Chapter Fifty-Two

Battle

It clinked into place like a misplaced gold coin falling back to its brethren. The jarl had never intended to run away. He’d taken the treasure and raised himself a hasty army, promising them greater riches to come if they followed him on a raid.

Thorvald didn’t have time to think. He turned back to the woman who must have been the true princess, then remembered she wouldn’t understand him. “Alodie, tell your princess that I need her men to fight alongside mine.”

The young woman was stately, with a graceful air. She smiled. “I understand you perfectly well, stranger.” She spoke his tongue with the same slight accent Alodie did.

A man on horseback broke forward through the lines of men and said something to her. She replied in the smooth tones of one engaging in subtle persuasion. Whatever she said made him go red in the face. He looked at Thorvald and spat. Alodie grabbed Thorvald’s arm.

He addressed her quietly without turning his gaze away from the other man—the king, presumably. “It’s all right. I know what I must do. Tell them if they want to live, they will follow me.”

The color vanished from her face, making her eyes more enormous than ever. She shook her head. “I won’t. There are too many of them. They’ll”—her voice wavered—“they’ll slaughter you.”

He’d violated his own code of behavior when he’d decided that a vow to a man like the jarl couldn’t also be a vow to the gods. This was the fight he’d been waiting for. He wasn’t about to back down, not when everything dearest to him hung in the balance.

“Then we’ll die honorably.” Spine braced with impenetrable determination, he nodded once. “Tell them. Now.”

Alodie opened her mouth as if she might refuse, but she did as she was bid, an impassioned plea falling from her lips. The men on the ground glanced uneasily between him and their king.

There was no more time to lose. Alone with the men he’d sailed with, he was horribly outnumbered. It wasn’t a trivial consideration, but neither would it stop him from fighting. For now, he wouldn’t think about it.

Thorvald turned, but a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He turned to her, fear radiating from her features. “Please. Please, don’t. You’re horribly outnumbered…”

“I will do what I must to keep you safe.”

“We haven’t a chance of staying safe if you’re dead.” Her grip on him tightened.

“What other choice do I have? If I don’t try to fend them off now—”

“We’ll all die.” The panic ringing in her words shot pain to the center of his chest. What she said was true.

As he stared into her eyes, a sort of peace cooled his agitation. If this was the last time he’d see her, he’d go to his death remembering how it felt to see in her face that she cared for him. He covered her hand with his and gently pulled away. “You can’t ask me to walk away from this.”

“I can. And I do.”

But he kept walking. He’d have to trust she’d be safe with her people. Safe enough for now, at any rate. Storming back to the beach, Thorvald found Ozrik. “Seems we’re to fight again.”

“Let them come.” Ozrik sneered, his gaze never leaving the warriors jumping out of their ships and walking through the white-capped waves. “I’m ready.”

Thorvald scanned the men. There was no time to prepare. No time to paint their faces or work themselves into a frenzy.

Like Ozrik, they were ready. Days of sailing had left them ragged, but fire burned behind their eyes. Their weapons were raised, their shields were up. As the jarl’s hired men stalked closer, they began to shout. The sound resonated through the land—seemed to call down the gods from farthest reaches of earth and sky.

“If they’re half so eager for this fight as I am…” Thorvald gripped the handle of his sword and drew the blade out slowly, his body’s awareness of the sharp metal blade increasing with every breath he took. “We’ll give them a good fight.”

His companion nodded. “And earn our places in Valhalla.”

Thorvald chanced a glance backward. She was already gone, the vulnerable members of her people having vanished behind the wall of bare trunks.

His stomach was hollow. What she said was true. If he and his men died, it was only a matter of time before the jarl and his hired warriors…

A thick lump formed in Thorvald’s throat. They might all be dead before the sun set. The victor would leave no enemy alive, and right now, the numbers were not in their favor. Even with the local men, there weren’t enough of them.

He fought the images away and remembered the look on her face. Thorvald raised his sword and shouted. “We’ll paint the shore red with their blood.”