In the harbour

[Valmre]

On board the Forell

Valmére didn’t like to see his Captain stay in that castle for such a long time. he was needed on his ship, not sipping tea and slurping wine with some nobles trying to barter for a new trade arrangement in timbers and some exotic spices. As much as these business meetings were profitable for all involved, they kept their captain away from his men for too long. Particularly now

It didn’t seem like Remard was having any luck in springing Darek out of his dungeon cell, and without their navigator, leaving the harbour was a difficult matter. of course they all had some idea of how to navigate but Darek *knew* the sea. Knew how to talk to her… knew how to sail safely through fog and navigate without the stars. he had that special gift not many men possessed, and thus they all counted on him being back aboard soon.

Alas, their hopes were dashed when recently they received a missive from their captain. Things didn’t go as planned, and if Darek would not come back as quickly as they all hoped, “other means” would have to be found.

Valmére grinned. Other means… he knew the Viking, who was responsible for this mess they were all in, had recently taken up lodgings in a small boat he seemed to be repairing. These Norse were renowned for their skills with boats and on the water… if Darek would not come back soon, maybe they’d have to resort to asking that Viking to help them. If he liked to or not! And that time seemed to have come now…

This night, Valmére would take a handful of men, and “persuade” the damn Viking rat to follow them onto their ship.

[Valmere]

They were ready when night broke. Valmére had selected five of his best men - Thederic, Sigemund, Amaric, Gyso and Rigunth. All of them sturdy men, weathered by the sea and by the hard work on board the Forell. Timber was the good she usually carried, and the hands of these men were well worn from lifting many a heavy beam. Their hair was worn in typical Frankish fashion, rather short, none of them sporting hair beyond the top of their shoulders although they didn't wear it in the foppish fashion preferred at the Frankish court.

Only a few stragglers seemed to be about the harbour at this time of night, well past midnight. Their destination didn't lie far - a lone boat, manned by a single man. A Norse, but they were more than enough to handle one lousy Norse.

All of them carried torches and their approach would be easily visible for the man on the skiff. Yet, no movement was seen on board, although Gyso had assured them that the Norse was still on board the skiff. Quietly they came closer, their faces only marginally illuminated by the light of the torches. Amaric and Sigemund had their swords drawn, as had Valmére. When they had approached about 100 yards, Valmére motioned for Thederic and Rigunth to extinguish their torches and move to the back of the skiff in the cover of darkness. Without a word, the two men disappeared into the night, and even so Valmére knew they would do exactly what was expected of them. All of them had served Remard de Sennis for over 10 years now, they knew each other and knew what to do without need for communication.

"They finally arrived and stopped, listening to any movement nearby. Nothing. The Norse was not moving about the skiff… had he really been so dumb as to let his guard down? They would soon know.

With one skilled toss Valmére tossed his torch onto the skiff where it clattered noisily onto the deck. "Let's smoke that rat out and drive him into our arms, men! But remember - Sennis wants him alive!"

Then they waited, certain the bloody Viking would jump ship any minute now!

[Halethala]

Twin “THWACKS” rang out as they met the thick skulls of the two sailors furtherest from them, and the whole lot of them spun around to see where the projectiles had come from. Letha smiled at how willingly they presented their intended targets for her and Nicholas, and faster than she could even think it, they launched two more of the sharp, jagged rocks seawards. About five hands lower than the first two hit, these made no sound as they connected perfectly, save the screams as the men doubled over clutching at their privates. Good! Two down, hopefully for a time, and two more with nice lumps to slow them down . . the remaining two of the six were near the boat, having tossed the accursed torch right onto Lady Edfeil's deck! At least the odds were a bit better for Sinold, if he were truly still on board. . . Letha shouted loudly “SINOLD! Ne’r mind yer pants ~ get the torch put out afore ye hae more explainin’ to do . . *

The helpful moonlight scudded behind clouds behind their backs, and the two huddled down amongst the boulders, drawing their swords. “He’ll know my voice, but he won’t know how many of us he has to aide him . . I wish it were a lot more . . Ready, Nicholas? This will nae be easy . .

