“It
seems Berag has been taken to the southern end of Skrethorg, which is not
good,” he informed the soldiers. “South Skrethorg is a very violent, unfriendly
place. The dwelling in which he is held is three times the height of a normal
dwelling. It should be easy to find. Let us depart,” said Tharkol making his
way back to the smelly street.
It
was indeed an unpleasant neighbourhood. All the locals wore tattered clothes.
Clearly this was a place to avoid. Every city had an area like this. A drunken
man called out to them. He held a clay jug in his hand which he raised, making
him trip and almost fall.
Ignoring
him, the men moved on. The soldiers had their weapons hidden underneath their
cloaks, but they were ready to use them.
Outside
each house was a hole for urine and excrement. The place reeked and it almost
seemed as if all the diseases of the world had been born in this place.
A
mangy dog padded past, its ribs clearly visible. Its head hung limply as it
moved. The dog was clearly not far from death.
“Spare
some money?” asked an old woman in a doorway. The dress she wore was stained
with dirt.
“Come
now, such richly dressed men such as you must be able to offer a poor old lady
some coin?”
The
men pushed past her.
“A
pox on you,” she called out.
Soon
Tharkol turned to the soldiers and pointed at a three-storey dwelling ahead.
There was a man out the front, probably standing guard. He had an axe in his
hand, and a round shield strapped to his back. He wore no helmet. His chain
mail had begun to rust on the right shoulder and it had a large hole around his
stomach. Poorly dressed as the man was, the soldiers noticed that his axe blade
was pristine; it had been sharpened and thoroughly cleaned. Such details told a
lot about a person. This man was a good soldier and would probably fight well.
Steve saw the guard was watching them intently.
“It’s
just down here,” said Tharkol loudly, pointing off to the left.
The
soldiers followed him down a side alley. Once they were out of sight the men
stopped and formed a tight circle.
“There’s
not many of ’em,” said Scott. “Yeah, I noticed that,” Matt said. “Wonder where
they all are?” asked Will.
*
* * * *
Foothark
got out of bed earlier than usual. He stretched quietly, wincing as a shoulder
cracked and a sharp pain shot down his arm. Marie was still sleeping. He knelt
by the fire and prodded it back to life before stepping silently outside.
Yawning
softly he thought of Heleena. He berated himself silently for letting her go,
but as Marie had reminded him, she was of age and was in the care of a fine
man.
He
had only known Will for a short time, but trusted him. Heleena had been
approached by many young men and he had trusted none of them. But Will was
somehow different. He seemed to genuinely care for Heleena, something Foothark
had not seen before.
“Odin
keep you safe,” he whispered into the cold.
The
sun had not yet risen, but a gentle light was touching the sky to the east.
Foothark strode through the fresh snow towards the forest. He urinated against
a tree and passed wind loudly. But a noise made him turn. It was a loud snap
like a fallen branch breaking underfoot. At first he supposed it was a deer,
unaware of his presence. He looked into the forest where a large band of men
was creeping through the trees. The instant they saw him they broke into a run.
Foothark
swore and stumbled as fast as he could towards his home.
“To
arms!” he yelled. “To arms!”
*
* * * *
“Okay,
Matt, I want you on the rear exit,” said Steve watching the soldier pull out
the M110 sniper rifle and clicking the safety to fire.
“Heleena,
you stay here,” said Steve.
She
scowled at him and a knife appeared in her hand. “You do not command me, I go
with Will.”
Steve
held his hands up. “Okay, no argument from me, but you stay well behind me and
Will okay?”
She
nodded.
“You
all set?” he asked Will.
“Yup,”
Will replied with a grin.
“Right,
Scott, I want you to neutralise the guard. Once you’ve done that, find a
location and cover our approach. Will and I’ll clear the building. We’ll locate
Berag and pull him out. Hopefully he’s here and still alive.”
“Okay,
not a problem,” said Scott, moving away.
“You
good to go?” asked Steve.
“Where
would you like me?” asked Tharkol.
“Just
stay here for the time being,” answered Steve. “We shouldn’t be too long.”
Steve
moved around Will and watched Scott talking to the guard. The man laughed at a
story Scott was telling him. Then Scott made a small hand gesture. He was
asking if they were ready to move. Steve nodded and Scott picked up the
movement in his peripheral vision. Without hesitation, Scott took a step back
and suddenly brought the Minimi up releasing a short burst into the man’s
chest. The guard dropped to the floor immediately and before the sound of the
gunshot had echoed into silence, Will had kicked the front door open. The two
soldiers, with Heleena close on their heels, began clearing the building as
Scott took cover behind a building. He would ensure that no enemy could enter
the building behind them or that Berag could be brought out and taken
elsewhere.
The
first contact could be heard as a short burst exploded, followed by another.
There was shouting and several more gunshots. The distinct loud crack of an
M110 sniper rifle sounded from the back of the house where someone had probably
tried to make an escape.
Four
enemy were down. Steve and Will moved quickly through the dwelling. Steve was
about ten metres behind Will, who was moving forward fast, his weapon pulled
into his shoulder watching for enemy. Will disappeared around a corner and
another loud burst exploded a moment later.
Steve
rounded the corner to be confronted by a body. Three or four rounds had torn
through the man’s chest. Steve moved alongside Will and signalled for him to
move forward.
Will
nodded and then held his hand up, telling Steve to wait. Heleena knelt behind
them facing rearward, a knife drawn in case an enemy came from behind. Will
pulled the magazine from his rifle and slapped in a fresh one before bringing
the weapon to his shoulder again.
*
* * * *
“To
arms!” Foothark roared, as he reached his door. With relief he noticed that
many of the younger men had appeared, swords and axes in hand. Foothark barged
through the door and saw that Marie was awake. She was holding his sheathed
sword, which she passed to him before kissing him on the cheek.
