“I think so,” Brynjar looked towards the shore.
“You’re not going to the meeting point alone,” Strian’s voice left no room for the boy to argue.
“He’s not going at all,” Gressa broke in. “It’s not safe, and you are not yet ready to fight in a battle like this. You must help Freund and the other barrel men guard the boats. Several of the warriors will stay with you. Brynjar, your job is among the most important. If anything happens to the fleet, we will be trapped here. And there is one more thing that I need you to guard.”
Gressa looked down at the cloak that filled her arms before she looked at Strian. His hand ran over her hair and along her back, encouraging her to continue. “Brynjar, this is the son Strian and I lost all those years ago. They denied him his proper burial instead placed in a Christian grave. We are taking him home, so his spirit can rest at last.”
The boy looked at the bundle Gressa settled on the seat beside the rudder. He looked at the couple, seeing the pain they shared, and despite his young age, he understood their grief.
“I shall guard my cousin. No one will come near him and live. I will be the guardian of his body and his soul.” Brynjar seemed to grow with those few words, and his voice deepened with the sense of duty that filled him.
“Thank you,” the couple murmured before they both took one last look at the small form on the bench then stepped onto the shore.
In less than an hour, they scattered the entire combined forces throughout the ruins, hidden in the tall grass and the remaining rubble. Little was said, and no one moved as the time ticked by. It was early evening when at last the signal was given that ships had been spotted. Gressa and Strian lay next to one another not far from Ivar and Lena. Freya and Erik lay near his parents on another stretch of earth that faced the approaching boats, and Bjorn and Tyra had climbed into the trees with the other archers. Several of the Welsh bowmen had scrambled over the rubble and found elevated places from which to shoot. Gressa was uncertain whether these Welshmen would fire upon their fellow countrymen who would arrive with Grímr, but she was confident they would shoot Grímr or any of the foreigners they resented arriving on their shores to disrupt their homes and their lives. Sigrid remained hidden in Freya’s cabin while Leif lay on the far side of Ivar and Lena.
The first sounds of boats coming to a halt floated up the hillside then the splashes of men wading ashore followed. Voices carried through the still air, and Grímr’s voice rose above the others.
“Find the boy and find the chests. We gather those before we continue to Gwynedd. I’ll have that fool’s hidden stash and will pay him with his own goods. Then we’ll put an end to Ivar and Rangvald. They cannot be far behind us now.”
Ivar raised his hand and made a slicing signal forward. The Norsemen and Highlanders rose to their feet.
“We are not that far in front of you!” Ivar roared.
The Highlanders beat their sword hilts against their targes, dark blue woad covering their faces, leaving only the whites of their eyes to gleam as the sunlight softened towards dusk. The Norse formed their shield wall, and the Highlanders found their places among it, having learned from fighting more than one battle alongside people they thought once to call their enemy.
“Grímr!” Rangvald taunted. “There is nothing left to make us think your cock is bigger than your pinky. We have your gold and coins. We have killed or captured your sons. You have no home to go back to. And your ally in Gwynedd is dead. You are a man who has been cut down at the knees. You are but half a man, a half the Valkyries will fly right past. The rest will shit on your remains. Your place shall be to wallow in Helheim, left in darkness and agony, while all who live know you as a níðingr, a man with no honor. A man no other will respect nor revere. Nornar has chosen this place, this moment for your death. Will you accept it as a man or pish yourself like a child?”
Rangvald’s laughter echoed behind the shield wall, but his taunts did what he intended. Grímr roared and ordered his men forward. Rangvald and Ivar ordered their shield wall remain. They waited as Grímr’s forces advanced up the hill while Rangvald and Ivar called for them to hold. When Gressa could see their enemy was halfway up the rise, she tapped Strian’s shoulder. He moved his shield aside enough for her to aim her bow through the gap. She awaited Ivar’s order, and when she heard it, she released her arrow, lodging in a man’s belly. It was the signal the other archers had been awaiting. Arrows flew from every direction and rained down on Grímr’s forces. As they continued to push their way uphill, they left their backs open to the archers they had not noticed passing. Grímr’s shield wall shifted and rippled as a mixture of Norsemen, Highlanders, and Welshmen attempted to remain a unified force with no one to communicate among them all.
“For Valhalla!” Ivar’s order rang across the field of battle as the Norse and Highlanders charged forward, using their elevation to their advantage. They barreled into Grímr’s warriors, knocking them backwards, many falling then rolling as arrows whizzed by and found flesh to embed in. Gressa used her bow until her quiver was almost empty. She stayed beside Strian, part of her always touching him, reassuring them both that she did not fall behind. As the two shield walls collided, the melee began in full force. It was each warrior for themselves, and Strian fought back to back with Gressa. They had trained together to fight like this long ago but had never had the chance. Now they moved as a beast with two bodies but one mind. Their movements were synchronized and in tandem as they cut through one enemy after another.
Gressa spun in time to see an archer aim for Strian. She lunged and tackled him around the waist, pushing him to the ground. His body absorbed most of the brunt, but he pinned Gressa’s hands beneath them.
“Gressa?”
“Arrow,” she panted. “You eat too much.”
She fought to free her trapped hands and shook them before picking up her sword and shield. Strian followed her, using his shield to protect them both as they picked a position near Freya and Erik. The battle waged on, and more of Grímr’s forces fell, but never him. He evaded each warrior who set their sights on killing him. Gressa caught sight of him several times from the corner of her eye, her rage growing each time she realized he was still alive. She fought one enemy after another, indiscriminate of their origin only with the singular goal in mind to defeat Grímr. Strian slayed a man who dared leer at Gressa before charging at her. She spun around and found herself face to face with Grímr.
“You have come to me yet again.” Grímr tried to reach out to grab Gressa’s arm, but she was quicker, her knife slashing across his forearm. “Bitch, I will kill you for that. After you suck my cock once more. What you can do with that pretty mouth of yours.”
Gressa hurled a wad of spit onto his face.
“That is what my mouth can do for you.”
Grímr roared as he launched his attack. He fought with no finesse and no plan. Gressa could easily read his next movement before Grímr even seemed to decide what to do. She ran her sword blade into the flesh and bone beneath his collarbone. Blood geysered from the large puncture wound. As it splattered her face, Gressa licked around her mouth.
“Your blood tastes far better than your seed. Perhaps that is what I shall drink tonight.”
She lunged again and sliced her sword across the thigh that still bore a wound received many months earlier. Grímr sank to the ground no longer able to bear his weight. Gressa moved around him, and kicked his back, forcing him flat onto the ground.
“I would run you through, kill you right here and now, but I have a better idea for you. Perhaps Jarl Ivar and Jarl Rangvald will even allow me to do the honors.”
Gressa brought the hilt of her sword down on Grímr’s temple, turning his world to black. Once his eyes slid shut, and she was sure he would not be moving again, she looked up to see Strian watching her. He had been guarding her as she fought Grímr. He had once told her he would give her the chance to kill Grímr if he could.
“I have a better way to make him suffer than a clean, quick death. I will hear his screams ring through the air as mine did in my head each and every time he forced me near him.”
Strian nodded and whistled a call to signal that they defeated the enemy. The Norsemen and women killed the last of their opponents while the Highlanders rounded up their injured and dead. Ivar and Rangvald made their way to where Gressa continued to stand with her foot on Grímr’s back.