[Sinold Bragasson]

Having fallen asleep despite his determination to stay awake, Sinold was finally jolted from his slumber by the clattering noise on the boat. He jerked up, fully dressed, drawing his sword, and looking about himself a bit bedazzled at first. But then the shine of the flaming torch lying on the deck of the skiff brought him back to full consciousness, and with a roar Sinold stormed out of the small cabin, into the open.

"What do you want , you dirty rats!?" Angrily he reached down to grab the torch, when he heard a voice… an oh so familiar voice by now. The torch in hand, Sinold whirled around, his back momentarily towards his assailants, his eyes straining to see where Letha was hiding.

"Letha? What are you doing here? Get back home!"

A second later, the sound of an arrow whizzing through the air, heading for the Norse, could be heard.

[Nicholas]

Sweet Christ, this woman was something else! Nicholas had barely seen her throw two stones against the two sailor’s heads – precision shots they had been – and another two at some more sailors making their way towards Edfeil’s skiff. At last the Norse seemed to have awoken from his slumber … his back was towards the enemy now…”WATCH OUT, NORSE! DUCK!” was all Nicholas managed to yell before the arrow was let lose… the Norse indeed did duck and the projectile flew over the skiff, embedding itself into Nicholas’ left shoulder… he didn’t scream, just grunted and stumbled a bit, watching as Lady Halethala swung her sword about her, dispatching of one of the sailor’s who had been hindered by a stone to his head… Nicholas steadied himself, intense pain radiating through his left arm for a second, then vanishing, the adrenalin rushing through his body taking it away for a later time…. Breaking off the shaft of the arrow, leaving only about two inches of it sticking out of his shoulder, Nicholas focused again, holding his sword tighter, engaging the second man who had been behind the skiff…. His slash opened the man’s bowels as he sank gurgling into the sand… Nicholas feared he was going to be sick and passing out, but Lady Halethala was still there, he couldn’t let her alone here, amongst these barbarians…. So he made his way around the skiff, where the remaining four men still stood their ground. He would not give in to his pain, not as long as the Lady was there to be protected!

[Valmere]

Valmére and his men were somewhat taken aback by the new resistance they were facing. A woman and another man. Who the heck were they? Valmére saw both Thederic and Rigunth go down momentarily, as did Amaric and Sigemund on his side of the skiff.

“What the hell…? Thed? Rigu?” It didn’t take Valmére long to see just who had attacked them out of the blue. He also saw how the arrow let lose by Gyso found a mark, even though not its intended. “Hell, who said anything about shootin arrows, Gyso! Idiot, he wants him ALIVE!” This would mean more trouble for them all, and also for their captain. Quick thinking was needed now, how could they extract themselves from this pickle of a situation? What would be more valuable than the Viking?

Aaaaaah, then it came to Valmére: “Americ, Gyro, thed - GRAB THAT WOMAN!!!”

[Master Sergeant Gerben]

*The sounds of battle made him realise he was late. A broken saddlebelt had slowed him down till a quick repair was made. And aparently whatever the Captain feared was comming to happen.
Hooves sounded on the coblestones as Gerben appeared, the longsword already slipping from it's sheath, when the last turn was made and he had a clear view of the harbour where the ship was berthed, a curse lept from his tongue. OF all the places where the Norseman was trying to get himself killed, Lady Edfeils skiff was the last he would have wanted.

Without lessening speed, the horse gallopped towards the attackers. Gerbens left hand reached for his horn, to make sure the Castle knew trouble was afoot. His right made the long blade flash, and his voice sounded loud and calm.*

In name of Agustin Stormblade, King of these lands, CEASE!!!!

[Elsana Firelock]

Those that had been in the tavern and having heard all that their Captain had said about His meeting with the Captain of the Forell had sown seeds of displeasure with First Mate of the Zephyr and the rest of the crew that had been present. It was now time for some Frank arse kicking.

There were four of them haunting around the docks, Firelock, Yurchak, Harl Grimface and Torla Bloodaxe. After splitting up and agreeing to meet again in a half hours time, each went checking in at the different wharfside taverns, until Elsana had heard that there was a group of sailors from the Forell that had boasted about going down and bringing that Viking to their ship as a present for their Captain.

