Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2011 Alexandra O'Hurley
ISBN: 978-1-926950-77-8
Cover Artist: LF Designs
Editor: Caitlin Ray
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my Mother and Daughter—Hopefully, one step closer to Harbour View...
NIGHT OF THE DRAGON
A Berserker Mate's Story, 1
Alexandra O'Hurley
Copyright © 2011
I'll ask of the berserkers, you tasters of blood,
[…]Wolf-skinned they are called. In battle
They bear bloody shields.
Red with blood are their spears when they come to fight
[…]The prince in his wisdom puts trust in such men
Who hack through enemy shields
—Haraldskvæði, Thórbiörn Hornklofi
Ninth Century poem in honor of King Harald Fairhair
Chapter One
Ryden padded through the battlefield, jumping over the battered corpses and broken bodies littering it, along with discarded armaments and wrecked weapons. Lifting his head to the darkening sky, he sniffed the scent of blood on the air, the smell making his entire body tremble. He inhaled deeply before howling into the wind. The roars and cries of his brethren met his ear, giving him some sense of calm that they had too made it through without death claiming them as it had so many others.
He also knew they were all on edge, the taste and scent of blood making the line between man and beast blur. Disheartened by too many sieges as of late, he turned towards his king, in hopes some peace would lay ahead before more warfare ensued. Fighting was his way of life; he had been born and bred to wage war. But even the strongest of warriors eventually needed time to sooth their wounds before sent into battle again, and needed time to face their own humanity.
Shifting back into his human form, the blood of the many he had killed still smeared his skin, laid on his thick muscles in drying clumps, as he could taste the tang of iron on his tongue. King Harald smiled down from him from atop his horse, oblivious to his appearance, men here were used to battle and blood. It was a way of life for most, and death was a daily occurrence.
“You have all done a great thing here today Ryden. This battle will be the turning point, I can feel it. Collect the others and ride out to Hafrsfjord immediately. Kjotve is amassing the collective kingdoms there. We must defeat him and swiftly.” Herald looked out over the battlefield, pride glowing in his weathered eyes, the deep set wrinkles creasing a face etched by war and harsh climate.
Ryden’s stomach knotted. Dying was part of living, and no one knew that better than he, but the lust his king had for battle recently was chilling. “My liege, I am honored you again use us to aid the cause, but my men are battle weary, and have fought in countless battles as of late. Let me give them two days rest, and then we will move swiftly to Hafrsfjord. Two more days will not allow your foes to be victorious.”
“Gyda will not have me unless I am king over all Norway. I will not fail in this. She must be mine.” Ryden watched the man’s eyes glaze over, sightless except for his mind’s eye, obviously thinking of the woman who ensorcelled him. A shiver raced up Ryden’s spine, fear leaking out through his body.
“You will not fail; we will not let you, Your Highness. My men have stood by your side as we did your father, and his father, Gudrød. We will not let your family down. But even we must have our rest; we are war weary and need but two days.”
Harald looked contemplative for a few moments. “I shall give you but one. I do not have time for your weakness. Now, gather the others and get them away from this scene of death and give them their rest. I will meet with you in two days hence, and plan Kjotve’s demise.” Harald turned his mount and kicked the animal’s flanks before the animal shot across the battlefield.
Bowing as he watched the man go, he twisted and turned, forcing his body back into his wolven form once Harald was out of sight, howling his call to his packmates. Rayne met him almost immediately, racing alongside him, to meet up with the others. Eryck and Erulf were next, each bellowing a deep throated growl as each rose up on two rear paws in the form of a mighty grizzly and shifted back to a man’s form. Joran and Jakob’s wolf form crawled from the woods surrounding the soft open circle, and soon after the six nude, blood-stained men stared at each other within the ring of trees they stood.
“One day’s rest, then off to Hafrsfjord. Meet in Romsdal on tomorrow eve, and we ride.”
All six switched to their wolven selves and scattered to the wind, seeking what little peace they could.
The following night, the six gathered horses and gear from their camp, and sped towards Hafrsfjord, trusting their animals to get their weary bodies to the next bloodied scene. All knew this battle would be the culmination of the war. Ryden was fatigued, as were the others. Considering he and his men were immortal, he was afraid that exhaustion would spell disaster for them all. Harald had used them hard these past few years, hope filled Ryden that Hafrsfjord would be the end for the near future.
Gyda, the beautiful daughter of Eirick, King of Hordeland, was as exquisite as she was deadly. This was not the first set of wars fought on her behalf, and Ryden hoped Harald would be able to tame the wench. Stories filled with mystery surrounded the woman, and Ryden disliked all he had heard, but he better than anyone knew that stories were not always true. Many people feared he and his men, as many should. But they had all heard tall tales woven about them that were laughable at best.
The men arrived on the outskirts of the settlement after riding all night, and scented the air, following their noses to an encampment that housed Kjotve’s armies. Watching the men there, it saddened Ryden to know that many of his countrymen would die by his hands, but he would always show fealty to his king.
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