Ragnar's gaze flickered to my shoulder, then to my back. His smirk wavered, and he exhaled sharply, like a man who had just had his ale ripped from his hands.
I didn't move. I waited, studying him. Was this a trick? Was he trying to lull me into dropping my guard before striking? My mind raced through every possibility. Ragnar was unpredictable—brutal and cunning. He was capable of anything.
His tongue clicked against his teeth. "You're wounded." A slow shake of his head, his expression unreadable. "Shame."
My grip tightened around my axes. "I can fight." My voice was steady. "Pick up your axe, Ragnar."
A dry chuckle escaped him. "Where's the honor in that?" He spread his arms, as if genuinely considering it. Then, shrugging, he let them drop. "Leave, Valrik. Before I change my mind."
I bared my teeth in something between a grin and a snarl. "Then do change your mind." I flexed my grip, shifting my stance. "Change your mind and—"
"Enough." Freydis pushed through the bushes, gripping my arm before I could take a step forward. "We came here to find your horse. And we did." Her grip tightened. "Now move, Valrik."
"I…"
"Move!"
I let out a slow breath. My fingers loosened around my weapons. "Fine." I turned my head slightly toward Ragnar. "Another time."
"Another time indeed, my Saxon-loving friend." Ragnar's lips curled into something between amusement and disdain. He gave a mock bow, arms spreading wide. "Another fucking time."
I held his gaze a moment longer before sliding my axes back into their sheaths. Without another word, I turned, taking Mielda's reins in my hands and guiding her away from the hut.
My steps were measured, my posture relaxed—but inside, frustration burned hot. Freydis walked beside me, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, her bow in hand, fingers poised to draw an arrow at the first sign of pursuit.
"That was Ragnar." Her voice was low. "You cannot win against him."
"I can," I muttered, jaw tightening. "I'm just wounded."
Freydis huffed. "He could beat you with one arm tied behind his back." She didn't look at me as she spoke, keeping her attention on the path ahead. "You know that better than anyone. You've seen him fight."
"I did…"
I exhaled, my thoughts drifting back to the raid. I had watched Ragnar move through the battlefield like a storm, cutting down warriors twice his size with terrifying ease. He was faster. Stronger. Deadlier.
And she was right. I had no chance against him. Not as I was now.
But I couldn't back out of a holmgang either. That would be another stain on my honor. And after what Odin had told me, I couldn't afford any more stains.
"Ah," I said, shaking off the thoughts before they could take root. "Let's just get out of here."
"Yes. A good idea." Freydis nodded. "Fighting him today would have been reckless. We were outnumbered. And you…" She glanced at me. "You're wounded."
"You're right." The words tasted bitter. I hated backing down. It made my skin crawl. "So—anyway, what about you, Freydis? What will you do now?"
"Take Thrainr, and go back to my people." She kept her gaze forward. "They need me."
I hummed in acknowledgment.
Then, after a moment, she turned her head slightly. "And you, Valrik?" Her eyes searched mine.
I opened my mouth—then hesitated.It was a simple question. But I didn't have an answer. I had no clan. No home. No path forward. My only goal had been Valhalla. But now? Now I had to reclaim my honor before Odin would ever consider letting me into his hall.
I stopped walking. Freydis halted beside me, Mielda tugging slightly at the reins before settling. I turned, staring down at my shadow stretching across the muddy ground. In that moment, Odin's words echoed in my mind. The weight of them settled deep in my chest, pressing against my ribs.
Freydis watched me, frowning slightly. "You're quiet." A pause. "Won't you answer my question?"
I blinked, dragging my gaze back to hers. Then, with a faint shrug, I let out a small, dry laugh. "I had enough action for one day. I guess I'll follow you to the cave. That was my camp."
She arched a brow. "And then?"
"Then…" I glanced up at the sky, the trees swaying above us. "I guess we'll see."
