Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson Page B

move too fast for us to stop.”
      The others nodded, faces grim. The horses gave the Irish a mobility the Vikings did not have. And that was not all. If they have horses, then they are not just a bunch of hapless farmers, Thorgrim thought. If they have horses, then they are trained and well-equipped fighting men . He was not sure if that had occurred to the others, but he was not one to offer advice that had not been requested.
      “Sure all these damned men did not come from Cloyne,” Hoskuld Iron-skull spat, echoing the frustration of the others.
      “There is the tower,” Arinbjorn offered. “Thorgrim, what think you?”
      “This is not because of the tower,” Thorgrim said. “They could have had a few hour’s warning from the tower, no more. These men gathered long before that.” That observation was met with more nodding among the assembled leaders.
      “Hear him,” said Starri Deathless, who for some reason was hanging on the fringes of the council, though he had no business there. No one was going to ask the advice of a berserker; even their presence was barely tolerated when they were not required for the hard fighting. The blood on Starri’s chest and arms and in his hair was drying into a dark brown crust and making him appear even more mad than usual.
      “Well, if the Irish won’t do anything, then we must,” said Hoskuld. “We can’t stand here until we all grow roots.” Again there was a grumbled agreement among the other men.
      Thorgrim’s sword was still in his hand and he raised it, intending to point toward what he perceived as a weak point in the enemy’s shieldwall. In that same instance, on the far side of the line of Irishmen, an unseen archer let fly at the massed group of men on the ridge. ‘There…” Thorgrim said when he felt Iron-tooth jerk in his hand, heard a strange clang and screech of metal on metal. He was uncertain at first what had happened. He looked along the blade of his weapon.
      To his surprise he found that the iron arrowhead had hit the sword’s edge and split in the middle, and now held Iron-tooth lodged in its grip. The arrow, still quivering from its abrupt stop, was right even with his neck, and would surely have pierced his throat if it had not split itself on the sword.
      In the many fights, great and small, in which Thorgrim had taken part, he had seen many odd things, many that defied explanation. He had seen dead men without a mark on them, and others who had been left for dead, mangled beyond recognition, who lived for years after. He had seen arrows and spears embed themselves in a thousand odd ways. Once, two arrows had lodged themselves on either side of a leather helmet he was wearing, making the helmet appear to be mounted with horns, as Odin was often depicted in amulets. Another time a spear passed between his legs so high up he could feel the shaft sliding along his crotch, but it did him no harm at all.
      But for all that, Thorgrim had never seen anything quite as unique as that arrowhead split on his blade. The chances of such a thing happening seemed unimaginable to him.
      “Look at this, here,” said Hrolleif the Stout, who had seen what had happened. The others gathered around, looked and nodded their amazement. But they, like Thorgrim, had seen their share of amazing sights, and they were practical men, not much given to flights of imagination. They agreed that it was an extraordinary thing, and then all turned back to the problem at hand.
      All, that is, but Starri Deathless. As the others moved aside, there was Starri, looking with wide eyes, mouth open, at the arrow embedded on Iron-tooth’s blade. He made as if to speak, uttered a few sounds, and pointed at the arrow. Thorgrim, slightly embarrassed by the attention, looked from Starri’s finger to the arrow and back to Starri’s blood-smeared face.
      “Thorgrim,” Starri said at last. “Thorgrim Night Wolf, you are surely blessed by the gods.”