*** Chapter 9 day 3 Brynjar/Solfrid ***

“Cursed creatures!” Brynjar spat as his blade came around and separated the head of the very creature he cursed. Unfortunately it was quickly replaced by two more. The great warrior was getting on in years, but his blade was still one of the most deadly, few could be said to be capable of fighting him on equal grounds. The burly bearded warrior had yet to relent his mantle.

“Its almost a good thing they are mindless,” Solfird said. Her war hammer had just lifted a creature into the air as an upward swing of the iron mass smashed into the creature’s jaw. There was an audible crunch and it did not move from where it landed. Solfrid swung around and crushed the skull of another that got in her way as she moved forward just enough to smash the skull of the one she had just lifted previously. Even unconscious the creature was dangerous, if it regained its consciousness at an inopportune time it could mean the death of a warrior.

“How so?” Brynjar grunted as he freed his sword from its victim and expertly cleaned it of gore and blood on the furs covering his thigh. His blade was a flash of swings and thrusts, the killing had become monotonous, but did drain the stamina.

“If they were smarter we would have long lost to them and would have been turned into their shit,” she replied. The shield maiden was the best fighting woman of her people, few males could match her, none could best her.

“How very imaginative of you,” he grimaced.

These two had been tasked with holding the southern facing opening of the encirclement. Behind them were warriors waiting to take their place should they tire of struggle. To the side of them were a couple of towers where other warriors aided them with arrows. The encirclement was made of thick trees with four openings with various defenses designed to slow down and funnel the monsters.

Ever since their arrival on this land they had been struggling to survive against the nightly raids of the pale beasts. They had lost many warriors and some supplies to these creatures. Every night was a struggle.

Today for some reason the usual horde appeared smaller, there was less pressure than expected. It was strange, but it was very welcomed. The slightly diminished horde allowed the warriors to fight more vigorously. For the first time in many days there was hope of harshly diminishing their numbers and for such a thing to occur they opened up the encirclement.

“Clear the gate!” Brynjar ordered.

Both Brynjar and Solfrid stepped back as four warriors stepped forward with makeshift square shields in hand. They were enough to block the opening and as one they pushed back the horde. Other younger boys rushed in and quickly began dragging away the corpses as others threw down buckets of rocks and pebbles into the thicker pools of blood to prevent the warriors from slipping during combat.

In mere minutes two other warriors were back at it having replaced Brynjar and Solfrid. The two tired warriors stood back resting from the exhaustive fighting. Other boys and girls helped them with removing their sullied leather garbs and cleaning their weapons. They were back in fighting condition in mere moments, all save for the exhausted stamina. They forewent replacing their armor as the fighting was soon to be over.

Moments passed and as usual, moments before dawn, as the first hints of light began to luminate the world, the creatures on instinct began to retreat.

“Send them to Hel!” the command of their chieftain Volstag could be heard from corner to corner of the encirclement. The order was to break through the openings and chase them down, every able warrior gleefully did so. In their retreat the creatures would always panic and run with nothing else in mind but escaping the light of day.

“Are you coming with me?” Brynjar asked, grasping his freshly cleansed blade.

“What are you waiting for, old man?” Solfrid jeered, grinning. She was already running ahead of him into the fray after the beasts.

“This bloody girl…” he huffed and started sprinting to catch up.

As they chased, some of the beasts too tired to run would turn and attack only to be quickly cut down as the warriors attempted to coral as many as they could . The height of the creatures and their hunched way of running suggested that these things were not meant for running, which at the moment meant that warriors would certainly capture many within a killing ring. Some of these rings could already be seen forming as half a dozen men here and there would run adjacent to the creatures slowly closing the gaps of their circle killing any creature that did not pull into the center quickly enough until they had no more room to move and were pounced upon.

Solfrid and Brynjar became part of a group that started herding the creatures into an enclosed clearing with a seemingly single entrance. Dozens of the creatures found themselves trapped and preyed upon by the cold of iron.

Surprisingly, it was here that they displayed a certain natural ability, they were excellent climbers, though it left them vulnerable as they climbed, their speed was remarkable. At the speed that they climbed allowed some to escape, but most were still killed, the warriors were far too keen on exterminating the animals.

“Solfrid,” Brynjar called the warrior maiden over to him.

“What is it?” she asked, walking over to him. Other warriors were enthusiastically eliminating the remaining creatures within the trap, the hunger for blood was palpable, but as Brynjar’s student, Solfrid held herself against the overwhelming tide.

“Look here,” he pointed, at the end of his blade there was the body of a creature more ruthless and more devastating than that of the ones they had slaughtered this night. It was a Mizton, a beast so horrendous that few could declare wearing its skin as a direct harvest.

It is an animal that has the back legs of a mountain climbing beast and the fore paws of a grandiose predator. It is an ambush animal that springs forth not only from brush and rivers, but also from the high branches of trees. A predator so sturdy that falls are but mere occurrences in its life.

The design of the animal is sleek, even for its strange compositions, which made it both hard to predict and hard to hunt as its field was limited by surprise. Its head is triangular in form, though the skull elevates enough to maintain the calculative eyes of a predator.

“Great fur Brynjar,” Solfrid said, as she inspected the body, though her words only held impact in her own mind, because as she further inspected the body, the creature before her was torn and so badly damaged that a skinner would barely get scraps from this carcass.

