The Storm Lord

by M. K. Hume

  Only five miles remained between their present position and the bivouac site, the place where Olaus Healfdene’s warriors were comfortably ensconced in what they believed to be a safe and secure encampment. But the forest blocked the way of the Dene attackers. Stormbringer issued orders that, if the Dene scouts should encounter shepherds or hunters, these unfortunates were to be dispatched immediately—without mercy.

  The element of surprise would be crucial during this attack, for Healfdene’s force was believed to be well in excess of one thousand warriors. And more were gathering, according to Hoel Ship-Singer. The Geats were preparing for a major campaign into the north of the Dene lands before the advent of winter.

  “If Healfdene’s force wins ground in the northwestern coast, the Dene crops will go unharvested or be burned, so those of our people who survive the war will starve during the winter. Such a fate for our women and children cannot be contemplated by true men. We must stop the Geats, here and now!”

  Stormbringer had obviously lost kin to starvation in the past, for Arthur recalled several occasions when the Sae Dene had become upset by references to famine. As before, Arthur wondered but refrained from asking questions. He knew the captain would tell him when he was ready.

  On the second-to-last evening before the battle, Stormbringer called a council of war for all the ships’ captains. The entire Dene force had completed their trek through the open forest with few incidents, and they were now settled into positions close to Mirk Wood. All the officers agreed that the woods had been very quiet, for their scouts had encountered only five skin-clad hunters, all of whom appeared to be antisocial individuals who preferred to live apart from the local villages.

  One cause for alarm was the news that tracks had been found, indicating that isolated groups of men were heading towards Olaus Healfdene’s encampment. Large bands of men from the south were on the move, obviously Geat war bands hurrying to join Olaus’s force, where they would win some of the spoils from the fertile lands of the northwest. Horses, gold, ships, and women were there for the taking, so the enemy force was growing with every day.

  “Our scouts have found the edge of Mirk Wood and can report on what is happening on the Vagus River and the approaches to Lake Wener. They’ve seen these places clearly, albeit from a distance,” Stormbringer stated, and welcomed two disreputable men dressed in deerskins. Both were armed to the teeth. The eldest was introduced by the Sae Dene captain as Fridrik Haroldsen, a Dene from the southwestern coast who had lost his family, his crews, and his ships in the recent treacherous attacks by the Geats.

  This man has an axe to grind, Arthur thought as he examined the harsh, weather-beaten face set in uncompromising and bitter lines. Stormbringer is too acute to trust this compromised man entirely, because Fridrik would lie or exaggerate information to bring us down on his enemies.

  “The lake is huge, so its margins can’t be seen from one side to the other. When the great ice sheets covered this land hundreds of years ago, the river was gouged out by the gods, so there is flat river-valley land close to the lake, although the forests rise above it.”

  The officers nodded, able to visualize the terrain.

  “The lake itself is beautiful, a paradise with wide margins where small villages cluster to fish the bountiful waters. The land grows most grains, vegetables, and fruits because there’s rich soil and plentiful, year-round water.

  “The army has settled near the confluence of the river, but the small insects that caused us so much trouble near the mouth of the Vagus are kept away by the breezes that regularly come in from over the lake. I can imagine that the lands around Lake Wener are cool and clean on even the hottest of days.”

  “Our enemy is domiciled in Paradise then,” Stormbringer commented. “How is their army disposed within their bivouac? Did you spot any weaknesses or mistakes in the disposition of Olaus’s forces?”

  “The entire force is widely spread out over a five-mile length along the lakefront, which is at their backs. The area already has several luxurious houses built for the king’s use when he and his favored jarls are in residence, so there are barracks which house Olaus’s horses and his personal troops. Roughly, these buildings house about two hundred men, or perhaps a few more. Olaus’s house and the accompanying two buildings, which I believe are barracks, comprise the central command post at the heart of the bivouac.”

