searching individually or even in groups of less than five.
He wondered where Jago was, but he was unconcerned, as Jago would be found when he wanted to be.
Björn thought there was little chance he would be seen. The hunters didn’t look up, and even if they had, he was hidden in shadow, in his dark clothing blending into the castle wall.
The sun grew high in the heavens, and the search dwindled. The men searching the grounds returned to the castle, which grew quiet.
The Northlander contemplated his strategy, specifically his next move. From his years as a mercenary, he knew fear was his major ally. He also was aware that fear was greatest in the dark of night. While the interior of the castle was as dark at night as it was in the day, the night hours would be best for his work.
First he had to find a place to hide for the remainder of the day. While he could remain on the ledge, he didn’t want his muscles to lock up, making him less effective than he knew he would need to be. He could slip back to the window and into the room and remain there, or move into the hall to try to locate a better hiding place. He decided to move into the room and stay behind the heavy drapes, which would shield him completely from anyone entering the room.
His mind made up, Björn moved along the ledge until he reached the window. As he expected, it was locked, but he had prepared for this when he chose this course as a potential retreat. He had snapped off the catch holding the window closed. Now he opened it quietly and, entering the room, closed the window behind him. Then he made himself as comfortable as possible behind the drapes.
Night came early to the valley as the sun dropped behind the high peaks. The blackness of the castle was interrupted by torches set in the walls. Björn slipped out of the room, noting a brightly burning torch stuck in a holder in the wall immediately to the right of the door. He moved away from the light and continuing his silent movements, returned to the lower floors. Sensing the presence of a small group of men ahead of him, he crept over the rough uneven floor.
As he turned a corner, he saw seven men on guard crowded under a flickering torch. They stood in a circle with their backs inward, on guard against an enemy coming from any direction. Their swords faced the floor, but the men’s posture showed they were ready to swing the weapons into action. They were talking, sounding confused about the nature of their enemy. As he listened, Björn determined that they were experienced warriors who had never been bested in all their years of conquest, even by larger groups of armed men. And this was only one man.
Questions buzzed around the small circle. How could this one man be a serious threat? What manner of being was he? Many of their companions had been slain easily. How could one man do this? Why was he doing it?
Björn edged toward them. He moved in fractions of inches, freezing frequently, then moving forward. Like a ghost, he approached unseen.
Time passed. The men on guard gradually relaxed as their muscles grew tired.
Suddenly a whirlwind with two flashing sabers exploded from the darkness into the soldiers. Two fell silently, their heads simultaneously cleaved from their bodies. Before the rest could react, two more died, one by a sword driven through his heart, the point of the sword emerging through his back. The other had his body split from between his neck and shoulder all the way to his groin. Of the remaining three, one stood stunned by surprise and fear, one raised his sword to the ready position and waited, and the third lunged at Björn, slashing with his sword.
Björn’s sword impaled the neck of the attacking man and then, moving in a blur, he drove the sword in his right hand across another man’s body at the waist, almost splitting him in two. At the same time, the sword in his left hand drove into the midriff of the last man. The unequal battle was over in seconds. The robed men had not had time to cry a warning; the only sounds had been two short screams and the gurgles of dying men. Björn moved on silently.
Throughout the night, a wraith appeared unseen and unheard out of the darkness. In his wake, Björn left more dead men.
The remaining men drew into larger groups for security and tried to calm their fear by sharing it. A group of twenty-eight men stood in a circle in one of the dormitory rooms lit by many torches. Two large doors on each of the walls were closed.
A door exploded inward and Björn was in their midst, swords slashing. Then he was gone through the door he had entered so unexpectedly, leaving five bodies on the floor. Three men bravely pursued him into the corridor. The sounds of a brief scuffle came, then silence.
The remaining twenty men fled through a door in the wall opposite where Björn had entered. Fleeing in disarray down that corridor, they entered the next dormitory. There they huddled with the men from that room. With no apparent leadership, men gradually passed through the corridors to stairwells and gathered in the upper rooms and halls.
Their leaders found them there. At first they ordered the soldiers to find this silent enemy. When that did not work, they argued with the warriors, and finally began shrieking at them to return to the lower areas and find the intruder. Despite those efforts, the men were resolute and refused to leave the lighted upper area.
Even bunched together, the soldiers’ fear grew. Their fear of the deadly specter eventually overruled their fear of the priests. As dawn came, they opened the high entrance doors and began to move into the daylight. In groups, they walked apprehensively away from the castle, constantly looking over their shoulders. From an upstairs window, Björn watched their departure. The men left with only their swords in their hands. They divided into a number of groups and marched up the broad road. Of the more than two hundred men originally in the cult, less than one hundred fifty were alive. After a short time the priests, laden with all they could carry, followed.
Björn placed an arrow in his bow, drew the string and missile back, and released. A priest fell. A second arrow pierced another. The remaining seven priests stood paralyzed, looking at the bodies on the ground. Then they dropped their treasures and fled for their lives.
Jago burst from a grove of trees and charged into the priests. His initial charge broke the bodies of two priests. Leaping into a capriole, he lashed out with his back hooves and struck others down. He chased those who attempted to flee and trampled them. Then he returned to the original battle place and dispatched the survivors. Within moments, all nine clerics were dead. The horse turned and looked up at Björn, who still stood in the window with a small satisfied smile on his lips.
Björn turned back into the room and into the hall. Exiting the castle, he strode to where the priests lay. Looking at the carnage for several long moments, he stooped and picked up a small pouch dropped by one of them. Opening it, he examined the contents, then placed it in one of his pockets. He moved through the remaining bodies and retrieved his arrows. Carefully cleaning the bolts, he inserted them into his quiver. Signaling Jago with a head gesture, he moved at a fast trot up the road in the direction taken by the men.
Numerous times during the day, they overtook stragglers. Without remorse, they dispatched them. When the road divided, Björn and Jago turned in the direction of the village, leaving the remainder of the men to their destiny.
Thane was alone in the tavern when Björn returned. Looking at Björn without expression, Thane said, “The women returned. Thank you for rescuing them.” Still expressionless, he continued, “I assume the evil ones are gone.”
“They will not trouble you again,” responded Björn.
Thane rose from his seat. “We asked you to come because of what a traveler told us about you. From what you have done, at least most of what he said must be true. But he warned us that you insisted
