Contact (Crossover Series Book 2)

by Walt Socha

  Teltina had headed southwest. The Northmen must have spread along the mountain crests far enough to intercept her. Flanking them perhaps. Worry about that after he found her.

  He took a shuddering breath. What would he find?

  “Look.” Gatanu pulled himself up level with Larry and pointed.

  Teltina’s small valley—not more than a fold in the main valley of Sanctuary—followed the small stream up to a dip in the mountain crests, about three miles south of Windy Gap. There, small dots shifted position. The hollowness in Larry’s gut deepened. “The Northmen are flanking us.”

  “We have more problems.” A few feet above them, Kequit stood at the top of the outcrop of sandstone. He looked southeast.

  Larry puffed up the last few strides of ground. Squinted in the direction of Kequit’s outstretched arm. “You’re gonna hafta tell me what you see.” It was a toss up what was worse, his eyes or his knees.

  “Men along that slope. Just above the edge of the forest. At first, I thought they were deer. Maybe more Ur Neill?”

  Larry froze. Sanctuary was flanked from all sides. West and southwest by the Northmen. East and southeast by the Ur Neill. North was water and Northmen ships. “Kequit, you let Fergus know. He’s somewhere near the east pass. Try Bald Hill. Gatanu, you go back to Sanctuary. I don’t know what to suggest.”

  “And you?” Gatanu’s face tightened. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You must warn Sanctuary.” Larry stretched out a hand. Clasped Gatanu’s in a vice grip. “I’m going after Teltina.”

  “May the old and new gods be with you.” Kequit added another grip of pain to Larry’s hand. Each man nodded and disappeared. Larry faced the small pass at the head of Teltina’s valley. Whoever had captured her may still be up there.

  * * *

  Fergus’s eyes unfocused as he absorbed the scout’s report. Thirty to forty Ur Neill warriors only an hour away. Nineteen men to stop them. How?

  Fergus closed his eyes, rubbed his face, and then opened them. He looked around, hoping for inspiration. Below, the thick trees blocked sight of the trail. Above, the broken rocks along the sides of Bald Hill impeded movement. But maybe the broken landscape could even the odds.

  “Two sets of five men.” He transferred his attention to the men surrounding him. “Not the flintlocks. Set up a quick route from within the forest, across the trail, and back up to here. One man every twenty strides or so among the trees. The first man gets the Ur Neills’ attention, shoots, and retreats past the second man. That one looses an arrow and joins the first retreating past the third, and so on. Continue the pattern uphill. We’ll wait for you there.”

  “Disunu, lead the first group.” Fergus pointed downhill to the dense forest. “And Ligasu, take the second group. Keep away from each other. I want ten dead Ur Neill before you leave the forest.” He glanced up at the sun high overhead before returning his attention to the men. “Let’s have them in full pursuit when they break into the open. Hopefully they will be partially blinded by the noon sun.”

  As the ten men slipped into the trees, Fergus turned to the remaining men. “Move uphill. Don’t fire until our men have retreated past us. Go for gut shots. No time for clean kills.”

  The remaining men stared at Fergus. After a pause, several nodded.

  “How much gunpowder?” he asked, looking at the two men loading flintlocks.

  “Maybe a half-dozen shots each.” The two men looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Yeah, we weren’t expecting a full scale war.” Fergus pursed his lips. He should have known that anything related to his father wouldn’t be quick or easy.

  “Someone coming,” a voice said. “From the west.”

  Fergus turned. Several men pointed at a figure that appeared out of the forest and onto the game trail that they had pounded into a muddy track over the past months.

  “It’s Kequit,” another voice called out.

  After long minutes, Kequit came to a stop in front of Fergus. “Teltina’s been captured,” he said after pausing to take a breath. “Probably by the Northmen. Larry, Gatanu, and I went looking for her. Saw men on the mountain pass behind her valley. Also men from the southwest. We’re being flanked.”

  “And my father?” Fergus asked, fearing the answer.

  “He’s still looking for Teltina.” Kequit rubbed his face with his hand. “Gatanu went back to Sanctuary to let them know.”