  Fridrik’s voice was grating from overuse, so he hawked and coughed to clear his throat. One of the nearby captains thrust a cup filled with ale into his hand. Fridrik drained the liquid in one long swallow.

  “My apologies, Master Stormbringer, but I spend little time with other warriors now, so my voice becomes rusty from disuse. To continue . . .”

  Stormbringer’s strong right hand gripped a stick and used it to carve a picture in the dust of what Fridrik was claiming to have seen. His eyes never left the scout’s face, but his hand was busy plotting the site of the battle.

  “To the right and the left, the force is strung out around central tents or small circular houses that are obviously summer residences. Each officer or jarl has his own banner flying over his section of earth, and his men are bivouacked in hide tents or in any building that can be used as a barracks, depending on their importance in the hierarchy. The force is thinly strung out on either side of Olaus’s house, rather than massed in areas between him and the woods.”

  Fridrik cleared his throat again and narrowed his feral eyes.

  “In my opinion, this bivouac has major weaknesses. A well-organized enemy could drive through to Olaus’s command center with relative ease, although they’ll be quickly swamped by his reinforcements if the Geats are allowed the time to regroup. Still, such a disposition of troops is a definite weakness, so I’m of the opinion that Olaus is complacent after his recent successes. He thinks that all Dene opposition has been eliminated, while the Crow King stays within his halls to brood on God’s edict that he shall not make war if he wishes to remain alive. Olaus has not considered the existence of a warrior such as Valdar Bjornsen, who might have been offended by Olaus’s hostility to allies of the Dene.”

  Fridrik paused and considered his next words carefully, while the captains looked at Stormbringer and stamped their feet with approval. Arthur felt their excitement bubbling as every sinew and muscle geared itself for war.

  “I believe that an attack on the center of the main defensive line, encompassing Olaus’s house and undertaken an hour or more before first light, would cause such confusion that his forces would be unable to recover the initiative and would be caught with their backs to the water. If the jarls were unable to join their commander and were forced to fight a dozen individual battles, they would be defeated. But the secret of this strategy would have to be total surprise.”

  “How would you suggest we take advantage of this bivouac area?” Stormbringer asked.

  The eyes of the Dene warriors swiveled to assess Fridrik’s response.

  “Your force must attack in three prongs. Because Olaus Healfdene is the commander and will be sleeping in his apartments, the Geat headquarters must be attacked first in a lightning-fast foray, followed immediately by coordinated attacks to the right and the left that will pin down the Geat jarls and add to the confusion.”

  “Yes! I agree with your assessment,” Stormbringer replied, and Arthur peered down to see a series of arrows drawn in the dust to pierce the three rectangles that represented the major features of the Geat encampment.

  The Sae Dene smiled at his audience, and they looked at him with the devotion of good hunting dogs, for the men who sailed with Stormbringer were utterly faithful.

  “Are there any other suggestions, my friends? Any other strategies that could enhance our chances of victory? Remember that we’ll be outnumbered—so any thoughts now could prove invaluable when the fighting commences.”

  Arthur coughed. “I’m an outlander, so I d
on’t know the protocols here. Am I permitted to speak in this council?”

  Stormbringer frowned with irritation. “Of course, Arthur! You’ve fought with and against my men in recent times, and you’re familiar with our fighting techniques. I’d be an idiot not to listen to you, if you have useful suggestions to make.”

  Some of the officers and jarls had reservations regarding the extent of Arthur’s expertise and wondered at his usefulness to the Dene cause, so a few faces in the audience flushed hotly. But then, as Arthur began to speak, they gave him their full attention. The Dene warriors were prepared to use any honorable means to achieve their aim of winning this war.

  Stormbringer admitted to himself that he was prepared to use dishonorable means as well, if nothing else worked. Here, on the eve of a major test of strength, Arthur was presenting strategies that the Sae Dene’s grandfather would certainly have considered to be so.

