Domnall's plan worked well, Galin thought, as the eight warriors slipped through the far western gate in Adeluna.  All of them were mounted, with rags wrapped around the horses' hooves to muffle their passage over the stone-covered streets of the city.  Their raid required absolute secrecy and so far it had been working.  The camp just outside the city's southern walls was active through the night, the fires built higher so they would burn until dawn and, as the city slept, the company of Northmen moved.  The queen was growing tired of a rebellious lord or baron or whatever southern title they chose that week whose lands were just a short march from the city complaining loudly about her succession and giving support to the son of the last king.  An example had to be made but she did not want to use the royal levy and show herself as a ruthless monarch.  Instead, the Northmen, whose camp was a silent reminder of the great war and Adeluna's recent rebellion, were paid in silver and told to burn it all.  No one would question the attack, with the reputation the men had won in the past as savage fighters looking for coin, and more importantly, no one would think that the queen had anything to do with the destruction of a dangerous enemy.

A few hours riding brought the riders to the arranged meeting place, the twelfth mile marker on the main highway, and there the rest of the groups were already gathering.  Just off the side of the queen's highway there was a dell and Galin could smell the smoke of cooking fires where the men were gathering.  He slid off the back of his horse with little grace and was glad to have his feet back on solid ground.  Horses never got on well with him nor he with them but it was easier than walking when there was so much ground to cover, especially in full war gear.  Grabbing the reins before the ill-tempered beast could wander off simply out of spite, Galin tugged hard and eventually the horse complied, following him through the scrub brush and into the secluded dell.  When one of the men asked for the mount, Galin was grateful, handing over the horse without a question. 

He spotted Luthene at one of the fires and made his way over to her.  "How was the trip," he asked, collapsing next to her on the cold ground.  Over the fire, in a small cast iron cauldron, a bownish stew bubbled.  "Oh, good, food's ready," he said and took a small wooden bowl and spoon out of his bag and spilled some of the hot broth into his bowl.  "Alyson, I've got another spoon in the satchel there, and some of that twice-baked bread.  Could you be a dear and grab it so we can eat this vile mess before it's so cold we won't be able to stomach it much longer?"  He sat close to Luthene, nearly touching her side with his, and noticed her tension when she felt others' eyes on them.  It was not that difficult a ruse to carry on, Galin felt, but it seemed to be a true trial for her.  Shrugging it off as the cost of the lie, he tasted some of the stew and spat a piece of gristle into the fire.  "I hope this wasn't your old ma's recipe, Alyson, or you'll be a hopeless bride.  It tastes like… boots.  Year old boots.  But at least it's hot."

Stretching out a little, he took a piece of the dry, brittle bread and dunked it into the stew until it was soft enough to eat.  One of the young boys of the came to each fire and left small wineskins for the men.  Galin took one with distaste, never having developed a love for the southern drink, but it had to be better than the stew.  Drinking a swallow, he passed the skin to Luthene and edged closer to the fire to stave off the cold.  "Another day's riding and then we will probably do the last one on foot.  Less likely to be noticed."  He spooned another mouthful of the disappointing stew into his mouth and considered their objective.  He and Luthene had been assigned to help take the small postern gate that led to a well beyond the lord's fortress and, once inside the fortress, open the main gate for the attacking force.  It was an honor to be chosen for that assault, but it was a far riskier assault than burning the huts outside the wall and waiting for the gate to open.  Instinctively, he touched the Maker's shield around his neck and prayed that he would see the assault through.

"Now, once you've finished, Alyson dear, we've got to get our rest.  You and I both won't be standing watch tonight, so sleep's the order of the day."  Galin pulled out a folded woolen blanket from his satchel and spread it near the fire so it would benefit from the warmth of the flames through the night.  "And since I am a gentleman, I'll have to let you choose, "big spoon or little spoon?"  Her obvious confusion made him smile and he took the spoon out of her hand.  "So this is you," he said, holding her spoon in his left hand, "and this is me."  He placed them back to back, hers to the front first.  "Little spoon."  And then he reversed them.  "Big spoon.  Lady's choice." 

Luthene's group, which included the stoic Lugh and other men she was still getting to know, were the first to arrive at the rendez-vous point and thus were tasked with getting the camp ready. A few men were preparing cauldrons, while she saw to the fires themselves.

The previous night, knowing they were about to march, she had asked Galin if they should argue as planned. Luthene even had a topic in mind: bring up the serving wench from the Mermaid, a story with real truth to it. But, as it would be an open camp, he didn't think it was necessary. That didn't always stop people, Luthene knew, but she didn't press the issue. She was still elated from swearing her oath and the plan of attack, plus the energy in the hall itself, and she wasn't sure she could fake an argument with Galin at that moment. Then the pair has been separated for the ride out of Adeluna. Galin had not been among the second group to arrive, but he had found her as she was sitting by the fire, about to tuck in to some unappetizing stew.

"The trip was uneventful," she said. "My horse wasn't keen on setting out, but I managed to convince the beast that he could either be my mount or my meal, and he was more compliant after that. How about you?" Luthene fetched the bread and spoon. She could feel the eyes of other men in the company on them both, and tensed when she realized how close Galin was to her. His advice had been to relax, but that seemed far easier for him than it was for her. But he had done this before, with Asmodeia and who knows how many other women. For her, this was new, and contrary to the way she usually behaved around men.

Luthene punched Galin's arm when he criticized the stew, flushing all the while. "I'll have you know it was Dfyed who made the stew, so rest assured, there's no boot in there, but perhaps not much actual food, either. Had I been the one cooking, it would have burnt." Pausing, she added, "So I hope you can cook, else we'll probably starve." In truth, Luthene's cooking wasn't quite that bad. A bit bland, yes, and occasionally overcooked, but probably better than the gruel Dfyed put in the cauldron.

