Contact (Crossover Series Book 2)

by Walt Socha

  A body intercepted the blade, giving Larry time to regain his balance. He swung his axe at the struggling Northman, cleaving through skull and brain. The man fell, his sword still impaled in a small body.

  “Rory.” A cry from Teltina.

  Larry turned and knelt by the two fallen bodies. He turned over the smaller, finding a familiar face staring up at him.

  “Father,” Rory said before his eyes stopped seeing.

  A voice screamed again and again in Larry’s ears.

  “Hush.” Teltina’s voice sounded through her broken sobs and his screams. “We must go. There are sentries all along the mountain crest.”

  Chapter 35

  August 25

  Leaning against a dark ancient oak, Larry shifted the weight lying on his right shoulder. The small body had cooled during the night. The flaccid arms and legs would soon stiffen.

  “Dawn is soon.” Teltina’s voice, hoarse from a night of silent sobs, sounded over the quiet of the light wind through the trees.

  He didn’t understand how she maneuvered through the dark forest; what little moon seeped through the light cloud cover never reached the ground under the heavy canopy. He’d somehow avoided crashing into the invisible trunks, but their roots constantly grabbed at his feet.

  “We should stop in Sanctuary.” He had to know what happened.

  “They would not have stayed after burning it,” she said after a long moment. “But any survivors may need help and I must find Agnes.” A faint rustling of leaves hinted at her movement.

  A dim sky showed through the upper branches as they approached the Hurling field. Nothing moved. Not even a birdcall cut the silence. Smoke stung their noses as the light breeze fought to clear the air. Larry lowered his burden, allowing the body to curl into a sleeping repose. “I will scout.”

  Teltina’s dark form nodded as she handed him his weapons and strung her bow. They had found her bow and quiver with the Northmen’s supplies before fleeing. And she had also taken one of their swords and several knives.

  After a circle of the smoldering huts, Larry returned. “No bodies. The boats are scuttled.” He heard relief in his voice. “They left before the raiders came. Recent footprints are from the south. And then they followed our people. Probably to the northeast pass.”

  “Thank whatever gods still exist,” Teltina said. She knelt by Rory’s body. “He needs his final resting place.” She looked up at the empty field, its two goals still leaning in the clearing air. “He would like to watch the games.”

  “I will bring stones.” There were certainly enough. Several piles, some knee high, surrounded the field, collected to clear the playing area.

  It only took minutes to build a small cairn, several layers of stone high, at the west end of the field.

  “We can add more later.” Teltina stood, the morning sun illuminating a face streaked from tears and sweat. “We should leave now.” She faced west toward the mountains they had descended during the night. “Men are approaching. The birds in the distance are scolding. Maybe a finger of time.” She turned to the still smoldering huts. “Agnes and your friends will need our help.”

  Dreading what he might find, and anxious to follow his friends, Larry nodded.

  * * *

  Ragnar turned from his breakfast of bread and weak ale at the sound of running feet. One of his men stopped in front of him, pointing upwards to the crest of the mountain.

  “Skati,” the man said, addressing Ragnar. “Smoke.”

  Ragnar followed the man, trotting on a now worn path, to the east side of the hill that the Eire people called a mountain. As they came to a halt, the man pointed. In the middle of the valley, a distance of about a rost up the upper river from the lake, smoke curled into the air. The village of the foreigners was burning.

  “Our Ur Neill friends have been busy.” He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not. If that sarding Cormac burned his ship, Ragnar would gut him. He turned to the men that had followed him to view the excitement. “We move in a hand of time.”

  “The search for the captive and the thrall?” one of the men said.

  Ragnar stared at the man called Eskild, one of the younger warriors on his own ship and a distant cousin. No judgment in his voice, just eagerness. Several of the older warriors had grumbled at the delay in the anticipated battle. “Take five men and continue searching until midday.” He pointed along the mountainside below them. “Sweep along the slopes and then join us.”

