He didn’t look her in the eye, but said simply, “Torvaldson’s spies, Commander. I discovered them hiding in the trees. I found no others, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more.”
She stepped forward and he withdrew into the crowd that had gathered. She grabbed one of the captives by the hair and pulled his head back sharply, forcing him to look her in the eye. He trembled violently and wet himself, knowing full well that his life was now worthless because he had come to the attention of this woman. The cloth he wore around his neck bore Torvaldson’s colours. She gave him a look of disgust.
“You have chosen the wrong side in this war and I think you know the price.”
He was unable to speak, so she looked to the second man who was no braver or better off than the first. She had no time or patience for this and it was good timing to put a bit of blood in the water to fire her men for battle. She crossed behind the spies and slit both of their throats with practised efficiency.
A shout of loyalty and approval went up from the crowd. They were ready for a good fight. Fljótdís gave Erik a brief look as she wiped the blood from her blade, but no one could have sworn to its meaning. She gave orders to several warriors to search for more spies and returned to the tent, getting back to business. At no time did her eyes look for Erik again in the crowd.
The men gathered around a map she had drawn in the dirt. She indicated the surrounding trees, represented by a gathering of small stones. “Their camp is on the far side of a glade. They assume that this three-sided design will limit our ability to attack, that we can only approach from one direction and that because of that, they can master us. Quite the opposite is true. We will use their own strategy against them.”
Ulrik considered the plan carefully. It was unconventional and risky, but it just might work. “You suggest we attack from all sides at once?”
She gave him a sly smile. “Yes. We must split into three parts. We will make them think that our tactic is simple. While the other two wings are hidden in the woods, we will march to meet them boldly in the middle of the glade. At that point, we will give both wings a signal to attack. Torvaldson’s men will be surrounded and we can slaughter them like animals. What do you think?”
Helgi nodded his approval. “I like it. Let’s surprise those dogs.”
They all trusted her. In some ways, she was more their queen than their Commander. She gave them victories, but not from afar on some safe and distant hilltop. She was in the thick of it with them every time and any who were lost were assured of honoured places at the table in Valhalla. She had been one of them for a long time. The respect they gave her was not some meaningless gift, but something that had been earned on the battlefield, fight after fight, heroism after heroism. They were warriors and their lives were always in the balance. If they had to trust anyone with their destinies, it was not the King, but her.
She slid an extra axe into her belt at the small of her back.
“Helgi, you will take the left wing. Ulrik, you will take the right. When the battle horn sounds three times, it will be your turn to attack. And I need fifteen trusted men on horseback to be stationed in hiding at the very end of the woods, not far from their camp. It must be done carefully and without detection.”
One of the men folded his arms and frowned. “And then?”
He was a young Earl, very passionate when it came to fighting. Most of the Earls just sent their men to war and stayed home in their safe Halls. Not so with this one. Earl Edmund, while born in Saxon lands, had the heart and blood of a Northman and Fljótdís welcomed his question.
The hunger for battle already burned in her eyes. “Then, while we fight with Torvaldson and his men and their attention is distracted, you will go to their camp and destroy everything there. Kill everyone and burn it to the ground.”
The young Earl nodded his agreement. “I will gather fifteen of my best men, Commander. Consider this matter taken care of. And as soon as the camp is destroyed, we will join you on the battlefield.” He brought his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword as a sign of his loyalty and determination and gave her a smile of anticipation.
Fljótdís nodded her satisfaction and looked at the ready faces of her men. “Then it’s time for them to taste their own blood, my brothers!” A whole-hearted cheer went up from all present and it was picked up as a thunderous roar by those outside. All was in readiness.
When she emerged from the tent, she scanned the crowds of men, seeking Erik. If he was there, she didn’t have time to talk to him. If he wasn’t there, where was he? Had he come upon more spies and been killed? She quickly shut the door on these thoughts. There was no time for it, no space for it. It didn’t matter, one way or the other, she assured herself firmly. It was just that they would need every sword, Erik’s included, that was all.
They left the camp. A few were left behind to guard the King’s tent. As useless as he was, it would cost them dearly to ransom him if he was taken while they were away. They moved through the forest stealthily, watching for spies and lookouts. When they came to the appointed place, two groups of men split off to make their way to the other side of the woods.
It was all Fljótdís could do to contain her anger over the King’s absence at this moment. She had given him a clear choice and it was easy to see what decision he had made. He was not a king anymore, just a lazy, drunken coward. Very well. She would bring them victory, not because of King Harald, but because these men who were ready to face their death on the battlefield deserved to win.
When they reached the glade, the sky had turned to the colour of charcoal. Somewhere in the distance the sound of thunder cracked against the mountains. It was a good sign. Fljótdís smiled and looked back at her men.
“My friends, we are blessed. We have Thor on our side today!”
She turned her attention back to the glade and saw a great line of combatants standing on the other side. She couldn’t see the end of that line, but she was sure there were at least three hundred and fifty men. The sound of a battle horn rolled over the field as their enemies prepared for the attack.
Fljótdís turned to her warriors again. “We will let them run. But we will enjoy a leisurely walk. Let’s go!”
