Norsemen

Norsemen were the most feared of all barbarians. They came from the north, south, east and west; they came quickly and without warning. They killed mercilessly and left few survivors if any; and if one had the bad fortune of being chosen to be taken captive, there was little chance of your return. This is what Dominic had been taught since childhood, he had never actually seen one of these barbarians, but the stories that came from distant villagers who had survived the raids were enough to scare anyone into the inlands of the kingdom.
In all his 15 years though, no story had worried him as much as the one that had come that day. It came from an old pig farmer from the coast; following him was a mountain of dark storm clouds, this worried Dominic as much as the story for this is how it went about:
‘They came around the head!’ the old man sobbed, ‘the ships were under full sail and the canvasses had been dyed red! Blood red!’ I was on the hill crest with me son, an’ we both ran for the woods, and then bless his heart, my son says ‘we have to warn the villagers!’ an’ so off he ran with my sorry old carcass trailin’ be’ind. So when I rounded the hill’- he broke off, unable to continue for the tears he was choking down.
‘Go on mate, what ‘appened?’ the blacksmith’s apprentice, Hugo, was leaning in to the man’s shoulder, ecstatic with envy; he had wanted the chance to fight the barbarians ever since his father was brutally murdered by a raid in the north.
‘Ach, let ‘im be lad, we all know what happened, the man’s just too cowardly tae say it.’
The pig farmer looked up, distraught, ‘he had an arrow in his neck!’ he screamed ‘my son had an arrow in his throat! The village was in chaos, the people were being murdered in front of me, the barbarians killed them all, no survivors…’ he began shaking and muttering under his breath. People began to disperse; they had heard this time and time again, villagers going mad with the fear. Dominic was about to leave with the rest when the man looked directly at him and muttered. ‘They’re coming for you now. Sailing upriver looking for victims, you’re next!’
A shudder went through his body as he left the building, if it was from the gust of sea wind that blew through the town, or the warnings of the farmer, he did not know. Just then his friend, Arnvid, came up and swung his arm around Dominic’s shoulder.
‘Hey Dom, that was interesting huh? Another madman from the coast, I swear half our village is made up of these crazies eh?’ Dom found this ironic because Arnvid himself had been carried into the town by his half-dead mother when he was three, making himself one of the crazies.
‘Yeah, I never thought about that-makes ya wonder what’ll happen if we get attacked’ Arnvid pushed Dom to the ground roughly, laughing.
‘An’ what makes you think those barbarians’ll come all the way up river for a measly little town like ours?’
‘I dunno, maybe the fact that the old farmer said so, and that there’s a storm comin’ in from the coast.’ As if the heavens knew, a fat raindrop splashed Arnvid on the shoulder. The two boys cut their conversation short as the rain fell and made their way to the long hut they called home.
******

The old farmer had been wrong about one thing, the Vikings came not for the pleasure of killing people, but for gold, silver, and the blood rising heat of battle. Ravin Nisus was on the first long raid of his short career, at the age of 16, he was the second youngest of the crew on board the battleship Sea Dragon. The only one younger than him was the new recruit, Ivar Floki, who was the son of the ship’s captain, Gunnar. He was only 13 years old, but strong and well built. Ravin had been forced to stay behind with Ivar in the last village, standing with bows and arrows by the ship, covering the rest of the men. But this time he was promised a spot in the front, and pride filled his heart when he heard it from Gunnar. This time he would be allowed to take plunder home with him; whether it was to be gold, jewels, or even slaves.
Ivar stood beside him again, seeing the older boy as a role model; he followed his every move with the faithfulness of a hound. When Ravin donned his cloak against the cold rain, Ivar did the same, pulling his hood far over his head and turning slightly so he could see his friend.
“Don’t put your hood on, it makes us look womanly.” Ravin said.
“Right.” Ivar ripped it off as fast as he could, letting the rain course down his head. “Why do you think my father is letting you go and not me?” he asked.
“I suppose it is because I am older, and have been on raids before this one. You are still to young.” He rolled his eyes, looking away from the boy. His eyes rested on the captive lying in the Bow, one his cousin, Ottar, had taken. She had her bound hands wrapped around her knees, her dress doing nothing to keep out the cold. A rope led from her slim neck to the railing of the ship, where a ring of iron held it fast. The girl had been difficult to capture, as hard it was to admit that. She was a fighter; no doubt, it had taken both of Ottar and himself to bring her aboard, thus giving him part ownership. “Hand me my spare cloak, Ivar.” He extended his hand and it was in his grasp within three seconds. This boy was handy.
Making his way over to the girl, who couldn’t be older than him, he past his cousin and motioned with the cloak towards her. Ottar nodded. When he stood in front of her she did not acknowledge his presence, he held out the cloak to her, still she did nothing. So he began to place it around her shoulders, at this she shot out her hands and knocked his aside. Fixing him with a cold stare, she shoved herself further against the wood at her back. Rain dripped from her eyelashes, but her bright amber eyes shone through, her mouth in a thin line of contempt. Ravin sneered back and dropped the cloak at her feet; he then spun on his heels and stalked back to his bench. As he sat on the soggy wood, he glanced back; she sat shivering, but still staring hatefully at him.
Ivar seated himself next to him. “I don’t think that one likes you very much.” He observed. Ravin rolled his eyes again.
At that moment, Gunnar made his way to the Stern, and rested his hand on the tiller. All the men turned their attention to him as he began speaking. “We head inland boys! There’s plenty more shit like this where we’re going! There ain’t anyone ready to stop us that far away from the coast. To your oars!” a chill ran up Ravin’s spine, whether it was from the rain or the speech, he did not know, but the thought of another raid this soon made his heart leap into his throat with joy. He looked back once more at the captive, she had given in to the rain and had the cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Ravin imagined that soon there would be more captives crowding the Bow, one of them hopefully to be his to bring back across the sea.