Freyja suddenly drew her bow and nocked an arrow, prompting Dearg to halt his men and grip his sword. Ahead, a group of shadowy figures was emerging from a grove of trees near the northern edge of the valley.
"Looks like children," Ivar said, his axes in his hands.
Dearg started forward, his heart beating rapidly, hoping that Morrigan was among them. As they neared, he could hear the children crying, and the voices of women attempting to calm them. One figure among them, blade in hand, stepped in front of them in their defense. Dearg smiled when he recognized her.
"Morrigan!" he called out.
The woman sheathed her sword and ran toward him. Dearg embraced her as she fell into his arms, crying.
"I'm sorry, Morrigan," he said. "We should have come sooner."
"It's not your fault," Morrigan assured him. "There was nothing you could have done. You would have died with my father and brothers."
"Hamish is not with you?"
Morrigan pulled back, wiping her tears away, but maintaining her fierce expression. "All of the men died fighting," she said. "And some of the women. I managed to get the children into the grove, and the enemy passed right by, thank the Dragon."
"How many were there?" Ivar asked.
"At least two hundred," Morrigan said. "Maybe more. They had a sorcerer with them. We didn't stand a chance."
"We will find them," Dearg said. "But for now, the children must be kept safe."
"We could direct them back to the village," Freyja suggested. "The road is safe. There is no one between here and our territory."
She was right. The women and children could travel safely to the Northmen's territory, straight to Igrid's long house where they would be safe and welcome. The only question was whether Svengaar would allow them to remain.
"Someone will have to go with them," he said. "Someone who can speak for them."
"They will be fine," Freyja said. "Igrid will protect them no matter what Svengaar says."
Dearg nodded. "Alright," he said, then turning to Morrigan, "Tell them how to get to the road and we will continue our hunt."
Morrigan went back to her group to speak to the women, and Dearg turned to Freyja. He was impressed with her skepticism of Svengaar's leadership. She too had seen his weakness and inability to lead the tribe, having more confidence in Igrid just as he did. The Jarl had grown complacent and docile in a world where such qualities could get a tribe killed. Dearg wondered if his fellow tribesmen would accept him as Jarl if it came down to it. He was, after all, not of their blood, despite the respect he had gained over the years.
After Morrigan returned, the men readied themselves once more, finally joined by Fleek and Hafdan. The heartbroken Fleek was quiet, but Dearg could see the anger in his eyes. It was obvious that when they finally did run across the men who had attacked the village, Fleek would pound their heads into the ground with his hammer.
Every last one of them.
They continued forward quickly, taking note of the direction of the tracks. The enemy force was large, to be sure, and it seemed that among the boot prints, there were strange tracks belonging to something other than humans. Morrigan had said the attackers were all men, with no beasts or other creatures among them. They hadn't even ridden horses.
"Gregor's clan is the next one down the valley," Morrigan said. "They are a larger clan, but with a force that size, I doubt they survived either."
"Why would T'kar's men come this way anyway?" Dearg asked.
"Either they simply wanted to wipe out the clans," Morrigan said, "or they want to reach the tower for some reason."
"But the tower is back west."
"It cannot be reached from that direction," Morrigan said. "The only way down into its basin is from the east. Anyone who wants to reach it must cross the Highlands, climb down into the basin, and go all the way back west."
"That seems like an awful lot of trouble," Dearg said.
"It is," Morrigan agreed. "And they likely wouldn't make it there anyway."
"Why is that?"
"There are things far more dangerous in that basin than soldiers."
"How did they get up here anyway?" Freyja asked.
"They would have had to climb the cliffs from the shore and cross the river. With a sorcerer among them, I doubt that would have been very difficult."
"Men ahead," Ivar said. "Watch yourselves."
Once again, Freyja's bow was out in the blink of an eye. But Morrigan stayed her hand and then called out, "Gregors!"