It tasted terrible, but it was food (probably), and they ate. Another day of riding ahead, Galin said, then a day on foot. Tonight, they would rest, watch duty falling to some other unlucky souls. Galin took out a blanket… only one. She frozen; they'd be sharing. He asked her to choose a spoon, and she was confused. "What do spoons have to do with sleeping arrangements?" Then he smiled and demonstrated. Her face grew hot, hopefully not visible in the firelight. "Little," Luthene grumbled, taking back her spoon. An entirely practical choice, being that Galin was the larger of the pair. She forced down another mouthful of stew before setting her spoon down. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather an argument?" she said, learning close to him so she could speak quietly. "This won't be uncomfortable for you?"

Resigned to this arrangement, Luthene lay down and pulled the blanket over herself. She stiffened when she felt Galin crawl in behind her, more aware of every breath he was taking than the fact that she was holding her own. It took a while for her to finally relax and close her eyes. I suppose it's warmer like this, she thought, just before falling asleep.

"Takes some talent to burn something wet, but I wouldn't put it past you," he said in reply, putting his arm around her shoulders and squeezing as he laughed.  While it was part of the lie, he had tried Luthene's cooking before and it was edible only by the loosest of definitions, and that was saying a lot for a Northman.  The Highlands were not exactly a culinary hot spot, but even Galin could do better than some of the sorry campfire fare Luthene had subjected him to in the past.  "I suppose we will have to muddle through between the two of us when I finally make an honest woman out of you, won't we?" 

He almost laughed again when she suggested an argument rather than sharing a blanket.  "It's damp, it's cold, and we are both going to have our clothing on.  You have nothing to worry about."  He chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose for effect.  "And no," he said softly, "I don't think I will be terribly uncomfortable at all."  When he finished banking the fire, Galin found that Luthene was already curled up in the blanket and he smiled a little to himself as he edged himself in with her, stretching his arm under his head and hers as a makeshift pillow.  His other arm naturally fell over her and he tried not to think too much about the situation as he began to drift off.  Galin felt her slowly relax and drift off herself and he pulled the blanket tighter over her to ward off the night's cold before falling asleep himself with a ghost of a smile on his face.

The next day's riding was uneventful and the evening's stew was equally inedible.  Luthene seemed to relax fractionally faster their second night in camp but he only noticed because, once again, he waited until she drifted off to sleep himself.  The rest of the company did not seem to think anything was amiss with the couple and Galin was glad, not wanting to distract Luthene in the days before a fight.  The third day was slower going, as they picked their way through the lord's lands, moving in small bands, leading their horses on foot as to avoid detection.  The company split around mid day into the two attacking parties and Galin, Luthene, and Lugh headed to the fortress' west gate.  They stopped in a wooded area across a river from the fortress and spent the afternoon scouting the bluffs they would have to scale and the gate they would have to take.

The fortress was stone and timber, with the gatehouses made of dressed granite, while some of the walls and upper stretches of the palisade were made from oak, presumably harvested from the woods that now hid the Northmen.  Galin and Lugh the archer crept closer to the bluff in the fading light of the day to count the men that guarded the gate.  "Ten, maybe fifteen spears," Galin whispered as he squinted at the fortress walls.  "Probably a few bowmen, but they won't be expecting us.  And, if things go well, they won't have time to loose many, eh?"  Lugh nodded, taciturn as always, and Galin craned his neck to try and count the men on the far wall.  It was the end of the day and most of the people that lived in the fortress but worked outside it were coming back.  It stood to reason, then, that there would be more guards on hand when people were entering the fortress' walls.  At night, after the curfew, the gates would be barred until the morning and then the women of the small town would leave to go about their business and gather water from one of the wells or the river itself.  It was then, in that pre-dawn light that they would have to attack.

The men lit no fires that night and instead huddled closer together for warmth.  Galin draped his blanket over Luthene's shoulders while he went about the ritual he unthinkingly completed before every battle.  By the light of a waning crescent moon, he scraped a stone along the edges of of his spearhead until its edges could split silk.  Most of the men in the company carried spears or long axes and, while simple, they gave range in the shield wall before the shields crashed against each other and the shoving match began.  It was in that sort of press that the long fighting knife of the Northmen was cruelly effective.  With its needle sharp point and cutting edge, it could ram up beneath the rim of a shield and punch through mail while a longer blade could not be swung with the proper force.  "This will be your best friend," Galin said softly as he sat beside Luthene, sharpening her blade as well.  "Up under the rim of the shield, in the ankles or the thigh or up through the groin.  It will put a man down and the man behind you will finish him.  It is a butcher's yard in the shield wall, but if you keep your shield touching mine, you'll be right enough."  He had impressed on her a hundred times already the importance of keeping the shield wall together but his nerves made him repeat it once more.  "Only when the bastards are broken is your big sword best used.  Then you can cut them down like wheat in the harvest."

He talked through the night as they kept watch, sometimes sharing the blanket for warmth and others stamping around to check the perimeter of the camp.  An hour before the dawn, the men began to rouse and, after a quick meal, were chivied into ranks by a grizzled veteran of a score of battles.  "New lass wants a spot in the front, eh?"  Sithric swatted her helmet and laughed before he took his place at the far right of the line, where his shield would cover his neighbor but he would have no shield to cover his own right side.  Galin smiled and rapped the rim of his shield against Luthene's tightening his grip on the shaft of his spear.  "Now, the track up can fit us five abreast, but when we make it to the top, spread out and cover the whole gate.  Can't afford to be outflanked, yeah?  Now… kill the bastards!"

Fifty Northmen came howling out of the copse of trees, splashing across the cattle ford toward the bluff and fortress gate.  It had been swung open and the women of the fortress, buckets in hand, were halfway down to the springs and river when the attack appeared.  For a few seconds they could not believe what they were witnessing and that was all the time the Northmen needed to close the gap.  As the women turned and fled up the bluff, the Northmen quickened their pace as guards began to heave against the heavy oaken doors.  Domnall had planned the assault well.  The fortress garrison was slow to close the gates on their wives and daughters and this delay would give the Northmen the foothold they needed.  Even as the last woman dashed through the gates, the gap was still wide enough for the charging shield wall.  One of the guards in the stone gatehouse had roused himself enough to find his bow and began to loose arrows at the compact mass of men.  One took Galin in the shield and he felt the thumping impact jar his left arm, but pressed forward.  There was not time to double the size of the wall, he thought, and doubled his pace, pulling ahead of his comrades.  The gates were swinging shut and Galin urged Luthene and the rest of the rank with him to hold the gap.

