Chapter 2 - Ride of the Red Wolves

At the sight of Sigbert's head rolling across the dirt, Caerak panics and breaks ranks, running for Fretherne.

Goewyn lets out a cheer as Gann and his riders pour through the gates and into the madness of the small battlefield within the courtyard. She watches as several enemies are dispatched, but then so to was one of their own; one of the recently freed slaves was quickly cut down. She swallows down the knot forming in her throat and pushes the distraction away, just as her father had always taught her to do. She removes yet another arrow from her quiver, as she finds her target; one of the remaining trained warriors guarding the breach of the gate. She releases her arrow which misses the mark of the man's throat just as he moves to avoid a sword strike, but instead impacts with the man's cheek and rips a horrible gash across his face which begins to bleed profusely.

Magan growls in frustration at the horses blocking his path, unable to find a reasonable way through he shouts out. "push through! Get through and find the slaves. You! Take him out!" With the last punctuated you, he points at one of the warriors and his wrath and frustration bubble over into a streak of divine energy, almost imperceptible were it not for the low evening light and the glow of the surrounding fires. It shoots from the tip of his finger into the chest of the warrior, seemingly sapping some of his energy as he looks up in confusion and fear at the display of godly power. 

Having made past the massacre unscathed with only a single blow that slid against the thick mail coat, Gann halts his horse for a moment of clarity between cries of desperation and howls in pain. He throws a wild glance over his shoulder at all Hel loose by the gates, a horse collapsing with a headless rider slumping sideways in the pile of bodies and drawn blades. On the other side, he turns with his mouth agape, and his eyes fall on the pens where naked male hands extend through gaps in the gates begging to be given chance to freedom. Among the weak and desperate, his trained eye notices a man with the hardened build of a warrior, stripped of all but his strength. In a moment as short as lightning strikes, Gann's wild stare matches with the contained determination of the man, and that determination draws Gann out of the moment of uncertainty.  With a wordless prayer, he turns violently his horse and dismounts, rushing towards the gate kept shut by a large wooden bar. As the wood grinds aside, the door is yanked open from inside and men charge outside so fast they brush against Gann's shoulder. "Go! GO!  Earn your freedom! " Gann roars with a deep hoarse after them, in curt Mercian. "Cut them like dogs! Take their arms and cut them down!" He loses his air and gasps and then looks inside the cage with feral eyes, again matching against the steely calm of the man inside. He reaches for his belt with his left hand and draws his trusty seax, then throws it on the floor in the feet of the man that had sealed his decision. "Saved my life many times. May it save yours. Live to return it to me." With no time to waste, Gann sprints back and hops with a trained motion on the saddle of his horse.  Having done all he could spare for those captured, he charges back into the fray of bloodshed. He weights his seax with his true arm as he prepares to cut down one of the armed men that held the line and prevented the cavalry from charging in. He squeezed the last breath of his animal with a growl and a grip so hard around the bridle he may as well hurt the beast, but he had to get back in time. Gann swing and the last few inches of the blade cut badly at the heart-side of the man's back. Thanks to the momentum of the horse struggling to steady itself from the charge, the blade sinks deeper. With all his sinews hard as smith's coil, Gann weights on the blade hard enough to send the man stumbling sideways to avoid further damage and he falls. Gann halts the movement of the horse so its hooves stomp dangerously close towards the fallen man. Should he attempt to stand, those hooves may trample flesh.

Egon slowly gets to his feet, picking up the seax that had been tossed there by the wild-eyed combatant. The cold steel felt hot beneath his grasp, and it sang as he gave a few practice swings. He looks up to see the two saxons, Edgar and Cuthbert staring at him. He gives them a bewildered look and says,  "Well, go! Free the others, and tell them to do the same." He left the cage and began to look around for a specific one. A warrior always knows another warrior, even when bereft of arms and armor. He had caught the eye of a Frankishman only a few short days ago and was certain of the younger man's fighting capabilities. Spotting him, he runs to the cage and heaves the wooden bar to the ground. "Let's go," he says, hoping the man at least understood Kentish. If not, he would get the gist as Egon gestures with the sword. "Free the others and find weapons. We're getting out of here."