  * * *

  The broken rock scraped his hands as Larry crawled up the southern side of a sandstone outcrop. To the rear and right, the broad expanse of a shallow lake rippled under a light breeze. A thousand strides to the east, the trail disappeared between one of the many folds in the low mountains.

  “I’m guessing those are our people at the summit,” Larry said. “Our scouts call it Bald Hill.” He pointed north to a massive stone hill, hundreds of strides high that rose out of the forest to form one side of the pass, its surface a mixture of bare rock, heather, and grasses. Along its south slopes, minute figures in the colors of the Ur Neill crouched behind stones or isolated trees, most positioned above the trail.

  “They’re trapped.” Larry shifted his axe, rubbing the spot where it had dug into his hip. “We had one of our lookouts up there. There’s no shelter and no water.”

  “Maybe not trapped.” Teltina pointed to the bodies lying part way up the slope. “Those bodies are not moving. And the hill is well placed for defense. The ground to the right and left looks treacherous.”

  “Until the food and water runs out. Or until night.” Larry watched as several Ur Neill warriors stepped from the forest holding interlocked shields. In minutes, they had reached their fallen comrades and collected their weapons. And their shields.

  “I am wondering why they retrieved the weapons but not the bodies.” Larry pointed to the men now retreating down the hill, dragging the salvaged equipment under a rain of arrows. “Something odd about that.”

  “There may be a bigger problem.” Teltina pointed to the western approach of the hill. Steeper than the southern approach, its surface consisted of broken rock and heather. A line of men moved from the tree line to disappear into the folds of stone.

  “Either a diversion or a flanking attack.” Larry rolled onto his side, pulled off his pack and upended it. Scattering the contents, he held up a small leather bag. “My flint, steel, and tinder.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The men scampering up the western side are making good use of the terrain. They probably can’t be seen from the summit. Even if they are using the binoculars.”

  “What is that?”

  Larry paused. How to explain? “A tool to see distant objects.” He repacked his pack, leaving the small bag out. “But maybe we can warn them.”

  * * *

  Fergus glanced to his side as Matuso crouched besides him.

  “Confirmed,” his friend said. “No gunpowder left. Good on arrows.”

  “Expected.” Fergus looked along the hillside where over two dozen men stretched in a loose line, broken by several women holding spears, slings, or short bows. Below, movement in the forest confirmed the Ur Neill presence. “At least they’re figuring this remains the best place to attack. The decoys are working. But I think we should expect at least one flanking attack.”

  “I asked Gatanu to take five warriors and patrol the perimeter of the summit. And check on the children and the women who are our decoys. He’s worried about flanking also.”

  “That’ll work until the sun sets in a few hours.” Fergus snorted. “Then, as my father would say, we’re fucked.”

  “Maybe we need to suck them into a trap?” Matuso said.

  “I’m thinking that holding this place is our only option.”

  “Maybe withdraw to the other side of the hill, leaving men pretending to be dead?”

  “Too dangerous. Best to keep up the appearance of strength. Maybe have Keelin and any
of the mobile injured move around waving flags or spears.”

  “Or not,” Fergus said, looking downhill. “I think the attack is now.”

  Below, a line of shields materialized out of the forest and started moving uphill. A dozen shields were mounted in vertical pairs, about two strides high, overlapping slightly so as to leave an opening between adjacent pairs.

  “Shit,” Matuso said.

  “Yeah, a moving wall. Expect arrows from those openings between the shields.”

  The shield wall moved in jerky steps. Helmeted heads could be seen bobbing behind it.

  “We need to hit it from the sides,” Matuso said. “Shit again.” He pointed to the side of the shield wall. “Look.”

  Two other moving shield walls appeared and moved into position on either end of the main one. Smaller, six shields each, they held back as the main one moved uphill a stride at a time. The men holding it apparently lifted the wall and stepped forward, resting between steps. Or, once they got closer, loosening arrows.

  “I’m not coming up with fucking anything.” Fergus winced as he realized that he sounded like his father.

