Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05] Read Online Free PDF Page B

searching the arena for his next victim. His broadsword was aptly named Bone-Cracker… boon companion to his battle-ax, Blood-Lover, which was in his other hand. At his feet lay one of the MacNabs, his skull halved from crown to nape.
    Several of the MacNab men made retching sounds, then leaped onto their horses and prepared to leave the scene. Rurik wished Beast were with him now. The wolfhound was a great asset after battle, especiallytalented at rounding up straggling enemy soldiers, like cattle. Quickly scanning the miniature battlefield, Rurik noted that Jostein appeared to have a broken arm and Bolthor had an arrow sticking out of his thigh. He, personally, had been sliced from elbow to wrist by a sharp dirk; it was a shallow gash that could use some stitching in better circumstances. Others in his troop were marked with bruises and bloody noses and cuts, but that was all. On the MacNab side, however, five lay dead, and two men appeared sorely wounded and had to be assisted onto their horses before galloping off.
    Among the survivors was the MacNab himself, who bore no visible wounds. When his horse reached the top of a small rise a short distance away, he called out to Rurik, “Begone, Viking! Leave Scotland at once, ye whoreson whelp of a cod-sucking pagan, lest we meet again. And the results will be far different then, that I promise.”
    “Your promises mean naught,” Rurik answered loudly with a boastful laugh, pointing to the dead MacNabs scattered about. He chose his battles wisely and decided not to react to Duncan’s personal insults … just yet.
    “Doona dare touch the witch,” Duncan added, still having the audacity to issue him orders.
    Rurik raised his eyebrows at that particular order. “Why?”
    “I want the witch.”
    “Well, isn’t that a coincidence? So do I.” The Scotsman shook his head. “Nay, you want her only to remove the cursed mark, whereas I—” Rurik barely held his temper in check as the vileman let his words hang in the air for long moments. Finally, he prodded, “Whereas, you want what?”
    “—where as I want the bitch as bride.”
    No sooner had Rurik and his men tended their wounds than another band of Scotsmen rode up. And this was the sorriest bunch of fighting men Rurik had ever seen.
    At least twenty men came over the hill toward them. They all wore belted
pladds
, but the wide swaths of fabric were worn and faded, unlike those of the more prosperous MacNabs.
    An older man of at least forty years appeared to be the chieftain, or leader. He was missing one arm. A somewhat younger man of about thirty was obviously blind in one eye, which stared sightlessly ahead.
    One rider had his nose bashed in, was minus one ear, and appeared to have no front teeth.
The world’s ugliest warrior?
Rurik wondered wryly. Well, actually, he knew a few Norse warriors who could compete in that contest.
    Still another had a nervous twitch that caused his head to jerk incessantly. No doubt he had sustained a blow to the crown in some battle or other. Rurik had seen a similar condition in an old fighting comrade, Asolf the Dim, whose head jerked so much that he looked as if he was motioning someone toward the right all the time. Not a good trait to have in the midst of battle.
    Another man was muttering under his breath, but no one was paying any attention to him. Rurik figured that malady was due to a blow to the brain, as well.The sharp rap of a broadsword against the skull could cause such damage.
    The only hale and hearty ones in the bunch were the boys, who could be good fighters with the proper training. Several of these boys appeared to be around Jostein’s age, but if they fought the way they rode their horses, Jostein could beat them in a trice, and Jostein was not yet an accomplished soldier.
    Once again, he was reminded, reluctantly, of his past. This time, it was a mental image of a skinny, underdeveloped halfling. Thank the gods he’d been fortunate enough to have a friend