and hundreds of pounds of horse meat for the others."
Their laughter was short-lived. With no more need for stealth, the Franks bolted through the trees with curses and war cries driven ahead of them. However, the first clash did not come from the front where Ulfrik expected. Franks sprung up from Ulfrik's right and were among his men before anyone realized.
"Where in Loki's name did they come from?" Einar shouted, not knowing which way to turn. "Are those Clovis's men?"
"Who else?" Ulfrik saw the first flashes of enemies from the front hurtling through the spotted light. "Must be guards for the cavalry that no one saw. No matter now. This is going to be one gods-be-damned fight!"
Einar planted Ulfrik's green banner emblazoned with black elk horns and readied his ax. In moments, Clovis's banner of a white swan in a black square appeared and the first of his men rushed to battle.
Ulfrik braced his shield as screaming enemies launched themselves over fallen logs and low rocks to collide with the loose line he had formed. Throwing spears flew over his head, though the trees, and chaos foiled ranged attacks. The first Frank rushed forward, but Einar stepped in with his long-hafted ax and slammed the man away as easily as hitting a child's ball. Einar's ax was intended for use in the second rank to hook or break shields for front rank attackers to exploit, but he was tall and mighty enough to wield it as his main weapon. He worked in tandem with Ulfrik, for after he struck he appeared overextended and enemies targeted him only to find Ulfrik's sword in their guts. The ploy worked in every battle, for few lived to warn their companions.
More Franks joined and Clovis's banner wavered and dipped as he fought through to where Ulfrik stood defending his own. Weapons hammered on shields and men shrieked in pain and anger as metal found flesh. In moments, the battle became a swarming mass of men hacking and cursing each other. The woods offered horrible footing, increasing the lethality of the combat. Rocks, roots, slippery leaves, and logs tripped men from both sides and falling to the ground in combat meant death followed in moments.
Ulfrik moved little during the battle, tenaciously holding his ground and avoiding the problem of footing. He fought in a tight circle about the banner, sending men reeling with blood trailing from their wounds. The carnage was the worst he had seen since Paris. A Frank who had taken a spear to his face staggered past him with his eye missing and the meat of his cheek torn to reveal his teeth. One of his own men had his sword arm hacked off at mid-arm, but instead of falling he howled in rage and stuck the bloody stump into his enemy's face while bashing him with a shield. Another man rested in the bole of a tree, holding his glistening guts in his hands as he cried. Dismembered corpses littered the ground, piled atop each other like stacks of firewood. All around his banner disorganization and chaos consumed the men, so that any semblance of lines had disappeared.
He watched Clovis's banner drawing nearer, and finally he stood before his own standard and shouted. "Clovis, come meet your death. I am right here if you're man enough to get through to me."
Both he and Clovis understood each other's language well enough. While Ulfrik had forced himself to learn the Frankish language, his mouth could not form the misshapen and twisted sounds. His challenge had its intended result, for Clovis broke through to Ulfrik.
He was not a large man, but strong and fast. He had a narrow and royal head with close-cropped black hair turned gray at the temples. Even in the heat of battle, smeared with mud and gore and wading through ground smelling of blood and urine, he still appeared above the disorder. He was clean shaved, wearing only a thin mustache that framed his disdainful snarl.
"You ignorant fool," he shouted at Ulfrik, drawing his shield to his body and setting his bloodied sword low for a strike. "You
Their laughter was short-lived. With no more need for stealth, the Franks bolted through the trees with curses and war cries driven ahead of them. However, the first clash did not come from the front where Ulfrik expected. Franks sprung up from Ulfrik's right and were among his men before anyone realized.
"Where in Loki's name did they come from?" Einar shouted, not knowing which way to turn. "Are those Clovis's men?"
"Who else?" Ulfrik saw the first flashes of enemies from the front hurtling through the spotted light. "Must be guards for the cavalry that no one saw. No matter now. This is going to be one gods-be-damned fight!"
Einar planted Ulfrik's green banner emblazoned with black elk horns and readied his ax. In moments, Clovis's banner of a white swan in a black square appeared and the first of his men rushed to battle.
Ulfrik braced his shield as screaming enemies launched themselves over fallen logs and low rocks to collide with the loose line he had formed. Throwing spears flew over his head, though the trees, and chaos foiled ranged attacks. The first Frank rushed forward, but Einar stepped in with his long-hafted ax and slammed the man away as easily as hitting a child's ball. Einar's ax was intended for use in the second rank to hook or break shields for front rank attackers to exploit, but he was tall and mighty enough to wield it as his main weapon. He worked in tandem with Ulfrik, for after he struck he appeared overextended and enemies targeted him only to find Ulfrik's sword in their guts. The ploy worked in every battle, for few lived to warn their companions.
More Franks joined and Clovis's banner wavered and dipped as he fought through to where Ulfrik stood defending his own. Weapons hammered on shields and men shrieked in pain and anger as metal found flesh. In moments, the battle became a swarming mass of men hacking and cursing each other. The woods offered horrible footing, increasing the lethality of the combat. Rocks, roots, slippery leaves, and logs tripped men from both sides and falling to the ground in combat meant death followed in moments.
Ulfrik moved little during the battle, tenaciously holding his ground and avoiding the problem of footing. He fought in a tight circle about the banner, sending men reeling with blood trailing from their wounds. The carnage was the worst he had seen since Paris. A Frank who had taken a spear to his face staggered past him with his eye missing and the meat of his cheek torn to reveal his teeth. One of his own men had his sword arm hacked off at mid-arm, but instead of falling he howled in rage and stuck the bloody stump into his enemy's face while bashing him with a shield. Another man rested in the bole of a tree, holding his glistening guts in his hands as he cried. Dismembered corpses littered the ground, piled atop each other like stacks of firewood. All around his banner disorganization and chaos consumed the men, so that any semblance of lines had disappeared.
He watched Clovis's banner drawing nearer, and finally he stood before his own standard and shouted. "Clovis, come meet your death. I am right here if you're man enough to get through to me."
Both he and Clovis understood each other's language well enough. While Ulfrik had forced himself to learn the Frankish language, his mouth could not form the misshapen and twisted sounds. His challenge had its intended result, for Clovis broke through to Ulfrik.
He was not a large man, but strong and fast. He had a narrow and royal head with close-cropped black hair turned gray at the temples. Even in the heat of battle, smeared with mud and gore and wading through ground smelling of blood and urine, he still appeared above the disorder. He was clean shaved, wearing only a thin mustache that framed his disdainful snarl.
"You ignorant fool," he shouted at Ulfrik, drawing his shield to his body and setting his bloodied sword low for a strike. "You
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