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ship now that Jarl Randver’s fleet had come within range of Jarl Harald’s. These arrows would cause little harm to either side, though, for men had their shields up and those limewood planks now began to sprout feathered shafts.
    Harald’s men were still lashing his vessels together as Jarl Randver’s ship came within range for the strongest men on either side to hurl their spears, which often had some good effect because a good spear with good muscle behind it could crack a shield and leave a man defenceless, at least until a new one could be taken up.
    Randver’s other ships were backing oars now, giving their jarl room to manoeuvre, to bring his prow, which bristled with his best warriors, up to
Reinen
’s prow where Slagfid stood with a spear in one hand, his great long-axe in the other and his helmet glinting in the sun. It was no easy thing, not even on a sleeping sea, to get those prows kissing, but Randver’s oarsmen knew their work and Sigurd’s hand clutched the spear tighter still as the thump of the bows carried up to them on the bluff and a great roar from both crews filled the still day.
    Randver’s prow man was too eager to make his fame and as he lowered his shield, pulling back his arm to hurl a hand axe, Slagfid cast his spear with the speed and fury of Thór’s lightning and it ripped through the prow man’s throat in a spray of gore, embedding in the shield of the man behind.
    ‘Slagfid!’ Svein roared as those on the bluff cheered and Jarl Harald’s men beat their swords, spears and axes against their shields with pride for their champion. The dead man was hauled away and the warrior who took his place was wise to keep his shield high, but Slagfid had killed more men than were on Randver’s ship and this would be simply one more. Gripping the huge axe in two hands he reared up like a bear, bringing the axe over his head in a great, death-promising arc, and the blade sliced into the warrior’s shield, the lower horn cleaving the shield in two, the upper horn cutting through the man’s collar bone and tearing down into his breast and trunk, splitting him like oak.
    They cheered again, and then again when Slagfid hooked the next man’s shield and leant back, hauling him over the top strake into the sea where he flailed, crushed between the ships’ bellies. But Sigurd held his tongue and looked to
Fjord-Wolf
’s stern because he knew what would happen then if Jarl Randver was any type of leader at all. Sure enough the jarl was striding forward now, flanked by retainers with shields raised before him as he sought to let the sight of him raise his men to greater deeds.
    The other men at the prows were jabbing with spears and probing with long-axes and some archers were climbing up onto the sheer strakes to loose their arrows from deadly range, but it was Slagfid who was doing the real killing. And yet Randver’s other ships were like hounds desperate to get their teeth into the prey and one of them came alongside
Little-Elk
, hauling in their port-side oars quickly before the hulls banged together and Randver’s men shot arrows and hurled spears as others threw grappling hooks into
Little-Elk
’s thwarts. These men put the rope around their backs and pulled with all their strength, bringing the ships together in the hope that their weight of numbers would see them clear
Little-Elk
’s decks.
    But
Little-Elk
’s crew had other ideas and they presented a wall of shields the length of the karvi, a second row thrusting spears over heads and through the gaps. Asgot the godi was aboard her and he was as good with a spear as he was with the runes. Her skipper, a man named Solveig, was probably as old as the greybeard up there on the bluff but he was a solid fighting man who had earned Harald’s trust. The chances were Solveig would need help from
Reinen
at some point, but he would not ask for it before it was absolutely needed and Harald knew it. If Harald could kill Randver before that