The Skraeling scouts loped through the forest, holding to a punishing pace as they closed in on the column of witches and others who had fled the fall of Visby. The scouts would pause every so often, leaning down low to the ground to examine the tracks the column had made in their flight, checking carefully for any signs of individuals separating from the main group. In the partial light that filtered through the forest canopy, the Skraelings looked like beasts themselves, clad in their dark furs.
One Skraeling warrior, longer of limb than the others, raised his hand in a signal to stop. He leaned forwards, his wide nostrils flaring, and sniffed loudly. His eyes narrowed and he took a tighter grip on his spear before turning towards his companions.
Hakon gave the signal.
The leafy mold beneath the Skraelings’ feet exploded into activity, and several of the warriors fell. Coils of witchfire snapped through the forest, encircling and tightening around other fur-clad Skraelings, who collapsed to the ground, writhing.
Hakon emerged from his hiding place and surveyed the area. The gnomes had made quick and deadly work of their ambush targets, and Gunnar, Ulf, and Breca were moving swiftly among the witchfire-trapped warriors, ending their lives. Hakon’s orders had been clear: there was no room for mercy when they were so badly outnumbered.
Magnus indicated the lead scout. “If anyone will know, it’ll be this hairy fella.” Hakon nodded and gazed down at the prone figure. “Make any loud noise, and I’ll slit your throat. Understand?”
Eyes wide, the Skraeling nodded. Hakon gestured for the witch who had trapped him to end her spell then reached down and lifted the scout to his feet.
“You have one chance to answer our questions,” said Hakon. “Agree, and we will let you live, tying you to a tree for your companions to find you. Play any games, and it will be your death. Understand me, Skraeling, this is no time for false bravado or bargaining. What say you?”
The far Northern warrior’s lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl. “I only speak with men, not cowards trapped by cunt-magic.” He took a deep breath, as if to shout. Gunnar, however, was standing behind him and quickly cut his throat. Hakon steppedback to avoid the spray of blood as the Skraeling scout fell.
Hakon sighed and looked at Magnus. “Well, they are consistent, aren’t they?”
The gnome shook his head. “Not a word from any of the ones we’ve captured. Their hatred borders on the suicidal. Honestly, Brynnson, it’s worse than badgers and snakes.”
“They hate each other that much?” asked Gunnar curiously.
Magnus shuddered. “You’ve no idea.”
Hakon took a drink of water from his canteen and wiped his beard. “That’s the third scouting party we’ve wiped out. It must be slowing down their main force. It’s certainly making them cautious. I wouldn’t be surprised if they try to set a trap for us soon.”
Gunnar nodded. “Either that or bigger scouting parties.”
A bird cry sounded from the trees. “No time to talk now,” announced Magnus. “More coming. Move fast and follow me!”
***
For the next two days, Hakon’s band played hit-and-run with the Skraelings, picking off those who wandered too far, ambushing scout groups, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. They kept touch with the column of witches through Magnus’ mysterious forest contact system. The Ironwood witches, both fit and wounded, were making steady progress, but Hakon was worried that the column wasn’t moving fast enough.
He called a rest for the whole group of stealthy fighters at the end of the second day. As the exhausted members of the group rested, Hakon gathered a council of war consisting of his brother, Magnus, and a fierce young Ironwood witch named Uwe, who had emerged as a leader during their fights.
“We’re doing all the right things,” said Hakon, “but it’s not enough.” He looked at the others, who all nodded in agreement.
Magnus poked at the ground with a twig. “We’ve been a pest in their ear, which is what a group of this size and ability does best. But we need to properly set those bastards buzzing. We need to make them stop, for a day or more. That will give the column enough separation to get a proper lead on the Skraelings.”
Gunnar wiped sweat off his face. “Forgive me, but one thing isn’t clear to me. Why are the witches running if the Skraelings are so bent on hunting them down? Wouldn’t it be better for them to fight before they are all exhausted?”
“We just need to get to the Ironwood itself,” said Uwe. “Once we are inside the Wood, our magic is impossibly deep-rooted and powerful. They could search for us for twenty years and never find us.”
“Ah,” said Gunnar, understanding. He looked around. “How close is the column to the Ironwood?”
“Two days, if they can hold their current pace,” said Magnus.
“If we can properly fuck with the Skraeling forces, truly sit them down on their arses, that will give the witches the time they need to get to safety,” said Hakon.
“Do you have a plan for this?” asked Magnus doubtfully.
Hakon sighed. “My ears are open,” he said. “Hopefully, that will make up for an empty head.”
Gunnar’s eyes gleamed, and he leaned forwards. “This is going to sound a little mad…”
***
