She held Bragi a moment. Did he die well?

He hated the misdirection. Stabbed in the back. By Bjorn.

Emotion distorted her features momentarily. And in that instant Bragi glimpsed what others feared. The fires of Hell shone through her eyes.

Go! she ordered.

Heart pounding, Bragi led the charge. Fifteen feet separated him from his enemies. Three rebels had no chance to defend themselves. But Hjarlma was as quick as death and Bjorn only a split second slower. The Thane rose like a killer whale from the deeps, dumped a table in Bragis path, hurled himself to where Ragnars battle trophies hung. He seized an axe.

Regaining his feet, Bragi realized that the surprise was spent. Hjarlma and Bjorn were ready to fight. Haaken, Sigurd and Soren were already in the loft. That left only himself and Sturla Ormsson, a man well past his prime, to face two of Trolledyngjas most wicked fighters.

The cubs as mad as his sire, Hjarlma observed, turning a swordstroke with ease. Dont get yourself killed, boy. Inger would never forgive me. His remark was a sad commentary on the nature of Man. Had the Old King not died unexpectedly, Hjarlma would have become Bragis father-in-law. The arrangements had been made last summer.

Dont think, Bragi told himself. Dont listen. Old Sven and his father had beaten those lessons into him with blunted swords. Dont talk back. Either remain absolutely silent or, as Ragnar did, bellow a lot.

Hjarlma knew Ragnars style well. They had fought side by side too many times. He handled it easily in the Wolfs son.

Bragi entertained no illusions. The Thane was bigger, stronger, craftier and had far more experience than he. His sole goal became to survive till Haaken had finished in the loft.

Sturla had the same idea, but Bjorn was too quick for him. The traitors blade broke through his guard. He staggered back.

Two pairs of ice-blue eyes stared into Bragis own.

Kill the pup, Bjorn growled. His fear was plain to hear.

As stately as one of the caravels the longships pursued down the southern coasts, Helga glided between them.

Stand aside, witch woman.

Helga locked gazes with the Thane. Her lips moved without speaking Hjarlma did not back down, but neither did he press. She turned to Bjorn. The traitor went pale, could not meet her terrible eyes.

Haaken jumped from the loft, snatched a spear from a far wall. Soren and Sigurd came down by the ladder, but nearly as fast.

Time has run out, Hjarlma observed laconically. We have to go. He directed Bjorn to the door. Shouldve expected them to slip the picket. He whipped his axe past Helga, struck the sword from Bragis hand, creased the youths cheek on the backstroke. Be more civil when I return, boy. Or be gone.

Bragi sighed as the wings of death withdrew. Hjarlma had done all he dared because of old friendship.