Amber Magic (The Viking Maiden series Book 2) Read online

  Amber Magic

  Kelly N Jane

  18th Avenue Press

  Amber Magic

  Copyright © 2018 by Kelly N Jane

  Published by 18th Avenue Press

  Cover design by Alfred Obare Designs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data available

  ISBN (Paperback) 978-1-947695-07-8

  ISBN (eBook) 978-1-947695-06-1

  To find out more about Kelly visit www.kellynjane.com to sign up for updates and special offers through her newsletter. You can also find her on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook at @kellynjanebooks

  For my Grandma

  and every other silently creative soul

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kelly N Jane

  1

  Ingrid swatted away the lock of blonde hair caught on her eyelashes with a huff. Overgrown branches along the game trail had tugged free a section of her braid while she forced her way down the worn path.

  Ten days! Ten days of fruitless searching through the Danelaw countryside to find a woman who could point Ingrid to the goddess, Eir. The powers growing within her needed to be harnessed and disciplined, but only the Asgardian could train her to do such a thing. The few accidental uses of her magical healing gift always left her drained and usually unconscious.

  Some warrior I am.

  Ingrid couldn’t fathom how she was the one fated by the Norns to strengthen the veil of protection around Midgard. Regardless of her understanding or lack thereof, it was the truth. Only the goddess had the answers Ingrid needed.

  The worst part was only a little more than six weeks remained until Ingrid’s village—her family—would pay the price if she failed. That was something she couldn’t allow.

  Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees of the forested area where they traveled. Chirping birds and the rustle of small creatures echoed through the leaves, but it didn’t help settle Ingrid’s frazzled nerves. The dark intruder encamped inside her mind swirled in a lazy circle, and it made her nauseated. It shoved against her thoughts, causing her to fight for control as she became moodier and less rational.

  As she batted the wayward tress of hair from her face, yet again, she yelped as she bumped into Jorg when he stopped suddenly in front of her.

  He quickly slipped his hand over her mouth. With his free hand, he held a finger to his lips and waited to let her go until she nodded in understanding. His half-elven heritage gave him enhanced skills, exceptional hearing among them.

  What is it?

  “Voices ahead. Stay low and follow in my tracks, one after another,” Jorg whispered his answer to the question she’d asked mentally, and only he could hear.

  It was the first time they’d encountered a threat worthy of concern since they’d left their village along the River Ouse and headed west, away from any other settlements. Frustration seized Ingrid over her small size. She wasn’t able to see around Jorg, causing her to hesitate a step before following after him. That minor hitch in stride caused Selby to run into her back.

  “Watch yourself,” Ingrid hissed.

  Selby’s brows rose to her hairline, letting her dark eyes sparkle in the morning light. “What’s the matter?” Her best friend’s voice was too loud, as usual, despite Ingrid knowing she’d heard Jorg’s warning.

  “Stay back. I can feel your breath on my neck.” The essence pushed at Ingrid’s temples and made her vision darken. She ignored it as she turned back toward Jorg and the glare he flashed over his shoulder at both of them.

  Pull yourself together. Act strong, be strong.

  Careful to step only where Jorg did, Ingrid moved forward once again. In single file, they would conceal their numbers and make less noise.

  Minutes later, the rest of the group heard what Jorg had. Voices and laughter pierced the air. It sounded like wolves who’d cornered their prey. Ingrid could make out the tones of several males as they taunted someone. The hair on her arms raised, and the magical power resting deep within her core warmed—ready if needed.

  Crouched and huddled together, they peered through the brush at the edge of a small clearing. In the center of a circle stood a woman whose hands were tied behind her back and long ropes attached to her waist. Three men fanned out from her, jerking the ropes while she fought to maintain balance.

  Ingrid fingered the smooth surface of the amber bead that hung from the center of her necklace, trying to keep herself calm. Though she wanted to rush in and put an end to such revolting behavior, it was important to assess the situation first. She watched Jorg’s fists clench at his sides as he seemed to battle his rising disgust as well.

  With their knees pressed together in the tight space, she could hear his teeth grind, but his intoxicating scent of fresh spring grass added a flutter to her belly despite the tension. In one fluid motion, Jorg’s axe gracefully became an extension of his arm, reminding Ingrid to focus.

  As she studied the woman, her body buzzed with untold knowledge that the search was over. There was no sign of the woman’s staff, but she somehow knew this was her. This was the woman she sought, the völva, a practitioner of Freya’s magic, who could point her in the direction of the elusive Eir. The magic in the air called to her own.

  We have to get her away from these men.

  Jorg leaned down to her ear. “Stay here.”

  “We should rush them together.” The words sounded more like a whine than she’d intended.

