Her Viking Saviour (Lore & Love Trilogy #1)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Torben Ulfson stared out across the hordes of people who had travelled here from all around the world. He stood so tall, even by Norse standards, that he had not yet seen a person today that equalled his height, and it gave him a good view of the thriving hive. The popular centre of the trade route that ran through Kyivan Rus held value for traders and barterers alike. The exotic blend of foreign food odours and noise was never a dull experience. You needed discipline to ensure you did not lose yourself in the curiosities. This was never an issue for Torben, he had blade-sharp senses that had served him well in battle and now in trade.

This year, he had brought heavy furs and pelts, expertly crafted axes, and salted skrei, a codfish unique to the seas of his homeland. The bear and wolf pelts were very popular. He had men that travelled to the coldest parts of the north to hunt the huge white bears. It took brave men to pursue these bears, enormous in size and ferocious in temper, and few would take on the challenge. Those who did faced near-certain odds of death. But his men had hunted them for years. Fathers passed knowledge to their sons about how to best these beasts. To beat them you had to know them, to know their habits, weaknesses, and strengths. The yellowish-white bear pelts were always the first to go. When he and his ships sailed up to the dock, the people knew to start lining up.

But it was not just he who brought sought-after goods. From the East, there were silks, spices, jewels, and exotic animals—he spent little on these goods, buying silk and spice sparingly if there was a need. Sometimes he came across other textiles and the clothes makers back home eagerly put them to use. From the West came weapons and tools, things he could trade for. He had no desire to go to battle, but he believed in being prepared. He kept a well-stocked arsenal of swords, axes, arrowheads, and spears, in case the need ever arose to defend his settlement. He would only draw a blade to defend, not attack. Senseless bloodshed and brutality were not the path he wanted for himself and his people.

Of course, there was another trade—the one he despised the most—the trade of humans. Slaves. Thralls. This despicable trade was popular and he avoided these stalls at all costs or he would intervene. It was an unfortunate truth of the world, and he could only hope that one day it would be abolished for good. He did not believe human life should have a price.

As a seasoned warrior, Torben had seen and brought death and destruction to many men. But that was war. When you pick up a weapon to face your enemy you must accept that this may be the day you die. He never believed the spoils of war included humans, but many—including his Viking brethren—did, and used them as personal slaves or profited from the indentured life they sold them into.

Torben scanned the crowd, looking for any signs of discontent. He always felt edgy in foreign lands and liked to do his business and leave. He was intrigued by the languages he overheard and how men from all over the seas, speaking different tongues, were able to strike a deal. He had used his time raiding from Mercia to Wessex to learn their language and during other raids and trading had picked up Frankish and the language of the Rus, a Norse dialect. He found this knowledge invaluable, and believed if everyone could share speech there would be more understanding and less animosity.

He took a moment to listen more closely and heard an accent he didn’t quite recognise. He spied two men, their skin many shades darker than his own, deep in conversation. Their tone was melodic, and he could tell from their smiles and enthusiastic hand gestures that they spoke of something that brought them joy. Scanning the crowd again, he saw more animated conversations, but of a different tenor. These hand gestures spoke of heated bartering and haggling, and he said a silent thanks his cousin Leif handled that side of the trade.

“You are always so serious in expression, Torben. We are in the land of luxury and mysterious delights for a short time, why not enjoy ourselves?” said his younger brother Ragnav with a grin. Torben had not realised he had been watching his pensive observations. He stood only an inch shorter than Torben and, while they shared the same piercing blue eyes, Ragnav was dark-haired while he was fair. Their mother liked to say that Torben had sapped all the seriousness out of her womb and by the time Ragnav came along there was none to share. Their father liked to joke their hair colour was wrong, as Torben’s fair hair suited Ragnav’s disposition better than his own darker, broodier nature.

He followed his brother’s line of sight as Ragnav winked provocatively. The object of his flirtation was a tanned beauty throwing sultry looks their way. She clearly had an eye for good coin and made no secret of her invitation. Rolling his eyes, he clapped loudly in front of Ragnav’s face to gain his attention. Ragnav gave a good-natured shrug and bowed mockingly to Torben.

“You have my attention, my wise and celibate brother.”

Torben rolled his eyes. Again.

“Follow me, I want to see who else is trading goods like ours.”

Torben wanted to keep their wealth strong through trade, not just raiding, and he took any opportunity to scout out potential competition. As they moved through the large crowd, he wrinkled his nose at the odour of unwashed bodies that wafted through the stagnant air. Suddenly, he heard a scream and instinctively moved his hand to the great axe at his hip. His senses tingled with danger, and he searched intently for the source.

He saw a crowd forming in the distance and moved closer to investigate. Soon he sighted a group of fellow Northmen. Viking warriors. He could tell by their stance and heavy weaponry they were not peaceful traders. They stood around a huddled group of pale people in linen shifts that he identified straightaway as Saxons. They looked ragged and ill-treated. Torben had spent time in Jorvik, Mercia, Northumbria, raiding and fighting with his father, and had come to learn these people, their language, and their customs. He had found them to be mild-mannered people, though rightly angered at the invasion of their homeland.

He was surprised when a young woman with oddly-shorn raven-coloured hair stood in front of another woman and pushed one of the Viking men with all her might. The man did not budge an inch, just laughed in her face. The silly girl did not give up and sprang up on her toes to slap him across the face. Her hand connected and he howled, either in pain as one of her fingernails scratched him, or in shame as the watching crowd laughed. He unsheathed a dagger at his belt and Torben saw her look of rage fade to fear, though her stance was still defiant, and he was unable to stop himself from intervening.

“Put down your weapon.”

His voice was hard, but he spoke the words evenly and calmly. It was a tone that allowed no disobedience and the opposing Viking obeyed but eyed him furiously.

“Who in Hel are you to give me an order?” the Viking roared, his dagger now lowered.

“I am Torben Ulfson,” he said without any rancour. He held no feeling for this man, knowing he raised his voice in pride and not in challenge. The man raised a quizzical brow as if he recognized the name. Before Torben could speak any further, another man stepped forward and spoke.

“Ahh, Haakan, we have the infamous Torben “Hel-Bringer” gracing our lowly presence,” said a familiar voice and he turned to meet the stare of Guthred.