  Fergus stood, calculating distances. “We need to deal with the Ur Neill here. Then we can think about helping Jessie and Sanctuary.” He drew in a long breath. Let it out. “We can do nothing to help my father.”

  The arrival of another scout interrupted further talk. “Men less than a mile away.”

  Fergus turned in a semicircle. Some of the men were already moving uphill into position. Below, the two groups of five men were out of sight in the trees. Nothing to be done but wait for the killing to start.

  * * *

  A shout distracted Matuso from his task of rubbing deer fat into the flax bowstring. He stood as Gatanu emerged from the trees, followed by one of the sentries. All around the campfire circle, men and women abandoned their noon meal to crowd around the panting men.

  “Unknown men to the southeast and probably Northmen at the southern end of the mountain crest,” Gatanu said, arm sweeping along the mountains from Sui Finn to the pass above Teltina’s valley.

  “The southern passes lead to the abbey. Probably Ur Neill or their allies, maybe even the Wildlings.” Jessie walked through the crowd to stand next to Gatanu. “What of Larry?”

  “He sent Kequit to warn Fergus. And sent me here,” Gatanu said. “But he’s still going after Teltina.”

  “How long until the men from the south group get here?” Matuso moved closer to Kequit and Jessie as the crowd opened before him.

  “Probably three or four hours at the earliest. Not much in the way of good trails in that direction.” Kequit grasped at a mug being thrust at him and drank deeply. “The men on the mountain? Not sure. Maybe a couple of hours.”

  “I fear the Northmen more.” Matuso stopped next to Jessie and they looked at each other.

  “Our backup plan was to flee south,” Jessie said. “That option is now shit.”

  “North?” Ivar moved into the growing circle.

  “The last one on Sui Finn saw longships in the estuary.” Matuso stared at the priest, who stood with narrowed eyebrows. “What are you thinking?”

  “Fergus and his men are east, near or on Bald Hill. Facing the Ur Neill.” Ivar hesitated. A hand emerged from the crowd and prodded him on the shoulder. “If we follow—all of us—and if we can break through, we could escape in that direction.” He chewed his lip. “The forest in that direction is vast. And there are small scattered farmsteads.”

  The crowd remained silent, eyes down or on the mountains. Havenites, Icelanders, and Eirefolk all pondering possibilities. Even the children stood quietly. Except for Garvan and Cellach who stood apart from the others, swinging their flat hurleys against imaginary opponents.

  Matuso gazed at Jessie. After a minute, Jessie nodded.

  “We leave in ten minutes. One finger of time,” Matuso added for the Eirefolk. “Weapons, overnight packs, whatever food you can carry. We’ll take the horses but scatter the sheep.” He looked toward the river. “Make that two fingers of time. We need to scuttle the ships.”

  Matuso froze. “Where’s Rory?”

  * * *

  Sighing with relief, Fergus watched Disunu and Ligasu’s men emerge from the trees. Hours had passed, and the sun was now halfway down the western sky. The Ur Neill must have stopped to rest or reconnoiter. And had probably been stirred into action by either Disunu or Ligasu.

  The fleeing men maintained their rotating positions as they clambered up the rocky slope, with one man stopping to fire an arrow while his companions passed. Some hit their targets. In spite of their losses, the pursuing Ur Neill sensed blood, their battle cries increasing in vol
ume and enthusiasm.

  “Hold,” Fergus said under his breath. He lifted his head, covered with a hat of intertwined branches and vines, above his rocky outcrop of broken sandstone. Along the rocks and heather that provided cover and obstacles on the hillside, small shifts in the vegetation hinted at others waiting. Disunu and Ligasu’s men gasped for air as they ran up the broken ground of their hill, drawing the Ur Neill out of the forest and up the apparently deserted hillside. Several no longer fired arrows but helped wounded comrades instead.

  As the last of his men passed his position, Fergus stood, his outstretched left arm holding his bow while his right pulling an arrow to his ear. “Now,” he shouted, releasing the bowstring. The whistle of feathers mixed with the cracks of the two flintlocks answered his shout.

  Not waiting to see if his arrow hit, he pulled another from his quiver and, placing it in position, pulled. He focused on a tooth-gapped screaming face and let fly.

