The Forgotten Land (30 page)

“It
seems this will be a very long journey indeed,” Ahmad said.

“Fear
not, priest, we shall have little problem going through them. With the
exception of the Kadark, these men will flee at the first sign of a
disciplined, confident attack,” replied Thormdall.

Ahmad
nodded. “We shall see.”

The
group moved off the track into the surrounding forest so their footprints were
not so obvious. After half an hour Steve called them to stop.

“Okay,
me and my blokes’ll setup an ambush here. When they walk through, we’ll brass
’em up. Thormdall, when the firing stops you lead the charge. Kill as many as
you can. In fact kill ’em all if you can.”

Thormdall
knelt by a large pine, his sword drawn and a calm expression on his face. The
four guardsmen were spread out, squatting, kneeling or sitting behind trees or
bushes. Ahmad was between the guardsmen with his tulwar drawn. Steve and his
soldiers were lying down out of sight, in positions where they could bring
accurate, lethal fire power to bear. Heleena knelt near Will, her bow strung
and quiver full of arrows strapped to her right shoulder.

Minutes
went by and the silence was absolute. The cold burrowed into their bones and
before long everyone except Thormdall was shivering. A distant laugh broke the
silence, followed by a hiss of admonishment. Their footfalls grew louder, and
eventually the troop of warriors came into view. Thormdall was right; they
looked hungry, they were ill equipped and did not look particularly determined.
At the rear was the Kadark. As before, he was dressed in a black robe with a
hood that obscured his face. A long sword sheathed in an animal skin scabbard
hung by his waist. He seemed to carry an almost demonic aura. Steve noticed the
warriors under his command gave him a very wide berth.

Steve
let the first quarter of the group wander past the hidden soldiers and as the
centre of the group came into view, he quietly pulled the pin from a grenade
and heaved it into their midst. The handle separated from the grenade with a
sound that seemed almost deafening, and the grenade dropped into the snow at
the feet of the warriors. Several of them stopped and looked at what they thought
was a pine cone. They looked up at the trees, and as one of them knelt and
reached out to pick it up, the grenade exploded in a deafening roar that tore
away half his face, killed three others, and left another six screaming and
bleeding in the snow.

The
Minimi barked into life, followed instantly by the M4s and the intermittent
crack of the M110 sniper rifle. Before the Viking war party knew what was
happening, more than half of them were either dead, dying, or wounded.

One
warrior ran towards them. Steve shot him in the head. Another turned to flee,
but the Minimi tore him from his feet in a murderous roar. Fear was upon the
Kadark’s warriors and several fled in terror. Another grenade exploded amongst
them with a deafening roar that ended four lives and threw several men to the
ground in agony.

Almost
as soon as the firing had started, it ceased. Amongst the screaming of the
wounded and dying came another noise. It was a terrible, inhuman wailing that
sounded like a mix between a wolf howl and the roar of a furious bear. Before
the band of warriors could take anything in, the Berserker was amongst them,
slaying, hacking and murdering in a rampage that was more animal than human.

Further
up the faltering skirmish line, four tall axe-bearing warriors slammed into the
flank of the confused warriors. The huge newcomers dealt a massive toll amongst
them, leaving men decapitated, missing limbs or with deadly wounds.

The
Varangian guardsmen were exceptional warriors, fighting with almost the same
cool, killing power as Thormdall. The Berserker had cut through the ranks of
the Kadark’s warriors with as much efficiency and cold malice as a demon from
the gates of hell. The Berserker killed and maimed in a quiet savagery. Gone
was the demonic wailing. Thormdall was now silent, which was more terrifying
than if he had been roaring furious war cries. Men either fell back in terror
or died before Thormdall’s cold, silent fury. The few warriors who remained
standing and able, fled into the forest. Not far behind them, sword in hand,
was the Kadark who reluctantly followed his men into the safety of the trees.
Heleena sprinted forward and was releasing arrow after arrow in methodical,
rapid succession. Only six seconds passed between the release of each arrow and
only one missed its mark. The others hammered into soft, yielding flesh,
killing men instantly, or bringing them down in screaming agony.

Matt
knelt up and took a clear sight picture of the Kadark. He released a shot
straight into the base of his neck, but incredibly the Kadark continued running
and disappeared behind a large tree.

“Your
eyes are going in yer old age,” Will grinned.

“Bullshit,
I hit that bastard,” Matt replied. “I swear to Christ.”

“That’s
why he kept running?” asked Steve. “I bloody hit him.” Matt was adamant.

“We
move now,” Thormdall announced. His face was spattered with blood and gore and
his eyes shone with controlled rage that gave him the look of a man bordering
on insanity.

They
moved along the path at a slow run, putting as much distance between themselves
and the Kadark before he could regroup his warriors and make a counterattack.
Behind them were bodies scattered and bleeding. The cries and screams of
wounded and dying men echoed throughout the forest.

The
group continued at a fast walk or slow run all day and partly into the night.
Then Thormdall called a halt.

“A
cave lies this way,” he said, leading the group off the path and into the
safety of the bitterly cold forest.

Steve
had trained in Norway during winter, but they had high quality clothing and
advanced technology on their side. Here in this hellish cold, in a forest that
existed perhaps a thousand years before his time, they could rely only on
shelter and huddling together to maintain body heat.

The
night passed slowly. Thormdall sat by the cave entrance, sword across his lap,
ever watchful. He remained there all night long and when the sun began to rise
he kicked the group awake.

“Let
us move,” he said.

