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crouched, leaning to the side, then sprang forward and brought his axe down so hard on the man’s head that it split him to the jaw and his teeth spilled out on the ground.
    This was too much for Mord. Before Gunnar could regain his balance, he dashed past him, leapt on his horse, and galloped off. An instant later, Gunnar was on his own mount, and, followed by both our thralls, was pounding after him down the beach and out of sight.
    Their other man, deciding that this fight was no business of his, threw down his gaff and ran away.
    Which left me and Brand face to face.
    He was taller than me by a head, and he held a long-handled axe that he had been using to carve the whale.
    â€œAre you coming down, Brand Hrutsson,” I shouted, “or must I come up?” It sounded like a fine, brave thing to say.
    â€œEither way, Blackie, it’s more meat for my axe!”
    I threw a stone, which struck him on the shoulder. He gave a shout, jumped down from the whale’s back, and ran at me.
    His axe head whistled past my face, missing me by an inch. I sprang back in pure terror. Then, with one swooping cut after another, he drove me backwards into the water until both of us were thigh deep in the surf and there was nowhere left to run. He coiled himself for another swing.
    The thought flashed through my mind that I was about to die and that my life, so far, had been nothing to boast of. As the axe came down, I shut my eyes and dashed in low, grappling him around the chest. The force of his swing threw us both off our feet and down we went, rolling over together in the churning water.
    Then it was hands, knees, and teeth. I bit his hand, making him let go the axe, but he kicked free of me and we came up spluttering and pawing our hair from our eyes. He pulled his sword and waded in close, cut at me once, and again. I still had my sword in hand and, half-blinded by the streaming water, struck out wildly with it.
    Neck-Biter bit deep. Brand’s head lolled sideways, and, turning around, he took five steps toward the shore before he pitched over on his face.
    I sank down beside him in the reddening sea-foam.
    A little time passed while I sat in the water, my chest heaving and my limbs shaking. Then, hearing the thud of hoofs on the sand, I looked up to see Gunnar and the thralls coming back.
    â€œTangle-Hair!” cried my brother, throwing himself down at the water’s edge.
    â€œIt’s all right, I’m not hurt.”
    â€œLook at you.”
    I hadn’t noticed. Brand’s point had gone deep into my left biceps when he lunged at me, and the blood was dripping from my fingertips. As I looked, pain lanced me like a hot needle.
    â€œMord?” I asked, when I got my breath.
    â€œToo fast for me. And I didn’t care to chase him all the way to Hrutsstead, they keep a small army there. We can’t stay here in the open.” Looking from me to Brand and back again, he gave a low whistle. “I wish I’d seen it.”
    â€œI fought like a plowboy. I was scared out of my wits.”
    â€œBrother,” he laughed, “any fool can be fearless, just look at me.” He touched Brand’s body with his foot. “There’s a funeral gift for our sister, paid for with your fear. There’s nothing dearer bought than that. Cut his head the rest of the way off. Go on, do it! Skidi Dung-Beetle,”—he motioned to one of our thralls—“give us your cloak to wrap it in.”
    Gunnar sawed off the cloven head of the man called Bork, and together we hurriedly covered the two corpses with stones, as the law requires. That done, we mounted and rode away, stopping only at the farmstead we had passed earlier that morning to give notice of our killings, which the law also demands.
    The sun was low when we slid wearily from our saddles in the yard of Thorvaldsstead. Jorunn Ship-Breast watched us from the doorway.
    â€œWhat have my sons done?”
    We tossed the