The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (21 page)

The
wolf recovered from its surprise and tried to turn, snapping at her, with
spittle flying, but she was already swinging in with the blade, stabbing at the
wolf’s own throat.

The
man’s eyes bulged in surprise at her unexpected arrival, encouraging him to
redouble his efforts to keep the wood of the smouldering brand between him and
the wolf. He pushed back hard, forcing the ferocious animal’s head up and
exposing only more of its throat.

Torrador’s
blade hit home.

She
felt the knife sink deep into the beast’s neck, sticky blood welling up over
her fingers.

In
one last burst of chaos, the beast struggled to get away.

She
slashed hard and fast, dragging the blade through the meat of the wolf’s
throat. The beast’s neck opened, the parted flesh releasing a flood of blood.

Elated,
Seta let out a triumphant yell as the rich store pumped out over her fingers
and washed across the old man on the ground.

She
pushed herself off and away from the beast, the animal enraged and turning to
focus on her. The monster let out a deep and gruesome rumble that gurgled while
it bubbled through its own escaping lifeblood and ruined throat.

Seta
kicked out to push herself further back, past the fire, until she sat near the
other edge of the clearing.

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T
orrador
could see the path begin turning with a bend in the valley ahead. Light shone,
that of a blazing campfire, the flames themselves still hidden by the lay of
the land, but the glow of it was apparent as it lit the surrounding trunks of
the forest’s trees.

Between
him and the light, a good distance in front, a dark silhouette flashed across –
a wolf. The beast was about sixty paces away and launching itself from the
hillside, to strike at another silhouette that only became clear as it spun to
meet the snarling threat. The figure stumbled, but recovered, and then lashed
out with a stick or spear to knock the beast off balance, sending the wolf
tumbling past and down the hillside. The animal tried to regain its balance,
but failed, ending up in the waters of the stream.

Torrador
looked back to the figure, a woman, now dimly lit as she recovered and ran for
the campfire.

It
was Seta!

Torrador
sprang into action, launching himself into a sprint as he chased after her,
resisting the urge to call out lest he attract any other wolves lurking in the
woods.

He
whispered as he ran, “Aid me Allfather!”

The
wind picked up to bluster in a sudden swirling gust.

He
charged on, following the path as it wove between shrub, trunk and rock,
running along and just upslope from the stream. He soon came to the spot where
the wolf had dived at Seta, the beast now scrabbling unsteadily as it tried to
get out of the water, still shaking its stunned and bloody head.

The
animal heard him and looked up snarling.

Torrador
stood ready, with his spear in hand.

Like
Thor striking with a hammer, he rammed the sharp point into the ragged beast’s
maw, shoving it down the wolf’s throat.

The
animal gagged and whined, before finally thrashing about.

Torrador
pushed forward, putting all his weight onto the grinding shaft, until he pinned
the wolf down. The struggling monster let out a desperate yelp that tapered
off, falling into a rattling sigh. A moment later, aside from one twitching
foreleg, the beast lay still.

Torrador
stepped on the wolf’s head to hold it down as he pulled the spear free. The
rough shaft did not come easily, but since it was the only weapon he had, aside
from the stake, he persisted until he could drag it out.

He
heard a rush of movement from far off in the depths of the woods, the pad of
hurried paws and brush of bodies as they parted branches, leaves and shrubs.
Torrador got moving again. He knew other members of the pack would be out
there. Refocussing on what had brought him here, he set off at a run and
renewed his charge for the campfire and Seta.

His
boots pounded the trail as he tried to put on as much speed as he could. Ahead,
the flaring yellow flames of the campfire were now visible, promising light,
warmth and safety.

The
sudden growl of a wolf cut through the night, coming from ahead, and jagging
his attention.

Torrador
watched as Seta ran into the clearing just as another figure, a skraeling man,
went down under the weight of a wolf that launched itself from the far side of
the clearing.

The
Godslander redoubled his efforts, pumping his arms and tightening his grip on
his spear.

As
Torrador ran to help, he watched as Seta unbelievably tossed her makeshift
spear at the beast’s face and then jumped past it as the stripped sapling hit
the creature’s snout. The wolf already had the skraeling pinned, raking his
chest, while trying to tear out his throat. Her actions distracted it, but did
not dislodge the animal from what looked to be an easy kill.

Seta
grabbed the beast by its coat, at the back of its neck, and jerked its head
back as it tried to turn on her. But she was ready, and she lashed out with the
blade.

Torrador
kept running, closing on the clearing, but had a way to go yet. As he did, he
heard the fast movement of parting bushes and stirring leaves as other hungry
wolves rushed in behind him to end the hunt.

He
was their prey, not Seta. The thought chilled him.

The
rising beat of yet another wolf’s chase also drummed on the earth along the
trail further back.

With
his own heart racing and Seta needing help just ahead, he threw everything into
increasing his pace.

He
had to get there!

If
he did not, he knew he would never see her again.

Ahead
of him, the wolf she confronted turned its neck, attempting to latch onto her.
She restricted its increasingly frenzied movements by putting her weight on its
back, while the old man pushed its chin up with the brand to expose the beast’s
own throat.

The
knife struck home.

Running
for his life, Torrador could not help but grin as he whispered, “I’m coming!”

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B
lood
fountained and caught the firelight, spraying red and rich.

Seta
sat near the other side of the clearing in exhausted elation, panting, one of
her hands covered in blood as she clutched Torrador’s blade.

Unsteady,
the wolf started to get off the man.

The
wound was good and deep, the beast doomed.

An
instant later, the uneasy quiet broke as another wolf appeared in the trees,
right behind Seta. The frustrated beast lunged forward with slavering jaws,
trying to get the odds back to where the pack had worked them over the course
of the evening.