“Hmmm…,” Brynjar rubbed his beard. He petted the great predator’s fur, feeling the softness of its fur alongside the chilling stiffness of the flesh beneath.

He stood and took in the field before him, he had been so blinded by the night’s battle that his vision had become far too acute, a true sign that age was taking its toll on his abilities. This trap that they had formed had delivered incredible profits in blood, but by further inspection, the trap itself had been a battlefield for more than themselves. The amount of bodies here numbered greater than the number of bodies they had trapped. It was impossible to think that they had done so much damage in the dawn hour raids, though many bodies could be counted here, they could not be accurate.

“What is it old man?” she asked, rather curious, her usual battle nature taking a back seat, there was afterall no lingering threat. She lowered her guard and waded towards the old man, stepping across the many carcasses that littered the forest floor.

“Strange that the animal did not escape,” he spoke, his blade slowly showing the obvious escape routes for the animal, though Solfrid could see that the animal had more escapes than it might have had control over. She felt the weight of her mentor as he revealed the easiest of escapes. By itself, the Mizton had so much escapability.

“So it died on purpose?” she asked. Maybe the creature had made a final stand, it was understandable. Why not just stop? Why not just die after seeing no way out?

“Look further there,” he pointed. His finger pointed towards several low hanging tree roots, they formed a sort of canopy.

There, Solfrid could see more of what had occurred here. There were obvious signs of other conflict here, there were more bodies than they had lured into this trap.

She decided to explore the canopy of roots without her master’s orders, she peeled back the roots that covered the entrance and stepped within. The way in was tight, it was not meant for a large body, once within she could see what her master had understood and also something else. This was not just a den for the young, there was a man inside, he had his arms around the neck of a beast that had broken through the roots. It was clear that the beast had died after carving its way through the roots, it became the victim of the man within.

The body of the man was wounded, it had suffered many scratches and many deep cuts, but the body count outside of the canopy was staggering. Now that she laid eyes on the one responsible for it all, she understood that the man was warrior born. It excited her that the man could be so ruthless and cunning. He had used the canopy to ensure that the creatures outside could not enter in large numbers. He still had to move fast to kill them before they could tear their way in and it seemed that he did just that as the bodies killed on the canopy acted as mortar and barriers filling in the gaps between the roots.

“At the end the animal found an ally,” her master spoke. He had stepped within the cramped space that they occupied. Brynjar was surprised to find a person within the den, once he saw the man he was dumbfounded. Fighting these creatures was not something that took minutes, it was something that took hours. They were a wave, a horde, all consuming.

Within the canopy the man had survived, it was clear that the struggle was prolonged, there were many bodies entangled within the vines that comprised the canopy. There were the bodies of many of the pale beasts and it intrigued the warrior that someone so plain could deal so much damage to their long standing enemies.

The latest creature this man had killed had been ended with a broken bone piece, probably the femur of some prey. The bone had made its way through the throat and considering the blood that drenched the bodies, an artery had been torn.

Solfrid decided to step forward and check the man for signs of life, if the warrior was still alive he’d be an excellent addition to their number for the night battles. Before Brynjar could warn or stop her she’d gotten within range of the man, his body had appeared limp and slumped, to all it seemed as if he was dead or fainted.

Slick!

In one burst of incredible speed the man retracted the bone weapon from the pale creature it had turned into a corpse and sprung forward. Solfrid was caught by surprise and could not react in time to defend against the man, but instead of receiving a mortal wound his free had grabbed onto hers and she was pulled down. Her stance did not give her the balance necessary to resist being dragged down, a chill ran down her spine as her body fell and she could see the cold fury in the man’s eyes. They were the eyes of bloodlust, of a quiet storm. For in the way she fell her back was to him and thus her life was at his mercy.

“Solfrid!” Brynjar cried out unsheathing a dagger from his belt, his sword was a hindrance in this small space.

The man took her back, his arm wrapped around her neck as his legs wrapped around her thighs, then through the momentum of his movement he rolled them over so that he was underneath her with his bone weapon pressed against her spine so that he could use her as a shield against the other within the den. If she fought him he could simply use his body and her weight to slide the pointed end into her back through the thin fabric shirt she wore as her only defense.

“Quien son?” the man spoke in a language neither of them understood.

“Let’s not do anything rash,” Brynjar said, he tossed his dagger to the side in such a fashion so that the man could see him do it. “Let her go and things can be resolved peacefully.”

With hand signs being the only common language between the two and poorly understood at that the man did not release her, but instead slowly repositioned himself so that they could both stand. As they did so the man’s body went limp, it was for only a moment, but it was enough of an opening for Solfrid to fight to break free. She used her body to push him back and thrust back a hand to try and clasp onto his weapon bearing hand, but she missed.

Fearing the worst, she couldn’t help but let out a yelp as her body tensed horrified that soon the bone weapon would wrend through her back, however, this was not the case. Instead the man released her neck and pushed her away towards Brynjar. She turned around, her blood pulsing as adrenaline pumped through her veins, a hand had quickly gone for her own dagger.

“Calm down,” she heard Brynjar say as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look at the man, he is not in any condition to fight.”

Solfrid’s blood slowed down as she studied him now, there was a lot of blood on him and some of it was his own. His stance was neutral, there was no fury in his eyes anymore, they looked tired and unfocused. Without the energy and strength to give them a fight, the man surrendered, he dropped the bone weapon and collapsed. His body had given out, he had fought for the last couple of hours on sheer will alone, now there was nothing to call upon.