[i]collab between Constable Walrus, Igraine, and idlehands[/i]

[i]Trelleborg, late afternoon, House of Ragnarsson[/i]

“He’s my brother, I can’t let that son of a whore take his head and not seek revenge,” Amund swore, his fist pounding the earthen wall of Harald’s longhouse. Rain had begun to fall and the men were swathed in moth eaten woolen cloaks over their patchwork leather and cloth armor. They passed around a flagon of ale, they had been drinking most of the afternoon as they kept watch over Harald’s longhouse. The slave girl had been a nice diversion but the appearance of her master had been sobering. 

“Your brother had a big mouth,” grunted Knut, one of the older guards. “I saw it. He should have kept his temper and he would have kept his head.” 

Amund glared at him, “I’ll make Ragnar pay, if Harald will not. He sits in that house and allowed this to happen.” 

“Hold your tongue,” another guard replied. “He’ll get his soon enough. Thegn Harald will see to it.”

“I can’t wait for that,” Amund tucked his axe into his belt and drained the last of the ale before tossing the skin down into the mud. “If you are not cowards you will join me.” 

Knut pulled his hood lower against the rain as it began to fall harder and sighed, “What did you have in mind?”

“He has a wife and children and a house to himself,” Amund said, “He doesn’t have but a few men. While Harald waits, he could be gathering alliances of the missing Jarl’s warriors. I don’t want to wait for that. We kill his family, loot his home. Then force him before he’s ready to face us. We’ll break the man.” 

The older guard rubbed his beard, the young man spoke with ambition and he was unsure if Harald would appreciate it. Still, his idea was sound, though his bravado increased with the ale. Ragnar had not the numbers they had and eliminating him quickly made sense. Why Harald was waiting was beyond him but then Knut was not a politician, he was a raider and the thought of what the thegn might have horded away in his new house was appealing. 

Knut raised his shaggy eyebrows and belched, tossing aside the empty mead flask, “I’ll go, what about you lot? Want to hang around holding your dicks in the cold or have a little fun?”

In the end, three more men accompanied Amund and Knut as they made their way from Harald’s longhouse to that of Ragnar Ragnarsson. Amund smiled grimly at the sight as they walked into view. He saw a handful of children playing and a young pretty blonde woman watching them. Only one warrior was there, a short dark foreigner bearing a sword, his face painted as if for battle. The five men fanned out, moving in like a wolf pack.

Orran smiled, his sword still in his hands and was using a finger to draw into the mud circles and larger circles each coming to form a picture; a small boar. Orran looked up at the children his eyes resting on Eyja, and he spoke softly “Now just keep spinning the circles in the same pattern to make it bigger and bigger. These have to be drawn on the skin with very sharp tools, they prick to put the color in.” He looked at the boys “Little ones it hurts, more than any blade.” He looked down at the girl and smiled “So I’ll teach you to draw it on paper.”

His head cocked up at the noise of boots on the soft ground and his hand gripped his sword tighter; he turned to see the men standing quickly he yelled at them “Announce Yourself! And halt.”

Though she knew Orran was only doing this to entertain the little ones, Svala was as engaged in his instruction as any of the other children, fascinated by the spirals and the strange, foreign sound of his voice as he spoke. Eyja was still just as awed by the fact he’d allow them to draw such things on paper - real paper! And the sisters’ quiet, enthralled enthusiasm pulled all of them into the circle of the painted man, whorls and wild animals running through their imaginations like waking dreams. And Svala even managed a smile, a true one, a wide one, bright and almost carefree, such as had not been seen for many days.

So when Orran shouted, she leapt in fright, startled from where she leaned against the Ragnarsson’s home, dark blue eyes wide as her gaze darted all about them. Sigrid’s instructions before she left to the healing house ran through her head, and Svala moved instinctively to snatch up Dagny from where she stood, the littlest child among them.

