Lord of the Runes (21 page)

Her fight had drawn her several steps away from him. Eirik fought one of the men, while the other eased behind him. The second man lifted his sword, aiming at Eirik's back. Asa lunged just as he struck. She reached out with her shield, blocking the hit. She didn't have enough leverage to stop the blow, and her arm and shield hit Eirik's back. But the shield deflected the impact, though it drove the splinters of wood deeper into her arm.

She gasped in agony and swung her sword hard in reaction. It sliced the outcast's shoulder, but he didn't give up. He smashed his shield into her, driving her back and leaped forward to attack Eirik again.

Eirik glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she stumbled. He drove his shield against his opponent's sword arm, trapping it, and disemboweled him. Pivoting, he faced the third man, who skidded to a stop. He backed away, eyes wide, no longer able to strike Eirik in the back. Eirik approached him in an almost negligent way, his shield down, sword at his side.

“Come now. You were so willing to kill me when my back was turned. Where's all that bravery now when we can look at each other as you die?”

The outcast broke and ran. Eirik shook his head and drew his knife from his belt. He flipped it at the man and it hit him in the back. He fell, screaming. Eirik dispatched him, then turned to her.

“Are you all right?” He strode to her and took her arm. “You've hurt yourself worse.”

“It's nothing. Ingeborg will see to it when this is over.”

She stood with him, looking down at the bodies. Most of the fighting had subsided. Only a few pockets of conflict still lingered, though it was obvious it was borne of the outcasts' desperation and not of any hope of their victory.

Then her head cleared. “Oh gods. Arne. He was hit after he saved my life.”

A
rne still knelt where Asa had left him. Blood covered his chest, spilling down the front of his body and pooling beneath him. He smiled as she dropped beside him. Eirik crouched down next to him and put his hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Let me find Ingeborg,” Asa said. “She can help you.”

“No.” Arne held her unwounded arm. “Even that good lady can't do anything for me now.”

He gasped and Eirik helped him to lie down.

She blinked away her tears. It wouldn't do for him to see her cry. She was a shieldmaiden, by the gods. She wouldn't weep like some fragile foreign woman.

Covering her tears with a smile, she took his hand. “You can't give up, Arne. Who would tease me about my cooking?”

He chuckled, then coughed. “You'll have plenty of people to chide you about that, Asa. Just promise me that when you marry Eirik, you won't cook for him. We can't slay good warriors like that.”

She glanced at Eirik. The edges of his mouth curled up just a bit as he watched her. Her cheeks heated as she looked down at the dying warrior.

“Arne, I don't know what you mean.”

He squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “Don't waste my time like this. I don't have it to spare.” He grimaced. “Grasp life with both hands, Asa, and take from it what you want. I've been kneeling here, watching the battle, feeling my life drain away. It can all change in an instant, and you wonder why you did not do so many things. When this started, I was looking forward to celebrating our victory in our longhouse with our people. Now I'll drink to it in Valhalla with the gods. I am content.” His grip weakened and his hand fell away from her arm.

She nodded. “Here. Take this.” She placed her bloodied sword hilt on his palm and closed his fingers around it.

He smiled. “Now I'm ready.”

Magnus and Leif rushed to them, many of their men following. The twins knelt beside him, grim, stoic, while the others stood in a circle around them.

“He saved my life, Magnus.” She held Arne's hand closed so he wouldn't lose his grip on the sword.

“Of course I did.” His voice was weak. “I always obey my jarl.”

“I thank you, Arne.” Magnus placed his hand on the warrior's shoulder. “For all you have done over the years. Your word-fame will spread and we'll never let you be forgotten.”

“That's all any warrior can ask.” He closed his eyes. A smile spread over his face. “Ah, there they are. The Valkyries. They circle overhead, calling for me. Never let it be said I kept beautiful women waiting.”

He sighed, and then lay still. Magnus bowed his head, his hand fisting over Arne's shoulder. Leif set his hand on the fallen warrior's sword arm for a moment, then rose.

Magnus also stood. “We have wounded to tend to and pyres to build. This night, we'll feast to celebrate our victory, as those who have fallen would have wanted.”

The men murmured their agreement and dispersed. But Asa remained where she was. Arne had always been there, a friend to her and her brothers. Life wouldn't be the same without him. Her heart tore and tears filled her eyes. She didn't want any of the men to see her cry, so she lowered her head, blinking hard to press the moisture away. Her tears fell onto Arne's blood, mixing with it and sinking into the ground they had fought so hard to protect.

