Fury Page 3

  Dagoo the Pictish seer slashed with a dagger, but Niels blocked his strike and battered the knife away, he then picked the smaller man up by the scruff of his fetish covered collar and tossed him at the big Azschlander.

  “I want his head!” snarled Tarbona.

  The front window shattered as a limp body flew inside.

  “Boha-Annu’s teats!” gasped Tarbona.

  It was one of the huntsmen, judging by Tarbona’s murderous oath.

  The front door burst open, almost knocked off its hinges as Gathelaus shouted, “Out, now!”

  Niels made his way toward the door, slashing his sword this way and that.

  Gathelaus slammed a spear into the huntsman nearest him, and then another, between he and Niels. The door was cleared, while there were still a host of men roaring for their blood behind. He shut and wedged the spear into the door, holding it shut at least temporarily.

  “They’ll think twice before leaping out the window,” said Gathelaus, with his sword at the ready.

  “Now what?” asked Niels.

  “We ride out, I have horses.”

  A flatbow bolt came singing out the broken window and stuck in the post beside Gathelaus’s head. It vibrated angry as a kicked hornets’ nest.

  “Back away. Horses are on the side,” urged Gathelaus.

  “Did you know they were coming?”

  “I had an idea, didn’t you?” asked Gathelaus, still watching the broken window. A sword arm reached out flailing blindly and Gathelaus cut off the hand that wielded the blade. A scream from inside, brought a chuckle to his lips.

  Niels protested. “You spent the whole time telling me they weren’t here!”

  Gathelaus led him around the side of the tavern. Four men lay dead on the ground and two fine horses were already saddled and ready to ride. Gathelaus leapt into the saddle. “They had spies listening and watching, we had to make them think they fooled us, the first man that passed us at the docks missed us and thought we were in the boat. But another was inside the tavern.”

  Niels was incredulous. “You could have said something!”

  “I did. I said I’ll get the horses!” Gathelaus kicked his horse’s flanks and raced away.

  Niels followed right behind him as the crowd of bounty hunters broke down the door and staggered from the tavern, cursing. The flatbow man tried another shot but they were already out of range.

  As they raced up the hillside, Niels asked, “How many are there?”

  “Too many. I killed at least five. You?”

  “Four or five. You ever heard of Tarbona?”

  “Is that him?”

  “That’s him, down there in the hood.”

  “He is supposed to have a tracker that can find anyone. We’ll have to kill him, or they’ll find us no matter where we go in these mountains.”

  “We aren’t sticking to the coastal road?”

  Gathelaus shook his head. “It would take too long and we’d come across more of these huntsmen. Look there.” He pointed to the far side of the village where another dozen men were charging after.

  Tarbona shouted at them and the mounted men hurried past him in pursuit.

  Gathelaus turned his horse about and kicked its flanks. “We need to choose the ground we fight on, until then…”

  “Yes?”

  “We ride hard and fast to find a good spot for us and a bad spot for them.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  They raced down the road, as their pursuers came on, crying for blood.

  3. Encounter in the Forest

  They had only a small lead on their pursuers and Gathelaus knew the horses would soon tire. The one benefit he could think was that his horses were rested, while those of the men behind them had been run coming to the village. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something for the sake of whose mounts would run out first.

  He knew enough of horses to have selected the best ones the coastal man had to offer. But there were at least twenty men coming after them, several of them armed with flatbows. Hard to cut down that many men no matter how good you are with a sword if you’re getting pin-cushioned with bolts designed to punch through mail.

  He glanced over his shoulder. They were still coming.

  At a fork in the road, Niels shouted, “Which way? Should we split up?”

  “No, that wouldn’t help anything, there are too many,” said Gathelaus.

  “Which way then?”

  “Can you read the waybills?”

  Their horses thundered closer to the signpost. A tall man stood beside the crossroads, a lute over his shoulder. He raised a hand in greeting.

  “Is that one of the huntsmen?” asked Niels.

