Ulfrik stole one last look at Grim. His brother was a head shorter than the men around him, which made Ulfrik laugh again. Every man reacts differently to the pressure of combat; for Ulfrik, it created a sensation of carefree, heady joy.
“Spears!” someone screamed, and Ulfrik saw the enemy skid to a halt. Men in the first and second ranks hauled back their spears and let fly. Ulfrik ducked behind his shield as he heard the swoosh and thud. Some fell short; others sailed overhead. Nothing landed on Ulfrik, but to his right Magnus stepped back as a spear impaled his shield. The wooden shaft snapped, and the long spearhead bent. Spears-designed to break after one throw, denying the enemy a chance to reuse them-were not expected to kill, only to add weight and encumbrance to enemy shields.
Ulfrik looked up again. For a moment, the world was without sound. Ulfrik could not even hear his heartbeat, although he felt it in his chest. The enemy line silently locked shields. Their faces contorted by battle cries as they charged uphill in a pantomime of war.
Then came the explosive din as the lines clashed. Louder than thunder, wooden shields slammed together and the peal of battle cries washed over the combatants. The men behind Ulfrik shoved him forward, while the foe in front pressed into him. Ulfrik plunged his sword beneath his shield, knowing his enemy would do the same. But Ulfrik was faster, feeling his blade catch on his foe’s arm and seeing his antagonist’s eyes become pale and wide with pain.
Spears punctured the front ranks, seeking flesh. Along the line, men shoved and stabbed, and mashed at each other with shield and ax. A spear blade grazed Ulfrik’s cheek before it was hastily pulled back for a second stab. Magnus raised his shield higher, preventing the spear’s next jab, and Ulfrik did the same to protect Yngvar. Short swords and long knives worked beneath and between the shields. Men screamed and blood flowed as the real work of battle began.
The faces of Ulfrik’s enemies appeared only momentarily in the gap between the shields. But Ulfrik’s muscles were fired by battle lust, and he struck like a snake. Fate’s Needle slid into his foe’s exposed white face, sending a spray of blood up its length as it tore cheek and eye. The man screamed and reeled backward, and Ulfrik pushed forward to finish the man. As each enemy warrior crumpled, more pressed forward, impeded this time by the corpses of their comrades.
Beside him, Yngvar and Magnus grunted out punishment to the men before them. The enemy now stood on the slope of the hill, their footing uncertain. Ulfrik’s part of the line bulged forward, he noticed, as did other sections. It resembled a serpent of glinting steel and thrusting spears. Banners from both sides waved above the tossing heads of the warriors, but the Raven and Elk banners were now lower down the hill.
Exploiting Ulfrik’s inattention, his new opponent hooked his ax over Magnus’s shield, yanking it down. Ulfrik crouched, not having to see the spear to know it would come seeking the opening. The enemy spear cleared his head, and Ulfrik returned with his own sword beneath the shield. He gouged an enemy, but could not tell whom he had struck.
The axman continued to hold the gap open. Magnus roared against it, but his shield was already weighed down by the broken spear. A renewed shove came from behind-Frodi’s men driving their own spears into the gap. Just as Ulfrik thought he would trip on the corpse before him and be forced to drop his own shield, the ax released with a howl and Magnus snapped his shield arm back into place.
The crush of the enemy eased. Ulfrik found himself being shoved downhill by the men behind him. Then a horn blasted at the center of the line. The Elk banner toppled like a felled tree, eliciting cheers from Frodi’s men, who burst into the gap in the enemy shield wall. The line had been broken. The foe were in retreat. Before him, the retreating forces broke, and scattered. Yngvar plunged forward, calling for Ulfrik to follow.
“Griiiiiiiim!” Magnus screamed, reminding Ulfrik that the true work was still ahead.
***
The enemy stumbled down the hill with Frodi’s men in pursuit. They could flee to the sea, where they would die, or to the woods, from which they might escape. Frodi anticipated the woods and bellowed to the men around him to cut off that route. The archers were in position to send shaft after shaft into the retreating enemy, driving the fleeing warriors toward the sea, but there were too few of them. Frodi’s men were also more concerned with spoils than tactics, a lapse in discipline that allowed the enemy to escape annihilation.
Through the mill of screaming men, Ulfrik hunted for Grim. The Elk banner had fallen, obscuring his brother’s position in the turmoil. But the Raven banner still flew, and Grim would be close by; Magnus realized that too, and ran toward it.
Both men ran diagonally through the retreating force, like struggling up a fast-flowing river with a flood of warriors in pursuit, all with the same goal. Everyone wanted Harald’s man as a hostage. The chaos slowed Ulfrik down. Magnus, in his rage, struck out at anyone in his path and Ulfrik had to pull him back more than once.
At the bottom of the hill, the Raven standard stopped and shook violently above the fray, probably being held aloft while the bearer fought on. It was at the center of a throng of men, all leaping into the melee. Ulfrik despaired. How to get to it?
Magnus stopped too, heaving, and then screamed his frustration. Men were fleeing all around them, and pockets of combat erupted wherever retreat had failed. A brawny man in black furs, who was a good head shorter than the three others who ran beside him, hurtled away from Ulfrik.
“Grim! Grim, I am coming for you!” Magnus was running before Ulfrik could even start. Grim was pulling far ahead, bolting faster than Ulfrik imagined he could. With death fast behind, Ulfrik supposed that he could run just as quickly. Grim glanced over his shoulder just once, and his fine helm clattered from his head, such was his velocity. Ulfrik and Magnus were closing the distance. Ulfrik felt his wolf-bitten leg burn with the strain, but he was gaining on his brother and a smile adorned his face.
Still running, Grim waved toward the woods, and Ulfrik’s smile bent to a frown. He did not have long to wonder at the meaning. A handful of men in brown furs and green capes stepped from the trees, arrows already on their bowstrings-the archers that had not come to the fight. Without thought, Ulfrik dropped to his knees. A starburst of pain exploded in his leg as he crashed into the stony earth. He pulled his shield over him as the first arrows hissed down, one catching the leather edge of his shield.
Grim, or more likely Vandrad, had expected the likelihood of retreat and left bowmen to cover their escape. With yards of open ground to cover, it would be death to press on. Ulfrik screamed curses beneath his shield until he was sure blood would spray from his hoarse throat. A lone arrow hit the ground an arm’s length away, and Ulfrik knew he had to back up or die. He and Magnus had rushed far ahead of other pursuers. They would be the archers’ only targets until reinforcements arrived.
Magnus! The name flashed to his mind. The fool had not stopped running. Ulfrik peered around his shield. The big man was shambling the final distance to Grim. The archers, realizing they faced no opposition, calmly strode out and paused to fire off shafts as he came. Magnus already had three in him, at least that Ulfrik could see. Two more hung on his shield. Grim and his three companions watched in silence. The quality of one man’s mail and helm identified him as Vandrad. Over the distance, Magnus’s roar was dull and small, even if still laced with revenge.
Ulfrik stood, thrust his shield before him, and began to run. He could see Magnus ahead, squaring off with Grim, but it was not going to be a fair fight. Three more combatants fanned out around them. Ulfrik redoubled his efforts to run, his injured leg throbbing. An arrow slammed into his shield with such force that he staggered backward, glancing down to see the arrow had completely penetrated the wood.