The Outcasts (A Brotherband Fanfic)

Chapter 12

There was a grinding crash as the pirate ship ran alongside. Spraydancer lurched violently under the impact but the crew, long accustomed to sudden movement underfoot, kept their balance easily. Then, with a chorus of yells and screams, the pirates leaped over the port bow in a swarm.

Several of them lost their footing as they hit the decks of the Skandian trader. But they recovered quickly and moved aft, their comrades pressing in from behind.

And found themselves facing a shield wall of seven grim-faced Skandian warriors.

They hesitated then, shoving back against the mounting pressure from behind, eyeing the massive axes in their enemies' hands. For a moment, the two forces eyed each other, then Arndak bellowed the time-honored Skandian battle command.

"Let's get 'em!"

The seven Skandian warriors surged forward. As they went, they instinctively formed a wedge shape, with Arndak at the point and three men on either side. They smashed into the disorganized pirates, their heavy oaken shields used as weapons of offense, slamming into the pirates and hurling them to either side.

Then the deadly Skandian axes went to work, rising and falling, smashing through thin armor, beating down their opponents' weapons by sheer force, cutting, hacking, biting into flesh and bone.

The first rank of pirates fell before the massive onslaught. The deck ran red with their blood and the Skandians trod them underfoot as they surged forward, driving the rest of the boarding party back toward the bows.

For a moment, it seemed that they might succeed in forcing the pirates back onto their own ship. But the numbers against them were too great. A spear slammed into the warrior on Arndak's left and he fell back with a strangled cry. Then a pirate slid forward on hands and knees, under the massive oaken shields, and stabbed upward into the thigh of another Skandian. He fell with a cry of pain, and in a moment, the Skandian wedge was disrupted.

Arndak fought on grimly, protected by his shield and the whistling arc carved by his massive war ax. Anywho ventured inside it was cut down, tossed aside like rag dolls. But in spite of it all, he was wounded several times. In the heat of the moment, he felt no pain. He continued to hack and slash at the hated enemy. He saw another of his men go down, tripped by a spear shaft between his feet, and a pack of pirates swarmed over him. Snarling with rage, he aimed an overhead blow at a pirate in front of him. The terrified man saw death descending upon him and tried to parry the ax with his sword.

He might as well have used a piece of straw. The ax smashed the blade in half, then cut deep into the man's shoulder. Arndak heaved to free his weapon and finally jerked it lose. The sudden release caused him to stagger back several paces. At the same time, the attacking pirates stepped back as well, surrounding the bleeding, heavy-breathing figure, but unwilling to come within reach of that terrible ax.

Arndak shook his head and looked around. His comrades were all down-either dead or dying. He was alone.

But he wasn't finished, and the dead and maimed pirates on the deck of his ship were a testimony to the fact that he was still a dangerous enemy. He brandished the ax aloft and yelled an inarticulate challenge at the pirates. Vaguely, he sensed he was on the edge of madness-the beserker's rage that sometimes overtook Skandian warriors in the height of a battle.

The pirates took another involuntary step backward. Then their ranks parted and a slim, tall figure stepped forward.

He was olive skinned, with long, black hair that hung in ringlets. The face was handsome, and he was smiling. But there was an unmistakable gleam of malice in his eyes. He had a round metal shield and a long, curved sword, held carelessly, point down. Studying him, Arndak sensed that both shield and sword could spring into action in the flicker of an eye. This was a warrior-and a very dangerous one.