“You should not have come here,” he said, and marched forwards.
Glornir stepped out to meet him, Bloodsworn spreading wide behind their chief.
The troll bellowed and lumbered forwards.
Spears hissed through the air, Bloodsworn hurling them at the troll. Some pierced its thick hide, blood welling; others skittered away. The troll roared, swiping at the spears, snapping shafts.
Glornir swung his long-axe around his head and aimed a great, looping blow at the red-eyed man, who stepped forwards to meet Glornir, the bone sword slicing down. The weapons connected and there was a concussive crash, Glornir hurled through the air. The red-eyed man paused a moment, then strode after him.
Svik yelled a war cry and ran at the red-eyed man, his whole crew following: Halja and Vali, Einar, J?kul and Torvik. Varg stood there a moment, battling with the pulsing waves of pain that emanated from the bone sword, and then he was running, too.
There were little more than forty paces between Svik and Glornir, who was back on his feet, shaking his head, blood running from his nose. He still gripped his long-axe, and he stood and faced the red-eyed man, hefted the axe. The stranger strode at him, the bone sword rising.
Svik screamed, Varg and the others echoing him, other Bloodsworn running. Varg heard R?kia shout a war cry and glimpsed her hurling her spear at the red-eyed man. It was a powerful throw and it flew true and fast, straight at the old man’s chest.
He cut the spear from the air with his bone sword, the two halves falling splintered at his feet.
Svik and his crew sped across the mud and blood-spattered glade.
A shadow loomed over them, a roar, and Vali was abruptly gone, flying through the air in an explosion of blood. Halja screamed. The troll lurched in front of them, filling Varg’s vision, cutting Glornir from sight, his iron-banded club swinging at Svik. The red-haired warrior leaped forwards into a diving roll, passing beneath the pendulous arc of the club and back on to his feet, mud-spattered, still running, and hurled his spear at the troll, drawing his sword before the spear landed. There was a bellow of pain as the spear sank deep into the troll’s thigh. Svik swerved, avoiding a stamping kick and slashing at the troll’s leg. Einar and J?kul swept wide around the enraged creature, both hacking and hammering. Torvik ran straight at it, and threw his spear, the blade piercing the troll’s shoulder, sinking deep. Another bellow of pain and the troll’s club was swinging, all of them leaping away, even Einar, the club clipping Svik and sending him flying, rolling in the mud.
Varg bounced on his toes, then ran in, behind the swing of the club, swaying out of the way of a punch that hammered into the ground, mud spraying, and rammed his shield rim down on to the troll’s foot. It was like punching stone, the impact juddering up through his arm. He lost his grip on the shield and leaped, grabbed Svik’s spear shaft, still buried in the troll’s thigh, and heaved himself up the troll’s body, slashing with his seax across the creature’s belly. The blade sliced through a few layers of tough, hide-like skin, blood welling, but not deeply enough to spill its guts. The troll roared at Varg and grabbed him around the throat in a boulder-sized fist, lifted him into the air and squeezed.
Pain, bones close to cracking, no air even to scream. His vision blurred, bright spots erupting, darkness. A bubbling fear merged with his rage, flooding him, and he snarled and struggled and spat, stabbing his seax into the troll’s fist.
Then he was weightless, falling, losing his grip on his seax, crunching to the ground, rolling. Still. He inhaled a mouthful of mud. Spitting, he took ragged gasps as he tried to rise, air rushing into his lungs. He pushed himself up in the mud and saw Svik was on the troll’s back, stabbing furiously with his seax into the meat of the muscle between neck and shoulder. Einar was swinging his axe, opening a great red wound down the troll’s thigh, and J?kul had stepped in close and was hammering the creature’s toes. The troll screamed, enraged.
Varg pushed himself up and shook his head. It hurt to swallow, but that was far better than being dead.
The troll let out a thundering howl and dropped its club, spinning and slapping at its back, trying to dislodge Svik. Dark blood was spurting in fountains. One of its flailing limbs caught J?kul and sent him spinning through the air, crunching to the ground, limbs twisted.
A scream came from behind Varg and he spun round and froze for a moment at what he saw.
Glornir was on one knee, blood flowing from a wound across his shoulder and chest, his brynja rent and hanging in tatters. The red-eyed man was standing over Glornir, bodies heaped around him, raising his pale sword.