Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson

and drew Iron-tooth, and just as the blade cleared the sheath the growling turned into a full-throated barking, the kind of barking that announced unequivocally that there was danger near.
      I hope this damned cur is tied up , he thought as he pushed quickly on. But the damned cur was not. From the direction of the cottage the animal came charging at the men, a dark shape, its bared teeth visible in the night. It went airborne ten feet from one of the berserkers, a man named Jokul, leaping for the intruder’s throat, and for its trouble was skewered in mid-flight by Jokul’s sword and flung aside.
      The creature’s enthusiastic barking, however, had been enough to inspire the neighboring dogs. The noise was taken up from the houses flanking the little cottage, and then from further and further within the village, a great cacophony of barking and yelping until it seemed as if every dog in the Western World was howling away.
      “How many…damned…damned dogs do these…damned Irish have?” Starri spluttered.
      “Come on, time to move,” Thorgrim said, speaking out loud, because the time for stealth had passed. He leapt the near fence and raced across the yard and over the next. He could hear voices now, human shouts above the dogs, and he could see torches flaring up around the compound.
      Thorgrim could see the main gate ahead, outlined by the fires that burned on the other side. His wound was a searing pain and he could feel fresh blood running down the inside of his tunic. He had left his mail behind, as had Harald, because the Irish did not wear mail and the telltale metallic rustle might have given them away. And as he ran, and as his breath became more labored, he did not miss it.
      “Watch for the dogs!” he shouted over his shoulder. “They’ll release the dogs!” The Irish knew only that there were invaders among them – they did not know how many and they apparently did not yet know where they were. Rather than try to organize a defense, he guessed they would just let the dogs go, let the dogs find the enemy and bring them to ground. It was what he would do.
      They were fifty feet from the main gate, crossing open ground now, no fences, when the men on the wall saw them at last. Thorgrim did not understand the Irish words, but he understood the frantic shouts, the pointed fingers, the arrows knocked in bow strings.
      Thirty feet and Thorgrim finally saw the dogs. There were a dozen at least, coming from different directions, running flat out and barking and snapping as they converged with the Vikings.
      Thor’s hammer! He did not want to stop until they reached the main gate and forced it open. There was no chance of help from the others until that happened. And they could not let the men-at-arms get between them and the gate. But if they kept on running, the dogs would tear them apart.
      “Shield wall! Shield wall!” he shouted and skidded to a stop. He held his shield up as the first of the dogs leapt at him, spittle flying from it’s mouth, teeth bared. He met the dog with his shield and sent him sprawling back, slashed at another. He hoped the men would form some kind of defense, maybe they could back down to the gate, keeping a united front to the dogs.
      From his left another dog came out of the dark. Thorgrim never saw it until the animal’s wicked teeth sank deep into the muscles of his upper arm. He shouted in agony, tried to slash at the beast with his sword but he could not reach around his shield with the blade. Another leapt at him from the right, but its vicious bark collapsed into a howl and a whine as a sword, Harald’s sword, met it in midair and knocked it aside. Harald stepped to the left and drove his sword through the dog on Thorgrim’s arm, drove it again, hacked at the dog until at last it let go and dropped away.
      Father and son turned together to face the next, but Starri was in front of them, ax in one hand, short sword in another, flailing at the