Olaf took Klaufi, old man Craig and twenty of his best to counter the guards in the village. Meanwhile under cover of the bleak moon-less sky, two groups made their way through the forest towards the lookout towers on both ends of the village. 

Olaf’s plan was simple. 

Sverting accompanied by forty men would travel from the South to West clearing the forest, Loch and lookout towers, of all wandering guards. Agnar was to lead his group of forty men Eastwards clearing the forest and outskirts of the village. The two groups would meet North of the village, at the road that led to the castle. Meanwhile, Olaf, Klaufi and their group would rush through the center of the village and span out, searching between the settlements for guards on patrol. They would then join the groups led by Sverting and Agnar and storm the castle. Once inside the castle, a secret passageway would lead the men to the pier North-West of the island, where the enemy ships rocked on gentle waters. 

Olaf darted between houses searching for signs of the enemy. He wasn’t about to stop and knock on doors. That was Klaufi’s task. His mission was simple, find a wandering guard or more and kill. He wanted the smell and taste of blood to engulf him! They barely met with a few skirmishes when on McDermott lands and it did nothing to quell his desperation to unleash his inner beast. Two friendly’s followed Olaf ensuring that he didn’t find himself outnumbered in any situation. Not like it mattered. Olaf could handle himself well in any given situation. But the risk was not something they were willing to take. They needed Olaf unharmed and at his best for the castle raid. That’s where they would truly be tested. 

Having quickly passed through the first row of huts, Olaf turned East. He was heading straight for the Inn. He was certain that the complacent guards would be found drinking and making merry. After all with the villagers subdued, what other threats would they have to worry about? As he rushed out of the tiny cluster of trees in the center of the village, he spotted the village well and a lone shadow. He halted and stepped back into the shadow of the trees. From his hidden spot, he watched the man attempt to draw some water. His movements were jerky, like he was unsure of himself. The moon peaked from behind the clouds just long enough for Olaf to see the light glint off the sword hanging from the man’s waist. A guard! Olaf grinned. His first kill of the night! He watched as the rope slipped from the man’s hands, plunging the wooden bucket deep into the well. The man screamed in frustration and stumbled backwards from the effort. As he plonked down on the ground, he turned away from Olaf and rested his back against the well.  

Sensing the opportunity, Olaf dashed through the clearing. His feet barely touched the ground and he made absolutely no noise at all. He hung his axe back on his belt and instead, reached inside his cloak for a seax. It was a short double-edged blade with a smooth ivory hilt. As he neared his destination, he put the blade between his teeth and fell to all fours and scrambled the last few feet to the well. He hunched behind the well wall, and took a few deep breaths. Grabbing the blade with his right hand, he looked up and over the well to see if the man had moved. He ran his fingers over the ground and smiled as he felt a stone about the size of his hand. He grabbed it quickly and threw it a few feet East of the well. The guard looked up when he heard the noise. 

“Who goes there?” He stuttered. 

When no reply came, he rose shakily to his feet and tried to balance himself using the well as support. Olaf grunted softly, “Drunk on guard duty. Shameful!” 

Quickly he circled the well and came up behind the guard. With his left hand, he clamped down over the guard’s mouth and quickly drew the seax against his throat. A soft gurgling sound rose and the guard struggled before he slumped. Warm blood gushed all over Olaf and he grinned – an evil and sinister grin. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the copper-ish smell of the blood fill his nostrils. 

Olaf threw his body on the floor and turned towards the Inn. He barely took three steps when a group of drunk guards came tumbling out. They were laughing and grunting, carrying mugs of ale and chomping down on the last of their meal. They halted when they saw Olaf.  

Before they could shout and raise an alarm alerting the guards inside the Inn, two arrows whizzed through the air and logged themselves in the guards’ throats. More soft gurgles followed as the guards dropped to their knees before keeling over. As the middle guard stared at his fallen mates in disbelief, Olaf’s seax flew through the air and caught him between the eyes. He too, slumped silently to the ground, splashing in a mixture of dirt, ale and blood. 

Olaf looked behind him and grinned at the two men in tow. He nodded towards the Inn and the men nodded in return. Quietly, Olaf made his way to the front. As he neared, he ducked low and scooted around towards the closed window. He looked back and saw the two men taking their positions. Taking a deep breath, he raised himself from the ground and peeked into the Inn through cracks in the wooden shutters. He counted at least four more guards sitting at the tables, a girl in tattered clothes and tear-stained face being passed around and a forlorn looking Inn keeper sitting behind the bar. 

At the end of the Inn was another door. It was swinging gently with the wind. No one had bothered to lock it. Olaf raised four fingers and pointed to the back of the Inn. The two men nodded and made their way towards their destination. Once in position, they hooted and Olaf took that as his signal to proceed. He stood from his post at the window and then strode to the front door. He took a second to wipe the perspiration from his brow and grabbed his battle axe. Then he kicked the door open with all his strength and it clashed against the inner wall with a loud bang. The four guards quickly leapt to their feet and the girl was forgotten about. The innkeeper raised his hands in defense and ducked lower behind the bar. 