ᚹᚨᛚᚺᚨᛚᛚᚨ-ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚱ-ᚱᛖᚲᛚᛁᛅᛗ
As we neared the cave, Freydis and I dismounted, landing lightly on the damp earth. We led our horses to a nearby boulder and tied their reins securely, just outside the cave's entrance. Near the small pond, a man crouched over a growing campfire, the glow flickering against his weathered face. At his feet, freshly hunted rabbits lay still, their fur stained with blood. Around him, a handful of wounded men sat or reclined on the ground, their expressions weary. A shieldmaiden knelt beside them, carefully feeding the ones who were in the worst condition.
Thrainr remained seated on his horse, scanning the surrounding woods. "You go," he muttered, tightening his grip on the reins. "I'll check the perimeter—make sure none of Ragnar's men followed us."
Freydis turned to him, her brows drawing together. "Be careful."
Thrainr gave a curt nod before nudging his horse forward and disappearing into the trees.
We walked toward the campfire, our pace measured. As we drew closer, some of the warriors lifted their heads, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of Freydis alive and well. A few nodded in acknowledgment; one or two even managed faint smiles before turning back to their quiet conversations or tending to their wounds. The majority of the men must have still been inside the cave—these few were the ones fortunate enough to stand.
Freydis knelt beside one of the injured, placing a steady hand on his shoulder as she spoke to him in hushed tones. I hung back, leaning against a tree, arms crossed. She had her clan again. Her people. It must have felt good to return to them.
A shieldmaiden sat nearby, grinding herbs into a bowl. Without looking up, she spoke. "We gave him his axe, Freydis. He died with honor."
Freydis inhaled sharply. "I… already wept for him," she murmured, standing up. "I thought he was dead long ago. But knowing he fell among his own people… that is enough."
The shieldmaiden glanced toward me, her sharp eyes studying me for a moment before she spoke again. "That drengr helped us greatly."
Freydis followed her gaze, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she said, "Come, Valrik. Join us."
For a moment, I hesitated, then exhaled and pushed myself off the tree. I strode forward and sat beside one of the wounded men, feeling the weight of their stares settle over me. Without a word, the shieldmaiden handed me a wooden plate filled with rabbit meat and sliced tomatoes. The scent was rich, savory.
I took the plate with a nod. "Thank you. Smells good."
She offered a small, satisfied hum before turning back to her work.
Freydis settled herself across from me, gaze shifting between the others. "What's the situation?" she asked, her tone firm. "How are the rest of the men?"
The shieldmaiden who had served me my meal straightened. "Getting better," she said, determination in her voice. "They'll be up and about in no time."
"Good…" Freydis said. "We will rise again."
A bitter scoff came from the man beside me. His grip on the blanket over his lap tightened. "Our Jarl is dead." Desperation edged his voice. "How do we rise, shieldmaiden?"
I swallowed a piece of tomato, chewing slowly. I knew that feeling—adrift, with no clear path ahead. Like grasping at smoke. I had no answer for him. If I did, I wouldn't be lost myself.
Freydis clenched her fists, her voice unwavering. "We will rise," she said, fire flickering in her eyes. "We always do."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and leaned forward slightly. "May I ask something?"
Freydis shifted her attention to me. "Of course, Valrik. Anything."
I gestured absently. "You and some of your people entered York without issue. I thought King Ælla wouldn't allow that."
A slight smirk tugged at her lips. "He is… probably against it," she admitted, nudging at the dirt with the toe of her boot. "But I bring silver into the city and cause no trouble. So he and his guards tolerate me."
I chewed another bite of rabbit, considering that. "Does that priest play a role in this?"
Freydis sighed, crossing her arms. "He does," she admitted. "John vouched for me. And apparently, he's well-loved by the people. They trust him."
I let out a quiet chuckle. "Hard to believe. I found him dead-drunk in a monastery, vomiting all over the place."
She huffed a small, humorless laugh. "They say he wasn't always like that." Her voice softened, darkened. "After his child died… well, that would break any man."
I nodded slowly, staring into the fire. The flames crackled, throwing flickering shadows across our faces.
Some wounds never truly heal.