into a rasp. That looked like a powerful strong building—
and, as the light grew, you could see other, smaller buildings huddled round it.
Geir and Steinthor slid back. We all listened.
`The light is on the gate in a wooden wall that stretches all round it,' reported Geir, rubbing his dripping bag of a nose. 'The gate is the only way in unless you want to go over seven feet of timbered fence. It was built for defence, was this place.'
He paused, for effect as it turned out, since Steinthor grinned and added, 'But the bloody gate is wide and welcoming open. It's been a long time since anyone attacked them. They have forgotten.'
À big stone temple and six outbuildings,' Geir added, 'all wattle and withy. A stable, for sure. Perhaps a smithy—I can smell the banked fire and tinsmith metal. There's a good covered bread-oven. The others could be anything.'
Einar rubbed his nose and squinted. Then he shrugged. 'One way in, so that simplifies the planning.'
He rose up and we followed. At a fast pace, we followed Geir and Steinthor, almost running through the bracken and, as we neared the gated wall, where the first rose-light of the rising sun touched the moss-gentled points of the timbered fence, we broke into a silent run, piling through the gate under the light set to welcome weary travellers.
Resistance was slight, almost none. By accident, Ketil Crow stumbled over the watchman, a slumbering man in brown robes, huddled in a little but beside the gate. Ketil had turned aside and gone into it looking for loot, but couldn't see anything in the dark.
Until the querulous voice revealed the watchman, he thought there was no one else in the building, which was so small and cramped he couldn't get room to swing a slashing sword properly. Ketil Crow was flailing around, while the unseen watchman screamed and then the sword stuck in a beam and, cursing, Ketil Crow couldn't get it out.
By this time, half the company had heard the commotion and, seeing his predicament, were howling with laughter. The watchman, crashing into Ketil and knocking him off his feet, stumbled out of the building, mad with fear and near flying in his panic.
That was when Valknut stepped forward and threw his hand axe, which smacked into the left side of the man's forehead with a sound like dung thrown against a wall. The force flung him sideways and he fell on his back, gurgling like some strange, long-nosed beast, the blood welling out of the mess of his face in a growing pool.
Ketil Crow hurtled out of the building, dark with anger, and the jeers stopped as he swung this way and that. But, as the men congratulated Valknut on his throw—it was generally agreed to be a fine one, since it wasn't a balanced throwing axe—there were chuckles and sniggers in the darkness at Ketil's expense.
Wordlessly, Valknut put one foot on the dead man's bloody chest and, with a flick of his wrist, removed his axe. It came away with a small sucking sound and Valknut, with a brief, blank look at Ketil Crow, wiped the blood and brains on the dead man's brown robe and strode off, axe in one hand, spear with furled banner in the other.
Ketil Crow caught me looking and I blinked at his expression, then wisely found the stone temple with the tower more of interest and trotted towards it.
It was, it seemed, one large hall, with an impressive flagged floor. The tower held no archers, nothing more than a bell. There were two brown-robed figures sprawled, spewing blood on the flagstones. Half a dozen others were penned at the far end of this hall by the rest of the Oathsworn and Einar was head to head with Illugi Godi.
It was a strange place and I gawped. It had benches and a sacrificial altar, which was where most of the people were. Behind the altar, above their heads, was a window, filled with pieces of coloured glass in the shape of a man wearing, it seemed, a glowing hat. The walls, too, were painted with strange scenes.
The dawn light that spilled from that window
and, as the light grew, you could see other, smaller buildings huddled round it.
Geir and Steinthor slid back. We all listened.
`The light is on the gate in a wooden wall that stretches all round it,' reported Geir, rubbing his dripping bag of a nose. 'The gate is the only way in unless you want to go over seven feet of timbered fence. It was built for defence, was this place.'
He paused, for effect as it turned out, since Steinthor grinned and added, 'But the bloody gate is wide and welcoming open. It's been a long time since anyone attacked them. They have forgotten.'
À big stone temple and six outbuildings,' Geir added, 'all wattle and withy. A stable, for sure. Perhaps a smithy—I can smell the banked fire and tinsmith metal. There's a good covered bread-oven. The others could be anything.'
Einar rubbed his nose and squinted. Then he shrugged. 'One way in, so that simplifies the planning.'
He rose up and we followed. At a fast pace, we followed Geir and Steinthor, almost running through the bracken and, as we neared the gated wall, where the first rose-light of the rising sun touched the moss-gentled points of the timbered fence, we broke into a silent run, piling through the gate under the light set to welcome weary travellers.
Resistance was slight, almost none. By accident, Ketil Crow stumbled over the watchman, a slumbering man in brown robes, huddled in a little but beside the gate. Ketil had turned aside and gone into it looking for loot, but couldn't see anything in the dark.
Until the querulous voice revealed the watchman, he thought there was no one else in the building, which was so small and cramped he couldn't get room to swing a slashing sword properly. Ketil Crow was flailing around, while the unseen watchman screamed and then the sword stuck in a beam and, cursing, Ketil Crow couldn't get it out.
By this time, half the company had heard the commotion and, seeing his predicament, were howling with laughter. The watchman, crashing into Ketil and knocking him off his feet, stumbled out of the building, mad with fear and near flying in his panic.
That was when Valknut stepped forward and threw his hand axe, which smacked into the left side of the man's forehead with a sound like dung thrown against a wall. The force flung him sideways and he fell on his back, gurgling like some strange, long-nosed beast, the blood welling out of the mess of his face in a growing pool.
Ketil Crow hurtled out of the building, dark with anger, and the jeers stopped as he swung this way and that. But, as the men congratulated Valknut on his throw—it was generally agreed to be a fine one, since it wasn't a balanced throwing axe—there were chuckles and sniggers in the darkness at Ketil's expense.
Wordlessly, Valknut put one foot on the dead man's bloody chest and, with a flick of his wrist, removed his axe. It came away with a small sucking sound and Valknut, with a brief, blank look at Ketil Crow, wiped the blood and brains on the dead man's brown robe and strode off, axe in one hand, spear with furled banner in the other.
Ketil Crow caught me looking and I blinked at his expression, then wisely found the stone temple with the tower more of interest and trotted towards it.
It was, it seemed, one large hall, with an impressive flagged floor. The tower held no archers, nothing more than a bell. There were two brown-robed figures sprawled, spewing blood on the flagstones. Half a dozen others were penned at the far end of this hall by the rest of the Oathsworn and Einar was head to head with Illugi Godi.
It was a strange place and I gawped. It had benches and a sacrificial altar, which was where most of the people were. Behind the altar, above their heads, was a window, filled with pieces of coloured glass in the shape of a man wearing, it seemed, a glowing hat. The walls, too, were painted with strange scenes.
The dawn light that spilled from that window
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