“Who goes there?” One of the guards yelled. 

“Its one of the barbarians” yelled another drawing his sword. 

“I thought we killed all the heathen bastards” said the third squinting his eyes to see better. 

“Not quite” said a strange voice with a deep accent and all four guards turned. Two arrows rushed from nocked bows hitting two men squarely in the chest. As they tumbled to the ground, Olaf rushed to the table swinging his battle axe over his head. The two standing guards fumbled with their swords, their drunken fingers slipping with the effort. Their eyes were wide open and they screamed as Olaf’s axe swiftly rained down on them. Several quick strikes later, blood and body parts was all that was left of the guards.         

*********************************** 

Agnar raced through the forest, weaving between trees. The wind picked at his short blond hair and it no longer fell delicately around his face. Instead, it flew behind him in a mass of tangles. Sword and shield in hand, he hopped over a fallen rotting tree trunk and equally deftly, ducked under a low hanging branch. Behind him, his troops followed with matched agility. Instead of clumping together, they fanned out in a single line, covering more ground between them. 

While any ordinary person might be cautious and easily spooked in a dark forest with looming trees, shadows that moved and odd noises, Agnar and his men were quite at home. 

When a tree branch swayed gently as an owl leapt of it and fluttered to another tree, none of the men stopped. Their enemy was not the winged kind. Under their feet, leaves crunched softly. Their ragged breath blew around them in a white mist. 

A soft glow loomed ahead and thick gray smoke could be seen inching its way into the dark sky. Sounds of laughter filled the air. Agnar slowed to snail’s pace and crouched behind a large tree. Within seconds, his men masked themselves within the shadows of the forest. When the air around them had stilled completely, Agnar left his shield and sword on the ground and climbed up the big tree. 

Shrouded by a particularly leafy branch, Agnar looked at the clearing that lay a few feet ahead. A huge fire roared in the center of the clearing. Ten men sat around the fire. Another stood near an old wagon, still attached to a mare. She seemed tired and her ribs poked out from under her skin. The uncovered wagon seemed to hold bits and pieces of everything; from an old three-legged stool to a scarred table, belongings wrapped tight in dirty linen sheets and a cracked mirror. The guard rummaged through these belongings and every so often, threw a wooden object of no value to him into the fire. 

A tall man with a scar across his forehead stepped out from behind a tree. In his hands, wriggled an old man. The man had a dirty cloth stuffed in his mouth and his hands were bound in front of him. A shorter, fatter guard followed. He tugged on a rope and a young lad stumbled behind him, bound and gagged just like the older man.  

The two men were tossed to their knees beside the fire. As they struggled to balance themselves, the guard with the scar spoke in a loud booming voice. 

“So you two thought ye would escape through the forest at night is it. Didn’t get very far now did ye?” 

A hooded guard threw his ale in the old prisoners face. “Ungrateful bastard. Didn’t appreciate our hospitality. Now suffer our wrath”. With that, he kicked the old prisoner in the gut. The man fell backwards, barely missing the fire. 

The young prisoner struggled against the bindings, pleading at the guards with his eyes. Tears rolled down his face as he watched his father being beaten. 

“It looks like this one has something to say” laughed the guard with the scar. He stopped and yanked the gag from the boy’s mouth. “Enlighten us please” he hissed, his voice dripping with menace and sarcasm. 

“Please don’t hurt my father. He’s sick”, the boy begged. 

“Then ye should have stayed at home”, the guard with the scar roared before slamming his fist into the young boys face. 

Agnar had seen enough. He scrambled back down from his branch. Anybody that picked on the weak and young, deserved a lesson in manners. His boyish charm disappeared and Agnar now bore a very determined look on his face. Once on the ground, he picked up his shield and sword then turned to his right and let out a low howl. Somewhere in the distance, two low howls resonated through the forest. He turned to his left and chirped like a cricket. A chirp was returned.  He looked straight ahead of him and nodded. Five men stepped out from behind the trees and joined Agnar. 

Agnar turned quickly and headed straight for the camp site. He knew if he waited any longer, the boy and his father would meet worse fates. Approaching the enemy head-on meant he no longer had to worry about being quiet. Twigs and leaves crunched loudly beneath his feet and the distant laughing stopped. 

Within minutes Agnar and his five men had broken through the forest cover and stood at the edge of the clearing. All of the guards Agnar had spotted earlier, were standing, weapons raised. Their eyes were alert searching the dark forest line for the source of the noises they had heard. When they spotted Agnar and his troops they quickly exchanged curious looks. 

The man with the scar stepped forward and spoke, “Who are ye? What are ye doing here?” 

“We've come for the boy and his father. Now let them go.” Agnar replied. 

“Yer not from around here are ye?” the man with the scar prompted. 

