Firehead moved closer; he lifted his hook. Eyvind stood still, noose now ready in his hand, awaiting the single moment when it might be slipped on safely. The hook would not hold the bull for long. The creature’s small eyes moved from one man to the other and back again. Eyvind glanced at Firehead, and Firehead gave a little nod, Now.

“Why don’t you use a spear and kill the creature?” The voice was Somerled’s, clear and logical. “That way you can keep your distance, and we all stay safe.”

“Get out of the way, you fool!” Eyvind snapped, alarmed that his friend had been foolish enough to come so close; he stood on the opposite side, barely out of reach of those flying hooves. Somerled didn’t know a thing about handling stock. “Let Sigurd get in there, he has to hold the head still while I put this on. If you think I’m stupid enough to slaughter Ulf’s stud bull you’re mistaken. Now shut up and let us get on with this.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed; it lowered its head as if to charge.

“Hoo now, hoo now,” Eyvind repeated softly, knowing this creature was beyond being reassured thus, but saying it anyway, for at least it kept the bull’s attention on him and off the others. “Hoo now, bonny one.” That fraying rope was the only thing stopping the bull from coming straight at him; there was blind terror in those crazy eyes. “Hoo now, my bold one.” For an instant, the creature held still; this was the moment. Firehead stretched out with the hook. Eyvind had the noose in place to slip over the horns. Then everything went mad. There was a furious bellow and a whirl of chaotic movement. Hooves flew, wood splintered, the bull’s head swung to the side in a violent jerk that snapped the last tether, and it was free. The great horns swept across this way, that way, and entered Firehead’s chest as easily as a knife pierces a ripe pear. Eyvind stood frozen in shock as the creature lifted Firehead bodily from the deck, cruelly suspended on that spear of horn. Then, in a single great swing of its head, the bull set its burden free, tossing the redhaired man clean over the knarr’s side and out into the heaving swell of the ocean. Firehead had made no sound at all, save for a grunt of surprise as the horn took him; death had granted him no chance to tell his story, or call on his gods. He was gone in an eye-blink. The bull pawed the deck and lowered its head again; its horns were stained bright red. But Eyvind’s axe was already in his hand. There was no choice now. His single blow struck true, cleaving the skull between the small, furious eyes, and Ulf’s best breeding bull fell lifeless on the splintered deck. Its end was as quick as the man’s. If Eyvind knew anything, it was how to kill cleanly.