Frodi shouted orders to his men, telling them where to stand and where to fall back. He had a fighting core of sixty men in good armor and weapons, along with a group of farmers with bows. Fortunately, all the men had all been present for the feast or gathering them would have been impossible at such short notice. Added to Frodi’s men were Thor Haklang’s twenty guards. Thor was apparently ready for a fight. Although it was not his land to defend, he had an alliance to consider. He and his men stood apart, shouting and growling like beasts. Thor wore heavy bear skins that would serve him as well as any mail. His men passed about a bowl, from which each drank. Thor took it last and drained it before throwing it down with a howl. He thrashed his head like an angry bull.
“A berserker,” Yngvar noted. “He and his men are worth three of every one of Frodi’s. We’ll be lucky to get to Grim before he’s hacked to ribbons.”
“He’s mine,” Ulfrik said, watching Thor striking out and screaming at unseen foes.
“He’s mine.” Magnus echoed Ulfrik’s words.
Ulfrik and Yngvar both swung their heads towards their own bear warrior. His eyes were bloodshot with drink, and his face taut with hate. He wore his furs around the shoulders and his plain shield on his back. “My family will be avenged in blood.”
Ulfrik turned back to the tree line. The sun was climbing the eastern horizon, throwing the edge of the woods into shadow. Soon, men will emerge there, Ulfrik thought, and only the gods will know who will have vengeance.
***
The attack did not come with dawn. Despite all the men arranged for battle, there was hardly a sound. Only Thor Haklang roared and cursed, and his men shielded him in their midst to prevent him from fighting Frodi’s men. They all stood loosely arrayed on the hill before Frodi’s hall. Ulfrik appreciated its strategic location. From this vantage point, every approach to the hall could be observed. Leather and metal creaked and clanked as they waited. When no invaders appeared, Frodi had sent scouts, and one was running back now.
When he reached Frodi, there was a ripple of activity. Then Frodi’s yellow and black banner raised above the men. “The rats are wary,” Frodi called out to his line. “They saw us ready for them and thought about running back to their holes.” Laughter flowed from the men. “But they’re moving again.”
Frodi drew his short blade and pointed it at the tree line. The dawn sun illuminated the trees, pointing to the shapes of men shambling from the forest and forming a block of warriors bristling with spears. Into the light came the banner of Ulfrik’s father-black elk antlers on a flag of green. Ulfrik winced at the sight of it being carried into battle against him, but this was Fate’s decree. Bobbing even higher than it was King Harald’s banner, white with a huge raven dominating the center. As it came into view, Thor Haklang screamed as though impaled.
With the enemy in sight, all of the men began to jeer and call out. They banged their weapons on shields, stomped the earth, screamed curses. Ulfrik joined in as well, shouting for Grim to come and find his death. He could not see Grim, but he knew his brother must be close to the green banner.
The invaders marched halfway up the road to where squat barracks huddled to the left, but otherwise Grim and his men would have to approach without cover. Archers were moving behind the building, apparently unnoticed by Grim’s men.
Frodi’s forces raised such a clamor that Ulfrik’s ears were already ringing. Next to him, Magnus was screaming himself hoarse. Yngvar had lost his smile, but made no sound at all.
Soon, Grim and two other men separated from the group and came forward for the customary parley before a battle. Frodi, Bard and another warrior stepped out to meet them. Thor was too delirious to be of any use. Ulfrik ran out as well, but Frodi rounded on him. “Get back in line. You’ve no business speaking for me on my land.”
“Let me count the enemy for you,” Ulfrik suggested, though he only wanted a better look at Grim. Suddenly, the prospect of killing his brother felt repugnant. Grim had committed indefensible crimes, and Ulfrik was honor-bound to extract justice, but looking at his younger brother’s dark shape opposite, he felt weak. Will I be able to do this when my moment comes?
“Get back in line,” Frodi commanded, moving forward again.
Ulfrik obeyed, but pointed his sword at Grim before going. The black shape of his brother was inscrutable.
The parley was brief. Grim appeared to yell immediately, only being restrained by another man Ulfrik guessed was Harald’s man, Vandrad. Frodi was shaking his head while Vandrad gesticulated. Grim pointed to Ulfrik, and for a moment Ulfrik thought Frodi might surrender him, but instead the parley ended with both sides stalking back to their lines.
“Probably told Frodi they would go if he surrendered us,” Yngvar yelled above the roar of the men. “If it were just Grim, Frodi might’ve considered it. But Harald’s man would make a fine prisoner. Imagine the ransom.”
Ulfrik knew it was true. Grim and Vandrad had probably anticipated a smaller force and the benefit of surprise. Now they faced a superior, sizable and better-equipped foe, and Frodi knew he stood a good chance of capturing a wealthy hostage. Grim had marched too close to turn back without the risk of being overrun. Besides, the loss of honor would be so staggering he would lose the support of his men.
Now came the waiting game. Frodi would not leave the advantage the high ground afforded, and Grim would not want to attack uphill. Both sides called curses and insults across the fifty yards of open ground. Grim had no archers, but Frodi’s were moving around the back of the barracks house to reappear behind Grim’s line and drive the enemy forward. Slaughter awaited Grim.
Maybe I won’t even have to fight him, Ulfrik thought. But Fate has not been so kind to me yet.
He could see the sturdy, muscular form of his brother dressed in mail, black furs and a new helm with a metal visor like Frodi’s. Ulfrik imagined he could see whites of Grim’s eyes behind the visor, and he laughed at the fear he saw there. His peal of laughter started the battle.
On Grim’s left flank, men began to detach from the line. Eight or ten men, some hirdmen by the looks of their armor, rushed forward with their arms held up. The largest one, at the front, called out, “Lord Ulfrik! We fight for Lord Ulfrik!”
Ulfrik lowered both shield and blade as the men ran forward, calling his name. It was Snorri, and the men he had promised. Ulfrik felt his eyes grow hot at the sight of them.
Realizing the betrayal, Grim screamed to the ranks behind him. “Kill them! Don’t let the traitors go!”
Thor Haklang charged, his men unable to restrain him any longer. The rest of Frodi’s forces followed. Answering Thor’s berserk scream, Frodi’s archers emerged from the cover of the barracks house and fired into the enemy’s flanks. Grim’s men were launching spears toward the traitors, but they could not reach the bowmen. The time for combat was at hand. Grim and his men lurched forward.
Ulfrik jumped back to his place in the line, with Yngvar to his left and Magnus on his right. Calls to lock shields ran along the line as each man protected the warrior to his left. The rear ranks raised spears to fight over the shield wall in front. Men on both sides howled battle cries. Snorri and the other deserters from Grim’s forces were squeezed out of the rapidly diminishing space between the two armies. Thor hit the left flank of Grim’s line like a boulder dropped from the sky. His massive ax shattered a shield, and the warrior behind him speared the exposed victim through the guts.