A defender, seeing the Northman standing in the path of the gate, charged him with an axe, snarling as he swung it at Galin's head.  With the skill beaten into him during training and honed in the Sarchu, Galin dropped to one knee and raised his shield over his head.  The axe whistled down until he rang against his shield's iron boss and skittered across the willow boards until it thumped into the dirt.  As the axe struck, Galin thrust up hard with his spear, punching through the man's leather jerkin and into his chest.  Blood gurgled in the man's mouth as he struggled for breath and Galin twisted the leaf shaped blade and pulled it back out, leaving the man to collapse in a blood of his own blood.  "Shield wall!"  Other defenders, unwilling to assault alone, had formed their own wall fifty paces away down the main road of the town.  "Lu…Alyson, to me," Galin called, making sure Luthene was at his shield side while more Northmen poured into the gate, forcing the doors back open.  The road was wider than the gate and the defenders' wall was twenty men across with more men streaming from other parts of the town to fill in the ranks.  The Northmen stretched their wall to mirror the defenders but it left them dangerously thin, only two men deep.

"Remember, you are Northmen, not sniveling shit farmers from the south.  They are cowards whelped on whores and are already pissing themselves in terror.  One good charge and their silver is yours to spend and their women are yours to fuck til you can't walk straight.  Now," the grizzled warrior Sithric roared from the right of the line, "let's fucking slaughter these sons of whores!  Come on!"  Roaring again, the line surged forward at a jog, shields aligned and blades glinting in the first rays of the dawn.  And, with the force of a blacksmith's hammer, the Nothmen slammed their shield wall into the enemy ranks and the day's true killing began.

"I'm glad for the knife, but my best friend is the man keeping me covered with his shield," Luthene said, with genuine sincerity. Again, Galin stressed the importance of keeping together, though she already knew it. It didn't bother her, however, nor did it bother her when he took her knife to sharpen it, even though she already had. Everyone had their rituals, something that helped calm their nerves on the eve of battle, and for Galin the ritual was to check his gear and hers. It wasn't that he doubted her ability to prepare, it was just something he always did. Any other time, Luthene might have been annoyed. However, tomorrow was the attack, and they would have to kill or be killed; everyone was on edge. She lifted up part of the blanket and invited Galin to site beside her under it while he worked.

Near dawn, men began to wake, eat, and prepare for the fight ahead. As unappetizing as their food typically was, it was worse cold, and Luthene passed on leftover strew, chewing the hard bread several times before it was soft enough to swallow. She offered to check Galin's armour once he had strapped it on, and allowed him to do the same for her. Then she stood silent for several moments, searching for the right words. Finally, Luthene leaned in and kissed him, quickly. "Stay alive."

Forty-nine Northmen and one Southern woman burst out through the trees, rushing towards the gates before they closed on the shield wall. A gatehouse guard loosed arrows on them; one hit Galin's shield, and Luthene felt another glance off the left side of her helm. Had she not been wearing it, it might have cut her. Galin rushed forward ahead of the wall and Luthene quickened her own pace to keep up. To her left, Lugh caught up and then passed her, nearly keeping pace with Galin. An axeman swung at Galin, who dropped, shield overhead, and responded with his spear just as Lugh caught up, Luthene on his heels. By the time Galin called out to her— nearly using her real name in the process— she was at his side. She knocked the rim of her shield against his gently, as though to demonstrate that she had been listening the hundred or so times he had told her to keep her shield next to his.

Their line stretched out so they couldn't be flanked by the defenders, but it left them just two men deep. Sithric called for the wall to charge against the defending wall, which was three deep. The company men were outnumbered, but couldn't be enveloped. The worry was that their line would break, especially once men started to drop.

Luthene ducked under an enemy spear as shield met shield, and her knife went into the man's thigh. From behind her, a Northman's spear took him in the neck, and she pulled her knife our of his lifeless body as he dropped. One man down; another took his place in the line. While she lacked reach, Luthene found it easier to get under an enemy's shield and slice or stab at their legs and ankles. While not deadly strikes, at least not immediately, they often threw a man off enough that someone else, usually Galin or Lugh, could snuff the life out. All the while, Galin's shield kept her covered, and she made damn sure her own was up, because if the wall didn't hold, they were all dead.

A man from the back of the defending line broke rank and ran as Luthene ducked down to get her knife into the groin of the man directly in front of her. Their line was starting to thin, especially to her right. "Galin!" Luthene called. "Push—"

She didn't get a chance to finish before an axe shattered the edge of her shield.

A shield wall was bloody work.  In the front rank, pressed against the willow boards of iron-rimmed shields, men heaved against each other in a shoving match, trying to force their opponents back and off balance.  Any slip could break the front of the opposing wall and that could spell victory.  In that tight press, short blades did their bloody work below the rims of shields and in the gaps that jostling over blood-slicked ground inevitably created.  In the second rank, men with spears, swords, and axes thrust and hacked at the enemy ranks, driving men back under a furious rain of blows.  It was terror, rage, and calm all at once and Galin relished it.

Ramming his shield forward, he sent his opponent staggered back half a pace before the pressure of the men behind him righted him and pushed him back toward the Northmen's line.  As he closed again, a man in the rank behind Galin swung down with a lead-weighted axe head and split the man's head, helmet and all, leaving him jerking like a gaffed fish on the killing ground for a few seconds before he grew still.  Galin stepped over the man's body and jammed his spear at the man in front of him, who brought up his shield to deflect the blow.  Instead of recovering and striking again, Galin continued forward, stepping inside the man's guard as he swung his heavy sword.  The blow clanged off the peak of his helmet, robbed of force, and Galin punched the boss of his shield into the man's surprised face, shattering teeth and crushing his nose in a welter of blood.  Stepping back, Galin lanced out with his spear and slashed the sharpened edge across the man's throat, leaving him to bleed out on the ground.

