Thorkel clouted him with a leather glove. “Lackwit. Some secrets are meant to be kept amongst us men.”
“I don’t know, Thorkel. One woman only for life. Sounds like torture to me,” said the elderly Njal, who had to have had at least three wives and God only knew how many concubines over the years. Even at his advanced age, there were two women who lived with him.
“Best you look elsewhere,” Ogot the Blacksmith advised. “Women are like swords. You can always find a better one.”
“On the other hand,” Cnut found himself saying, “the good ones are worth more than gold.”
They all looked at him for further explanation, for which he had none.
Cnut had taken three of the dogs with him today, and they soon sniffed out the herd of wild boar that was feeding in a forest near where they’d caught the one before, and within the hour, a half dozen were lying on the ground, arrows or swords or lances protruding from vital body parts. This was cause for celebration, especially since several other bands of men were out hunting, as well, in other parts of the region. Reindeer would be welcome. Too much to hope for another bear during this hibernating season. A brace of grouse. Ducks and geese were long gone. Perhaps, God willing, it would be a happy yule at Hoggstead this year, after all.
It was especially propitious that they’d killed so many boar on this first day out because the air was growing colder and the wind more blustery. Njal confirmed Cnut’s premonition by rubbing his sore knees and saying, “A storm is coming.”
After gutting the animals and draining the blood, with the dogs gorging themselves on the innards, they built a fire and camped for the night. Before that, some of them worked on sledges to carry the game back to the keep. The next morning, though, Cnut noticed something . . . or someone . . . in the trees beyond their camp and announced, “You men go back. Take the dogs with you. I’m going to do a little exploring farther north. See if there’s evidence of any more Lucibears.”
They all protested that it would be dangerous to go on alone, especially with the storm brewing, but he was adamant, assuring them, “I will be fine. I won’t take any chances.” Each of the men in turn offered to accompany him, but he needed to be alone.
The presence he’d seen in the woods had been none other than Zebulan the demon vampire, who might or might not be a double agent for the vangels. No one was sure if he could be trusted. Cnut couldn’t ignore Zeb’s sudden appearance, though. It had to be deliberate that he’d shown himself to Cnut.
But it was mid-morning, after hours trudging along on the snowshoes he’d finally donned, before he found any sign of Lucipires. The pungent smell of rotten eggs . . . sulfur . . . came to him on a rising breeze. He unsheathed his sword and moved carefully toward a clearing where three Lucipires had surrounded a man. He recognized the man. Ivan Long Beard, a fur trapper. A meaner Viking there never was. He’d seen him cut off a woman’s hand one time for failing to cure one of his beaver skins properly. And the slaves he kept to help with his trapping business often had haunted looks in their eyes.
Well, under normal circumstances, it would be Cnut’s job as a vangel to try to save the sinner before the Lucipires could take him to an early grave, and therefore to be transformed into a demon vampire. But it was too late for Ivan. He already had several bite marks on his skin; in fact, hunks of his fur cloak, wool tunic, and skin came away in the massive Lucie jaws. Ivan fell onto his back and the three Lucies began feeding on him, in such a frenzy that they didn’t notice Cnut at first.
Cnut was able to pull a treated knife from a scabbard on his belt and throw it directly into one mung’s back. With a roar, the beast rose and began to melt into noxious sulfur slime. Ivan himself was dissolving just as fast, leaving only his clothing and weapon behind.
One of the other Lucies, a female hordling, had been wounded by Ivan—a bloody gash across her neck—but she would recover in time. It was not a mortal wound. But she had been weakened and thus was easy pickings for Cnut’s broadsword, which he wielded in a wide arc, decapitating the creature and nicking the heart. (And one might ask, Cnut mused, how I knew it was a female? Ah. Think breasts. Scaly breasts with red nipples the size of cherries. Can anyone say, “Honey, I have a headache.”)
Okay, two down and on their way to Hell. They would no longer be Lucipires but mere demons. Satan would not be pleased. Which left only one Lucipire—a haakai, but a young one. Still, haakai were not to be dismissed easily. He bellowed his outrage on viewing the diminishing remains of his cohorts and lunged at Cnut, sword raised ahigh.