Copyright of myself, Jared G. Juckiewicz, warnings of Blood and Death and Violence
(Note. Recent Events are leading to Retconning most of the Accidental Vikingr tales set AFTER Outremer. This falls amongst those. Furthermore, to move more into keeping with the setting, certain character names are being changed. Sir Jared shall be referred to as Jehan, and Sir Javier [Where he appears] as Iuliano. Sorry...)
“Come on Pup!” The man who answered to Bear said, his tone far cheerier than the one so addressed figured circumstances warranted. They had been travelling on foot, going to collect supplies, and as they approached the village they had planned on trading at, well, things looked to be getting complicated.
For one thing, half a dozen warriors were present. This was unusual. And from the state of their gear, they looked to be brigands. That wasn’t counting their leader, who was mounted, and his honour guard, a pair similarly mounted. Their gear was better, but not a match even for the Bear’s aged chain and antiquated helmet. None of them wore any heraldry, nor even anything that resembled Heraldry, and they were quite obviously far removed from any form of authority. The leader was speaking to the village headman, who was visibly cringing, even from as far away as the pair were.
“We have work to do!” The Bear exclaimed happily, and the one he spoke to shook his head. Robert, his name was, and until recently, he had been a courier. Not one for combat, tending to move fast enough that no one considered him a target. All that had changed when a strange man in Nottingham had hired him to deliver a message north, to Strathearne. The Old Man he had delivered that message too had made a seemingly miraculous transformation, from broken down elder, to steel-thewed veteran. And he had dragged poor Robert back south with him. It turned out, later, that this old man, answering to Bear had been an Outlaw, and a Knight. A Viking, a Crusader, and a Varangian. A Pagan, and a drinker and a brawler. And now a free-lance bandit hunter.
As they approached, Bear gave instructions. “Leave the horse to me.” Was the first. Fighting cavalry from foot took care and skill. And experience. And Bear was capable of those in spades. “Don’t worry about kills. Keep yourself alive and them off-balance.” Lots of practice at fighting, Roberts newfound mentors had, even if there was but one present. “If you do have to face a horseman, go for the horse. Tis harsh, but…” And Bear trailed off. As they reached the edge of the village, he proffered one last bit of advice. “Keep behind me, Lad, least till it starts. And Dinnae be getting in my way after.” With that, he donned his helm, and strode forward, the steel-shod butt of his great, two-handed crescent axe sending up little puffs of dust from the dry wagon track.
“GENTLEMEN!” He bellowed, as he drew into the village square, slamming the axehaft into the ground. Every eye snapped to him. “Who’d I be speaking tae, were I wishing tae buy food?” He asked, and his hand plucked a weighty pouch of his thick leather belt. “I can pay.” He informed him, the corners of his lips twitching up, even as he bounced the pouch in his hand. The jingle of coins was clearly audible. As well wave a steak in the face of a wolf-pack. As the brigands on foot began to close, and those ahorse expertly wheeled their mounts, his grin spread. Without warning, he hurled the pouch at the face of one of the few brigands with a helm.
The impact stunned the warrior, and the pouch scattered, shimmering silver coins flying everywhere. Even as the brigands and his companion paused in shock, he struck. The broad blade of his axe whipped up and round as he lunged towards the horsemen, and there was sickening cracking and tearing noises. The horse screamed in agony as it dropped, forelimbs shattered, as the Bear spun off to its right. As soon as he was out of range of a sudden backkick, he stopped, returning to a rest, feet shoulderwidth apart, left arm tucked into his belt, right holding his axe vertical, the butt resting on the arch of his foot. “Weel Then?” He snarled at them, snapping them out of their shock. The surviving pair of horsemen wheeled again, and made to rush, and half the men on foot followed him. The other three moved on the Pup, who was busy sliding his shield, a broad round shield with a steel boss, off his back, and drawing his chosen weapon, a short broadsword of Norman make. For armour he wore but a gambeson and a steel spangenhelm, and the encroaching warriors in their ragged maille and leathers did little to engender confidence.
