At dusk, after the orange sun turned red, the attack happened. The third battalion charged Holga’s camp from the north in three waves. The first wave scattered the lookouts. Then, as wave after wave of horsemen charged into the main camp, the red sun sank into the horizon and darkness came.

Alketas and six of his best fighters then rode hard from the dark woods into the Northeastern side to spring the trap. It was only a matter of time. Below the wooden bastion was oil-soaked hay. Fire here would spread and engulf the entire outpost burning everyone inside.

Then a sound from the other side of the parapet ladder - one of the guards was vomiting, what’s more, four others were standing close by. Alketas saw the terror in their eyes as his party killed them quietly. They lit up the hay at the bottom of the bastion and as they gained some distance, a chilling chant in a cold beautiful voice filled the air.

Blarnar a Viktra (1)

Blarnar a Viktra

Blarnar a Viktra..

Lighted by the fires that crept up the bastion, screams and horror filled the air. 20 men, women, and children stood on top of the parapet blindfolded and bound with ropes around their hands and necks. They were a horrible sight to see with some missing fingers and toes, barely clothed, bleeding from various parts, vomiting and screaming.

Even the guards were shaken with fear while Freja, deep in a trance, kept chanting. As the first licks of fire crept up the parapets, Freja kicked the prisoners, one by one, to fall into the flames, bound by the rope that choked them and burnt by the fire below ignited by their own countrymen. Alketas and the men, stunned, could do no more than look on in horror. Alketas himself could not avert his eyes from her gaze as she looked on from above. Then she laughed. Amidst the screams of the burnt, she laughed louder. As the entire bastion was engulfed in flames, she laughed. As the entire structure collapsed, and everyone besides her was consumed by flames, she laughed even more manically. All the while she was looking at Alketas and his men.

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But then, from atop the burning debris, like a demon from the fires of hell, she jumped to the ground. With her executioner’s blade in her hands, she charged at Alketas and his men. As this woman, unharmed by the flames, wielded a blade large enough for a man many times her size, the stunned men could not even react as she cut down the first of them. As the next one raised his shield to deflect her blow, she struck down hard and broke his arm. With another swing she cut through him clean.

Alketas yelled, “Surround the witch and kill her!”

Fear had taken over the men and that slowed their reactions. She raised her blade once more and slashed at the third man who tried to block it with his sword but to no avail. She cut through iron as easily as flesh. A fourth man tried to stab at her from her blind spot but, with a pivot in her stance, she swung her blade around and lobbed his head clean off through chainmail. As the rest of the men stood shoulder to shoulder, she wiped the blood from her face and looked at them. As she raised her blade once more, her wolf attacked from behind and bit into the skull of the fifth man. The split-second the sixth man looked towards his comrade, she swung her sword through his shield with enough force to break his ribs and fling him and Alketas across the air. The sixth man was dead and Alketas nearly so.

As Alketas stood once more to face his doom, Freja laughed again. Her terrifying and bloodthirsty appearance now was incredible contrast with her beautiful visage. She called over her giant wolf, got on its back, and rode it towards the camp where the few attackers were being beaten back. Alketas collapsed there, in disbelief, as if what had just happened was a dream. As his consciousness faded away and he resigned himself to his fate, two men lifted him up and put him on top of a horse. Two of the attackers had ridden back for him and Alketas was spared death that day.

---Preview of the Next Chapter---

Victory is at hand! Behind Rodos hill lies the treasures of the plains beyond. But is the price of victory - is it too high for the warchief? Does he have any control left now that the dogs of war reign free? Find out in the next chapter of From Fire and Blood Ch 9- Holda’s Resolve

---Notes---

1. Blarnar a Vikra: A chant of the western gods translates to “Blarnar grant us victory”