taken by the Northlander and his horse. For perhaps the first time in his life he prayed, “Lord, I have never asked you for anything, and perhaps this is not the right thing to ask for, but if you can see your way to it, please help the Northlander. Please help him destroy those evil men and keep them from hurting others as they hurt my Netta.” He spoke again to himself. “I hope the Northlander is all that we have heard him to be.”
He turned and walked slowly and painfully into the tavern.
The valley lay in the midst of sharp mountain peaks. The castle had been built into the steep cliffs at one end so that it appeared to be part of the mountain. Most of the castle had fallen into ruin, and the stones that had made up the upper rooms and spires had either tumbled into the rooms below or toppled into the valley.
There were only two approaches to the castle that Björn could see. One was a natural winding, but wide road through passes in the mountains to the north; the other was a steep, narrow road that had been hacked into the mountains on the opposite side of the valley. As the road climbed the mountain, the edge dropped off abruptly into the valley. Stones, rocks, and debris from the mountain lay on the valley floor next to the cliff.
Björn and Jago stood unmoving on the narrow road. They had spent several days circling the valley, learning the land, and watching the fortress. They had come to know the land but had learned little of the castle or its inhabitants. Dark-robed figures moved about the castle grounds, evidently going about chores. Beyond that there had been little activity.
Björn and his companion, Jago had been standing there since the sun had risen above the mountain peaks, illuminating the valley floor and the semi-ruined structure. The sun was directly overhead when three robed figures with deep hoods hiding their faces left the castle and walked across the valley to the bottom of the road. Wide sashes encircled their waists, and short, heavy swords hung from the sashes.
“What do you want?” one of them shouted from the valley floor. Björn did not answer. The man repeated his question and still Björn did not respond. Neither he nor the horse moved.
The three figures climbed the road and when they stood in front of the pair, the man in the center repeated his question. “What do you want?”
After a tense silence, the Northlander answered. “If all of you leave now, taking only the clothes you wear, we will let you live.”
The robed men started, and the man on the right blurted, “Where is your army?”
“We are the army,” Björn replied.
The men stared at him, then the one in the center signaled the other two with his head and they drew their swords. Showing they were well trained, they lunged at him in unison, but before any of them could land a blow, Björn caught the wrist of the center man, preventing his weapon from doing damage. Still holding the man’s arm firmly, Björn whirled and planted a violent kick in the stomach of the man nearest the edge of the road, sending him flying to the rocks below. Lifting the man into the air and using his body like a club, he struck the third man with such force that he was knocked from the road to join his partner on the rocks.
Björn returned the man to his feet, but still held him fast.
“I will let you live for now,” he said. “Return to the castle and give your priests my message. Leave the castle with only the clothes on your backs before the sun sets and you will live. If not, you will all die here.”
Björn released the man with a shove that sent him staggering down the road. Recovering his balance, the man turned and ran across the valley to the castle.
A short time later, a dozen men in the same dark cloaks marched out of the castle and stood under the trees on a small plateau next to the castle, watching the man and horse. Björn was still for a few moments, then he stepped to the horse and removed the long bow and two arrows. Notching an arrow in the bow, he took aim and let the arrow fly. One man fell, kicked for a few moments, and then lay still. The others looked at him for a few seconds, and then turned to flee into the castle. Another man was felled by an arrow before they reached shelter. Then all was silent.
Björn and Jago stood as before, watching the castle. Later that afternoon, thirty dark-robed men emerged from the castle. They trotted three abreast down the steep slope from the castle, across the valley, and up the road toward Björn. They marched silently, swords raised. Without breaking stride, they approached at a trot in perfect unison. Up the road they came to within thirty yards of Björn and the horse. Only then did Björn move.
He drew his two swords and grunted a rough short sound. “Jago.” The horse flew past him and charged the armed men. Leaping into the air, Jago executed a perfect capriole, striking with his hind hooves. Two men fell instantly from the blows, and then another toppled under strikes from its front hooves before the horse hit the ground. The horse charged into the center of the men, his feet again leaving the ground and striking two men with his front hooves. Twisting in mid-air, he struck two others with his rear hooves. The sound of bones shattering almost drowned out the screams of terror.
The tightly grouped men broke into total disarray. Struggling to escape the horse, the men violently jostled each other, and some on the outside were knocked off the road to fall screaming to the rocks below, ending their screams abruptly.
Björn charged into the disorganized mass. His swords flashed, and heads flew from bodies while torsos were impaled. Jago continued his savage assault, and the robed men attempting to flee were trapped in the chaos. A few attempted to fight back, but they were helplessly off balance. The attack was over in moments. Bodies were strewn on the road and others were broken on the rocks in the valley. Screams, groans, pleas for help, and struggling movements came from those still alive.
The two victors ignored their victims, passing through the gore to the bottom of the road. There they resumed their silent vigil.
The sun passed behind the mountains, and darkness fell quickly. There was no moon and, as night took control of the valley, it grew dark, so dark a person might reach out to touch the blackness.
The two figures moved silently across the valley to the outer walls of the castle and listened, sensing sounds and movements within the castle. Björn touched Jago’s neck, and the horse trotted away toward the entrance of the castle, moving unnoticed and stood motionless near the massive front door.
Björn headed stealthily in the opposite direction to the ruined section of the rambling structure. Picking his way carefully through the destroyed walls, he moved like an invisible spirit. Coming to a corridor still open, he entered cautiously. Once inside, he carefully leaned his bow and arrows against the wall and, drawing one sword, he moved warily into the castle.
The interior of the fortress was darker even than the complete darkness outside, but Björn, eyes trained to maneuver in any environment, moved as if he were in broad daylight. The corridor was long and straight, but it was filled and in some places almost blocked by fallen stones, but the Northlander made his way with little difficulty.
The corridor led into the portion of the castle that had suffered least from the years and weather. This part was apparently occupied by the intruders. The passageway ended at a thick door that effectively blocked further progress. Björn studied it, then felt gingerly over the entire surface with his hands.
Finally, he grasped one section of the door that was broken by the weight of a stone that had shifted above it, and gave it a gradual pull. At first it did not move, so Björn braced one foot against the door
