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

searing pain seized him. He cried out in anguish. Looking down at the source of his agony, he saw that the warrior was not dead. In his hand he held a long knife which he had buried up to the hilt in Scand's groin, beneath his byrnie.
    Scand hacked down onto the man's head, splitting it with a wet sound. The man's hand fell away from the knife handle, flopping to the mud.
    Scand reached down and pulled the blade from his body. Blood gushed. He let out a groaning gasp, and collapsed to his knees.
    His men formed around him protectively. One warrior, a bearded man, named Derian, flung himself to the earth beside his lord. Scand fell back and Derian cradled his head in his lap. He removed Scand's helmet.
    "Derian?" Scand asked, his voice unnervingly frail.
    "I am here, my lord. As I have always been."
    "Yes," Scand gripped Derian's hand.
    For a fleeting moment Scand wondered at how peaceful everything had become. The sounds of battle subsided. The pain in his back vanished and then, he understood the truth of it. The chill of death was already upon him. He hoped that he would see his beautiful Morna again in the afterlife. He had missed her so all these long years.
    "I am killed, my friend," said Scand, clutching Derian's hand firmly one last time. "I always told you to watch for the knife under the shieldwall. Stupid..." His voice trailed off.
    Derian had no words for the man who had always provided for him. His hlaford. His lord. Scand's grasp on his hand was loosening by the moment.
    Derian could see the dim light from the cloud-cloaked moon glimmering in Scand's eyes. After a time, he saw that Scand's eyes were unblinking and Derian knew that after all the years, all the mead halls, all the stories, all the gifts, all the shieldwalls and all the killing, Scand, son of Scaend had left him.
     
    The rain thrummed against Beobrand's iron helmet. The cheek guards, each topped with a bronze boar emblem, obscured his side vision. But in this darkness it was of little matter.
    The night and the rain rendered him as good as blind and deaf.
    He could sense the weight of warriors behind him. They had kept pace with Oswald, screaming straight into the camp towards the centre, where the largest fire burnt. Acennan was at Beobrand's left with Athelstan to his right. The king was positioned on the other side of Athelstan.
    Beobrand would have preferred to have his friend on his right. He did not relish relying on Athelstan's shield for protection in the shieldwall.
    A flare of lightning picked out figures moving towards them. They looked confused, unprepared for the sudden attack. Beobrand fixed the position of one of them in his mind and threw himself forward. An instant later his shield collided with a flailing assailant. In the darkness the man swung an axe blindly. The axe head glanced off Beobrand's helm with a clangour that merged with the crash of Thunor's ire in the sky.
    Dazed and unbalanced, Beobrand fell. His shield boss caught the man in the chest and they both crashed to the muddy earth. The straps holding the shield in place encumbered Beobrand. Laden with armour and sodden clothes he struggled to right himself. He could feel the man beneath him squirming in the mire.
    Beobrand rolled his body to the left, removing his own weight from atop the shield, then, lying on his back in the mire, beside the man, he lifted his shield and slammed it down with all his strength onto the axeman. He felt the boss connect. His fingers hurt where the scabs split.
    He raised the board again, glad now of the straps that allowed him to use the strength of his whole arm, and smashed it down. Bones crunched under the boss. Over and over he battered the iron boss and linden board into the man.
    Was it the Waelisc's screams or his own he could hear through the roar of the rain?
    At last his foe lay still. Beobrand sat. Another sudden flash of light revealed Acennan grinning before him. He was reaching out, offering his hand.
    Beobrand grasped it and