Eorling Mead Hall

[Folwren]

Thornden struggled on, pushing through the underbrush, and running as fast as he could manage on the narrow, choked path. Finally, he came to a heavy curtain of grape vines that blocked the path. He stopped for a moment, his heart pounding with tension, excitement, and exertion. He listened carefully while he stood there. On the other side of this curtain of thick vines and leaves, he knew there was an opening of ground. Little underbrush grew there, and the main remains of the ruins still stood in that area. Once he stepped out, he would be in easy view of whoever watched.

But it was not only for that reason that he stood listening so intently. He heard the sound of leaves crackling and branches snapping. It seemed to him that something heavy was being dragged across the sound. In such a circumstance, he could not help but think that it could easily be some body just recently killed.

The noises stopped and a man spoke. Thornden did not recognize the voice, nor the rough accent. “Blimey, but this thing’s ‘eavy! We sh'd just kill'im! ‘E’s no good to us!”

“Don't complain,” came the curt answer. “Come on, you’ve rested enough.”

Then started the labor again. There was less noise, for they were apparently beyond the bracken and underbrush, but still Thornden knew that they were dragging something, and he knew it was a body, though not a dead one.

He also knew that there were two outlaws out there, and there was only one of him, and he really only had one workable hand. He drew a deep breath and lifted his right hand to look at the dagger. It was a clumsy weapon, but it was sharp and would do it’s business, as he well knew by the blood still on the blade and the memory of its recent owner. Then he lifted his left hand and looked at the curled fingers and the blood and green of the leaves that showed beneath and between them. He’d have to do his best and that was all.

With a sweep of his left arm, Thornden drew back the vines and ducked through, entering the glade almost silently. Almost directly before him two men were struggling with the massive burden of an unconscious Lefun and Ritun. Thornden ran forward mutely, hoping to reach them before they noticed him. He was almost upon them when one of them turned and lifted his head. He gave a warning yell, and dropped Rilef’s ankle while dodging back, away from Thornden’s swinging arm. He nearly escaped the blade, and though he escaped immediate death, the knife sliced his chest and his shoulder.

Thornden did not halt his forward momentum and he passed between the two outlaws, leaping over Rilef’s body. He turned about, lifting the knife in his hand, and hurled it towards the second, unwounded villain. Unfortunately, Thornden knew little of knife throwing and the blade spun crookedly, hitting the outlaw with little damage.

In a flash, Thornden’s sword was drawn. The sun glinted briefly on the cold steel. A swift glance at the first man he had wounded told him that he would be easier to overcome in the end, so he turned his attention to the second man, with the minor wound.

This fellow now had his own weapons in his hands he had a sword in his right hand and a long knife in his left. He looked a dangerous adversary as Thornden stood considering him.

They stood still for a moment, measuring each other up. Then the outlaw lunged forward. He feinted to one side with his sword and then swung about to the other. Thornden turned the blow and answered it with one of his own. Then they were locked in a mighty battle of flashing and slashing swords. It was fierce and hard and quick, and in a moment, they stumbled back from each other. The outlaw was waving his left hand in the air. His knife had fallen to the earth and blood streamed from his hand.

Thornden’s body tensed to spring forward again, when the other outlaw stopped him.

“Hold fast, or I’ll slit his throat.”

Thornden stopped and turned to look. The man had a dagger blade pressed against Ritun’s throat and Thornden cursed himself inwardly for not killing him sooner. The outlaw himself was badly hurt, Thornden saw now. He would not be able to fight Thornden, but he could stop him after all.

Thornden’s tensed and ready muscles relaxed. His sword lowered half a foot and he took a step backwards. In that moment, the outlaw he had been fighting, leaped forward, hoping to catch Thornden off his guard. Instinct that had been instilled in him by training caused Thornden to fight back immediately. He dodged to the side, and his hand went up and then down again in a diagonal stroke. He got behind the other’s guard and the blade went deep.

Quicker than thought, he spun about - pulling the sword after him, out of the other’s body - and ran the few paces towards the other outlaw kneeling by Rilef. The man’s hand had paused and he hadn’t killed Ritun left. He seemed shocked by his companion’s sudden death, and his hand was perhaps arrested for another reason, too. Either way, it was too late. Thornden knocked him backwards away from the twins and while he still lay on his back, Thornden’s sword tip came to rest on his throat.

