Hordafylke. We came to éire a few days ago.’ He kept his voice calm, but Elena heard the trace of steel beneath it. He was not about to stand down and let these raiders continue their attack.
‘I am Alfarr Gelinsson,’ their leader replied. His gaze narrowed upon Ragnar. ‘Why would you defend these men and women? They’re not your people.’
‘No, but we need supplies. They can offer that to us.’
‘Join us,’ Alfarr offered. ‘We’ll take from them and share what is left.’
From behind her, Elena sensed the Irish growing uncertain about the continuing conversation in a foreign tongue. She raised her hands in reassurance, hoping they would not interfere with the negotiation.
‘Why do you not trade with them?’ Ragnar asked calmly, drawing his horse closer until he was within reach of their leader.
Alfarr stared over at the Irish and then spit on the ground. ‘They are weak. Taking their supplies would be an easy victory.’
‘You look like a man who enjoys fighting,’ Ragnar challenged. ‘Would you rather make a wager?’
What was he doing? Elena took a step forwards, wondering what his intentions were. Ragnar wasn’t strong enough to fight these men, not with his wound. She’d bandaged it heavily, but no doubt the other Norsemen were well aware of the injury. It would affect his speed, no matter how strong he was.
She wanted so badly to interrupt, but she held her tongue, afraid it would weaken his position before the men.
‘I wouldn’t mind a wager,’ Alfarr agreed. His gaze passed over Elena with interest and she felt a prickle of uneasiness pass over her skin. ‘Especially if a woman is involved.’ Despite the short distance, she could feel his stare upon her and it made her skin crawl.
Ragnar didn’t bother to look back. ‘She is not a part of this.’
‘When you’re dead, she will be,’ Alfarr answered.
‘But if I win,’ Ragnar warned softly, ‘your man will be dead and you’ll go raid another tribe. Not this one.’
‘You’re wounded, Ragnar Olafsson. You are no match for us.’
‘Then I’ll meet Odin in Valhalla, if my sword does not prevail,’ he said.
So much rested upon this fight. Not only their fate, but the fate of the Irish as well. It angered Elena that the people kept a distance instead of joining him. Why had no one offered to help?
Fear quickened in her veins as the men faced off. Even if Ragnar prevailed, she suspected the men would not keep their word. Raiders who lived and died by their swords were not men of honour. The moment Ragnar’s back was turned, they would cut him down.
She closed her eyes, trying to bring clarity to her clouded mind. If he were not wounded, she didn’t doubt that he would strike down every last man.
But with only one good leg to stand on, he might not live through the rest of this day. She would become their prize of war unless she did something to stop them.
Elena turned back to the Irish, her mind spinning with ideas, most of which wouldn’t work. But when she saw a woman carrying a basket of green apples, an idea began to take root. The apples were a symbol of the gods. Men like these might not honour the afterworld...but they would understand the effects of a curse. It was something to be feared.
There was one way to put an end to the fighting and drive the invaders away.
Freya, be with me , she prayed.
* * *
They chose their tallest man to fight him. The hersir weighed more than Ragnar, but Ragnar wasn’t afraid to face the man. The larger the warrior, the slower he tended to move.
His thigh wound was aching, but Ragnar blotted all of the pain from his mind. If he failed in this fight, they would take Elena and use her. He had no doubt of it. In times like these, he had to use his wits, rather than his strength.
The man had chosen a battleaxe as his weapon and after dismounting from the horse, Ragnar took a round shield from the warrior he’d already killed.
Thor, guide my blade , he prayed. Let me
‘I am Alfarr Gelinsson,’ their leader replied. His gaze narrowed upon Ragnar. ‘Why would you defend these men and women? They’re not your people.’
‘No, but we need supplies. They can offer that to us.’
‘Join us,’ Alfarr offered. ‘We’ll take from them and share what is left.’
From behind her, Elena sensed the Irish growing uncertain about the continuing conversation in a foreign tongue. She raised her hands in reassurance, hoping they would not interfere with the negotiation.
‘Why do you not trade with them?’ Ragnar asked calmly, drawing his horse closer until he was within reach of their leader.
Alfarr stared over at the Irish and then spit on the ground. ‘They are weak. Taking their supplies would be an easy victory.’
‘You look like a man who enjoys fighting,’ Ragnar challenged. ‘Would you rather make a wager?’
What was he doing? Elena took a step forwards, wondering what his intentions were. Ragnar wasn’t strong enough to fight these men, not with his wound. She’d bandaged it heavily, but no doubt the other Norsemen were well aware of the injury. It would affect his speed, no matter how strong he was.
She wanted so badly to interrupt, but she held her tongue, afraid it would weaken his position before the men.
‘I wouldn’t mind a wager,’ Alfarr agreed. His gaze passed over Elena with interest and she felt a prickle of uneasiness pass over her skin. ‘Especially if a woman is involved.’ Despite the short distance, she could feel his stare upon her and it made her skin crawl.
Ragnar didn’t bother to look back. ‘She is not a part of this.’
‘When you’re dead, she will be,’ Alfarr answered.
‘But if I win,’ Ragnar warned softly, ‘your man will be dead and you’ll go raid another tribe. Not this one.’
‘You’re wounded, Ragnar Olafsson. You are no match for us.’
‘Then I’ll meet Odin in Valhalla, if my sword does not prevail,’ he said.
So much rested upon this fight. Not only their fate, but the fate of the Irish as well. It angered Elena that the people kept a distance instead of joining him. Why had no one offered to help?
Fear quickened in her veins as the men faced off. Even if Ragnar prevailed, she suspected the men would not keep their word. Raiders who lived and died by their swords were not men of honour. The moment Ragnar’s back was turned, they would cut him down.
She closed her eyes, trying to bring clarity to her clouded mind. If he were not wounded, she didn’t doubt that he would strike down every last man.
But with only one good leg to stand on, he might not live through the rest of this day. She would become their prize of war unless she did something to stop them.
Elena turned back to the Irish, her mind spinning with ideas, most of which wouldn’t work. But when she saw a woman carrying a basket of green apples, an idea began to take root. The apples were a symbol of the gods. Men like these might not honour the afterworld...but they would understand the effects of a curse. It was something to be feared.
There was one way to put an end to the fighting and drive the invaders away.
Freya, be with me , she prayed.
* * *
They chose their tallest man to fight him. The hersir weighed more than Ragnar, but Ragnar wasn’t afraid to face the man. The larger the warrior, the slower he tended to move.
His thigh wound was aching, but Ragnar blotted all of the pain from his mind. If he failed in this fight, they would take Elena and use her. He had no doubt of it. In times like these, he had to use his wits, rather than his strength.
The man had chosen a battleaxe as his weapon and after dismounting from the horse, Ragnar took a round shield from the warrior he’d already killed.
Thor, guide my blade , he prayed. Let me
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