Training took over and her shield raised to block a strike to her head. The blow was undisciplined, she had already stepped away and now folded up the attacker's sword arm with her shield. He was no taller than Runa and no match for her training. Her sword slid into his gut and pulled away bloody. He crumpled with a whimper.
A foot landed in the small of her back, and she hurled forward, crashing on her shield. Again, all the times Ulfrik or Konal had knocked her flat served her now. Nimble without heavy armor, she rolled into the attacker's legs and tripped him. A stream of curses flowed as he tumbled over her, piling into the ground.
Springing to her feet, another man had already driven a spear into her attacker's back. As Ulfrik had warned her, a man on the ground counted his life in breaths.
Hours seemed to have passed, and she wondered why victory had not arrived. She saw Konal slicing open a man's throat while Kell stood beside him, dragging an attacker by his cloak to the ground. All the other men looked the same to her, and she assumed the prevailing ones were her own. It could not be otherwise, she thought.
The red and white shield emerged from the drab scramble of fighting men. The sky had again darkened, dropping a flat light over the battlefield. Skard's face was more evil than she imagined: scarred, sharp angled, tight skinned, and thin lipped, and midnight black eyes buried under unruly brows. Blood had splattered the white side of his shield and dripped from his face.
"Whore of Nye Grenner! You think yourself a shield maiden? I'll teach you what you are."
Runa lunged at him, striking high but reversing toward his leg. He laughed, and she retracted her arm moments before he slashed at it. They circled amid others who danced the same mortal struggle. Someone bumped into her, and Skard shot out.
She deflected with her sword, and rammed him with her shield. He slid back, cackling as if it was mere play. Her hand numbed from the strike on her blade, but she had bought space to recover.
"Your little boy has joined the battle. Seems the whelp has a death wish."
Her hands froze and her stomach lurched. Instinct overawed her training and she searched for Gunnar.
In the next instant, she was looking at the sky. The pain throbbing in her gut informed her she had been kicked. Her sword hand flexed on empty air.
A man on the ground counts life in breaths. She rolled to the side, then onto her knees and jumped to her feet. Skard had hacked the ground where she had fallen, but recovered swiftly.
He placed his shield before him, the metal rim just below his chin so that his body was completely covered. His sword flashed low and to the side.
"You have no sword, whore." He stepped toward her, his shield denying any chance to tackle him. "Whatever you think you've won today, you have lost your life. And no whore-bitch will go to Valhalla."
Runa skipped forward, pulling her leg back, then kicked the bottom of Shard's shield with all her strength.
Bolts of searing agony rode up her foot to as high as her knee.
The top of the shield plowed into Skard's face with startling force, ramming his nose and sending him stumbling back. Screeching, Runa leapt onto him, tearing the sax at her lap from its scabbard.
Dazed and pinned, Skard did not resist. Runa plunged the blade sideways into his gut, cutting through the links of his mail coat and then into his flesh. Withdrawing the sword, she screamed her anger as she stabbed the sax repeatedly into Skard's torso. He flexed, blood and foam erupting from his mouth, and his black eyes flickered then glazed.
Convinced Skard's words had been a distraction, she allowed a moment to peel herself from his corpse and sit on the grass.
But Skard had not lied.
Gunnar huddled behind a shield three times too big for him, his pitiful blade lancing out at the legs of men still struggling around him. Others ignored him, but Runa screamed his name in horror.
She launched to her feet, only to crumple as soon as she hit the earth. The kick had ruined her foot, which throbbed and swelled in its boot. Still, she scrabbled across the grass, witnessing Gunnar's blade slicing into the leg of an enemy.
The wounded man howled, and having dispatched his attacker, turned his ire on Gunnar.
In one hack, Gunnar's shield spun out of his grip and he tumbled into view. That he was a child appeared to stun the enemy, his next blow suspended overhead. Gunnar's face turned waxy white. Runa screamed his name, hand stretching to snatch him from beneath the sword.
The enemy's shock dissipated and he renewed his strike.
Konal plowed into the enemy, slamming him to the ground and running his blood-caked blade into his leg. Gunnar recovered, his sword ranging to fight off any attack. Konal scooped Gunnar into his shield, and he searched the battlefield.
Tears sprung to Runa's eyes. She forgot the pain in her foot, and fought to stand. All around the battle tide ebbed. Konal appeared calmed, and Runa took it to mean victory.
He spotted her as she rose, and she smiled. His face exploded in fear.
Cold agony bloomed at her back, and she collapsed forward. Her head bounced off a rock that jutted from the ground, then blackness filled her eyes and she knew no more.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
August 9, 886 CE
"This is the last time I can sneak away before we make contact with Henry and his army." Einar searched the surrounding trees as he handed a sack of bread and venison to Thrand. "Now's the time to make good use of the sword I gave you. Also, here's a shield. Best I could do for you."
Thrand's eyes filled with tears as Einar unslung the plain wooden shield from his back and dropped it to the dirt. His old friend had been true, providing provisions and gear to help him survive on his own. Now he offered Thrand the redemption he desperately sought, the redemption that haunted his sleep and stalked his waking hours. Spirits still followed him in the forest, whispering in his ears and demanding that he do something to make good the evil he had wrought.
"You are a great man, Einar. Your heart is as strong as your body." Thrand scooped up the shield, lacing it through his arm.
The two men stood deep in a forest, morning fog still rolling across the ground. Thrand had grown accustomed to the sounds and smells of the forest, whereas Einar seemed to jump at every cracking branch or blowing leaf. The morning promised a hot day ahead, and sweat beaded on Einar's uncovered head.
"I'm a fool," he said. "Anyway, we are laying a trap for Henry's army. The path of their march will lead them past a wooded hill, where Ulfrik has concealed archers. They will drive Henry's army forward onto us, where we hide in the woods by the road. We've been studying their approach, and they’re not scouting ahead. They don't expect us this far out from Paris. They'll pay for that sloppiness."
"Where will Ulfrik be? I want to fight at his side once more." Thrand did not know what he hoped to achieve, other than he craved the camaraderie of battle. If only for a short time, he would again belong with someone.
"With the main force. You know his red banner." He gave Thrand a critical smirk. "I've got to return before I'm missed. Honestly, Lord Ulfrik is fussing over me like I am his child. This isn't my first battle."
Thrand picked the bag of provisions from the grass. "Ulfrik is right to make you his second. If only I had chosen differently, I could've served under you."
Einar grimaced, then shrugged. "Don't be stupid out there. You've not the gear to stand up front like you did before."
Thrand watched Einar leave, the stubborn fog swirling and enveloping him. In moments only black trees and gray rocks peered above the milky haze.
"I will stand with my lord," he said to the forest. "I've years of evil to make amends for, and I cannot do so hiding behind others."
Ulfrik clung to the ground with two hundred other warriors. Cloaks of brown, green, and gray appeared as nothing more than lumps in the earth. Helmets and metal were smeared with mud. White eyes peered out from dirt-darkened faces, all of them scanning the track that wended through the forest. The scent of earth filled Ulfrik's nose, and the dampness wormed through the links of his mail to wet his shirt. He glanced at Einar to his right. Even buried under leaves his bulk was obvious.