Page 77 of Edge of the Wild

Dagr had boasted some twenty men in his party, a few of which now lay lifeless amidst black arcs and splashes of blood on the snow, the rest of which were engaged in hand-to-hand skirmishes with Beserkirs all in full cowls, so that the scene was that of men fighting bears – bears with spears and crude axes.

Dagr himself held the horn, his bald head visible in the moonlight, and lifted it to his lips for another blast–

Just as an arrow caught him in the throat.

“Archers!” Magnus roared. “Fall in!”

In a matter of moments, and a flurry of movement, Erik and Leif were crouching in the snow beneath a wall of overlapping shields held by their men-at-arms. Arrows struck the wood with solid thumps. Others landed harmless in the snow.

“We can’t stay here,” Erik said, shouting to be heard above the din. “We have to engage.”

“And get shot?” Magnus said. “No, Your Majesty, that I won’t allow.”

“Magnus–”

“Sorry, can’t hear you!”

Another volley struck the shield; at least five arrows, which meant at least five archers. Even one would have harried them; five could keep them pinned down while all of Dagr’s party were slaughtered.

In the scant gap between shields, Erik could glimpse the lights of the keep, the narrow windows high above the village. Anyone up on the walls would be able to see what was unfolding below. He hoped, for Oliver’s sake, that he wasn’t watching.

Another horn sounded, farther distant, drawing nearer: Askr’s party, come to join the fray.

And then came the cry again, an ear-splitting shriek from straight above. A shadow passed over the snow: a shadow of wings.

~*~

“Gods,” Ahni breathed. “Gods, do you see that?”

Oliver did, and for the first time, he was seeing it with his eyes, and not in a vision of some sort. His actual vision threatened to give, the blue closing in tighter, tighter, but he blinked, and shook his head, and he watched moonlight strike the pearl-white scales of the dragon that dropped down out of the clouds and began to circle the melee unfolding beyond the walls. It screamed again: that high screech like a bird of prey. It banked, folded its wings, and dove.

Oliver could feel its anger, its sadness, its pain; felt it as sympathetic thorns in his own mind, electric crackles like lightning that left him wincing.

His hand fumbled at his waist, and he felt the reassuring hilt of the dagger he wore. Then, without thought, he spun on his heel and pelted for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ahni asked.

He didn’t bother slowing. “To stop this!”

~*~

The hail of arrows let up. Screams split the air: human, and then inhuman.

Erik bolted up from the ground, ducked around Magnus, and set off across the clearing.

“Erik!”

“Uncle!”

Askr’s men came boiling out of the trees, swords wet and dark with blood – they’d taken out the archers. They moved to engage with the Beserkirs attacking Dagr’s men.

Overhead, the shadow circled, and swelled as the beast descended.

Erik spared it only a glance – glimpsed the flash of moonlight on pale, ridged wings, and on horns, and claws sharp as steel; saw a bright blue flare like the first flame of a cresset, and he knew what it was, but refused to name it in his mind – and pressed forward at a run.

A Beserkir stood in his path, one carrying a spiked club in one hand, and a spear in the other; he stood with his back to Erik as he bore one of Dagr’s men to the ground and lifted the spear, prepared for a fatal blow.

Erik swung; took the man’s spear-wielding hand off at the wrist. As he screamed, and blood spurted, Erik delivered a crushing blow to the side of his cowled head that sent him toppling lifeless to the snow.

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