  “I’m going to warn Gatanu about what’s happening.”

  “Take my binos.” Fergus dug in his pack and handed a battered leather case to Matuso.

  “I’ll be right back.” He backed up and out of Fergus’s sight.

  “I’d really be glad to see my father right about now,” Fergus said in a loud whisper, not caring if anyone heard him.

  * * *

  Panting from the run, Matuso strode to the small group of older or pregnant women and younger children who sat in the midst of the piled supplies and the hobbled horses. Guarded by the wounded warriors and the still recovering refugee men, they occupied a slight knoll at the north side of the summit. It would be the final defensive position.

  Keelin looked up as Matuso approached. “All is well here.” Her smile looked forced, but he appreciated it.

  “We have a good position here,” he said, hoping the lie would provide some temporary comfort. He shifted his gaze to take in the expanse of stone, a mile long and half as wide that formed the crest of the hill, broken by occasional patches of heather and grasses. “Most of the men are just below there.” He turned and pointed south but the curve of the hill hid any sight of Fergus or the other men. Or the Ur Neill.

  A guttural chant rose up over the glaciated rock. The shield wall must be moving.

  “I must check any other approaches.” He nodded to Keelin and the others before he headed counter clockwise around the hilltop.

  Their camp disappeared behind him as he scampered over and through the ankle-breaking ground. At the western edge of the broad summit, he detoured to clamber downhill, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that might be approaching from that direction. Nothing was visible. He started to turn away and froze. To the west, maybe a thousand strides away, three columns of smoke drifted into the crisp air. Couldn’t be accidental, not given last night’s drizzle. He pulled out the binos and scanned the area around the smoke. Even with the optics, he couldn’t make out any figures.

  Shifting his view closer, he forced himself to take time, moving from one fold in the rock to another. Movement stopped his scan. A body slipped into a crevice. A few minutes later, it re-appeared a few strides uphill.

  Heart pounding, he waited. More bodies rose, shifted position, and disappeared. All moving uphill.

  Matuso lowered the binoculars and looked around the summit. A few Sanctuary warriors were visible along with several children in their high hats and staves. But none of them appeared aware of the flanking movement.

  He put his whistle to his lips. Stopped. Anything his people could hear, the attackers could also hear.

  Matuso ran.

  * * *

  A shout turned Fergus’s eyes away from the shield wall climbing the hill below them. On the hillside above the defenders’ positions, a running child appeared. He waved his bow and the child, Agnes, altered her direction.

  Jessie joined Fergus as Agnes slowed to a stop in front of them. Deirdre also joined them.

  “What’s wrong?” Fergus asked, dreading any answer.

  “Matuso saw men sneaking up the slope,” Agnes said. Her tall hat hung from a strap around her shoulder. She still held her stave with its iron tip, their version of a spear. “From the west. He and Gatanu’s men are preparing to meet them. Donngal and Trian also joined them.”

  “How many men?” Fergus exchanged looks with Jessie. The snapping of several bowstrings cut through Agnes’s panting and Fergus’s pounding heart.

  “He said he saw at least a dozen. But thinks there are probably more.” Agnes’s eyes gleamed with liquid. She’d been frantic with worry about her mother and brother but still insisted on joining the older children on decoy duty.

  Fergus momentarily closed his eyes. What a fucked country, where probable orphans held positions alongside warriors. “Thank you.” Fergus touched her shoulder. “Please let Keelin and the wounded men at camp know.” Maybe that would at least get this child out of harm’s way. As she scampered off, could now hear the thuds of Haven arrows slamming into the shields. Damn. “Hold off until you get a soft target,” he shouted.

  “Why are the heads moving in an odd fashion?” Deirdre asked, pointing downhill at the advancing Ur Neill with her spear.

  He watched the helmets behind the shields. Pairs, and a few triplets, moved in unison.

  “Fuck this, the shield wall is a bluff.” Fergus turned to Jessie. “Take half the men up to the summit to back up Matuso. He only has six—no eight—warriors.”