Seizing the momentum created by Gann, the other riders drive on deeper into the compound. Hrothgar is already behind enemy lines and patiently circles the slavers who stab and slash at him, before thrusting his spear down to drive the point deep into his foe's torso. With a leap of his horse, Oswald hurries to the side of his assigned partner, meeting Hrothgar's strike blow-for-blow as he comes up behind the slaver, delivering another deep wound. Taking advantage of the gap opened to the south, Thrydwulf and Wulfhere follow suit. Another slaver falls to Thrydwulf's spear, while Wulfhere is guided by Vidarr's divine light to strike another bloody wound in the back of the warrior with the broad seax. On the northern side of the yard, Aldwulf stabs at on of the whip-wielding jailers, injuring the man severely. However, Winflaed and Beornwyn's attacks are glancing, failing to significantly harm the men.

Calix never thought he would be grateful to hear Kentish, but it's been a debilitating few weeks. He grabs Brynmor and Derwyn by the back of what's left of their rags and shoves them out of the cage ahead of him before vaulting out himself onto the ground beside the man. Just a month ago he would have scoffed at the thought, but tonight, the ground has never felt so good beneath his feet.   He gives a short nod of thanks to the man who, even after the brutality they've endured, somehow looks like he has strength still left in him, and eyes his seax, saying in accented West Saxon,  "I have an idea for weapons." He looks at Brynmor and Derwyn, and jerks his head to the right. "Do as he says if you want to see outside these walls. Free anyone who looks like they can lift one and send them after us. Go ." He looks back to his liberator and raises an eyebrow, tone archer than one would think their situation would call for as he indicates for him to follow.  "Trust you can swing that." He doesn't wait for a response before taking off towards where he's fantasized about heading for days.

The arrival of the rest of their forces has been a relief. This could still work well for them. Eadwyn looked inside the encampment and saw one of the jailers, wounded but still holding his weapon.  She aimed and let the arrow loose. The wooden projectile flew true and stroke the man in the throat. He feel on his back not really knowing where the death came from.  "Ha! Die you slaver scum!!" 

Edgar, Cuthbert, Brynmor and Derwyn all set about opening as many cages as they can, but moments later three more slavers enter the compound through the back gate. They charge into the mass of unarmed slaves with a roar and begin to hack about with impunity. Fortunately, the adrenaline of freedom has most quick on their feat and they escape real harm. By the gate, the mailed warrior realises that he is surrounded and seizes the opportunity to drag Sigbert's headless corpse from its horse, taking the beast for his own. Kicking the beast into action with speed and skill, the man gallops out past Magan and into the night. In the courtyard the axe-wielding warrior that Gann knocked from his feet struggles to regain his footing, earning a blinding strike from the mounted Pict that cuts deep into the man's eye, sending the slaver reeling into unconsciousness. However, the warrior with the broad seax fights on, dealing a devastating blow to Wulfhere that knocks him from his horse and into the dirt. Two of the men with whips see the fight turning and make a break for the front and back gates, the latter almost running into Calix as he rounds a corner. Meanwhile the last slaver by the campfire to the south swings wildly at Hrothgar before falling over dead from blood loss.

Goewyn spots the mailed warrior quickly climb onto Sigbert's horse and quickly begin riding off into the cover of darkness; she scans over the battle and realizes they were winning and turns her attention to that man. He was clearly the one in charge of this outpost and she needed him. She is able to easily pick out the shape of the horse departing. She quickly shifts her attention away from the battlefield and towards the fleeing warrior. "Osric, Wuffa! Take down the beast! We must not let him escape!" She sends an arrow streaking off away, watching as it sinks deep into the flank of the horse followed by a second arrow, both of which begin to draw blood...

Gann maintains a tight grip on his horse's skittish moves as he prepares to meet the slaver's attempt to raise back on his feet. He does, but he stumbles sideways when the horse's hooves come so close to his hand he has to hastily pull aside. This may have saved him a finger or two, but it ultimately costs his life. Gann takes hold of the opportunity to trust his seax forth, twisting the blade so it cuts deeply along the man's face leaving a sickly furrow in the flesh, grinding against the bone of the skull until it sinks freely into his eye socket. There's no telling how deep the blade goes but the man gurgles a swallowed scream and collapses on the ground.  Gann lifts his head to read both sides on the field. His face basks in the warmth of sprayed blood, none his own. Though he saw it with the white of his eyes, only now it registers in his mind that one of the warriors took a horse and charged away into the night. Glöyn's call to the archers confirms it. If that man escapes with word of their deeds, more lives and Magan's mission by the Gods themselves would be at stake. From behind, more voices now register and the cacophony of voices of freed slavers in various dialects drown the swears of the slavers, but they do not stray his attention - if only he could break through the gates and charge after that man before he gets too far! He turns at the armed warrior by the gates, painted in the ink-black of his blood but still holding a stand against Wynflaed. Then among the voices coming from behind the houses on his right, he recognizes one. "Winflaed! Make road for me!" Gann calls then turns right and roars hopeful the man hears his voice over the ruckus of the battle. " Thrydwulf! Turn back! Aid !"

