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“It must be Ulfric. He is coming.” The warning cry went up.

It was clear the raiding party had no appetite for meeting the Viking warlord himself.

Already several had turned and were running back in the direction they had come.

Others limped behind them, glancing fearfully over their shoulders as though they expected a vengeful, marauding Ulfric to emerge from the trees at any second and cut them down where they stood.

Fiona would have dearly loved to do just that, but settled for firing several more stones at their retreating backs, scoring two more direct hits before the last of their assailants disappeared into the undergrowth.

Fiona counted ten men lying on the cold ground, and knew that two of them were their own. She grabbed her horse’s reins and remounted, then set the animal to a gallop back across the open land toward the site of the skirmish.

One of her guards, the first to have fallen, lay motionless, face down in the dirt. The other was just managing to struggle to his feet.

“Thor’s fucking hammer,” he murmured. “You felled eight of them, just like that.”

“Not all eight, you and Erlend took care of several. But my weapon did enough to scare them away. For now. Quick, we must take Erlend with us…” Fiona leapt from the horse, intending to sling the injured man over her saddle and lead the animal back to Skarthveit.

“Aye, but we shall take our horses too.” The guard pointed to where the other two mounts and Njal’s pony grazed quietly a hundred yards from where they stood. “Do you think you can round them up, lady, as I fear I am seeing rather more beasts than I know to be there.”

“Oh, yes, of course…” She remounted and cantered off in the direction of the horses, while the guard dragged his comrade from the ground.

By the time Fiona returned with the three mounts in tow the unconscious guard was moaning softly as his companion supported him in a position not far off upright. Between them they managed to get the more badly injured man onto a horse.

“If any of these others still live we should take them as prisoners,” the man pointed out. “Our Jarl will wish to question them.”

Fiona considered that an excellent point. “Yes, we shall do that.”

The closest of her victims lay prone on the ground.

The man was young, a lad really. His unseeing eyes were wide open, as though even in death he could not bear to shut out the final rays of light.

The centre of his forehead bore the pink mark where her stone had struck him.

“This one is dead,” she announced unnecessarily.

She should have felt more regret at having taken lives, but she knew full well that had these raiders prevailed none of her party would have survived. Her instinct had been to protect Njal, and she had done what she must. She moved on to examine another man.

He lay on his side, groaning and holding his hand to his temple. Blood seeped between his fingers. She had no way of knowing how badly he was injured, but would not be tarrying here to find out. “Help me to sling this one over the pony,” she called to the guard. “Njal can share with me.”

“Where is the lad, lady?” Her companion scanned the surrounding moorland, only now realising that Fiona had returned alone.

“Hiding. We shall collect him on the way. Hurry, we need to be gone before these bandits regain their courage and attack us again.”

“Not bandits, lady. These were Bjarkessons. I recognised several of their faces.”

The group clattered into Skarthveit shortly after, and the people of the settlement came running.

Feeling distinctly lightheaded now that the danger was passed, Fiona clung on until she caught sight of her Viking as he charged toward her from the direction of the harbour.

Only then did she slither from her mount and collapse in his arms.

“I have made matters much worse then.” Later, safe in their longhouse, Fiona was tearful as she regarded Ulfric’s solemn features. “They have even more reason now to hate us.”

Ulfric shook his head. “It is not your fault that one of the men you killed was Olaf’s youngest brother. Ivarr was but fifteen summers old and his jarl should have either curbed his hot-headedness or trained him better.”

“Fifteen? Oh… oh, no.”

“Old enough to wield a sword and attack women and children who he believed to be defenceless, so old enough to face the consequences. Again, little Celt, the harm is not of your doing. I would rather it was the Bjarkesson pup lying dead out there and not you or my son. If you had done as Ranulf suggested and left your guards to hold them off, you and Njal might have made it back to Skarthveit but I would have lost two fine men.”

“Erlend will survive, then?”

“Probably, provided his wounds do not become infected. And Ranulf will have a sore head for the next few days at least. They, and I, owe you our gratitude, and our admiration.” He smiled at her, his pride evident. “I understand your aim was true.”

