Read Online Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James L. Nelson
Tags: Historical, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Sea stories, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
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see dangers that would not be clear to someone standing in the shieldwall, someone thinking only of the five square feet of ground on which he stood, and the men with whom he was fighting for command of that small plot. Thorgrim could see the riders on the flanks, see their stubby horses prancing and stamping. Those well-armed men, stationed behind the shieldwall, had used the mobility their horses could provide to race around the ends of the line. Thorgrim could see them sliding down from their mounts, readying themselves to come at the rear of the line, to sweep around from either side and catch the Vikings from behind. And that would be an end to it.
“Back!” Thorgrim shouted. He raced down the line, shouting as he did. “Back! Take a step back! Easy now, step back!”
He had no authority to give orders even to the men of the Black Raven , never mind the entire Viking army, but he could see disaster looming and knew there was no time for a proper chain of command.
“Back now, back, back!” And the Northmen listened, they took a step back, and then another. Disciplined steps, not a panic-edged retreat, not the kind of retreat that would devolve into a route, they continued to move back over the wet grass, reacting to the steady authority of Thorgrim’s voice.
A cheer went up along the Irish lines as the defenders sensed their enemies giving way. But it was premature, Thorgrim could see that, because now, as he had intended, the left and right flanks of the Viking shieldwall were backed up to the steep ridge that dropped away to the beach below, and the experienced troops to the left and right, greatest threat to the Norsemen, could no longer get behind them. Their flanks were anchored to the cliffs, and there they stood.
What had started as a clever ploy and well executed attack by the Irish line had devolved now to no more than brutal, one-on-one butchery as the men in the shieldwall hacked and slashed at the men facing them. They screamed, cursed, bled, died on that stretch of grass. Thorgrim could see one of the Black Ravens, dead, his head nearly severed, yet still standing in the shieldwall, his body jammed tight by the men to his left and right.
Thorgrim adjusted his grip on Iron-tooth, looked for a spot where he could get into the fighting. He had no notion of how this would end. Perhaps they would stand there, Norsemen and Irish, face to face, until there was but one man left alive and his side would be called the winner of the day.
The sound of the battle was a roar, like surf, punctuated here and there by shrieks, shouts, curses, horrific sounds. And then, suddenly, a new sound, a commotion, a swirling of noise from the shieldwall at Thorgrim’s left. Screams, shouts, a note that Thorgrim recognized. It was panic.
Who? Thorgrim thought and at that moment a great rent appeared in the Irish line, men knocked aside, the unbroken row of shields broken now, and in the gap stood a horrid and unworldly creature, skin blood red, white teeth flashing, hair standing at wild angles. It was screaming and wielding an ax, swinging it in great arcs. Thorgrim gasped and felt a stab of panic like a dagger point. There was nothing left in the world that could frighten him, but this thing was not of the world, that much he could see.
Then the thing looked at him, their eyes met, and the thing screamed “Night Wolf!” and Thorgrim realized he was wrong, the thing was indeed of this world, it was Starri Deathless who had hacked his way through the line from behind. And had given the Vikings a way to victory. Because a shieldwall was a hard thing to break, but once broken was nearly impossible to put to right.
“You men! Here! To me! To me!” Thorgrim shouted to the men at the far end of the shieldwall. He could pull men from the flanks, he knew, and not destroy the integrity of the defense. But he did not wait to see if they would follow. Rather he raised Iron-tooth and charged
“Back!” Thorgrim shouted. He raced down the line, shouting as he did. “Back! Take a step back! Easy now, step back!”
He had no authority to give orders even to the men of the Black Raven , never mind the entire Viking army, but he could see disaster looming and knew there was no time for a proper chain of command.
“Back now, back, back!” And the Northmen listened, they took a step back, and then another. Disciplined steps, not a panic-edged retreat, not the kind of retreat that would devolve into a route, they continued to move back over the wet grass, reacting to the steady authority of Thorgrim’s voice.
A cheer went up along the Irish lines as the defenders sensed their enemies giving way. But it was premature, Thorgrim could see that, because now, as he had intended, the left and right flanks of the Viking shieldwall were backed up to the steep ridge that dropped away to the beach below, and the experienced troops to the left and right, greatest threat to the Norsemen, could no longer get behind them. Their flanks were anchored to the cliffs, and there they stood.
What had started as a clever ploy and well executed attack by the Irish line had devolved now to no more than brutal, one-on-one butchery as the men in the shieldwall hacked and slashed at the men facing them. They screamed, cursed, bled, died on that stretch of grass. Thorgrim could see one of the Black Ravens, dead, his head nearly severed, yet still standing in the shieldwall, his body jammed tight by the men to his left and right.
Thorgrim adjusted his grip on Iron-tooth, looked for a spot where he could get into the fighting. He had no notion of how this would end. Perhaps they would stand there, Norsemen and Irish, face to face, until there was but one man left alive and his side would be called the winner of the day.
The sound of the battle was a roar, like surf, punctuated here and there by shrieks, shouts, curses, horrific sounds. And then, suddenly, a new sound, a commotion, a swirling of noise from the shieldwall at Thorgrim’s left. Screams, shouts, a note that Thorgrim recognized. It was panic.
Who? Thorgrim thought and at that moment a great rent appeared in the Irish line, men knocked aside, the unbroken row of shields broken now, and in the gap stood a horrid and unworldly creature, skin blood red, white teeth flashing, hair standing at wild angles. It was screaming and wielding an ax, swinging it in great arcs. Thorgrim gasped and felt a stab of panic like a dagger point. There was nothing left in the world that could frighten him, but this thing was not of the world, that much he could see.
Then the thing looked at him, their eyes met, and the thing screamed “Night Wolf!” and Thorgrim realized he was wrong, the thing was indeed of this world, it was Starri Deathless who had hacked his way through the line from behind. And had given the Vikings a way to victory. Because a shieldwall was a hard thing to break, but once broken was nearly impossible to put to right.
“You men! Here! To me! To me!” Thorgrim shouted to the men at the far end of the shieldwall. He could pull men from the flanks, he knew, and not destroy the integrity of the defense. But he did not wait to see if they would follow. Rather he raised Iron-tooth and charged
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