Magan holds up his fists as the arrows streak past him. "Do not harm the beast that has only served us well." He calls out. Reaching out from within him he calls to the beast. "Remember who has fed and watered and rubbed you down, kept you safe, listen to me now, I will not guide you wrong. Throw the one who rides you from your back so that I can ease your pain."

Eadbert draws his seax, swaying slowly as he watches the nearby slaver warily, while Bertwald begins to limp to safety.

Rushing ahead of Gann to clear a path for him, Beornwyn and Winflaed harry the man outside the gates with their spears, finally drawing blood. Meanwhile, Aldwulf and Thrydwulf engage the warrior with the broad seax in concert. Unfortunately, Thrydwulf's blow is deflected by his foe's leather jacket and the man bats Aldwulf's thrust aside with his seax, twirling the weapon to deliver a powerful riposte that slices a gash in the former slave's arm. On the south side of the compound, Hrothgar and Oswald move to assist Calix. Oswald quickly loses an arrow at the remaining jailer, but the shot flies wide. Hrothgar, on the other hand, urges his horse into a powerful charge that knocks the wind from his foe.

Gann digs his feet into the horse's haunches and forces a turn across the slim opening. The warrior by the gates, pushed back by both Wynflaed and Beornwyn has only a moment to register Gann's beast but cannot reach it. Gann puts his whole weight on the right side of the horse so when the jailer facing Eadbert turns his head to meet him, Gann pulls on the reins hard to twist the horse further away from him. Cleared the difficult maneuver across both skirmishes, he faces Magan who closes to the escaping warrior. Gann had struggled to make sense of why the warrior has not already escaped, but then he sees the braying and bucking horse that its rider barely handles.  "Stop if you put any worth to your life!" Gann bawls with his rasping voice, approaching from behind. The escaping warrior must choose to either maintain hold of his horse or turn to face his pursuer, but Gann knew he heard him well. "Yield, or I shall make you feast for the raverns!"

Egon raises an eyebrow as Calix darts off. "I suppose we'll see," he says. As the slavers charge in, Egon circles around the cages to get a bearing on one. He cuts in at the man's weapon hand, attempting to disarm him. The man manages to hold onto his blade, but not without incurring a slash across his arm. "Don't run!" Egon shouts. "If you all stand together, they can't stop you!"

The free slaves rapidly grow in number as each new face free two more. Several gather around Egon, grabbing the man that he is fighting by each arm and holding him still. However, the slavers down by the gate manage to keep the angry slaves at bay.

Calix becomes aware quickly from the yelling behind him that the slaves aren't going to be following any time soon, much less the man who had freed him who he'd thought would be on his heels, and abruptly changes course. Seeing the promise of metal on the warriors as they speed toward him and the jailer, he surges from beneath the shadow of the building towards the men. He has a dozen questions, none of which can be asked now.  "That warseax - leave it and him to me and move on to worthier quarry," he says urgently in West Saxon, throwing an arm back toward the cages and the din that has seemingly surrounded them.  "There are many behind me left to be freed." There would be relief flooding through him when the warseax is handed over if there were time for it, but the blinding urgency to be gone from here is all-consuming. He rushes forward, swinging the blade in a barely-restrained arc that hits its intended mark across the jailer's face, slicing him from his nose to his jaw in a violent, jagged line. His momentum starts to continuing carry him forward, eager to make the man pay for every injustice he's suffered, but the dull voice of his training somehow manages to cut through and make him recoil. Begrudgingly, Calix pushes his weight back and lifts his sword in anticipation of the jailer's next move.

