“Kill her,” Hakon screeched. The drengr shrugged and stepped to meet Orka, shield raised, sword tip hovering over the rim, blocking Orka’s way to Drekr and Hakon.
Orka bent her knees and lifted her seax and axe, shuffling right as the drengr took a quick step forwards and stabbed at her, high over his shield rim like a striking adder, the sword blade hissing past her face. Her axe darted out, hooking the drengr’s shield and tugging the warrior forwards. He stumbled and swung his sword at Orka’s head but she ducked, stepped in and punched the seax into his side, hard enough to burst the iron riveted rings asunder, stabbing deep, blood sluicing over her fist. She twisted the blade and the drengr gasped and stiffened, and Orka shoved him away, sending him tumbling into a table that cracked and splintered, collapsing beneath him.
Hakon yelled.
Men and women from the knucklebone table came at Orka, six or seven of them, the burned man hovering behind them, shouting. The bartender leaped over the bar and drew a seax.
The door opened, the two guards from the street silhouetted by daylight, along with the other drengr.
Drekr had his axe in his fist, part snarl, part smile on his face. He stepped around a chair.
Orka ran at him and ducked his axe swing, her shoulder crashing into his chest, lifting him from the ground and throwing him into an empty table, shattering it, splinters flying. She stumbled after him, chopping her axe at his face, but he rolled away, the axe crunching into wood. Movement to her left: a woman rushing in. Orka ripped her axe free, spun and sliced with her seax, cutting into the woman’s arm as she chopped down at Orka. A scream rang out, followed by another as Orka hacked her axe into the woman’s torso, felt ribs break and spun again, dragging the woman with her. There was a crunch as someone’s seax slammed into the woman’s head, the blow intended for Orka, a spurt of blood and bone in her face. Orka grabbed the collapsing woman, heaved her up with both hands and hurled her through the air into those behind her, sending them hurtling backwards into the shuttered window, wood splintering and light pouring in as they fell out into the street beyond.
A blow to Orka’s back, the sound of links from her brynja splintering, a line of hot fire, and she staggered forwards, tripped over a chair, twisted as she fell, feeling air hiss where her head should be, Drekr looming behind her swinging his axe. The bartender was there, slashing at her with his seax, and Orka rolled, chopped with her axe, felt it bite into an ankle, heard a scream and the bartender fell. She kicked out with her legs, sending a ruined table crashing into Drekr’s shins. He snarled and hacked it to splinters with his axe, strode after her.
Orka scrambled away, pulled herself up on the bar, threw herself backwards under the hissing arc of Drekr’s axe, twisting and slashing with her seax, and felt it bite, slicing through wool and flesh.
A cry from Drekr and then she crashed into him, the two of them stumbling back, Drekr tripping over a table and both of them falling out through the smashed window. People yelled and leaped out of the way as Orka and Drekr rolled together in the muddy street, Orka ending up on top, her axe arm pinned beneath Drekr, her seax pulling back to stab him. They were close, spitting and snarling in each other’s faces.
“Where is my son?” Orka grunted, her seax hovering.
Drekr headbutted her. There was a burst of white light in her head, her strength leaking away, her limbs abruptly loose, and he heaved her off him, sent her rolling across the street. Spitting blood, she pushed up on to all fours and saw him rise, blood staining a cut across his torso as he strode towards her. A line of pain from the wound across her back as she staggered to her feet, swept up the axe and seax where she’d dropped them, set her feet and snarled at him.
Drekr smiled and hefted his axe in his fist. It was not a long-axe, as Thorkel had favoured, but the haft was still long enough for Drekr to grip it two-handed, like a long club.
Figures burst out of the tavern, rushing at Orka, including the burned man.
“She’s mine,” Drekr snarled.
They slowed and formed a rough ring around Orka and Drekr instead, others in the street joining them. People emerged from other buildings, swelling the crowd. Orka heard shouts, bets of coin. She glimpsed Hakon in the gathering crowd, his drengr at his side.
“Where is my son?” Orka grunted as Drekr drew near.
“He is gone,” Drekr said with a shrug.
Orka moved on him and feinted left with her axe, a side-step and stab with the seax. There was a clang of steel as Drekr’s axe blade deflected it. She stepped out of his range before he could counter. They circled each other a few moments, gauging, assessing. Drekr’s footwork and balance were good: impressive for such a big man. But he had one weapon where Orka had two, and he was wearing wool while Orka wore a coat of mail.