“Asa.” Magnus took her uninjured arm and lifted her to her feet.

“No, Magnus. Leave me alone.”

“Asa, look at me.”

She did. His eyes were moist as well. “It's all right to mourn, Asa. We all do. Now go get your arm tended to. We have to clean up here.”

“I'll take her.” Eirik put his arm around her. “Come with me. I see Ingeborg is setting up at the corner of the longhouse with the other women.”

She nodded and walked with him. If only her arm were as numb as her emotions. Exhaustion swept over her and she stumbled. Eirik murmured a curse and swung her up in his arms.

“Eirik, put me down. I don't want anyone to see me like this.”

“I think they have other things to think about,” he said. “Besides, there are a number of wounded men who need help.”

“But you're not carrying them.”

“For one thing, they're too heavy.” His voice held a hint of humor. “Second, they likely would try to kill me if I did it for the same reason as I do it for you.”

“And why is that?”

He set her down on her feet without answering. They'd reached the area where Ingeborg was looking after the wounded. She tended a man, Aksel, who had a wound in his abdomen.

“Eat this so I can know where the sword wound is.” The healer handed him a dried leek.

“It's disgusting,” he said. “It looks like a shriveled—”

“Never mind that.” Her voice was firm as she cleaned his wound. “Just eat it. If the blade perforated your stomach, I'll be able to smell it.”

Aksel grimaced, but did as the healer said.

Ingeborg finished cleaning the wound, though it still bled. Looking inside it, she shook her head. Then she bent close to the gash, smelling it.

“Well, woman?” He tried to sit up, but she shoved him back down with no sympathy.

“It would seem the blade went in at an angle. I'll check this again in a short time, but I don't smell the leek yet. The gods may have smiled on you this time.”

She upended a wineskin over the wound and he shot up, cursing as the liquid burned him. She called one of the women over.

“Keep an eye on this. Sniff the wound often and let me know if you smell anything other than his own bad attitude.”

She stepped over to Asa. “Let me see this.” Using her knife, she cut the leather sleeve, but didn't pull it away. “Kept fighting, did you? Stubborn.”

“You have other wounds to see to that are worse than this,” Asa said. “I'll go sit on the benches they've brought out and wait.”

“The women have knowledge of healing.” She poked at the wounds and Asa sucked in a hard breath. “I've done what I can for the worst of them so far, and the other women are seeing to the lesser injuries. Now sit down while I undo the damage you've inflicted on yourself.”

Eirik chuckled. “Let's go sit here.”

He helped her toward the benches set up near the wall of the longhouse. She shook off his hand and walked by herself. When she sat down, she breathed a sigh of relief. Leaning back, she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

They had won. The threat from the outcasts was over. But where there should have been elation, there was only numb sorrow. They were victorious, yes, but at such a great price. Where was the glory? The rejoicing they spoke about in the old tales?

Opening her eyes, she watched as the men piled the bodies of the outcasts into a large mound. They placed their own slain in neat rows, each with his weapon in his hands. She had grown up with all of them. Known them, trusted them, and now she would mourn them.

Her arm throbbed. If only she could just curl up and sleep, and when she woke, it would be months from now. She would be healed and all the pain, of both mind and body, would be gone. But that could not be. No matter how much time passed, she would never forget, just as she would never forget those who had fallen. Everyone in Thorsfjell owed them that much.

As she watched the men working, a movement on the side of the mountain above them caught her eye. A horse stood in the shadows of the trees. It was black and blended into the gloom. She narrowed her gaze, focusing. There was a rider on it, also wearing black. They were both so still, they seemed part of the mountain itself.

“Eirik.” She glanced at him. He sat, as she had, with his eyes closed, leaning back against the wall. At the sound of her voice, he cracked open one eye. She tilted her head toward the slope. “Look just beyond that clearing, up the ridge about halfway. Do you see the man and horse up there?”

He didn't move his head, shifting his gaze through slit eyes. “Yes. You have good vision. Sjurd mentioned that, didn't he? That he saw someone with the outcasts?”

“Yes.” As she watched, the rider turned and disappeared into the woods. “Even if we could saddle a horse in time, we wouldn't be able to catch him. And we're too tired to try.”

“No matter. We'll let Magnus know, but if this man is their leader, he's done a bad job of it. And now, with all his men either dead or captured, he can't do much harm for a long time.”

