Contact (Crossover Series Book 2)

by Walt Socha

  Chapter 33

  August 23

  The sun on the eastern horizon warmed Ragnar’s face, thwarting the bite of the mountain wind screaming through the pass.

  “Hel’s wind,” the warrior at his side said in a low voice.

  “It blows on our enemies also.” Ragnar did not turn but kept his eyes on the receding shadows that flowed east to meet the rising sun.

  “Will we engage today?”

  Ragnar hesitated, weighing first blood versus caution versus curiosity. “I wish to watch our Ur Neill friends fight.” And to determine if they could. And if Cormac gained a few coins from their wager, so be it. He’d rather have his men alive than gold weighing down his pouch. And the hard iron tempted him. He turned to the warrior. “But to warm your bones, run to camp and bring additional food and drink. Use the thralls. But leave Orla and one other to attend to the captive and to feed the guards.” He paused. “And warn them to watch our captive carefully. The strangers may try to rescue him.”

  As the warrior started down the mountainside, Ragnar nodded to another man. “Find Snorri. I want to talk with him about our attack.”

  As the second man ran off, Ragnar returned his gaze to the brightening valley.

  * * *

  A hand appeared in front of Larry holding a steaming mug. “Thanks,” he said, accepting the tea from Keelin.

  “Did you even sleep?”

  He met her eyes. “Some.”

  The Eire grandmother nodded once before returning to the cook fire, where a copper kettle rested above the flames.

  Larry watched her retreating back for several breaths before shifting his gaze to the east. Over the top of the dark forest, the soft slopes blazed emerald under the rising sun. Nearer, the break in the forest exposed the dark ribbon of the river whose mist was already dissipating.

  Damn, it was a beautiful country if one could forget the killing. Or the heart-pounding thrill of bleeding out some asshole in battle followed by the mind-dulling emptiness when it was over.

  Trying to clear his mind of anticipation and dread, Larry shook his head.

  “Going to fall off.” A figure appeared at his side, a steaming mug in a hand wrapped in cloth against the still-chilly air.

  “Just so it ain’t cut off.”

  Fergus choked off a laugh. “Events going to hit your proverbial fan today?”

  Larry sipped at his tea. The minty concoction cleared the taste of sleep and yesterday’s meals from his mouth. “I’m thinking our friends will need another day to get in place.” He turned to face his son. “But I’d hit sooner. Even if not ready.”

  “So, in case the Northmen or Ur Neill think like you, we ought to be ready now.” Fergus broke eye contact and stared at the western mountains. “I thought I saw reflected light.”

  “Probably armor.” Larry turned back to face the rising sun. “If they’re working together and if I was doing the planning, I’d split up. So maybe the Ur Neill will appear from the east.”

  “Look.” Fergus pointed toward the river.

  “Shit,” Larry said as a lone man broke from the far riverbank and splashed in the river. Larry set down his mug, stepped toward the man, and broke into a run. The sound of Fergus’s footsteps followed. By the time they reached the water, the man was stepping out of the water, soaked from the waist down. Larry stopped in front of the heaving man, waiting for him to catch his breath.

  “Men moving up Brocc’s river,” the man said between breaths. “Must have spent the night at the farmstead and left with the sun.”

  Larry turned his head to meet Fergus’s eyes.

  His son nodded. “My men and I will meet them.” He turned to the runner. “How many and how far?”

  “Several dozen at least. And maybe four hours away.” He looked at the morning sun. “Probably three now. We only saw them as they followed the trail through an open meadow.”

  “Let’s hope they are as inept in fighting as they are in stealth.” Fergus’s mouth formed a thin line. “If they came from the abbey, then it would be just as easy to move into our valley from the south as a flanking action.”

  “So much for our plan to have the women and kids slip into the south mountains.” Larry puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled.

  “No help for it,” Fergus said. “I’ll take care of this group. Keep a careful watch to the south as well as on our Northmen in the west.”

  “Take the flintlocks.”

  “Better to leave them here?”

  “We may or may not need them. But you definitely will.” Acid pain lanced through Larry’s gut as he watched his son nod and trot back to the campfire, arms signaling his men to assemble.

