Read Online Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson - Free Book Online
Authors: James L. Nelson
Tags: Historical, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Sea stories, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
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Thorgrim smiled and looked at the arrow as if noticing it for the first time. “These things happen, Starri. Sure you’ve seen your share of such things.” Then, as if to emphasis the commonplace nature of the thing, Thorgrim pulled the split arrowhead off the blade and tossed it aside.
“No, I’ve not seen such,” Starri said. “Not like that.”
If Starri meant to elaborate, he never had the chance. Suddenly, like an unexpected clap of thunder, a cheer went up from the Irish ranks and the shieldwall rolled forward like a solid thing.
“To arms! To arms!” Hoskuld shouted. The men huddled in conference scattered, each racing back to his own men, each shouting as he did for the Norsemen to take up arms. But the men needed no encouragement. Those who a moment before had been sprawled on the cool grass, half asleep, were now on their feet with shields in their left hands, swords, battle axes or spears in their right. They ran forward and took up their place in the shieldwall the leaders were forming.
Arinbjorn and Thorgrim ran along the edge of the hill to where the men of the Black Raven were getting to their feet. Thorgrim searched the faces for Harald, saw him midway down the hastily organized line. His helmet was gone, which did not please Thorgrim, but Harald took his place with the others like a man accustomed to battle.
Thorgrim turned and nearly collided with Starri Deathless, who had apparently followed on Thorgrim’s heels, with Nordwall the Short and the other berserkers behind him. “We’re with you,” Starri said. “Any man so blessed by the gods, we’ll stand with him.”
There was no time for a reply. The Irish shieldwall, like a wave that first starts breaking far from shore, crashed into the half formed Irish defense. Thorgrim felt a shudder along the line, heard the clash of hundreds of shields on shields, the cumulative shout of Irishman and Norseman suddenly tangled in battle. The Vikings were pushed back a step. The first scream of agony rolled down the line and was cut short.
“Meet them! Hold steady!” Arinbjorn shouted. He had taken a place in the shieldwall, on the far left flank, but there had been no time for Thorgrim to lock shields with the others, and now he stood a few feet back, looking at the fighting men but not engaged himself. Beside him, Starri, Nordwall and the others looked frantically around as it dawned on them that there was a battle taking place and yet their weapons hung limp in their hands. Starri shrieked, raced for the line of struggling men, the vow to stand with Thorgrim becoming more of a metaphorical concept.
What happened next, Thorgrim could never quite explain. Starri came up behind the nearest of the Black Ravens and seemed to vault clear over the man. Perhaps he put a foot in the small of his back, Thorgrim never saw, but from Thorgrim’s point of view Starri seemed to leap or even fly over the line of men, coming down feet first, battle ax swinging, on the far side of the shieldwall.
He disappeared from Thorgrim’s view, and Thorgrim figured that was the last he would ever see of Starri Deathless, that in the wake of the battle they would find the hacked up remains of what had once been that half wild man. Maybe. More likely the pieces would not be big enough to name. Thorgrim pushed thoughts of Starri aside.
The Irish were driving the Vikings back, one grudging step at a time. Thorgrim could see the men’s soft leather shoes digging into the Irish sod as the Norsemen tried to hold the line in check, could see the axes and spears and swords rising up above the helmeted heads, flashing dull in the muted daylight. This was a view he had never had before. Always, he had stood his place in the shieldwall, or led from the front of a swine array charging an enemy. This place – behind the line, able to see nearly all the line of men with a turn of the head – this was something new.
And from that vantage he could
“No, I’ve not seen such,” Starri said. “Not like that.”
If Starri meant to elaborate, he never had the chance. Suddenly, like an unexpected clap of thunder, a cheer went up from the Irish ranks and the shieldwall rolled forward like a solid thing.
“To arms! To arms!” Hoskuld shouted. The men huddled in conference scattered, each racing back to his own men, each shouting as he did for the Norsemen to take up arms. But the men needed no encouragement. Those who a moment before had been sprawled on the cool grass, half asleep, were now on their feet with shields in their left hands, swords, battle axes or spears in their right. They ran forward and took up their place in the shieldwall the leaders were forming.
Arinbjorn and Thorgrim ran along the edge of the hill to where the men of the Black Raven were getting to their feet. Thorgrim searched the faces for Harald, saw him midway down the hastily organized line. His helmet was gone, which did not please Thorgrim, but Harald took his place with the others like a man accustomed to battle.
Thorgrim turned and nearly collided with Starri Deathless, who had apparently followed on Thorgrim’s heels, with Nordwall the Short and the other berserkers behind him. “We’re with you,” Starri said. “Any man so blessed by the gods, we’ll stand with him.”
There was no time for a reply. The Irish shieldwall, like a wave that first starts breaking far from shore, crashed into the half formed Irish defense. Thorgrim felt a shudder along the line, heard the clash of hundreds of shields on shields, the cumulative shout of Irishman and Norseman suddenly tangled in battle. The Vikings were pushed back a step. The first scream of agony rolled down the line and was cut short.
“Meet them! Hold steady!” Arinbjorn shouted. He had taken a place in the shieldwall, on the far left flank, but there had been no time for Thorgrim to lock shields with the others, and now he stood a few feet back, looking at the fighting men but not engaged himself. Beside him, Starri, Nordwall and the others looked frantically around as it dawned on them that there was a battle taking place and yet their weapons hung limp in their hands. Starri shrieked, raced for the line of struggling men, the vow to stand with Thorgrim becoming more of a metaphorical concept.
What happened next, Thorgrim could never quite explain. Starri came up behind the nearest of the Black Ravens and seemed to vault clear over the man. Perhaps he put a foot in the small of his back, Thorgrim never saw, but from Thorgrim’s point of view Starri seemed to leap or even fly over the line of men, coming down feet first, battle ax swinging, on the far side of the shieldwall.
He disappeared from Thorgrim’s view, and Thorgrim figured that was the last he would ever see of Starri Deathless, that in the wake of the battle they would find the hacked up remains of what had once been that half wild man. Maybe. More likely the pieces would not be big enough to name. Thorgrim pushed thoughts of Starri aside.
The Irish were driving the Vikings back, one grudging step at a time. Thorgrim could see the men’s soft leather shoes digging into the Irish sod as the Norsemen tried to hold the line in check, could see the axes and spears and swords rising up above the helmeted heads, flashing dull in the muted daylight. This was a view he had never had before. Always, he had stood his place in the shieldwall, or led from the front of a swine array charging an enemy. This place – behind the line, able to see nearly all the line of men with a turn of the head – this was something new.
And from that vantage he could
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