But Halldor had already unpinned his cloak, let it drop, and slid off the thick golden arm ring that marked him as Eirik’s hirdsman, tossing it to the ground between them.
“Eirik Haraldsson,” he said, voice rising in strength, “I challenge you to a duel to the death to avenge my father, your brother, King Bjorn Haraldsson of Vestfold.”
Eirik closed his eyes as if steeling himself. When he opened them, his face was blank as stone. “So be it.”
“Get back,” Svein said to Oddny, gently pulling her to the side. The hird had spread out as Tryggvi’s men retreated, and now formed a semicircle around Eirik and Halldor against the burial mound. Oddny willed her body to stop shaking as the panic rose within her.
This fight was going to be close—too close.
Eirik’s hirdsmen were all armed with shields, but only Svein offered up his own to Halldor, who accepted it with a grim nod of thanks. Gudrod bent and slid Tryggvi’s sword out of its sheath, then presented it to Halldor, hilt first, and Halldor sheathed his seax and took the longer blade. The look that passed between the brothers was full of pain and regret and so many other things Oddny could not begin to understand—and then Gudrod averted his eyes, stepped back, and dug his fists into his hair, making no show of hiding the tears coursing down his face. Tryggvi’s men dragged their unconscious leader out of the way and watched with interest.
Across the semicircle, Gunnhild approached Eirik and gave him his axes. He took them and stepped forward, swiped the back of his sleeve across his eyes, and pulled himself up to his full height, nearly a head taller than Halldor.
“Halldor Bjarnarson, I accept your challenge,” said the king without inflection, taking a defensive stance. “Let’s see how well I taught you.”
Halldor lunged.
Eirik blocked his first blow by crossing his axes in front of him, and flung them apart to send Halldor stumbling back. Halldor tightened his grip on his sword and rushed forward again, this time trying for a hit to Eirik’s flank, then his shoulder, but both were quickly deflected by the axes’ shafts. His attempts became more frenzied, less deliberate. Eirik parried them all.
Oddny could barely keep track of their bodies and their weapons. Eirik was bigger, and Halldor was faster, but they seemed evenly matched.
But Oddny saw the sweat beading on Halldor’s brow. He was flagging. And Eirik was only defending; he hadn’t even attempted to land a blow on the other man.
Oddny’s heart lodged in her throat as she realized the king’s strategy. Eirik, the older and more seasoned fighter, was able to push down the hurt and the pain that had been showing so clearly on his face mere moments before. Able to lock it up and focus on the fight.
She knew at a glance that Halldor could not bring himself to do the same, and so did Eirik, who was using that to his advantage. Letting his opponent tire himself out. And Halldor was too overcome with emotion to realize.
You’re no beginner! Oddny wanted to shout. Do you not see what he’s doing?
As if hearing her thoughts, Halldor stepped back, panting. In the split second it took for him to look for another opening, Eirik made his move: He sprang forward, hooked his axe on the rim of Halldor’s shield, and ripped it from his hand. Then he feinted as if to hook Halldor’s leg with the other axe, just as he’d done during their very first fight.
Halldor evaded it—but when he moved, Eirik pivoted, swung low and wide with his other arm—
And with the butt of the other axe struck Halldor in the side of the knee with enough force to shatter bone.
Halldor cried out, listed sideways as something cracked and popped audibly, causing Gudrod to let out a choked scream and Oddny to spring forward, but Svein held her back.
“Don’t interfere. You’ll tarnish his reputation,” said the skald quietly, his eyes wet. “Let him die with his honor intact.”
Halldor managed to stay on his feet and block Eirik’s next swing, but lost his grip on the sword in the process. Rather than bending down to pick it up, he staggered back, slid his seax out of the horizontal sheath at his belt, and paused as if waiting to deflect the next blow.
Oddny had no idea how Halldor was still standing—but in that moment, with Eirik pulling back to strike again, Halldor made his own move, faster than his knee should have let him. He feinted right and Eirik blocked him, but then Halldor twisted and moved his seax up with a deliberate slash that caught Eirik from the middle of his cheek to his ear.
Eirik jerked backward. The cut looked shallow, but blood ran down his chin and onto his tunic like a waterfall. He reached up and touched his face, then looked astonished when his fingers came away red.
Gunnhild was by her husband’s side in an instant. Oddny alone caught the flick of her hand as she slipped something into the pouch at his belt.
Eirik waved her away and she stepped back. His brows drew down in fury, and the speed with which he lunged at Halldor this time was nothing short of alarming. Halldor blocked his next blow with ferocious desperation, snagging his seax in the axe’s beard and twisting it out of Eirik’s hand, leaving him open—
And Oddny covered her mouth with her hands as Halldor brought the seax up to hack at Eirik’s side, brutally slicing through two layers of tunic and straight into skin, just under the ribs.
Halldor ripped his blade free and Eirik stumbled back, clutching his side as if expecting his organs to spill out. Several of the hirdsmen exclaimed in horror. But opposite where Oddny and Svein stood, Gunnhild only tensed.
When Eirik pulled his hand away, this time there was no blood, for there was not even a wound beneath his torn garments. Oddny heard gasps around her, whispers. Looking down at his side, Eirik seemed temporarily disoriented, as though baffled that he was still alive—but then he looked back to Halldor, who seemed equally mystified that his blow had not landed, and the king’s gaze sharpened like a predator spotting its prey.
Halldor instantly limped backward and was able to parry Eirik’s next few swings, albeit with decreasing energy and speed. As he tried to dodge, he took a hit to his bicep, a hit to his thigh, the axes only slicing both times, thankfully not cleaving. But then a final slash into Halldor’s collarbone sent him sprawling backward on the grass. The axe blade had caught him, ripped straight through his hooded mantle and the tunic beneath, and opened a wound from his shoulder to the center of his chest. It bled profusely. Oddny thought she could see bone.
All the while her mind spun and spun, repeating the moment when Halldor’s blade had sunk into Eirik’s side. She had seen it with her own eyes—how had that not been the hit to end the fight? Eirik’s bowels should have been splattering the ground. How had—？
When she looked across the semicircle to where Gunnhild stood, she found her friend not watching the fight but staring right back at her, an apology in her eyes.
Oddny’s gorge rose. Gunna, what did you do?!
But the memory of Gunnhild’s winter project hit her, and suddenly Oddny knew.
Stop. Stop the fight. Her mouth formed the words but did not give voice to them. She stepped forward. Stop. Stop!
Eirik stood over Halldor now, even as the other man tried to drag himself away, but there was only the burial mound behind him. Realizing this, Halldor slumped, one hand pressed to his chest, the other shaking so badly that he couldn’t get a good grip on his bloody seax.