Viking Africa

By Marie Lawrence

Adrenaline is not for the faint of heart in this forbidden romance action-adventure. Viking Africa is a time of two cultures colliding between greed and violence vs. peace. Klaus, a conflicted Viking soldier, must discover his own path away from his brother, a brutal leader who only trusts his brother. An act of betrayal for Klaus would mean death.

When the time comes and Klaus has to face his truth, his soul has been captured by a woman of royalty he has never known, a woman that is considered the enemy. The decision of ultimate betrayal is made upon a sacrifice to try and save the woman of his heart and her nation of Horizon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669837268

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Copyright © 2022 by Marie Lawrence.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover Art by Elizabeth Fowler.

Rev. date: 11/29/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Book Two

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Book Three

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty- Five

Chapter Twenty- Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty- Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty- One

Chapter Thirty- Two

Chapter Thirty- Three

With heartfelt appreciation I would like to dedicate this book to my daughter Braven. You have always been my support and believer in me with everything I do.

I’d like to thank a special friend for years, Lee Marc Burg who believed in the success of this book and offered his support. You rock and Sheereen my friend!

CHAPTER ONE

NIGHTFALL CAME and the town was beginning to settle. A father with his young boys sat meditatively upon the once ferocious grizzly that had met its match and became floor covering to its victor. The rug was hardened from the dirt they had tracked in from their usual venture. They sat close to the fire that burned hot inside their modest home to ease the chill in their tired bones. This was the night for the great, fierce Lordon to tell his sons once again the legend of what would come to pass.

He sat sternly, upright, and collected his words with care: The land is filled with many treasures no man of our kind has ever seen. There is gold that glitters as bright as the sun and stones that sparkle like the stars. His dark gray crystalline eyes beamed with calculating intensity and he spoke his words with conviction. Your destiny, in time, will be to conquer every man that stands in the way of you staking this claim. Conquer them all with the pride of a Norseman, as the greatest of Vikings to ever live. Learn the ways from me. It is your right to fulfill this destiny with a mighty sword that bares no mercy for your opponents. Strike your enemy with power and might and you will never be left wanting for anything or anyone.

Lector, the oldest of Lordon’s two sons by eight years, was always captivated by his father’s words and knew someday that he would be the next to lead the Vikings in his region. His father had drilled this into him from the moment of his birth. Legend had it that he would lead the Vikings to conquer the English, a success that meant everything to Lordon because he himself had failed. Lordon had suffered the defeat with great despair. He did not realize that he and his men had gained ground during their battles and that they had posed a bigger threat than the biggest armies the English had ever fought. They had been nearly victorious. Later, Lordon realized that however misguided, true power was in wealth.

At fifteen years, old Lector was consumed by thoughts of gold and power. Making his father proud was his underlying intent. More than pride was his fear of failing the man. Father, tell me again where is this land of treasure and gold? Lordon smiled at his son’s faithful interest. It is far away where only one man has dared to sail or even thought to journey. It is deep into the continent of foreign waters, where the people are not of our color or any color that you have seen. Their skins are dark and captivating to the eyes, but do not be fooled by this beauty because they are deceiving in their ways. They are punished by the great god Thor who will relinquish them of their treasures and give it to those who are more deserving.

The father could see that Klaus was completely distant to his words. He was looking at his father only out of respect, or perhaps fear, but Lordon could see in the little boys eyes that his interests were miles away. This was not because he was too young to understand his father’s cause, but because he was different. The young boy did not see the significance of these stories nor did he desire to. Klaus was more interested in the unseen entity that was lurking in the shadows around the corner of the room.

Only Klaus realized its presence and knew to keep it a secret. Unlike his brother who would hang on every word his father spoke, Klaus possessed what neither of the other two had, a conscience. His father knew that someday, this would be the cause of his young son’s demise.

The father scrutinized his son silently and continued, Lector you are like me. You will take my place as my eldest son someday. It will be the responsibility of you to look after your little brother since he is more of his mother’s child. He emphasized child with discontent as he glared at Klaus. Lector rose to his feet as he took hold of the sword that lay beside his father’s leg. Unsuspecting of the continuing gaze that Lordon was giving to his six-year-old brother, he had more important matters to deliver. Death to all that stand in my way, victory is mine from the mighty hand of Thor now and forever! The proud father smiled to himself, and thought, ‘I taught him well.’

