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Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

As I watched, Wistan reached his father. Eafa was cowering behind his shield and jabbing at his attacker’s bearded face. The Norseman might be armed only with the hand axe that he had snatched from his first foe, but he was fast, and he was strong. Lashing out with his left hand, the warrior gripped the spear haft and twisted it away from him.

Eafa stumbled back, trying to avoid the sudden threat of the short axe. Losing his footing in the clinging mud, he sprawled, floundering and flailing in the water. The Norseman waded forward to deliver the killing blow against this carpenter who had dared defy him.

“No!” screamed Wistan, surging forward to protect his father.

Wistan was brave and his actions saved his father’s life. The Norseman’s axe clattered against his outstretched shield. But from where I was hurrying to join the fight, battling against the chill tug of the deep water, I could see that Wistan was over-extended. By defending his father, he had left his body open to attack. Any warrior could see this. Wistan was brave, but he was no warrior. The Norseman before him was a trained killer, and instantly shifted his focus from the older spear-man to the sword-wielding youth. Seeing how Wistan was off-balance and unprotected, the Norseman hacked down with the axe. The axe’s blade bit deep into Wistan’s chest and he threw both his arms wide in shock, as if he meant to embrace his attacker.

Before the Norseman could strike again, I shoved Wistan away with my shield. He splashed into his father, but I could not rip my gaze from the bearded man before me. Fresh blood dripped from his axe. Seeing me, he grinned, as if glad to have another adversary. All about us was a maelstrom of destruction, and this man was smiling.

I swallowed my fear, and bared my teeth, showing the Norseman that he faced a warrior now. I held my sword high, over the rim of my shield. It was stained red with the blood of his countryman.

“Ready for the hall of the slain?” I said in his native tongue. Runolf had often told me of the beliefs of his people, and how they thought they would be carried to Valhöll upon their deaths in battle.

The man’s eyes widened at my words. But he quickly recovered. With a glance at the wreckage around us and the corpses bobbing in the churned water, the Norseman met my gaze and licked his lips.

“You think you are man enough to send me to Óðinn’s hall?” He spat into the water. “We shall see.”