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With renewed determination, the Saxons pushed harder. A few cracks in the Viking line appeared.

“Now!” the king roared, and with a mighty surge, the Saxons broke through the faltering barrier.

The Vikings scattered, some falling to the ground, others running for cover as the enormous wave of Saxon warriors that had held their positions behind the shield wall burst forth. Wielding axes and swords, each man’s fury over what the Vikings had stolen from them was unleashed. The clash of metal stung Brecc’s ears; the shouts and screams were chilling.

Drawing his sword, Brecc assessed the immediate vicinity for signs of pending danger. Not far away, a small cluster of men were engaged in a battle of their own. The Saxons outnumbered the Vikings and appeared to have the upper hand. There was a flash of movement behind Brecc. He pivoted, raising his weapon just as the Viking thrust his sword at Brecc’s chest. Propelling his arm upward, Brecc deflected the strike. He stepped back, circling slowly, his eyes not leaving his attacker. The Viking slashed. Brecc parried, catching his enemy’s blade with his own. Caught off guard, the Viking loosened his grip. It was the opening Brecc needed. Before his opponent could recover, Brecc lunged forward. His blade pierced the Viking’s chest.

“They’re fleein’!” A young Saxon warrior raced up the hill toward him. “You see, sire! We routed ’em!”

Brecc turned. It did, indeed, seem that the Vikings who had not fallen had determined their cause was lost. Some were running, others were limping, but each one was leaving the hillside. The Saxons stood among the carnage, their expressions ranging from stunned to sickened to victorious. A cheer sounded. It was echoed by another, and Brecc’s stomach sank. As much as he loathed what must be done, he knew there was no other way if they were to prevent history from repeating itself. He scanned the hillside, searching for the king as yet another cheer issued forth.

“Enough!” The king’s roar was unmistakable. He stepped out from behind a couple of thegns at the crest of the ridge. “This is no time to celebrate. Our brothers lie dead and dying, and we have not finished the work we set out to do.” He pointed to the ancient fortress. “After them! None must escape if we wish to prevent a second, even more deadly attack.”

Brecc clutched his sword, a toxic mixture of relief and repulsion churning his stomach. It seemed that the king’s memory of the Battle at Wilton was as painfully clear as his own. Brecc did not know how many friends he had lost this day. It had been hours since he’d seen Odda or Rheged. But there could be no doubt that if the Vikings were not stopped now, he would likely lose more, and the Saxons would also lose their victory.

All around, men were responding to the king’s order. Most were hastening after the fleeing Vikings on foot. But the king and the thegns who were with him headed to the woodland. Brecc had no need to consider his options. Averting his eyes from the slaughter that surrounded him, he bolted down the hill toward the trees, his mount, and Aisley.

“’Tis sufficient, Aisley,” Lufian said. “I thank you, but there are others needing you more.”

Aisley cinched the knot on the bandage she’d tied around the thegn’s leg and glanced around the small clearing. Lufian was right. She was not sure how word of her presence in the woodland was spreading, but the number of injured who had managed to reach her was steadily growing.

Rheged had been the first to arrive. The cut on his arm had been so deep, she’d been forced to sew it closed to stop the bleeding. There had been no time to wait for a pain remedy to take effect; he’d lost too much blood already. That was likely the reason he’d lost consciousness after the first stitch. He’d awoken not long ago, still pale of face and weak of movement, but she was grateful to see him alert once more.

She moved to the young man seated on the ground beside Lufian. His hair was caked with blood.

“’Ow bad is it, mistress?”

Gently, she dabbed his head with a damp rag, searching for the wound. “The cut is not large, but heads tend to bleed rather a lot.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “A few cobwebs and a bandage will help put a stop to that.”

His relief was instant. “I’m most grateful.”

She had barely finished wrapping his head when the crack of breaking twigs beneath lumbering footsteps announced the arrival of someone else. She looked up.

“Odda!” She scrambled to her feet. The thegn staggered farther into the clearing, a young man in his arms. “Are you hurt?”

“Not me.” He lowered the warrior in his arms to the ground. “The Vikings are fleeing, and the king has ordered us to go after them. I came for my horse and stumbled upon this lad at the edge of the battlefield. I believe he is someone you know.”

Aisley dropped to her knees beside the young man, and her heart dropped. “Taber!”

The stablehand’s eyes fluttered open. “Mistress Aisley.” His smile was weak but genuine. “We did it, mistress. We beat back th’ Vikin’s.”

But at what cost? Taber’s tunic was red with blood, and his fingers trembled as he felt for the gaping hole in his side.

“’Twas a spear that got me,” he said.

“Did you pull it out yourself?” Aisley could hardly countenance the thought, but his deep, ragged wound spoke of extreme damage and pain.

“Aye.” He closed his eyes. “I wasn’t goin’ t’ die with a Vikin’ spear in me.”

Fighting back tears, Aisley looked up at Odda.

He grimaced. “Forgive me. I did not realize how bad . . .” He ran a bloodied hand through his hair. “I thought mayhap . . .”

“You were right to bring him,” Aisley said. She could not think of all those dying alone on the battlefield. “I will take care of him.”

With one more regretful glance at Taber, Odda moved away. He cut through the clearing, heading toward the spot where he’d left his mount.

“Wait!” At Aisley’s call, he turned back. “Have you seen Brecc?”