Free Raven by Giles Kristian

swords held wide ready to scythe our heads from our necks.
    I hauled Penda to his feet, tensing as I turned to face the riders, who hauled on their reins, their horses screaming with anger.
    ‘To us, Raven!’ Rolf yelled and I spun round to see that the Danes had moved up, still in line and horribly exposed, but there had been enough spears in that poor defence to deter the blaumen, or perhaps their horses, from riding into it. We began to step backwards under a thin rain of javelins, joining the Danes.
    ‘Everyone back!’ I roared and the Danes kept their spear blades up as we retreated raggedly. Rolf knocked a javelin out of the air with his own spear, saving another man from being belly-pierced. ‘Faster!’ I shouted, because Gorm was yelling from Gerd’s Tit that the other band of blaumen were coming for us now and the Danes knew as well as I did that if we did not move faster we would be trapped.
    ‘If they get behind us we’re dead!’ Tufi said, cursing as an arrow whipped past his face.
    ‘Then move faster, Tufi, you son of a three-legged dog,’ I yelled. Amongst the bristling knot of horsemen in front of us I saw a man gesture to the others that they should ride round our flanks and get behind us.
    ‘We’ll be the bloody lump on the anvil soon enough,’ Penda spat through a grimace, clutching his shoulder. The rider he had hurled himself at lay a distance off, his neck broken.
    ‘Give them your spears!’ I yelled. ‘Then break and get to the Tit!’ I knew they did not want to lose their spears, but we had to buy some time and so with curses the Danes pulled back their arms and launched their shafts towards man and beast. ‘Now run!’ I yelled and we turned and legged it, and beside me a Dane went down but two others took an arm each and ranas if their arses were on fire. The first to reach Gerd’s Tit held the doors open and we piled inside, half the Danes continuing up the stone stairwell whilst the rest of us barred the door and bolstered it with timbers taken from the surviving lean-tos.
    ‘Why didn’t they ride us down? Why didn’t they fight?’ Byrnjolf said, doubled over and gasping for breath. Candles still burnt peacefully, chasing shadows into the dark corners of that strange empty place.
    ‘Why would they?’ Rolf answered, scowling at a slice in the shoulder of his jerkin. Dark blood stained the leather. ‘Now that we’re holed up in here like rats in a pot all they need to do is wait for us to starve.’
    ‘Soot-faced sons of whores,’ Tufi gnarred, then kicked a chicken which had strayed from the others to peck the stone floor by his foot.
    ‘I don’t think they will wait for long,’ I said. ‘This place means something to them. It’s important. They made a stand out there yesterday,’ I said, nodding towards the barricaded door, ‘and they will not be happy about us being in here.’ As if in answer something pounded against the door. The nearest candles guttered and a cloud of dust bloomed, making Beiner sneeze.
    ‘They want to come in, Gorm!’ I yelled up into the hollow space above us. ‘Show them some famous Danish hospitality!’ I don’t know whether Gorm up there on the platform heard me, but within a few hammering heartbeats a succession of loud cracks, thumps and yelps told us that he and the others were dropping their stones and earth-filled pots.
    ‘That’s it,’ Beiner called through another enormous sneeze, ‘flatten some heads!’
    Outside, the shouts faded, meaning Gorm and the others had persuaded the blaumen to leave, at least for now.
    ‘They’ll be back,’ Byrnjolf said, testing the blade of a short knife against a strip of leather.
    ‘Aye, and when they do, what have we got to give them? Tooth and nail?’ Tufi said, throwing his arms wide. He had nothing on him more dangerous than his eating knife. ‘Whoresons will stick us with our own damn spears.’
    ‘Don’t piss your breeches, Tufi,’ Beiner said, gripping the throat of his