“I have been practising. I thought perhaps my skill would prove useful.”

“It did, and your sling is an effective weapon. Perhaps you can share your talents with others here.”

“I would be pleased to, if it will help.” She hesitated, then, “Do you think they will attack Skarthveit?”

His mouth flattened in grim acknowledgement.

“Aye, I cannot imagine otherwise. I have sent to Gunnarsholm seeking my brother’s aid and we must hope reinforcements arrive in time.

The Bjarkessons are a large family, and if they summon their followers and supporters they can probably muster over a hundred men. ”

“And we have…?” She paused to tally the numbers in her head.

“Thirty-two. Perhaps that could stretch to forty if some of the old ones can manage to swing an axe. Gunnar has two dozen. Our men are the more skilled in battle, but the numbers are not in our favour.”

“When will they come?”

He shrugged. “I have lookouts posted to the north, south, and east. An attack from the sea is unlikely as it is not possible to land a longship here, and the Bjarkessons are but mediocre raiders.”

“How long before we might expect aid from your brother?”

“It is a two-day journey each way.”

“Four days then.”

“At best.”

“He will not be in time.”

Ulfric did not answer. His grim countenance spoke for him.

“Viking, how many thralls do you have?”

“Thralls? What does that have to do with anything?” Ulfric had been assembling his men in the middle of the settlement in readiness to defend their homes but he turned to answer Fiona’s question.

“I have offered as many as it might take in recompense for the losses for which Olaf holds me accountable but he is not interested.”

“I do not mean you to barter with them. You should free them and have them fight alongside your men.”

“Slaves? Against trained Vikings, men armed to the teeth and set on killing all before them? They would be slaughtered.”

“Not necessarily. They would be of little use, I agree, in hand-to-hand fighting, but it may not come to that. You know that I managed to best those who attacked us at the lake, and I did it from a distance of over fifty paces. What if we were to be ready for the assault and could pick off at least a number of them before they could reach Skarthveit? We might hold them off long enough for Gunnar to arrive, or even deter them altogether.”

“We may have as little as a few hours, not enough time for you to train my men, Vikings or thralls, in the use of a sling. They would need to be accurate, deadly shots.”

“Many of the slaves already are. Celts often use the sling to hunt, they can take down a rabbit or even a duck in flight. The thralls will be out of practice, but in the few hours we have we could?—”

“We do not possess these weapons, not in the numbers we would need.”

“You possess rope and leather. The items could be made readily enough.”

He narrowed his eyes, obviously considering, then he shook his head. “A fine idea, sweetheart, but the thralls work for us because they have no choice. They will not fight for us. Why would they? And I would be a fool to free my slaves, and then arm them.”

“In the circumstances you would be a fool not to.” She waved her hand at him, exasperated.

“You may well glower, Viking, and please feel free to take a switch to me at your earliest convenience for my temerity in speaking to you so, but I repeat, you are a fool if you do not make use of what you have to hand. The thralls might agree to help, you will not know until you ask them. Offer them their freedom in exchange. You are fond of trading, so let us go down to the slave shed now and strike a bargain.”

“Us? What is this ‘us’ who will barter with my property?”

“You are right, the thralls may not do this thing for you. They may not even believe you when you offer them their liberty in exchange for their aid in this battle, but they will believe me. I may convince them when you could not.”

“Celt, I…” He hesitated. “A switch you say? At my earliest convenience?”

She gulped. “Yes, if you consider it necessary.”

“You called me a fool. Twice. You may be quite certain I will find it fucking necessary.” He turned and strode off, then halted and looked back over his shoulder. “Well, are you coming then? The sooner we can have these Celts sharpening their aim in yonder meadow the better.”

“ Jarl , men have been sighted approaching from the south.” Ranulf, one of the men who had accompanied Fiona at the lake and had been posted as a lookout, yelled the warning from the edge of the settlement.

Ulfric raised his hand in acknowledgement and paused to survey his beleaguered domain.