Free The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) by Matthew Harffy Page A

They were our brothers and these are their slayers." His voice was potent and it pierced the clamour of the battle easily.
    "For Bernicia and Oswald!" Scand sprinted forward into the fray, aiming for one of the camp fires that lay some way off to the left. His men cheered in the dark and followed him.
    He was dimly aware of the pain in his knee, the ache in his back, but he pushed the sensations away. Now was the time for swords to sing, not to whimper and moan of cramps like a gum-sucking longbeard.
    His retinue formed up to his right and left. A moving, pointed shieldwall, with Scand at its apex. He smiled, savagely pleased at his men's training paying off. They moved as one.
    Around them all was chaos. The rain still fell heavily. Shadows moved, silhouetted before the fires. A flicker of lightning lit the scene. Men were stumbling from shelters into the night. Some were armed, but Scand could see no armour.
    A small group of men sensed the danger, or perhaps spotted Scand's shieldwall approaching by the flash of light in the sky. They turned to face them, trying to form their own wall.
    Too late. Scand crashed into them, all his bulk behind his shield boss, the men beside and behind him driving him on. He shoved one man aside to the left while lashing out to the right with his sword. He felt the blade connect, and black blood splattered his arm. Its warmth a sudden contrast to the cold rain.
    They surged forwards. Scand trampled the men who had fallen before their wedge of shields. A hand gripped his cloak, slowing Scand. He yanked his cloak trying to free it from the clutch of the fallen man. But he would not let go.
    There was no room to swing his sword at the man, without a good chance of hitting his comrade to the right. So Scand hammered his sword's heavy bronze pommel into the man's knuckles. He crushed the fingers against the anvil of his byrnie-clad thigh. Scand hammered twice, thrice, before the grip loosened and the ruined hand fell away.
    They moved on, but the shieldwall had lost its momentum.
    "Halt!" shouted Scand. His men obeyed him instantly.
    "Form up. Shieldwall. Three deep." His gesithas moved into positions they had practised all that long hot summer. They formed a square of warriors. Those at the front held their spears forward. Scand stood in the leading rank, his bloody sword dark and deadly in the gloom.
    The rain was easing. Another burst of lightning, this time further away it seemed. It shone its light on the battlefield for the merest instant. Scand saw that Oswald's host had been scattered. The smells of death — piss, blood and shit — rose from the wet mud. It was strewn with corpses. But Cadwallon had many more men than Oswald, and they were now beginning to react.
    The moment of brilliant light had shown where the Waelisc were forming on their leader's standard. They were some way off, and in numbers that Scand could not hope to beat. He needed to reunite with Oswald and the rest of the fyrd.
    "Turn to the right and keep an eye out for Waelisc creeping up on us," he said. The shieldwall shuffled and turned until they were heading in the direction Scand hope would lead them to Oswald.
    The footing was treacherous. Some of the fires had been kicked out. Others had been doused by the torrential rain. There was almost no light.
    Scand's foot caught on a fallen spear. He stumbled, a jolt of pain lanced up his leg. He grunted, steadied his shield and walked on.
    The rain stopped. The sounds of battle seemed suddenly louder. Screams and the clash of metal on metal indicated where the fiercest of the fighting was underway. Scand adjusted their course.
    The embers of a campfire gave just enough light for Scand to pick out the slumped body of a warrior. It was good that he had not tripped over the corpse. He was not sure he could stand another jarring of his knee. Scand stepped over the fallen warrior.
    He shifted his attention to their destination. They would reach the fighting soon.
    A sudden