Chapter Three - Dogs of War
Initially the plan is to head back towards Birka & try & pick up one of the many fishing boats or a small knorr that litter the shoreline beyond the towns picket line, however after a hurried discussion they decide to turn inland &, initially, make for Motala, a sprawling inland town on the shores of Lake Vättern, some three score miles west of Birka.
Shouldering their packs they begin their journey towards Motala beneath the moonlit sky. Grimhild, familiar with the paths & tracks within the immediate area, takes point & leads Thorfinn & the others off at a brisk pace, however the constant need to go quietly in the still night air hampers their progress, especially as dawn approaches & a half dozen torches or so are seen a half mile or so to the North.
As daylight begins to filter down through the closely growing spruce, a glance to their rear brings a snarl from Thorfinn's lips, looking back all can see the tracks of their passage in the shallow covering of churned snow & upturned leaf mulch.
Hoping to at least cover their passage or maybe pick up a barge they turn downhill & head towards the water a mile or so below them.
Moving through the tree's efforts are made to cover their passage however it proves time consuming & non to successful so abandoning concealment all haste is made towards the water, regrettably however the feint baying of hounds behind is lost under the noise that they themselves are making.
With the water in sight, Anora & Ragnar suddenly halt & call for quiet, in the silence that follows all can hear the howling & crashing of dogs close on their trail, making a last dash towards the water line, they emerge onto a narrow strip of shingle which disappears under the rushing waters of the Söderköping.
Knowing they have only moments before the hounds would be upon them, Eyolf leaps up & onto a spire of rock that projecting from the freezing water, Ragnar & Grimhild climb a second pinnacle that protrudes the shoreline whilst Thorfinn, sword in hand stands facing the trees, his back to the rocks, Anora, seeing no vantage point runs along the edge of the water hoping the breeze will hide her scent.
Suddenly the dogs, five large wolfhounds, burst through the tree line in silence, intent now upon their prey, three of the dogs circle the pinnacle upon which Ragnar & Grimhild perch, one attacks Thorfinn directly whilst the fifth takes off in pursuit of Anora.
As Thorfinn defends himself, Grimhild calls upon Ullr to aid her & puts an arrow through one of the hounds near pinning it to the ground, Ragnar, striking downwards with his spear, loses his foothold & plummets head over heels from the rocky outcrop to fall amongst the snarling hounds. Thorfinn seeing the plight of his friend slashes his blade at the growling beasts hoping to a least give Ragnar the time to rise, alas his aim is poor & instead of a hound, the blade slides over the back of the lunging creatures & bites into Ragnar's right arm, fortunately the armour so recently taken from one of Vigfus's arresting party protects him from injury.
Glancing over her shoulder Anora can see one of the dogs racing towards her, spinning to face its charge she deftly draws her sword & holds it before her, the dog, sensing the danger, drops below Anora's blade & sinks its fangs into her hip drawing blood, fortuitously it loses its hold & drops snarling, ready to spring again.
As Anora struggles with the ravening beast, its teeth locked in her flesh, Grimhild, atop the rocks puts her bow to good use, below her Thorfinn & Ragnar each confront one of the hounds, whilst Thorfinn brushes aside its lunging jaws, Ragnar suffers a series of minor but painful bites, without warning however Ragnar is struck in the back by an arrow. Above Grimhild winces as she sees her last cast shaft protruding from Ragnar's shoulder.
Glancing both up & down the shingle beach Grimhild is thankful to see Eyolf pin the third hound to the floor with his ash spear, glancing toward Anora however she is appalled to see her unmoving & blood covered figure sprawled in the dirt, the hound savaging her unmoving body, throwing aside her bow, Grimhild draws her main-gauche & rushes to aid her fallen comrade.
Dispatching the hound before him, Thorfinn spins to aid Ragnar in finishing the hound before him, as it lies thrashing, its back broken, both hear a scream as Grimhild suffers a similar fate to Anora, desperately they run the length of the beach hoping to slay the hound before it can do further damage to Grimhild's still form, with well aimed blows the fifth & final wolfhound is slain.
As Eyolf shouts a warning of approaching voices Thorfinn & Ragnar call upon their powers to heal the savage wounds suffered by thier friends, as the two are dragged to thier feet & pushed towards the tree line, Eyolf covers their retreat. As the companions drag themselves under the cover of the trees Eyolf calls for silence as unseen followers emerge onto the beach, doing thier best to move silently the five crawl further & further into the safety of the woods.
Several hours & three quarters of a mile later the five pause to gather their wits & redress thier wounds, limping across the tree adorned slope, progress is difficult, in part from the steepness of the bank, in part from from the exhaustion of the recovering Anora & Grimhild. With evening approaching Thorfinn, assisted by Eyolf, stumble across a shallow rocky overhang giving some cover for the night to come, taking a cold supper from the meagre rations darkness rapidly falls under the snow laden bows above them.
With the coming of morning a fine layer of snow covers any sign of flight the day before, dragging aching limbs from thier cramped concealment & partaking of a cold breakfast they continue thier push towards Motala through the towering evergreens, once, later that day a horn rings out across the fjord however nothing further disturbs thier progress.
Two days later, wounds re-ceding, they halt in silence as two figures & a dog pass across their path heading down towards the waters below, unsure whether they be friend or foe Grimhild & her companions do not announce thier presence but wait quietly until the two are well beyond hearing. After another chilly night under the stars Grimhild estimates that they have travelled perhaps a third of thier journey towards Motala, maybe seven leagues or so.
With evening approaching, the 24th of Einmánuður, & cold rations running low, thier march is brought to a halt as a suitable camp is sought, before they come to a halt however, lights are seen through the trees some few hundred yards below, unsure whether to investigate further or move on they pause to consider matters.