Chapter Nine
They are axe-carriers like my people. Only our nobleman and their bodyguards have the wherewithal to carry swords. But there are eight of them in the line—an unlucky number, so our sagas tell us. I just don’t know yet if it is unlucky for us or for them. Their shaggy mounts are sturdy to carry big warriors over long distances, and have their long faces painted in red like the riders. Human skulls on leather strands adorn both, some with skin and hair not yet rotted away, some showing the cleave of death blows.
I count only four with shields at the ready. At this distance, with her speed and accuracy, I reckon Runa could down at least two with arrows before the clash. Maybe I could fire off one. Aim for the horse if you are unsure of hitting your man, Grandfather once taught