Seeing that one of the jailers is next to her, and her wounded warriors, Eadwyn drops her bow as she takes both handaxes. She starts singing an old war song. A song that speaks of dead corpses and the blood and gore that a battle left behind. She runs towards the jailer and jumps into him. The first axe goes directly to the man's head, and he is barely able to parry the sudden attack of the woman. Without hesitation she tries to cut his abdomen, but the man jumps away. They both look into the others eyes. The former jailer, panting, finds only death in the singing woman eyes. 

Leaping from the bucking horse with impossible agility for a man in heavy armour, the warrior lands between Gann and Magan, bringing his sweord around in a blindingly fast arc that slices deep into both Magan's side and Gann's exposed leg, leaving both men bleeding heavily. Meanwhile, one warrior remains steadfastly fighting for control of the gate. He thrusts his broad seax up, impaling Aldwulf in the chest and hurling him limp to the ground. Elsewhere on the field, the slavers fare poorly. The remaining slaver by the gate bolts, trying desperately to hold his wounds together, before collapsing from blood loss. The man held fast by two of the slaves in front of Egon struggles and pulls, but fails to free himself. The two by their gate brandish their blades at the encroaching prisoners, but fail to do significant harm. On the south side of the compound the jailer screams in pain as Calix deals him a grevious wound. The jailer lunges once more with his own weapon, but the Frank neatly turns the strike aside, instead slipping past the slaver's guard and plunging the dead into his breast.

Goewyn spots the slaver unseated from his mount and begin to tear into Magan and Gann with his blade. Knowing that her arrows would do little to the man in his heavy mail she sets her bow against the side of the tower and looks beneath to the remaining warrior below, engaged with their forces. She watches in horror as another of their number is cut down by the slaver warrior. Goewyn clenches her jaw as she draws her warseax and immediately leaps down behind the man into a flank with Thrydwulf! Her blade bites deep, finding a weak spot in his mail and lacerates one of his internal organs. Goewyn rips the blade out, sending blood arcing as she spins on her heels and darts away rapidly before the warrior could even respond to the attack. She continues rushing out passed the gates into the open grounds beyond as she begins to take stock of the battle raging out beyond the slaver's compound. As she rushes passed, Wuffa and Osric both fire arrows at the same warrior, but their arrows do nothing to hamper the man... "Magan, Gann, we must take him down quickly!"

Circling the man, Magan draws on Vidarr's strength within him to staunch the bleeding. "Careful, he knows what he's doing, and that steel is tough."

Later, Gann would recall the wastefulness of giving the enemy a breath or choice. His conscience would barrage him with spiteful accusations, and he would let each of those punches come through. Where some men were meant to lower blades and sway heads, he had worth to others only when he cut those heads.  But now, there was no time for clear through. The warrior dismounted with a well-trained hop and was already drawing his blade against Magan when Gann maneuvered his horse so his seax hand faced the enemy. Gann's longseax barely came to contact with the surprising attack that followed. Before he could coordinate with Magan, Gann lets a dull grunt that and his teeth clench hard when his leg flared with a jolt of excruciating pain. The enemy sweord had barely scratched the horsehide but cut deep into Gann's leg, too close for comfort to the tendons. The horse felt the burn of the scratch and loudly protested it, shaking its mane. Gann had to put his whole weight forward to remain on the saddle.  Gann swung in retaliation. The wave of pain dulled, and its fire awakened every fiber of strength on his body. Gann aimed for the sweord-arm of the enemy and his seax found a true path towards the wrist but it hit the side of his grip. The made cut deep, tearing flesh and grinding against knuckles, and the grip loosened. The warrior lost his grip on the weapon and combat instincts driven out by pain took over. He reached out with his other bare hand and gripped hard by the sweord's blade, yanking it before it tumbled on the ground. The steel cuts into the calloused skin but was nothing compared to denying the enemy the means to fight back against two armed men. 

The freed slaves in front of Egon manage to pin the slaver down in front of him. The look of fear in the man's eyes registers in Egon's mind only after he has planted the borrowed blade into the man's chest. Perhaps a few weeks ago he would have been more merciful, but the time for such considerations had past. He no longer had the luxury of letting people live. That had been taken from him, along with his title and his blade. And all of my friends, Egon thinks as he runs along the line of cages toward another slaver. 

