Chapter 12 Cenric #3
It was immensely satisfying, but Cenric had no time to bask in it. He faced Egill, snatching up one of the shorter logs as the jarl came at him with a dagger.
Cenric planted his palm at one end and shoved the short log straight forward like a battering ram. It caught Egill square in the face and his head wrenched back. He went down with a rasping cry, even as his son leapt forward with a second weapon.
Cenric! Snapper barked, dashing back and forth. He was a tracker, not a fighter. Cenric!
Help, Cenric ordered. Get help!
Snapper raced back down to the beach, barking. His cries drew the attention of other dogs that joined in with a panic.
That would draw the attention of Ovrek’s men.
Cenric snatched up another log. This would have been easier if he’d had his sword. This log was about the length of his forearm, but wide enough around that he had to wield it with both hands.
Blocking Dagrún’s path to Ovrek, Cenric faced down the other man. “Best get to your feet, lord,” Cenric shouted, not looking away from the would-be assassins.
“Pig-humping cocksucker!” Ovrek yelled.
Cenric wasn’t sure if the king intended that for him or the traitor Egill. Possibly both. At his back, Cenric could hear Ovrek grunting and cursing as he found his footing. Maybe Cenric had shoved the king a little too hard.
Dagrún came at Cenric with a dagger that had been concealed in his cloak. He slashed sideways.
Cenric blocked the blade, catching it on the log. He swung for Dagrún’s head and the younger man skittered back.
Cenric shoved straight out with the log like a spear, putting his weight into the blow.
He missed Dagrún’s dagger hand, but he caught the man’s elbow. Dagrún yelped, dropping his weapon as he retreated out of reach.
A moment later, Dagrún had a second dagger in his left hand, right arm held protectively against his side.
Cenric picked up another log, but motion from behind Dagrún warned Cenric before two more men came rushing from behind the thrall sheds. Instead of daggers, these men carried swords.
It seemed Egill and Dagrún had come prepared in case they weren’t able to finish off Ovrek themselves.
“You dare attack me?” Ovrek roared. “You dare!?”
Cenric leapt over one of the rows of chopped wood, still wielding a log as a makeshift weapon.
Ovrek was on his feet, hefting a woodcutter’s axe in both hands. It was worn and in need of sharpening, but iron was better than fists, as the old saying went. Cenric took up a fighting stance beside Ovrek, back-to-back.
The two swordsmen came at them, lunging for Ovrek.
Cenric piked another log for the legs of the first man. He missed, but the log skittered past him, tripping up the second.
Dagrún cursed from the other side of the wood pile, right arm still held protectively against his ribs. “Finish him off. Just get him!”
Egill had scrambled back to his feet and clawed toward them, blood streaming down his face, flowing in gory tracts along the scars on his cheek.
“I will feed your guts to the seagulls,” Ovrek roared, shaking his axe as he faced down the two swordsmen. “I will use your fingers to bait fishing hooks!”
The first swordsman reached Ovrek, chopping for the king’s head. Ovrek ducked, knocking the weapon aside with his axe.
Cenric stepped in front of Egill as the jarl came barreling over the stack of wood, his son at his side. Cenric kicked the stack from this side, wood pieces tumbled and rolled underfoot, tripping up the father and son.
Egill went down, still dazed from the blow to his head. Dagrún kept coming, his knife hand up.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cenric saw the second swordsman recover, reaching Ovrek.
Cenric threw a piece of kindling for the man’s head. It missed, but the man ducked, taking his eyes off Ovrek for just a second.
King he might be, but Ovrek had been a warrior first. The old king smashed his axe into the man’s collarbone, striking with a ferocity to make any skald proud.
In the moment Cenric had been distracted, Dagrún swept in close, a dagger stabbing for Cenric’s ribs. Cenric deflected the knife from his side with another log. He lunged forward, fist smashing into Dagrún’s jaw.
His knuckles stung with the impact, but Dagrún stumbled back.
Cenric swung his improvised log weapon around again, smashing it into the other man’s chest. Dagrún went sprawling, tripping over Egill and stumbling on the shifting pieces of firewood.
The younger man collapsed, gasping with the wind knocked out of him.
“Come at me!” Ovrek bellowed. “Come at me, you fatherless shit stain!” The king faced down the last swordsman, a grizzled veteran who scowled from behind a thick beard. Ovrek stood over the dead man, shaking his weapon in challenge.
Cenric snatched up the sword from the corpse. He shoved his last piece of firewood at Dagrún, smacking the younger man in the ribs where he still lay gasping.
Dagrún wheezed while Egill lay dazed. The jarl’s arms buckled as he struggled to push himself up. Those two could wait for a moment.