  * * *

  “Scouts report at least three groups in the mountains,” Matuso said, lowering himself on the bench next to Larry and the cook fire. The old man had finally sat after pacing most of the night and into the morning. Now that Fergus and his men had disappeared into the forest, Larry had accepted his weariness. “They saw two groups of Northmen to either side of Windy Gap and a third to the north.” He gazed at the passes now lit by a sun unimpeded by clouds.

  “Anyone left at Sui Finn?” Larry said.

  “They’re back. They retreated as the third band of Northmen broke from the trees on the other side to start their climb.” As he lowered his eyes from the mountains, he could see a few of the Haven men working through katas in the middle of the hurling field. Near them, those southern refugee men who were physically able swung axes at targets of bound grasses under Marcan’s leadership. A few strides away from the men, Anya worked with Ronnat and Brona, pulverizing their own dummies with swinging staves. Nearer, leaves fluttered as a stone smacked the smaller of the leather targets. Although Matuso couldn’t see the slinger, he guessed it was probably Fennore.

  “I hate waiting.” Larry stood, turned in place and sat down. “Where is Teltina? We may hafta move out.”

  “The last of the scouts should report soon.” Matuso picked up a stick and poked at the dying embers. Probably no more cooking except to heat water. Travel food had been prepared and packed in bags sitting under a small shelter near the cook fire. In addition to food, each bag contained a small blanket and a water skin. Grab and run kits.

  He looked around their collection of huts and lean-tos. Several men meditated under the trees, packs and weapons at their side. Beyond them, Hatimu played a sorrowful tune in a minor key. In the thatched huts, a few of the women sorted and packed last minute essentials. Running through them all, Garvan and Cellach bounced leather balls with their hurleys, bumping each other in an attempt to force the other to drop their ball.

  As soon as Teltina returned, any remaining sentries would be called in and they'd decide. Flee or hold position. Matuso’s gaze moved to the mountain passes. The Northmen were up there. Just waiting in plain sight. “Any guess as to why they aren’t moving?” he asked.

  “Maybe waiting for the Ur Neill to attack first?” The big man shifted on the bench, which gave a groan. “But if Fergus stops them before they enter our valley, then I don’t know.” He looked toward the mountain passes. “But it’ll take them a couple of hours to get here once they decide to move. Maybe we ought to move the women and kids now?”

  “Teltina should be here soon.” Matuso hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. She might be a ghost when she wanted to be, but accidents happened.

  A long breath escaped Larry. “I’m worried about her and Rory.”

  * * *

  Ragnar watched the shadows creep across the valley, devouring the land in its relentless hunger. A hunger that matched his own.

  “Men are crossing the river.” Gunnarr pointed toward the middle of the valley. “From that collection of huts and fields. Heading east.”

  “Maybe the strangers go to meet Cormac.” If so, then he would attack. “How many?”

  “Too far for eyes to count,” Gunnarr said. “Hard to distinguish men from rocks in that part of the river.”

 
; “Given the original attack at Ros’s farmstead and the later encounter with the two knarrs, there are at least 60 men. So if half are moving to meet the Ur Neill, that leaves us 30 to kill.”

  “What of any Eire men with them?”

  “I do not think…” Ragnar turned at the sound of shouts.

  Along the side of the mountain, men sat wrapped in furs or wool blankets pulled tight against the wind. Weaving through them, two men pulled a stumbling figure. As the men drew closer, the figure became a woman, hands bound in front of her. The men dragged her to a stop in front of Ragnar.

  “Found this hiding among boulders.” One of the warriors pointed south. “I was looking for a peaceful place to shit out of this sarding wind. Soiled myself grabbing her. A boy ran off.”

  Gunnarr moved forward to peer at the woman’s face. “This is one of the attackers,” he said, voice low. A knife appeared in his right hand as his left reached for the woman, the stub of his small finger on that hand still raw.

