CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE GUÐVARR

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

GUDVARR

G uevarr stared at Lif the fisherman, who was standing a dozen paces away, blocking his escape into the trees and gloom and safety. Behind him the battle was raging, Guevarr hearing the roars and snarls of Lik-Rifa and Ulfrir, the ground shaking with their combat. He turned and looked at it, could see dragon-born running to defend their queen, locked in combat with Ulfrir's úlfhéenar , some of the dragon-born shouting out their Seier-magic. Rotta scampered squealing through the veil of snow, a stone wolf leaping onto his back and biting.

The sound of snow crunching as Lif took a step towards him dragged Guevarr's attention back.

"You should walk away," he said to Lif, raising a hand and cuffing a dripping ball of snot from his nose. "You are a fisherman, not a warrior. I am a trained drengr . You should choose to live, take my offer of kindness and mercy before I change my mind." He looked hard at Lif, tried to give him a fierce, fjord-cold stare.

"You lost in a holmganga to my father but allowed an úlfhéenar to slaughter him. You stabbed my brother in the belly while he had frost-spider venom in his veins and was chained to a wall," Lif said, striding slowly towards him. "To my thinking, you are not much of a drengr . You are a coward . I have been trained by Orka Skullsplitter. Fought with the Bloodsworn, learned my craft in the forge-fire of battle. Let us see who has the greater weapons craft."

Orka Skullsplitter. The Bloodsworn. Forge-fire of battle . Guevarr did not like the sound of that. He took a tentative step backwards.

"Perhaps we can talk about this?" Guevarr suggested. "Come to some agreement?"

In response, Lif lunged with his spear, stabbing straight at Guevarr. He swung his shield to block it, swept Lif's spear aside and hacked with his sword at his head, but Lif was already stepping in, his shield shrugging the sword-blow aside, stabbing again with his spear, this time over the top of Guevarr's shield rim, angled down, and the blade struck Guevarr in the chest, hit him like a punch, Guevarr stumbling back, taking the power out of Lif's blow. He glanced down, saw that some of the rings of his brynja had split. Frowned. Looked back to Lif and saw the swift movement of shadows in the treeline behind him, frost-spiders scuttling out of the trees, scurrying to join the battle. He hefted his shield and strode quickly forwards, stabbed at Lif, hacked and sliced, each blow blocked by Lif's shield work, but he forced Lif backwards, first one step, then two, until he was retreating steadily before Guevarr's assault.

A frost-spider leaped upon Lif's back, slamming the fisherman to the ground. Guevarr smiled and strode casually past them both as they rolled, striding towards the trees and the safety of darkness, the sounds of battle behind him fading.

The thud and crunch of feet on snow behind him and he started to turn, felt an impact across the back of his legs and stumbled, fell to his knees.

"Get up," a voice said, and he staggered to his feet, turned to see Lif before him, covered in dark, blue-tinged slime and fragments of spider shell. He no longer had his spear, was holding a bearded axe in his fist, and Guevarr looked down to see it was Lif's spear that had hit the back of his legs and tripped him.

He killed the frost-spider then , he realised. Not a comforting thought .

Lif strode towards him, shield held high, axe-blade hovering just above the top rim.

I am going to have to kill him.

He stepped forwards to meet Lif, stabbed high in a feint, then low, at Lif's shins, expecting Lif to jerk his shield up. But Lif slammed his shield down, pinning Guevarr's sword, at the same time stepping forwards and chopping with his axe, splintering the top of Guevarr's shield, the beard of the blade hooking inside the shield rim. Lif dragged Guevarr forwards, off balance, and punched the top of the axe into Guevarr's mouth. An explosion of excruciating pain, blood in his mouth, and something hard, a tooth, he realised, and a red-hot pain arcing from his mouth across his cheek. He cried out and stumbled back, lost his grip on his sword, tripped over something and fell onto his arse with a thud. Put a hand to his face and felt blood, probed a long gash from mouth to ear. Spat out his tooth and a mouthful of blood as Lif stood over him.

"All right, all right, you win," Guevarr pleaded, lifting a hand. "You win. I forfeit. Holmganga rules. What do you want? My brynja , my sword? Have them both."

He looked up to see Lif looming over him, saw him snarl and raise his axe.

"No, I'll give you anything you want," Guevarr squeaked.

"I want my father and brother back," Lif snarled, and brought the axe down.