  “Looks like just a bard.”

  Niels peered closer at the signpost. “Danelaw to the left, Finnsburg to the right.”

  Gathelaus looked back. The pursuers were less than a half-mile behind them. There was not enough cover to fool them on their course yet, nor were the trees along the road in a position where he could try an ambush. “We ride toward Finnsburg, it’s on the road to Hellainik.”

  Niels nodded and hurried to the right.

  As they raced past, Gathelaus noticed that someone had scrawled a skull and crossbones over the signpost pointing toward Finnsburg. It was also not lost on him that there were no new tracks going that direction. But with their pursuers already too close, he gave it no more thought.

  The tall man standing beside the crossroads looked at them with a jovial mustached face, shouting, “Oh, you’re going by so fast, stop and I’ll sing the ballad of Molly with the Seven Nipples.”

  “No time friend,” answered Niels as they raced past.

  “Next time then,” answered the bard giving them a friendly salute.

  Grey clouds roiled overhead as the storm moved in at an incredible gallop. A touch of rain began to fall, just enough to splash them in the face with cold.

  The road had deep ruts from old wagon tracks but was not muddy yet. It soon could become a bog. The grass along the edges was brittle and yellow and would easily betray their tracks if they should try an overland course to elude their foes. The trees were not thick either and would not hide them from a keen-eyed man.

  Niels asked, “Do you see a good place to make a stand yet?”

  “None of this is ideal yet, too flat, no cover, we could easily be surrounded and shot through by flatbows.”

  “My horse is tiring,” gasped Niels, as he looked back at the huntsmen who were still on their track but falling slightly farther behind.

  “Mine too,” said Gathelaus. “We might not have a choice soon enough. But we have gained a quarter mile on them.”

  They hurried on and the rain hurried on to become sleet. Grey ice coated the ground and Gathelaus watched for anywhere he might be able to leave the road and yet still hide their passage.

  The road curved and they found a spot where a small brown creek, swollen from the rains, overstepped its banks. It was about as wide as the road and yet still shallow, for they could see boulders and such cutting the surface.

  “This may be as good as it gets. We ford here and try to find a place to cross leaving them guessing. With any luck the storm will cover our tracks and buy us more time.”

  “It’s coming down hard, maybe we have already lost them,” said Niels hopefully.

  Gathelaus shook his head. “Not with that Pictish tracker and shaman. If anything, we have just bought a day.”

  They left the road and waded into the brown creek. The horses were skittish, disliking the cold murk that they could not see the bottom of. They hurried downstream more than a quarter mile, always watching their back trail to be sure they were not seen.

  “I can’t see the bottom. What if the horse breaks a leg?”

  “Worth the risk, we gotta lose them. The murk will hide our trail, too.” They trotted their horses downstream. The sleet turned into snow, swirling about in nasty gusts.


  Niels said, “This cold might do us in, if they don’t get us first.”

  Gathelaus snorted in reply, but he watched their back trail with worry. “This is about as far as I dare, they may hit the stream soon enough.”

  “Let’s take the chance and go past that bend in the hills,” said Niels.

  Gathelaus watched behind them. “All right but hurry, speed that horse up.”

  They trotted down the stream toward a cut in the banks where the water had made a channel through some low-slung hills. After they passed beyond, Gathelaus waited at a spot where he could only just see the road. It was getting difficult, because of the building snow caught in the wind.

  “We’ve lost them for now, but we best get out of the stream and find some shelter.”

  “These banks are steep, if we climb out here, they’ll see our tracks, snow or not.”

  Gathelaus gritted his teeth. “All right, we ride down a little farther.”

  They followed the stream as it meandered back and forth. The banks remained steep and the trees closed in. The snow thankfully eased a slight amount.

  A small wolf, perhaps only a yearling, watched them from a bank. They heard a yip and then, just a little farther down, they saw two more. Neither of these were large either.