  “Hold.” Ragnar thrust a hand between Gunnarr and the woman. “I would talk with her first.” He stepped in front of her. “Who are you?” Ragnar said to the woman in Eire, noting the bruised cheek on her plain face and dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

  “I live in this valley,” the woman said, eyes never leaving his face.

  “And the boy?”

  “Just a boy.” Her eyes widened, betraying her. “No threat to you.”

  “Are men searching?” Ragnar said, turning to the warrior.

  “Yes, Skati.” The man pointed to the southern end of the valley. “I have four men out. But the boy is small. He does not leave much of a track.”

  “What of the foreigners?” Ragnar said, attention back to the woman.

  “You are the foreigners.”

  Shifting his weight to his left leg, Ragnar slapped her. She staggered. “You should answer my questions or I will have Gunnarr ask them for me.”

  The woman stood, staring at Gunnarr. Ragnar turned enough to see the man’s yellow teeth exposed in a wide grin. She would not survive his questioning. Especially since she had been involved in the loss of part of his finger.

  “What of the foreigners?” Ragnar returned his gaze to the woman’s face. Fear and loathing changed into a tired resignation. She did not answer but kept her eyes unfocused.

  “Let me loosen her tongue,” Gunnarr said. “A bit skinny for my taste. But she will speak or my men will sard her to death.”

  “You probably would not understand her.” Ragnar snorted. “A bit skinny?” You mean your wife won’t…”

  A shout turned his head. Now what?

  A running man appeared on the deer trail that climbed the mountain from the west.

  Stepping away from the knot of men around the captive, Ragnar forced his face into neutrality as he waited for the messenger. As he approached, Ragnar noted that the sweating man’s wide eyes radiated fear.

  “Skati.” The man held both hands outwards, palms up and empty as he came to a halt, gasping for air.

  “What news?” Ragnar said.

  “Skati,” the man said again. In a few heartbeats, his breathing slowed but his face twitched.

  “Well?”

  “The captive has disappeared,” the messenger said, moistening his lips.

  “How?” Ragnar breathed deep.

  “One of the thralls is missing. We think she helped.”

  “Who.” Ice filled Ragnar’s gut.

  The messenger’s eyes focused on the ground. “Orla.”

  Ragnar closed his eyes, the sound of blood pounding in his ears. “Are men searching?” he asked, opening his eyes.

  “We did not want to leave the ships unguarded.”

  Ragnar stared at the man. After several more heartbeats, the messenger squared his shoulders and met Ragnar’s eyes. “A correct decision,” Ragnar said after a long pause. He turned to Gunnarr. “Take ten men and sweep along the eastern side of these mountains in the remaining hour of daylight. Take overnight supplies and continue tomorrow. I’ll start a search on the valley side at first light.”

  “The men are restless.” Gunnarr shook his head. “She is just a thrall. You will not be able to keep her when your wife Birgit arrives. And the captive is wounded. He will not travel far.”

  “They both know our numbers and the location of our ships.” Ragnar frowned at his captain. A good man, but he gave no thought for tomorrow. “We will battle. But when the advantage is ours. I am in no hurry for the men to drink with the gods.” He barked a laugh. “That will happen soon enough.”

  Gunnarr stared for several breaths before nodding, a grin softening his face. “That it will.” He narrowed his eyebrows as his eyes shifted toward the captive. “What of this woman.”

  “You can play later. Gather your men and search.”

  After Gunnarr left, Ragnar turned to the two men who had caught the woman. “Where is your post?”

  “Surveillance from the ridge to the south.”

  “Return and take the captive with you. The men here will be moving out soon. Keep her alive for further questioning.”

  Chapter 34

  August 24

  A single chirp interrupted Larry’s thoughts of death and failure. If the birds were up, he might as well give up trying to sleep.

  The light drizzle, not much more than a low cloud, bathed Sanctuary, releasing the odor of rich humus. Larry buckled on his belt, the slap of his sword and axe sheaths against his thighs drowning out the solitary chips of birds greeting the day. The crackle of burning wood hinted at water heating at the cook fire.

  After ducking into the forest to relieve himself, he detoured to the river to splash the lack of sleep from his eyes. At the cook fire, a hot mug of tea awaited him. “Thanks,” he said, sipping the blend of nettle and mint. “Any activity?”

