[i] continued collab with Idlehands, Constable Walrus and Igraine[/i]

Orran shook his head “I am not moving anywhere, and I will not be the one to die today.” He glanced at Knut as he spoke “As for you, I will send you to meet my Lord, so you can grovel at his feet for forgiveness before he sends you to burn in Hell.” And Orran swapped his stance, adopting a more subtle stance and watching them his blade out and ready.

“Raudr, you can… Best defend from in here, just past the door…” Svala pleaded. Honestly, she hadn’t a clue what she was saying, only that she desperately needed to sound like she did, to bring the brave child to her side, out of reach of axe blade and spear for precious moments longer. And with those words Svala somehow managed to set Dagny to the ground, a gentle kiss to the little girl’s forehead, fingertips wiping away great large tears from her pretty pale cheeks. 

“There now… Here sweet girl, don’t you move. [i]I’ll not leave you,[/i] just stay still a moment longer,” she whispered, her voice surprisingly level, low and calm. She spared a glance toward Ranulf and Eyja as the boy held her little sister protectively in his thin arms. The sight broke her heart and then hardened her resolve all at once. They could not stay behind these walls, but they couldn’t leave either, not until… 

Svala moved swiftly, dark blue eyes searching for the glint of metal, for… Yes! Exactly where she’d seen it last, Sigrid’s great spear was propped against the wall beside the sleeping bench, alongside the proud row of shields. Svala hefted the spear in one hand, a feat surprisingly easy for a woman of her natural strength, and then took up the smallest of the shields, letting its unfamiliar weight rest on her other arm. There was no great skill in the way she handled either, no knowing, no learning beyond what she’s seen here in Trellesborg among the fighting men. But there was determination, and a welling fury, and the start of a very desperate plan.

“Raudr! Can you carry your shield, and Dagny too?”

Raudr looked over at Svala and reluctantly tucked the wooden sword into his belt and took Dagny’s chubby hand in his own. “I can.”

He did not argue, even Ragnar the Younger’s courage was tested at the sight of the men circling Orran. He tried to ignore the tremor of fear that went through him and he wished his father or even his mother were there. Ranulf pulled his small quarter painted shield up protectively over Eyja and smiled slightly at her. 

“We’ll be alright, but be ready to run,” he said, watching the men focus on the Pict warrior. They stood no chance against the raiders and flight was their best choice for survival. Eyja did her very best to return her dear friend’s smile, though the corners of her mouth likely shook as much with impending tears than any kind of reassurance. 

But Eyja could run. She’d run when her big brother Tore told her too, and she’d run with her Madir and Svala through the woods to Trelleborg, and they’d been all right too. She trusted Ranulf, and she could run when he said, and if he said they’d be all right, she believed him. And she’d run.

Amund and Knut closed in on Orran, the older man striking first as the younger smacked his shield with his axe. Knut swung the two handed axe at the smaller man’s midsection, hoping to lay a crippling if not fatal blow with the first shot. 

The dark haired man watched the other two circle around and he looked at the house, meeting Svala’s eyes. He grinned and hefted his bearded axe, twirling it in his hand as he made a cautious approach. The girl had a spear but he was not too concerned, she was still very young, just a maiden. 

As the man with the axe reared back for a swing Orran glanced at him quickly moving low and back; the axe swinging harmlessly over his head and he used his smaller stature and speed to rush forward after the large swing and bury the blade of his sword into the chest of the larger man dead center in his diaphragm piercing his lung and running him through.

Orran pulled his sword from him quickly springing up and turning to look at Amund, he sidestepped to rearrange his position putting all the men back in front of him and grinned; bouncing the blade in his hand and using his speed to continuously make Amund change his body orientation.

“Well done Raudr,” Svala said swiftly, nodding toward the young boy, and then to Ranulf and Eyja. She somehow smiled at them all, the children she loved, and would have been glad to know her smile carried warm reassurance and confidence. This, even as her insides turned to ice water when the dark-haired man’s gaze was on her again, and she knew there were only seconds left to get them out of here. Orran was breathtaking to watch, agile and quick, but even he was in no position to stop the intent she saw in those feral eyes.

“Raudr, Ranulf - get the girls to safety - there’s no time to wait! When I step out, go behind me and [i]you run to the keep![/i] Run and protect Eyja and Dagny and [i]don’t look back[/i]. And don’t you dare stop ‘til you’re there! Raise the alarm, send for the Jarl’s men!” Svala frowned, shaking her head curtly at the protest Eyja was about to make, the sudden fear in those pale eyes bright and unmistakable. “No arguing! [i]GO![/i] I’ll be right behind you!”

Svala stood swiftly, her inexperience with spear and shield evident with every awkward movement. But the young woman was no thrall, to be beaten and violated without a fight. She was a free woman, and a Dane, and she would give them a battle to make the Valkyries take note - [i]anything[/i] it took to get the little ones past these animals to the safety of their mothers’ arms again. Svala stepped just beyond the doorway, leaving room enough only for the children to get past her and away.

Amund grunted with surprise at the speed the man moved with and he took a defensive position at once when he saw Knut run through. As Orran spun back around Amund moved at him, his shield held tightly against his body covering him from his lower jaw to his abdomen. He pushed forward, trying to knock Orran off his balance and at the same time he swung his axe down at the shorter man, aiming for the base of his neck. 