All men felt fear in battle.  Any man that said he did not was either lying or a madman.  But some men, like Galin, transcended that fear and took delight in the slaughter.  It was, he thought, the truest test of a man and was the place where reputations were forged.  And to a Northman, a reputation was worth more than gold and silver.  He risked a glance to his left and saw that Luthene was holding her own so far, learning that in the front rank, the wicked dagger of the Highland fighters was a deadly tool for finding gaps and weaknesses and turning them to bloody ruin.  Turning his attention back to the front, Galin pushed forward, trying to force a break in the wall so the shield wall could make the main gate.  Luthene called to push and he looked back again in time to watch a heavy battle axe bite through the iron rim of her shield and shatter the willow boards to kindling.

"Bastard," Galin growled and jammed his spear forward toward Luthene's attacker.  He thrust low, across the man's body, trusting that the momentum of the axe's strike would carry him forward.  Instead of aiming at the man, Galin's thrust jammed into the packed soil of the road a foot ahead of the axeman.  Leaving the ash shaft quivering, Galin drew his long blade and shifted quickly to his left, sheltering Luthene behind his shield as her attacker foundered, his legs entangled with the spear shaft.  "Stay low," Galin whispered to Luthene, trying to give her as much protection as the shield could afford.  As the axeman regained his feet, he spat at Galin. 

"Come and meet your death, puppy, and then we'll have your bitch as well."  He swung the axe in a whistling arc and smashed it into Galin's shield, diving him back.  "Come meet your death.  All of you," he raised his voice to shout at the Northmen, "will die here, far from home, and will be forgotten by time and your loved ones.  Come, die on my blade!"  He was a battle lord, probably one of the household warriors of the rebel lord, dressed in his war finery.  His mail shone silver in the morning light, meticulously scrubbed with sand and vinegar until not a spot of rust could be seen on the tight-woven links.  His helmet, surmounted with a snarling bear's head chased in silver, would have bought a small farm in the North and his silver-inlaid sword belt the same. 

The battle had slowed to nearly a halt, with men growing tired and courage starting to falter.  Blades no longer rose and fell and the shoving match of the shield wall was a desultory one at best.  All eyes were on the center of the line, where a champion roared his challenge.  "You bleat like a sheep and smell worse than its shit," growled Galin, unbuckling the straps of his shield and tossing it at Luthene's feet.  "Dyfed," he murmured to the thief turned soldier to his right, "watch her."  The stoat-faced man nodded and shifted to cover her while Galin stepped between the lines to meet the enemy champion.  "Are you done crowing?"  He cut his sword in a figure eight in the air to loosen his wrist.  "Or are you afraid of death and seek to keep rambling to delay your trip across the Otherworld?"

The axeman smiled and raised his long-hafted war axe in a salute.  Men on both sides of the bloody killing field watched intently, the battle eerily silent, as the two men went about their work.  "I will split you and leave your guts for the lord's dogs while my men take turns on your woman there," the mailed warrior spat back.  "I am Tancred, little pup, and you would do well to know the name of the man that will kill you."  He pulled up the hinged cheek pieces on his helmet and showed his face.  "Not a single scar, and I am past my thirtieth summer.  You," he continued, as he pushed the plates back into place, "will soon see your strange, northern god.  Tell him that Tancred of Adeluna sent you."  And with that, he attacked. 

His axe was a blur and Galin scrambled backwards away from it, nearly losing his footing.  Before he could counter, the axe swung again and Galin desperately parried with his sword.  The force of the blow nearly knocked the blade from his hand and the Northman gritted his teeth.  A man had to take risks to gain a reputation, but part of him was questioning this risk.  As another axe blow scythed toward him, Galin ducked low under it and rolled to his left over the bloody ground.  As he righted himself, he backswung his sword in a vicious blow at Tancred's calf.  The blade sliced home, but only as deep as the steel plates sewn into the warlord's boot to stop just such a strike.  Still, when Galin found his feet again, he noticed the other warrior favoring that leg and saw a thin line of blood on his sword's blade.  The mailed warrior, Galin thought, was in a hurry to finish the fight and his pride stung worse than the wound to his leg. 

Tancred drove Galin back with two quick stokes and then swung the heavy blade down at Galin's unprotected neck.  Galin gripped his sword with both hands and swung to parry, pushing himself forward with the strike.  His blade bit into the shaft of the axe and the force of the parry pushed the heavy head to the ground.  As soon as his blade struck the axe, Galin released his grip and draw his long fighting knife.  Tancred saw the blade flash in the dawn and even as he tried to recover his axe to parry, Galin thrust the wicked point of the blade into the axeman's throat and sawed until he was covered in the champion's lifeblood as he screamed a wordless cry of defiance. 

The other shield wall began to shuffle backward a pace, demoralized as the loss of their warlord and the savagery of Galin's attack.  Grinning through a mask of his enemy's blood, Galin wrenched his sword free and retreated back to his line, taking a place behind Luthene.  "Well, you did tell me not to die!"  The Highland men were growling now, waiting for the order to finish the killing.  Sithric bellowed for the advance, and they surged forward, over the bodies of the dead, and into the crumbling enemy wall.  "The gate, Alyson" Galin reminded Luthene as he jabbed his sword over the rim of her shield and took a man's eye.  "Be the first to the gate and you will earn the captain's favor.  Quick now!  We can't have me taking all the glory!"

Luthene felt the impact of the man's axe on her shield all the way up her left arm. Her shield shattered, useless. She dropped the remains just as Galin growled at the man and thrust his spear into the ground in front of the man. As Galin expected, he had overreached, and fell. Luthene took that moment to draw her sword; her left arm was stronger, anyhow. She didn't have a shield, but perhaps she could parry. Galin drew his own sword and advised Luthene keep low so she'd be protected. She looked to her left first, where Lugh was now unprotected on his right. He'd heard Galin, and nodded.

Luthene hadn't really been thinking much about the opposing force. They were standing, they were attacking, and her goal was to attack and kill them before one of them could do the same to her. This allowed her to focus on what needed to be done, and forget that her enemies were also men. That sort of thinking made it harder to kill them. The result was that Luthene didn't notice that, unlike most of the other men, he wore mail, and a fine silver-chased helm. But when he stood and spat at Galin, and she was scanning his person looking for an opening she could stick her knife into, it became impossible to miss.

