The male captives, including Skoll, were sat down by the bank of the river and had their ankles tied. Daphnis was taken away to one of the tents where women came out to greet her. "Oh you poor thing," one of them said, carefully untying her hands and examining her bruised wrists. "You must be so scared. I was scared too when they brought me here for the first time. You'll soon settle in, you'll see." She turned to the warriors who'd brought her. "Who does she belong to?"

  "Him," their leader said, indicating Skoll. "He wants to join us, but if Sunnungr refuses him she'll be mine."

  "We shall compete for her," another of the returning warriors said, giving the first a stern look. "Let the best man have her."

  "That won't be you, then," said the woman, and bandits laughed merrily. "Now give the poor girl some peace. She needs time to come to terms with her new situation." She took Daphnis into the tent and closed the flap behind her.

  "What's all this?" said a deep voice as an older man emerged from the largest tent. He stared at the prisoners. "Who are they?"

  "I wish to join you," said Skoll before anyone else could speak. "I am Skoll, son of Greip, formerly of the Hercules clan. I was exiled, so I stole one of their women and came here to join you with my wife."

  The newcomer frowned down at him. "And why would we want a man who wasn't wanted by his own clan?"

  "I am a great warrior. I killed their best man in single combat." He nodded his head towards the warriors who'd brought him in.

  "It's true, Suttungr," said the leader. "He killed Mundilfan. It was a fair fight."

  "Mundilfan was fat and slow," said Suttungr doubtfully. "Still, he was a good warrior. I shall sleep on it, and tomorrow I'll speak to this Skoll to gain his measure. Then I shall decide. In the meantime, watch him and treat him the same as the others."

  "There's still an hour of sunlight," said the redhead hopefully. "There's time to have a little sport with them. The groths are hungry." He looked across to where half a dozen of the creatures were chained to a steel post.

  "You are all tired from the march," Suttungr told him. "You will enjoy the sport all the more when you are rested. Go to your tent. Make love to one of your wives. Then tomorrow we'll see how well they can fight."

  "What about him?" the redhead asked, pointing to Hyrrokkin. "He was pierced In the chest by a spear."

  "By me," said Skoll. "He was a member of my clan. Consider that if you think I'm still loyal to my former clan."

  "My point," said the redhead, giving him a stern look, "is that he may not live until morning. If he dies in the night we will have lost our sport."

  Suttungr nodded. "Give him to the groths then," he said.

  The bandits grinned eagerly and formed a semicircle around the animals, prodding them with their spears until they drew back, snapping and snarling. Then another man pulled Hyrrokkin to his feet and dragged him across, chaining his ankle to the same pole as the groths. Then they untied his hands and gave him a spear. Hyrrokkin coughed as he took it and spat blood onto the ground. He forced himself to stand upright and glared at Skoll. Tarvos saw a determination to die well in his eyes.

  Then the bandits drew back, releasing the groths to move as far as their chains would allow. Tarvos closed his eyes wifh sick horror, but he could still hear the sounds of the battle. The beasts snarling and roaring. One of them yelping when Hyrrokkin's spear drew blood. The bandits yelling and cheering. They yelled wagers to each other, one man betting a hundred gold coins if Hyrrokkin killed a groth before he went down. Another man bet one of his wives.

  "Not the ugly one," another man told him. "Bet Pallene and you've got yourself a wager."

  "Not Pallene! She's my favourite. What about Rhea? And I get your star-iron spear if he kills a groth."

  "You're on."

  The battle was destined to be short lived, though. Hyrrokkin was just too weak. Tarvos heard a cry of pain, and he opened his eyes a crack to see that the clansman was out of sight, hidden by a pile of furry bodies that bit and chewed as Hyrrokkin continued to struggle beneath them. Then he lay still, though, and Tarvos closed his eyes, biting back words of outrage as tears leaked out from between his eyelids. At least Hyrrokkin's end had been quick, though. His own end, the next day, was likely to be a lot more prolonged, he knew.

  "All right," said Suttungr. "You've had your sport, and now you've got less than an hour of sunlight to get the rest of the day's work done. Make sure they're watched..." He indicated the prisoners. "...and the girl as well. She may be thinking of escaping."

  The Chief then returned to his tent while the bandits scrambled to obey his orders.

  ☆☆☆

  Geirrod watched miserably from the cover of the trees as the bandits entered the camp with their prisoners. That was it, then. Their fate was sealed. There was nothing he could do to help them now. All he could do now was creep away and go back home while hoping the bandits didn't see him on the way.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He couldn't tear himself away, though. Not even when he saw Hyrrokkin being torn apart by the groths. On the contrary, as he looked at the layout of the camp a mad idea came to him. A way to sneak in at night and free his sister. He didn't dare even think about rescuing Tarvos and Fornjot. There were four guards standing over them, but Daphnis, maybe there was a way to get her out under cover of darkness, if he could find the courage to do so. His hands clenched into fists of determination. He had to, he knew, if he wasn't to hate himself for the rest of his life.

  As it grew darker, he used the last of the light to memorise the route he would have to take once he was inside the camp. Men lit oil lamps on poles to illuminate the camp, and guards took their places around the periphery, but Geirrod was both heartened and alarmed to see that there was no-one guarding the side of the camp that bordered the river. Heartened because it meant that his plan had a chance, and alarmed because the reason it wasn't guarded was because the bandits didn't think it was necessary. The water was almost certainly full of river beasts. A man would have to be mad to go in. Mad or desperate.