  As he withdrew a third arrow, the pursuing men below slowed and stopped to turn and retreat. Fergus aimed. “Keep firing.” His arrow flew. He had a fourth arrow notched when the third thumped into a running man’s back. Fergus grimaced but fired the fourth. Another man fell. Within minutes, the remaining Ur Neill had disappeared back into the forest, the crashing of branches betraying their flight east. On the hillside, silence.

  “We lost one dead. Two wounded.” Disunu’s voice cracked at Fergus’s side.

  His relief was tinged with grief as Fergus stepped from behind his stone shelter. Sixteen men remained. And below him, maybe a dozen men in Ur Neill livery littered the hillside. No way to tell how many had fallen in the forest. Was this what his Father and the other Far Ones went through during their first summer in Haven? Facing death with no backup?

  “What of any wounded Ur Neill?” Ligasu pointed toward the bodies below them.

  Fergus shook his head once. Ligasu gestured to his men and moved downhill.

  “Oh shit.” The voice of Disunu broke through the groans of their own injured. “Look west.”

  Fergus snapped his head around to the west. A line of people emerged from the forest, flanked by warriors. Horses appeared, heavily laden. The man in front—Matuso?—waved his sword.

  * * *

  Matuso placed another rock on the burial cairn. “What of the Ur Neill bodies?”

  The man on his right grunted as he lifted a foot long stone onto the pile. “Jessie said we’ll strip them later of anything useful. Then pile and cover them up.” He grunted. “After this shitstorm ends.”

  Matuso hesitated then repositioned his rock. “Yeah, and before they start…” He turned toward the sound of an argument. At the southern end of the summit of Bald Hill, voices rose.

  “You women stay out of the way.” Fergus’s loud voice carried over the hill, silencing the milling crowd that was still setting up shelters and unpacking supplies.

  “Are you suggesting that we are too weak to defend ourselves?” Deirdre’s soft reply cut through the quiet, reminding Matuso of Larry just before he lost his temper. No one argued with Larry when he lowered his voice. Nobody.

  “You are built for babies, not swords,” Fergus said.

  Matuso winced. He had better interrupt this conversation before someone got hurt.

  “Have you forgotten who bested you on the practice field?” Deirdre’s sun and wind-burned face radiated anger.

  “We need all the arms we can muster.” Matuso stumbled across the broken hilltop, coming to a halt between Fergus and Deirdre. “Have the women sling from positions between bowmen.” He turned to look at the children, several of whom were carrying spare weapons. “And maybe have the children wear hats to look taller. Give them spears and have them move above the more broken hillside where there’s less likely to be an attack.”

  “We had planned to continue east into the forest.” Jessie joined them.

  “The Ur Neill are now in the forest.” Matuso glanced over the flatter, forest covered land to the east. “I’m thinking they are going to be pissed,” he added in English.

  “This hill is not that high.” Fergus’s eyebrows narrowed in thought.

  “But the ground is hard walking. Harder running.” Disunu entered the conversation, stepping up to stand next to Jessie. “Even the easier approaches from the south and west are thick with grasses and heather, hiding ankle-breaking outcrops, loose rocks, and holes.”

  Fergus scuffed the ground with his feet, revealing several small rocks about the size of goose eggs. He picked one up and turned, looking up the hill. “It may be possible to hold here.”

  “The only way we survived the forest was by retreating along a known route,” Disunu said.

  “Put us between the bowmen.” Deirdre stood in the growing group of men, head high, her eyes never leaving Fergus. “With slings or our shorter bows.”

  Fergus narrowed his eyes as he handed her the rock. “I would rather you be at my side than facing me.” The edges of his mouth twitched.

  “Then that is where I will be.” She nodded as she placed the rock in a bag hanging from her waist. “But now, I need to lay out my bedroll before darkness falls.” She turned and walked off.

  Mouth slightly open, Fergus watched her walk away for several heartbeats before he turned to Matuso. “I really don’t like your idea of posing the children as warriors.” He frowned as he scanned the hillside. “But let’s do it. Take a hike around this hill. Pick sections that look easily defended and place them there. Have Donngal and Trian be with them. They’re still too weak for a direct confrontation. Assign those men still recovering to guard the camp.”