Cenric circled around the last remaining swordsman, his weapon drawn. Cenric attacked, lunging straight for the other man’s side. The swordsman backed away, raising his weapon in defense.
Ovrek let off a great bellow and gave chase, like a wolf scenting blood.
The swordsman made to thrust back at Cenric. Cenric deflected, but before he could counter, Ovrek was there.
The king came swinging his woodcutter’s axe with a roar, hacking in a wild frenzy. Land Waster—that was what they had called him in his younger days.
Perhaps these men should have remembered just who they were trying to kill.
The swordsman retreated, trying to find his footing. Pieces of stray firewood rolled under them, littering the ground in a treacherous maze.
Ovrek roared, but stumbled, tripping over a log. The king went down with a bellow of rage.
The swordsman saw his opening and dove for Ovrek, sword raised to strike the king’s head.
Cenric slammed into the swordsman, his stolen blade punching through the man’s ribs and out his other side. He shoved the man over, kicking the man’s sword away as the enemy warrior collapsed, blood gushing out his mouth.
Whirling back to where they had left Dagrún and Egill, Cenric stood over Ovrek with his bloody sword. The jarl and his son still appeared worse for the wear.
Egill vomited as he tried to stand, the force of the heaves sending him back down.
The king scrambled back to his feet, cursing the whole way. He righted himself, barreling straight to Cenric. “I had that one!” he roared.
Cenric shifted his gaze to the jarl and his son, currently gasping in a pool of their own vomit and blood. “You can have those two.”
Ovrek spun around, face crimson. Red trickled down his temple, probably where he’d hit firewood when Cenric had shoved him out of the way.
“You!” he roared, picking up the woodcutter’s axe again, advancing on the two gasping men.
“You swore oaths to me. I fed you from my table. I made you rich! Before me, you were nothing but a polecat stealing scraps!”
Cenric watched for signs of other attackers as Ovrek marched over to Egill. Voices clamored and it seemed that some of the thralls had taken note of the fighting.
Ovrek began kicking Egill, raving with all the fury of a madman. “You want to be an eagle? I will cut out your lungs and give you wings!”
Snapper charged back up the hill with several warriors racing after him. The men spilled into the space between the thrall huts. The thralls themselves fled, disappearing because they knew what was best for them.
Cenric! Snapper cried. Cenric?
I’m fine. Good dog.
Snapper yipped at that, tail wagging.
The warriors took in the sight of two dead men, Cenric with a bloody sword, and their king kicking a vomiting jarl next to his gasping son.
“Lord?” one of the men called, eyeing Cenric suspiciously, gripping his own spear a little tighter.
“Take these whoresons!” Ovrek roared, thrusting a finger at the bloodied jarl underfoot. “Put them somewhere miserable until I think of how to punish them.”
Warriors moved to collect Egill and Dagrún, grabbing the men by the arms and hauling them roughly to their feet. Two men moved toward Cenric, weapons drawn.
“Not him, you stupid swineherds,” Ovrek snarled. “Cenric was more useful than the whole lot of you.” The king finally seemed to be calming down, recovering from the sheer outrage of the whole ordeal. He rubbed at his forehead, wincing.
Cenric studied the sword in his hand, examining the balance of the blade and the wrappings on the hilt. Kelethi, if he had to guess. It was a good weapon, but he would be glad when he got his own back.
Ovrek’s men hauled off the offending jarl and his son. Ovrek spat on the corpses and yelled for the thralls to throw the dead men in the sea. They would be denied burial, their spirits left to wander the endless depths of the sea god’s realm for eternity.
“Why did Egill want you dead?” Cenric asked, watching as the jarl was dragged off, hardly able to stand on his own.
“Half the islands are in outrage,” Ovrek growled. “Men are saying I don’t revere the First of Fathers. But I do! As much as any anyone on these rocks.” Ovrek blotted the blood from his temple.
Cenric had to wonder just what Ovrek had done. Dagrún had mentioned something about yew in Ovrek’s flagship. Did that have anything to do with it?
“Did you enjoy that?” Ovrek snapped, glaring bitterly.
Cenric wasn’t sure if the king was referring to the fight or getting to shove Ovrek face first into a wood pile. Either way, the answer was the same. “Yes, lord.”
Ovrek grunted as if he understood exactly what Cenric meant. “You always were an insolent boy.” Even as he said it, he swung an arm around Cenric’s shoulders once again, like a dear friend. Like a proud father. “You feast beside me tonight, young wolf.”
That would have meant far more to Cenric if Brynn hadn’t still been lost in the woods, accused of murder.