  He waited until it was fully dark, then made his way up the river until he was out of sight of the camp. He looked down at the spear he was holding in his hand. It wouldn't be much use against a river beast, and he would need both hands for swimming. He laid it down on the ground, therefore, and then waded out into the warm water. Everything was still and quiet except for the distant sound of night creatures. As he went in deeper, the current of the river tried to push him back to the camp. He lay back in the water, floating, and allowed it to carry him. If he remained still and quiet, he might avoid the notice of bandits and river beasts alike.

  He knew he was getting close when he saw the light from oil lamps ahead of him. With tiny motions of his hands and legs, he guided himself closer to the shore. Something big and leathery moved beside him, brushing against his fingers. He froze in terror, and the creature, whatever it was, moved away with a slight rippling of the water. Geirrod held himself perfectly still, his heart pounding with terror, until he saw that he was moving past the camp. He lifted himself upright and felt his moccasins coming into contact with the soft, muddy river bottom. Keeping his head low, he waded back towards the camp.

  Reaching the rive bank, he crawled out on his belly, then froze when he saw a razortooth right next to him, eyeing him with its slitted yellow eyes. In a moment of terror Geirrod scrambled away from it, mindless of the noise he was making. The creature turned its head to watch him as he got further away, but made no move to pursue him. They hunted in the water, and were slow and clumsy on land. That didn't mean that a man on land was safe from them. They might attack a man if he came too close, but this particular beast must have fed recently and couldn't be bothered. It watched him for a moment longer, then settled back down and went back to sleep.

  Geirrod hurried to the cover of the nearest tent and hid there until his pounding heart had settled down again. Then he looked around. The noise he'd made seemed to have gone unnoticed. The camp was still quiet. Gathering his nerve, he walked boldly towards the tent where Daphnis was being held.

  The urge to hurry crouched over was almost too great to resist, but there was no chance he wouldn't be seen. If he walked boldly, any bandit that saw him would hopefully think he was one of them. His clothes were newer and of higher quality than those of the bandits, but hopefully it was too dark for them to notice that.

  There were voices coming from Daphnis's tent as he approached. "If you're lucky you might even end up as the Chief's fifth wife," a woman was saying. "His grandfather was the only other Chief to have four. If Suttungt had a fifth he'd he the greatest Chief there's ever been."

  "The men of the Six Tribes don't measure their greatness by how many wives they have," another voice replied, and Geirrod was delighted to recognise the voice of his sister. "They become great by hunting and defending against bandit attacks."

  "The tradition began when the fever took most of our women in the year of many grats," the other woman explained. "The tribe faced extinction unless we took woman from other clans. The warriors who took the most women gained the most honour, and the tradition has endured ever since."

  "When the Rex clan lost most of their women, they joined with the John Henry clan," Daphnis replied. "You could have done the same. We would all be greater if we didn't fight each other."

  "Then how would the young men earn glory? How would they decide who were the greatest?"

  "By hunting?" Daphnis suggested. "By providing food for the clan?"

  As they talked Geirrod edged his way silently to the entrance to the tent. All the entrances faced inwards, meaning that he was now visible to he rest of the camp, but the perimeter guards all had their attentions directed outwards, into the darkness, while the four men guarding the prisoners were sitting. Geirrod suspected they were asleep. It was still dangerous, but Geirrod had no choice but to take the risk. He took a moment to brace himself, therefore, and then slipped quietly in.

  To his relief there were only the two women in the tent. They both turned towards him in surprise, and Geirrod rushed forward, punching the woman on the chin before she could make a sound. She fell senseless, and Daphnis jumped into his arms with a cry of surprise and relief.

  "I thought you were dead," she whispered into his ear as they hugged.

  Geirrod hugged her back in delight, his clothes dripping water on the floor, but then he pushed her gently away. "We've got to go," he said. "Before they realise."

  Daphnis nodded, and she searched the other woman's body until she found a key which she used to unlock the chain around her ankle. "Is it just you?" she asked.

  "Yes," Geirrod replied.

  "How are we going to rescue Tarvos and Fornjot?"

  "We can't," Geirrod replied shamefully. "They're being watched by four men. I think they're asleep at the moment, but they'll wake up the moment we do anything."

  "We can't just leave them," Daphnis protested.

  "We've got no choice. I took a big enough risk coming to get you. Come on, We've got to go."

  "We can't just leave them," Daphnis repeated, and there was determination in her eyes as she stared at her brother. "We have to try."

  "If we do we'll die."

  "Then we die, but we still have to try."

  "It's all right for you," Geirrod protested. "They won't kill you, but they will kill me. I saw what they did to Hyrrokkin."

  Daphnis stared at him in shock. "Are you afraid?" she asked.

  "I'm not a coward," Geirrod insisted, but he couldn't look her in the eyes any more. "But there's no point throwing our lives away when there's no way we can succeed. You see that, don't you?"

  Daphnis grabbed his head in both hands and turned it up so he was looking her in the eyes again. "I'm going to try to rescue them," she told him.

  "You can't! There's no way!"

  "I'm going to try. You can either help me, or slink out of here like a coward."

  "I'm not a coward!"

  "Then prove it!" She pulled his face closer to hers and glared deep into his eyes. "Prove it, or slink away and live with your shame for the rest of your life."

  He pulled her hands away from his face and looked back down at the floor, but she held his hands in a firm grip. He looked back up to find her eyes still fixed on his with fierce determination. He swallowed nervously.

  "All right," he said, and he felt her fingers tightening around his own with relief. "But I've still got no idea how we're going to do it."

  "Don't worry," she said, letting go of his hands and rising to her feet. "I've got an idea."