Seeing the warriors closing on him, faces grim, the Bear threw his head forward and gave out a roar like his namesake, before rushing in himself. His axe flicked up, into a stave-grip, and he parried the first blow coming for him, a sturdy, iron-studded war club. He sidestepped, avoiding a clumsily swung hand-axe, and flicked the steel shod butt round. There was a crack, and the brigand fell, blood beginning to seep from his nose and mouth. Stepping back, the Bear finished him with a butt-strike to the same point, covering the bottom of his axehaft in blood and brains and shards of bone.
Approaching Thunder warned him of a charging horse, and he spun, dropping to his knees and taking a disembowling thrust on the heavy kite shield hanging on his back. He thrust with the point of his axe head, as though ‘twere a spear, and another horse shrieked in pain and terror, its breast punctured by the terrible blade. Meanwhilst the Pup was parrying desperately, his shielding shifting constantly to block blow after blow. He had no opportunity to land strikes of his own, but none of the three facing him were landing any. A mace swung towards his skull was parried with an upward sweep of his blade, even whilst a knife thrust was caught on the rim of his shield, and he twisted out of the way of a short spear.
As the stricken horse reared and fell, Bear tore the wicked hook of his axehead from its chest, and pivoted to the side, stepping back, and lashing out at the knifeman who’d been behind him. The steel socket of the head, caught the knife-arm at the wrist, and a strange popping signalled the breaking of the arm. He jerked the blade back, and then rammed it forward and up, the point sliding in under the chin, severing the mans chinstrap, and driving up into the brain. Rather than waste time trying to tear his axe free, Bear stepped back, his hands slidding his skeggox, a short handled bearded axe, from his belt, and his poniard from its sheath. Turning slowly, he took stock. One infantryman and a horse faced him, and the three warriors facing the Pup were completely concentrated on that fight.
With a grin, Bear feinted for the surviving foot-soldier, and then twisted, hurling the axe with great accuracy to embed in the back of the skull of one the warriors facing the Pup. Said companion of his responded immediately, lunging into the offensive. His shield battered aside the mace, and the sword came round in an overhand blow, hacking into the mans neck. Stepping back, the Pup pulled the blade loose, avoiding the spurting blood, and turned to face the last, the spearman. Now man-at-arms against a spear, the man-at-arms has the advantage, and the brigand knew it. He turned to run, but wasn’t fast enough, and Roberts blade slid neatly into his back, a perfect killing strike.
As Robert in turn took stock of his surroundings, he noticed a few things. First that the Bear was slowly being circled by a man on foot, and a warrior ahorse. And second that the Bear for whatever reason, was wielding naught more than his dagger. True, as daggers go, it was a rather impressive one, the blade being as long as his forearm, with a crossguard, and a disk pommel, eighteen inches of razored steel. But even still. So, he charged, silently, towards the warrior whose back was to him. The Horseman saw this, and spurred his mount at the Bear, who simply grinned.
A broadsword swung down, but the Bear caught it on his dagger, and slid it aside, grabbing for the riders sword belt, and dragging himself up behind the saddle. As the rider, the bandit leader tried to turn, the Bear cuffed him upsides the head with his pommel. Once, twice, thrice, and then, as the rider wavered, the Bear shoved him off, and grabbed for the reins, pulling himself forward into the saddle. In the few seconds this had been going on, the last of the brigands had realised something was wrong, and turned. His broadsword whipped round to lash at the Pups skull, only to be parried easily. They sparred, forward and back, every blow parried, until the Pup stepped forward and punched with his shield hand. The brigand took a steel boss to the face, and staggered. It was all the opening the Pup needed. His form, again was almost perfect, and a third dead brigand joined his honour guard. He looked up to see the Bear sitting there, mounted on his stolen horse, just watching. “You done good, lad.” The Bear informed him, and then slid down. There were bodies to loot, and villagers to reassure, and supplies to purchase.
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