Enar muttered a curse, then twisted in his saddle. “Hurry them!” he shouted at his men, who responded by thumping their spear staves on the women’s backs.

I wanted to curse too. I had deliberately brought a small number down the hill, relying on surprise to give us an advantage in the fight I knew lay ahead, but now the ten of us would face thirteen. I saw that all four of the approaching horsemen wore the gray wolf-pelt cloaks. Were they the úlfhéðnar? They rode fine horses, wore bright mail beneath the pelts, and had helmets crested with wolf tails. Their leader, or at least the man at their head, rode a tall black stallion, had a long fair beard, and his helmet was chased with silver. He looked young, but he had an arrogant confidence that spoke either of noble birth or early achievement. “If you can’t keep up,” he called to Enar as he came closer, “we’ll abandon you. Make the bitches move faster!”

“We’re trying, lord,” Enar answered.

“Then try harder. Kill the ugliest bitch as an example.” He reined in and frowned at me. “Who are you?”

“Folkmar, lord,” I answered humbly.

He must have noted the quality of my bridle, mail, and helmet. “Where are you from? I haven’t seen you before.”

“The Ribbel, lord.”

“He’s Arnborg’s uncle, lord,” Enar put in helpfully.

“Arnborg’s uncle was killed at—” the young man began, then snatched at his sword. I had already begun to draw Serpent-Breath and she was quicker from the scabbard than his blade, but he was fast. I swept the sword back-handed, but the young man ducked and spurred, and Serpent-Breath cut uselessly into his wolf-tail crest. He back-handed too, his blade striking my back, but without enough force to cut the mail beneath my cloak. He was on my right, but on my left one of his companions tried to ram his horse into Tintreg. The man’s sword was half drawn as I cut Serpent-Breath across his face, starting blood. I spurred forward, turned back to my right to see the young man in the silvered helmet was close behind. He was fast, he was good. I began a second back-swing as he lunged his sword at my side, and that lunge should have pierced my mail and driven deep into my belly, and the only thing that saved me was his horse stepping on one of the big stones that edged the road. The horse staggered sideways, the young man’s lunge went wide, and Serpent-Breath struck the back of his helmet hard. The blade split the metal and cracked into bone. I had a glimpse of blood and white bone, then the young man toppled from his rich saddle.