Varangian by Stuart G. Yates

Author:Stuart G. Yates [Yates, Stuart G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creativia
Published: 2018-11-12T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Five

As the distant skyline became tinged with purplish hues, Hardrada felt the heavy weariness begin to crush him. Surrendering to it, he leaned forward across the horse's neck, allowing his eyes to close. He had been tramping along the chosen path now for hours, the stillness of his surroundings lulling him towards sleep. He had fought against it, successfully too, but now it was becoming too much. Then the horse whinnied and he snapped his eyes open and sat up. He cursed himself for being so weak. No sleep, not until the darkness fell and he could settle himself somewhere easily defendable.

The pathway arched upwards at long last, giving him a moment to rein in his mount, and he looked around before slipping down from the saddle. He patted the horse's flank, tethered it up to a nearby tree and then scrambled down the short incline to the river.

All the way along the path, the river had been his constant companion, always just a few steps away, its gentle meandering bringing him a sense of comfort. A lifeline, which would lead him back to the girl and Andreas. What need had he of a map when he had this great silver finger, forever pointing to the way home?

He got down on his knees and scooped up handfuls of icy water and splashed his face. He rubbed his eyes and hair, shaking himself like a great cat, revitalizing himself. He felt instantly better, the weariness fading as cold needles of water pricked his flesh.

The footfall might have surprised someone less experienced than he. He made as if he was continuing with his washing, but readied himself. The second step made him move, rising and turning in one flowing movement, hand already bringing out the sword, parrying away the attack. He put his shoulder into the assailant, knocking him back into the dirt as a second assailant came on. Hardrada swept round, keeping low, the sword slicing through the man's shins. The attacker screamed as he went down. Over to the other side, the horses whinnied and stamped and Hardrada saw them, out of the corner of his eyes, rearing up. Other men were closing, trying to take the horses. Squat men, wrapped in furs. The war band.

A sword strike came like a blur. Hardrada took it, ran his blade down the other's, twisted it away then kicked out, catching the man in the groin. He grunted, pitched forward, and Hardrada brought his blade down across the back of the man's neck. With no time to admire his handiwork, Hardrada was dipping and dodging another blow. This one was much stronger. A big man, wild eyes, chipped teeth in a mouth open and cavernous. He wielded an axe above his head, whooping in a strange, grotesque manner. Others took up the battle-cry. How many, Hardrada couldn't tell, he had no time to think. Three were down, a fourth pressing forward. Others were closing and he knew, in that instant, that there were too many.

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