The men followed her out of the forest as if they were having a nice afternoon stroll. She spoke so that all could hear.
“Today, we will make our own history. Today we will crush our enemies into dust. We will make them drink their own blood. Today we will honour the gods and our ancestors!”
The men shouted their support for her words. She brought them to a halt and watched as Torvaldson’s men ran at them like wild dogs. Her army stood its ground as Fljótdís drew her sword.
“Do not fight only for the King today, my brothers. Do not fight only for land or riches. Do not fight only for duty. Fight for your families. Fight for your wives. Fight for your children. Fight for your future, their future. And if you fall, do not fear death. You will enter Valhalla. Tonight with the help of mighty Thor’s Hammer, we will crush everyone in our way and drink to our great victory!”
Fljótdís raised her sword high for all to see. “Hail Odin! Hail Thor! Hail Tyr! And Hail Freyja! Hail the Gods of War!”
The men echoed her brave words and they lost all fear of what was to come. They were ready, their strong hands, their strong hearts prepared to fight for those they loved, for the gods and for the Valkyrie who now led them into battle. She was one of them, with them to the end.
Steel met steel and the clashing of shields collided with the thunder in the sky. Screams and shouts, orders and commands, it all mixed with the sea of blood that soon covered the ground.
Fljótdís’ sword knew no mercy as she cut down everything that got in her way. She drew her axe and threw it at one of the fighters who approached her. His chest was split in two and he fell to the mud. They were in the thick of the battle now. The time for the next step was getting near.
She saw now that all of Torvaldson’s army had entere
d the glade. It was time. Fljótdís smiled and put a great battle horn to her lips. She blew it three long times and Thor joined this sound, causing the ground to tremble as three loud claps of thunder sounded and a blinding bolt of lightning tore through the sky above them. The strong smell of Torvaldson’s camp being put to the torch was a gift from the gods.
With blood chilling battle cries, the two forces emerged from the woods and closed in on Torvaldson’s men. The surprise was absolute. None of Torvaldson’s men had foreseen this. It was totally unexpected. Surrounded by Fljótdís’ warriors, the enemy fought even harder for their own lives, but King Torvaldson’s army decreased in number quickly.
Fljótdís charged into the fray. Men fell like sheaves of wheat in her wake. She cut and slashed them down, leaving a trail of blood and fallen bodies wherever she went. When she reached the far side of the combat, she looked back to assess where things stood. There was a rider coming at them on a black horse, his cape fluttering in the wind.
Fljótdís smiled and raised her bloody blade toward the sky as a greeting of welcome. He withdrew his own sword and answered her salute. With a loud battle cry, King Harald leapt from his mount and joined in the fight without hesitation. Things were going well indeed. The gods were smiling on her.
She felt nothing when an arrow hit her shoulder. And she didn’t even flinch when another one caught her in her back. She continued the bloody work, feeling unstoppable, invincible. Full of power, she spotted King Torvaldson on the battlefield. Her every instinct was trained on her enemy, and it came as a surprise when she couldn’t find her balance. With her next breath, she was on her knees. Only then did she realize she was wounded.
But wounds had never stopped her until the battle was over. With the support of her sword, she stood up and cut her way through the crowd till she was standing eye to eye with her greatest enemy, King Torvaldson, the man who was to blame for taking away one of the only people she had ever loved in this world.
Torvaldson saw her coming and grinned. “Hello, little bitch.”
She raised an eyebrow and without giving him the satisfaction of a reply, went on the attack. Her sword met his shield. King Torvaldson was quite an old man. His hair and beard were white as salt, but he was still strong and powerful. He was not powerful enough to overcome her hatred and skill. The fight wasn’t easy and she started to feel pain from both her wounds. And then from somewhere another arrow hit her leg and she almost went down. It was a turning point. But at that moment, King Harald was at her side. His sword locked with Torvaldson’s with a loud clang. His eyes never left his enemy as he shouted for all to hear.
“He’s mine!”
It was a mighty contest of wills and strength as the two kings fought for supremacy on the battlefield. Their swords rang out and their shields made a deadly impact. The combat went on as the bigger war raged on.
But Fljótdís had no time to watch this battle. She noticed a warrior pull a new arrow and aim at her. She withdrew her knife and threw it straight between the archer’s eyes. He collapsed dead, a threat to her no more. She grabbed the arrow in her leg and clenching her teeth, she broke away the shaft. She did the same with the arrow in her arm. The blood was draining from her at an alarming rate and it made her dizzy.
Still, she stood her ground and kept a firm grip on her sword. With a moan of pain, she leaned down and picked up her spear. She thrust it into the ground to help her keep her balance. She felt darkness lurking behind her eyes. There was increasing pain and weakness, but there could be no surrender of her fighting spirit. She still had the battle to win. Only an act of sheer will made her hold this ground. Finding what small support she could with the spear, with the other hand she cut and killed mercilessly any who ventured near her, thinking her to now be an easy target.
After what felt like an eternity, she heard a shout of victory behind her at last. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw King Harald. There was a wound above his brow, but he held his sword high in the air in one hand and Torvaldson’s head in the other.