The men ahead stumbled toward them, and Dearg could see that they were weary and bloodied. There were at least thirty younger warriors, both men and women, and an older man in the lead. He was dark-haired, balding, and wore a long, braided beard that hung to his large belly. They all wore similar clothing to Hamish's clan, but of different colors.
"Morrigan," the leader said. "What of your clan?"
"Gone," she said sadly. "But most of the women and children are safe. What of yours?"
"They killed them," the leader said. "They killed all of them. We are all that's left."
Ahead, Dearg could see columns of smoke rising above the other side of a hill. He wondered why the survivors had come in this direction instead of following the attackers to the next clan.
"What clan is after yours?" Dearg asked.
The leader gave him a strange look, realizing that Morrigan traveled with men who were not of her clan.
"Caillain," the leader said, then to Morrigan. "Who are these men?"
"These are Northmen," Morrigan said. "They are our friends."
"This one doesn't look like a Northman," he said, referring to Dearg.
"We have no time for that, Liam," Morrigan said. "We need to find the attackers before they reach the other villages."
"Right," Liam said turning. "Follow us. We'll flank them and give them a nasty surprise."
The valley curved to the south up ahead, and the landscape was covered with farmlands and small huts that were already set aflame and collapsing. Caillain's territory, being much larger than the other clans', was where the Highlanders grew and traded their crops. Caillain even had a small fortress, Morrigan had said, built of stone and wood, where the Highlanders' nobles lived in relative safety.
Liam led them to the right, closer to the peaks that overlooked the southern valley. The slope was gentle but rocky, but he reasoned they could get a look at the situation below before charging in blindly. Liam's warriors were eager, despite having been defeated before, and their ferocity was impressive. They were just as enthusiastic as any group of Northmen Dearg had met.
Liam directed them to the top of the rocks, pointing off to the southeast where the dark army was quickly approaching Caillain's settlements. The clan was already assembled and ready to stop the enemy's charge, and T'kar's troops were preparing for the assault.
"This is a good vantage point," Liam said. "We can even charge their right flank from here, or come up behind them. Whichever would be better."
Dearg examined the enemy troops. He had never seen an army so large, even though it couldn't have been composed of more than two hundred men. Even the islanders nearby never assembled in any force larger than a few dozen. The Northmen, under Svengaar's lead, had always prevailed over them, sending them back to the island with their tails between their legs. But these were organized, seasoned warriors under the leadership of a large, strong-looking man armored in what looked like impenetrable black plate.
"The sorcerer is with them," Liam said. "He was a nasty one. If we were closer we could take him out. It would make charging them much easier."
As Dearg watched, the dark cloaked figure conjured a ball of fire that outshined the morning sun. With a quick gesture, he hurled the fireball at Caillain's assembled troops, blasting them away like a stack of rocks.
"By the Dragon," Morrigan said. "He'll wipe them out before they have a chance to defend themselves."
"Freyja," Dearg said. "Here is your chance. Can you
hit him from here?"
The young archer crept up next to Dearg, peering over the rocks at the sorcerer below. She had already nocked an arrow, and she gave Dearg a crooked smile.
"Easily," she said.
"There's no way she could hit him from here," Liam said skeptically.
"Don't be so quick to judge, Liam," Morrigan said.
Freyja drew back her bow and took aim, she adjusted for the wind, watching the short ribbon tied to the grip of her bow as it flapped in the wind's direction. Then, raising her bow slightly for distance, she loosed.
The group lost sight of the arrow as it sailed the impossible distance. Though Dearg had his doubts, he was shocked when the sorcerer suddenly collapsed, falling from his horse like a sack of bricks.
The entire group turned to Freyja in shock.
"Are you kidding me?" Liam exclaimed.
The army below swarmed around the sorcerer, some of them looking up toward the peaks in shock. The large leader ordered a detachment of archers to split off, and they began firing up toward the group's position.
"Keep low," Dearg said as arrows began striking the rocks. "Freyja, shoot when you can."
"Lads!" Liam shouted. "Give them a volley!"