With a devious smile on her lips the tall Viking woman left the tavern her fingers playing against the handle of her sword, and made her way to the meeting spot seeing the others had already gathered there. ^What news Mate?^ the 7 ft. Torla asked as her smiling face came into the light. He knew by the look in her eyes that She knew something.

Her usual cool demenor was down right freezing as she said. ^We have to get down to where Lady Edfeils skiff is beached. Six of those Frank bastich's are going after Sinold.^ As one they all turned and left the wharf traveling at a run to where the skiff was beached. Elsana in the lead, her long legs eating up the sandy ground and the distance. The rest were right on her heels.

It wasn't long before they could hear the sounds of a skirmish going on. With quiet hand signals Elsana motioned each of her crewmates toward a different direction. She was just coming upwith sword drawn, behind one that seemed to be giving the orders when she heard him yell to "GRAB THAT WOMAN..." With a sneer on her lips she tapped him on the shoulder with her sword. The Man turned, and found her sword at his throat and said in a gruff cool voice but with power in it, and a deadly look in her eyes. ^So! Ye want a woman do ye?? Try me on for size, little man...^

Torla Bloodaxe, went after the largest of the others the one with the bow. Which he grabbed out of the man's hands and snapped like twig from a dead tree. Gyro stood stunned as his gaze traveled up the 7 foot frame and a look of fear came over his face. Torla reached out and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him from his feet which began to kick looking for support, his face began to turn red. ^I hear ye Franks like to bugger people, care to bugger me?^

Harl Grimface found his man the one called Sigemund, who was trying to clear his head after having been knocked unconcious by the rock thrown by Halethala, blood trickling from his scalp. ^By Odin, not any fun here^was Harl's comment. The man was weaving slightly trying to get to the Woman who was having a go at another of the Frank sailors the one called Rigunth, with her sword. Grimface quickly closed the gap and sent him back to sleep with a hit from his meaty right hand.

Yurchak, the Archer from the Zephyr found his target in the one Valmere had called Thederic. The archer came between the sailor and the one his 1st mate had called for him to capture, the woman. No words were spoken between these two. Only looks, surprise and confusion of where these new fighters came from in Thederic's and Complete anhilation of the bug in front of him glowing from Yurchak's dark almond shaped ones.

This left two to be dealt with, Rigunth who Haletha had busy and Americ which who was now being bored down on by Sinold.

Elsana, took all this in after she disarmed the 1st Mate of the Forell. It was done none too gently either. The cut on his neck from the tip of her sword gave testamony to that. Calling out to her crewmates, ^Just hang on to ye prizes, Men. Until Sinold tells us what he wants done with this whale dung. Tho for my liking leaving them dead here on the beach would nae sadden me any^

[Halethala]

Hissing a curse between clenched teeth as she saw Nicholas go down clutching at his shoulder, she felt a pang of deep remorse that she'd drug him into this. But there was no time for self-recriminations . . She'd heard the command to "GRAB THAT WOMAN" and immediately faced three approach with a wicked gleam in their eyes, the moonlight glinting off their blades . . She gulped hard, not even having time to feel an icy grip of fear . . they were sadly outnumbered, though Letha had to wonder what level of intelligence they possessed if they served under Captain de Sennis. Ah but, what they lacked in brains they probably more than compensated for in sheer brutality . . she would rather DIE than be taken hostage by these!!

She let the nearest get very close to her, appearing to have frozen in fear, before she charged at him. Feigning a stumble, she swooped down to clutch up a handfull of sand and fling it into his face. Even if it didn't blind him, he should react instinctively by reaching up to protect his eyes, which he did. She leapt at the opportunity and swung with both hands on the hilt in an slightly upwards arc, not catching him quite where she aimed, but lodging the blade firmly into his armpit . . he brought his arm down, ripping the blade out of her hand, and she stood there, now weaponless, dreading the feeling . .

Suddenly, so much happened all at once! A veritable hail of sailors descended upon the scene just as a horn blasted a distance from them, and an authoritative shout tried to call a cease to the fighting! Yet what was set in motion already did not stop easily, and within moments, all the attackers had been subdued . .