The mother listened intently to what she overheard, as she remained hidden out of sight around the corner. She was not permitted to be in the presence of Lordon during his manly discussions. Her husband always instructed her that it was not a woman’s place. She was saddened for her son Klaus. She knew that somehow, he would need to be spared from all of this and soon.

It had been ten long difficult years with her husband. Ghrette had forgotten their days of courting. Those wonderful days of Lordon’s undetectable master manipulation were now over, and so was the happiness. She remembered when he would pay his respects to her parents to gain permission to see her. His eyes were not hard and vindictive then, but after years of battling and beer, the gentleness was replaced by a seductive fury that was no longer capable of gaining respect so much as taking it at will from whomever he chose.

Ghrette was no longer was his idol. His idols now were Thor and Odin, and he only served the heathen Gods that he claimed were the source of his strength. He swore to pass his beliefs down to his sons and Ghrette had no alternative but to sit back and watch her dreams of love and happiness fade into the darkness of one man’s thirst for acquisition. It must not happen to Klaus. She had to prove to the world and to herself that she was not a complete failure. She had to make right all her wrong decisions through one little boy, and she would die trying. The thought of abandoning one of her sons was heart wrenching, but Ghrette knew he was beyond hope. Lordon had seen to that. Besides, it would be difficult enough to provide for one child alone, let alone two. This was the only logical choice. This was the only hope.

Lordon had drunk himself into his usual unconsciousness. The sedation was the only way for him to relax and for Ghrette to execute her plan. The boys were sleeping in their bunks. Ghrette lay beside her husband and looked around the room. This was such a familiar place; one that provided shelter, one in which she gave birth to both boys. But most of all, this was a place of unexpected terror. She carefully observed them still in their dreams and knew that now was the time to do what she had to do. Her racing heart beat rampantly as she began to lift the weighted arm that was sprawled heavily across her chest as he lay on his stomach, his typical position after he’d filled his pleasure. Lordon stayed still.

Ghrette knew what a terrible temper he had if he was awakened unexpectedly. She slowly slid her frail body out from underneath his clutches and onto the edge of the bed. Relieved for a moment that he did not awaken, she began to rise. Then she heard the disturbing grunts her husband usually made before he awoke to go relieve himself of his ale. She panicked. ‘NOT NOW,’ she screamed in her head. Ghrette could not afford for him to become suspicious, nor could she afford another blow to her head. No, not tonight. Tonight, she needed to think clearly. The helpless little woman sat upright, frozen quietly on the edge of the bed. She closed her eyes, giving desperate thought to some form of higher God other than Thor. All she knew was Thor, but she resented him, and hoped in that moment there was something greater than Thor listening. ‘Please spare my son,’ she cried out in her head.

Ghrette opened her eyes and turned around to see Lordon rolling over onto his side, beginning his loud snore, which filled the room. For the first time his distorted bellowing wails were somehow harmonic. At last she found the courage to unglue herself from the edge of the bed. She walked over to the cupboard, around a dark corridor in the corner of another room next to their sleeping quarters. Ghrette took out the sack made of wool that had been stuffed secretly with goods earlier that day when the men were out hunting. She reached inside for her prize possession, a coin that a metal worker had made into a necklace weeks earlier upon her request. She vowed to herself never to wear it, until this day came. She placed the jewelry around her neck and headed back to get her son.

Ghrette stood quietly over the lower bunk, entranced with the sight of her oldest child. She was unaware that he was not asleep; he lay in his stillness with his eyes sealed. This would be the last night her eyes would set upon him. Although a sacrifice that must be made, her eyes filled with tears of sorrow as she contemplated her next move. She looked up and saw her claim, whom she would save in her cry for freedom. Klaus slept without a care in the world on the top bunk that had been built out from the wall, supported by a chain on both sides. The sleepy boy was confused as his mother’s voice gently reassured him to remain quiet. He got up and Ghrette carefully helped him down. The chain rattled despite her carefulness. Again, Ghrette’s heart skipped a beat before racing. She looked over at her husband in the far corner of the large room; he remained in a peaceful sleep. The tired boy took his mothers hand and followed her out the front door.