Thrydwulf finally drives his spear home, felling the fearsome, broad-seax-wielding warrior at long last. Knowing that they are outclassed, Beornwyn and Winflaed turn from the battle between Magan, Gann and the powerful mailed warrior and ride for the rear of the compound, where the free slaves struggle against the remaining slavers. Along with Hrothgar and Oswald, they loose arrows at the nearest man, pelting him repeatedly until one sticks deep in his torso. Meanwhile, one of the slaves finally manages to get his hands on the slaver who Egon is approaching from behind and the two wrestling back and forth for control.

Calix turns toward the din behind him, pulling his blade from the breast of the jailer who had barred his way. At immediate sight it's encouraging - slaves swarming the slavers, striking out with everything within reach, even if it bars him. Looking for an opening, his gaze catches on the edge of the house beside them.  Within reach... Unwilling to push through the flurry of limbs for his own chance to draw blood but by no means sated from it, he kicks the jailer's weapons towards the slaves and vaults onto the top of the nearest building, pulling himself up with surprising ease after so long spent atrophying in chains. He's quick to traverse the rooftop above the fray, not pausing his momentum before leaping downward onto the surrounded slaver, warseax held high. It's misjudged, but that's not particularly new to Calix - nor is the feeling of blood that leaks from his hairline as his head cracks hard against the slaver's upon the fall; he's always been all action, a furious need to be moving  even if it's to his detriment. And, as it happens, it is. For a moment his vision warps, but it rights itself just in time to see the man crumble beneath him, fierce adrenaline flooding over the pain as the pull of the earth frees his warseax from where it had embedded in the slaver's cheek. Narrowing his eyes reflexively against the thin stream of blood coating his eyebrow, he slaps a hand to his chest, knowing without watching it must gleam a faint, pale blue before the familiar heat of his God surges forth and the crack in his skull knits closed. Go, go, you have to keep going. It sings like an urgent mantra in his head,   the sting of healing still prickling across his skin as he obeys to whirl towards the fighting still happening behind him, blade outstretched only to clang just barely across a slaver's shield.

Seek g with satisfaction how the jailer falls dead Eadwyn searches the battlefield for another enemy. The sounds inside the camp are promising, as it seems that the slaves are already fighting for their freedom. She sees how Gann and Magan are cornering a skillful warrior and she runs towards them to help them.  “You are dead!” She screams “We are going to gut you like a pig”  The man heard echoes of her voice as she approaches “death... pig...death... death...” but he is too focused on survival or perhaps he already accepted his fate. In any case he doesn’t succumb to the fear and stands firm.  Eadwyn growls and shows her teeth to him, treathening with her axes.

The slaver at the rear of the compound manages to wrest himself free from the slave who has grabbed him, shoving past Egon in an attempt to escape and barely avoiding injury in the process. Meanwhile, the mailed warrior grabs a smaller blade from his belt and thrusts at Gann's horse, but the steed dances back and out of the way.

Seeing the man with another weapon in hand, Goewyn decides she was not going to stay within his reach for long; she was no warrior like Gann or Magan and would not last long in a hand-to-hand battle against the man. Instead she darts in with an alacrity that surprises the warrior as her warseax jabs into a soft spot in his mail, but before the point could push through into his flesh, he spins quickly, and dislodges the tip of the blade. Goewyn grins wickedly at him before slipping away just as quickly as she had appeared. She moves rapidly around the melee, placing the fallen form of the horse between her and the warrior. "We need him alive! Do not kill him yet! I must know where my brother is!"

"Stand firm Gann! Let the injury trouble you no more!" Magan reaches inside his chest, feeling the brand there and extending his will to force Gann to stop bleeding. Spinning around he brings Thea in a powerful cut against the remaining man, forcing her deep into his armour and the metal crunches beneath the strength of the blow. "Take a knee and submit to Vidarr's will!" 

Must have been the urge of the combat but Gann could feel no pain despite the deep cut in his leg and the warrior's sweord that drew blood in his left hand. His horse barely avoided the sharp edge of the enemy as Gann tried to withdraw half a trod, enough to set a better striking angle for his seax arm. Lost in a tunnel vision, in this odd unfeeling serenity, a memory flashed in his head like an arrow shot into the dark of the night. Gwnewch yr hyn a ddywedir wrthych a dim byd arall.  Then the pain rushed back into his body, dulled but anchoring his anger into the present. Carried by the wind of battle, the jagged sharp edge of Gann's longseax aimed straight for his head and nothing could be done to prevent what followed. The steel-cut into the man's face, dislocating the lower jaw with the upper, skullbone shattering into multiple places, and teeth driven inside the bloody soup of his mouth. It erupted out as a dull grieving low from the depths of his lungs, and his lower jaw hung on loose beard-covered skin below his neck. 