The battlefield had suddenly gone so calm, so quiet. So many dead ones, who among them were her friends and comrades? The tranquil green glade was now a sea of bleeding bodies. It was just like in her dream. She stood dazed in the middle of it, supporting her weight on the spear, with her sword in her other hand. Those enemies who were still alive dropped their weapons in front of her and the King.
The men looked at her like she was a goddess, a Valkyrie, as if she were immortal and sacred somehow. Everyone except one man. One man among the crowds looked at her with concern, looked at her like she was very mortal right now. She didn’t even see it happen, but the next thing she knew, Erik stood next to her. He made no effort to hide his worry for her and those infernal eyes of his were filled with such gentleness that she almost gave in. He wrapped his hand over hers around the spear.
“You need a Healer, Commander.”
She was still determined not to surrender. If she let go of the spear, she would fall. She would fall anyway, but not now, not yet.
Several warriors started toward her to help her, but she shook her head to keep them at bay. She turned to Erik and whispered for his ears only.
“Help me walk off the battlefield.” It was the first time in many years that she had asked for help and it hurt her to do it more than a thousand wounds.
Erik nodded and without another word supported her from one side and led her slowly off the battlefield. Worried faces met her at the edge of the forest.
The King caught up to them. He was still breathing heavily from the battle. He looked at them both, seeming to be unsure if he was going to get true information from either of them. He could see for himself that Fljótdís’ injuries were not minor, but he had to ask the question.
“How bad is it?”
“I’m fine,” Fljótdís answered, but she couldn’t hold back a groan of pain as she stumbled over a rock. Erik tightened his supporting hold. The King was unsatisfied with her response, so he looked to Erik.
“Three substantial wounds, my lord. She’s lost a lot of blood. We need to get her to a Healer as soon as possible.”
She struggled restlessly in Erik’s hold. “I am fine!”
But this time she wasn’t so sure anymore. She felt cold. It was sneaking up from her toes up to her chest. The icy chill was so strong that she started to tremble. Pain misted her eyes and with all her being she felt the blood pouring out of her wounds.
The earth shook madly under her feet and her head felt like it was spinning in a sickening whirlwind. Darkness closed down before her eyes as if a great curtain were being lowered. It stole the last bit of her strength. She was going to hit the ground and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The last thing she felt was strong arms lifting her up off her feet and a deep, soothing voice telling her softly that she was safe now. She decided to let herself believe it.
Chapter 14
She wandered across a large field. Only rusty helmets and shattered shields remained in the lush green grass, telling stories of once spilt blood. The sun shone too brightly, throwing the landscape into stark relief as the old and gnarled trees sighed in the wind, heavy-hearted witnesses who had seen far too much of the madness of men for so many years. The leaves on the ancient trees were not green, but dazzlingly golden in colour.
Yet, even with all of this strange beauty, something was not comfortable about this place. This was not at all the way she had pictured Valhalla or Asgard. Was this some kind of trick of mighty Hel? Somewhere in the distance, she heard the sound of a river making its way to the sea, a sound of home. Yet again, it was not quite right. There was something both familiar and unfamiliar about all of this.
And there, once again, on the other side of the field stood the Valkyrie, the spirit woman who had haunted her in her dreams for so many nights. The woman was surrounded by a glowing light, and this time she felt no fear. On the contrary, she began to approach the woman. The Valkyr
ie reached out her hand in greeting and as a request for her to follow.
Fljótdís felt an incredible sense of peace. Always before, this woman had frightened her to her core, but not this time. With each step she took, the shining light around the Valkyrie faded a bit more, revealing a stunningly beautiful woman dressed in gilded armour. She stood there with a golden spear in her hand. Her raven hair danced in the breeze, and her eyes were so compelling that Fljótdís felt filled with warmth and light.
The smile of this Valkyrie seemed so familiar, so soothing, so welcoming. But there was also an incomparable strength about this woman. She wasn’t some kind of fairytale being. Her face spoke of courage and unbreakable will. She was a Valkyrie, after all, a servant of Freyja and of Odin himself.
She stood face to face with this woman. The Valkyrie still held out her hand and nodded with a reassuring smile. She found the courage to take the woman’s hand and watched as the Valkyrie closed her eyes. She wasn’t afraid. This time, she was ready to go forward into the Land of the Gods.
The Valkyrie opened her eyes and smiled warmly again. And without a word, she was gone, leaving Fljótdís standing alone, confused and utterly devastated.
The meadow disappeared. There were no more golden leaves, no green grass, no shattered shields, no peace. There was no light, but only darkness. And through this darkness, she was being dragged by an irresistible force. She wanted desperately to go back, to go wherever the Valkyrie might lead her. She tried to shout in protest, to resist, but it was useless. She emerged from the darkness into an awareness of excruciating pain, unbearable pain. She didn’t want this. She wanted the peace of the meadow and the woman in gold.
The pain was everywhere, in every breath and tiny move. Her body felt like it was filled with burning coals. She had to open eyes to see where she was now. Was she in friendly hands, or in the hands of some enemy who was making ready to finish this job? Her eyelids were so heavy, but she forced herself to open them, slowly, carefully, in case she was being watched by those ready to do her more harm.
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