Free Warriors of Ethandun by N. M. Browne Page A

readiness was familiar as was their suppressed violence. She had fought with men like these once, or maybe she had fought against them. It didn’t much matter.
    The crowd parted to let one of the richly dressed warriors she had seen before make his way to her side. He was young, not much older than she was, and he had a fierce, hawk’s face – not handsome but arresting. When he spoke, it was without humility. He was a warrior and feared nothing. She liked that.
    â€˜Goddess.’ He bowed a quick bob of the head, nothing more – an acknowledgement that she was important and powerful. ‘We are honoured by your presence among us. How can we welcome you to our camp? We are merely a hunting party and our riches are elsewhere, but whatever we have is yours.’
    Ursula wondered what response she could give. It was hard to collect her thoughts, which kept flitting round the camp like some hyperactive demon. She was in the fire, dancing in the flames, then flying overhead, hooting with an owl and then back lying on a fur-lined cloak, staring at a man with a proud face. Then her stomach rumbled in amost ungoddess-like way and she realised that she was very hungry – and thirsty too. Her body felt weak, worn out, leached of all its natural health.
    Everyone was staring at her. There was little sound but the clink of belt knives and coin pouches as men jostled one another to get a closer look. She licked her lips and used magic to give her voice a little extra resonance. There was no reason to sound as feeble as she felt.
    â€˜I am hungry. I would have you bring food and drink.’ She kept it short and demanding. She wasn’t sure what a goddess might say and she didn’t feel inclined to explain her true nature, whatever that was … She was an Ursula not a Freya, she knew that, and she had not always been in full possession of this power. There was more that she knew: she had not always been in this place; there were people she had left behind. She wasn’t very good at concentrating on anything for very long. The magic coursed through her with all the force and relentlessness of waves crashing on a shore. Magic swept her away and she was powerless to resist its endless distractions. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the mysterious life of worms. Food was brought, roasted venison and a hare, bread and berries and a golden chalice of ale. It smelled enticing but she forgot that she was hungry. She got lost again, following wherever the wild, restless impulses of magic took her – away from her body, away from herself.

Chapter Twelve
    The light from the fire had all but died out when Dan woke. He had always been the kind of person who moved from sleep to full wakefulness in the space of a heartbeat. He knew at once something was wrong. He listened. Someone was moving around. He reached for Bright Killer and then remembered: the householder had taken it. The glowing embers of the dying fire reflected in the dull gleam of a blade, the glint of steel in the darkness. Dan could just make out the bulky form of a man leaning over his sleeping companion. Dan did not pause to think but was on his feet and pulling the man away as soon as he realised what was happening. The man was big, strong. He grunted his surprise at Dan’s sudden arrival and turned towards him, his teeth bared like an animal’s, a patch of lesser darkness in the shadows.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ Dan hissed, but the man’s intentions became very clear when he raised his seax to strike Dan. The man did not speak but lurched forward. Dan saw the knife and launched himself at the bigger man in the same instant, using his weight to drive him backwardsso that he overbalanced. He hit the ground hard and groaned and cursed, making it easier for Dan to find the man’s sword arm and to stamp hard on his wrist so that the man released the seax. In one swift motion Dan had it in his own hand. He felt