‘Take my hand, Haelan,’ Tahir said, and he did, was swung up into the saddle, and Haelan was hugging his shieldman tight, then they were riding, Pots running alongside them. There were other riders about them, warriors from the hold who had ridden with Tahir and Wulf in search of Swain and Sif. Haelan caught a glimpse of Swain and Sif in the saddle of another horse, and Wulf, leaping from his saddle, staring at the shattered gates of his home, tears streaking his cheeks. Wulf looked back at his children as they rode away from the hold, then he turned and strode through the smoke-wreathed gates. Haelan tried to tell Tahir, but all that came out was a sob, then everything became a blur for him, the wind whipping tears of his own from his eyes.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

ULFILAS

Ulfilas kicked his horse on, sword arm rising and falling, the man running from him crashing to the ground in a tangle of boneless limbs. All about him his warriors were swarming, the courtyard seething with combat, riders spilling around the sides of the feast-hall where Gramm’s men were starting to break and run. Behind him a bear bellowed, making his head rattle inside his helmet.

Would I stand against such a foe? He was glad that he did not have to find out, and respected these men of Gramm’s who stood against such overwhelming odds. That didn’t stop him killing them, though.

He saw a knot of them rallying about a bear, the one whose rider Gramm had killed. Six or seven men were forming a crude half-circle, one stepping in to stab with his spear, the bear lunging at him as he jumped away, another moving close on the other side, bloodying the animal again, enraging it.

That is the way to kill a bear, usually. Wear it down, bleed it until it’s weak. But not bears like this – it would take a moon to weaken that beast.

Ulfilas spurred his horse on and rode at the men about the bear, slashed one across the skull, the warrior’s iron helm ringing as he dropped, dead or unconscious. They turned on him and Ulfilas dragged on his reins, his horse rearing, hooves lashing, sending men stumbling back into the range of the enraged bear. A paw whistled through the air and a man fell, eviscerated, another caught in its huge jaws, ripping flesh and crushing bone. The survivors broke and scattered. Ulfilas allowed himself a satisfied grin, until he saw the bear lumbering towards him.

He felt his horse panicking beneath him, shying away, and he had to yank on the reins to bring it under control, the bear looming closer.

Then another bear filled the gap between them, the Jotun warlord Ildaer upon it. He shouted words in giantish at the enraged bear. It seemed to calm, marginally.

‘He is mad with grief, his rider slain,’ Ildaer said to him.