Men and women streamed out of the Great Hall and into the open space outside.
The makeshift camps were torn down and the space cleared in the span of a few heartbeats.
Only a sprawling sheet of white ice lay before them, surrounded by the eager faces that had formed a circle around it.
Thorson reached up and unclasped his cloak just as a man patted his shoulder from behind.
He turned to find Ragnar Lothbrok the notorious Norse an standing next to Torstein.
“He will start with brute force,” Ragnar whispered.
“He will want to finish you fast and gloat.
You have the height advantage use it”
It was true.
Even at sixteen, Thorson was easily among the tallest of those gathered.
“Wear him down.
Use your long arms to strike out of his range…” The Norseman frowned, staring at the huge axe.
“Have you used that before?” Ragnar asked uncertainly.
Thorson forced a smile as he tightened his hand on the axe.
He swung it from hand to hand, testing the responsiveness of his grip.
His hands had grown numb from the cold they had travelled through.
The fire inside the Great Hall had done little to stir his blood.
“Aye, I have,” he said, his eyes quickly falling on the boy about his age who stood behind Ragnar, staring at him in awe.
That was Bjorn, Ragnar’s son.
Despite the fear that assailed his heart, Thorson forced a look of determination.
At least there was someone who thought him brave and not foolish.
“You are foolish, you know that,” Bjorn said, as if reading his mind.
Thorson smiled.
“Aye, that I know.”
The boy reached out and patted his shoulder easily.
“Father wants to teach you how to duel in a heartbeat,” he said, staring at his father, “but I am afraid too much advice will only confuse and slow you.
The only strategy that matters is kill him before he kills you.”
‘easier said’ he thought to himself
Somewhere a woman began to chant.
A drum began to beat.
Screams and chants rose as Agsken stepped into the circle, swinging his axe like a madman.
“Aye, kill him before he kills you,” Ragnar said, patting his son proudly.
“Good luck, boy,” Torstein said as they parted to usher him into the circle.
As soon as he stepped in, the man took two steps without warning and lunged.
Thorson was only barely spared from being decapitated as he danced sideways at the last second.
The axe hissed through the air where his face had been moments before.
More bloodthirsty screams erupted.
Thorson knew he stood no chance if he fought in the traditional way.
If he went axe for axe against his massive opponent, he would fall.
But he was not completely green in the ways of war.
His mother’s master may never have claimed him as a son, but he had never been shy about teaching him the ways of the Vikings.
Yet fighting to the death was something he had never faced before.
Again the man feigned a left strike and at the last moment turned the axe right, spinning it toward his exposed ribs.
Thorson was not so lucky this time.
He danced, but he felt the edge of the broad blade open his side.
Warm blood trickled down, yet he felt no pain.
That would come later.
Now it was life he was fighting for.
He had only heartbeats, perhaps less, before the wound weakened him.
Emboldened by the sight of blood and the promise of victory, Agsken grew careless.
The sight of his own blood, if anything, made Thorson bolder.
He began to move like a man possessed, smiling and tossing the axe from one hand to the other as he danced before his opponent.
His opponent’s face darkened as he wondered what kind of demon had possessed the boy…
He was dying yet here he stood dancing in front of him
Men began to whisper.
They could all see the likely fate here.
Thorson would be the one to fall.
Yet the boy moved as if he knew something they did not.
Left, then right.
Left again, then right.
Always moving.
Ragnar was right.
He could only hope to wear his opponent down.
Maybe then he would find a lucky opening.
His opponent roared and closed the distance with a swinging uppercut.
Thorson danced backward out of harm’s way.
“Coward!
Stand and fight!” the man screamed.
Thorson paid him no mind.
Again the man swung.
Again the boy danced away.
Again and again he tried, but every time the boy slipped clear, forcing the larger man to pursue.
Each time Thorson’s axe changed hands, never staying in one for long.
Until suddenly, in the midst of his opponent launching another attack, Thorson stopped.
This time, instead of dancing back, the boy danced forward.
Thorson knew he had only a moment to act.
He was already worn out and had lost a lot of blood.
He could feel his head starting to grow hazy.
The man’s shoulders had already begun turning as he prepared to bring another axe crashing down that would split him to the core.
Without giving it much thought, Thorson stepped and lunged inside the arc of the descending axe.
An intake of breath rang out among those gathered.
The drumbeats faltered.
Some shieldmaiden screamed.
Someone swore by Odin.
To many, this battle was already over.
No one in his right mind stepped toward a descending axe.
Only madmen.
But contrary to what many expected, Thorson’s timing had been measured perfectly, or almost so.
The massive axe swooshed past his shoulder, missing him by the width of two fingers.
But that wasn’t good news for Thorson.
He had aimed to close the distance.
But he had acted so fast that he failed to grasp that although he had rendered the attack useless, his own axe would be limited.
The man was already close enough to thwart his attack, and the momentum had also destabilized him.
He stumbled forward, crashing into the man’s broad chest.
He, however, refused to retreat.
Furious on having missed his kill, The man’s knee rose in fury and smashed into Thorson’s nose as he scrambled to regain his footing.
Thorson saw stars.