[right][h3]Kjartan Knudsen[/h3][/right]
[hr]

Lise came awake abruptly, a slim blade already in her hand, eyes scanning the darkness around her. Something wasn't right. Beside her, mouth wide open, her sister Sisse snored with the blissful abandon of one who had drank to much. Lise sniffed the air and noted the aroma of burning - not that this was strange given the town had largely burned during the battle – a fresh aroma, as if someone had just lit the hearth fire. 

Keeping in mind the drunken lusts of men, the twins had settled down for the night an odd beehive shaped dwelling near the church. A cluster of them had proved to be the homes of the deceased monks; the small possessions of strange men sworn to their weak god were barely evident. Only the cross above every doorframe and neatly kept bedroll on the rush floor had hinted at the intended purpose.

She slipped carefully through the leather curtain that served as a door and into air that was pleasantly cool. She could make out the huddled forms of folk all about the fire where it had burned down to little more than coals. A dog raised its snout toward her and a hard tail thumped in the dirt until she knelt to scratch it behind the ears while she continued to scan the darkness.

There was a subtle light on the horizon hinting at dawn not being far off; a thin sliver of light that was slowly creeping across the landscape. A gentle wind ruffled her hair, bringing with it the smell of humans, horses, and… Fire! She could see it now, small specs were appearing down near the valley bottom, specs that multiplied and were coming closer.

“Saxons!!” A scream from somewhere in the darkness further down the hill. More shouting broke out across the Danish encampment as dishevelled warriors staggered upright or appeared from the surrounding buildings. Lise ducked back into her small shelter and slapped Sisse across the face - she could not resist – as she shouted as loudly as she could. 

“Saxons attacking, get your gear!” She did not have time to enjoy the look of anger on her sisters face as she hurried back into the morning air that was becoming thick with smoke and the clash of steel. She had worn her own armour to bed and needed only grab her shield and she tried to take in the scene. 

Dawn was spreading quickly now, the sun lighting the clouds like fire, and she could make out the Saxons swarming across the landscape. Fighting was already occurring further down the hill between and folk were dying beneath the brightening sky. Sisse joined her now and spared a glance down the hill.

“Shit there is a lot of them…” She muttered, quickly rinsing her mouth with water and spitting it into the brush to get rid of the moss she was certain was growing on her tongue.

“Aye...” Lise agreed. The Danes were horribly outnumbered. Less than half of those who had fought the day before had remained – leaving instead on their ships for a fort further downriver. 
“The ships!” A cry rang out from the Danes closer to the river and all eyes swivelled to where a single Saxon ship had slipped through the water toward the Danish longships drawn up on the beach. The guard left on the ship, mostly old or wounded men, died quickly as the Saxons stormed the first vessel, smashing oars and jamming burning torches deep into the ships belly. It only took a moment for smoke to begin to curly skyward.

“To the ships!” Kjartan had appeared at the church door, dressed for war. There was no other choice. If the Saxons managed to burn the ships, every Dane there would die. His shouts started a mad rush for the ships as every Dane who was not already fighting threw themselves down the hillside toward the water.

The Saxons saw them coming and began to try and push themselves free of the riverbank but the current held them fast against the third ship they had set alight.  A howl of fury went through the Danes as the ships began to burn and Lise, running in the forefront of the charging mass, made for the Saxon ship. The vessel was chaos as some tried to work oars, others to push the hull free, while others dropped everything to take up their weapons. 

Lise took a run at the high prow and managed to jump, catching the edge of the gunwale. A screaming Saxon jabbed at her with a spear and rather than trying to fend him off, she grabbed his hand and simply fell backward, dragging him with her into the mud. She twisted as they fell so that he struck the mud face first and she heard something crack as he hit the ground, his weight considerably more than hers. She killed him with a sharp thrust to the neck. 

Hot blood gushed over her hand and she jerked her hand back as more Danes flowed past her to overwhelm the Saxons and capture their vessel. It was ablaze now, bumping up against its intended victims as they shot sparks into the air; black smoke curled high above into a sky that had turned a brilliant blue.

More shouting as Danes scrambled into remaining vessels and shoved them free of the beach, drifting out into the centre of the river.