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leader could shout before the ax slammed down on his head. His skull split with a wet crack and a jet of blood arced onto Ulfrik's arms. He let the ax go and pounded Thorgest into the ground.
    "So I've stopped," he said over the corpse. "Now I'll have back what you've stolen."
    He retrieved his sword and scabbard, then lifted the chain from Thorgest's neck after he had wrenched the ax out of Thorgest's skull. A search through his gore soaked clothes yielded the silver amulet of Thor's hammer given him by Gytha, as well as two others. "Seems the Storm God had no affection for you," he said as he stashed the other amulets. He would have to return later, for now he had to help Finn.
    He did not return the way he had come. Finn's final destination lay to the west, and Ulfrik loped through the trees to where he expected to find Finn celebrating his kills. There were no sounds of battle, which was encouraging, but he approached the area with caution. The small clearing appeared in the trees and he saw Finn against a tree with no one else. Before him, the covered pit they had dug for days was now open.
    "It worked!" Ulfrik shouted, exiting from the trees. Finn waved a tired hand at him but said nothing. "That was brilliant shooting. Reminded me of my old friend Snorri in his younger days. That man could shoot. Let's see what you caught."
    He jogged to the pit and looked inside. Four bodies were impaled on stakes, three were dead and another struggled in silence with a stake that had impaled him through his left side. "Hey, no need to let this one suffer."
    Looking up at Finn, he froze in horror.
    Finn's clothes were soaked with blood. His freckles stood out in sharp contrast to the whiteness of his flesh. He gave a weak smile. "One of them threw a spear and cut my leg. It's not bad. What's wrong?"
    Ulfrik schooled his expression, knowing full well any panic on his part would worsen Finn's condition. He drew a breath and smiled. "Seems like a scratch, but let's have a look at it."
    "I almost missed the log we set over the pit. Could you imagine if I fell into my own trap?"
    "I'd not let you live it down." Ulfrik gingerly peeled back Finn's shirt, finding the cut on his side and continuing around to his back.
    "Wish I could've seen them fall in there, but I was busy running. Then a lucky bastard stuck my leg."
    As far as Ulfrik could see, Finn's leg was unhurt. He gently leaned Finn forward and saw the ragged gash over his kidney. Had the throw been true, Finn would have died instantly.
    "See, it's not bad." Finn's voice was already weakening, as if he were falling asleep.
    Ulfrik nodded as he stripped off his cloak to cut bandages. The wound was deep and long, flowing blood at a steady rate. Finn was right: the wound was not bad.
    It was deadly.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Runa kept her head lowered in the hall, moving among servants whose expressions ranged from surprise to pity. The five hirdmen loafing at a table did not see her at all, drinking and either rolling dice or betting on their friends. Their brittle laughter made Runa's hands tremble with rage. There had been a time only six years past when she had been regarded with respect. Most of Ulfrik's hird had gone to Einar's hold, and the men Konal recruited had been selected for their drinking tolerance rather than military power. She scowled at them lost in their gambling, her cheek stinging in answer.
    "Lady Runa, your face?" A woman, Groa, who had been a servant to Runa since her time in Nye Grenner, intercepted Runa as she crossed the hall. She was a few years older than Runa, but toil had grayed her hair and lined her face. Her rough hand reached out to tilt Runa's head into the light, and she sucked her breath as it did.
    "Not now," Runa said. "I just want to get some air."
    Groa frowned. "How's your sight? Blurry?"
    "No more so than yesterday. Please, I'll be fine. It looks worse than it feels." As if to deny Runa's lie, a