Galin was pushed back when the man's axe struck his shield, and Luthene stepped to her left. She wanted to respond, but the axeman was focused on Galin, and Luthene knew not to step in. A challenge had been made, and this was just the sort of moment Galin said he wanted. Still, when he started to unbuckle his shield straps, it took everything in her to keep from yelling at him to stop, to let another respond, to at least hold on to his damn shield. But instead, she sheathed her sword, picked up his shield, and took her place in the wall with Dyfed covering her right side. Luthene was silent as the axeman, Tancred, struck first, causing Galin to nearly lose footing getting away from the attack, then nearly lose his sword parrying another blow. She noticed another one of the Northmen touch the shield emblem he wore around his neck, but she had no holy symbol herself; would their god even hear her prayer, she a Southern woman who had proclaimed that their were no gods, and went to war under such a banner? Then Galin landed a cut along Tancred's calf, and Luthene wondered if maybe the Maker heard prayers after all. Then the colour drained out of her face again as Tancred swung his axe down near Galin's neck, a blow that might had taken Galin's head off had he not managed to parry it. In that moment, Galin gained the upper hand, pushing the axehead to the ground, and giving Galin the opportunity to drive his knife into Tancred's throat. Some of the Northmen whooped at their champion's victory, while Luthene could only sigh with relief. When the fight was done, if they were both still drawing breath, then she would cheer.

Galin retrieved his sword and returned to the line, covered in blood and grinning all the while. "Glad you've finally started listening to my advice!" Luthene said, glancing behind briefly and smiling at him. The defending line, meanwhile, was falling apart. Sithric ordered the advance, and Galin suggested she make for the gate. She swapped her knife for her sword, and glanced to her left; again, Lugh nodded, and Luthene doubled her pace. A few others from the front line did the same.

The sight of the advancing Northern company demoralized the defenders even more; many of the unprofessional troops turned tail and ran, probably not knowing that Domnall was out there with the rest of the company, an even larger force of men who will cut them down without hesitation. One got in Luthene's path, and she drove her sword into his flank, just below the ribs. He wasn't even wearing armour.

The next obstacle was wearing armour, a leather cuirass like her own, and a two-handed axe. Holding his ground, he swung, and she bent her knees, her shield over her head, similar to what Galin had done at the first gate. She cut into his knee as the axe slid off the shield, and he howled in pain as he fell. Rising, Luthene drew her blade across his throat, silencing him. It was a mercy, really.

Looking up, Luthene saw a path open between herself in the gate, and she took it. She started to run, hoping that at least someone was close behind, lest the defending men pull together and cut her off from the rest of the company. Reaching the gate, she started to open it.

There were very few words that could ever truly describe the sort of carnage that began once a shield wall broke. Most battles left very few dead on either side when two well-formed, tight-knit walls hammered against each other in their shoving match. It was when one side finally succumbed to the pressure that the real work of killing began. With their champion dead and the Northmen charging again, the defenders of the fortress’ town began to stream away from the shield wall from the back. The men without stomach for the killing work of the front ranks would shelter there, lending their weight to the charge, but once the tide turned, they were the first to leave the field in disorder. These men, fathers and brothers, began to melt away from the fighting, ducking into the town to protect their wives and sisters from the pillaging that was sure to follow the Northmen’s attack. It would not do them much good because the men of Domnall’s company were raised in war and would slaughter these men in turn as they sacked the town, but the illusion was enough to send them running and with that, destroy their only real chance of survival.

The spearmen and swordsmen of the attacking force no longer needed to hold their line and instead attacked like a pack of wolves, howling and snarling as they slashed through the fleeing men. Some brave defenders formed their own small shield walls, bent around in a circle, bristling with defiance, but the carnage flowed around them like an irresistible current of death. Even these small pockets of resistance did not last long, with well-trained teams of fighters breaking the walls with brutal efficiency. A man with a war axe would hook the sharp pointed beard of the axe over a man’s shield and drag it down and a spearman would thrust at the unprotected torso of the defender. Before the man could even collapse, the Northmen were stepping over his body to slaughter the men around them. Some defenders threw down their arms, hoping for mercy, but they were killed to a man. There was no place in this assault for mercy and the Northmen could not spare men to watch prisoners. So no quarter was given and the fortress’ town was bathed in blood.

Galin raced after Luthene as she made for the gate, ducking under a wild swing of a defender’s sword. He did not bother to kill the man and simply hammered the heavy hilt of his sword into the man’s face, leaving him stunned on the ground. If he was lucky, the Northmen would think he was dead. If not, he would be skewered by the blades that followed Galin and Luthene toward the gate. Unhampered by a shield and wearing only a leather cuirass, Galin was able to move quickly through the melee until Luthene carved her path to the gate. As the men of the town retreated in disorder, Luthene made it to the gate and began to heave on the heavy oak bar that held the gates shut. Lugh leaned his shoulder against the bar to help and Galin turned toward the town, his sword held low. Even if the peasants and burghers were retreating, the war band of the lord would still fight and he did not want to see Luthene and Lugh ambushed. The hiss of arrows told him that Domnall’s force was close at hand as they peppered the gatehouse to keep the defenders occupied. Two defenders, crouching behind the high palisade on its wooden fighting platform, looked between the oak planks to see Luthene’s efforts below. Galin heard them curse and readied himself, ducking behind one side of the gateway’s interior.

