Page 4 of The Outlaw Viking

For some reason, she wasn’t frightened. Just disgusted.

A soft nicker drew Rain’s attention, and she turned to see a large horse standing at the edge of the field, its saddle empty and its reins trailing on the ground in front. The destrier nudged the bloodied, mail-clad chest of the knight who lay before him, then raised its soulful eyes to Rain, as if she could help its master rise.

Rain wiped her nose and turned back to the battlefield with a sob. So many needed her medical skills, far more than one doctor could handle. And the wounds required more than the basic medical items she carried in a compact emergency kit in her carryall. She shook her head in despair.

With a deep sigh, Rain began to inch her way along the edge of the battlefield, stopping wherever she felt she could be of some help. She applied a tourniquet to the upper arm of one pleading Scots knight with a deep cut at the elbow, using a strip of leather lacing torn from his shoes. She didn’t know if it did any good. He’d lost so much blood.

Rain moved on to dozens of men, uncaring of their nationality, stanching wounds, pulling out swords, holding a hand, closing dead eyes. She stood finally, arching the kinks out of her aching back. The hopelessness of her efforts overwhelmed her. She started to back away from the field, then shrieked as she bumped into a hard body. She giggled, almost hysterically, as she realized that the horse had followed her around the battlefield. Rain put her arms around its neck and laid her face against the warm white mane. “Oh, horse, what should I do?”

As if in answer, a roar of loud curses and clanging metal erupted behind her, and Rain realized that she’d moved unconsciously closer to the fighting.

Then she saw Selik.

Oh, God above! The poor, forsaken Viking stood alone and outnumbered, trying to defend himself against a dozen well-armed Saxon knights intent on killing him.

Many companies of men still fought in hand-to-hand combat around the field, wielding swords, battle-axes, and long pikes. Selik stood alone among the fallen Vikings in his troop, bellowing out his rage at the Saxon attackers. Holding his shield with his left hand, he swung a sword expertly with the other, felling one by one the Saxon soldiers who tried to overtake him. Finally, exasperated by the slowness of his efforts, he pulled the fitted helmet from his head, releasing his long blond hair. He threw his shield to the ground and picked up a long-handled lance with a pike and a battle-ax on the end.

In a fanatical rage, he took the offensive. Heedless of his own mortality, Selik pursued the remaining Saxons to their bloody end, oblivious of the carnage he reaped. A few of the soldiers backed away, eyes rolling in fear, but Selik gave no mercy. Using both hands, he leapt forward, cutting right and left as he cleared a path to the Saxon lad carrying a banner emblazoned with a golden dragon. He sliced the banner pole with one swift slash of his ax, then dispatched the youth with a stab of his pike to the neck. Blood gushed from the severed artery of the poor boy’s throat.

Rain shuddered with horror at Selik’s butchery. This man had haunted her dreams for years. Some link had connected them through the centuries, but how could she possibly be drawn to such a brutal beast?

Finally, only one of the enemy remained in Selik’s immediate vicinity—a Saxon prince, by the looks of his highly polished mail and helmet embossed with the same insignia that decorated the banner lying at his feet.

“Say your prayers, Saxon cur. Today you meet your god,” Selik snarled in a harsh, raw voice as he and the Saxon knight exchanged thrusts of their weapons. They seemed evenly matched in expertise.

One thrust went into the Saxon’s leg, but he ignored the wound. “Nay, you bloody pagan! ’Tis you who join Odin, though ’tis more likely a fiery underworld awaits your black soul.” He parried Selik’s next thrust and got home one slice through Selik’s armor above the waist.

“Tell your god today that ’twas Selik the Outlaw who sent you on your final journey.” A grim smile thinned Selik’s lips cruelly, as if he enjoyed this deadly exercise.

The Saxon blanched, as if recognizing the name of the notorious Viking. Then a crafty grin split his face. “Didst thou know, whoreson, ’twas my brother Steven who killed your wife and child?” he taunted maliciously. “And ’twas sweet meat the maid was, so Steven claimed, as he spread her thighs afore her death and—”

His words died on his lips as Selik exploded with superhuman strength fed by his fury. He thrust his lance clear through the Saxon’s chest and up through the neck, heaving him high on the blade. Then he stuck the base of the pole in the ground so that the young nobleman died on spear point in plain view of his horrified comrades in the distance.

Selik staggered over to pick up his shield and sword, wiping the bloody blade on his hose. Appearing momentarily stunned, he turned pain-glazed eyes to the carnage around him, realizing for the first time that he stood alone. He scanned the field solemnly in tortured disbelief, taking in the overwhelming defeat.

Then, standing on widespread legs, he raised his sword and shield to the sky in outstretched arms, crying out his desolation in a raw and primitive manner. His pale hair blew softly in the wind while tension-coiled muscles bunched under his mail-covered tunic.

“Odin! All-Father!” he keened. “Take me to Valhalla. Do not forsake me.”

Rain heard a loud noise and realized that some angry Saxons had left the skirmishes still going on at the other side of the plain and had gathered forces to come after Selik. He needed help—desperately.

Swallowing a harsh sob, Rain yelled, “Selik!” But he didn’t hear her, even though she stood only a few yards away. “Selik!”

Still no response.

Rain turned frantically, searching for some means of escape, and saw the faithful horse behind her. Thank God! She rushed back and grabbed the reins.

Rain hadn’t ridden a horse in twenty years, since her days at summer camp, and this was no pony. Desperation gave her courage. “Come on, honey,” she crooned to the skittish animal. “You’ve got to help me.” After several unsuccessful tries and some choice swear words directed at the shifting horse, she climbed clumsily onto the destrier’s huge back and guided him carefully over to Selik.

“Selik, come with me. Hurry!” she ordered loudly.

At first, he just lowered his shield and sword and stared at her in confusion. His burning eyes reflected the tortured dullness of his soul in the aftermath of his berserk fight.

“Hurry! We’ve got to escape,” Rain urged, holding out her hand to him.

Suddenly alert, Selik’s head swung to the fast-approaching enemy warriors and took in the peril at a glance. Swinging up behind her with lightning agility, he grabbed the reins and set the horse quickly into a gallop. They soon lost the Saxons who pursued on foot, but Rain knew others on horseback, implacable and murderous, would follow soon. They didn’t have much time.

For more than an hour, they rode swiftly in silence. As they passed other escaping soldiers along the way, mostly on foot, Selik shouted out in a brusque, deep-timbred voice directions to their eventual meeting place.