Panting softly from a mix of adreneline rush and exertion, Letha was startled to heard a husky female voice call out to the newest defenders, and without waiting to see what else would happen, she flew across the sand to Nicholas' side . . He had crumpled to his knees, then sank earthwards, seemingly unconscious. Forgetting what it would look like to Sinold to see her cradling the Ranger, she held his head on her lap, trying to keep him awake. She had nothing with which to attempt to dress the wound, but didn't think removing the arrow would be wise here anyway, he would lose too much blood. She called out for help to get him to the Castle's infirmary as quickly as possible . .

[Sinold Bragasson]

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With a roar he flew against the two still standing, his sword slashing at them, earning the Frank sailors some nasty cuts along their bodies… finally it was him against the one called Amaric. He was a good fighter, didn’t give in easily and parried every one of Sinold’s moves easily. As Sinold knew he would – he has had made his acquaintance with the Franks and knew many of them to be fierce warriors of the first mettle. His thoughts raced and centered around Letha – what if they would succeed in getting to her and taking her hostage? He would not allow that, and if he bled for that. Letha would not be captured… Again and again Sinold struck out against Amaric, pushing his torch against the other’s face to make him retreat, only to have the Frank’s sword come crashing down on the torch itself, slapping it out of Sinold’s hands.

There was not grin, not smile or smirk in Amaric’s face as he saw the torch flying into the sand, he was too focussed upon beating that Viking at his won game. There was a long hatred between these two who for this moment between them seemed to be the champions of their respective people. Norse against Frank, Odin against that Christian God. How many times had his people come plundering their shores… Sinold knew blank hatred when he saw it. This now was not just for disabling the other – this fight was to the death.

He almost didn’t notice the arrival of others on the beach … a quick look confirmed they were Tyrun’s people. How in Odin’s name had the old sea bear become involved?

His fight with Amaric continued on, their blades now meeting in mid air, the clang of their weapons ringing through the crisp night’s air. Parry after parry Sinold drove the man before him, only to be driven back almost as far by a renewed attack from the Frank. They were well-matched, that much was clear, but Sinold felt his old wound still, felt himself getting out of breath, his movements getting slower, imprecise, more slashing than precise attacks. His breath began to become laboured, even in the midst of this battle he could feel the sweat on his brow and face.

This needed to end – soon. Seeing Tyrun’s men and woman taking care of most of the other sailors, a slight grin was showing on the Norse’s face. He wiped his brow, stumbling back a bit, as if drunken, at the same time waving his fingers encouragingly at Amaric to come after him. Inviting. Teasing. The other men, too, was beginning to show he was beginning to run on empty, likely not being an expert swordsman but rather a man knowing how to use the blade well but not over too long a time. No stamina in a fight…

Still teasing him, Sinold opened himself up for another, final attack, letting his sword sink to his right side, leaning down and bracing himself against his left leg with his left hand, appearing to be on the verge of giving up and being an easy target. As he had hoped, the Frank also wanted to make a quick end as he was nearing his own exhaustion point, and with one huge overhead swing gave a final roar and charged against Sinold.

One step aside, a hard swing with his sword against Amaric’s right leg, cutting deep into his flesh, penetrating to the bone, hearing him crashing to the ground as he passed Sinold on his right. Another quick kick against his stomach, and Sinold’s blade was placed against his opponent’s throat. The eyes starring up at him didn’t show hate or anger, but intense pain and resignation.

“Alright… you win. Kill me and… make an end, Norse!”

Sinold lifted his sword perpendicular to the man’s chest, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, ready for the final thrust into the man’s chest… then a horn, a group of mounted men approaching. Gerben and some guards. Sinold looked down again at the defeated warrior, a feeling of pity crossing his mind as he rammed his sword down.. right next to Amaric’s ear, almost severing the fleshy lobe from his head.

“No. Odin, or your God, will not see you yet. You fought well, there’s no shame losing to a better man. This time.”

One of the guard came over then, letting Sinold step aside before he hoisted the wounded man up onto his foot (he couldn’t use his other leg), while Sinold now tried to catch his breath for certain. He hardly noticed as Elsana muttered about what to do with the riff-raff, but Sinold only shook his head, pointing towards Gerben and his men.