  “Been quiet,” Brynjar said. The Icelandic warrior pushed a broken branch into the growing fire. “Guards are late in reporting, probably due to the cloud cover. Dark as my mother’s womb out there.” He nodded toward the invisible depths of the forest.

  As the aroma of reheated porridge triggered Larry’s stomach to gurgle, a figure broke from the trees, hand and fingers waving. Hand worrying the pommel of his sword, Larry stepped forward to meet the dark wraith. And froze as the dancing light from the cook fire illuminated Rory’s features.

  “Teltina?” Larry asked, his hands moving to clasp the youth’s shoulders. “Where is she?”

  Rory’s fingers flashed and the whites of his eyes blazed from his mud-covered face. Gasps and grunts added to the boy’s distress.

  Cellach pushed through a growing crowd to stand at Rory’s side.

  “What is he saying?” Larry asked.

  “Men. His mother.” The boy started shaking. “No understand the rest.”

  Fuck, the boy was slipping into PTSD. “Hold, I’ll get Garvan.” Larry turned and jogged to one of the wattle and daub huts that circled Sanctuary’s common area. “Garvan,” he called, voice booming in the quiet of the pre-dawn day. Faces appeared. A small body stepped forward.

  “I need your help.” Picking up the boy, Larry ran back to the cook fire.

  Rory’s fingers danced as Larry lowered Garvan to the ground. Garvan’s own fingers moved. “Teltina’s been captured.” After a few heartbeats of fingers signing back and forth, he turned to Larry. “There were three warriors. Teltina told him to run.”

  Rory looked at Larry, the edges of the youth’s mouth drooping. After a few breaths, he broke his gaze and lowered his head.

  Larry opened his mouth. Closed it, grabbed the boy, and drew him into an embrace. “You did good to come tell us. You could not fight off three warriors.”

  Around him, footsteps sounded and more bodies appeared.

  “What’s happening?” Jessie asked.

  Larry looked up. “Teltina...” His voice failed.

  “Taken by warriors.” Garvan’s voice broke.

  Jessie met Larry’s gaze. “I’l
l gather the men.”

  “Wait.” Larry untangled Rory from his arms and stooped to kneel before him. “Where did this happen?”

  The boy’s fingers twisted in the air.

  “Near the mountain top,” Garvan translated. “Uphill from his home.” He pointed southwest.

  Larry stood, still holding on to Rory. “Please take him,” he said to Jessie. “I’m going now.” Voices drowned out Jessie’s reply. Warriors surrounded Larry, all clamoring to accompany him. “A single man can slip through the forest unnoticed,” Larry said, resting a hand on Rory’s head. “Better that I go alone.” The boy’s body shook.

  “You’re right about not too many bodies.” Jessie moved to block Larry. “But take at least a couple of us. You don’t know what you’re going to find.”

  Larry froze, his eyes locked on Jessie. “You have to lead here.” He looked around at the gathering men. “I’ll take two men. We’ll go for speed and stealth; no armor, swords and axes only. Watch over Rory.” He turned and jogged to his hut. Behind him, he heard Jessie assigning the men who were to accompany him.

  He looked up from his pack at the sound of footsteps.

  “What can I do?” Deirdre asked.

  Larry looked back toward the crowd. The three boys stood nearby looking forlorn and forgotten. “Please spend time with Rory. He needs comfort. And the other two.” He met Deirdre’s gaze. “I must go.” He scanned the still growing crowd. Shit. “And please find Agnes.”

  She hesitated, nodded, and trotted toward the boys.

  As he shoved supplies into his backpack, images of Teltina in the Northmen’s hands iced his blood.

  * * *

  The light rain had burned off by the time the sun had climbed halfway to zenith. Sweat beaded Larry’s face as he glanced upwards to check the time. Hours had passed. Hours during which anything could have happened to Teltina. He climbed the rock face, clawing toward a better view. Behind him, Gatanu followed. Above, a single bird alarm betrayed Kequit’s movements.