  A few paces away, Deirdre turned his way, one eyebrow raised. “And half the women,” Fergus said, nodding to her. She didn’t smile but nodded back.

  Jessie signaled his men—and the women who had stepped forward—and headed uphill.

  Ivar stood, eyes flicking between Jessie and Fergus. Fergus met his eyes for a heartbeat, raised his hand, and made a fist. Ivar followed Jessie’s men and women.

  Fergus turned to the remaining men and women. “Form two groups. We will hit each side. Women with spears. Or bows.” He looked at Deirdre. “Cover me?” This time she smiled before nodding.

  “Now.” He started downhill, the sound of footsteps followed.

  As he closed on the shields, he screamed. Voices, some high pitched, echoed behind him.

  * * *

  “There. Our people.” Larry pointed uphill. From the summit, figures descended, hopping from rock to rock, pausing only to loose arrows.

  Downhill of the descending Sanctuary warriors, the ascending attackers, most with swords or axes and voicing their war cries, slowed to dodge the flurry of arrows. “Ur Neill,” Larry said. Although most sported the livery of the Ur Neill clan, a few mismatched clothing. “And their Wildling friends.”

  Larry and Teltina had gotten closer to the hill, no longer attempting stealth but going for speed. They were still a few hundred strides away from the closest Ur Neill but were still unnoticed. Teltina fitted an arrow to her bow but lowered it. “Closer," he said. "Then cover me.” Unsheathing his sword with his right hand and pulling the axe from his belt with his left, Larry charged through a clump of heather, hearing Teltina follow his trail.

  “To the right,” she yelled as they approached the Ur Neill rearguard.

  Sword extended, Larry turned in time to parry a blow. Allowing his blade to tangle his attacker’s, he swung the axe in his left hand down on a leather-helmeted head. The Wildling, who had probably sought safety in the rear, died instantly.

  Looking up, he found two more attackers, one a Wildling and the other a liveried Ur Neill warrior. At his side, Teltina ignored the two men, firing arrows at the climbing warriors further up the hill. Grinning, Larry let the exhilaration of battle wash over him as he cut through the two men. His eyes sought nearby targets, seeing only men clambering up the slope. He continued running, ignoring the ache in his knees. Behind, lighter footsteps followed. />
  The back of another man appeared. As Larry approached, the Wildling turned in surprise, raising his sword, Larry swung his axe, shattering the brittle iron and cleaving the man’s skull.

  Placing a foot on the gore that was the man’s head, Larry forced the axe free. An arrow whistled past his head. Larry looked up to see it plunge into the breast of an attacker only a few strides away.

  “Thanks,” Larry said as Teltina appeared on a nearby stone outcrop.

  “More are turning back to face us.” She fitted another arrow and drew it back, the tip arcing as she sought another target.

  “Stay behind me.” Larry forced deep breaths. He allowed the image of Conal to fill his imagination. He took one more breath and clambered past Teltina, eyes searching for opponents.

  “Be careful,” Teltina said in a low whisper. Larry wondered if she meant him to hear. That thought evaporated as his eyes found movement a few strides upslope. Ignoring the growing pain in his knees, he leaped through a gap in the rocks toward new opponents.

  As he closed, three men turned, surprise then anger twisting their faces. From their uphill position, one leaped, axe swinging through the air. Larry looked up, the axe filling his vision until it passed by, followed by a body with an arrow sprouting in its chest. Shifting to the right, Larry shouldered the convulsing body to the side in time to block the second man’s sword thrust. Stepping back onto the first man’s twitching body, Larry swung the axe in his left hand into the second man’s neck.

  The body under his foot rolled, and Larry fell to his knee. As the third man lunged forward, Larry dropped onto his left side and thrust upward with the sword in his right hand. Sliding up under the chain-mail tunic, it released a torrent of bright red blood that ran down the length of the blade to the hilt. A salty, metallic aroma filled his nostrils.