  “Just stay here, out of sight, until I call for you.”

  He winked at her and gave her one of his grins that made his dimple flash. But this time it made her clamp her teeth together instead of swoon. He held out his hand toward Selby and Plintze, and Ingrid saw each of them nod back, accepting his command without question.

  She huffed and concentrated on the scene in front of her. With his inhuman ability to slip through the brush in silence, Jorg entered the clearing unnoticed. He’s not pushing you aside; he’s just better at this.

  Seven armed, human men spoke in an odd form of Saxon, but Ingrid was still able to understand enough of their words. The woman stood with her back straight and her head high, despite how they yanked the ropes and taunted her.

  Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back until it almost touched her knees. A burgundy dress with colorful embroidery clung to her sha
pely form but had become filthy and torn from the attack.

  Jorg cleared his throat and waited until all the men turned their focus in his direction before he spoke. “Seven men and only one woman?” Speaking in their Saxon language, he smiled at the woman, looking at her from head to toe with a devilish gleam. She answered with a grin and a flick of her eyebrows toward him.

  Ingrid made a noise that could have been a growl. Jealousy snuck into her thoughts even though she knew it was only an act. Selby edged closer, reminding her to stay silent.

  “This must be a special occasion. Tell me, what makes the ropes necessary?”

  “Leave, Stranger. This is not your concern.”

  “John . . . look at him.” One man holding a rope interrupted and nodded toward Jorg. “Look at his ears.” His low voice riddled with concern.

  Tilting his head, he tried to see Jorg’s ears. Jorg helped with a slight twist of his neck, but he did not take his eyes off the man. “Jealous?”

  Ingrid cringed, and her throat went dry. She knew how sensitive it was for Jorg to show his ears. Not that long ago, he made sure they always hid under his nut-brown hair. More than ever, she wanted to rush out and stand next to him—defend him—but she waited, muscles coiled and ready.

  Ingrid carefully reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. The vine and leaf carvings on the bone handle Jorg had made molded comfortably into her palm. Selby and Plintze shifted their weight, a short sword and spear readied in their grips.

  “Another loathsome sorcerer.” The man named John gave a lopsided sneer as he studied Jorg. “Looks like the day is getting better.”

  Ingrid rubbed at her arm, the leather of her gauntlet pressed against the scar left by the dragon attack. Never again did she want to feel so helpless, and it made her squirm as she watched the captive woman. Plintze let out a low growl behind Ingrid. The dwarf’s anger bubbling over gave her a boost in confidence. She wasn’t the only one struggling to wait.

  “Is that the woman’s crimes then? Are you afraid?” Jorg shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet while he waited for an answer.

  Ingrid swallowed hard as she forced her breath to stay even. Would they think me detestable, too?

  “You don’t scare me, you nithing. Your kind is a blight on our lands.”

  Jorg twirled his axe and grinned. “Is that so?”

  He seemed to enjoy the risk in a way that Ingrid hadn’t noticed in other situations, possibly because in most of those he was saving her from one disaster or another. Strength without a hint of uncertainty. She shifted her gaze to the men to keep her focus as she wiped her icy palms against her trousers.

  All the other men kept glancing to John, eagerness radiated from them as they waited for the order to attack. Their leader rushed forward with a nod as his signal to the others. Those not holding ropes charged with him. The woman stood still, watching. Amusement danced over her face as the ropes slackened.

  How can she look so relaxed?

  In a flurry of swords and screams, Ingrid’s attention snapped to Jorg as he swung his arms, spinning in a graceful set of motions with a deadly beauty. John and another man circled behind him. Jorg hooked the sword of an oncoming attacker with his axe and sent it flying just before his axe left a deep gash across the man’s middle.

  Ingrid’s magic began to tremble, and her hands heated at the sight of the injury. Gritting her teeth, she willed herself to push it deep into her core, and her hands chilled like she’d plunged them into snow.

  Unable to wait any longer, Plintze rushed forward faster than it seemed a dwarf with a limp should be able to. The girls turned to each other, lips tight and eyes glistening, for half a heartbeat before shrieking and following Plintze into battle.

  The men startled as Plintze engaged the man who’d managed to get on Jorg’s blindside, giving the woman the distraction she needed. The careless captors had allowed too much slack in the ropes as they gaped at the dwarf.

  The woman leaned forward and used her body to yank against one of the lines, knocking the man holding them off balance and causing him to stumble. In one swift motion, she jumped into the air, swooped her hands under her feet to the front, and untied herself once she landed.

  Confused, the men stood immobile, their advantage lost in the delay. She struck out with a foot and swept the legs from under one before smashing her elbow into the throat of another.

  Nearby, Selby charged one of the attackers. She easily blocked his sword and cut his thigh.

