CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE VARG

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

VARG

V arg checked his shield was locked with Svik's and R?kia's, set his feet firmly and braced his shoulder into his shield, looking over the top rim to see a wall of linden wood, steel and flesh crashing down upon him.

Brák Trolls-Bane is out there, in that shield wall. May the dead gods grant that he comes against me.

A concussive crash rippled along the line like thunder, clouds of dust swirling up, Varg rocked back by the weight pressing down upon him. Svik grunted beside him, staggered back a pace, R?kia's feet scraping as she slid back.

"No," Varg heard R?kia growl, as if by her very words and will she could resist the mountain crushing down upon them. The weight of the shield wall behind Varg pushed back, steadying him, helping him find his balance. He thrust back, the dust cloud of their collision settling, and he stabbed blindly with his seax over the top rim of his shield, felt the blade scrape off a steel helm. Above him he glimpsed the streak of rune-spells arcing overhead. Grunts and snarls everywhere, thuds and the screech of steel on iron, axes chopping into wood, steel stabbing into flesh. A face loomed before him over a shield rim, a dark-haired woman, a seax snaking out at him. He twisted his head and the seax blade grated on his helm. A twist of his wrist and he knocked the seax to his left, flicked his own blade out and scored a red line down the warrior's forearm. She grunted and drew her blade back, locked eyes with him and they shoved and pushed their shields, each trying to gain an advantage. He felt a burning line of flame across his calf, realised she had stabbed at him beneath his shield and sliced through his leg-wrap and wool breeches, knew that she was a veteran of the shield wall. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain that pulsed from his wound, kept his shield locked, holding against hers, with a grunt and shove he pushed, twisted her shield open a handspan and saw Orka Skullsplitter's long-axe hiss over his shoulder and chop into the gap, hacking into dark-hair's shoulder, mail links and blood exploding as Orka ripped the axe back. Dark-hair's shield wavered and dropped as the shoulder wound sapped her strength and Varg stabbed out with his seax, piercing the soft flesh of her throat, a gush of dark blood and she was falling gurgling away, someone stepping forward, filling the gap. Varg snatched a glimpse over his shoulder and nodded his thanks to Orka, who stood with no shield, her long-axe held high, Breca holding a shield to cover her left, Lif with him, and S?unn to Orka's right. Orka grunted at his nod and then he was facing forwards again. To his right he glimpsed R?kia stab her seax into an eye socket, a shriek cut short, and to his left Svik punched his sword hard at the top rim of a shield, tipping it backwards into a warrior's jaw, Einar's axe snaking out from the row behind Svik, hacking into the warrior's face. An eruption of blood and the warrior was falling.

Another warrior before Varg, a tangle of red beard and a hand-axe chopping at him, grating off the front of his helm, the warrior dragging the axe back, hooking Varg's shield but, anticipating it, he lashed at the axe blade, knocking it loose so that his shield was not pulled down for the spearman in the row behind red-beard to skewer him. Varg crouched behind his shield, stabbing low under the rim, and up, felt his blade find flesh, warm blood sluicing onto his hand as he sawed the blade out, watched red-beard's face drain of colour, mouth opening and Varg realised he'd stabbed the man in the artery in his groin. Red-beard swayed and slumped, hands dragging him back, another figure filling his place, Varg hoping this one would be Brák Trolls-Bane.

The flit and flicker of arrows overhead falling into Lik-Rifa's host, more screams echoing up. The next warrior was growling and hacking at Varg, broad-shouldered and fair-haired, not Brák. Varg snarled in frustration, lashed out with his seax, saw the man twist his head away, realised he was tiring, his limbs heavy, tendons in his wrists burning, eyes stinging from sweat and blood. The wolf in Varg's blood was snapping and snarling, begging to be set loose, and he allowed it to filter through him, sharpening his senses, flooding his muscles and sinews with new strength and speed, and he fought on, pushed, stabbed and chopped, and fair-hair was falling away, replaced swiftly by another. Not Brák. Varg lost track of time, stabbed, and hacked, and sliced, grunting, snarling, spitting, cursing, lost himself to the fog of war. Each attacker, killed in the hope that he'd eventually come face to face with his sister's murderer. An axe chopped over his shield at him, crunched into his shoulder and mail rings tore, a line of blood welling, Varg flicking his seax high over his shield, stabbing down, saw the blade slice along the warrior's jawline, cut through the helm's leather buckle, the helm slipping down, over the warrior's eyes, and Orka's axe crunched down, denting the helm and the warrior dropped. Varg glanced up, saw the sun was dipping above the Iron Wood, became dimly aware that warriors along his front line were stepping back from exhaustion, being replaced by warriors moving up from the third row, but he refused to step away. Brák Trolls-Bane could be the next face to fill the gap in the shield wall before him.

The sound of horns braying, swirling above the combat, and Varg realised it was coming from beyond Lik-Rifa's war-host. A ripple passed through the dragon's shield wall, and then they were disengaging, taking a step back, and another, and another, a gap opening between the two shield walls. Lik-Rifa's host stepped back steadily now, retreating, and all along Varg's line warriors cheered, hurled insults, and jeered. Varg's mouth was too dry for words, no saliva in it. He rested his shield on the ground and reached for the flask of water on his belt, drank deep, wiped blood and sweat from his face, looked at R?kia.

She grinned at him, wild and feral, gore-spattered.

More horns ringing out and Lik-Rifa's shield wall was parting at the middle, a wide path opening up. Creatures scuttled down it, a multitude of angular, sharp-barbed legs, of clustered shining eyes and long, twitching fangs glistening with ice-tinged venom. A tide of frost-spiders flooded through the gap in the shield wall like maggots from a pus-filled wound, spreading along the length of the shield wall, filling the gap between the two hosts. And behind them Varg saw the tall, thick-muscled silhouettes of trolls come lumbering forwards.

He stoppered his waterskin and buckled it back onto his belt. Rolled his shoulders and clicked his neck. Sheathed his seax and drew his cleaver. The day wasn't over yet.