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

together and the heavy oak beam lifted up from the iron holders. They tossed it aside and put their shoulders to the heavy doors. It was chaos within the confines of the ringfort now; men were shouting, the dogs were howling, the bells in the church had begun ringing out their warning and call to arms. That was good. That was the plan. Noise and confusion within the walls would serve as a clarion call to the Viking host.
      Thorgrim and Harald pushed together. The heavy doors resisted at first, but as they began to swing they gathered momentum, swinging faster, until finally they were full open, Cloyne’s defenses gone, the way clear for the Norsemen to pour into the fort. And beyond the gaping doors only darkness, quiet, not the least sign of life, nothing at all to suggest that
    anyone would be coming soon. Or ever.

Chapter Ten
     
     
     
     
     
     
    My foes sought me out,
    swinging their swords
    but I did not fall then.
    I was outnumbered,
    yet I fed the raven’s maw.
                                                               Gisli Sursson’s Saga
     
     
     
     
     
    For the second time that night, Arinbjorn White-tooth was awakened from a sound sleep, and he was not happy about it.
      “Hrafn! What in the name of Odin is it now?” he snapped as soon as he understood that he was no longer dreaming.
      “I don’t know,” Hrafn said. “Something. Something is happening.”
      All-Father save me from these damned fools, Arinbjorn thought as he kicked the furs off and climbed out of his portable bed. He pushed past Hrafn and through the marquee’s flap and into the night. It was cool and damp and dark, but there was an edge of excitement in the air. It took Arinbjorn a moment to get his bearings and understand the cause of it. Bells. There were bells ringing out from the direction of Cloyne. He turned toward the sound. Now he could hear shouting far off, and could see pinpoints of light as men with torches ran in various directions, like sparks floating off a fire.
      Damn it!
      “Hrafn!” Arinbjorn shouted, louder than was necessary. “Is Thorgrim in camp? Go find out, and be damned quick about it!”
      The guard ran off and Arinbjorn continued to stare in the direction of Cloyne. All around him he could see men climbing out from under bedding, grabbing up weapons, staring off in the same direction that he was. He could hear the murmur of speculation.
      Hrafn was back quick, though he could not have been quick enough for Arinbjorn. “Thorgrim and his son are gone. So are Starri and his band of lunatics. Thorodd saw them heading out, maybe an hour ago, but he doesn’t know where they went.”
      I bloody do , Arinbjorn thought. Damn him! Arinbjorn was angry because now he had to make a decision, and that decision could have far-reaching consequences for the only thing he cared about, which was himself. It was a decision that required a huge gamble, and if it went against him, it could be very bad.
      But Arinbjorn was a wealthy and powerful jarl, and he had not become such by agonizing and vacillating. “Call up the men,” he snapped at Hrafn. “To arms, we are going into battle.”
      Hrafn was smart enough to not ask questions, and as he hurried off to obey, Arinbjorn hurried off to seek out Hoskuld Iron-skull and the others. He found them, as he imagined he would, near Iron-skull’s camp, the commanders of the various ships gathered and staring out into the dark, trying to guess what might be going on.
      “Arinbjorn!” Hoskuld said as he approached. “I was going to send for you. What do you make of this?” He pointed with his long beard toward the distant town of Cloyne.
      “This was my doing,” Arinbjorn explained. “I thought to have some of my men make their way into the town, secretly, open the gates, let the rest of us in. I asked for volunteers. Thorgrim and the berserkers, they stepped forward. It seems they are