“Be
careful husband,” she whispered.
He
slung a round shield over his shoulder and nodded. He strode quickly out,
slamming the door behind him. A small group of village men had formed a shield
wall and were already in battle. The ring of steel and angry shouts cut through
the morning air.
“To
me!” the distant roar of Thormdall’s voice rose above the battle. “Ulfor to
me!”
Foothark
ran clumsily through the thick snow and towards a large group of armed men
around Thormdall.
“Skyaldaborg!”
the Berserker yelled and the warriors instinctively formed the shield wall, as
they had been trained.
“Follow
me!” commanded Thormdall, and ran towards the battle.
The
warriors moved fast, but not as fast as the Berserker. Their close formation
hindered movement. Long before the shield wall could close with the enemy,
Thormdall was amongst the raiders. No matter which direction they came from,
Thormdall blocked, parried, stabbed, slashed and kicked. No matter how many
there were, or how concerted their effort, the raiders fell before the
Berserker like wheat before a scythe. Only two Ulfor warriors remained from the
original shield wall. They ran back to join the larger battle approaching.
Foothark found himself in the second rank, and within moments battle had been
joined.
Thormdall
had broken clear of the fight to allow the shield wall to press forward into
the undisciplined ranks of the Viking raiders.
One
Ulfor warrior darted clear of the shield wall protection and was immediately
killed. The man behind the felled warrior stepped forward to take his place.
The raiders almost broke through the wall, but were pushed back.
“Hold
the wall!” roared Thormdall.
Two
raiders broke clear of the fight and charged the Berserker, but Thormdall
killed them with ease. He made it look like a game. But this was no game.
The
raiders were held at bay by the Ulfor shield wall for what seemed an age. The
Ulfor warriors in the second row, and some in the third, were making great
effect of long spears and long hafted axes, which stabbed and hacked out beyond
the front rank, shattering shields, swords or skulls. The Viking raiders were
being decimated, but instead of retreating, they chose the coward’s path. They
broke ranks, streamed along either side of the shield wall and sprinted for the
village of Ulfor.
“After
them!” roared Thormdall. The raiders were after Ulfor’s most valued commodity:
the women and children.
*
* * * *
Steve
kicked the door hard. It flew backwards. A startled half- dressed man with a
dagger in hand ran towards a room to the right. A single shot rang out and the
ejected cartridge bounced off the wall with a dull clink before coming to a
rest in the dirt at Will’s feet. The corpse limply ploughed into the ground,
with blood pumping from a hole in the man’s skull. The trio moved quickly
forward, clearing the rooms to the left and right as they went.
*
* * * *
For
Welf this had turned into a bad day that had grown steadily worse. The torches,
held in place by steel brackets flickered against his face and threw shadows that
danced across the walls like distorted creatures from myths. At sixteen summers
he had been proud to be accepted into the ranks of the Vikings. He came from a
poor family and saw the Viking raiding parties as a way to support his family.
There was plunder aplenty or so he had been told, and if he could send some
home then his mother and his younger sister would not go hungry.
His
father had left them when he had been six, he remembered the day distinctly.
There had been a shouted argument between his mother and his father, followed
by a sharp slap. Welf had run from his room to see his mother hit the floor
hard. His father had turned and left. It was no bad thing Welf had often told
himself. His father had been a pig, and hoped he was dead by now.
There
was a groan from the other side of the room. The prisoner was awake again. The
hostage was a chieftain of some small inland village and they were hoping to be
paid for his return. Inland villages were wealthy, which is why the men often
went inland a-viking. With some luck, Welf might have come out of this venture
with more coin than he had entered it. But now he was not sure. Loud
thunderclaps came again and there was a dull thud above him, almost like a body
hitting the floor.
“They
are coming for you, boy,” came the prisoner’s soft voice. “Shut up, old man!”
shouted Welf, fear coursing through him.
The
prisoner’s left eye had closed Welf noticed with pleasure. A group of them had
beaten him yesterday afternoon, punching, kicking or stomping until all movement
had ceased. After that the man had become delirious, moving frequently from a
waking state to sleep. Each time he awoke, he groaned or cried out in pain.
*
* * * *
They
were on the second floor and about to move to the third. Many of the enemy were
dead now, although they had still not found Berag. Steve ran up the stairs
ahead of Will, moving quickly around the large room. It was empty. Moving
through buildings was a skill. In order to fire accurately, the weapon needed
to be held steady as one moved, and this was achieved by walking from the
knees, not the hips. Walking from the hips meant the individual bobbed up and
down so could not shoot with any accuracy.
Walking
from the knees was also much quieter than walking in the normal manner. The
soldiers rushed to a closed door opposite them. Steve swung it open quickly and
they were confronted with a steep, dark staircase. Keeping his weapon pointed
into the blackness, Will flicked on a small mag light and moved forward. The
stairs were chiselled from stone and seemed to go down a long way. Down they
went, further and further into the musty gloom. Steve guessed they were now
under the surface of the ground.
There
were only two things that would normally be found this deep: a prison or a
torture chamber. It was the only place Berag could be. At last they came to the
bottom and cool air enveloped them. They found two old wooden doors. One led
straight on and the other faced left. It reminded the soldiers of the old
stories where life resided behind one door and death behind the other.
Will
pretended to flick an invisible coin into the air. Steve grinned and pointed
left. Will positioned himself. There was not enough room for them to move in
together, so Will would have to kick the door in and clear the room himself.
Will kicked out hard, the door flew open and a startled warrior crumbled
sideways as several bullets tore through his chest and throat. Four other
warriors scrambled to their feet. One managed to draw his sword and charge,
shouting in fury before he was taken down by a short burst. Another received a
bullet to his head.