‘What kind of suspicions?’
‘About Sigurd’s death. They think I was involved.’
‘You?’ Joarr’s stopped a sword’s length away from Danr, his eyes like chips of blue ice. ‘She had no part in it. That’s your answer.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘It’s what I know.’
‘Something tells me you’re not the best judge of character where she’s concerned.’
‘I believe my wife.’
Danr blew air between his teeth contemptuously. ‘And you always said I was the one who was driven by lust. Apparently you’re guilty of the same weakness, old friend.’
‘I love Hilda and she loves me.’ Joarr drew his brows together in a ferocious line. ‘Is love so hard for you to understand, boy?’
‘Yes!’ Danr answered without thinking, though it was only the truth. He loved his brothers, but love for a woman, the kind that Alarr had found with Breanne, Rurik with Annis, and Sandulf with Ceanna, that had never made sense to him. It never would. His mother’s love for his father had brought her only pain and regret. Just the thought of it filled him with anger.
‘She needs to pay for what she did.’ He jerked his head towards Hilda, his ragged temper fraying even further.
‘She didn’t do anything!’
‘Then ask her why the assassins had some of her jewellery—three pendants.’
‘Pendants?’ Hilda’s voice seemed to crack on the word.
‘Aye. The ones you used to pay them.’
‘What kind of—?’
‘She’ll explain nothing!’ Joarr’s roar was like a crack of thunder. ‘You always talked too much, Danr. You should have been a skald, not a warrior.’
‘Wait!’ Hilda lifted her hands as if she were trying to calm them both. ‘Perhaps we should talk.’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Joarr waved his shield in her direction, gesturing for her to get back. ‘He just threatened you. That’s reason enough for me to kill him.’
‘You can try!’
Danr gave a harsh laugh, shifting his weight to his right foot as he waited for the older man to attack first. It didn’t take long. Barely a second after he’d issued the challenge, Joarr rammed the boss of his shield forward, attempting to knock him down, but Danr was faster, moving to the left, parrying the thrust aimed after him and then darting forward, running his blade across the warrior’s mail coat as he went.
The old helmsman gave a grunt of anger and whirled around, slicing his shield through the air with such bloodthirsty force that Danr had to duck to a crouching position to avoid having his skull smashed. He used the position to strike at Joarr’s legs, aiming a kick at his kneecaps to send him reeling backwards, but the helmsman recovered quicker than Danr had expected, charging forward again almost immediately and knocking him sideways. It was a foolish attack, one that left Joarr’s right flank exposed and unprotected. If Danr lifted his blade then, it would be easy enough to skewer him in the armpit. There was a gap in his mail. He could see it—a clear, almost perfect target. If he chose, he could sink his blade there and then cut Hilda down where she stood. He could finish them both in a matter of moments. The killing blow was his for the taking. If...
He hesitated as a succession of memories swept through his mind: Joarr teaching him how to hold his first wooden sword, how to wield it, how to use his opponents’ weaknesses against them, giving him ten times more attention than his real father ever had... How could he use those lessons against him now? How could he kill him? He couldn’t, he realised, jumping aside just in time to dodge another blow that sent a flurry of pebbles up into the air where he’d just stood. All he wanted was to knock him down long enough to talk, to explain to him how he knew Hilda was guilty...
He circled around, knowing that, if he started to give ground, the pummelling would be relentless. Joarr was a hulk of a man and a fearsome fighter, though his size and age made him slow. Fortunately for Danr, after years of training together, he knew all of the man’s tactics, whereas his own range of manoeuvres had expanded and been honed by necessity over the past couple of years. If it hadn’t been for the rib he’d injured in Alba, then he might have found a way to end the fight already, but he still wanted to do so without hurting his former teacher. This wasn’t the fight he wanted. If they could only put down their weapons and talk man to man as the friends they’d once been...
There was a sound of shout
ing and Danr turned his head sharply, grimacing at the sight of at least a dozen warriors emerging from the village at the end of the beach, all running to Hilda and Joarr’s rescue. He gritted his teeth and muttered a string of the most colourful oaths he could think of. He’d wasted his opportunity with Hilda and run out of time. All he could do now was escape to the forest while he still had the chance, then take some time to consider and come up with a better plan. That was what he ought to do, but when he tried to move something felt wrong.
He glanced down in bewilderment. His right arm felt strangely numb and his fingers seemed to be having trouble keeping a grip on his sword... The moment he thought it, the blade fell from his grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy clatter. That was when he noticed the gash in his mail, accompanied by a searing burst of pain. The metal links must have torn when Joarr had charged him, allowing his sword to find its target for a moment. He had no memory of the blade even touching him, though obviously it had.
He touched his fingers to the hot stream of blood trickling down his arm and then looked back at Hilda. Confusingly, her hands were wrapped around Joarr’s waist as if she were holding him back, restraining him even, while the warriors from the village were coming ever closer. If he stayed where he was then he’d be captured and executed for certain, which in itself wouldn’t matter so much, but it wouldn’t give his brothers the answers they needed either. That was why he was there and why he had to survive. For them.
He picked up Bitterblade with his good arm, took a few steps back towards the forest, then ran.
Chapter Two