The Forgotten - Chapter 6

  Sigwulf grimaced as the sounds of distant screaming reached his ears.  Vance would have his hands full getting to their horses.  Cull began to recover before Sigwulf kicked him solidly in the face.  Cull screamed his anger and replied desperately by leaping to his feet as he produced his small dagger again, lunging at Sigwulf.  The tall knight swept it contemptuously aside with his mailed arm and plunged his own sword into Cull’s face with satisfaction.  The evil man fell back, clutching at his face as blood and worse spewed through his grasping fingers, a cry dying in his throat.  Sigwulf drew the sword back, blood fountaining up from the dreadful wound as Cull’s body convulsed once before falling to the ground in a bloody heap.  Astrid, her mouth hanging open, was horrified at the bloody violence that had exploded next to her and could see Sigwulf breathing heavily as he turned to face her, his face a grim mask of crimson gore.  She looked across at the sea of people, hearing the sounds of screams and saw smoke rising from some of the thatched roofs of houses near the beach.  She had lived here long enough to know what was happening.  Astrid grabbed Cull’s small dagger and scrambled to her feet, ignoring the tall man as she ran for the pen fence, dodging the other terrified slaves.  Now was not the time to cower in fear.  She heard the man swear and start after her as she jumped the fence and ran into the streets, dodging and weaving as she ran, disregarding her nakedness while tightly clutching her purse.

  Sigwulf swore vilely in anger as he saw the tangle of dark blonde hair disappear around a street corner.  He sprinted after her, careening around the corner into a hysterical man.  Sigwulf saw Astrid pause and look behind her before running on again.

“The barbarians are attacking again,” the man screamed as he held onto Sigwulf.

The knight tried to force him away but the man would have none of it and clutched at the knight’s clothing imploringly.

“We must flee, run, escape,” the man cried in a garbled voice.

The knight used his hilt and struck the screaming man on the side of the head, letting him slump to the greasy cobbles before running after Astrid again.  Knowing the town from his childhood, he had an idea where she was going.  The only place she knew and that place was the Thieves Guild where Vance had found her last night.  Knowing a well hidden shortcut from his own days of living in the gutter, he quickly reached the front door as Astrid rounded the corner and sailed straight into his body.  She immediately began to lash out at him, aiming for his eyes and throat until he grabbed her wrists.

“I’m a friend of Vance,” he shouted at her and began to run in the direction of a prearranged place where he had picketed their horses the night before after Vance had not returned.

Astrid shook her head, futilely trying to make sense of things as the tall man dragged her behind him as he sprinted, his free had still holding the hilt of his sword.  The sounds of screams and the smell of smoke assaulted Astrid’s senses, all vying for her immediate attention as the tall man dragged her.  They burst into the field that held the slave pens and were surrounded by chaos.  Sigwulf’s eyes scanned the swarm of people, searching for the face of Vance without success.

  A man was sitting in a gutter, leaning against a wall and crying with pain as he struggled uselessly to stick his severed hand back on the end of his arm.  Tears of pain and confusion were streaming down his bearded cheeks as he slowly bled to death as he sat in a sewerage filled gutter.  Astrid cried out as she recognised him to be an old beggar who always had a smile on his face and made her laugh.  There was no smile now.  A bedraggled washerwoman with a sling bag of dirty laundry in her arms stumbled past them, screaming in fear and pain as tears streamed down her own face.  An ear had been sliced off by a careless sword and blood ran down her neck.  Sigwulf grabbed the laundry bag and shoved it at Astrid.

“Take this, now follow me and keep up.”  Sigwulf began to move and looked behind him to see Astrid standing there in shock.  He quickly followed her gaze and saw three barbarians in fur clothing forcing a terrified young girl, of maybe 12 years old, to the ground.  He heard a familiar shout and saw Vance decapitate the man who was on top of the struggling girl as another approached him from behind.  Astrid forgotten and his sword in his hands, Sigwulf began to run towards Vance.

“Behind you!”  Sigwulf shouted.

Vance looked up at Sigwulf’s shout and began to smile, one that quickly changed to confusion as the barbarian struck the knight from behind.  A dripping, bloody sword protruded from the chest of the blonde knight who began to grasp at the blade as though wondering how it got there.  Vance gave once last glance at his friend, a confused smile on his face before his eyes became blank and unseeing.  Sigwulf gave a scream of aching loss and anger as he kept running, throwing himself into the fight.

Astrid watched the young girl run from the scene, sobbing with terror and disappearing into the sea of people still running in all directions, all franticly trying to escape flame and sword that surrounded them in all directions.  She looked back at the tall knight and saw him cradling the body of Vance in his arms, dead men scattered around him and tears streaming openly down his dark, stubbled cheeks.  Sigwulf closed his eyes for a moment and gathered himself, tears stopping and his training taking over.  His expression turned clinical.  Detached.  Emotionless.

