While Cormac was taking in all salient points, his quick ears caught a stealthy footstep. Straining his eyes, he glimpsed the hint of. a movement under the thick trees. Beckoning Hakon, he crept silently forward, dirk in hand. The brooding shadows masked all, but Cormac's wild beast instinct, that comes to men who live by their wits, told him that someone or something was gliding through the darkness close at hand. A twig snapped faintly some little distance away, and then, a moment later, he saw a vague shape detach itself from the blackness of the trees and drift swiftly toward the skalli. Even in the dimness of the starlight the creature seemed abnormal and uncanny.
"Anzace!" hissed Hakon, electrified. "He was hiding in the trees, watching the cell! Stop him, quickly!"
Cormac's grip on his arm stayed him from springing out recklessly in pursuit.
"Silence!" hissed the Gael. "He knows you are free, but he may not know we know it. We have yet time before he reaches Rognor."
"But Tarala!" exclaimed Hakon fiercely. "I'll not leave her alone here now. Go if you will-I'll steal her away now, or die here!"
Cormac glanced quickly toward the skalli. Anzace had vanished around the corner. Apparently he was making for the front entrance.
"Lead to the girl's chamber," growled Cormac. "It's a desperate chance but Rognor might cut her throat when he learns we've fled, before we could return and rescue her."
Hakon and his companion, emerging from the shadows, ran swiftly across the open starlit space which parted the forest from the skalli. The young Norseman led the way to a heavily barred window near the rear end of the long, rambling hall. Crouching there in the shadows of the building, he rapped cautiously on the bars, three times. Almost instantly Tarala's white face was framed dimly in the aperture.
"Hakon!" came the passionate whisper. "Oh, be careful! Old Eadna is in the room with me. She is asleep, but-"
"Stand back," whispered Hakon, raising his sword. "I'm going to hew these bars apart-"
"The clash of metal will wake every carle on the island," grunted Cormac. "We have a few minutes leeway while Anzace is telling his tale to Rognor. Let you not throw it away."
"But how else-?"
"Stand away," growled the Gael, gripping a bar in each hand and bracing his feet and knees against the wall. Hakon's eyes widened as he saw Cormac arch his back and throw every ounce of his incredible frame into the effort. The young Viking saw the great muscles writhe and ripple along the Gael's arms, shoulders and legs; the veins stood out on Cormac's temples, and then, before the astounded eyes of the watchers the bars bent and gave way, literally torn from their sockets. A dull, rending crash resulted, and in the room someone stirred with a startled exclamation.
"Quick, through the window!" snapped Cormac fiercely, galvanized back into dynamic action in spite of the terrific strain of his feat.
Tarala flung one limb over the shattered sill-then there sounded a low, fierce exclamation behind her and a quick rush. A pair of thick, clutching hands closed on the girl's shoulders-and then, twisting about, Tarala struck a heavy blow. The hands went limp and there was the sound of a falling body. In another instant the British girl was out of the window and in the arms of her lover.
"There!" she gasped breathlessly, half sobbing, throwing aside the heavy wine goblet with which she had knocked her guard senseless. "That pays old Eadna back for some of the spankings she gave me!"
"Haste!" rapped Cormac, urging the pair toward the forest. "The whole steading will be roused in a moment-"
Already lights were flaring and Rognor's bull voice was heard bellowing. In the shadows of the trees Cormac halted an instant.
"How long will it take you to reach your men in the hills and return here?"
"Return here?"
"Yes."
"Why-an hour and a half at the utmost."
"Good!" snapped the Gael. "Conceal your men on yonder side of the clearing and wait until you hear this signal-" And he cautiously made the sound of a night bird thrice repeated.
"Come to me-alone-when you hear that sound-and take care to avoid Rognor and his men as you come-"
"Why-he'll most certainly wait until morning before he begins searching the island."
Cormac laughed shortly. "Not if I know him. He'll be out with all his men combing the woods tonight. But we've wasted too much time-see, the steading is a-swarm with armed warriors. Get your Jutes back here as soon as you may. I'm for Wulfhere."