  Using her shield, Ingrid buckled the knee of another. She swung again and connected against his jaw, making him crumple to the ground. Tightness gripped her chest as the urge to help the man she’d injured warred against the need to keep fighting. One thing was certain—she needed to speak to the woman. It was why she’d come so far from home.

  Decision made, Ingrid whirled, ready for her next opponent. From the looks of it, they were all either engaged or on the ground. The once-captive woman held a seax—a knife for simple, daily chores—and circled a smug, seemingly unarmed man. As he turned, Ingrid saw a large dagger through his belt.

  Arrogant fool to think you don’t need your weapon. It will serve you right when she takes you down.

  The man rushed and slammed into the woman before she could strike, knocking her onto the ground.

  Ingrid shrieked, and ran forward, dagger held high. Just as she was about to swing, hoping to injure the man enough for the woman to get away, her icy fingers lost their grip, and the weapon fell to the ground.

  He rounded on her and swung his arm, connecting hard with Ingrid’s stomach. Air escaped from her, and she stumbled back a few steps. With a sneer, he grabbed the lost dagger before charging the woman.

  Back on her feet, the woman blocked the man’s arm as he slashed his personal weapon toward her throat. The power behind his swing forced her to push against it with both arms. That left the man’s other arm available to ram Ingrid’s dagger into her chest.

  Ingrid tried to scream as the woman fell to her knees and crumpled backward. Her cries caught in her throat as she still struggled for air. A heartbeat later, Selby leaped over Ingrid, her short sword slamming into the man’s belly.

  His insides spilled onto the dirt as Ingrid watched. She crawled toward the woman while Selby stood guard over them, though no others were left to attack.

  No! Please don’t die! I need your help.

  On her knees at the woman’s side, Ingrid closed her eyes and called upon her healing energies. The small ball in her belly grew until it spread through her chest, down her arms, and into her hands. With tears in her eyes, she slowed her breathing, put her hands on the woman’s chest, and allowed her healing glow to do its work.

  Except it didn’t.

  A jolt of pain shot through Ingrid’s arms as an image of the woman’s wound, from inside her body, flashed behind her eyelids. The dragon scar on her arm pulsed, and the dark essence in her mind reeled back as if they both recognized the foreign energy.

  Startled, Ingrid pushed harder to force her power into the woman’s chest. Her eyes snapped open when the woman wrapped her fingers around one of Ingrid’s hands, breaking her concentration.

  Her hands cooled, and the warm intensity settled back into its resting place. Ingrid brushed at the woman’s hand, but her grip tightened until Ingrid stared at her.

  “I don’t understand. What was that?” Ingrid asked as she hovered over the dying woman.

  The woman pulled Ingrid closer and whispered into her ear. “Your powers from Freya are growing. Soon you’ll be ready.” Releasing Ingrid’s hand, she reached up and tapped the amber bead that hung in the center of Ingrid’s necklace. “This will guide you, but tell no one. Especially the Dark Elf or all Midgard will be lost.”

  “I need to find Eir, to train and understand. Do you know where she is?” The woman was dying, and if she would not allow Ingrid to help her, then she needed to provide some answers.

  “You must bind the spell, no matte
r the cost.”

  “Yes, but where is Eir—how do I contact her? Tell me, please!” A tear shimmered as it fell from Ingrid’s cheek. Short, shallow breaths bounced the woman’s chest then tapered off until her final exhale.

  Pain gripped Ingrid as she choked back a scream. Everyone depended on her to succeed. What am I going to do now? There isn’t enough time.

  A fragile girl, who wasn’t allowed to train as a shieldmaiden, somehow possessed the power of Freya? Ingrid shook her head and touched the amber bead at her chest. It made little sense. She swayed as the tarry substance invading her mind oozed forward, as if pleased with her troubles.

  Where is Eir? Is this her plan? I will not let everyone I love die.

  Jorg startled her as he knelt beside her and laid his hand on her back. “You did what you could. No one survives a dagger to the heart.”

  2

  Silence filled the clearing. The earthy scent of overturned sod mingled with the metallic tang of blood in the air. Plintze walked over to stand with the group, his sturdy frame tall for a dwarf, yet still barely over three feet. He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat that had been knocked off in the fight. Once he had it situated just the way he liked it, he rubbed his hand down his flowing russet beard, which trailed to his waist.

  Ingrid glanced around at her friends, too stunned to speak. They came with her on this journey to help her follow her destiny. They’d left behind family and comfort for her sake.

  Now what would happen?

  A light groan sounded from a man on the ground. Jorg, Plintze, and Selby turned as one, ready for an attack. The man struggled to rise to his hands and knees from where he lay prone in the dirt, but he held no threat.