  Matuso left him talking with other men about sentries and scouts. Hiking around the hilltop’s perimeter, he noted several areas that were difficult to approach. Good places for children posing as warriors. As he returned to the southern slope, he noted that the men were selecting defensive positions as several of the women piled small stones between them. Other women leaned quivers against larger boulders.

  Looking west, Matuso wondered when the Northmen would arrive. A low-lying cloud appeared in the center of the valley. He froze. Not a cloud. Smoke. Sanctuary was burning.

  * * *

  Larry hunched down as the Northman slipped past, gliding through the trees like a ghost. The man wore chain mail over leather, sword and axe in his belt, and shield over his back. Yet he made no sounds, and only birdcalls betrayed his presence. He must have woven thread between the metal links. The Northman moved with easy grace. Even if he could risk the delay, Larry wasn’t sure he could take him. Especially since the man wore armor. He waited until the birdcalls returned to their normal single ‘here I am’ chirps. As he tensed to rise, another series of alarms froze him in place. After another twenty minutes, the birds again returned to normal. Probably a fox.

  As he stood, alarms rose again. But there was only himself to hear.

  The trees thinned as the ground steepened. He slowed as he moved into rock and heather. Ahead, the dark mountainside climbed toward the setting sun. If they had Teltina, they’d be holding her on the far side. He broke into a lumbering run, moving from one depression or boulder to another. Chest heaving, Larry crawled the last hundred strides to the summit. The mountain crest was broad and undulating, with exposed rock that tore at his hands and knees. Small pools of recent rainwater soaked his clothing while mud cloaked his face and silenced his weapons. Damn, he was cold. At the top and with no enemy in sight, he dared stand, hoping for invisibility in his dark and muddy clothes. To the south a small wisp of smoke rose from the western mountainside. Maybe a mile away.

  He looked back at the valley and stiffened. A thick column of darker smoke rose above Sanctuary. Heart racing, he took a step downhill but stopped. It would take him hours to get there. Whatever was happening there was beyond anything he could change.

  Wrenching his eyes from the unknown horror, he faced north toward Windy Gap and Sui Finn. More smoke rose from multiple points along a line a hundred or so strid
es along the western side of the summit. Likely this was the main body of troops, hidden from anyone in the valley. He turned. To the south, the single wisp of smoke still quivered in the light wind.

  Teltina could be in either direction. But she had started hiking south when she had left Sanctuary. The only break in this catastrophe was that there were fewer Northmen in that direction. He turned south, moving into a slow jog, willing the exertion to warm his wet clothing while fearing a misstep on the broken ground.

  The sun was dipping into the horizon as he approached the area above the isolated smoke plume. Larry moved downhill, hunched low, hands pressing his weapons to his sides to silence them. As he approached the dim flickering light, he heard voices. Not the language of Eire. His heartbeat sped. In a few minutes, the light became flames and the smoke stung his nostrils. His stomach rumbled from the smell of sizzling meat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

  Now on hands and knees, he crawled, moving from depression to bush to boulder. The moon wasn’t up and the hazy sky limited any starlight.

  “You will die.” Teltina’s voice cut through the falling night.

  “All die. Someday I die battle. Join ancestors. Join gods.” The voice spoke in broken Eire. “You I enjoy. Now.”

  Teltina gasped in pain.

  Blood pounding in his ears, Larry rose and sprinted forward. A yell reverberated. As he closed on the two men holding a body, he realized that it was his voice.

  The two men stood, leaving a twisting body at their feet. One turned and jumped over the fire behind them, hands reaching for something on the ground. The second rushed Larry.

  Larry raised his sword tip and lunged. Felt the metal cut into the man’s stomach, ending with a jolt as the tip wedged between vertebrae. Abandoning his sword, Larry pulled his axe out of his belt and faced the first man. Now armed with a sword, the Northman stalked around the fire, cautious but grinning. He spoke but the words were unintelligible.

  Larry circled to meet him, Teltina’s bound body now at his feet. As he stepped over her, he unsheathed his knife and dropped it. As he did so, the man lunged, sword whipping through the air. Larry stepped back to counter, his foot catching on Teltina’s leg. As he fell, he watched the sword continued its journey.