“Now,” Thornden said, panting a little, “drop the knife and stand up. Slowly, man. Slowly.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” the man asked.

“No,” Thornden said. “I’m going to let the king’s officials do that. . .if that wound doesn’t kill you. I hope you don’t poison your daggers because that belonged to one of your companions.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was running as quickly as he could, round about. He had to get between the bandits and the boys. But that would only drag things out as he and the boys became more weary while the outlaws cagily waited for them to weaken. No, there had to be a better plan. It had been easy to tackle that one outlaw back by the tower, but this was deep woods and --- Eodwine stopped running and ducked down low. He had thought of something. It was very risky, but could be very decisive. Why not let the outlaws think they had the boys within their grasp? He had a hunch that they wouldn't kill them right away. Make bait of the boys. Garstan and Stigend would no doubt foreswear their liegemanship to him, but he couldn't think of another way to save them.

He listened. He could hear the outlaws.

"F'rget the big 'un! He's too much trouble! The two lads'll give us plenty o' game though, eh?"

Harsh laughter followed these words, and then the outlaws were running west, crashing through the brush. Eodwine gave stealthy chase, aided by the outlaws' recklessness.

~*~

It was not long before he heard them.

"Now don't think ye c'n hide from us b'hind that ol' tree. We knows y'r there."

Eodwine slowed and crept stealthily. He could imagine that the boys feared that he had left them to their fates. It was a hard thing to do to them, but he couldn't let them know he was close by either, or they might give him away.

Eodwine looked above him. A great old beech tree grew beside him, and must have been planted when this place was not a ruin, for its branches, big as a giant's arms, spread far in all directions in the middle of this wood. As soundlessly as he could, Eodwine used the lowest branches as steps, and walked on top of a branch that reached over the outlaws. Luckily, there was a little bit of undergrowth beneath the tree so that it was easy for Eodwine to see without being seen. Peering through the leaves, he watched one of the pair take off his belt and start handling it like a whip. The other bandied a pair of knives before him like he was cutting a slice of meat off a hock.

"Little rabbit caught his foot in a snare did he?" the knifer sniggered. "Wonder how it feels to be et slice by slice, my little ones, eh?" His fellow cackled and cracked his makeshift whip. Eodwine wondered what the outlaw meant and took a closer look. Cnebba was lying in an odd position and Garmund was huddled over him. This was not good!

The outlaws were within two yards of the boys, whose heads could be seen from Eodwine's vantage point over the edge of an old rotting and mossy log. Cnebba's face was twisted with pain. Garmund was looking out over the log, his teeth gritted and his brow knotted. That boy has courage! thought Eodwine. The outlaws came a step closer, hooting and mocking at the boys with their knives and whip. The boys were tensing. But Garmund was not fleeing.

Suddenly with a boyish roar Garmund leaped out from behind the log and rushed the whipper. In the same instant Eodwine dropped from the branch, legs and arms spread wide to knock both outlaws down at once. Garmund hit the whipper in the legs. The whipper brought his belt up for a swing and the knifer bent down to cut the boy. Eodwine hoped desperately that he wouldn't injure Garmund. Neither blow fell, for the outlaws crumpled beneath Eodwine. He landed on his feet with a spring of his knees and then stamped on the knifer's wrist. The knifer dropped the dagger while Eodwine stomped on his other wrist, then kicked him in the jaw. Only then did Eodwine pick up the daggers.

Suddenly the whipper was howling. Eodwine heard what sounded like a little dog growling in a high pitch, gnawing on its enemy for all it was worth. Garmund had sunk his teeth into the man's leg just above the ankle. The outlaw scrabbled at the boy in vain. Eodwine finished him off with a kick to the head.

Garmund rose to his feet and glared at the whipper with the eyes of one who had bested his foe. "Well done, Garmund! Now see how Cnebba's doing."

"Aye, lord," Garmund said proudly, then turned and went over to Cnebba. While Garmund was busy looking over Cnebba's twisted ankle, Eodwine quietly dispatched the two outlaws, slicing their throats.