Cormac waited until the girl and her lover had vanished in the shadows, then he turned and ran fleetly and silently as the beast for which he was named. Where the average man would have floundered and blundered through the shadows, caroming into trees and tripping over bushes, Cormac sped lightly and easily, guided partly by his eyes, mainly by his unerring instinct. A lifetime in the forests and on the seas of the wild northern and eastern countries had given him the thews, wits and endurance of the fierce beasts that roamed there.
Behind him he heard shouts, clashing of arms and a bloodthirsty voice roaring threats and blasphemies. Evidently Rognor had discovered that both his birds had flown. These sounds grew fainter as he rapidly increased the distance between, and presently the Gael heard the low lapping of waves against the sand bars. As he approached the hiding-place of his allies, he slackened his pace and went more cautiously. His Danish friends lacked somewhat of his ability to see in the dark, and the Gael had no wish to stop an arrow intended for an enemy.
He halted and sounded the low pitched call of the wolf. Almost instantly came an answer, and he went forward with more assurance. Soon a vague huge figure rose in the shadows in front of him and a rough voice accosted him.
"Cormac-by Thor, we had about decided you failed to trick them-"
"They are slow witted fools," answered the Gael. "But I know not if my plan shall succeed. We are only some seventy to over three hundred."
"Seventy-why-?"
"We have some allies now-you know Hakon, Rognor's mate?"
"Aye."
"He has turned against his chief and now moves against him with fifteen Jutes-or will shortly. Come, Wulfhere, order out the warriors. We go to throw the dice of chance again. If we lose, we gain an honorable death; if we win, we gain a goodly long ship, and you-vengeance!"
"Vengeance!" murmured Wulfhere softly. His fierce eyes gleamed in the starlight and his huge hand locked like iron about the handle of his battle-axe. A red-bearded giant was the Dane, as tall as Cormac and more heavily built. He lacked something of the Gael's tigerish litheness but he made up for that in oak-and-iron massiveness. His horned helmet increased the barbaric wildness of his appearance.
"Out of your dens, wolves!" he called into the darkness behind him. "Out! No more skulking for Wulfhere's killers-we go to feed the ravens. Osric-Halfgar-Edric-Athelgard-Aslaf-out, wolves, the feast is ready!"
As if born from the night and the shadows of the brooding trees, the warriors silently took shape. There were few words spoken and the only sounds were the occasional rattle of a belt chain or the rasp of a swinging scabbard. Single file they trailed out behind their leaders, and Cormac, glancing back, saw only a sinuous line of great, vague forms, darker shadows amid the shadows, with a swaying of horns above. To his imaginative Celtic mind it seemed that he led a band of horned demons through the midnight forest.
At the crest of a small rise, Cormac halted so suddenly that Wulfhere, close behind, bumped into him. The Gael's steel fingers closed on the Viking's arm, halting his grumbled question. Ahead of them came a sudden murmer and a rattle of weapons, and now lights shone through the trees.
"Lie down!" hissed Cormac, and Wulfhere obeyed, growling the order back to the men behind. As one man, they prostrated themselves and lay silently. The noise grew louder swiftly, the tramp of many men. Presently into view came a motley horde of men, waving torches as they scanned all sides of the sullen forest, whose menacing darkness the torches but accentuated. They were following a dim trail which cut across Cormac's line of march. In front of them str
ode Rognor, his face black with passion, his eyes terrible. He gnawed his beard as he strode, and his great sword trembled in his hand. Close behind him came his picked swordsmen in a compact, immobile-faced clump, and behind them the rest of the carles strung out in a straggling horde.
At the sight of his enemy Wulfhere shivered as with a chill. Under Cormac's restraining hand the great thews of his arm swelled and knotted into ridges of iron.
"A flight of arrows, Cormac," he urged in a passionate whisper, his voice heavy with hate. "Let's loose a rain of shafts into them and then lash in with the blades-"
"No, not now!" hissed the Gael. "There are nearly three hundred men with Rognor. He is playing into our hands and we must not lose the chance the gods have given us! Lie still and let them pass!"
