A blur of pain exploded inside Thorson’s head, and he could feel his nose had already split open.
Blood streamed freely from his nostrils.
Despite the pain, however, his free hand shot out and grabbed the man’s weapon arm.
Agsken cursed and brought his knee up again in frustration.
This time Thorson managed to save his nose, but his chin took the full impact.
The blow made his teeth rattle, but he refused to let go.
If he allowed Agsken’s weapon arm free, everything would be over too quickly.
“Let go of my arm, you bastard, and die with honor!” Agsken screamed as he rained punches onto the boy’s back with his free hand.
He had already dropped his shield, hoping he could finish the fight as quickly as possible.
Sensing the man’s desperation, Thorson suddenly pivoted on his right foot and shoved with all the strength he had left.
There wasn’t enough force to knock Agsken down, but it was enough to throw him off balance for a heartbeat.
That single heartbeat was all Thorson needed to break free.
“Use your shield, boy!
Use your shield!”
Thorson heard Ragnar scream from somewhere to his left…
or perhaps his right.
He no longer had a good sense of direction.
His vision had grown blurry.
Blood continued pouring from his nose.
The wound Agsken had opened in his ribs was finally taking its toll, and he could feel even his legs beginning to fail him.
“Watch out!” someone screamed.
Thorson reacted on instinct.
He stepped aside just as a curse of frustration erupted, followed by the deafening impact of Agsken’s axe burying itself into the ice where he had been standing only a heartbeat earlier.
“Stand and fight, you son of a whore!”
The dizziness cleared just enough for Thorson to see his opponent struggling to pull the axe free from the ice now stained with his own blood.
Swinging the shield from his shoulder, Thorson let out a maddened scream and charged.
Agsken ripped the axe free at the last instant and brought it crashing onto the shield.
It was the first blow the shield had received that day.
It was also its last.
The shield shattered apart.
Thorson threw the broken pieces aside and turned.
Both he and his opponent now stood armed once more, facing one another.
The odds, however, had turned drastically against Thorson.
He bled from several wounds.
His strength was fading.
Every breath burned inside his chest.
Agsken began circling him like a vulture waiting for a wounded prey to collapse.
But Thorson no longer had the time or the patience.
Once again he charged.
This time it was not out of blind fury.
Agsken braced himself, expecting the boy to swing.
The strike never came.
Before the two could close the distance, Thorson hurled his axe with all the strength he had left.
The heavy weapon whistled through the air before slamming into Agsken’s chest with a sickening thud.
Agsken gasped in disbelief.
So did Thorson.
The result was not what he had intended.
He had meant for the blade to bury itself deep inside the man’s chest.
Instead, the back of the axe struck him squarely, driving the breath from his lungs.
It hurt Agsken, but not nearly enough.
The man stumbled backward and fell onto the ice.
It momentary hesitation was enough.
Thorson rushed past him, snatched up the fallen axe, and with a blood curdling cry brought it crashing downward.
Agsken rolled aside at the final instant.
The blade smashed into the ice instead.
Agsken scrambled to his feet and tossed his own shield which he had retrieved aside.
Both man and boy stood glaring at each other.
Murder burned in both pairs of eyes.
Yet beneath all that hatred lay the same silent plea.
Let this end.
Neither of them had much strength left.
Neither had much blood left to spill.
They were both running on sheer will.
Thorson did not need to hear the man speak.
There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them.
Stand and Fight.
Let the gods decide.
Thorson’s fingers tightened around the haft of his axe.
So did Agsken’s.
“Valhalla!” Thorson roared.
His axe rose.
Agsken’s rose with it.
Both weapons came crashing down with blinding speed.
The crowd surrounding them fell completely silent.
The end had come.
This time, instead of stepping forward as Agsken expected, Thorson stepped back.
Ragnar’s words flashed through his mind.
Your greatest advantage is your height.
Strike while staying beyond his reach.
He had however choose to heed the advice when it was too late.
A savage slash ripped across Thorson’s chest and down toward his belly.
At almost the exact same instant, his own axe found its mark.
Thorson let go of the weapon and dropped to his knees.
Across from him, Agsken staggered.
Blood exploded across the man’s face.
Thorson’s axe had buried itself deep into the top of his skull.
For a long moment, neither moved.
They simply stared at one another.
Then both toppled forward.
Pandemonium erupted among the crowd.
In every holmgang, people expected one victor.
Instead, both men had dealt what looked to be mortal blows.
Both now lay upon the blood-soaked ice, giving their lives to the frozen earth beneath them.
The world around them slowly grew quiet.
As the cheers and cries faded into the distance, Thorson lay in his own blood, waiting for the gates of Valhalla to open.
Earl Haraldson stepped forward and looked down at the two sprawled warriors lying upon the reddened ice.
“It seems the gods have made their decision,” he said calmly.
“we don’t have wood to spare, Have them buried.”
He turned to one of his guards.
“See to it.”