Page 133 of Come the Morning

Waryk rode, with the full size and scope of his army plus Peter’s armed men, to the walls of the Viking camp. Yet, even as he reached the camp—and he was certain that word had gone out that he was coming and that Daro would be prepared—he felt doubt working into his reason. Daro would have had no need to come to a camp in the forest. Daro could have visited themat their home. He could have murdered him in his own bed, and been inside the fortress walls—great Adin’s brother, already known by many.

Yet as this plagued him, he saw that Daro—bareheaded—was riding out toward the gates, Ragnar and others of his immediate council at his side. As Waryk had suspected, Daro had heard that he was coming.

Viking archers lined the walls.

His men were armed and armored; he had archers, knights, and foot soldiers ready to fight beneath him. Messengers had been sent to the king; greater forces were coming.

As Daro rode out and Waryk saw his eyes, he knew that Daro would fight to the death.

“Tell your men to halt, Waryk. We will meet one on one in this!” Daro roared to him.

Waryk lifted a hand. Daro was riding outside the wooden palisade the Vikings had erected around their camp as protection.

He rode toward Daro. On a white destrier, Daro rode in a circle around Waryk. He spat on the ground. “I never did you harm!”

“Where is my wife?”

Daro shook his head.“Myniece!” he reminded him. “I don’t have her. You come to challenge me, while once again you have been careless with a woman who is my own flesh and blood!”

“Someone uses your camp. You have been careless!”

They circled one another once, twice, a third time.

Daro suddenly raised his sword in a fury, slamming it down. Waryk raised his shield in just enough time to ward off the blow. He nudged Mercury into a sideways dance, slamming his sword in a hard series of blows against Daro. The Viking deflected each one and went on the offensive again. Waryk went on the offensive also, returning the blows, and each time, they were deflected by Daro’s shield.

“Bastard!” Daro cried to him. “You haven’t the sense to see a friend!”

“Fool! You are used then, by those beneath your very nose!”

“Bloodthirsty Norman.”

Waryk gritted his teeth. “Scot! I’m a bloodthirsty Scot!”

“You don’t deserve my niece—”

“What we all deserve is truth!”

“I should kill you!”

“I should kill you!”

Waryk raised his sword again, hacking at Daro’s shields, slamming sideways once again with Mercury. It wasn’t so much skill that gave Waryk the edge, but luck. Daro’s horse stepped into a hole; the animal tripped, and Daro went down with the great horse.

Waryk leapt from Mercury, approaching his enemy, his sword held tight in both hands. Daro lifted his blade from the ground, staring at Waryk. “Kill me if you would.”

Waryk stared at him a long time. Then he lowered his sword, and reached out a hand. “God help us both, Daro. Where is Mellyora, what in God’s name is going on?”

Daro hesitated, staring at him. Just as the Viking gripped his hand, a cry was suddenly heard. Both men looked.

Father Phagin, white beard and black robes whipping in the wind, was bearing down on them. “Stop fools, don’t kill each other!” he shouted, reaching them. He dismounted, panting so hard that he had to lean against Waryk as he reached out to support him. “I’m too old; my heart can’t take this. Daro, you’ve been used.”

“Aye, I’ve been used! I’ve never been your enemy, Waryk!”

They were all interrupted by the sudden sound of a woman’s screams.

Anne Hallsteader came running out on the field, screaming. “Stop, oh, my God, stop, I didn’t know …”

Waryk looked at Daro. Daro shrugged. “I had men holding her in my long hall. She would have come between us.”