Egon gives chase and catches up with the slaver. He cuts low at the man's legs. The blade cuts deep across the man's thigh, and he sprawls to the ground with a grunt of pain. Egon stands over him, sword pointed at his throat. "May I make a suggestion?" he says, a casual air to his voice.  " Stay down. "

Calix sprints after Egon and the slaver, near-blinded by righteous fury to make every person who had put him in chains pay for it. Rounding to a stop in front of the man to cut off his path, he strikes twice - another brutal swipe of metal peeling skin away from jaw, before a blink of his momentum plummets the blade through the man's cheek and skull. Non sum qualis eram .   And whose fault was that? The thought alone stokes the fire within him and no sooner has he thought it than there's another faint, pale gleam to his metal and he can feel the hilt resonate with a familiar warmth in his palm, a glow and flash of heat that swiftly recedes back into the surge of adrenaline that fuels him as he pulls his warseax free and watches the man crumble.  "He put us in chains," he reminds Egon, looking across the slaver's body to him as it falls to the ground. "We were given no choice. He should not have one either."

Eadwyn saw that their enemy, surrounded by them, had sustained some hits, his armor and ability giving him an edge. He was dammed but he could still inflict some damage with his sword. They needed to end that fast.  Dropping her axes she jumped directly on his back, putting her arms around his neck as she did with her brothers on her youth. She started to whisper into his ear some words that no one hear and the man’s eyes started to close, his whole body to become dizzy and heavier. He tried to throw her away from his back but she tightened her grasp around his neck and kept on with the shooting words in his ear. With a thud he fell to the ground, and she was standing over him, looking to the others. ”Well what are you waiting for? Tie him up before he wakes” she said almost in a whisper. 

"We will give him to those he held captive, that they may take their vengeance." Magan says firmly. "But first, Goewyn, ensure the one you seek is here, otherwise we may need him, that you may find where he was sent." Magan leans over on his sweord, the battle clearly having taken it out of him, another fight that had come too close, once again he had almost been taken, yet the gods left him here, waiting for his mission to be fulfilled. He had no illusions, he was here for a purpose, on borrowed time, or he would be dead.

As the mailed warrior crumples to the ground, the clamour of battle in the background also seems to be dying away. Then, like a bolt struck from the heavens, an enormous arrow plummets out of the sky towards Eadwyn, who barely manages turn in time to avoid a mortal wound!

Goewyn sighs in relief as the mailed warrior is finally felled from their combined efforts, but before she could rush to ensure the man did not succumb to his grievous wounds an arrow slams into Eadwyn. She immediately spins around to trace where the arrow is likely to have come and spots a bit of rough terrain towards the south, barely visible in the moonlight. "It came from the south, there!" She points in the direction, but does not catch any hint of movement. "Quickly, behind the walls!" She rushes over to the fallen warrior, pulling out a rolled kit of poultices, herbs, and bandages from her pack as she does. She skids to a halt next to him and quickly begins to bind his wounds and staunch the flow of blood; he would possibly survive if proper care was given to him. "Magan, Gann! One of you bring him inside!" She does not want for a response, but quickly dashes as fast as her swift feet will carry her towards the gates and just barely beyond! 'I'm coming Gruffyd. I'm here!'

Grabbing the fallen man, Magan pulls him up towards the hills where the arrow came from. His voice booming across the hills with the echo of the Aesir from his chest he calls out.  "Submit to the will of the gods, come out and pay tribute or see Vidarr's vengeance fall upon your leader now. There is no glory in shooting your bow from the hills like a coward, only in death fought for the cause of the gods which I offer to you."

When the fallen enemy is granted the mercy of the moment despite the death he deserves, Gann turns his horse again to look around, then dismounts. At that very heartbeat, a yell from inside the compound announces a shooter in the wild, and Gann instinctively throws a look in the called direction, over the back of his horse and towards the blackness that provides cover to the enemy. He swiftly turns back at Magan who is bringing up the slumped body of the mailed warrior. "I'll take him!" Gann steps in and twists the limp arm to get it across his shoulder, his stare cold and ready. "Go." he braces on his strong feet and rebalances the weight over his shoulder. "Yah! Yaaaahh!" He shouts with a rasping voice near the horse's ear and the animal startled reacts as taught, clopping swiftly forward and across the gates. Using its body as a cover only for a short moment, Gann puts his legs to fieldwork moving the body towards the cover. The stench of blood from the destroyed face of the warrior keeps his senses sharp and aware of the moment. 