Liam's archers drew back their bows and began firing blindly over the rocks to the valley below. From their vantage point, they were far more successful than the enemy. Dozens of the enemy archers fell, and many of the nearby soldiers as well. Caillain's infantry charged, and their wild shouts wafted up from the valley, filling everyone with hope and the lust of battle.
Dearg drew his blade, his heart pounding with the thrill of battle. Ivar and Fleek were ready as well, Fleek bouncing his hammer in his free hand with the look of devils on his face.
"Ready?" Dearg said.
Liam gave him a snarling grin. "Let's give 'em hell."
The hastily assembled army poured over the rocky peak like water, zig-zagging their way down to the valley below. Dearg descended with a sideways gate, dodging the arrows that came his way. Freyja was surprisingly agile, able to descend and fire at the same time. Not a single arrow she fired missed its target, and he counted at least six kills before they even reached the bottom.
T'kar's army formed a line in their path, with shields and spears ready. The seemingly impenetrable wall of spikes was black and deadly, but the eager soldiers continued their charge anyway. But much to Dearg's surprise, Fleek leaped in front of him, where a large boulder sat precariously on the edge of a small outcropping. He reared back his hammer and slammed its head into the rock, freeing it and several others around it.
Now the allies had an army of rolling boulders to lead their charge, and the enemies scattered as the avalanche blasted through their line. Dearg's sword was raised high as he charged, and he let loose all of the fury he could muster. He swept low, cutting down the nearest enemy he could find and shouldering into the shield that blocked his path.
Fleek's hammer bashed a shield to pieces, clearing the way for those behind him to leap over and melt into the chaos. Ivar followed Dearg into the fray, his twin axes spinning and swinging non-stop, chopping his way through. Dearg sliced the tip off of a spear that was thrust at him, and impaled an enemy as he spun around.
He was surrounded quickly, singled out by a large group of swordsmen. They attacked together, coming at him from all sides, Dearg's blade went back over his shoulder to block two strikes, then chopped downward into an enemy skull, splitting it in half and splattering blood into the air. He swung left, disemboweling another man, then right, severing an arm and splitting ribs.
Another spear was shoved toward him, and he ducked, plowing into the attacker and knocking him to the ground, skewering him as he passed. He rammed the pommel of his sword into another man's head, knocking him into a group of his allies, then spun and beheaded another with a wild swing. He growled with rage as the hot blood splattered his face, and the frenzy of killing fuelled him, driving him forward like a demon.
It was then that he laid eyes on the bulky leader. The large man eyed him, pushing his own men out of the way as he charged. Dearg held his arms out at his sides, roaring into the sky, challenging the leader to attack. He was met with the swing of a large axe. The weapon whirred in the air above him as he ducked, and he countered with an upward swing, missing as the leader dodged and leaped to the right. The axe came around again in a spinning attack. Dearg leaped back, charging at the man's flank as the swing twisted his torso around. Dearg's blade connected with the man's armor, sending him stumbling but unharmed.
Dearg growled again, taking a battle stance. Ivar crossed in front of him then, delivering a spinning double-axe attack at another man who had charged Dearg's flank. The leader gripped his axe with both hands, screaming at the top of his lungs, wild-eyed, and fierce as he made a charging, horizontal swing. Dearg's blade met the axe, and the two pressed closer to glare at each other as they wrestled for the dominant stance.
"Bastard!" the leader growled. "You're nothing but dog meat!"
Dearg roared with laughter, kicking the man in the crotch with his heavy boot. The leader growled, unfazed, but pushed back, sending Dearg into another man. Fleek leaped in front of him as the leader charged, delivering a devastating hammer blow to his chest. The leader was sent flying back, disappearing into the chaos.
"Thanks, Fleek," Dearg called out as the big man followed his hammer back into the battle.
As he pushed through the fray, Dearg could see Freyja and Morrigan fighting together. The latter guarded the archer as she took down enemy after enemy with her bow, pausing only to quickly stab at those who came too close with the points of her arrows.
