A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (i am reading a book txt) 📕

‘Enough,’ called the general. Erlan brought down his fist again and felt the jawbone shatter. ‘I said enough, God damn it!’

Erlan stopped. He was astride Georgios’s chest, panting. The general was staring him down, his sad eyes full of venom. ‘Get off him. Now.’

‘Far til Hel,’ Erlan muttered, and split the man’s throat to the bone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The guard crashed over the table in a spray of blood.

‘Fly, brothers, fly!’ yelled Valrik, a foot of bloody steel in his hand. He shoved Lilla away from the headman. ‘Go! If we don’t make the ship, we’re all dead!’

Varkonni spears and axes flashed. Valrik’s men had only knives or seaxes. Their larger weapons were stowed at the village gateway. A gesture of trust, now proven futile.

Einar was one of the first to react, roaring like a baited bull and upending his table into the path of two Varkonni guards heading for Lilla. The oxen bolted, dragging the hapless girl roped to them straight through the fire and on into the darkness in a trail of sparks and flame. The headman was yelling orders at his men, his fat face still shining with grease.

Meanwhile Valrik was bawling for his crew to rally to him. Lilla saw a spear on the ground and picked it up. Screams and shouts were breaking all around her. She looked for Gerutha but instead saw a shadow flying at her. She danced left and raised the spear. An axe crashed where she had stood a moment before; she lunged, felt the spear-tip sink into flesh, twisted and pulled and then a body fell at her feet.

She turned, gasping. Arrows fizzed through the air. ‘On me!’ Valrik slashed at another face, then turned to leap through the flames. With no time to question, she hitched her skirts and jumped. For an instant, a blaze of heat enveloped her, then she was through and on and sprinting down the slope towards the gate.

Behind her raged a storm of killing; everywhere Northmen fighting for their lives. She glanced back and glimpsed Einar’s bulky frame swinging his fists like clubs. She screamed his name.

‘Damn you, woman – there’s no time for the others.’ Valrik seized her arm. ‘We have to get out!’

‘Let go of me! My friend!’

But he was already dragging her towards the gate where the guards, slow to react, were at last turning to face the chaos pouring down the slope towards them. Valrik released her to deal with the first of them, smashing aside the spear-tip with his forearm, then burying his long-knife in the man’s throat.

Someone shouted Lilla’s name. She turned and saw Gerutha, skirts hitched, sprinting towards her. ‘Grusha!’ she cried in terror, seeing a figure appear between them, silhouetted against the flames. Gerutha tried to dodge him but stumbled and fell. The Varkonni raised his club and then a spear lanced out of the dark and flung him sideways. Suddenly Einar was there, scooping Gerutha up from the ground. Lilla turned back to the gate almost choking with relief. Other Northmen raced towards them. More lay behind, dead or wounded or already screaming under Varkonni blades. The feast had become a glut of blood and slaughter.

In desperation, the fleeing Northmen soon overran the guards at the gate but behind them the Varkonni were rallying. Valrik bellowed at them to seize what they could from their pile of weapons and keep running. Lilla ran with them beyond the palisade on the path towards the Dnipar, feet pounding the dust.

It was less than three hundred yards to the riverbank. Fear and the pursuing rabble drove them on. She heard more shouts and bodies crashing through the trees. A black streak fizzed across her vision. She heard a cough and a body came bowling into her. She tripped and fell, hitting the ground like a hammer blow. When the dust cleared she was flat on her belly and face to face with Bayan. Blood was frothing from his mouth, an arrow shaft protruding from his throat. She recoiled in horror.

‘Lilla!’ Valrik’s voice called out of the darkness. ‘Lilla? Where are you, woman?’

She sat up, dazed, and wiped the dust from her eyes. Beside her, Bayan was choking on his own blood, but there was nothing she could do to help him. He was finished. As she picked herself up his hand closed around her wrist. She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her go. She could hear men racing through the trees around her. The Varkonni overtaking her. Fear outstripping her shame, she prised his fingers off her. There was no time for a prayer or a plea for forgiveness. Instead she grabbed her spear and stood – straight into the path of an arrow that came whistling out of the dark. She gasped as the arrow-tip raked across her shoulders. Only a glancing blow but it stung like a whiplash.

Everywhere was confusion. There were Norse shouts behind her. Men were already yelling at the riverbank. She was about to run on when a figure appeared on the bank above her.

Then another. Varkonni. She’d a notion that she knew him as a man who had often eyed her during their portage. His mouth cracked in an ugly smile. She backed away, bracing herself for their attack. The man chuckled and muttered something to his friend who held back while he skidded down the bank and circled around her.

‘Come on, you bastard,’ she muttered grimly.

Without a second invitation he threw himself at her. There was no subtlety in his attack, only a kind of lean, animal ferocity that for a moment threatened to overwhelm her. He lunged with his spear. She bludgeoned it away, reeling backwards. They circled around each other, she braced herself again, but before his second attack a shadow came looping out of the dark. There was a thud and he fell like timber onto his face, a hand-axe