“No” 

The man with the scar thought for a moment and then recognition hit him like a lightning bolt. “You’re one of them. The barbarians that frequent these islands.” 

“Let th' laddie 'n' his faither go” Was Agnar’s firm reply. 

The man laughed. “What yer five against my eleven? Pick another fight boy, ye’ll lose this one.” 

“Huv a go at me” said Agnar. With that, he spread his legs, shoulder width and quickly rotated the sword several times in his hand. He dropped his shield and held the sword with both hands. Agnar slowly brought the sword to level with his forehead, placed one foot behind him and pointed the tip straight at the scarred man. 

Still laughing the scarred man matched Agnar’s stance. Not waiting for Agnar to make the first move, the scarred man rushed straight at his opponent. Both swords clanged loudly in the silence of the night. The scarred man began putting pressure on his sword and Agnar was forced back a few steps. Taking a deep breath, Agnar channeled all his strength into pushing the scarred man back. The two swords separated for the briefest of moments, which gave Agnar all the time he needed to widen the gap between the two parrying men. 

As the scarred man charged at him again, Agnar side stepped the blow and brought his sword down diagonally. As he pivoted to face his opponent, the scarred man raised his sword high and brought it down heavily on Agnar’s, pinning the boy’s sword to the ground. Each man pulled and pushed and grunted with the effort. 

Agnar relaxed the pressure on his sword and the scared man tumbled forward. Agnar then lowered his shoulder and struck the scarred man straight in the face. The scarred man tumbled backwards holding his nose. Blood trickled out from between his fingers. He hollered before charging at Agnar again. 

This time, his men charged with him. Agnar’s troops were equally ready for a fight. They stepped away from Agnar and readied themselves for the charging guards. Six against thirteen, this was not going to be a fair fight. The guards knew they outnumbered the Norse warriors and their grins reflected their confidence. 

Two of Agnar’s men snuck in South of the clearing and rushed to the boy and his father. They dragged the wounded men safely away from the fight. More of Agnar’s men stepped out from the tree line to the East and West of the clearing. The game had now dramatically changed. Forty-one against thirteen. The guards panicked. Some continued to fight, others dropped their weapons and searched for an opening to escape. 

The sound of swords clashing and men grunting and groaning filled the air. The fire danced away merrily, oblivious to the tense surroundings. Those who had surrendered, were bound and gagged, and those who had continued to fight, now lay on the ground, dead or dying. 

*********************************** 

At the other end of the village, Klaufi and his troops were going door-to-door checking for any hidden guards inside huts and enlisting old man Craig’s assistance to calm the villagers, convince them that Kieran had returned and borrow what little weapons they might have. The more villagers that stayed hidden in their huts, the lower their casualty rates. After the losses they had faced, they certainly did not need the blood of innocents on their conscience. 

As the group neared the fourth hut, Klaufi followed his procedure. The two men dressed in guards uniforms first approached the house and inquired about its residents before calling Klaufi and old man Craig to speak with the dwellers. But in this case, as soon as Kieran’s name was mentioned, the farmer at the door began shaking his head. His eyes were wide open and he brought a hand up to his mouth. A crash inside the hut drew the attention of all five men. 

Sensing trouble, old man Craig was quickly returned to the safety of the other men and Klaufi stepped away from the front door. In that moment, a drunken guard stepped out from behind a cracked door. His eyes swept over the two guards and the old farmer. 

“Who are ye? I don’t recognize yer faces. Where did ye get those uniforms?” he barked. 

When he got no response, he took a few steps forward, unsheathed his sword and tried again. “Step into the light!” 

The two guards turned from the door and left. The man inside the house rushed out, intent on following them and getting the answers he sought. As he neared the threshold, Klaufi stepped in front of him, sword drawn. He sliced into the man’s abdomen with one quick, smooth motion. Blood and guts came pouring out and the man crumbled to the floor. 

“Git rid of the body” Klaufi ordered his men. Quickly, they ran up to the hut and dragged the still twitching body into the shadows.  

“Are you alright?” Klaufi asked the old farmer. 

“Father” screamed a young girl as she ran out of the inner room. She fell into the arms of the old farmer. Both father and daughter sobbed from relief. Klaufi slowly removed his cloak and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. “It's alright little one. You’re safe now.” he whispered. 

“Give her a hot meal and something to drink” Klaufi said to the old farmer. 

“I don’t know how to thank ye” cried the old farmer. He grabbed both of Klaufi’s hands and shook them. “Ye came just in time.” Fresh tears poured down the man’s face. 

“Ye don’t have to” replied Klaufi smiling. “Here take this”. He handed the old farmer an old cloth with some bread and meat in it. 

“Let’s move faster” Klaufi ordered his men. “We have too many houses to cover and these bastards have to be stopped!” 

As the words left Klaufi’s mouth, two seax’s flew through the air. One caught in the doorframe with a loud thud. The other embedded itself deep into Klaufi’s shoulder.