Ambushed! (or Modi's Revenge)

England, 1139 AD

Standing in the misty rain, Thor shook hands with Fitz Duncan, Mormaer of Moray, glad the prince had given him leave to travel with his party. A wily character, the King’s nephew had wasted no time in wedding Alice de Romilly, heiress to Skipton Castle, in Yorkshire after his wife’s death making him one of the greatest barons in northern England. While he would have appreciated getting to know the other man better, he wished to see his family more. There would be time to form new alliances when life was more settled.

Joining the other men in the party, Thor swung into Caturix’s saddle and looked around him. While he recognized a couple of the men, they didn’t know him. The handsome fair-haired boy was Gervais de Blois and the weakling trembling in the saddle was Theobald de Calais. As for the others, they were strangers to him and he to them.

Following the men out of the royal keep, Thor decided anonymity was best for now. He would observe his companions and decide whether to reveal his identity when they stopped to rest. As it was, no one had taken the time to identify themselves to the others. They were too interested in hitting the road to take time for idle pleasantries. He could respect that since he felt the same. The sooner they left, the sooner they would get out of the oppressive damp.

Falling in line at the rear he allowed his mind to drift over the past few weeks. While he would never admit the truth to his wife, he’d eagerly anticipated the coming skirmishes. No, he’d prayed they weren’t just skirmishes, but they would become more, and they had. In truth, David intended that from the start.

The idea of a simple skirmish or two was put out there to lull Stephen into a false sense of security. It worked. Thor wasn’t surprised that everything fell into place giving them the upper hand that led to the favorable treaty his king desired. His overlord was a formidable foe for a reason. He was a master tactician who kept his cards close to his chest. While no man won every battle, King David’s reputation was hard-won and well-deserved.

Coming out of his reverie, Thor noted the rain had stopped and the fog was dissipating. The sun had begun to cast a warm glow over the rolling hills of the countryside. Over time everyone had fallen into a relaxed formation under the direction of their self-appointed leader, Cedric Annarsson, Fitz Duncan’s second in command. While not a situation he usually tolerated he, nor any others, had felt the need to challenge the man’s authority.

The warrior was an alert, seasoned knight whose keen eyes constantly scanned the horizon for threats. Studying the man, Thor knew his position in the Mormaer’s army was fairly won. The wicked scar that ran from forehead to chin coupled with his immense build testified to many years of active battle experience. Most, if not all, likely in the service of his current overlord. From his observations, Thor saw no reason not to respect Annarsson as his equal.

In truth, he had no desire to be anything more than he was. Another unnamed member of an armed fifteen-man party traveling together for added security. Had he not promised his wife otherwise, he would have made the trip alone as he usually did. That being said, no one was that concerned with a coming attack. Not even him. Nothing around him indicated danger.

Instead, the men rode in a loose group enjoying the rhythmic thud of their horses’ hooves striking earth as they scanned open land as far as the eye could see. While vigilant, his companions weren’t on edge. There was no reason. They’d participated in a successful battle that ended with a favorable treaty with both sides pledging not to attack until fresh shoots burst from the ground. It didn’t get much better than that for fighting men.

“Keep your wits about you.” Lord Cedric glanced at the men behind him. “We may be crossing neutral territory, but that doesn’t mean there is no danger.”

Surveying his environment, Thor couldn’t agree more. While they were surrounded by open land, it was only a matter of time before they reached that stretch of forest up ahead. Unfortunately, they had no option except to get through the dense underbrush as quickly as possible. If this were back in his mercenary days, he’d consider that a perfect place to ambush his unsuspecting quarry. Or even suspecting quarry for that matter. His familiarity with the area would give him the upper hand either way.

However, this wasn’t his mercenary days, and this wasn’t his neck of the woods. That meant while he wasn’t overly familiar with this area, others were. Resting his hand on his sword, the thought made him uneasy. Anyone could hide in that copse of trees waiting to catch them unawares.

Dismissing the thought, Thor found small comfort in the idea that attacking his party would forfeit the treaty. It would be tantamount to declaring war. However, that didn’t mean there weren’t fools out there lacking the foresight to see the future repercussions of their actions. He’d brought many such men to their knees over the years and enjoyed every moment.

Feeling the hair rise on his arms, Thor heard every crack of a branch and rustle of the leaves as the group rode past the thicket. Something wasn’t right. He knew it. Hanging back even more, he wasn’t surprised when a band of warriors sprang from the trees with swords upraised. While not caught fully unaware, their party was easily outnumbered four to one. Hearing Annarsson’s cry of, “Ambush!” he watched the retinue quickly form a defensive circle with upraised shields to deflect the initial onslaught.

Hearing the clash of steel as the two groups collided, Thor joined the fray easily hacking through the outer perimeter with practiced ease. Satisfied he’d lessened their opponents by five strong men just getting to his current position, he fought with fierce determination easily killing the man intent on stabbing him through the back. The dishonorable cur deserved to die for his actions. Sword cutting through the air with deadly precision, he parried a blow from an enemy rider and countered with a swift strike, unseating his opponent. Running the warrior through, Thor pulled his sword from his body before lifting Móði yet again.

Senses on high alert, Thor continued his relentless attack on their attackers feeling that for every man he killed, two more took his place. That was likely true. Not only were they fatally outnumbered, but their opponents were seasoned warriors equally, if not more, skilled than most of his party.

Watching his comrades fall to the sword or ax Thor doubted he would make it out of this melee alive. He doubted as well that anyone would ever find their bodies when they didn’t return to their loved ones. Not in any identifiable state. They’d likely rot in anonymity falling prey to the beasts of the field and birds of the sky. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come across the signs of such carnage, but it would be the last as he would be amongst it.

The thought of Alexandria’s anguish and the potential vulnerability of his lands if that happened galvanized Thor to action. Drawing on his bloodlust he hacked through the men without realizing what he’d done. He was fighting for his life and the lives of his remaining comrades. What did he care if an enemy’s innards spilled from his belly or his head rolled from his shoulders? He didn’t. In truth, the more times that happened the better.

As they tired under the never-ending assault, Thor watched his companions fall all around him and fought with renewed fury. He cut down one attacker after another, his sword a blur of motion. But even his strength and skill couldn’t turn the tide. One by one, he watched nine of his band fall to the sword or the ax. The cries of the dying and the cloying scent of fresh blood and offal permeated the air mingling with the clash of steel and the thunder of hooves all around him.

Gervais was the first to be unseated and disarmed. Theobald remained in the saddle along with him and several others. Annarsson held his own against two warriors for the moment, but it didn’t look good. While he would come to his aid if he could, Thor wasn’t sure he would make it in time. Breaking through the line of fighting, he saw the arc of the Danish axe and watched Annarsson’s head fall away in a bloody spray as his body toppled from the saddle.

Reaching out, Thor grabbed Annarsson’s sword in passing, sheathed Móði in his saddle scabbard, and lifted his new sword liking the heft in his hand. As mercenary as his action seemed, it was practical instead. The dead man didn’t need his weapon anymore, and a second sword was always good if you could get one.

Fixing Annarsson’s killer in amber sights, Thor hacked the warrior across the neck before thrusting his sword through his companion’s gut and giving it a practiced twist. While cruelty he rarely employed, bastards breaking good-faith treaties deserved what they got. Urging Caturix back into the thick of battle he decided the dishonorable curs may have succeeded in killing Annarsson but he’d succeed in killing them…