Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 02] Read Free Page A

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 armsaround 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, buthow 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 andsword, 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