Sword Brothers Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jerry Autieri
Tags: Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Norse & Icelandic
his own horn and his men screamed for blood.
Ulfrik leapt into the sleeping men and began screaming in Frankish. "The Northmen are among us. Run! Run! They are here!"
Men scrambled for their gear while others jumped up and fled toward the rear. Ulfrik grabbed men who appeared confused and left them no time to recover from their dreams. "Hurry! We're overrun!"
The ruse reinforced itself, as sleep-befuddled men repeated the lie for him as they fled. All around the camp he heard the same shouts and heard the horns blowing. Hrolf's warriors raised a din to rival any army. Ulfrik flitted through the camp, kicking men to action, rushing any man who appeared to pause in thought, all while declaring their defeat.
Horses charged away without riders. Ulfrik paused in surprise, for no horse would be of use on a wooded hill and thus were useless to the Franks. But their panic aided the air of defeat so he welcomed the beasts. Personally he hated horses.
The pause was his undoing, for as long has he kept moving no one had a moment to consider his identity. Yet the moments it took to watch horses charge past gave the Franks a breather. Now men pointed at him, and one challenged, "Who the bloody Christ are you?"
Ulfrik smiled and flitted away, and the men bounded after him. He had one final task to fulfill. The commanders' tents needed to be set afire. From the yellow blaze to his left, he knew Hakon had probably set his fires. Shadows danced around it in confusion, and Ulfrik had to laugh. He would not have the chance to enjoy that spectacle up close, as his pursuers were close behind.
The confusion was complete and by now the lie of the attack needed no one to repeat it. The Franks scattered either to find safety or to find an enemy. Ulfrik raced amid clusters of determined men forming ranks and heading for the hill. They ignored him for a coward, but after he passed he heard his pursuers calling. "He's the enemy. Get him!"
Ulfrik ran into a man, and whether or not he intended to fight, Ulfrik stabbed him through the thigh while the Frank was on the ground. He blew his horn again, hoping to signal to Hakon and the others his position. He did not hear answering horns, but then he was crashing through bunches of confused and angered Franks and their surly leaders.
There appeared no end to the number of Franks in the rear who were roused by the commotion at the fore. He was not breaking out as he had expected and hoped Hrolf had not encountered the same resistance. Hrolf's escape path had been at the thinnest point of enemy concentration, yet the reliability of estimates made in darkness was not strong.
As Ulfrik was discovering.
After a day of running and fighting, he was amazed he could weave and dodge like a man half his age. The Franks at the rear were either chasing horses, calming their fellows, or forming up for a defense. A knot of warriors readying their teardrop-shaped shields caused him to veer to the right and sprint past like a stag fleeing a hunter.
But this bought him squarely into a line of spearmen ranked up and marching with purpose. They were too wide to skirt and too closely ranked to break. He whirled about to backtrack and found his pursuers were close behind and had gathered more support.
He was in the jaws of a closing trap. He had only a sword and mud-smeared mail for protection. Even in murky light of the campfires he could see the gleam of anticipation in the eyes of his pursuers. Holding out his sword, he touched the silver amulet of Thor's hammer at his neck.
"A bolt of lightning would be good right now," he said, then screamed his battle cry.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mord Guntherson's toes throbbed with pain. He guessed he had kicked every stone and root as he fumbled through the darkness in retreat. Now that they arrived at their ships, he wanted nothing more than to launch his and be away from this horrid mess. Dozens of ships were a jumbled mass
Ulfrik leapt into the sleeping men and began screaming in Frankish. "The Northmen are among us. Run! Run! They are here!"
Men scrambled for their gear while others jumped up and fled toward the rear. Ulfrik grabbed men who appeared confused and left them no time to recover from their dreams. "Hurry! We're overrun!"
The ruse reinforced itself, as sleep-befuddled men repeated the lie for him as they fled. All around the camp he heard the same shouts and heard the horns blowing. Hrolf's warriors raised a din to rival any army. Ulfrik flitted through the camp, kicking men to action, rushing any man who appeared to pause in thought, all while declaring their defeat.
Horses charged away without riders. Ulfrik paused in surprise, for no horse would be of use on a wooded hill and thus were useless to the Franks. But their panic aided the air of defeat so he welcomed the beasts. Personally he hated horses.
The pause was his undoing, for as long has he kept moving no one had a moment to consider his identity. Yet the moments it took to watch horses charge past gave the Franks a breather. Now men pointed at him, and one challenged, "Who the bloody Christ are you?"
Ulfrik smiled and flitted away, and the men bounded after him. He had one final task to fulfill. The commanders' tents needed to be set afire. From the yellow blaze to his left, he knew Hakon had probably set his fires. Shadows danced around it in confusion, and Ulfrik had to laugh. He would not have the chance to enjoy that spectacle up close, as his pursuers were close behind.
The confusion was complete and by now the lie of the attack needed no one to repeat it. The Franks scattered either to find safety or to find an enemy. Ulfrik raced amid clusters of determined men forming ranks and heading for the hill. They ignored him for a coward, but after he passed he heard his pursuers calling. "He's the enemy. Get him!"
Ulfrik ran into a man, and whether or not he intended to fight, Ulfrik stabbed him through the thigh while the Frank was on the ground. He blew his horn again, hoping to signal to Hakon and the others his position. He did not hear answering horns, but then he was crashing through bunches of confused and angered Franks and their surly leaders.
There appeared no end to the number of Franks in the rear who were roused by the commotion at the fore. He was not breaking out as he had expected and hoped Hrolf had not encountered the same resistance. Hrolf's escape path had been at the thinnest point of enemy concentration, yet the reliability of estimates made in darkness was not strong.
As Ulfrik was discovering.
After a day of running and fighting, he was amazed he could weave and dodge like a man half his age. The Franks at the rear were either chasing horses, calming their fellows, or forming up for a defense. A knot of warriors readying their teardrop-shaped shields caused him to veer to the right and sprint past like a stag fleeing a hunter.
But this bought him squarely into a line of spearmen ranked up and marching with purpose. They were too wide to skirt and too closely ranked to break. He whirled about to backtrack and found his pursuers were close behind and had gathered more support.
He was in the jaws of a closing trap. He had only a sword and mud-smeared mail for protection. Even in murky light of the campfires he could see the gleam of anticipation in the eyes of his pursuers. Holding out his sword, he touched the silver amulet of Thor's hammer at his neck.
"A bolt of lightning would be good right now," he said, then screamed his battle cry.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mord Guntherson's toes throbbed with pain. He guessed he had kicked every stone and root as he fumbled through the darkness in retreat. Now that they arrived at their ships, he wanted nothing more than to launch his and be away from this horrid mess. Dozens of ships were a jumbled mass
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