The boys looked up and both of them took deep breaths at the sight of the armed men rapidly approaching. Their parents were gone and neither of them had ever faced strangers without them present. Ragnar the Younger snatched up his small shield and his practice sword and his brother did the same out of instinct. One had seen only eight winters and the other seven and neither would be much help in the defense of their home. Dagny clutched at Svala and Ranulf stood defensively in front of Eyja.

Amund and Knut lead the men and in a normal raiding situation they would have shouted war cries to frighten those that stood before them but they were wary of the close quarters and the possibility Ragnar could be alerted. One of the men, a tall stout man with unusually dark hair and a scarred face grinned wickedly at Svala. 

“Take what you want, that one’s mine,” Geir boasted to the others as they moved toward Orran and the children. “Pretty little thing.” 

Amund ignored him and stared right at Orran, noting his armor, “Step aside, Christian, this is not your business.” 

Orran watched the man carefully noting their positions quickly in his mind, their weapons armour, all categorized in his head; he turned to the side slightly. “Inside… Now. Boys the bravery is noted but get inside now.” he spoke quickly never taking his eyes off the men; and he scowled at the scarred one before his eyes moved to Amund meeting the gaze.

Orran rolled his shoulders moving his blade out in front of him; readying his stance. “You made it my business.” He spoke as well as he could muster in the tongue of the danes, “When you took that girl’s innocence you made it my business, and when you threatened these children you have made it my business.”

Amund laughed, “The slave girl, she was far from innocent. Why defend Ragnar’s brats when he would cut you down for being a Christ’s man?”

Orran's eyes shone darkly looking at the men “If you seek hell so quickly then so be it… I will send you all there, and you will burn in fire forever, the wolf will not back down.” He changed his stance letting the cumbersome cloak drop from his shoulders and rolls them again free from the confines of the heavy cloak. and he cursed at them in pictish taunting them with his body language “Come then! and I will send you to your face your false Gods in hell!”

[i]“Raudr,”[/i] Svala hissed, as she beckoned toward the would-be warrior boy with her hand. Dagny was in her arms in an instant, hiked up on one hip as she back away from the vicious men assembling around Orran, intent on killing Sigrid’s babes. [i]“Please, come away.[/i] Ranulf, Eyja - inside! [i]Quickly! Go![/i]” 

Sigrid’s words before she left, her order to run for the keep: the words rang through Svala’s head, but there was simply no help for it. They’d never get past all five men with only Orran to keep them at bay, no matter his battle prowess. For all her wisdom, all her far-sighted and cunning ways, she doubted even Sigrid could have foreseen five men descending on the house from all directions - and if she had, she [i]never[/i] would have left.

She shot Orran a quick glance, as awed at his transformation from man to wolf as she was horrified by the words of the scarred man. Svala was no warrior, but she was sick at the thought of leaving him with alone with five armed men, as if she’d failed some test of courage. But there was Dagny clinging to her neck with all the strength in her little arms, her small body shaking in her grip. [i]The children,[/i] she had to protect the little ones and there was no fleeing through this pack of rabid animals. Not unarmed and vulnerable as they were.

Ranulf grabbed Eyja’s hand and pulled her toward the open door, Raudr hesitating for a moment wanting to stay by Orran’s side. He waited until his younger brother had made it to safety before he retreated himself. He ran back and held up his small round shield as he put himself between Svala and the door. 

“They have to get by me first,” he said to her but his normal arrogance was tempered with real fear. 

Amund ignored the children, his axe now in his hand and his black and yellow quarter painted shield up on his arm. His pale eyes focused on Orran and he began to approach him, studying his stance and the long sword he held. His axe was a plain but sharp and well cared for and he was eager for blood.

“I tell you once more, Christian,” he said as he began to circle Orran. “Back away and live. This is not your fight. I’m here for Ragnar Ragnarsson’s blood.” 

Knut was just behind the young man and he held a large axe, gripped with both of his hands. It was a massive deadly weapon and he grinned at the lithe Pict.

“Listen to him if you wish to live another day to worship your [i]ergi[/i] Christ,” Knut spat on the mud and flashed a gap-toothed grin.