When the door shut, Lector knew what had taken place and what it meant. Since he was so loyal to his father, Lector could easily awake him, and make Lordon proud to keep him in his favor forever. He would be furious with mother, Lector thought, and she would never try to leave them again. Instead Lector remained unmoved. He opened his eyes and wept a single tear, the first, and the last to ever fall upon his face.

CHAPTER TWO

WAVES OF translucent water crashed violently against the large vessel as it soared mightily across the sea, nearing its destination. In the distance, on a piece of land full of life, the coming of the King Kona was unknown.

The ignoble village was filled with meager income earners that labored for their king in the higher court. To see battle was rare but they were prepared if un-welcomed visitors should voyage in. The day was vibrant and sunny though the chill in the air remained, left over from winter. The peasant homes nestled about a quarter mile in from shore, although many of them enjoyed the fishing and tranquility by the sea. It was a typical day after leaving the church they had recently constructed. It was a newer faith they were learning about a man that came and died on a cross for redemption.

The eagerness fell upon the collective for this place of worship. Their people had spent generations worshiping out in open in nature of their Gods creation rather than something built from human hands.

The children danced about with free and flowing spirits and the echo of their laughter from playing in the water until their feet could no longer stand the cold was warming to the souls of their loved ones watching.

At the breaking shore, John gathered the catch of the day’s labor and placed them into buckets. He reached down to fill his hands full of pike fish when he noticed the ships approaching in the distance. Unable to make out clearly the mysterious vessel, he smiled with satisfaction in hope that this could be the ship baring medicines for the village sick.

The ship grew nearer as he continued to watch, ready and eager to help them onto the shore. His expression of hope slowly eased as he kept his eyes on the enormous ship. The closer it came, the more his face faded into solemnity; simple delight deteriorated into sudden revulsion and his brow began to furrow. The slippery feed fell from his hands. Slight elderly, the man, began running in desperation. He ran to the tall tower built for panoramic views of the waters.

Alongside the tower was a long wooden ladder that was showing its years. The top opening was only big enough for one person and the oversized bell that hung inside. His swift stride was strong until he lost his balance and gouged his chin on a missed step. Though the wound would have been painful under normal circumstances, he felt nothing, and continued his climb to the top for he knew the symbol that bore itself in front of the ship’s bow.

When he reached the top, he grabbed the rope that protruded from the massive bell and yanked repeatedly. The sound of its ring echoed throughout the area. He looked down to see many disoriented people below. Some were looking out to the water to see what was there; others needed no visual and instantly headed back to the village to warn the others. The man continued ringing the bell. He knew that not only the people on the shore needed the warning but also the people in their homes.

Time was running short. He could see that the ship had unloaded smaller boats that were filling with the men of dread. It would only be a matter of minutes before they landed. Everyone was in danger. He headed down the lookout tower to join the others in their flight.

People were scattering. The man from the tower stumbled upon a woman in her mid-fifties who had run out of energy and collapsed. She had fallen though there was nothing to fumble her feet. From the look of it she was giving up. The man stopped to help. The woman insisted he leaves her and saves himself, but he paid no heed. You can make it, you can make it, he urged. The woman grabbed him around the neck and suddenly was re-energized with a boost of strength from the support of her brother.

The women scrambled for their young. The children, too, were aware of the present danger. They had trained for this many times but to them it was still like the drill. It wouldn’t be until the men from the ship arrived that the children would graduate to the lessons of reality. The men gathered for their weapons, while the panic of the village echoed in a haze of confusion. Gabel, John’s youngest, handed his father a sword. Gabel looked at another man that was leading the women and children to the church. Father, go, the young lad requested. But the father could not bear the thought of his son’s life being stripped at the hands of what followed. Get inside. John could see his son’s determination and insisted, now, protect them. The young lad obeyed and hurried to the church.

The church contained a hidden cellar. Gabel opened a door next to the altar. The tiny room was filled with small pieces of lumber that sat on the floor. He slid the pieces to the side, grabbed the lever, and lifted the floorboard. One by one the villagers headed down to safety. Once secured, Gabel closed the hatch and replaced the wood. The other villager, Kyle, bolted the front door of the church and then ran behind the altar to reach for a sword. Gabel watched him carefully as he held his weapon, waiting for the unknown to reveal itself.