“They will take care of these… to send such refuse to Odin would be dishonouring our Gods. They will live… how comfortably is another question! Come, help me up!” He held out his hand, and was hurled up to his feet again by the burly woman warrior. A true warrior this one… and immediately his thoughts began to center around Letha. “Where is Letha? Where…”

Instead of waiting for an answer, Sinold began to scan the beach, then rounded the skiff which had suffered a few hews with swords and a burned place where the torch had landed, but nothing more serious. Then he saw her, cradling a man in her arms. From the looks of him not a ranger. He was younger than Sinold, the remnants of an arrow sticking from his shoulder, struggling to get up into a sitting position which Letha’s grip prevented. Letha did what any good woman would do, caring for a wounded man; Sinold could almost see himself laying there, when he had been wounded so badly during the battle with Almerick’s men. Letha had a heart of pure compassion, the Norse thought as he knelt down on the other side of the injured man, at first inspecting the wound cursorily, but turning his full attention back to Letha.

“Have you been injured? Are you alright?” He spit into the sand, cursing slightly before turning back to her. “And what in Odin’s name are you DOING here!? You could have been killed, woman!”

His hand reached to push a lock out of her face, concern clearly written all over his face.

[Elsana Firelock]

While the battle raged and Elsana saw the Frankish men go down one by one, so easily contained by the Viking sailors. And the one she held at bay, Valmere he of all of them had been so easily taken. She could see by the look on his face that he was not thrilled to be bested in his plans by a woman. Which brought to her lips a real smile at the thought.

Valmere could do no more than watch while being held by the viking, a viking bitch of all things, that sat in his craw like sawdust. Well they had surprise on their side this tme the next they wouldn't be so lucky. He thought about giving resistance. But the point of the bitch's blade had already cut into his throat while she had disarmed him, told him she would not hesitate at dropping him where he stood. Where in the name of hell did these God forsaken bastards come from?

The death knell of the battle was called from a horn sounding clear and long, and a voice calling out to cease battle. Elsana looked toward the sound while keeping her attention on her captive, and out of the night rode guards from the castle. Calling out to her men, ^ Alright crew, stand down. Torla! TORLA!! drop that man, he is just about dead now! ^ As a guard came over to take custody of her man, she rushes over to Torla who just stands holding up his prisoner by the neck while the mans face begins to turn blue. Balling up her fist she gave a half hearted swing and hit Torla's jaw. He turned to focus on her and blinked. With a steely gaze and a raised brow said to him, ^ 'T t'is alright now Torla let him go.^ The big man opened his grip and the sailor fell to the ground unconcious. Looking down at him she saw that he took a huge indrawn breath and began coughing and groaning. Looking back up at Torla, chuckled and shook her head. Clapping him on the shoulder in admiration. ^ Your getting better, this one lived^

Then walking over to Sinold while he spoke. ^They will take care of these… to send such refuse to Odin would be dishonouring our Gods. They will live… how comfortably is another question! Come, help me up! ^ She reached down and with a strong grip took his hand and hauled him up from the sand. He then asked, ^Where is Letha? Where........^ She pointed over to the direction on the other side of the skiff. ^There.^

Having sheathed her sword, the other members of her crew came to stand with her. With her legs spread comfortably her fingers playing along the hilt of her sword and her men beside her she watched as the Guards rounded up the Franks giving emergancy aid where needed to staunch blood flow and be taken under guard. As usual her features gave nothing away as she turned to her men. ^Come on Boys the drinks are on Sinold.^ And with that they melted into the nightback toward the wharf.

[Halethala]

She held his gaze, trying to read his heart, beyond the immediate implications of the question . . wanting to retort in turn that it would have been welcomed aide only if she’d have been a man? Not trusting her tongue, she lowered her eyes and spoke to Nicholas instead . .

“What ARE we doing here, good Ranger . . we be here because I have not seen me Sinold for oe’r a week, and try as I may, I cannae find assurance of his welfare . . we be here because that soul-less ass of a swaggerin’ seacaptain, Remard, hae been shootin’ his big mouth off day and night, rantin’ on an on about what he’d wish to see fated for the “Norse what’s unjustly punished his Navigator” . . . we be here for Nicholas took pity on a silly woman’s worries and agreed to ride to the harbor to find out iffen the Cap’n had made good on his threats, and suffered me to ride with, against his better judgement, risking the wrath of his Commander as well as his life . . . It be sheer folly e’en fer seasoned Rangers to take on the sailors what’s loomed up to come against Sinold . . but . . we jes coulnd’na sit there and watch them destroy the Good Lady’s boat as well . . "

A faint shadow of a teasing smile flitted briefly across her grimy face. There she sat, ragged clothes smeared in horse manure, hair askew, Nicholas’s warm, sticky blood seeping through her skirts . . she turned her face to look again into Sinold’s, her voice steady, but a shimmering threatening her eyes . . .


