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  Chapter Seventeen - The Battle of Scenestane

  “Well did you hear that? She is sending for her own army. Where is mine eh? When will help come?”Anna silently asked the horn.

  “Patience, mortal child. It is coming,” was the only response she got.

  Whilst Kendra and Anna stared up into the skies where the raven had vanished, Ellette took advantage of the moment to wriggle out of the Valkyrie’s grasp and scampering out of her reach, dashed towards where Gurthrunn and the others were still fighting the dark elves. Although more than a dozen svartálfar now lay dead or wounded at their feet, the children were in grave danger. Lar was looking weak from lost blood and Wilburh, himself exhausted by all his use of magic, was now wielding a knife, trying to keep the dark elves away from the older boy whilst Hild bandaged his wound. Gurthrunn was still a threat to the enemy, however, and his axe, which had caused them so much pain, was swinging back and forth.

  The svartálfar were keeping back from that axe, but even now they were moving around to the left and right, trying to encircle Anna’s friends. Ellette saw this and finding some pebbles and her sling started firing at them again. Kendra spotted what she was doing and took two steps towards her, but then stopped, turned and stared past Anna.

  Wondering what Kendra was looking at, Anna heard a shout from behind her and swinging round scanned the big open field south of the village. At first all she saw was the wheat growing tall and golden. Then she saw a figure beyond it, pushing through the same hedges that she and the others had fled through the previous day. ‘Merciful Woden,’ Anna thought, ‘but was it only yesterday?’ Squinting into the distance, she recognised her father. Nerian was coming back to his village and he looked angry. In one hand was his sword. With his free hand he beckoned to half-hidden figures in the bushes and soon more villagers were emerging on either side of him. There was Iden the priest and Meccus the blacksmith, still holding his hammer. He must have taken it on the hunt for Raedann ... Raedann? Where was he, Anna wondered? Had the villagers caught and hurt - or worse killed - him before the spell of the necklace had been broken? Thirty villagers were trampling through the wheat now and coming up into the village.

  Seeing their approach the surviving dark elves screeched in fear and scampered away from Anna’s friends towards Kendra. The sorceress, however, did not run. Neither did she look afraid as Nerian stomped up to her and thrust his sword point close to her chest.

  “I would have words with you, deceiver. We welcomed you as a guest into our village; invited you into our hall and you betrayed that hospitality. You cast foul magicks upon us to twist our minds and bend our wills to your own. You will answer for these charges.”

  Kendra stared back at him and lifted her chin in a gesture that suggested she felt far above him and that it was beneath her even to acknowledge him, never mind reply.

  “Well, Kendra, what is your response?”

  Again the Valkyrie said nothing, but around her the dark elves, which until a moment before had been hiding and cowering behind her, suddenly grew excited and starting to creep forward, spreading out to face the villagers. Their fear was gone and now they lifted their cruel, curved blades or short spears and waved them threateningly as they advanced.

  Anna frowned, wondering what had caused this sudden change in them. Then she noticed that the air, which until now had been still, was moving. At first it was merely a gentle breeze, but soon a strong wind was building up and then, quite suddenly, it seemed as if a gale was blowing through the village. The svartálfar were cackling and screeching in delight whilst the villagers stared up into the skies in fear.

  Above Kendra the clouds were moving, racing across the skies towards each other and merging into one huge, dark mass. Now, fizzing and crackling, the big black cloud spat forth bolts of lightning. One hit the ground near Anna’s father with an ear-splitting crack and all around him the ground was black and smoking. Nerian gave a shout of alarm and stepped back. Then his face grew grim and determined as he lifted his sword and advanced upon the Valkyrie.

  “You may control the skies, sorceress, but I am Nerian, son of Oswy, warrior of Scenestane and I do not fear you.” With that, Nerian charged and encouraged by this the other villagers roared out a battle cry and ran to join him.