As the two men charged, Galin stepped out from the recess, his sword already swinging. The sudden appearance of an armed man took them by surprised and they checked in their stride. Galin’s blade sliced across one of the men’s faces, taking his eyes and turning them to bloodied jelly. The man fell to his knees and let out a keening howl, his face now a mask of blood. His companion swung his own blade at Galin, a wicked cut toward his groin, and Galin stumbled to the ground trying to avoid the strike. Scrambling on his back, he feebly parried another strike but lost his sword in the attempt. The defender smiled and Galin could see his death in the man’s pox-scarred face as the blade slammed down. Galin rolled away as best he could but the steel ripped through the leather of his armor and into his side. It was not a well-made blade, more of a club than a thrusting blade, but all the same Galin felt a rib crack under the force of the blow and blood soaked his tunic. The man’s blade stuck in the packed earth and Galin saw his last chance as the man tried to twist the blade free. He hissed with pain as he moved, but he pushed himself onto all fours and threw himself at the defender. Galin’s arms wrapped around the man’s waist and he drove him to the ground, hammering his face with his fists. With the man stunned, Galin pulled off his helmet and used the heavy steel as a bludgeon, smashing it down with both hands until the man ceased struggling beneath him. Spitting on the corpse’s ruined face, Galin struggled to his feet and retrieved his sword as the gates creaked open and Domnall’s men flooded into the fortress. Leaning on his sword like a cane, Galin swayed a moment, then collapsed against the palisade, sinking to sit against the dressed oak timbers. The pain in his side was not crippling but he was losing blood. He tried to stuff a rag into the rent in his armor and cut a strip off a dead man’s cloak to bind it around him.

When Domanll stepped into the charnel house of the courtyard, he saw Galin and hauled him to his feet as Sithric approached them. “The boy’s done well,” said the scarred old fighter to Domnall. “Stupid, but good. But who isn’t when they’re just a few weeks off his mother’s tits. Girl did well too, got the gate open,” he allowed, then gestured toward the stone and timber toward at the north side of the fortress. “That’lll be a real bastard.” Galin, straightening in response to the veteran’s praise, pursed his lips and looked for Luthene. She was always good with an idea and now ideas would be needed to crack open the tower. The lord and the best of his retainers would be there and, without siege engines, there was a good chance he could stay there for months until starvation or disease forced him out.

“Alyson, Lugh… what do you think,” Galin asked, stepping back from the leaders as they began to discuss their own plans for assaulting the fortress’ tower. “The walls are three times the height of a man and proper thick, so we’ll either have to scale them or the Maker knows what else.” For once, he had no idea what to do and with the pain pulsing in his side, did not foresee any great revelations as he spent all his strength trying to stay on his feet. Luthene would have to come up with something to save a desperate assault on the walls with ladders under the eyes of the defenders. Such an assault would leave too many dead but, without a plan, would be the only way in.

The bar was much easier to lift once Lugh joined Luthene at the gate. She heard cursing up above, and while her first instinct was to stop what she was doing and deal with any defenders, she knew that it would be better to get the gate open and let the bulk of the company in. She saw Galin duck into a recess, and kept heaving at the bar until the gate opened, and the Northmen had arrived.

When she saw Galin next, she was horrified. There was a cloth wrapped around him, a spot of blood on it. He was going on about the tower, but she was more concerned about him. She knew better than to say anything, however, but there was no hiding the concern on her face. He mentioned possibly scaling the walls, and the words were out before she could stop them: "Absolutely not!" Likely the lord had his best men there with him, and even a few good men would slaughter the Northmen in such an assault. Galin, already injured, would likely be killed in such an attempt. They'd have to find some other way in. There was always a weakness. She looked at the tower, searching for some flaw in the building, and then it occurred to her: the flaw was inside the building.

Luthene began unbuckling the shield from her left arm. "You brought a Southern woman along, let's make use of that." Handing the shield back to Galin, she took of her helm, and went to work on her cuirass. "We got this far because they wouldn't shut the western gate on their women. That's how we can get in again. We gather a group of women, hold them at knife point, and demand a trade. I don't think the guards have the stomach to watch their women… well I'm sure you know what sort of threats to make. Once we're in, go for the guards, and I'll 'flee' with the rest of the women and kill the lord. If the guards haven't surrendered by then, they will when they know he's dead." To Lugh, she said, "Tell the captain to get a group of women together, perhaps a dozen or so. I think maids and young mothers would be best, but explain it to the captain, I'm sure he'll know who might garner the most sympathy. Just not too young, I don't want to stick out. Have them ready in the courtyard in, say, two hours."

When he left, Luthene looked over the bodies of the fallen defenders until she fount a small dagger, one she'd be able to conceal easily. "Alright, Galin, you come with me. I'll need a dress." She left her kit behind, and exited through the main gate, keeping pace with Galin. It didn't take long to find a hut that was both empty and not on fire, and she pulled Galin inside and shut the door.

"First I want to take a look at that wound," Luthene said. "Get your tunic off." While he did, she went rummaging through the hut looking for cloth she could use as bandages, a sewing kit in case he needed stitches, and medicine if she could find any. She was lucky, and managed all three, plus a bowl of water. She returned to Galin and handed him a piece of bark. "Chew on that, it's for the pain." Carefully, she cleaned around the wound. There was some ugly bruising, which she felt. "Sorry," she said when she felt him cringe, and was gentler with her next touch.

"Broken rib I think," she diagnosed. "Nothing I can do about it right now, but I am going to stitch this up." She threaded the needle and went to work. "And… thank you for having my back. Don't tell me it was nothing, either, because you got yourself hurt, and you didn't get this from Tancred!" It didn't take long to finish stitching the wound, though she wanted to use proper sutures later. Next, she went to work making a poultice. "Assuming whomever lives here didn't mislabel the jars, this should help with the pain, and keep the wound from going bad." That was Luthene's biggest concern. Many men had walked away from battle with only superficial cuts, only to be dead a weak later, their injuries festering.

Once the poultice had been applied and fresh bandage wrapped around the wound, Luthene handed Galin a fresh tunic, to replace his ripped one. "Now… turn around," she said, flushing, as she removed her own tunic and quickly pulled the dress she'd found over her head. It was a bit loose, but it would do. She removed her trousers, and let her hair down. Giving her hair a toss, she said, "Alright, you can look." She felt odd in the dress, and the neckline was lower than anything else she'd worn, but at least the sleeves were long enough that she'd be able to hide the dagger easily. "How do I look?"

Taking the dagger, she slid it up her left sleeve. "When we step out again, remember, I'm a hostage, and you'll do unspeakable things to me if they don't let you into the tower, so, don't be gentle. Keep a knife at my throat, then I have reason not to struggle; I don't want to hurt you." When Galin was ready, she let him escort her out of the hut and back to the courtyard.