I be here a‘cuase . . . I LOVE ye, Sinold . . ye big Oaf!

*She caught his hand as it brushed near her face, and kissed it tenderly*

[Sinold Bragasson]

Her words struck him like a thunderbolt from Thor himself. Her lips on his palm, her eyes on him and that almost mischievous smile. For a moment the world stopped around them, the slight moans from the Ranger laying in Letha’s lap forgotten, as was his exhaustion and those who had tried to take him.

“Letha…” He wanted to kiss her, slap her silly for taking such a risk on his behalf, enfold her into his arms… there was another moan from Nicholas, who had opened his eyes again, looking from Sinold to Letha and back. “Take yer time , Norse… still got some blood left in me to spill… onto this damn beach!” The Ranger bit his lips, trying to sit up and get back onto his feet, but Letha’s hold on him was too strong, too caring so he soon gave up his struggle and simply let himself relax and try to block out the pain he was in.

“I was a fool to try be on my own, Letha. I…” Again he searched her eyes and found only acceptance and the love she spoke of, and he hoped she would see such in his eyes as well, for his mind right now was in no state to guide his tongue to speak the proper words. The words a suitor would find to ask his future wife for her hand.

The tip of a sword touched his shoulder and Sinold whirled around, his own weapon still in his hand, the blade reddened from Amaric’s blood. Almost he would have sliced into Master Sergeant Gerben’s legs had the latter to immediately taken a step a side, growling.

“Sorry for that, Gerben!” Sinold finally snapped out of the trance he seemed to be in. “Those sailors, place them into the dungeon, will ya? And this man needs a healer.” Again he looked over to where Letha still held his hand. “And we need to go home now. If you could place some guards around Edfeil’s skiff… just in case these dogs have adventuresome comrades still.”

Sinold didn’t want Letha to let go of his hand and only reluctantly pulled it back from her grasp to finally help Nicholas up so he could be moved.

[Master Sergeant Gerben]

*Master Sergeant Gerben merely raised a brow.*
Careful, Sinold. You might actually hurt someone with that blade.
*He nodded to the guards that had assembled quickly at the sound of the horn, and were now rounding up the fallen. None had escaped unscathed, and none was foolish enough to try anything now, with the grimfaced guards looking on.
While they were led away, some with a bit more assistance then others, Gerben resheathed his own sword.*

The king will nae be pleased with this. Nor will the Captain, as a matter of fact. He already had the idea that those bastards might try something.

*His eyes rested on Nicholas as Sinold steadied him.*
Can he walk? *He asked Letha, gallantly ignoring her earlier words to save her embarrassment*
Else I’ll carry him. I’ld nae had a chance to do much… ye all had dealt with ‘t already. I wonder how Tyruns men came here… Keeping an eye on that skiff, probably. The lady frets over ‘t as iffen ‘t be a newborn…

[Halethala]

Letha had all she could do to suppress a smile at Sinold handing out orders to the impressive officer that towered over them . . then she frowned, trying to place that voice . . Gerben, Sinold had called him . . ah! The man who had appeared out of nowhere at the rim of the sparring pits! So . . that is who it was . .

Reddening as she recalled her remark about the Rangers, she answered respectfully . . "Nicholas may think hisself able to walk, Sir, but I fear he will lose more blood that way . . I wager he'd nae be happy to find hisself carried, though . . but defer t'yer wisdom . .

And Sir? . . he nae be reprimanded fer being here, will he? 'Twas nae his idea . . I shoulder full blame fer him, allow me that . . . We . . we had no intention of fightin' . . *realizing how idiotic that sounded, she merely looked to him, wondering just how much trouble everyone was in . . *

"Get 'im back to Windstorm and patch him good afore we deal with that, I reckon, Letha" She thought to herself . .