They came upon the islanders suddenly, in a narrow divide between two low hills, where a boggy stream flowed down. A man with a spear, two more behind him, bows drawn, more at the rear, red, green, blue tunics, fierce dark eyes, leather helms. Eyvind looked at Grim; Grim looked at Holgar. As one they opened their mouths and roared; as one they charged, and the others followed. Thor’s voice rang clear and strong in Eyvind’s head as he advanced, Strike hard, my son! Burn bright for me! Biter swung and fell, chopped and smote, true and final. Around Eyvind’s whirling form men screamed, swords glinted in the light, shields splintered, arrows whistled in air and landed with the dull thud of barb piercing flesh. At such times a Wolfskin knows only the red mist of the god’s will. Yet somehow, today was different. Eyvind saw Grim take a man’s legs off at the knees, and finish him with the handle of his war hammer. He saw Holgar split one fellow near in half. Every man played his part, even those who had been seamen once, and now fought the only way they knew, hard and dirty. But the islanders battled on. Though plainly outclassed, they showed no signs of retreating. And they had done some damage of their own. One of the men from the knarr lay moaning on his back, both hands pressed tight to his belly. Another had fallen face down into the muddy water underfoot; his neck seemed to be broken. Now there were fewer of the enemy on their feet, a mere handful. They should cut their losses and run, Eyvind thought. Why don’t they run?

The fighting moved away from him; Holgar was engaged with two fellows who alternated sword thrusts, trying to get under his guard. It was clear to Eyvind that the Wolfskin was only playing with them. Grim wrestled with two more, who had been foolish enough to think they might relieve him of his hammer. Farther up the stream, three islanders stood back to back, weapons at the ready, in a last desperate effort at resistance. Eyvind’s other men had formed a circle and were closing in around them. The islanders were doomed. Why hadn’t they run away?