CHAPTER FIFTEEN ORKA

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ORKA

O rka stared at the Berserkir and úlfhéenar as they charged from the treeline, roaring and howling as they came, puffs of snow erupting around their feet as they ran. They wore bear and wolf pelts, making them appear more animal than human.

"TO ME, PROTECT YOUR GOD," Rotta bellowed in his god-voice as he ran towards the head of the column and all along the warband warriors jumped into motion, Orka seeing Biórr and Red Fain move on the rat-god's command. Shields were shrugged from shoulders or grabbed from wagons and slammed together, men and women setting their feet and a long row formed, two lines deep, made up of dragon-born, Tainted warriors and dragon-cultists. Those wielding spears and long-axes stood in the back row, seaxes, swords and hand-axes in the front.

Too thin , Orka thought, looking from the shield wall to the onrushing Berserkirs and úlfhéenar .

Skraeling and trolls milled and shuffled in front or behind the line, looking unsure what to do, and overhead tennúr whirred through the snow.

They may have a belief of unity … but they have no cohesion in battle .

Horn calls from along the line, shouting, and Orka saw warriors in the column turning, looking towards the river.

Two longships were rowing up the river towards them. One ploughed through the dense reeds along the riverbank, its hull grating as it shored on earth, warriors in mail and fur leaping over the top-rail and breaking into a run towards the column's rear. Warriors with round shields, knotwork wolves scribed upon a snow-white field.

"Father!" a man hissed close to Orka. Dagrun, and he threw himself at a dragon-cultist, wrapping the rope that bound his wrists around the man's throat. Other prisoners around him leaped at their guards.

There was a deafening crash as the first Berserkir hit the shield wall, smashing through it in a frenzy of muscle, teeth and iron. All along the line Berserkir and úlfhéenar hurled themselves against shields, smashing through, warriors spinning through the air, shields splintering, bones breaking, blood spraying. Screams echoed, iron clashed, warriors roared and almost immediately the shield wall was fracturing into smaller knots, holding together here and there.

A huge bull troll roared and lumbered through a gap, swinging his club, hitting as many friends as foe. A Berserkir spun through the air and crashed to the ground, rolled and stopped, smashed to bloody pulp. úlfhéenar leaped at the troll, swarming over him, stabbing, biting, gouging.

Orka looked around, right in front of her two Berserkir smashing a hole through the wall. One crashed to the ground, a woman with blood frothing on her lips, warriors spreading around her, stabbing with spears, but the other kept their feet and hacked at anything that moved, a short-axe in each fist. Orka saw the hole in the wall, bodies lying broken and trampled on the ground, through the falling snow saw the treeline beyond, and two figures emerged from the shadows, stood staring at her. A man and a child.

Her heart stopped in her chest.

"Breca," she whispered as her son beckoned frantically to her.

Without realising it, she was moving.

Then something crashed into her side and she was thrown to the ground, rolled and a seax plunged into the earth beside her.

"No, you don't," Myrk said, looming over her and ripping the seax free in a spray of snow and earth. Orka snarled and kicked out, knocked Myrk's legs from under her and she fell, Orka scrambling on the ground, slicing her seax across Myrk's back as she rolled away, sparks flying where the blade grated on Myrk's coat of mail. They both came up together, slicing and stabbing, iron clashing. Myrk stabbed at Orka, blade hissing through empty air, twisted to avoid Orka's blade and punched Orka on the jaw. She staggered, off balance, tried to swing an arm for balance but her bound wrists hampered her, and she stumbled, ducked as Myrk came at her and she sliced her blade across Myrk's thigh. A grunt of pain and Myrk lurched backwards, her eyes flickering red, her lips moving.

"Sársaukarúnir, brenndu hanna," Myrk muttered, one hand moving in the air and red runes sputtered to life before her, flames flickering.

"No," Orka growled and ran at Myrk, head low, and rammed into her, lifting Myrk on her shoulder, both of them flying through the air, crashing to the ground, Myrk grunting, air hissing from her, twisting, Orka clinging to her, wrapping the chain binding her wrists around Myrk's throat, and heaving back.

"Sársaukarúnir, brenndu—" Myrk wheezed, breath laboured, red runes appearing around them as they rolled.

"I said no ," Orka snarled again and dragged Myrk's head back, bit into her throat with her wolf-jaws. Flesh tore and blood spurted into Orka's throat, a scream, Orka ripping and biting, teeth plunging deeper, blood slick, hot, running down her throat, her chin. Myrk bucked and writhed, arms flailing, stabbing at Orka. If the blade bit into her, Orka did not know, a blood-hazed, frenzied madness surging through her. Slowly she became aware that Myrk was no longer struggling. She released her grip on the woman, pushed herself away and up onto all fours, Myrk flopping lifelessly on the ground, her throat a red ruin torn to bloody strips.

Orka threw her head back and howled.

A shadow over her. A hand touching her shoulder.

"Mama," a voice filtered through to her and she blinked, looked up and saw Breca standing over her, gripping a hand-axe in white knuckles. Figures loomed behind him. Lif with a shield and bloodied spear in his fists, Halja Flat-Nose and Gunnar Prow, both mail-clad and helmeted, and S?unn, the Hundur -tainted thrall who Orka had purchased at Starl, now with her thrall-collar gone, clothed in leather and fur and gripping a spear.

"Come with us," Breca said, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her up.