There were nearly two dozen women in the courtyard when they arrived, at least a handful of an age with Luthene. Each of them were being held by one of the Northmen, some of the best. Galin and Luthene joined them, and she tried to look as terrified as the others. They were soon joined by Sithric and his hostage, a blonde woman probably a bit younger than Luthene. "Hey!" Sithric called. "Look who we've got, you gutless sons of whores!" When a few of the guards peered out a window to see what was going on, he used his knife to rip open the front of the woman's dress. "See this pretty thing right here? First, I'm going to let her know what it feel like to have a real man between her legs. Then, I'm going to let the rest of the men have a turn!" More guards appeared. "Then, maybe I'll slice her tits off and keep them as souvenirs." Luthene was genuinely pale at this point. "If she's still alive, I'm going to bugger her with my spear. I'll do it right here, so you all can watch! And I'll see that's what happens to each of the women here, one by one, until one of you bastards lets us in that tower!" Sithric threw the woman to the ground and was about to tear away more of her dress when a door opened.

Relieved that Sithric didn't have to make good on his threat, Luthene allowed herself to be shoved inside the tower first. Poor Sithric's woman had wet herself from fear, and couldn't walk; he carried her instead. Once inside, the men waited for more guards to appear before the women were tossed aside. They ran past the guards, and Luthene with them.

While she had managed to get herself inside the tower, Luthene wasn't sure how to actually find the lord. Fortunately, the crowd of women carried her past a guard wearing his colours. They ran past, but Luthene stopped. "The lord!" she said, carefully lowering the dagger into her hand. "Is the lord alright?"

"Yes, he's in here, why?"

As soon as she heard that she was in the right place, Luthene's hand was raised, and she stabbed him in the neck. He was dead before he could even think to utter a warning.

Concealing the dagger again, Luthene opened the door. She was lucky; there were no more guards, just a single occupant, richly dressed. "My lord?" she asked, wanting to make sure she had the right man.

"Yes?" He rose from a seated position, and she saw a rapier at his side.

"Oh, my lord," Luthene said, feigning relief and moving towards him. "The Northmen, they were holding women hostage, and—" She didn't need to say anything more.. Having closed the distance, Luthene had her dagger ready, and she drew it across the lord's throat.

"Absolutely not,” he echoed in a teasing tone, wincing when his own laughter sent a shooting pain through his side from his broken rib. “At least you’ve got some sense still,” he said, almost affectionately. Though he would mercilessly tease her for her love of ponderous tomes and knowledge, he secretly found it impressive, as he was barely learned himself. One of the household guards in his lord’s service in the North beat some reading into him, but it was mostly the local tongue of the Northmen and his grip of the southern letters was even less sure. There was a sort of magic to writing, he always though, capturing things from the world and corralling them onto a page, ordering the chaos of the world. It was impressive but it bred a sort of man more concerned with a parchment and quill than a blade and a shield and in the South, the quill and parchment held great sway, with lawyers and clerks able to strip a man of his lands with some ink on vellum, never needing to lift a sword in anger. That sort of power scared Galin and he prayed that such a class of men would never infect the North. “Aye, would be muder. Like as not, the lord has at least forty or fifty men still in there. Some could be wounded from the first scuffle out here, but even then, I could hold that rock until the Maker walks the North again with fifteen good men.”

Her plan seemed to make sense and Galin nodded his assent. There were few things that could unman a fighting man as quickly as the thought of his woman in danger. Luthene was from the south and could pass for the woman of one of the garrison that had already been killed once she was out of her armor and Galin did his best to help her with the straps of her cuirass, though he fumbled more than he expected from the pain in his side. He glanced down at the bandage and saw the pale blue of the dead man’s cloak was slowly staining with blood. The wound was worse than he thought originally but he did not bother to say anything about it. There was no proper physician with the men and the chances of meeting one between the manor and the city were slim, so he gritted his teeth and hissed a prayer to the Maker that it would not become infected. Few things were worse than dying in the shield wall and surviving it to die, screaming with pain and shivering with a fever was one. The looting of the homes inside the fortress walls and Galin was not about to be left out. While Luthene searched the bodies for a dagger, Galin returned to the carnage that marked the killing space between the shield walls to find the champion Tancred. His armor was a prize in and of itself and Galin had earned it in combat.

The corpse was easy enough to find and Galin jammed his sword into the ground alongside the body and knelt down on the blood-spattered earth. Grimacing, he yanked on the sleeves of the hauberk until the man’s lifeless arms moved and the armor began to come off. Then he leaned over the body and unbuckled the enameled war belt around the corpse’s waist and then, using the leather lining at the neck as an anchor, he hauled the coat of mail off the dead man. It was an exquisite coat of tight-linked, riveted mail made, he surmised, by one of the master armorers of Adeluna. Galin would always trust a Northern blade but the armor of the Highlanders were never as fine or as strong as that of Adelunian smiths, so a southern coat of mail was a mark of prestige. With a coat removed, Galin stripped the corpse of the rest of its valuables, taking the purse from around his neck, the silver-chased helmet, and the enameled sword belt with him. He left the man’s axe in his hand, giving him that mark of respect for his courage in the fight. And besides, Galin never cared for using an axe unless he had no other option.

His plunder secure, Galin caught up with Luthene as she left the fortress through the main gate that she had captured for Domnall and down to the cluster of huts near the wall. Smoke obscured them from the stone tower and Luthene pulled him into one of the huts out of view of even the most alert sentries. As she ransacked the ramshackle hut for medical supplies, Galin dropped his new armor in a heap and slowly unwound the makeshift bandage. Where the blood had dried to the cloth, it tore away scabs from the wound and he hissed in pain until it was unwound completely. Letting it drop, he worked off his cuirass and tunic, stifling a whimper as the leather smacked against the growing bruising around his shattered rib. He took the bark and chewed forcefully, hoping that it would dull the ache in his side but it did nothing to soften the stabbing pain from her touch. “Fuck’s sake,” he hissed with the bark held tight between his teeth.