  Kendra smiled and thrust one fist skyward, whilst the other pointed directly at Nerian. Crack! A bolt of lightning shot straight at her, but it did not hurt her. In fact, to Anna’s eyes it seemed to pass straight through her and then shot out of her pointing finger directly at Nerian, striking his sword. There was a flash and a moment later Nerian was lying on the floor, smoke rising from his unmoving body.

  “Father!” Anna screamed, running towards him. She never got there because someone had wrapped one huge arm around her. It was Gurthrunn. Next to him, looking on with terror on their faces were the other children. Lar now saw that his father was not moving and with a gasp he too began to run towards him, but Gurthrunn dropped his axe and seized the back of Lar’s tunic.

  “What are you doing, I must help him,” Lar shouted.

  “Yes, let us go!” Anna begged, but Gurthrunn was shaking his head.

  “Look!” he commanded, nodding towards the sky.

  They looked and Anna saw that the ravens were returning. As she watched, they once more homed in on the Valkyrie, flying round her in a wide circle, and beneath them the air all around Kendra seemed to grow hazy and then blurred. A moment ago there had been only the twenty surviving svartálfar standing there. Then, without Anna being aware of the moment they appeared, she could now see fifty! An instant later she blinked because now there were more than a hundred. The next moment they had doubled yet again, and now two hundred dark elves stood around the sorceress, snarling and hissing, their blades sharp and their expressions vicious. Kendra’s army had arrived!

  The most vicious of all was a huge dark elf. Taller and broader than the rest he was the height of a human man. In his hands was a huge two-handed sword and on his head he wore a crown. The elf king turned and bowed to Kendra and then studied the villagers as if waiting for the word to attack them all.

  While the elf army had appeared as if from nowhere, the villagers and the children had looked on in spellbound amazement, frozen by both terror and astonishment to the spot on which they stood. And so they might have remained had the warrior dwarf not stirred himself.

  “Run!” Gurthrunn roared.

  His order broke the spell upon everyone. The villagers turned to flee back towards the wheat, which was being buffeted by the storm still raging over Kendra’s head. Gurthrunn dragged the children up the path leading to the little temple in its glade.

  “Kill them all!” screeched Kendra and released by her command the svartálfar leapt into the attack. One hundred elves led by their mighty king charged after the villagers. The other hundred turned to pursue the children up the path.

  “Back, get into the temple!” Gurthrunn ordered.

  The svartálfar were closer now, scuttling up the muddy path like a swarm of bees chasing someone who had disturbed their nest. One threw a spear, which Gurthrunn swatted aside. A second one caught him in the arm and roaring with the pain he pulled the point out of him and flung the spear back, killing the very elf who had thrown it at him. Then he spotted a large branch lying on the ground and picking it up he turned and advanced down the path into the horde, swinging the branch like a club. Three more elves were knocked down, but there were simply too many of them and Anna knew that all too soon he would surely be overwhelmed.

  “Anna,” Lar shouted, “we have to do something quickly!”

  She nodded her head, but was at a loss about what to suggest. They were all exhausted, wounded and afraid. What could she do?

  She could try. At least she could try. She followed the battling dwarf back down the path, seax held in one hand and horn in the other. The dark elves studied her as she moved towards them, their faces sneering and taunting. Then they must have seen something in
her expression, for there was no longer any sneering. Instead a grim threat took over their faces. They came towards her, treating her to the same look of wary respect they wore when approaching Gurthrunn. Anna still felt afraid, but she felt something else. She felt like a warrior. Almost without thinking about it she heard herself challenge the enemy in words that sounded just like her father.

  “I am Anna, daughter of Nerian, shield maiden of Scenestane and I do not fear you,” she said. Then she added. “Fear me instead!”

  And lifting the horn again she blew one more time and the svartálfar recoiled at the sound. As the notes died away Anna was aware of a new feeling. There was expectation in the air now. Her call had been answered and something was coming.

  “Yes, at last you are my champion and at last it is time,” the horn answered her.

  “Your army is coming to your call!”