430ad – The battle
Thunorric put his wolf head on old and battleworn black head.
“We fight again . You have my word brothers varro will die tonight”.
Thun took the herbs and mushrooms aware his siblings hated but and walked out front if the wall and gates.
“Roberto normal arrows and fire arrows. Fire burns shields. Then stones are boiled by water.
As Thunorric reached for the helm resting on the wooden table beside the gate.
It was old, black iron, scarred by blades and dented by years of war. The wolf’s head crest along the brow had been repaired multiple times. The metal had darkened due to smoke and blood from battles long forgotten.
He lifted it slowly but for a moment he simply held it in his hands. Then he set it on his head. Througn this act the wolf returned. Az the yard went quiet.
Thunorric’s voice carried low but clear.
“We fight again.” His eyes moved across the men before him. They were the Black Shields, the Danes. These were warriors who had followed him through storms and slaughter.
“You have my word, brothers.” The sword in his hand lifted slightly.
“Varro dies today.”
A murmur rippled through the warriors as Erik grinned like a wolf smelling blood.
Thun turned to Ivar and took the pouch of herbs and mushrooms. But he hesitated for a heartbeat. He knew his siblings hated it. The bitterness of the mixture. The way it steadied his mind and sharpened the storm inside him. But today he needed the storm.
He swallowed them dry then he stepped toward the gate. Dægan’s voice thundered from the tower above.
“THUN!”
Thun didn’t look back. As the gates creaked open just enough for him to pass through. The cold wind struck his face as he stepped outside the walls. Ad he stood outside alone.
As the first shield to the fort behind him the estate roared with movement. The Archers climbed the towers. The Children hauled buckets of boiling water and red-hot stones.
Iron pots hissed and spat. Thunorric lifted his bronze, silver and obsidian encrusted damascus sword. He then handled and pointed it toward the battlements.
“Roberto!”
The archer captain leaned over the wall.
“Yes!”
“Normal arrows first,” Thun ordered.
His voice carried across the courtyard and the stone.
“Then fire arrows.”
Roberto nodded right away as he understood the orders.
“Fire burns their shields.”
Thun’s grin was thin beneath the wolf helm.
“And when they raise them…”
He pointed toward the towers.
“…you drop the stones.”
Above him the children tightened their grip on the buckets.
“And the water,” Thun continued His voice hardened.
“Boiled grease too.”
Roberto’s expression darkened with understanding.
The trap was set the bait was out the children in place everyone fought Vortigern’s men. While across the field the crown’s soldiers slowed the enemy be clearly seen as their formation wavered slightly. Because now they saw him.
One man standing alone before the gate he wolf pelt over his head a strange sight in 430. As Cassian Varro straightened in the saddle even at this distance Thun feel the Roman’s eyes on him.
Measuring.
Remembering.
A faint smile touched Thun’s lips.
“…Hello, Varro.”
The wind carried the smoke from burning cottages across the field. Behind Thun, the walls of the estate loomed like dark teeth. Above them, arrows waited. Thun smirked. He was aware that the boiling stones awaited. Fire waited. The storm stood alone at the gate, waiting for Rome to make the first mistake.
The wind moved through the field like a warning. A strange chill settled, almost creeping into the bones of the enemy.
Thunorric stood alone before the gate, wolf-helm dark against the pale winter sky. His sword rested loosely in his hand, the point angled toward the frozen earth.
Behind him the walls of the estate waited in strange silence it stood
Watching. While across the field the crown’s soldiers slowed as they saw him.
One man standing outside the gates. The morning sum cascading onto him creating a strange aura. Ad A murmur moved through their ranks. Some laughed. But others froze as they l hesitated. Because something about the figure in the wolf helm did not look like surrender.
Cassian Varro watched from horseback his black stallion shifted uneasy under him as Varros eyes narrowed slightly.For a long moment he said nothing. Then in a moment of confidence he spoke quietly to the officer beside him.
“He has done this before.”
The officer frowned.
“My lord?”
Varro’s gaze stayed fixed on Thun.
“In the pits.”
His voice was calm.
“They always thought the wounded beast would fall quickly.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“They were usually wrong.”
He lifted his hand the army halted. The lined formed tight and shields locked.
Spears angled ahead.
Varro leaned ahead slightly in the saddle.
“Stormwulf,” he called across the field.
His voice carried easily in the cold air.
“I wondered if you would come out.”
Thun didn’t move Varro studied him carefully. The stance. The distance from the gate. The stillness. Then Varro’s eyes flicked briefly toward the battlements.
Ah.
His smile widened slightly.
“A trap.”
He nodded once, almost approvingly.
“Still thinking like an arena fighter.”
Thun finally spoke.
His voice was rough but steady.
“You always did enjoy watching men die.”
Varro tilted his head.
“Only the interesting ones.”
The wind shifted again, carrying the smell of smoke across the field.
Varro’s gaze drifted to the rising black columns in the distance.
“Those villages burn because of you.”
Thun’s grip tightened on the sword.
“They burn because of you.”
Varro shrugged lightly.
“History will disagree.”
He raised his voice again.
“Last chance, Stormwulf.”
His hand lifted slightly.
“Surrender yourself.”
His eyes glittered.
“And the fires stop.”
For a moment nothing moved.
Then Thun laughed.
Low.
Dry.
“You’re still lying, Varro.”
Varro’s smile faded.
“You were always difficult to train.”
Thun’s eyes hardened.
“I was never yours.”
Varro sighed softly.
“Pity.”
Then he lifted his hand higher.
The signal had been given but behind Thun, Roberto saw it promptly.
“Archers ready!” he shouted.
Bows lifted along the walls, Children tightened their grip on the buckets of boiling stones. Sigmund’s voice cut through the battlements.
“Hold!”
In the field the crown’s soldiers began to advance. The Shields rising, Spears lowering, varro watched Thun carefully as the line moved ahead.
Testing.
Measuring.
But Thun did not move he waited, he’d promised gave his word varro would fall.
Five steps.
Ten.
Twenty.
The soldiers broke into a charge.
“NOW!” Roberto roared.
The sky darkened with arrows.
The first volley crashed into the advancing line. Men fell the ground soaking in the blood of the fallen as Shields splintered. Then the fire arrows followed.
Flames burst across the front ranks. soldiers shouted as burning shafts struck their shields and cloaks.
They raised their shields higher exactly as Thun expected.
“STONES!” Sigmund shouted.
Boiling water poured from the battlements.
Red-hot stones followed.
Screams ripped across the field as the liquid struck exposed skin and armour seams. The charge faltered as the men stumbled some dropped their shields.others burned where they stood. But behind them Varro watched silently. His expression did not change. Because the trap had worked, it had not surprised him.Tricks of battle that would be forgotten in time, he leaned slightly toward the officer beside him.
“Send the second line.”
The officer hesitated.
“My lord… the losses”
Varro’s voice hardened.
“Send them.”
His eyes returned to Thun.
“Let us see how long the storm can stand.”
The second line began to move.
And at the gate, Thunorric Stormwulf lifted his sword. The battle had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED
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