He rose to his feet, groaning. He had several scratches and cuts, and one deep gash to his upper arm. Bruises were beginning to darken on his other arm, and his tunic was torn where the metal rings had stopped a sword cut.

“I see your brothers. Ingeborg is coming, so I'll leave you to her tender ministrations.”

“Coward.” She shot him a glare. “You just don't want her tending to your injuries.”

“So true.” He chuckled and walked toward Magnus and Leif.

Ingeborg sat down and set to work on her arm. She eased what was left of the leather sleeve over the wood splinters, removing some of them at the same time. Then she used tweezers to pull the rest out, starting the bleeding anew. Most of them were small, but several were as long as her fingers.

“I don't dare stitch these closed.” The healer studied her arm as she washed away the blood. “There still might be some pieces of wood inside and they have to work their way out. If you'd only stopped fighting, these wouldn't have gone so deep.”

“I had to avenge Arne. I couldn't let it go. Surely you understand.”

The older woman sighed. “I do. You'll have scars, but you should heal well enough. Now brace yourself. I have to pour wine on it, then I'll put honey and herbs on it and wrap it well.”

Asa set her jaw. She would not be the one to cry out.

Fire hit her arm and she yanked in a breath. But she swallowed her yell, squeezing her tearing eyes shut, every muscle tense and shaking. The searing pain raced up her arm and into her shoulder. She shuddered, gulping in air, willing herself to silence. Her stomach lurched, but she would not scream. Or throw up.

“That's the worst of it. Unless it festers.” Ingeborg spread soothing honey over her arm and sprinkled a heavy layer of herbs over that. She wrapped cloth bandages over it all and tied it off. “I'll look at it again tomorrow.”

“But no more wine.” Asa tried to find a smile, but failed. “We have to import it from the Rhineland and it's too expensive. I'll make the sacrifice and go without it from now on.”

“Not unless it festers, as I said.” She stood and gathered her supplies.

“I'll make a sacrifice to Eir. Anything she wants.”

“The goddess of healing is always helpful.” She gave Asa a rare smile and left.

Now that no one was near, she bowed her head, letting a few tears escape. It wouldn't stop the pain, but it helped her heart. She had to get through the funerals later and the celebrations tonight. Then she could be alone to mourn in the way she needed to for those they had lost.

“So the ice queen weeps. Or is she just melting from the heat of battle?”

She snapped her head up. Hjellmar stood before her, Estrid beside him. She was spotless, dressed in her usual finery and had, no doubt, huddled in the longhouse with the other women. Asa just looked at them, too drained to bother with a reply.

“And those scars all over her arm won't make the men want her any more than they do now.” Estrid started to put her hand over Hjellmar's arm, then glanced down at the blood spattering him and curled her lip. “Of course, she's so alluring now, covered in dirt and who knows what else. The men will surely be racing to have her in their beds looking like that.”

“None of them will want a woman with the scars of battle marring her. Maybe now, she'll see that war is for men and she doesn't have the strength or the skill to play with us.”

Several warriors had stopped to listen. Eirik walked through the men and approached Hjellmar. The smaller man tensed and his eyes widened. Estrid stepped away from him, but Eirik never glanced at her.

He stood toe to toe with Hjellmar, though he towered over him. “You once said Asa wouldn't have the strength to stand back-to-back with any of us. But you were wrong. Today, she and I fought off three of the outcasts, and she used her shield to block a sword strike to my back that would have killed me. It injured her further, but she made the sacrifice to save my life and will bear the scars from it that you both revile her for. We fought as one.”

“And she saved me.” Another man stepped forward. “When I fell before an enemy, she slew him and saved my life.”

“She knocked down another, and made it easier for me to finish him.” A dark-haired man inclined his head to her.

One by one, Magnus's warriors came forward, telling of how she had fought, of her skill and speed, of how she had figured out where the outcasts were truly going to attack. If it had not been for her, they said, those in the longhouse would have been lost, the warriors caught from behind. The day might have turned out very different.

Her eyes watered and her throat closed with gratitude and love for all of them. But this time, she let the tears fall for all to see.

“Arne gave his life for her.” Magnus crossed his arms as everyone turned to him. He gazed at her alone, his eyes warm. “And that is the highest praise of all. She set her bloodied sword in his hand and held it there even as he died. And so he has gained Valhalla.”

The men cheered her. It was muted and low, for they were wounded and exhausted, but it was no less heartfelt. Hjellmar's face turned red, but he said nothing.