Free Thunder God by Paul Watkins

But now I had other things to think about as I ran forward through the dust, determined not to lose track of Halfdan.
    I heard a shout from the rocks and watched a man stand up from his hiding place. His face was tattooed with two black horns, which hooked down under his chin. With a long spear raised above his head, he signalled his men to close in.
    When they did not move, he shouted and waved the spear over his head. Silver bangles on his arm winked in the sunlight, which had begun to slide in a honey-coloured wave down the face of the gorge.
    No matter what he shouted at them, his men would not advance. Rage and fear blurred on his painted face and he spat in their direction before stepping back into the shadows.
    We moved slowly at first, then began a slow run and finally, raising axes and swords above our heads, rushed towards them with a howl that echoed through the gorge. The sound doubled and redoubled until it seemed as if a world of men were emptying their lungs.
    The line of strangers toppled backwards, jolted by the soundof our shouts. They rose from their crouching, barbed spears clumsy in their sweating hands.
    The Varangian line poured over them, swathed in dust. Armour crashed and bodies slammed the ground. Axes swung above the crowd, followed by the butchering thump as they struck home. One of their men ran from the cloud, empty-handed , eyes rolled round to white, blind in a seizure of fear. He was almost at our second line before he saw us through the sweat and dust which clouded his vision, and realised he was running the wrong way. Before he had even skidded to a stop, Cabal barged forward through our ranks. His skin was sunblotched and grey from fever-sweat, eyes narrowed almost shut. He swung his shield up in an arc, and the iron rim of the shield caught the running man just beneath his right ear. The blow lifted him off his feet and threw him back into the dust.
    A blue-flighted arrow struck the ground in front of me, sending up a puff of powdery earth. Even though I had been looking at the place where it fell, I had not seen it strike. It just suddenly appeared. The arrow looked so harmless, with its little bundle of feathers neatly tied at the end, more like a toy than a weapon.
    We moved through the bodies. Weapons were scattered on the ground. I stepped over a Varangian, who lay face down on top of the man he had killed. There was a thin line of red which ran exactly down the parting in his double-braided hair. I found myself staring at this peculiar symmetry and had just raised my head when I saw Halfdan walk back through the dust.
    He was holding the broken handle of his axe, which he threw away when he caught sight of me. His shield was also missing, and I could see the bright lines of knife cuts across the dull chain-mail on his chest. He held out his hand for the sword.
    I lunged forward and, as I ran, I saw a movement out of thecorner of my eye. I did not even have time to recognise it as the shape of a person. It seemed to be flying through the air towards me. Without thinking, I swung the sword out from under my left arm. The wood and metal scabbard flew off and struck what I now saw was a man who had crawled up from behind a boulder and was jumping down upon me. The scabbard caught him in the throat. His mouth locked open. He fell hard on his back and skidded to a stop in front of me.
    The first thing I noticed about the man was that he was barefoot. The soles of his feet were black with dirt, as if he had been walking in ashes. He had earrings in both ears and his hair was dark and shaggy like the pelt of a bear. He wore a loose brown tunic, which had torn when he hit the ground, baring his chest.
    I waited for him to get up, but he did not move. Dust swirled around me. The taste of it clung to the roof of my mouth and powdered my throat. Bodies shifted in the peppery air. All around me was the sour, leathery smell of the sweat of frightened men and animals.
    It was then that I heard the