Chapter 6

Six: Dragon Flight

Bjorn, Hyrning and the others were settling down in their freshly erected tent when Olaf, who was keeping watch on the falls, called out to them;

'I can see light flashing under the waterfall!' His companions came rushing out to see what he was talking about. They did so in time to see the first wave of the dragon-flight bursting from the cascading waters. As the reptilian monsters coasted up out of the chasm, Bjorn caught sight of Thrand, writhing bloodily in the first dragon's mouth.

'There's Thrand!' he shouted. 'The dragon's got him!'

'Thorir and the others must be dead!' Hyrning yelled, as the vast flight of dragons came pouring up over the cliff where the Vikings had set up their tent. The largest dragon soared over the edge, and the Vikings ducked as one man.

Apart from Bjorn, who grabbed his inlaid spear and stabbed at the bloated underbelly as it passed. Blood burst out of the wound and the dragon screamed, a high-pitched, unearthly cry.

But where the blood spattered into Bjorn's face, it sank in, rapidly eating away his face like acid - great holes shrivelled open, revealing the white glint of bone and teeth beneath. Another jet of deadly blood spouted across Hyrning's foot, and he fell back with a cry.

The wounded dragon screamed off into the wide blue sky, the rest of its kin tearing after it, and Bjorn's venom-eaten corpse fell back on the snaking sward. Beside it, Hyrning lay moaning.

Olaf looked up from the ground where he had thrown himself. Around him, the other crewmen were stirring, gazing in horror at the two prostrate forms before them.

Olaf stared open-mouthed at the waterfall.

'No one could have survived the emergence of those monsters,' he whispered.

The others looked at him, then at the roaring waterfall, not wanting to believe his words, but finding it difficult to contradict him.

Olaf took charge. 'Two of you, help Hyrning stand. We'll take Bjorn's body, and bury it by the ship. And we'd better get back there at the double.'

The men were following his orders, two supporting Hyrning, two others with Bjorn's horrifically mangled corpse, when one of the men detailed to take down the tent glanced at the waterfall.

'Look!' he cried.

The rest of the men turned as on to see a small dark figure heaving itself up through the rushing waters. It pulled itself over the lip of the fall and dragged itself by a mighty effort, against the flow of the river, along the line and up onto the fallen tree. As the wet, bedraggled figure clambered onto the trunk and lay back to catch its breath they recognised it as Thorir.

The crewmen raised a cheer, at which Thorir glanced over at them. He acknowledged them by raising a large, ancient-looking sword in their direction, then returned to the rope, and began to pull on it.

Another dark figure was dragged up through the waterfall and up onto the log; Thorhall, and after him came a large bag, spinning and pouring with water; then finally Ketilbjorn.

The four survivors had large bags slung about them, as well as the great sack that they began to carry across the trunk onto dry land; and when the others ran to meet them they tipped these open to reveal a profusion of gold, silver and precious stones; the treasure of Svadi the Giant, son of Thor. The Viking stared in amazement as the rich treasure, but even more so at the four warriors who had descended into the dragons' cave and returned.

'How did you survive the dragon attack?' Olaf demanded.

'Easy!' replied Thorir, grinning. 'We just lay down and let them fly off in a huff, then grabbed their treasure and high-tailed it off out of there! You didn't see what happened to them, did you?'

Olaf's face fell. 'We did,' he said soberly. 'Bjorn wounded the leader, but the poisonous blood fell on him. Killed him. Hyrning was wounded by it as well - he can't walk.'

Thorir looked grim.

'Where's Hyrning?'

Olaf led him over to the wounded Viking. Hyrning looked up, his face white, clearly trying his hardest not to show his pain.

'Kill me, Thorir,' he demanded weakly. 'I can't live like this. I'm in agony.'

'Ah, don't worry about that,' said Thorir breezily. 'If that's all it is.'

'But the venom's just eating me away!' Hyrning gasped.

'Nonsense,' said Thorir briskly, kneeling down beside him. Putting his gauntlets on, he stroked Hyrning's foot with it.

Hyrning lay there for a second, his face still white. Then his eyes cleared, and he looked down at his foot. Then he glanced at Thorir.

'It's... gone,' he murmured in amazement. 'The pain's gone.'

Thorir glanced over at Bjorn's corpse, which lay nearby.

'Shame I can't do the same for him,' he said sombrely. ‘Or Thrand.’

Ketilbjorn came up to Thorir.

'I've been talking to the men,' he said. 'Apparently, somewhere on this island there are eleven or twelve angry dragons. I think we'd better accept that discretion is the better part of valour. Divide the treasure, get back to the ship, and get out of here.'

Thorir scowled, and for one terrible moment, Ketilbjorn thought he was going to argue. But then he grinned.

'I think you're right,' he laughed.

A quarter of an hour later, a longship could be seen rowing steadily southward across the Dumb Sea. It shrank to a minute dot as it forged on towards the horizon.

Up on the cliff, a thrashing of leathery wings broke the silence as a dragon with a scabbed underbelly landed there, perching on the edge to devour the tattered remnants of a Viking's corpse.

As it gnawed at the remains, its baleful yellow eyes scanned the ocean. It caught sight of the tiny square of sail, and shifted on its perch.

But soon the ship was out of sight.