come from that room, loud booming laughter and obnoxious singing. It seemed the Jarl's men had already had a bit too much to drink. When she entered the servant's froze at the sight of her, most expected her to run like her father ordered, they should have known better.

Aingeal smiled at them. "It's okay." she said her voice ringing loud and clear despite the noise. "I came willingly." her servants bowed and continued the task of tending to the vikings as though they'd always been here. It was obvious each one feared for her knowing the reputation of these people. However they also new their Lady was of stronger will then most if anyone could resist she could.
 
"Lady Aingeal." He spoke her name, the Gaelic accented on his tongue. It wasn't his first, or second language for that matter, but he spoke it well enough. She moved with grace and the Jarl was impressed by how composed she was considering the circumstances. Well bred and beautiful as well,he thought as he wondered how dutiful she would be for her new Jarl.

Escorting her into the Great Hall he was pleased to see most of his men gathered and feasting. Many were drunk on the contents of Earl St. Rose's cellar- all the better since it kept them from the village beyond the wall. He trusted his men to follow his orders, but drink clouded their judgement and given his oath, he prefered them close at hand. They made their way to the long table where a large empty chair sat at an end. The Earl's chair. Orm approached and spoke gruffly in Danish to the housekarl sitting in the chair to it's left. The man immediately took his trencher and horn and found an empty seat farther down. He sat in the Earl's chair and motioned for Lady Aingeal to sit beside him. Food was brought, thick slices of roasted pork and joints of fowl with steaming vegetables as well as tankards of ale and wine were served, but Orm had little appetite.

"Please, eat if you'd like." He offered with a dissmissive wave. The sooner he dealt with the matters at hand the better in his opinion. And then some sleep.
"Your father will be buried in the morning and one of your priests may say his words should it please you. The old gardener led my men to your family plots and a hole is being prepared." Pyres were already being constructed in the courtyard for the few raiders of his own who had died in the melee.

He spoke matter of factly to Aingeal. "These lands are bountiful, lush and fertile and I claim them for my own. I expect everyone, lowborn and noble to swear fealty and accept me as their new lord and master. Should they, then these lands will continue to prosper, crofters and craftsmen alike will continue as they always have. But should anyone refuse, or think to raise arms against me or my men, I will put the whole of it to the torch and blade- taking what we want and leaving the rest in ruin." At that point he took up a tankard and drew a long swallow of the dark ale inside. Putting the mug down he again faced the Lady; considering her. "So Lady Aingeal, now comes the time for your decision. Will you bend a knee, kiss my hand and swear your loyalty thus setting the example for all your people?" He stood as he finished and offered his hand.
 
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