With
teeth flashing, it darted in and tried to latch onto the back of her neck. Seta
reacted to the sound and ducked forward.

Seta
felt the wolf’s wet snout hit her nape, just as its rancid breath blew her
hair. But the creature missed.

The
beast may have missed her neck, but its sharp teeth did catch on the edge of
her furs. With a hard jerk, the wolf worked to stop her escape.

Desperate,
Seta turned around, slashing with the knife, while working to shrug off the
fur.

She
had to get away.

She
needed
her answers!

The
blade found meat, but it was only a glancing blow.

The
beast’s teeth were still caught up in the fur that now slipped up and over the
top of her head as Seta tried to pull back. With limited vision, she slashed
out blindly again, trying to stab at the wolf’s shoulder or face, trying
anything that might make it release her.

She
only had moments.

She
needed to get lucky, or she would die.

Seta
struggled, still slashing and stabbing, but to no avail. From the world
outside, now smothered by her furs, from a place she could mutely hear and no
longer see, she heard the approach of other wolves as they surged forward.

She
cursed herself.

She
should never have left Godsland!

What
about her poor children?

What
about Frae and Halla?

Or
Torrador?

And
it was then, when she knew she was out of time, the wolf beginning to shake her
hard from side to side, rough and fast, that she heard his voice.

His
tone was urgent and came to her, smothered by her furs, but the first words
were clear, “Get down!”

She
began to shed tears.

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T
orrador
moved as fast as he could, but knew he was running out of time. He had watched
Seta, with admiration, deliver a mortal wound to a wolf all by herself, and
then he had seen her escape, throwing herself across the clearing to safety.

He
prayed to Odin that he would get the chance to hold such an amazing woman
again.

But,
for now, he had more immediate concerns: The wolves were right on his heels.
The closest of two was only moments away from trying to bring him down; he
could hear its ragged breathing behind him.

Yet,
he was only a few dozen paces from the edge of the clearing. He merely needed a
dose of good luck.

The
desperate Norseman watched for anything that might aid him, but in an
unfamiliar nightscape, his vision increasingly blinded by the blazing fire
ahead, nothing looked of use.

The
closest wolf snapped at his heels.

Torrador
somehow managed to shake it off and keep running, though the effort made him
misstep and lose balance. He veered off the path, putting his arms out to
steady himself, but he clipped the trunk of a big tree. He pushed himself away
from it with his spare hand and kept going, charging through the undergrowth.

The
wolves still followed, only encouraged by his troubles.

Ahead,
he saw Seta facing him, with her back to the woods at the far edge of the
clearing. She suddenly bent forward as a wolf took her from behind, the beast
trying to lock its jaws around the back of her neck. The beast seemed to miss,
but still managed to get a grip on her hair and furs.

The
sight of it, after what she had just done, made Torrador’s blood boil. He
screamed out, “No!”

Recovering
from his glancing collision with the tree, but still not back on the trail, he
raced through the undergrowth, only to be confronted by a series of rocks that
stepped up in height in front of him, rising from amongst the gloom.

With
the wolves right behind him, he had no choice but to leap up the first one and
keep going. Before he knew it, he had stepped up three of them and was flying
through the air, crossing the last of the undergrowth and then passing into the
clearing.

In
front of him, Seta had spun about to face the wolf and swung wildly with the
knife, but her furs were being pulled up and over her face so that she could
not see. She was fighting blind.

The
wolf began to tug the fur side to side, roughly shaking Seta back and forth,
with fast and frantic jerks. The beast was trying to knock her senseless or
break her neck.

Behind
the animal, two more wolves came into view. One was big, the other much
younger. They darted in to join the attack.

Torrador,
arms out and spear wide for balance, was going to pass right over the campfire
and land on the wolf and Seta.

With
grim determination, he brought his spear around and called out, “Get down, I am
behind you!”

She
heard him, and despite having so little control over her position, tried to
lower her body.

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A
moment later, regardless of Seta’s desperate efforts, the wolf brought her
fur-wrapped head crashing down into the dirt. The sudden move stunned her, but
at the same time, the thud and thump of something heavy landed right in front
of her, backed by the crunch of bones.

It
was Torrador; she knew it!

She
could hear the other wolves whine and cry out in surprise as they pulled back,
but the attacking wolf had not let go of the fur, even if it no longer moved.

Both
hopeful and desperate, she quickly drew herself back and slipped out of her
fur.

Torrador
stood before her, his back to her, with one boot on the wolf’s crushed neck.

The
beast lay in front of her, prone, with blood running from its jaw. It was not
moving.

Torrador's
other leg was out to one side, steadying him, along with a makeshift spear,
which he had pinned through the beast’s ribs.

Unbalanced
from his landing, he staggered back towards her.

She
got up and put a hand to his shoulder, supporting him as she led him back
towards the fire. “I have you.”

The
wolf was dead, the makeshift spear shattered and still sticking out of its
carcass.

The
other two animals, recovering from their shock at Torrador’s sudden arrival,
slowed their retreat and skulked at the clearing’s edge.

The
old man, now on his feet behind them, called out in the skraeling tongue, “More
come!”

They
turned to see the two wolves that had been chasing Torrador cautiously enter
the other side of the clearing.

The
animals took in the bloody scene; two of their pack-brothers were already dead,
while in front of them staggered the beast with the opened throat. As all foes
across the clearing sized up each other, that wretched animal finally collapsed
into a pool of its own blood.

Seta
stepped over and retrieved her spear from where it lay. With it again in hand,
she passed the bloodied blade back to Torrador. Simply, she said, “It is good
to see you.”

He
grinned as he took the blade from her, and then drew the stake he still had
tucked into his belt, the rough piece of wood giving him a longer reach. “I
came when you needed me, as I promised.”