Hundreds of arrows had already leapt from the longbows upon the cliffs. In mere seconds those deadly points would find the hearts of the Grenadiers marching beneath. Yet even as the first volley began its deadly arc, the Iron Father's host did not falter.
Ragnar, seated upon his horse at the head of the column, raised his cane. "Shield wall!" he bellowed.
"The three hundred axe-men to the fore! Form now, and hold!"
Therefore the three hundred warriors of the North, those hardy sons of Kattegat and the surrounding fjords who had sworn themselves to the Iron Father after the beach, surged forward with disciplined speed.
Raising their round shields, they locked edge to edge in a single unbroken barrier that stretched across the narrow mouth of the pass. The shafts struck, splintering boards, piercing mail where gaps appeared, yet the wall held.