Egon moves back into the compound, looking at the warriors in armor that had apparently come to the slave's rescue. "Who are you people?" he says in Kentish. "What's your plan here?" He uneasily watches the warriors, the warseax in his hand still at the ready.

The Kentish man runs off without a word and Calix starts to follow him towards the entrance before the throngs of yelling slaves register. Adrenaline is still roaring dully in his ears, his hand clenched around the hilt of his warseax – while there's something to be said of meeting their liberators, there's likewise no guarantee they haven't simply traded one set of chains for another. Changing course, he cuts abruptly through the chaos to sweep weapons off of corpses, pressing seaxes and whips into the hands of the newly freed. At first he scours the crowd for familiar faces, but the din is oppressive and there are few in sight - so he settles for the capable. "Arm yourselves," he yells over the noise, firmly shoving a seax at a man he recognizes from the boat he'd been forced to row to this godforsaken island on. "If not with weapons, then with whatever you can find. They will not put us in chains again."

Eadwyn bolts for the gate, just as another arrow comes whistling through the air and strikes Magan hard in the chest, piercing straight through his leathern jacket. The Saxon lies bleeding unconscious on the ground.

Goewyn slows as she passes through the safety of the gate, turning to make sure everyone else enters as she sees Gann lumber passed carrying the unconscious warrior. She gestures wildly towards Magan, urging him onward just as another arrow slams into his chest and sends him tumbling to the ground in a heap. "Magan!" she cries out, not wasting even a second longer before rushing towards their leader as quickly as her feet will carry her, pulling out the pack of healing supplies she keeps on her. She skids to a halt next to him, and just like the warrior, she rapidly staunches his wounds and prevents any further bleeding; assuming he had any blood left in him... She pushes such thoughts aside as she works, packing around the massive arrow shaft. Once satisfied with her work, she grabs hold of both his legs and begins dragging the heavy man with grunts of exertion. "HELP! He's... someone help!" She collapses to the ground, utterly exhausted once they were both behind the safety of the walls.

Gann instinctively ducks and maintains the steady pace after the whistling of the arrow reaches his ears from behind. Then Glöyn's call makes him freeze and he turns back over his shoulder, squinting as sour sweat burns his eye. His breath halts as his eyes register the last of Magan's fall, the arrow lodged into his chest. The mailed warrior slumps heavily onto the ground as Gann rushes back, his feet digging into the cold soil as he reaches in time to assist her. He takes Magan's body by the laterals, supporting his head with his chest. With their combined strength it's quick to drag him behind the compound gates.  Gann's lips move to form words, but little comes at first. "Healer!" He roars over a shoulder, his face wet from exertion. "We need a healer at the gate!"

Calix is just shoving a whip into a bedraggled slave's hand when he hears yelling, and turns to it instinctively. Healer . It isn't his forte, but the urge to respond exists all the same – he's just turning to answer the call when sense catches up to him and he pauses, looking instead to the dirty faces and pained bodies around him and knowing his is no different.  These slavers may not be the only ones to want to put us in chains. Veering course, he ducks instead into the makeshift square area, sliding through the pandemonium not toward the yelling voice but instead to where he knows the weapons are kept, acutely aware that not only are many still unarmed, but though the warseax in his hand is capable, it isn't right . When he leaves here – and he will , he knows that as well as he knows his name, he has  to – it will be with all that they had stolen from him. Honor, dignity, and above all else, his sweord. Throwing a glance to the gate as he runs, Calix's attention snares for a moment on the unfamiliar faces circling what appears to be a grievously-wounded man. From where he stands the call for healing seems an impossible task; if the man isn't dead yet, Calix assumes he soon will be. The help he could have offered seems arbitrary, even if they were known to be friends, so it can't be a sin not to offer, surely. Taking their distraction as a positive, he lets familiar urgency turn him back toward the armory – and nearly misses the glint of silver he'd know across any battlefield, that looks wrong in anyone's hand but his. No.  Adjusting his grip on his warseax, he takes an immediate step toward the strangers before pausing, adrenaline coursing so brutally close to the surface it scalds. It's an irrepressible insult to see the hilt held by another, but even Calix has to acknowledge that the man holding it had already dragged in a man far better armored than he. Could he fight him alone? Does it matter? How many friends had he come with? Does it matter?  If he created enough chaos to take it unnoticed, would the slaves follow? Does it matter? That same, simple thought again; the only possible answer. No . He takes a second step, and a third, and only blinks back to his greater surroundings when a somewhat-familiar face appears in his path, the noise of the chaos filtering him slowly back to present. Yes,  he tries to correct himself with a deep breath, fighting back the coiling, writhing urgency if just for a moment. Yes, this time it has to.  Throwing one more look at the unfamiliar figures, he shakes his head and reluctantly leads Egon to the building he'd originally been aiming for.   "We seem to keep meeting," he notes, shoving inside the armory. "We need to arm the others before our liberators decide to sell us as well. Do you recognize them?" He pauses, glancing again over Egon's shoulder through the open door and toward the gate. "They have something of mine."

