Tyr's Hammer: A Foreworld SideQuest (The Foreworld Saga) by Pearce Linda & Pearce Michael Tinker

Author:Pearce, Linda & Pearce, Michael Tinker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2013-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

A horn sounded far down the beach, and Tyr turned to see the distant light of torches racing toward them. Aedmund made to grab for a sword lying on the sand but Tyr shoved him toward the boats. “There’s no time!”

Thankfully, the hunters had not thought to hole the boats, and snatching up a small clinker, they righted it and dragged it to the water’s edge. Tossing their oars into the boat, they shoved off and leapt inside. Quickly rigging the oars, they pulled strongly and were well offshore by the time the hunters pulled up at the water’s edge.

Several arrows arced after them, but aside from one that passed frighteningly between the two of them to sink into the bow of their tiny vessel, all fell short. None of the second volley even came close, and the hunters gave it up, milling about on the beach. One raised a horn to his lips and blew, but none made for the other boats along the shore.

“What are they waiting for?” asked Aedmund, still a bit out of breath from the fight.

“At a guess? Voldrun,” Tyr answered.

He gave it no more thought, and bent all his effort to rowing. Aedmund did the same. As the distance was not great, they soon heard the keel crunching into the rocky shore of the island. They wasted no time in beaching the boat, simply leaping into the shallow surf and wading ashore. Voldrun had still not joined the hunters on the beach, but Tyr knew that he would be along soon enough.

“If we can make it to the seaward side, we might get among the rocks and have some chance,” Aedmund said.

Tyr paused and looked back just as another group of torches emerged from the woods. The light was tricky, but he thought he saw a low, dark shape race across the sand and straight into the surf. He had a pretty good idea what that shape was: the creature Fenris, loosed at last for the end of the hunt.

“We’ve a stop to make in the village first,” Tyr said. “Go!”

They raced up the dirt track to the village on the island’s crest, stumbling with exhaustion. Their wounds were small, but they wept blood and sapped their strength, as well as stiffening in the predawn chill.

They arrived at the village, such as it was. A meager half-dozen buildings, mostly cottages, but Tyr spotted what he was looking for at the farthest edge: a blacksmith’s shed.

Stumbling to the door, he found it locked, but a strong kick burst the latch, and then they were inside. Aedmund quickly found the bar and dropped it into its brackets to secure the door. It was warm inside with the residual heat of the banked forge—a first moment of comfort during this night. Feeling about in the darkness, Tyr found a short cross-peen hammer and tucked it into his belt. It was a meager weapon, but better than nothing.

“Quickly,” he told Aedmund, “rub the ash all over you—it will darken your skin and may confuse your scent.

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