He continued sliding right, Hardar chasing him with a flurry of pointless blows. He heard someone jeering Hardar, who pulled back breathing heavy and sweat blowing off his mustache.
"You are old and fat," Ulfrik said, baiting him. Hardar simply hunched behind his shield, protecting himself while he recovered. "Ingrid was a fine lay. She was glad for it, since you never satisfied her."
Hardar charged again, and Ulfrik barely pulled his shield in front. The collision of shields sounded like ships ramming each other. Ulfrik had hit the tender spot he had sought. "She's waiting for me to return. Her legs …"
Ulfrik found himself stumbling back and slipping to the ground. Hardar had pummeled him with his shield. He screamed his rage and drew back for a killing strike. Men on both sides of the field cried out in surprise.
Ulfrik flipped aside and sprang to his feet. Without mail to weigh him down, he was nimble enough to recover. Hardar's sword thudded to the dirt, though Ulfrik was out of position and unable to take advantage. He swiftly righted himself, dropped into a crouch behind his shield and kept his sword low. He expected to strike a lethal blow.
Hardar rolled his injured shoulder then cracked his neck. He huffed and blinked, but remained still. Not wanting him to recover, Ulfrik pressed the attack. He sprang forward as if to bowl him over. Hardar braced, and then Ulfrik fell to his knees. He stabbed up under the shield, and his blade sank into Hardar's arm. Ulfrik was rewarded with a splutter of blood and a screech.
He twisted the blade, but Hardar tore back. More blood splashed to the ground, and Ulfrik jumped upright. Despite the injury, Hardar managed to thrust down. He caught Ulfrik's shirt, slashed it along his arm and nicked his thigh. Ulfrik grunted at the burning pain, but the wounds were superficial.
As the two staggered away from each other, Hardar's shield arm drooped. He shook his head like a bull, tossing the shield to the side. Ulfrik saw his handiwork. His thrust had traveled beneath the cuff of Hardar's mail sleeve and the blade had impaled the meat of his forearm. His hand was slick with blood, fat drops pattering on his boot. He pulled the wounded arm close to his side.
"Do you yield, Hardar?"
"Not if I'm still talking, maggot."
Ulfrik lunged, screening himself with his shield and striking for Hardar's undefended side. Mid-stride he saw Hardar slip his foot forward. Ulfrik jinked left to avoid the trip. He looked up, and Hardar smiled.
His bloody hand shot forward, and a cloud of glittering dust exploded in Ulfrik's face. Reflexively he pulled up his shield, but the dust was mixed with iron filings. The heavier filings washed across the shield into Ulfrik's face. Without cheek plates and nose guard to deflect them, the filings shot into his eyes. Pain and terror from sudden blindness ruled him. He staggered away, dropping his sword and shield, clawing at his face and rubbing his watering eyes.
Something hard pounded his head, dazing and toppling him into the mud. Though both eyes were still tightly shut, he saw white flashes. Sounds became muffled. Time slowed.
His heart beat wild and strong, a dull thud in his ears. He searched for the reason he lay on his back in the grass. He could think of nothing. Then he felt the tears, the rush of snot from his nose, and the fire in his eyes.
He remembered. Fighting the impulse to shut his eyes against the gritty junk filling them, he looked up.
Hardar held his sword over head in both hands. One of his arms drained blood over Ulfrik's body. Hardar's fierce eyes were wide behind his helmet.
"Now you die, Ulfrik," he roared.
He pulled back and then began to swing down. Ulfrik, still addled from the head blow he had been dealt, could not react in time.
A throwing ax spun across his vision, sinking with a meaty chop into Hardar's chest. He pitched back, the ax blade protruding from beneath his left shoulder. He screamed, dropped his sword and grasped the ax handle. Then he turned and collapsed.
Battle cries filled the air. Still on the ground, Ulfrik heard the thud of footfalls from both sides. He felt the ground shudder as the two forces charged, the duel having ended in dishonor.
His head still swam; the sides of his vision were crusted white as if he looked through ice on a frozen lake. He knew he had to stand. A man on the ground during battle was as good as dead. He would be hacked and stabbed before he could rise again. So he climbed to his feet, fell around in a circle rubbing his eyes desperate for relief. Forcing them wide open, he saw Snorri and Gunther leading the charge. He whirled around and found the opposition closing the distance.
Galvanized by the impending clash, he snatched his shield and drew his long knife. Hardar lay in the grass with arms splayed out, his chest heaving and his breath a labored sucking noise. Ulfrik stumbled forward, then dropped to one knee beside Hardar. He put his blade to Hardar's neck.
"Yield and you might yet live." He watched the ax rise and fall with Hardar's breath. Blood poured out from the mail, running back over his neck and staining his hair red. Hardar's eyes met his.
Pain bloomed in Ulfrik's hip. He snapped his head down. Hardar had driven a knife deep into his flesh. Seeing the wound increased the pain. Hardar then drove his elbow into Ulfrik's chin. He bit his tongue, coppery blood springing into his mouth, and he fell astride Hardar.
Snorri and Gunther had arrived, and formed a screen around the two. But the attacking enemy clashed with them, and the horrid cacophony of battle filled the air. Ulfrik could count on no other help from them. He flipped over and threw himself atop Hardar. He held down Hardar's good arm and raised his knife to finish him.
Hardar's free hand gripped the knife still in Ulfrik's hip and yanked. A streak of fire flashed through his leg and side. Ulfrik's strike faltered and Hardar rolled away. Tears streamed down Ulfrik's face, from the pain and from the grit in his eyes. Through the mess of his vision, he saw Hardar sit up and pull out the throwing ax.
They struck together. Hardar, his face a rictus of pain, chopped down at Ulfrik's exposed head. Ulfrik, teeth clenched and face smeared with blood and tears, stabbed for Hardar's throat.
Coming together, Ulfrik ducked beneath the blow. His knife plowed into the soft flesh under Hardar's jaw. He felt the ax drop across his back. He continued forward, landing atop Hardar. The two embraced like lovers.
Ulfrik scurried back. Hardar clawed at his neck. Blood gurgled from his mouth, bubbled like a spring from the gaping, torn wound on his chest. He gripped the knife wagging from his neck. Ulfrik crawled back to kneel over him, looking into Hardar's eyes which desperately searched an invisible landscape. Ulfrik imagined Hardar was seeing the other world now. His hand hesitated over Hardar's, thinking to pull it from the knife and deny him Valhalla. Warriors who died without weapons in hand had no chance to feast and fight for eternity.
He laid his hand atop Hardar's. The touch seemed to bring his vision back to this world. He looked into Ulfrik's eyes. Regret, sadness, defeat all glittered within. Then the light of life dimmed and died.
Men struggled in a circle around Ulfrik. Blades clanged on shields, spears crunched into mail shirts. Men fell screaming, holding shut gaping wounds or clawing at the blade that impaled them. Those who collapsed were chopped and hacked until blood and flesh leapt into the air. Such was death on the battlefield. Ulfrik, his leg already growing numb and stiff, flopped onto the grass. Gunther's men prevailed, driving foemen to their knees and reaping them like hay. Some surrendered while others fled. Everywhere men shouted or wailed. Ulfrik no longer cared what else happened.
Snorri found him, his face blood splattered and sweaty. "You live?"
"I do, but will I walk again?" He pointed at the knife in his hip.