“I see,” Oddny said, thinking of Halldor—and mere moments later, he strode up to the fence farther down on her right. His hair had been pulled back into a short braid, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal forearms smeared with soot from the forge. He stared straight ahead at Eirik, who lounged on a bench just outside the field.
“King Eirik,” Halldor said. “I wish to join your hird.”
“You’re not the first today,” Eirik said, without turning to face him, as he took a proffered cup of ale from a serving girl, who blushed and giggled. Beside Oddny, Gunnhild made a loud retching noise that made Eirik turn and glare at her.
Then he got a good look at Halldor—who hopped lithely over the fence to stand before him in the practice yard—and raised his eyebrows. “How old are you, boy? Come back when you’ve grown your beard.”
Most of the men laughed, and even the armory boys looked amused. But despite her dislike of Halldor, Oddny found herself insulted on his behalf. Her brother, Vestein, had never grown a beard, either, and in her opinion it hadn’t made him any less a man.
“I’m a man grown, not a boy,” said Halldor, chin raised. “My name is Halldor Hallgrimsson.”
Eirik considered him. “You’re not very big.”
“I’m no smaller than many of your valued hirdsmen,” said Halldor, with a pointed look at Arinbjorn, who inclined his head to acknowledge that Halldor was the taller of them.
The king looked at his foster brother, then back at Halldor, and said, “All right, Halldor Hallgrimsson. Let’s see if your skill with a blade lives up to your bold words. Arinbjorn?”
Arinbjorn leapt the fence. He had two seaxes at his belt, one in front and one in back, and he drew them both at once with liquid grace. Halldor drew his own seax just as one of the armory boys handed him a shield over the fence.
“You don’t use one of these?” Halldor asked Arinbjorn, gesturing with the shield.
The shorter man shrugged and spun his seaxes with a flourish before settling into fighting stance. “I’d rather block with something that could hurt you.”
“Have you ever been hit with a shield? It definitely hurts.”
“I suppose it could, if you know how to use it. Do you?”
“You’re about to find out.”
“Oh, this’ll be fun.”
Gunnhild cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Arinbjorn, if you kill him you have to pay my friend the twelve marks of silver he owes her.”
“Eleven and a half,” Halldor and Oddny said in unison, and Halldor added dryly, “Thank you for your confidence, Gunnhild.”
“If we’re through with the interruptions,” Eirik said, raising his voice, “you may begin at will. To first blood.”
Arinbjorn made the first move, bringing the butt of one seax down to try to hook the side of Halldor’s shield while slashing the other seax toward his flank, but Halldor was quicker: He brought his own seax down to deflect the other man’s blade and brought his shield in close, keeping a firm hold on it. Arinbjorn stepped back to reassess, and the two men circled each other.
This time Halldor was first to move, but Arinbjorn dodged his slash with ease and attempted to deliver a blow of his own, which Halldor parried with his seax. Oddny stood riveted to the spot, entranced, as she watched them—every move seemed calculated as they twisted around each other, strangely light on their feet. A feint here, a swing there, and they’d fall back, each looking for an opening, and, finding it, lunge again.
Oddny had at first agreed with Halldor that Arinbjorn would be at a disadvantage without a shield, but the smaller man used his seaxes defensively, moving as fluidly as though the weapons were extensions of his arms, blocking every hit until finally Halldor rushed at him, attempting to land a blow with the boss of his shield. Arinbjorn dodged and knocked the shield sideways with both seaxes, but Halldor stopped and jerked the shield back up and—
Its rawhide edge hit Arinbjorn in the nose with a sickening crunch that elicited shouts of shock from among the onlookers. One of the serving girls near Eirik fainted; one of the armory lads clutched his own crooked nose as if feeling the same pain. Arinbjorn stumbled backward a few steps before dropping his seaxes and falling back on his ass in the dirt, blood running from his nostrils and down his chin to splatter the front of his tunic.
He reached up to assess the damage and seemed surprised by the sight of his own blood when he pulled his hand away.
“Well,” Arinbjorn said thickly, “that’s first blood. Match to Halldor.” The assembly clapped, and Oddny had not realized that applause could sound so uncertain. More than one person was looking at Eirik—who sat stone-faced on the bench, his ale forgotten—as if waiting to see how he would react.
Oddny said, “I’ll set his nose,” at the exact same moment Arinbjorn did it himself and swore loudly. “Never mind.”
“That isn’t the first time this has happened,” said Thorolf, who had appeared at Gunnhild’s elbow at some point during the fight. “But this is the first time I’ve seen Arinbjorn lose to anyone but Eirik.”
Halldor sheathed his seax and dropped his shield, picked up Arinbjorn’s weapons, and stepped forward, offering a hand to help him to his feet. The other man took it and gave a nod of thanks when Halldor handed both seaxes back to him, hilts first. Once they were safely in their sheaths, Arinbjorn grinned, teeth bloody, and clapped Halldor on the shoulder.
“Well done,” the smaller man said. “I underestimated you this time, but it won’t happen again.”
“I look forward to our rematch, then,” said Halldor, but Oddny thought he seemed nervous. And, a moment later, she understood why.
Eirik had risen from his bench, and the crowd had hushed.
“You all right?” he asked Arinbjorn as his foster brother left the field. Arinbjorn waved him off.
The king turned to Halldor and said to the armory boys without looking at them: “Bring me my axes.” Several of the men chuckled; a few of them said, “Ooh,” as if Halldor were a sibling about to get reprimanded by their father.
“He certainly loves a bit of drama, doesn’t he?” Gunnhild drawled.
Arinbjorn, who had positioned himself against the fence on Thorolf’s other side, leaned forward and looked around him at Gunnhild. “I watched you literally stab yourself the other day just to prove a point.”
“He watched you what?” Oddny said, and when her friend offered no explanation, she turned back to the ring. “Thorolf, what is Eirik doing?”
The big man gave her a somber look over Gunnhild’s head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t usually test them himself. Halldor made an impression.”
“Exactly as he intended,” said Gunnhild, folding both arms on the fence and leaning forward. “I hope he breaks Eirik’s nose, too.”
“This isn’t fair,” Oddny said as the king entered the ring, weapons in hand. “Halldor hasn’t even caught his breath from the last fight, and Eirik is fresh.”
“It won’t matter either way,” Thorolf said grimly. “Just watch.”
Halldor swiftly picked up his shield and drew his seax, taking a defensive stance as Eirik came toward him. There was a look of firm resolve on Halldor’s face, and something else, which Oddny couldn’t place.