Morrigan's fighting skills were impressive, and Freyja easily fired past her as she ducked and spun in an impressive display of aggression. Dearg charged past Freyja, sweeping his blade in a continuous, fluid fashion, killing enemy after enemy. But then, as his fury was at its peak, the black-clad soldiers began to flee.
As they rushed past him, Dearg looked off into the distance. To the southwest, another large group of Highlanders was charging, led by a man on horseback. Liam came up next to him, laughing and shouting curses into the sky.
"Who are they?" Dearg shouted over the chaotic noise.
"Galags!" Liam replied. "From the next clan!"
Dearg felt a hand on his shoulder. Ivar was there, grinning widely. "The bastards are running," he said. "Look at them go."
Dearg searched the fleeing soldiers for the leader, keeping a look out for the bald head and dog-like face that scowled at him like a demon. He saw Fleek taking out a fleeing soldier with his hammer, punching another in the face as he passed by.
"Fleek," Dearg shouted. "Where is the big man you blasted in the chest?"
Fleek shook his head, breathless and excited. "Don't know. He's hurt bad. It hurt my hands, too."
A small group of horsemen rode up, a large man in a green and brown kilt at their lead. He stopped near Liam, giving the man a nod.
"Good t' see ye, Liam," he shouted. "That was fun. Let's go after th' bastards."
Dearg grinned, and followed the horsemen as they thundered after the fleeing enemies. The Galag clan had cut them off, forcing them to flee toward the heavy forest to the south.
"I don't know where they think they're going," Morrigan said as they ran after them. "There's no way through the mountains that way."
"Good," Dearg shouted, grinning. "Then we'll cut them down like the dogs they are."
Caillain's group met with the Galags, and the two converged as they continued their pursuit toward the forest. The enemies began to disappear into the dark woods, and Dearg was sure they would be lost, even though Morrigan had said they would be cornered. Either way, they were doomed. The Highlanders had come together at last.
The pursuers slowed as they neared the edge of the forest, and began to disperse among the trees. Freyja's bow twanged as she took down every soldier she saw, and the other archers followed suit. Dearg was fully prepared to
face them if they turned tail when they realized there was nowhere to flee. But, they never turned tail.
"Where did they go?" Morrigan said.
Caillain dismounted, sending his men to examine the bodies that began to appear as they pushed forward.
"Look at this," Caillain said, plucking an arrow from a fallen soldier. "That's not one of ours."
Ahead in the shadows, the sound of steel rang out, along with the twanging of dozens of bows and the death cries of the enemy soldiers.
Dearg and Morrigan looked at each other in question, and Caillain let out a horse sigh. "What the devil?" he whispered.
Suddenly, out of the cover of brush and shadows, several cloaked figures appeared, their bows drawn, and their faces obscured in dark cowls. Dearg and his allies crouched cautiously, ready to defend themselves from the unknown figures. He looked to Liam, who shrugged, but kept his blade in a defensive position.
"Well met," Caillain called out. "Who be ye?"
Among the shadowy figures, one of them stepped forward. He, like the others, was dressed in earth-colored robes and a strangely-patterned cloak. He lowered his cowl, revealing a pale, rough and scarred face, stern and noble in appearance. His long, brown hair was wild and unkempt, and his general appearance was that of a man who had spent his entire life in the forest.
Another figure stepped out and stood next to him. This one was in gray and green garments, tall and lithe, silent and wraith-like in his movements. He too lowered his cowl, revealing a mane of golden hair and eyes the color of the sky. Dearg could hear gasps of shock among the men. He looked to Morrigan in question, but she too was in shock. Dearg felt his heart race, and a strange and mildly unpleasant feeling came over him as the new figure stared right at him.
"Greetings, Dragon," the thin figure greeted him personally. "We have been waiting for you."
Chapter Seventeen
Lorcan threw back his cloak when the strangely silent troop of men were out of sight. He looked down at Captain Jarka, who was badly wounded, but thankfully still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning his head back against the moss-covered rocks behind him. The Captain let out a groan, and his bloody lips smacked as he tried to speak.
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