Not a sound betrayed the presence of the fifty-odd Danes as they lay like the shadow of Doom above the slope. The Norsemen passed at right angles and vanished in the forest beyond without having seen or heard anything of the men whose fierce eyes watched them. Cormac nodded grimly. He had been right when he assumed that Rognor would not wait for the dawn before combing the island for his captive and her abductor. Here in this forest, where fifty-odd men could escape the eyes of the searchers, Rognor could scarcely have hoped to find the fugitives.
But the fury that burned in the Norseman's brain would not allow him to keep still while those who defied him were still at liberty. It was not in a Viking to sit still when fired with rage, even though action were useless. Cormac knew these strange, fierce people better than they knew themselves.
Not until the clash of steel had died out in the forest beyond, and the torchlights had become mere fire-flies glimpsed occasionally through the trees, did Cormac give the order to advance. Then at double quick time they hastened on, until they saw more lights ahead of them, and presently, crouching beneath the tall trees at the edge of the clearing, looked out on the steading of Rognor the Red. The main skalli and many of the smaller buildings were alight but only a few warriors were seen. Evidently Rognor had taken most of his carles with him on his useless chase.
"What now, Cormac?" said Wulfhere.
"Hakon should be here," answered Cormac.
Even as he opened his mouth to give the signal agreed upon, a carle rounded the corner of a stable close by, carrying a torch. The watchers saw him alter his leisurely pace suddenly and glance fixedly in their direction. Some motion in the deep shadows had attracted his attention.
"What cursed luck!" hissed Wulfhere. "He's coming straight for us. Edric-lose me an arrow-"
"No," muttered Cormac, "never kill, Wulfhere, save when it is necessary. Wait!"
The Gael faded back into the darkness like a phantom. The carle came straight for the forest edge, waving his torch slightly, curious, but evidently not suspicious. Now he was under the trees and his out-thrust fagot shone full on Wulfhere, where the huge Dane stood in grim silence, motionless as a statue.
"Rognor!" The flickering light was illusive; the carle saw only a red-bearded giant. "Back so soon? Have you caught-?"
The sentence broke off abruptly as he saw the red beards and fierce, unfamiliar faces of the silent men ranged behind Wulfhere; his gaze switched back to the chief and his eyes flared with sudden horror. His lips parted, but at that instant an iron arm hooked about his throat, strangling the threatened yell. Wulfhere knocked the torch from his hand and stamped it out, and in the darkness the carle was disarmed and bound securely with his own harness.
"Speak low and answer my questions," sounded a sinister whisper at his ear. "How many weapon-men are there left at the steading?"
The carle was brave enough in open battle, but the suddenness of the surprise had unnerved him, and here in the darkness, surrounded by his ruthless hereditary foes, with the demonic Gael muttering at his shoulder, the Norseman's blood turned to ice.
"Thirty men remain," he answered.
"Where are they?"
"Half of them are in the skalli. The rest are in the huts."
"Good enough," grunted the Gael. "Gag him and bring him along with us. Now wait here until I find Hakon."
He gave the cry of a sleepy bird, thrice repeated, and waited a moment. The answer came drifting back from the woods on the other side of the clearing.
"Stay here," ordered the Gael, and melted from the sight of Wulfhere and his Danes like a shadow.
Cautiously he made his way around the fringe of the forest, keeping well hidden in the trees, and presently a slight rustling noise ahead of him made him aware that a body of men lurked before him. He sounded the signal again, and presently heard Hakon whisper a sibilant warning. Behind the young Viking the Gael made out the vague forms of his warriors.
"By the gods," muttered Cormac impatiently, "you make enough noise to wake Caesar. Surely the carles had investigated but that they thought you a herd of buffalo-who is this?"
By Hakon's side was a slim figure, clad in mail and armed with a sword, but strangely out of place among the giant warriors.
"Tarala," answered Hakon. "She would not stay hidden in the hills-so I found a corselet that she could wear and-"
Cormac cursed fervently. "Well-well. Now attend me closely. See you yon hut-the one wherein you were confined? Well, we are going to set fire to it."
"But, man," exclaimed Hakon, "the flame will bring Rognor on the run!"
"Exactly; that is what I wish. Now when the fire brings the carles running, you and your Jutes sally from the forest and fall upon them. Cut down as many as you can, but the moment they rally and make head against you, fall back into the stables, which you can easily do. If you work it right, you should do this without losing a man. Then, once inside the stable, bar and bolt the doors and hold it against them. They will not set fire to it, because many fine horses are there, and you with your men can hold it easily against thirty."
