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Brenda had her sword in her hand, and her eyes darted in front of her, ready to defend against the slightest movement. There was a rush of air as an arrow flew by her head, narrowly missing her. Moments later, there was a roar as three warriors came crashing out through the trees, leaving a mess of broken branches and crushed leaves behind them. Douglas and Brenda cried as they raised their swords and fought back to back. Steel clashed as the Vikings surrounded them. The impact of the blows reverberated down Brenda’s arm, and sweat began to trickle down her temples. The Vikings were brutish warriors, packed with muscle and snarling like wild animals. Another arrow flew through the air and embedded itself in the ground beside her feet.

“I need to go and take care of that archer. Can you handle these?” she asked.

Douglas nodded.

Brenda shrieked and went on the offensive, driving one of the Vikings back with a flurry of strikes. Her blade was so fast it created a blurring movement in the air, and the Viking only just about managed to deflect the blows. But instead of going for the killing blow, she twisted around and started to spring away in the direction of the archer, leaving Douglas behind. She could hear the sound of clashing steel, and she prayed that he would be able to hold on long enough for her to go back and fight alongside him again.

Her heart pounded as she sped across the small field, making her way to the trees.

“Come here, you wee bastard!” she cried out in a loud voice. She saw a shadow as an arrow flew toward her. This time, the aim was true, but she was equal to it. With more instinct than anything else, she raised her sword with two hands and slashed the arrow as it came through the air. Growling, she increased her speed and saw movement as the archer tried to scurry up one of the trees, hoping to find sanctuary amongst the foliage. One hand was on a branch, and he was just about to pull himself up when Brenda reached him. She grabbed the scruff of his neck and yanked him down. He crashed to the ground and rose, clutching a dagger.

“You will find that no match for me,” she said, and swung her sword. The Viking managed to catch one of the blows with the dagger, but Brenda brought the sword down, sliding the blade against the archer’s hands. He cried out in pain, and the dagger dropped to the ground. Brenda brought the sword down in a swift motion, cutting through the archer’s hands. He howled in pain, but his pain was short-lived as Brenda twisted her wrists and plunged the sword into his chest, pinning him against the tree that would have been his sanctuary. When she pulled the sword out, he slumped to the ground, a mess of guts and blood and a lifeless face.

A cry of pain distracted her. When she peered in the distance, she could see that Douglas was holding his shoulder. She cursed under her breath and quickly thought about her options. She glanced down at the archer and relieved him of his bow and arrow. She sheathed her sword for the moment and held the bow in front of her, stretching back the bowstring until it was taut. She took her measure and felt the wind and then let the arrow fly. Almost as soon as it left the bow, she dropped the weapon by its owner’s feet and then sprinted back until her lungs were burning.

Douglas was in awe as he watched Brenda duel with the Viking and make her breakaway, sprinting toward the archer. Arrows could be devilish things, and the last thing he needed was to be killed by an arrow to the head while he was focused on defending himself against swords. But he relished the battle. It had been so long since he had been able to fight the Vikings without chains around his ankles and manacles around his wrists or without hunger in his belly. All throughout his captivity, they had humiliated him and beaten him, taunted him for being a weak Viking, and he had never been able to take his revenge because he had never been strong enough.

Well, now he was.

He roared as his blood sang with fury. He and his blade were one, striking fluidly. His muscles cried in triumph as he remembered things that had not been put into practice for a long time, but they had been so ingrained in his memory that it came back to him as easily as breathing.

The Vikings came toward him, all three of them, and Douglas pushed them all back. He was in a frenzy. He cut and slashed and thrust at them, urging them to come at him again. He twisted away from their strikes, and as every moment passed, he started to reclaim more of what he had lost. These Vikings were nameless to him, but they were avatars of Gorm, representative of everything that had twisted his mind and drained his heart of hope. He burned with fury, and he was willing to fight for his last breath, but suddenly he realized that he didn’t want to take his last breath.

It turned out there were things he wanted to live for after all.

He brought his sword down in a firm strike, but as he did so, one of the Vikings managed to slash at his shoulder. Douglas cried out and clutched the wound, feeling warm blood seep through his fingers. He looked up and saw a sword about to cut his head off. He stepped back, although he wasn’t sure it would be enough to escape this deadly fate, but then the Viking wielding the sword dropped dead. An arrow was embedded in his back. The other two Vikings seemed stunned at this, and Douglas smiled savagely. He beat his chest and then lunged forward, fighting with even more vigor than before.

Moments later, Brenda returned. She was sweaty, and her sword was covered in blood, but he was convinced that there had never been a more beautiful woman in the world. She came to him again, and they resumed fighting side by side. She thrust while he parried; he struck when she ducked to evade a blow. They moved in harmony, as though they knew what the other was going to do. It was like a dance, it was like their kiss, and they soon made short work of the other Vikings. They plunged their swords forward at the same time, and their enemies dropped. They turned to look at each other, chests heaving, blood streaming through them. Brenda’s eyes sparkled with the lust for battle, and Douglas knew that no matter what else he did in life, he couldn’t let this woman walk away from him.

“You are wounded,” Brenda said with a hint of worry in her voice as she saw his shoulder.

Douglas shrugged off the pain. “It’s merely a flesh wound,” he said.

Brenda ripped off some fabric from her own clothes and wrapped it around his shoulder to try and stem the flow of blood, tending to his wounds just as she had done the first day they had met. Douglas felt guilty that the whole thing had been a pretense, but something real had been born from it. There was no denying what he felt in his heart now.

“Shall we get back to the battle? I imagine there will be some people who are eager to see you,” she said.

They rushed toward the main village and saw the last forays of battle. The men of the Bannerman clan fought alongside the villagers and some of the Hoffstad clan as well. Douglas watched in awe as the elder and younger Erik fought alongside each other, looking as much like father and son as they did uncle and nephew. The spirit of Ragnar was certainly with them today. Vikings continued to pour from the boat, but the numbers were becoming sparse. Arrows peppered the hull of the boat, and there were dead Vikings laying beside it with arrows protruding from their bodies. Brenda and Douglas charged in, holding their swords high, and their appearance helped demoralize the Vikings further.

They made their way to the leaders of the Hoffstad clan, for they were fighting with Gorm. Douglas burned with anger at the man who had been the source of all his misery and pain, who was now on his knees.

“This is madness! You can’t think you’ll possibly be victorious. The gods are with me. Asgard is with me! I shall not fail you, Father! I shall finish all you have done!” he screamed, his eyes filled with madness.

As the battle died down, Lucas and Seamus came toward them as well. The Norse Vikings had been defeated, and there was much rejoicing around the village. Douglas ignored the pain in his shoulder, preferring instead to realize that he was finally free.