Free Fin Gall by James L. Nelson Page B

Thorgrim thought. He had not been entirely certain. He pulled Harald to his feet, bent and grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He pushed his way out of the mead hall and into the cool of the night.
                  The air felt good - moist and clean - after the smoky, hot, reeking hall, and Harald was no great burden as Thorgrim made his way back down the plank road to where Red Dragon thumped against the wharf. The six men on board were all as drunk as any up in the mead hall, but that had not made them any happier about being left behind.
                  Thorgrim climbed aboard under their surly stares and deposited Harald on a pile of furs. He stretched and looked around. The night was quiet, save for the lap of water, the muted noise from the hall, but Thorgrim’s nerves were firing, his senses wolf-keen. But he was helpless as well. The pack had run off, he was all but alone.
                  He made his way forward. “There’s some Dane bastard named Magnus, has ordered free drink to all from our ship. You had best get up to the hall before Ornolf has it all.”
                  The surly looks were transformed as if by magic, and the men leapt to their feet and rushed off, fearing no doubt that Thorgrim would come to his senses, revert to his usual miserable self in the nighttime.
                  Thorgrim watched them hurry up the road. There was nothing those men could do to help if trouble came. Thorgrim alone, in the black mood, was more dangerous than those six drunks, so he let them go.
                  He wandered aft, wrestled his furs out from where they were stowed, laid down. He feared sleep on nights like this because he knew it would be a night of wolf dreams, but sleep, like death, took him at last.
                  He was in among the strange wolf pack again, though he no longer held the precious thing in his mouth. The wolves moved around him, watching him, but he could not tell if they would attack, he did not know if they were friends or enemies. He felt taut, like a length of rigging under great strain.
                  And then the wolves turned on him. At some unseen signal they turned and the pack leapt with teeth flashing white and Thorgrim flew into the fight, snarling and ripping away at the killers bounding at him
                  He sat up, the sweat coating his body, the cold touch of iron under his chin. First light, the town of Dubh-Linn was lit gray-blue, and a dozen armed men were on board the Red Dragon . Thorgrim looked up the length of the spear to the bearded face of the soldier who held the lethal point unwavering against Thorgrim’s neck. The soldier expected that the threatening iron would be enough to stop Thorgrim from making any quick move. He was wrong.
                  Thorgrim took firm hold of the bearskin that covered him, flung the skin aside, flung it over the spear, tangling it in the shaft. He sprung to his feet, Iron-tooth in his hand. The spearman was trying to pull the shaft from the fur when he died, the heavy blade of Thorgrim’s sword nearly taking his head off.
                  The spearman’s body had not hit the deck when Thorgrim flung himself at the next man, who came at him with a shriek, battle-ax raised. Thorgrim wore only his tunic and trousers, there was no time to grab up his shield. He caught the swinging ax with Iron-tooth’s blade and delivered an awkward punch with his left hand.
                  The ax-man was a big man, and even a solid punch would not have done much. He kicked upward as Thorgrim swung. Thorgrim just managed to close his legs and ward off the blow that would have ended his fight then and there. The ax-man shoved with his shield and Thorgrim, off balance, stumbled back.
                  There was someone behind him. Thorgrim had not