The boats landed on the deserted beach. Zylor stepped onto shore from the first boat. There were four boats in all, loaded with killer instincts. Most carried swords, others had iron balls with spikes. But few selected these as their weapon of choice. They were more sophisticated than their predecessors, and the sword allowed more control and flexibility. For most battles, Zylor chose to use this method of punishment on his prey, and chose it this day as well.

From each boat, the man last out had the duty of pulling it to shore. Zylor looked back at the last boat as if waiting for some type of approval. When the third boat made it in, Lector got out with his men close behind. He had beside him his most trusted man. He stood at the shore and smelled the air before surveying the situation. From the look of it, they had fled rather quickly and were not too far ahead. Lector inhaled the cool spring air and watched his clouds of breath linger in front of him. ‘Awe what a glorious day,’ he thought to himself. The blue sky filtered behind white reams of cotton with a few blackbirds swaying through the brisk air. He knew what awaited him. The anticipation was exhilarating. He noticed the lookout tower and smirked to himself. He then looked down and studied the footprints. The direction of the masses appeared to be heading east.

After taking careful inventory of his surroundings, Lector raised his arm and haled it forward to dictate his direction. Everyone followed his command. The man beside him was somewhat of a newcomer to this clan, compared to the others that fought with Lector before. Lector favored him and had taken him under his wing. He had trained the young inquisitive man in the skill of battle, not that he was a virgin to the sword, since he taught himself secretly after some guidance from a man he considered to be his father. However, Lector was a powerful, undefeated swordsman, so any additional wisdom was welcomed. Lector himself had longed for the day to have someone he could trust beside him. He trusted no one except his father. He also knew the ways of his father and so, at times considered trust with uncertain leery. It was different with this young man, because he was alone, and needed someone to guide him in the right direction.

Lector watched the expressions on the faces of his opposition. Each one stood before him ready to destroy the enemy or face their own death. The gallant men of the village held firm with their weapons. The Viking leader inhaled deeply to smell his victory in the wind. ATTACK, Lector roared, and the men all obeyed, raising their swords for another triumphant battle. The warriors charged the men of the village, voices of thunder crackled in the air when the clanging of metal began. Courageously, the villagers fought, and their bravery showed no end, but no matter how good or spirited they were, they were no match against the skill of the Viking warlords.

The young man beside Lector once again was able to let loose his anguish. He fought hard and with every blow of his mighty sword, his mind would ease, but only for that moment. Zylor, Lectors first in command, (even before this intruder came along) was merciless. The villagers died a violent death, and the smell of smoke was lingered in the mist while their homes slowly kindled in the raging flames.

Lector headed directly to the church, followed by his ranking officers, Bordick and Cane. Without attempting to enter he commanded, Open the door and you have my word your women and children will be spared. There was no response. Open it or I will have it burned to dirt, he said. Gabel’s mind raced as he stood on the other side of the door, listening. He wanted to believe the man but the risk was too great. He remained silent. Burn it, Lector said, his finite voice penetrating within. The choice was obvious; trust was the only alternative. Gabel unbolted the door. Lector stood calmly, his face expressionless. Gabel could see the three men behind him. Two Vikings held lit torches in the distance, while Lector and the others entered. Kyle stood in front of the altar holding his sword but was careful not to appear resistant.

It was obvious the strangers suspected that the other villagers were in there. It was also obvious they wanted to take any possessions they felt were valuable. Gabel’s heart filled with the hope that the strangers would leave once they had finished.

Bordick and Cane each moved down opposite sides of the altar. Bordick carried with him a cloth sack. Leave nothing, Lector commanded. Bordick went behind the altar and began filling the sack with ornaments and metals. He then noticed, below, a casing. He opened it and discovered a metal box, but what was beside it caught his eye even more. He snatched both. Cane opened the door on the other side but saw nothing unusual and closed it. Once the plundering was completed Bordick headed back to Lector and handed him the Bible he had found in the casing. Lector held the book lightly. He nodded to Bordick. Knowing Lector’s unspoken words, he went to the doorway and signaled the men with torches to enter. Gabel’s anguish unleashed as he tried to reason with this man, You gave me your word. Lector smiled as if to comfort him. You are to be cleansed and my words are all that I can offer. Gabel felt a sudden sting inside his stomach, powerful enough to erase his thoughts. His emptiness dwindled in the blackness that was beginning to overcome his sight. He looked down and saw the blood dripping from his hand. The last thing he beheld was the serenity on Lector’s face as he withdrew his sword.