He picked up the sword of his friend and saluted the body with it before facing Astrid.  He stalked towards her and grabbed her arm, dragging her with him again as he sprinted for the stables.

Sigwulf ran into the stables through the wide door and whipped Astrid around, forcing her to face him.

“Can you ride,” he demanded of her, his voice harsh.

She looked at him, still stunned.

“Can you ride?”  He shouted the question in her face, startling her out of her shock.

She mutely nodded and reached for a small bay mare, one belonging to the slavers that she had befriended.

Footsteps running in their direction and a shout alerted them.  Sigwulf took immediate action.  Astrid felt a small surge of satisfaction as the slaver’s head bounced once then rolled into a pile of hay, a bloody trail in its wake as the body collapsed where it had once stood.

“Keep moving,” Sigwulf shouted at her, noticing her immobility.

Astrid slung the bag of washing over her shoulder and quickly bridled the bay mare.  The building was too low to mount the horses forcing Sigwulf to follow her outside and into the chaos.  The streets were slick with blood by now and bodies lay everywhere.  Some men were taking their pleasure with local girls and Astrid felt a rage build within her.

“We don’t have the time,” Sigwulf rebuked her.

“We have to take the time,” she shouted back at him.  “Some are just young girls...”

“My friend is dead because of you and I’ll not let it be for nothing.  Get on your bloody

horse!”

They heard a shout as a large fur-clad man on a bulky brown horse galloped towards them, his sword dripping blood and an expression of excitement masking his face.  Another man ran to them and began accosting Sigwulf who was soon caught fighting off the screaming local man who was trying to steal his horse as the barbarian galloped towards them, closing the shrinking gap between them.  The screaming man stopped suddenly as he was smoothly decapitated by Sigwulf who then forced Astrid behind him, blocking her naked body with his own armoured one.  Astrid took action and threw herself onto the small mare’s back.

“Run the animal,” she heard Sigwulf bellow at her.

  Astrid risked a quick glance behind her and saw Sigwulf cut out the front legs of the barbarian’s horse and killing its rider as the animal went down, squealing in agony.  Astrid quickly urged the mare into a gallop, closing her eyes and ears to the sights and sounds that surrounded her as she galloped towards the nearest town exit.  Most of the people she saw were dead or disfigured while others stumbled around in a daze of confusion, their minds unable to accept that their entire was world collapsing around them.  Many were ransacking small shops, looting while the opportunity was available as some were rummaging through the possessions of dead bodies.  Others still streamed towards town exits, desperate to escape the bloody nightmare their day had become.

  Flames towered around Astrid from houses she had known and the world became a scene from hell as she galloped the horse.  She felt hands on her legs and ankles as people tried to pull her from the horse to take the animal for themselves, or tried to climb up behind her.  The mare reared, her front hooves smashing the skull of one man ahead of them.  Astrid struggled to keep her seat as the mare instinctively struck out with her hind hooves, catching more people before galloping on again towards the exit.

Astrid quickly approached the decaying town gates and a second later she was through, and heading for the safety of the forest that enclosed the town on one side.  She risked another quick glance behind her, seeing Sigwulf on his own bulky, bay stallion passing through the gateway and galloping after them.  Astrid urged the mare on, desperate to reach the questionable safety of the forest as the larger warhorse quickly gained on them.  Sigwulf pulled his horse next to her and reached for the reins of the smaller horse.  He briefly noticed Astrid’s pale face and wide green eyes before focusing ahead of them again.  Leaving the town and killing behind them, they let the forrest swallow them.  Sigwulf did not take the road filled with people, but instead beat his own path through the forest, branches whipping against their faces as he moved as quickly as he could until they reached a disused woodcutters track where he forced his horse into a gallop again.

  The sounds of screaming vanished into silence and the flames became memories, yet the smell of smoke and blood still lingered, now mixed with the smell of damp earth and the crisp scent of trees.

  Sigwulf kept them galloping through the forest for another minute before slowing them down and finally stopping.  Throwing a leg over the animal’s neck, he slid down from Kann’s back and wiped his bloody sword against the long grass to remove the worst of the blood, leaving streaky smears on the steel.

“Get down,” he told Astrid as he inspected the blade of his sword.

“No.”  Astrid retorted, still sitting astride the small mare.  “I won’t...”

Sigwulf’s long bloodied blade suddenly appeared at her throat, lightly touching the soft skin.  She stared down the unwavering, gore smeared length of steel and then at the grim face of the tall man who held it, his mouth a tight line and his piercing blue eyes flashing with anger.

“Do you get down on your own or do I assist you?”  He asked in a quiet voice that spoke eloquently of impending violence should she resist.