Even before Gann finish to call for a healer Eadwyn is pushing him away from the body of Magan.  The arrow protudes from Magan's chest and she grabs the shaft and pulls taking the arrow out. The blood inmmediatly goes out of the grievous wound and she puts the very same cataplasm she used before on it.  "Help me with that " she instructs Gann pointing at one piece of sheet that was hanging near the fire where the three jailers were, as she keeps the preasure on the wound. " Rip it and bring me the pieces. Goewyn put an arrow head into the fire and bring it to me when it's hot."  She turns to Magan, putting even more preassure into the wound.  "Don't you dare to die on me. No good saga has the hero dying on the first battle you moron!"  When Goewyn brings her the arrow she cleans the wound with her waterskin and applies the red metal head into the wound. The smell of burned flesh fills the air. She applies more cataplasm to the wound and using the bandages she finalize the treatment.  " Bring me some blankets, we need to keep his head up, that will help him breathe..."   She keeps checking on him.  "See if you can take down that son of a bitch..." 

Egon follows the Frank to the armory. He rests the warseax he had been given by the mounted man against the doorframe and looks around for a better weapon while Frank speaks. "Indeed we do," he responds, finding a langseax and judging the make of the blade in an instant.  A shame that Aethelberht hadn't given these slavers my sword, he muses, the thought bringing a bitter aftertaste to his throat. This will have to do for now. "I don't know these people," he continues, gesturing back out to the rest of the compound. But I hardly think they would have freed us if their intention was to sell. Too much work to re-imprison us." He glances behind him at the cabal of former slaves milling about the west side of the compound. "Even if that is their intent, we've a small army now, and their numbers are few." He looks up at the Frank for the first time since freeing him. His initial judgement of the man had been right. He could fight. And the way he carried himself was proper and even dignified, despite wearing tattered clothing. A noble then. Not a Kentish noble, obviously. Good.  "Ah," he grunts, stepping forward to offer his hand. "How rude of me, not introducing myself. I'm--" Adelmar. "--Egon. What is it that they have of yours?"

Calix glances up at Egon from where he'd started grabbing weaponry, righting himself enough to shake the man's hand.  "Calix. You're from Kent?" He considers the warrior for a moment, nodding at the man's words as he grabs an additional narrowseax for himself, though he hopes not to need it for long.  "I hope to see you right, but I will feel better when that small army is as armed as we are." Standing again with an armful of weaponry, he looks past Egon again back to those by the gate, noting the injured man appears to be being treated by a woman with bright red hair. "My family's sweord," he admits, glancing back to Egon. The implications make it a dangerous thing to tell someone, but the man has proven himself nothing but capable and he's not quite foolish enough to think he should turn down potential help. "I thought it had already been sold, but I saw it with them just now." He nods towards the gate again and smiles wryly. "Slavers or no, I have a hard time believing they will be happy to return it."

Egon nods as he collects some blades and clubs to pass out to the slaves. "Any man who wields a sweord is hard-pressed to give it up. But no need to resort to violence. Not right away at least." He gestures out the door and follows his own gesture, beginning to pass out the weapons to those that look to be able enough to use them. "Let's get them armed."