Raudr and Ranulf eyed the man approaching them with fear and caution, they heard Svala’s words and remembered their mother’s instructions but they hesitated. Raudr lifted his three year old sister and propped her on his hip, she would never keep up with them on foot. His gaze fell on Orran as he stabbed the man with the big axe and faced down the man who seemed to be the leader. The painted man moved with a swiftness and grace that he had not seen before, he fought differently than the Danes and part of him wished he could stay and watch. Ranulf gripped Eyja’s hand and shouted to his brother, “Run now, we must find Fadir!” 

The boys ran, Ragnar the Younger weighed down by his little sister and Ranulf clutching the redheaded girl’s hand, not letting her go. Eyja made no further protest at all, yanked along suddenly by her friend, thin legs stretching for all they were worth as she sprinted beside Ranulf.

The dark haired man ignored them, if Amund wished to slay Ragnar’s children that was his problem that they were escaping. Geir, the scarred man with the nearly black hair, had his sights set on Svala. With the plague of draugr and winter approaching there was no telling how long they would be behind the walls of Trelleborg and he was not keen on spending it alone. A pretty young wife to warm his bed would be nice and if Harald took power her mother could not stop him. It was only a matter of time before that happened and Geir reasoned he could take stake his claim now. 

“Come pretty one,” he chuckled at her clutching the spear. He could see she was unfamiliar with the weapon and he moved with practiced ease, lifting his shield defensively. “Put down that spear and come with me. Don’t make me take you by force, sweetling.” 

Orran watched as Amund raised the shield and the axe, and was directing the swing downward. Orran quickly ducked and rolled at the apex of the blow beside quickly scampering to a knee as the roll finished. Using the soft mud he turned himself to slash at the back of Amund’s knee cutting the fragile tendons making it buckle underneath the weight of the swing and fall to a knee unable to stand sturdy. 

Orran quickly stood and put his back away from the other two blade still in hand and spit in Amund’s direction sneering at the two left. “Come then.”

From the corner of her eye, Svala saw the shadows of the children pass by, small and swift and away from this place, to the keep, to safety. Another man fell to Orran’s quick blade, and so now there were three. All that was left for her to do, was to keep their escape clear. The young woman’s lip curled back in disgust at the scarred man’s words, eyes narrowed with rage. “I’m going nowhere with you, coward! You’d probably have trouble forcing a sheep!” she growled as she thrust Sigrid’s spear toward what she could see of his head, a move far too ungainly to do the least bit of good.

Geir let her thrust forward with the spear, the point biting into his wooden shield and he yanked it back. Depending on how hard she gripped the spear she would either fall backward as it was torn from her hands, or if she had enough strength to keep her grip? She’d be dragged forward by the force. Either way, she would be off balance and easier to subdue. 

He chuckled at her ferocity, this one had spirit. “I don’t think I’ll have much trouble with you little lamb.” 

When Amund felt the stinging pain of the sword he swore loudly and hit the mud. The rain that had been falling was turning to sleet and as he tried to push his way up he could see the tiny beads of ice bouncing on the ground. He shoved his axe forward and rolled over, wanting to face his attacker rather than die with a blade in his back. The other two men now circled Orran warily, one bore a shield and axe and the other a spear. 

He glared up at the painted man, his leg was useless and in the slippery mud he had not the traction to stand up on one foot. He put his shield up and held onto his axe, expecting no mercy from the Christian. His comrades hesitated after watching the smaller man cut down two in a matter of minutes and still remain unscathed. 

Orran looked around for a moment, using this time to watch the two who still circled their faces worried if ever so slightly and he took a step forward towards them “I said lets go then, or had you expected some monk, someone defenceless?” He stepped forward again moving towards the one with the spear but he kept on his feet moving and making them adjust their position as he kept them in front of them.

Svala damn near fell flat on her face, her white-knuckled grip on the shaft yanking her completely off-balance. Instinctively she raised her arms with a shout, releasing the spear and burying her face behind Sigrid’s shield as she plowed forward into the scarred man’s shield, a small prayer to Freya herself to knock this man off-balance. She just needed to buy a little more time, a few more precious seconds to see the little ones safe. Svala might be young yet, and only just shy of her mother’s height, but there was all Hallerna’s strength in that lithe body - for whatever good it might do her now.

When she released the spear, Geir staggered slightly, she was stronger than she looked. Her shield and his slammed together as she charged forward and he dropped his axe. His hand reached out, seizing her golden braid, yanking her backward against his body. 

“Now, see, you’ve gone and pissed me off, you little whore,” he growled in her ear as he clutched her slender form. “Be good now or I’ll invite my friends to have you once I’m done.” 

Sigrid’s shield was dead weight on her arm, and she let it fall as her stomach turned, the combination of the man’s words and his foul, hot breath and the stink of his body so close she retched. He was strong, stronger than she could have ever imagined and fury turned to panic as Svala’s hands flew first to the anchor he held, the braid of her hair, and then almost as quickly to the slim wooden handle of the seax at her waist. Without a moment’s hesitation or thought for a plan anymore beyond [i]escape[/i], she raised the blade waist high and buried it in his leg. Svala tore the blade free, a sickeningly hot shower of wetness coating her hand and the seax hilt. With a choked scream, the young woman yanked herself from his grip with all the desperate strength she had left.

The dark haired man shouted with pain and surprise, the searing sensation of the iron blade stabbing deeply into the meat of his thigh made him let go of her hair. 

“Little cunt!"