“It was nothing,” he said, simply to be contrary. “I should have been quicker. The bastard was good and I was cocky and this is what I get for my trouble.” He sounded flippant and in part he was, with the arrogance of a man who had killed a champion and taken his armor and his honor. He closed his eyes while she stitched the wound, repeating prayers from his childhood as a charm against the pain. She was mercifully quick the poultice seemed to work. Either that or the relief of not being actively poked and prodded was enough, and he relaxed as she finished bandaging him. Galin pulled the new tunic on gingerly, but quickly enough so catch a glimpse of Luthene’s legs as they kicked off her trousers, and he grinned to himself and gave an appreciative whistle. When he turned around, a quip ready, he stopped and looked, really looked at her a moment. He could not remember ever seeing her in a dress and it suited her with her hair down. “You… definitely fit the part. Quite a damsel in distress,” he said with a soft, almost wistful smile. “It would fool anyone. Now, help me into this,” he said, kicking the mail lumped in a pile. Usually he would have been able to pull the coat on over his own head but it took the two of them to avoid rupturing his stitches. He hung his scabbards from the new belt and looped it around his waist, better distributing the weight of the mail over his shoulders. He still wore his cuirass under the mail as added protection and after a few moments of swinging his arms, he felt comfortable in the hauberk. “Do unspeakable things to you, eh? I think I can manage that,” he said with a chuckle, then he cursed as it sent pain up from his ribs. As they left the hut and returned to the courtyard, he wrapped one arm around her waist and used his free hand to press his knife against her neck. “Now, remember, don’t get too excited. I don’t want to end up accidentally slitting your throat, alright?”

The ruse worked perfectly, with Sithric’s threats and the terrified look of the women moving the hearts of the defenders. As the gates opened, each warrior took a woman as a hostage, marching her like Galin marched Luthene, as a protection against a sudden change of heart on the part of the defending garrison. As the guards left the wall and moved to the gatehouse to intercept the Northmen and their captives, Sithric gave the signal and tossed the woman from his shoulder like a sack of grain into two of the guards. They stumbled and the rest of the women were released to rush through the press of guards to find their husbands and fathers. There was no chance for the defenders to draw their swords, for fear of striking their women, so the Northmen took them captive instead, knives to their necks as they were relieved of their arms and hogtied with their belts in the gateway. About half the men were left to guard them while the others followed a few seconds behind the women who raced through the halls, seeking safety. Luthene ran with them and Galin, following, saw that she dispatched a guard with her dagger then slipped into a chamber along the hall’s corridor. He winced as he trotted to keep up, kicking the dying guard as he passed, and looked into the chamber in time to see Luthene’s dagger slit the lord’s throat. He followed her into the chamber and clapped his arm around her shoulders then, on a whim, leaned down and kissed her. “Well fucking done,” he said and squeezed her until his side made him let go.

He slipped his knife back into its sheath and drew his sword instead, then hacked at the dead lord’s neck until his head came away. Leaning on Luthene’s shoulders for support, he carried the head back to Domnall in the courtyard, still dripping with blood. “She did it,” he said simply, and tossed the head at his war lord’s feet. His head began to feel light and spots started dancing in front of his eyes. Looking down, he was surprised to see blood leaking through the links of his new hauberk and he dabbed his finger in the blood incredulously. He opened his mouth to comment on his condition but suddenly the world went black and he collapsed to the ground.

It wasn't until Luthene felt Galin's arm around her shoulders that she realize he had followed her. She'd been about to say something when he kissed her, catching her off guard. Had someone else followed them? But when he complimented her, and held her for a few moments, she was able to see that there was no one else around. Why the deception, then?

Drawing his sword, Galin hacked at the lord's neck until his head had been severed. Meanwhile, Luthene took his sword, rings, and other finery she knew she could sell in the city. When he finished, he leaned on her, and they both returned to the courtyard. He barely had time to toss the head and credit Luthene for the kill when she felt him slide away. While she couldn't stop his collapse, she made sure he didn't hit his head or otherwise hurt himself further in the fall. Desperately, she looked around, and spotted Lugh, a strong man if ever there was one. "Help me get him inside," she said, and together they carried him to the barracks and on to one of the beds.

There were a few guards there, hogtied and weaponless. Luthene grabbed the lord's rapier and held the point to the neck of one of them. She pointed to one of the stains on her dress. "This is the blood of your lord. I slit his throat. I won't be so kind to you unless you tell me what I need to know." She pressed the point in further, nicking the man's neck, and a bit of blood rolled down. "Where is your infirmary?"

There was little reason not to tell her, and Luthene travelled up the stairs of the tower. Someone had gotten to the physician, killing the man and leaving his body on the infirmary floor. They were butchers sometimes, these Northmen, and she could have used an actual physician right about now, rather than relying on what she could remember from the few books she'd read ages ago. Looking around, she found bandages, catgut sutures, clean water, a bit of alcohol, and an assortments of herbs and ointments. There was also a book on herbs, and that went into a bag as well. Books sometimes fetched a good price, but this one would be of immeasurable value if there was something in it to help Galin.

Returning to him with her supplies, Luthene first, with Lugh's help, removed Galin's hauberk, cuirass, and tunic. The tunic was soaked in blood, and stuck to the wound some. Luthene had been afraid that the thread she'd found would break, and she'd been right. First, she removed it, then cleaned the wound and the area around it throughly, first with water, then with a bit of alcohol. "This part is going to sting," she murmured as she began, in case Galin was awake enough to hear her. Once cleaned to her satisfaction, Luthene sterilized a needle she'd found in the infirmary, and restitched the wound. She took her time, pulling each stitch tight, wanting to ensure that the wound would stay closed this time. Following the instructions in the book she'd found, she prepared a new poultice, which she applied generously over the wound, held in place by thick bandaging. "Wake up now, will you?" she said as she did her best to get it around him. Before putting a fresh tunic on him, Luthene also cleaned the blood off his shield.

When the killing and looting was done, a litter was made for Galin, and the company prepared to set out. It wasn't until Luthene was collecting her things that she realized she was still wearing the dress. As the company was ready to set out, there wasn't time to change, and she stuffed her clothes into a bag, and walked behind the litter back towards the city.