“On me,” Svik grunted, and Varg shuffled to Svik’s left, the group forming a loose line, shields raised but not locked together. Mud sucked at Varg’s shoes. All of the Bloodsworn were moving into the glade, a net drawing tight upon the tunnel entrance. They outnumbered their enemy, maybe a score of warriors milling in the glade, and ten or twelve of the skraelings.
Spears hissed, hurled by warriors among the Bloodsworn. There were screams as warriors fell, blood spurting. One of the skraelings let out an inhuman screech and staggered, pierced through the torso. It plucked at the spear, blood blooming around the wound, soaking into its hide tunic. It gripped the shaft with a long-fingered fist and ripped the spear free; looked at the Bloodsworn and opened its jaws wide, shrieking.
They are hard to kill.
“WALL!” the woman who had blown the horn yelled, the warriors about her drawing tight, shields rising together.
The warriors moved into a curved line, shields coming together with a snap as the last of the thralls disappeared. The skraelings erupted into motion, charging at the Bloodsworn. Two came at Svik’s group.
“SHIELDS!” Svik yelled.
Varg shuffled tight to Svik as R?kia had taught him, shoulders touching, and their shields came together with a crack, Varg’s overlapping Svik’s, the rim tight to Svik’s iron boss. Torvik was on Varg’s left and his shield did the same, the seven of them forming a solid wall of linden wood and iron. The two skraelings were charging at them, screeching and grunting in inhuman voices, faster than Varg would have thought possible, moving in a loping, four-limbed run with their knuckled fists.
“Ready,” Svik yelled and he set his feet, his left arm and shoulder braced into his shield. Varg did the same, looking over the rim, holding his spear high in a reverse grip.
The first skraeling slammed into their small shield wall, Svik, Halja and Vali taking the brunt of it. The full weight of the skraeling crashed into them with a dull thud and the shields rippled and bucked, soaking up and spreading the force of the impact. The skraeling fell backwards, rebounding from the shields to fall sprawling into the mud. Spears stabbed downwards.
And then the second skraeling was upon them, crashing into Varg and Torvik. There was an ear-shattering crack, an explosive pain in Varg’s shoulder and he was weightless, flying through the air. He crashed to the ground, all the air driven from his lungs, and he rolled, tangled in his shield and losing his spear. He came to a halt, flopping in the mud and gasping for breath, pushed himself on to hands and knees.
Torvik was yelling, thrown twenty paces away from Varg but scrambling back to his feet and brandishing his spear. The skraeling was stood between them, crouched, snarling, saliva dripping from its tusks. It reached to its belt and drew a thick-bladed weapon, shorter than a sword but longer than a seax, and wide as a cleaver. It hissed at them both, head snapping between Torvik and Varg like a hawk, and then it was leaping at Torvik, emitting a high-pitched screech.
A spark of rage bloomed in Varg’s belly, pure and white-hot, like when he was in the pugil-ring and had been floored, like when Einar had knocked him down. An instinctive response to losing. Most people would not get back up.
The red mist, Fr?ya had called it. Whatever it was, it surged through Varg now, flooding his veins, his body, his mind. The pain in his shoulder evaporated. He pushed himself upright and ran at the skraeling, snarling incoherent threats.
Torvik took a blow from the skraeling’s weapon on his shield, wood splintering, and stumbled back a few steps. He stabbed out with his spear and scored a red line across the skraeling’s shoulder, but it shrugged it off, screeched again and swung its blade. Torvik brought his shield around and the skraeling’s blade crunched into it with an explosion of splinters.
Varg ploughed into the skraeling’s back, the creature grunting, and both of them crashed to the ground. The skraeling bucked and twisted beneath Varg, who slammed the boss of his shield into its head and shoulder. Long arms flailed and punched him in the head and he fell away, then he saw the skraeling stumble upright, blood sheeting one side of its melted face, and raise its weapon.
Varg tried to rise and slipped in the mud.
The skraeling loomed over him.
A spear point burst through its belly and it screamed, arching its back, Torvik’s snarling face behind it. The skraeling grabbed the spear and wrenched it through its own body, turning on Torvik, who stared at it, open-mouthed.
There was a tremor in the ground, a shadow, and an axe hacked into the skraeling, opening it up from shoulder to ribs. An explosion of blood and bone. It collapsed with a gurgled sigh.