  “Should we be concerned?” asked Niels. “Where is their mother?”

  “I don’t think a pack would be interested in two armed men, but their curiosity is something. They should run off at the sight of a man.”

  They heard a large splash in the water not far in front of them.

  “What was that?” asked Niels.

  “Don’t know. Keep your eyes on the left, I’ll watch the right, but trust your horse’s instincts.”

  The trees grew thicker and, while they could see the creek flowing on in front of them, between the branches and the light skiff of snow, they could not see far ahead.

  Something brown jerked in the water ahead of them. It thrashed once more before going still.

  “Did I tell you about the dragon I heard tell roams these borderlands?” said Niels.

  “Be silent,” growled Gathelaus as he unsheathed his sword. Niels followed suit.

  As the overhanging branches thinned and they came around the edge of the serpentine course in the creek, they saw the hind end of a deer lying sideways in the water. Its head was under the water, its mighty rack stuck out.

  Atop the stag crouched the largest wolf they had ever seen. With a single paw, it held down the deer whose wounds turned the brown waters red. It growled at them and then, astonishingly, it stood up on two legs.

  Its hands were human like, though covered with grey fur and each long fingertip ending in black talons. It had a massive muscular build, large enough to rival a titan. It stood as tall as they did upon horseback.

  They were at a standstill. Neither wishing to intrude any further toward the beast nor turn their back upon it. The horses could hardly contain their fear and it was all each man could do to keep their mounts from panicking and running off.

  The yellow-eyed monster stared at them, its white teeth gleaming between the spaces where red painted them.

  Finally, Gathelaus said, “Go your way beast and allow us to go ours, we shall not trouble your woods but leave in peace.”

  It picked up the deer carcass with one mighty hand and said in a voice that was kin to the thunder, “Come not again to my wood.”

  “You have my word,” answered Gathelaus.

  “What is your name?” it asked in a deep rasp, as if questioning his vow.

  “I am Gathelaus Thorgrimson.”

  “Thorgrim? I knew a Thorgrim once many years ago.”

  That struck Gathelaus as exceedingly odd. His father had never spoken of an encounter with a creature such as this, but there were many things his father had never told him.

  “I grant you safe passage. Leave my wood,” it commanded, pointing a taloned finger to their left.

  “My thanks,” Gathelaus paused, wondering if he should ask the creature its name, but he decided better. “Men may come hunting for me. Huntsmen serving a tyrant. My apologies if they disturb you.”

  The wolfshead beast squinted its eyes but answered firmly, “Foes of a son of Thorgrim, are my foes as well.”

  “My thanks,” was all Gathelaus could manage.

  The wolfman leapt up the side of the steep embankment, still clutching the stag with that hideous strength, and disappeared into the woods to their right.

  Niels looked to Gathelaus, speechless.

  “We go to the left and away from these woods.”

  Niels nodded vigorously.

  They carefully made their way up the left bank, heedless of how much it dug into the reddish earth, and up into the woods. Niels made his way through the thick trees while Gathelaus paused a moment to look back. He could sense better than see the gleaming yellow eyes that watched them from afar. He saluted the monster’s memory and rode after his friend.

  4. Roll the Bones

  They were tired, wet, and hungry, but Gathelaus insisted they give more space to the wolfish monster. “We can’t expect a truce we don’t honor,” he said, as much to himself as Niels.

  “But the horses,” said Niels. “I think they are on the verge of faltering.”

  “So we walk,” agreed Gathelaus.

  They dismounted and trudged over the brambles and fallen logs in the woods. It was perilously slow going and each man couldn’t help but watch behind them as nervously now as they had when pursued by Tarbona’s huntsmen.

  The snow fell again in blinding sheets and all sunlight had fled the land.

  Niels said, “We must find shelter. Do you think we have given the monster enough room?”

  “It will have to do. If we don’t give them a rest they will fall dead,” said Gathelaus.

