Gryffe shrugged. 'No way to tell. But I will!'
Finnigal and his nineteen Iron Wolves had tethered their horses some fifty feet back from the hilltop. He led his men forward, and glanced down at the charging Vars. Bane moved in close to the young officer. 'You mind a word of advice, Captain?' he asked, keeping his voice low.
'I'm listening.'
'Spread your men through the line. Some of the outlaws are looking terrified. Having Iron Wolves among them will stiffen their resolve.'
'That's good thinking,' agreed Finnigal. He grinned suddenly. 'I'm feeling a little terrified myself.'
The Vars reached the foot of the hill, and a blood-curdling roar erupted from them. Wik was standing, bow bent, staring down at them. Bane saw that his hands were trembling.
'Take aim – and shoot on my command!' shouted Bane. The fifty outlaw bowmen drew back on their bowstrings. 'Now!'
Fifty shafts slashed through the air. Many of the Vars were carrying iron-rimmed shields, and most of the shafts slammed into them, or bounced from iron helms. One man fell, an arrow through his forehead. Several others were hit in the legs or arms.
'Again!' yelled Bane. 'Hit them with everything!'
The second volley was far more deadly than the first, for the charge had slowed as the Vars laboured up the slippery hillside. Now, as men fell, they slid into the paths of those following, knocking them down, or causing them to lower their shields. By Bane's reckoning at least twenty Vars were down. 'Keep it going!' he bellowed.
Volley after volley hit the climbing men. As the Vars came closer the volleys became more ragged, many of the shafts flashing over their heads or into the ground. 'Steady now!' shouted Bane. 'Steady!'
As the enemy came closer to the hilltop Bane saw that the width of their line would allow the Vars to encircle the defenders. Moving back from the crest he shouted for his men to spread out along both sides.
Suddenly Wik dropped back, turned, then sprinted away from the crest. He still had several arrows in his quiver. The other bowmen saw him run, and they too scrambled back behind the mailshirted warriors.
'Forward!' yelled Finnigal, drawing his sword. At the centre of the line Bane drew his two short swords and advanced.
The Vars reached the crest. Bane leapt forward, spearing one blade through a man's throat and slashing the second across the face of the warrior beside him. Both men fell back, impeding those behind. Gryffe, with a bellowed battle cry, hurled himself at the Vars, swinging his sword double-handed. It smashed into a hurriedly raised shield, but such was the force of the blow it knocked the bearer from his feet.
The air was filled now with the sound of clashing blades, the screams of the wounded, the ugly snarls and grunts of the fighting men, the snapping of bones and the rending of flesh. Slipping and sliding on the treacherous ground the Vars could not, at first, make use of the weight of their numbers to force a way through. But then Snarri and Dratha got a foothold on the crest. Snarri lashed his sword against the unprotected thigh of a defender. Blood sprayed out, and the man fell. Snarri pushed past him. Dratha following hammered his single-bladed axe through the man's skull. Other Vars streamed over the hilltop.
Ahead Snarri could see the silver-haired woman. She was standing by the wagon, watching the battle. And she was close enough for Snarri to see her green eyes. He and Dratha moved towards her.
Bane, seeing the breach in the line, dropped back and ran to fill it. He killed two Vars and kicked out at a third, who had just reached the crest. The man slipped and fell, rolling back into his fellows. Gryffe raced to join Bane. A sword blade rammed into his side. The mail shirt stopped the blade slicing into his flesh, but Gryffe felt a rib snap under the impact. Dropping his sword he lunged at the Var, punching him full in the face. Then he grabbed him at the throat and groin, heaved him into the air and hurled him into a group of Sea Wolves about to clear the crest. Sweeping up his blade Gryffe gave a great shout and threw himself at the charging men. His sword hammered against an iron helm, splitting it in two, the blade crushing the skull beneath. Finnigal and two Iron Wolves joined him, and closed the breach.