"But what of you and your Danes?" protested Hakon. "Are we to bear all the brunt and danger, while-"
Cormac's hand shot out and his steely fingers sank fiercely in Hakon's shoulder.
"Do you trust me or do you not?" he snarled. "By the blood of the gods, are we to waste the night in argument? Do you not see that so long as Rognor's men think they have only you to deal with, the surprise will be triply effective when Wulfhere strikes? Worry not-when the time comes my Danes will drink blood aplenty."
"Well enough," agreed Hakon, convinced by the dynamic impact of the Gael's will, "but you must have Tarala with you, out of harm's way for the time-"
"Never!" cried the girl, stamping her small foot. "I shall be at your side, Hakon, as long as we both live. I am the daughter of a British prince and I can wield a sword as well as any of your men!"
"Well," Cormac grinned thinly, "easy to see who'll be the real ruler in your family-but come, we have no time to waste. Leave her here with your men for now."
As they glided through the shadows, Cormac repeated his plans in a low voice, and soon they stood at the point where the forest most nearly approached the hut that served as Rognor's prison. Warily they stole from the trees and swiftly ran to the hut. A large tree stood just without the door and as they passed under it, something bumped heavily against Cormac's face. His quick hand grasped a human foot and, looking up in surprise, he made out a vague figure swaying limply to and fro above him.
"Your jailor!" he grunted. "That was ever Rognor's way, Hakon-when in anger, hang the first man handy. A poor custom-never kill except when necessary."
The logs of the hut were dry, with much bark still on them. A few seconds' work with flint and steel and a thin wisp of flame caught the shredded fibre and curled up the wall.
"Back to your men, now," muttered Cormac, "and wait until the carles are swarming about the huts. Then hack straight through them and gain the stables."
Hakon nodded and darted away. A few minutes more found Cormac back with his own men, who were muttering restlessly as they watched the flames eat their way up the wall of the hut. Suddenly a shout sounded from the skalli.
Men came pouring out of the main hall and the huts, some fully armed and wide awake, some gaping and half clad as though just awakened from a sound sleep. Behind them peered the women and slaves. The men snatched buckets of water and ran for the hut and in a moment the scene was one of the usual confusion attendant to a fire. The carles jostled each other, shouted useless advice and made a vain attempt to stem the flame which now leaped roaring up through the roof and curled high in a blaze that was sure to be seen by Rognor wherever he was.
And in the midst of the turmoil there sounded a fierce medley of yells and a small, compact body of men crashed from the forest and smote the astonished carles like a thunderbolt. Hacking and hewing right and left, Hakon and his Jutes cleft their way through the bewildered Norsemen, leaving a wake of dead and dying behind them.
Wulfhere trembled with eagerness and behind him his Danes snarled and tensed like hunting dogs straining at the leash.
"How now, Cormac," cried the Viking chief, "shall we not strike a blow? My axe is hungry!"
"Be patient, old sea-wolf," grinned Cormac savagely. "Your axe shall drink deep; see, Hakon and his Jutes have gained the stable and shut the doors."
It was true. The Norsemen had recovered from their surprise and prepared to turn on their attackers with all the fury that characterized their race, but before they could make any headway, Hakon and his men had disappeared inside the stable whence came the neighing and stamping of frightened horses.
This stable, built to withstand the inroads of hunger-maddened wolves and the ravages of a Baltic winter, was a natural fortress, and against its heavy panels the axes of the carles thundered in vain. The only way into the building was through the windows. The heavy wooden bars that guarded these were soon hacked away, but climbing through them in the teeth of the defenders' swords was another. After a few disastrous attempts, the survivors drew off and consulted with each other. As Cormac had reasoned, burning the stable was out of the question because of the blooded horses within. Nor was a flight of arrows through the windows logical. All was dark inside the stable and a chance flown shaft was more likely to hit a horse than a man. Outside, however, the whole steading was lit like day by the burning hut; the Jutes were not famed as archers, but there were a few bows among Hakon's men and these did good execution among the men outside.
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