For Gold Or For Glory - Viking Fiction

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A fierce and howling wind pushed at their backs, filling the sail and threatening to lift Kali’s heavy locks. She pushed a stray hair out of her eyes and shouted her thanks to Poseidon into the wild wind. A spray of salt and sea splashed over the longship’s side, sloshing over Kali’s feet and trickling through the piles of loot.

She stepped over one soggy bag, checking the gold inside.
Chaac snorted. “It’s not going to dissolve in the water, woman.”
Kali glanced over her shoulder with a scowl. “I’m counting. You said we’d be there by now.”

“Said we’d be there soon,” he corrected, taking another long drink of mead. “By midday. Look at the sky—see the sun in the middle yet? Patience, or I’ll toss you over the side myself.”

The Goddess of Destruction slipped closer, her footing perfect even in the wet and rocking ship. She lifted one of her many hands and gripped Chaac’s chin with so much quiet strength it surprised him. “Threaten me again and your death will be so slow you’ll beg for my impatience.”
Chaac grinned.

“Land!” shouted mangy Fenrir at the other end of the ship. He leaned into the winds and howled, slobber streaming from his lips. Kali and Chaac each reached for their weapons—Chaac’s massive, Kali’s manyfold.

The fog had rolled in thick and plentiful thanks to their benefactor, obscuring their approach. So the old sea bastard could make himself useful after all, thought Kali.
As soon as the longship touched the sand, the three of them leapt over its side and charged. The temple loomed ahead, warm fires glowing faintly from within high tower windows. Tall, regal, certainly impressive. But poorly defended. The Northern gods had grown soft—and their ancient enemies had followed suit. Kali couldn’t find it in herself to care. More destruction, more fuel for the fire. These were not her people.

Fenrir charged ahead, leaving the two in his wake. Screaming followed him, muted and muffled in the distance and fog. Beside her, Chaac growled and leaned forward, charging after the beast. The wind was at their backs—Kali raised her many blades and shouted, speeding up after them.

To her left, Fenrir dug his great fangs into a pair of guards and tore them apart. To her right, Chaac leapt over a row of barricades and brought his axe down on a spearman’s head. Kali slowed to a stop, turning quickly side to side to survey the battlefield. Fires were already getting out of control—chaos surrounded her.

There, in the distance behind a wall of smoke and cinder, she saw him: the head priest of the false god, looking over his shoulder as he struggled to carry a heavy chest from the battlefield. She laughed, and charged her quarry with her arms raised.

The cries of the dying and the clanging of steel became muted to her—there was only her, and her prey. She dodged a charging monk, slipped between Chaac and a warrior crossing swords, and ducked under burning wooden beams. The false priest turned and shielded himself with his hands, dropping the great chest with a heavy thunk. She caught him as he was hurrying up a flight of stairs, grabbed him by his collar, and dug each of her blades into him. His scream was the only one that could satisfy her.

She let him go when she was finished with him and carefully picked up the chest, now soaked at its base with his freely flowing blood. Triumphant, she smiled and walked back to the longship.
Fenrir dug into a slab of meat—he deserved a treat—as Kali counted the spoils. “Four and a half bag’s worth of silver. Half a bag of gold. Few gems, think that one’s fake though.”
Chaac slammed his axe into a solid wooden chest, splitting it apart. Kali held on as the boat rocked, scowling. “You could have hit the ship!”
He ignored her, prying apart thick splinters to get to the innards. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

Sunlight sparkled at them from inside—gold, vibrant and almost glowing. Kali’s eyes widened. “I’ll be damned. There it is.”

“Told you it would be there,” said Chaac. He lifted the golden statue from the chest, holding it up against what little faint light shone through the fog. “The Golden Dragon, as promised.”
“You didn’t go and dent it, did you?” Kali nervously looked the thing over, but it was as pristine as the real thing. She touched the dragon’s wing with the tip of her finger, impressed.

–

Chaac banged his fist three times on the grand oak door. Each time it shook under the weight of his hand, and on the fourth the door swung open. A shortish, broad man glared out from behind the handle.

“What do you want,” he growled.
Kali dragged the wagon forward, loaded with spoils of silver and gold. She lifted the cloth covering, letting it glitter in the sunlight. At its front, the Golden Dragon.
Fafnir’s eyes went wide and wild with greed. His hands shook as he clenched them together, wringing them.

Chaac wasted no time. “You’ll fight with us, as promised, in the war of the gods,” he rumbled. “There will be much more of this.”

The dwarf’s eyes lifted to them, hot greed flickering in them. He grinned, slowly, and reached out to run his hands through the pile of gold and silver.

“You have yourselves a deal,” he said slowly. He chuckled. “For now.”

Written by Yvette Lessard

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For Gold Or For Glory - Viking Fiction

Written by Yvette Lessard

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