They
shook themselves awake and moved straight out into the morning. They maintained
a blistering pace towards Skrethorg. No more was seen of the Kadark and his
men, which was not surprising as the war party had been almost wiped out by a
much smaller force. This must have been galling for the Kadark, and it did not
take a wise man to realise that he would come for them again. The Kadark was a
determined adversary, and he would continue to chase them until he was cut
down. Thormdall could kill most things that lived, but he had never killed a
Kadark, and as they moved through the still, silent, freezing forest, he was
not sure that he could.

After
ten freezing days, the group reached the outskirts of Skrethorg. Thormdall led
them to the same pub as Tharkol had brought the Australians several weeks
before. The familiar, overwhelming, pungent smell of Viking beer hit the
Australian soldiers once more.

“Thormdall
my old friend!” Hadrad welcomed the Berserker with a slap on the back. “Hello
again!”

“Mead!”
Hadrad shouted, bustling back to the bar.

The
drinking area was empty apart from some people seated near a window and two men
in a corner at the other side. All of them turned and stared at the newcomers.

“Look
like mean fuckers,” Scott said about the two men.

“Yup,
won’t argue there,” replied Steve. “But at least there’re no rules of
engagement here. If they give us trouble we can just shoot ’em and no one will
bother asking questions,” he laughed.

Hadrad
sat them at a table in the middle of the room and handed out mugs of mead.

“They
call it a mug!” Hadrad laughed. Thormdall and the Varangian Guards had picked
up their vessels and were viewing them with some suspicion. Thormdall had drunk
from the horn of a beast all his life and was not used to this new container.

“From
a land across the sea. I paid good money for them, but you can at least put
them down without spilling your drink.”

Thormdall
remained sceptical.

“Bloody
good drop,” said Will, slamming his empty mug down.

Hadrad
 refilled  Will’s  mug.  Not  long  after
 the  Varangian Guardsmen had also finished their drinks.

“It
is strong,” warned Heleena, “Drink slower or you will be kissing the
floorboards very soon."

“Not
a chance,” replied Will. “I can hold my grog.”

Heleena
shook her head.

Steve
drank more slowly, savouring the taste. The mead had a distinctly unpleasant
aroma, but the taste was far beyond his expectations. He savoured each sip, and
as Hadrad talked about the day-to-day happenings of the town, Will smashed his
empty mug down again. Hadrad, the ever hospitable host refilled his mug. Once
again, almost in competition, the guardsmen finished their drinks and smashed
their own mugs down on the table.

“You
do not want to try and outdrink them,” Heleena warned Will. “Don't I? I can
outdrink anyone,” already his words carried a mild slur.

“So
what brings you all to Skrethorg?” asked Hadrad.

Thormdall
explained where they were heading.

“I
have a boat waiting at the southern dock,” said Ahmad when Thormdall fell
silent. “We leave first thing in the morning.”

“Winter
is my least popular month. Almost all of my rooms are spare, so you can have as
many rooms as you like, free of charge,” offered Hadrad.

“I
would hear of no such thing,” said Thormdall. “We will pay.”

“Don’t
be silly, my friend, you are welcome and always will be.” Thormdall grabbed
Hadrad’s hand and pushed a small purse of coins into it. When Hadrad began to
protest, Thormdall pushed him away. “Go and put it somewhere safe, you will
take it and you will keep it.”

Thormdall
then excused himself and disappeared into the night.

“Where’s
the dunny?” asked Will.

“I
do not understand?” said Hadrad.

“The
shitters,” replied Will. “Where are they?”

“He
wants to know where to relieve himself,” explained Steve.

“Out
there,” Hadrad responded, waving towards the street.

“Righto,”
Will stood. The two men in the corner looked up as Will past them.

“Look
Snorri,” said one of the men, loudly enough for Will to hear, “a man who was
birthed by a monkey.” Both men burst out laughing.

Will
conjured up his best look of fear, so the men thought they had intimidated him.
He walked out onto the street.

Matt
saw what had happened with the men and knew how Will used reverse psychology to
overcome even the toughest of opponents. Those two are about to get their arses
kicked, he thought.

As
Will made his way back into the inn, the two men were unrelenting.

“There’s
that monkey again, Snorri,” the men laughed.

Will
approached them. “Look, I don’t want any trouble if that’s alright?” Will kept his
eyes to the floor, feigning fear.

One
of them laughed and punched the table. Seeing his opportunity, Will leapt
forward, his eyes glowing with fury. His fist cannoned into the face of the
first and before the second could register what had happened Will hammered an
uppercut into his chin. Blood and teeth exploded from his mouth. The second
jumped to his feet, but Will kicked him to the floor.

“Keep
your mouth shut next time,” Will said calmly.

Will
turned, but the two men had risen to their feet with their knives drawn.

It
happened faster than lightning. Heleena knocked the first man to the ground
with a punch to the temple and as the second turned, she held a knife to his
jugular.

“If
you threaten him again,” she said, almost conversationally.

“What
if I do?” asked the man whose life was in Heleena’s hands.

His
voice was wavering, but he was trying to make it sound as if he were in control
of the situation, even though he knew he was not.

“Then
I shall kill you,” snarled Heleena.

“Let
it go lads,” said Steve, stepping forward.

Heleena’s
knife was pressing hard and had opened a small wound which released a narrow
stream of blood. The other was still unconscious.

“We
can all sit down and quietly enjoy a drink, there’s no reason to pick a fight,
but if you continue to bait my friend here,” Steve fired his rifle twice into
the ceiling and the sound was deafening in the small space, “then believe me,
we will kill you and drag your bodies out into the street.”

Heleena
withdrew the knife and stepped away. The man stared at Steve, his ears ringing
and his drink long forgotten.

“When
he wakes,” Steve gestured to the unconscious man, “you tell him the same.
That’s your last bloody warning. Next time there won’t be any words of warning,
we’ll just kill ya.”