platter went flying. Gerald caught the knife.
“I believe you lost this,” he said in Slavic, holding it away from him.
“I have another,” snarled the Wend, reaching for his waist.
Gerald brought his staff up into the man’s groin, then stepped forward and felled him with a blow to the head with the haft of the knife.
“Milords, save yourselves!” he shouted as the disguised soldiers rushed into the room.
Valdemar was already up, throwing his cloak over the head of an onrushing soldier. He grabbed his stool and broke it on the man’s skull. Esbern was up, sword drawn, as were the rest of Valdemars men.
Gerald threw his knife into the throat of the nearest Wend, then suddenly lunged forward. A dagger hurled from the center of the room stuck in the end of his staff, inches from Fengi’s chest. Fengi shot a look of appreciation toward the fool, then picked up his stool with his left hand and used it as an improvised shield.
On the other side of the room, Knud was having less success. Despite Larfner’s warning, his men had not reacted as quickly as had Valdemars. Larfner himself was beset by three soldiers, and was laying about with a knife in one hand and his lute in the other.
Knud went down, a knife in his back. Sveyn stood behind him, teeth bared. The Wends from that side of the room started toward Valdemar.
“Fall back!” yelled the Jutland King. “Make for the door.”
His men retreated into his quarters, Gerald with them. They tried to shut the door, but the Wends were massed on the other side. Suddenly there was a discordant twang, accompanied by the splintering of wood, and Larfner pulled one of the soldiers away and pushed into the room. He, Gerald, and Valdemar managed to shove the door into place and secure the bar.
In the great hall Sveyn picked up the treaty, crumpled it, and tossed it into the fire. Then he gestured to his men to break down the door to Valdemars quarters.
“That door won’t hold for long,” said Valdemar as he and his men hastily threw on what armor they could.
“Out the window, milord,” said Larfner. “We’ll hold them for a few minutes.”
“Right,” said the King. “If you get out, make for the wharves and join us. Our thanks, gentlemen.”
Valdemar, Esbern, Fengi, and the three other men who had made it inside went out the window. The barred door started shivering under the repeated crashes.
The two fools looked at each other.
“That was my favorite lute,” said Larfner. “Now, I’m angry.”
“You’re wounded,” said Gerald suddenly, looking at a section of the other’s motley that was rapidly changing color.
Larfner looked down at his side.
“Strange,” he said. “When did that happen?”
Then he sagged to the floor, still staring at the stained motley.
Gerald felt for a pulse, then gently closed Larfner’s eyes.
“We could have used that third fool, old friend,” he said. “No time for extreme unction. I’ll pray for you later, if I’m lucky.” He pulled Larfner’s pack from his shoulders and added it to his own, then took the knife from his hand.
The door crashed into the room. The first Wend through took Larfner’s knife in his heart. The next two went down under two quick blows from Gerald’s staff. As the rest stumbled over the bodies, Gerald ran to the window, hurling his staff ahead of him. Then he dove through, somersaulting in midair and landing on his feet. He picked up his staff and ran north.
He heard a commotion from a nearby street, and veered toward it. Up ahead of him, Valdemars party was backed against a warehouse wall, weapons up, surrounded by a squad of Wends wielding axes. Gerald rammed his staff into the back of the neck of the nearest, tripped up two more, and picked up an ax from the ground. Emboldened by his arrival, the Jutlanders attacked. Within a minute, the Wends had fled, leaving nine of their number on the ground.
Valdemar looked at Gerald, who had accounted for two more during the
“I believe you lost this,” he said in Slavic, holding it away from him.
“I have another,” snarled the Wend, reaching for his waist.
Gerald brought his staff up into the man’s groin, then stepped forward and felled him with a blow to the head with the haft of the knife.
“Milords, save yourselves!” he shouted as the disguised soldiers rushed into the room.
Valdemar was already up, throwing his cloak over the head of an onrushing soldier. He grabbed his stool and broke it on the man’s skull. Esbern was up, sword drawn, as were the rest of Valdemars men.
Gerald threw his knife into the throat of the nearest Wend, then suddenly lunged forward. A dagger hurled from the center of the room stuck in the end of his staff, inches from Fengi’s chest. Fengi shot a look of appreciation toward the fool, then picked up his stool with his left hand and used it as an improvised shield.
On the other side of the room, Knud was having less success. Despite Larfner’s warning, his men had not reacted as quickly as had Valdemars. Larfner himself was beset by three soldiers, and was laying about with a knife in one hand and his lute in the other.
Knud went down, a knife in his back. Sveyn stood behind him, teeth bared. The Wends from that side of the room started toward Valdemar.
“Fall back!” yelled the Jutland King. “Make for the door.”
His men retreated into his quarters, Gerald with them. They tried to shut the door, but the Wends were massed on the other side. Suddenly there was a discordant twang, accompanied by the splintering of wood, and Larfner pulled one of the soldiers away and pushed into the room. He, Gerald, and Valdemar managed to shove the door into place and secure the bar.
In the great hall Sveyn picked up the treaty, crumpled it, and tossed it into the fire. Then he gestured to his men to break down the door to Valdemars quarters.
“That door won’t hold for long,” said Valdemar as he and his men hastily threw on what armor they could.
“Out the window, milord,” said Larfner. “We’ll hold them for a few minutes.”
“Right,” said the King. “If you get out, make for the wharves and join us. Our thanks, gentlemen.”
Valdemar, Esbern, Fengi, and the three other men who had made it inside went out the window. The barred door started shivering under the repeated crashes.
The two fools looked at each other.
“That was my favorite lute,” said Larfner. “Now, I’m angry.”
“You’re wounded,” said Gerald suddenly, looking at a section of the other’s motley that was rapidly changing color.
Larfner looked down at his side.
“Strange,” he said. “When did that happen?”
Then he sagged to the floor, still staring at the stained motley.
Gerald felt for a pulse, then gently closed Larfner’s eyes.
“We could have used that third fool, old friend,” he said. “No time for extreme unction. I’ll pray for you later, if I’m lucky.” He pulled Larfner’s pack from his shoulders and added it to his own, then took the knife from his hand.
The door crashed into the room. The first Wend through took Larfner’s knife in his heart. The next two went down under two quick blows from Gerald’s staff. As the rest stumbled over the bodies, Gerald ran to the window, hurling his staff ahead of him. Then he dove through, somersaulting in midair and landing on his feet. He picked up his staff and ran north.
He heard a commotion from a nearby street, and veered toward it. Up ahead of him, Valdemars party was backed against a warehouse wall, weapons up, surrounded by a squad of Wends wielding axes. Gerald rammed his staff into the back of the neck of the nearest, tripped up two more, and picked up an ax from the ground. Emboldened by his arrival, the Jutlanders attacked. Within a minute, the Wends had fled, leaving nine of their number on the ground.
Valdemar looked at Gerald, who had accounted for two more during the
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