  They found a thick copse of trees, and while Niels started a small fire, Gathelaus built a windbreak with logs and then covered that over with green branches.

  It was difficult to get the fire going as the wind cruelly insisted on blowing it out. Not until Gathelaus’s windbreak was finished, did the coals catch. Even then the work was not done, as they brushed down their mounts and gave them grain that Gathelaus had purchased beforehand.

  They took off their boots and tried to dry their clothing as best they could, but the slanting fall of the snow fell among them and clung to their cloaks and froze their mail.

  Darkness was lifted slightly by a bright moon that stole above the heavy clouds, but the snow never completely stopped. They took turns being on watch and feeding the fire throughout the night to keep some warmth close to their bodies.

  Without a word being said, each felt they were being watched—likely by the beast for huntsmen in the wet woods would not have been so patient.

  When at last daybreak teased upon the horizon, the snow ceased. Sunlight danced out from behind the morning clouds and warmed their skin.

  They were still exhausted but alive. The rest had the done the horses much good and by the time they broke camp, the sun was melting the snow every place but where the shadows fell.

  Finding a road before midday, they trotted along at a good pace, still wary to be away from the woods of the monster as well as the likely pursuit of the huntsmen. The feeling of being watched never fully left, but once the trees thinned, it seemed less worrisome.

  As they rode on, the trees grew sparser and they came to an upland where reddish cap rock made majestic spires among jutting canyons and valleys.

  Gathelaus said, “I’m not sure we are even on the same road we were at the crossroads the first time. That wood was thick and treacherous and for all we know, we took a magnificent shortcut, but I can tell we are still heading in the correct northeasterly direction to reach a main thoroughfare and take us back to Hellainik.”

  “At least we are well away from that monstrous wolfhead’s wood,” said Niels.

  “Aye, it would be unfortunate if we ever had a need to go back there and
face the thing. But I had heard no tales of it preying upon folk in the countryside, especially so near the coast and that fishing village.”

  “I don’t even know the name of that place, but I wish I did.”

  “Why?”

  Niels laughed. “I think I’m in love with the bar maid, Dahlia.”

  “You’ve been away a long time, that can happen.”

  Niels rode closer, saying, “We can’t all be as cavalier about women as you. I’ve hardly heard a word about Coco from you in days, nor have you spoken of Nicene in some time.”

  “Nicene is dead. Won’t do me any good dwelling on her. Life is for the living not the dead.”

  Niels countered, “You don’t need to be this stony with me. I knew and cared for her, too.”

  Gathelaus ignored the opening saying, “And Coco is crafty, perhaps she has been able to escape Hawkwood’s clutches.”

  “Crafty as she may be, Hawkwood is more so.”

  Gathelaus nodded. “If she lives, she will be my queen. But sometimes I think I am cursed to always have those I care about stolen from me.”

  “You once said that was simply the gamble we must face in life.”

  “True enough. Look a crossroads.”

  Before them was a towering mesa and the road forked each way around. It was impossible to say if it merged once more beyond or not. Each path continued a somewhat north easterly direction just at varied angles.

  “Where are we?” asked Niels.

  “The borderlands between Danelaw, the capitol kingdoms, and another lesser kingdom.”

  “Finnsburg?”

  “That’s it. Their lord Hoskuld was loyal to me and sent men for the levies after the fall of Forlock.”

  Niels answered, “Rumors in the tavern. They say a dragon has returned and is a pox upon Finnsburg.”

  “A dragon? Here?”

  “So they said. I heard his name is Fiendal and that he was returning after a long sleep.”

  Gathelaus searched his memory. “I’m sure that most of the men levied from Finnsburg were slain by that sorcerer Vikarskeid set upon me. He must have crushed more than fifty men and horses all wearing the armor I bid them to wear. Can’t imagine my name will be a very popular one in Finnsburg. I’ve nothing to show for their dead and my usurper sits upon the throne. They can’t be very popular with Vikarskeid either. And now they are cursed with a dragon?”