As Snarri and Dratha ran at the woman by the wagon a slim warrior moved to stand before her. Snarri saw that the man was middle-aged, with only one eye. The Vars leader leapt to the attack. Instead of jumping back, or parrying, the one-eyed man ducked under the sweeping blade and sent a deadly thrust at Snarri's face. The huge Var swayed away from the thrust, and kicked out, catching the one-eyed warrior in the knee. The Rigante stumbled. Dratha stepped in swiftly, bringing his axe down on the man's shoulder. The snapping of bone followed and the Rigante cried out. Then he surged to his feet, the axe still embedded in his flesh. Dratha tried to leap back, but the warrior's sword opened his throat in a bloody spray. Snarri swung his longsword at the Rigante's neck, but mistimed the stroke, the blade clanging against the man's helm, knocking it from his head. Dazed, the Rigante tried to turn, but Snarri's reverse sweep smashed his skull to shards.
Another fighter loomed before him. Snarri blinked. The man was wearing an iron breastplate, helm and greaves, styled in the Stone fashion. And he was carrying two short swords. His face and arms were spattered with blood. Snarri attacked, but the warrior moved like quicksilver, blocking his thrust and spinning into him. The Rigante's shoulder struck Snarri in the chest, knocking him back. He struggled to recover his balance only to see, in the last heartbeat of his life, a silver blade flash before his eyes. It struck his jaw, glanced down into his neck, and ripped through bone, tendon and vein. Snarri was already dead as the second blade hit his neck from the other side, severing the head completely.
Back at the crest of the hill the fighting was chaotic and furious. Of the two hundred Vars who had made the charge only around a hundred and ten had made it to the crest. Of these more than half were down. But so were many of the defenders. Gryffe, blood-covered now, was still fighting furiously, as was Finnigal. But they had been pushed back. Bane charged into the fray, his gladiatorial skills raising the spirits of the defenders as he cut down Var after Var.
Finnigal went down. A Sea Wolf carrying a battle axe loomed over him. Bane leapt at him feet first, hurling him to the ground. Finnigal rolled and smashed his sword across the man's face. The captain climbed to his feet, to see Bane launch himself at three Vars. Half stunned, Finnigal staggered to his aid.
At that moment men began to rush past the dazed soldier, throwing themselves upon the Vars, stabbing them with hunting knives and daggers. It was the bowmen who had fled the field earlier. Catching his breath Finnigal watched as they ripped into the exhausted Sea Wolves. He glanced round to see the outlaw leader Wik draw back on his bowstring. The shaft tore through the chest of a tall, wide-shouldered Var, his body pitching back over the hill and sliding all the way to the bottom. More arrows followed – and some of the surviving Vars began to run back down the hill. On the hilltop the remaining Vars were still fighting furiously. Bane ran at them, Gryffe and Valian just behind him. Finnigal tried to follow, but a great weariness settled on him and he sat down heavily.
The fighting was over within a few minutes, his sergeant Prasalis knocking the last Var to the ground before braining him with several vicious blows. Prasalis looked round, saw Finnigal sitting alone and ran over to him.
'Are you hurt, sir?' he asked, kneeling down.
'Aye, but I'll live… I think,' said Finnigal. Blood was streaming from several cuts to his legs and upper arms, and there was a gash on his brow that was dripping blood into his eyes. Prasalis pulled a cloth from his belt and wiped the gash.
'There's nothing too deep, and your skull isn't cracked.'
'How many did we lose?' asked Finnigal.
'I'll find out, sir,' said Prasalis, moving away.
Bane, his swords sheathed, his helm discarded, walked over to where Wik was standing, staring down over the settlement. The outlaw had an odd expression in his face that Bane could not read.
'Good to see you,' said Bane, with a smile. 'Thought you might have left us.'
'I did leave you,' said Wik. 'I was pissing myself with fear.'
'Then why did you come back?'
Wik shrugged. 'I've been asking myself the same thing. The other five gold pieces, I expect.'
'Nonsense,' said Bane. 'You came back because you're a man. Don't belittle yourself. How do you feel?'
'Truly? I feel sad, and I can't tell you why.'
Bane placed his hand on the man's shoulder. 'We saved hundreds of lives today. We stood our ground and we won. But I feel sad too.' He smiled. 'And I don't know why either. We'll talk later. For now let's see to the men.'
Prasalis returned to Finnigal, and helped the captain to the wagon. 'We'd better get those wounds stitched,'