The other villager, Kyle, in front, watched his friend die before him, his anger mounted. No longer gripped with fear, he raised his sword to charge forward but was flung to his knees by the force of the knife in his back. Lector grinned at Cane as he gazed upon his latest victim. Lector looked down at the Bible in his hand and threw it to the ground. Burn it to the hell they know, he ordered.

John knew that defeat was all that existed as he faced the final confrontation in a losing battle with Zylor. Lector’s friend heard the man’s cry of despair. He could not escape the tugging on his conscience although he tried to ignore it. The pitiless soldier raised his ball and chain around the older man’s sword, causing the sword to hover in the air, then land its tip in the ground. The man looked in amazement at the weapon that had been stripped from him, and was now vibrating steadily in a perfect vertical position. In that instant, the helpless man surrendered.

Zylor saw his opponent’s defeat as the man fell to his knees, forgetting all pride, and bowing his head. Zylor eyed the man’s skull with no regard for his cry for mercy. He smiled with satisfaction and inflamed adrenaline then raised his iron ball for the final blow. He struck down with all his might, but the force of his weapon was interrupted. He turned to see that his chain was caught in a sword.

When he realized who bore the sword, he became furious. What are you doing man? he stammered. Klaus looked over at the kneeling man who remained still and with his head down to the ground, Step aside Zylor, that will be enough, Klaus ordered with authority. Zylor released his weapon and raised up his hands to the sky then laughed sarcastically, Who are you to be giving me orders? You may be Lector’s brother, but I am in command.

Zylor’s breath was short from his exertion, What side do you take Klaus? My own, he responded. Zylor wanted nothing more than to erase this man from the earth, but that would have to wait. Your brother Lector does not see what I know, but there will come a time for us all to witness the loyalty you hold so dear. The two men eyed each other fiercely, as the defeated man raised his head to witness their stand down. Finally, the moment was ruptured when Zylor turned to coldly eye the defeated man, then picked up his weapon and ended the confrontation. Klaus looked down at the helpless man and could not escape the unshakable sensation that faithfully reveals itself after every battle. Go, he directed. Klaus could hardly look the man in the eyes as he raised his head and left. John struggled to understand this warriors concern for his life. Lost in his confusion, he then noticed the church smoldering in the background. He rose to his feet and watched as the church burst into a rage of flames. Frozen in place, tears poured down his face for the thought of Gabel, his son.

Coming down off his rush after slaughtering more villagers, Lector mounted his sword on the side of his belt. His barbaric face began a careful assessment of the dead and badly wounded. There is hardly a man left, he sneered with irritation. The Viking warriors around him remained quiet. They knew he was right. The village is small, there were not very many men to fight, said a brave and daring soul. Lector raised his hand, to instantly silence the unwarranted comment. Take what is left to show our good efforts, he concluded with a devilish laugh, then he headed over to a nearby well. He lowered the bucket then lifted some water to quench his thirst. But after filling his mouth, he heaved over and spewed it out, wiping the remnants of decaying water from his mouth. The village had a clog in their system that prevented the fresh water to filter in, causing them to have to carry water from another well not so nearby.

Some of the Viking men began to quickly gather all the few injured men together. A few others looked for trees that would properly serve their purpose. They got out their ropes and prepared the trees for a final victory gesture to Odin, their God of Battle.

Lector saw his brother Klaus walking around the circle of men. He wondered about him. He knew that Klaus was still in the process of transforming into a true Norseman, unlike the way he found him a few years ago. He believed that his brother was progressing well, not to mention the intensity at will of his incredible fighting spirit. Klaus turned out to be quite a man, despite his mother’s influence. In Lector’s mind, it was all thanks to him. He strode over to Klaus. Well, my brother, you are the capable swordsman. There are great things awaiting you. Zylor overheard the comment and shrugged with envy. Lector patted his brother on the back, as an introduction, to another test of commitment; one in which Klaus seemed to fail at miserably, and one that Zylor repeatedly used as a maneuver to try and convince his leader that Klaus would never be truly loyal.

Klaus followed his brother’s gaze to the homes of the village that were not yet burned and the possibilities that lurked behind each door. Klaus was beginning to feel apprehensive. The discomfort was one that he had hoped he’d have overcome by now. He knew that once again he’d have to face the scrutiny and challenge of his