  “Fire!” Arthur intoned dramatically. “I’ve fought in unequal conflicts where the use of fire doubled the effectiveness of the warriors available to a commander. Being burned alive is one of the most hideous ways to die for those men who must fight in metal armor. The victims eventually cook.”

  To a man, Arthur’s audience shuddered at the thought of such a death.

  “Aye! I’ve heard tell of burning oil that was poured off city walls onto the troops below to catch the flaming liquid within breastplates or helmets.”

  Arthur paused delicately to allow the full import of this image to sink in. The attention of the audience was focused on Arthur now, exactly as he intended.

  “Fire is capricious, and it never acts as we expect. The smallest change in the wind direction or speed sends the flames racing away along a totally new and unexpected course. All it needs is fuel, anything that will burn. Yes! Fire will always bring confusion and chaos to the battlefield and, if used properly, it can make a difference to the outcome.”

  Several jarls nodded in agreement. Arthur’s suggestion had made good common sense, but he hadn’t finished, not quite.

  “I take it that Olaus Healfdene uses cavalry. If so, his horsemen will cut a swathe through our forces that will change the result of this battle, regardless of the courage shown by our warriors. His cavalry must be neutralized before the battle commences. In fact, it would be useful if the horses could be set free and panicked in such a manner that they trample their way through the Geat tents and the heaviest concentrations of men during the battle’s initial stages.”

  “I agree.” Stormbringer nodded decisively. “Our forward scouts can eliminate the Geat sentries and gain access to the horses if they know where the animals are stabled or picketed.”

  The older jarls, those who had seen the effectiveness of cavalry at first hand, growled in agreement.

  “If we take up positions where we can see the encampment, our forward scouts should be able to discover where the horses are tethered, even in darkness. The horses must be fed and watered,” one eager young jarl from Stormbringer’s own island suggested.

  “I agree, Jormund.” Stormbringer’s smile of appreciation caused the young man to flush with gratification. “Each crew will assign at least one scout to ascertain the position of any picket lines, stables, or other shelter used for the Geat horses. That’s a force of anything between fifteen and twenty men who should be sent out in darkness an hour before the battle begins.”

  He smiled once more at the young warrior.

  “You, Jormund, will be in charge of the scouts. You’ll select suitable men and divide them into three groups to make a reconnaissance of the right wing, the left, and the center.”

  The youngster stammered out his thanks, while assuring Stormbringer that the horses would be found and set free to charge through the Geat encampment.

  “This is a dangerous ploy because it might cost us the element of surprise. However, the chaos caused by five hundred crazed horses would be worth the risk,” Stormbringer explained slowly, to ensure that his jarls were aware of the implications of this decision. “In fact, I’d like to purloin some of Olaus’s horses for myself as trophies once the battle is over. That would be a fitting punishment for that Geat bastard.” He smiled wolfishly. “Right! Is there anything else, Arthur?”

  “Aye,” Arthur responded. He now sounded slightly shame-faced because he was a little embarrassed at thrusting himself forward. “Bowmen! Do you have any bowmen among your warriors?”

  Stormbringer was surprised, but his jarls were openly contemptuous. He had rarely used bowmen in battle; most Dene believed there was little personal glory in long-distance killing. Like the Saxons and the Anglii, the use of longbows was mostly confined to the peasantry, who used these weapons to kill deer during the animal migrations or wild boars that ravaged their fields and livestock. But Stormbringer was fully aware of the effectiveness of archers in certain situations, particularly close-quarter battles at sea and drawn-out sieges.

  “Yes, I’d certainly like some bowmen to be available,” Arthur explained. “The roof of a barracks building is a very large target, so any archers would be useful if they could set fire to the thatched roofs of the Geat buildings. Even hide tents will be vulnerable to burning if pitch is added to the cloth used on the arrows.”

  With the clarity of a born strategist, Stormbringer saw the potential advantages of these tactics immediately, but many of his jarls found the concept of death dealt from a safe position to be cowardly.

