Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

that led through the scrub. “We can’t go but two or three abreast up that trail. If these Irish know anything, they’ll hit us there, butcher us as we come on.”
      Hoskuld Iron-skull closed the discussion. “That is why the gods give us berserkers,” he said.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
     
     
     
     
     
    We sailed our ships to any shore
    that offered the best hope of booty;
    we feared no fellow on earth,
    we were fit, we fought in the battle fleet.
                                    Saga of Arrow-Odd
     
     
     
     
     
    Harald Thorgrimson’s helmet slipped forward as he ran, despite the chin strap. The cursed thing covered his eyes for an instant, until he pushed it back into place. But now his vision was blurred by the sweat that ran liberally from under the padding despite the cool, damp weather. Still, he kept the helmet in place. He knew his father would be angry if he discarded it, and in some unexplored corner of his mind he was happy for the protection it offered as he raced into battle.
      Just ahead of him, on the narrow path running up the sandy dunes from the beach, hemmed in by tangled shrubs, charged Starri Deathless and his berserker band. Behind Starri was that company’s second in command, if berserkers could have such a thing, a Swede named Nordwall the Short. Starri and Nordwall were as opposite as two men could be. Where Starri was tall and wiry and constantly in motion, Nordwall was short and broad, a powerfully built man who tended to remain motionless, his eyes alone constantly roaming. He moved only when he had good reason to do so, and when he did, his actions were explosive.
      One could not say that Starri was leading the attack, since he was utterly oblivious to the men behind him. He was, rather, flinging himself up the trail, his only thought to get at the enemy.
      Harald was not pleased about having to advance in the wake of the berserkers. He had wanted very much to lead the attack himself, to be first up the trail, but Hoskuld Iron-skull had said no, the berserkers would lead, and that was an end to it. Harold was more than a bit put out by that. The fact that he was most likely the least experienced warrior there did not even occur to him.
      Berserkers…. Damned madmen…. Harald thought as he pushed up the trail as fast as he could. He might not have had the frantic energy of the others, Starri, Nordwall and the half dozen in the van, but he was the youngest of all the ships’ companies, and had the legs and the lungs on the rest. So, if he had to trail behind the berserkers, at least he would be the first among those who were not entirely insane.
      Father…he’ll be gasping for breath by this point, Harald thought with no small measure of satisfaction, but those thoughts were interrupted by the swishing sound of an arrow passing close by. He pushed his helmet back again, looked up as he ran, looked up in time to see a bowman on the ridge one hundred feet away. He wore a rough, green tunic, a leather helmet. He had his arrow knocked and drawn full length.
      Harald’s reflex was to duck, to swerve out of line, and he actually took a step to the right before he corrected himself with an oath and charged straight on. The bowman let the arrow fly - Harald could see it streaking down the hill toward him. How many times had he himself let fly an arrow and watched it fly away? And now here was one flying at him. There was time only to feel a surge of panic. His mind was wiped clean of thought, he could think of nothing to do but charge on. Then the man to his right leapt sideways to avoid a tangle of brush, and the move put him straight in the path of the three foot shaft.
      The arrow’s impact stopped the berserker’s forward motion and sent him reeling back. The wicked metal tip erupted from the man’s back in a welter of blood that felt to Harald like warm spray. Now Harald did leap aside to avoid the falling, writhing