  “Do we have any warriors who possess bows?” Stormbringer asked. “Check with our men! If I understand you correctly, Arthur, you’re proposing that archers mark the beginning of the battle by using fire arrows on the thatched roofs of the buildings and the tents. Then those same archers would resume their normal role in the battlefield as foot soldiers. Am I correct?”

  Arthur nodded in agreement, while the jarls looked much happier. “If we are to win, we need to be prepared to use different strategies than would normally be required. Olaus won’t be expecting an attack by fire arrows, will he? I estimate we’ll need at least fifteen men with fire arrows if we’re to set the enemy bivouac alight and achieve maximum disruption. What the bowmen do after the fires are alight and burning would be the business of their commanders,” Arthur added.

  Then the young Briton added a final sentence that won him cautious approval. “If someone has a bow, I’ll set Olaus Healfdene’s house alight myself.”

  Several of the younger jarls crowed at Arthur’s effrontery, while an equal number of the older men pursed their lips at the unseemly boasting of this outlander. However, most of the captains remained silent, content to wait and see if Arthur’s actions were as strong as his words.

  “There is one last detail that I feel is of vital importance, Stormbringer.”

  Arthur gazed around at the audience.

  “At the conflict on the Vagus River, the only way we recognized each other during the heat of battle was through our daily familiarity when we were at the oars or on long voyages. There, because of the scale of the battle, we were able to fight as individual crews. But such a method of recognition won’t work on a large battlefield. Unless we’re happy to kill each other—and we aren’t—we need some method of identification.

  “To add to the confusion, I can’t tell the difference between a Geat and a Dene—even in daylight! I’d like to propose a simple solution. Mud!”

  “Mud?” Several of the jarls scoffed aloud, and even Stormbringer seemed confused.

  “Do you recall the situation we encountered at the mouth of the Vagus? The only relief we could find against the insects was to smear ourselves with thick river mud. We’ll be near to being devoured alive by insects in Mirk Wood too. Once the mud has dried, it leaves a pale crust on the skin that should clearly indicate to our fellow warriors that we are Dene, even if we don’t know each other.”

  He paused so that his audience could absorb his words.


  “Perhaps we could attach a scrap of colored cloth to the plaits in our hair as an additional means of identification. If we use different colors, we could indicate our particular formation as well.”

  Arthur sat down again, beginning to feel distinctly embarrassed by the number and variety of his suggestions towards the battle strategy.

  The Sae Dene captain seems to want me to develop a higher profile among his trusted officers, he thought. Why would this be so?

  Once all the suggestions had been discussed, Stormbringer instructed his officers to find large pieces of different-colored cloth. He tore out the finely woven red lining from his cloak and then arranged with one of his bodyguards to have the cloth cut into a number of strips that would mark his men as part of the phalanx which would attack Olaus Healfdene’s headquarters.

  One jarl provided a saddlecloth of heavy, coarse cloth in a yellow shade, while still another found that he and his brother had spare tunics in the more exotic pale green of the islands. With mud on their faces and these colors in their hair, the Dene would be able to recognize each other with only minimal difficulty.

  And so the council of war was adjourned, to be reconvened on the next afternoon at the margins of Mirk Wood. Here, more questions would be raised and answered. Before the captains left to brief their warriors, Stormbringer divided them into the three attack groups, saving the central core of the red force for his own kinsmen.

  Lest some of his allies should believe that he was taking most of the glory for his own men, Stormbringer gave a small heartfelt speech in gratitude to all those men in his command who would fight and die in the coming battle.

  Stormbringer outlined his plan of attack with great passion, which won him cheers and foot-stamping from the jarls. Arthur could sense the purpose building in these officers as Stormbringer’s calm and even voice hardened their resolve.

  Lifting his horn cup of ale to his lips, Stormbringer paused to gauge the mood of his audience, who were absorbed in their commander’s impassioned concepts of honor and their own oaths of loyalty to the Dene of Skania and the other lands of the west coast. The commander moistened his lips and spoke again.