35. Blood

“I have never seen a forest so black or so red. There are so many dead. I slid my way across the forest floor, stumbling on loose limbs, until I found Brolli, colored as the forest was, his chin in his hand as he sat atop a pile of corpses. He said no words at all but I have never seen a man so broken.

To this day, I am not sure if it was simply a bad dream. I do know that Brolli refused to fight in any battle after. Gudmund, for his part, has only grown more vicious in his determitation to bring this war to an end.”

The air in Gudmund’s Hall lay stifling, thick with the scent of smoke and humanity, lit with sparse ruddy light. Five loyal guardsmen stood around Gudmund with torches to hand, making something of a ritualistic scene in the lofty hall. They stood ahead of the sacrificial altar, at either side of the Chief of Horvorr.

The gathered people didn’t much comment, most thinking it some odd effort to try to awe or scare people. They stood huddled in tired-eyed groups, with more space than they had at the trial because of the lack of benches and the worse turnout. On the lips of most men and women was talk of fishing, seasons, and simple gossip. They spoke of those things to avoid what they were truly thinking of, what their curious glances and knowing looks spoke to: that Gudmund had gone fully mad and that Hallstein, Aksel, and a dozen other men meant to kill him.

Anna stood watching them all from the darkness outside. She had come without her husband, without his blessing.

Gudmund didn’t notice her. He didn’t notice much at all. He was still clothed in his bear-fur cloak, almost imposing, but within he felt like breaking. Sorrow had become a part of him like an old tree putting down roots. He was alone now, even with these people beside him. He was alone and ready to die. “Good evening!”

A communal grumble brought a belated end to conversations.

Gudmund squinted out at the crowd of wrinkled, flame-painted faces. He saw over a hundred eyes, all of them glistening, dancing with the flames of five torches. All of them with no hope at all. It reminded him of when he had gone with Brolli to bet on a baited bear. “You’re probably wondering what happened to my benches.”

“We’re wondering what all this is about!” someone shouted in arrogance. “We’re wondering what you’re going to do about the goblins!”

“Not one of us cares that you decided to move your furniture!” an older man put in.

“We’re wondering why you don’t just step down!” added the first. “Why you don’t let a better man do the job!”

“Why don’t you just leave,” came a third voice, a woman’s. “Go on your way, and leave the men that ain’t mad to leading Horvorr.”

Gudmund could only smirk. “I’m not mad.”

“No?” The first man laughed, somewhat echoed by the crowd around him. “You look bloody mad to me.”

“I’m not sure what you look like. Hard to see a man when he hides in the crowd. A little like seeing a mouse when he’s gnawing at your boot.”

“Believe me,” the old man said. “You don’t want us to step forward. What you want to do is leave. Not one man, woman, or child wants you for their Chief.”

The air grew heavy with unease and tension. Women with children made their way through the open doors. Men who had no cause or leanings stepped back to either wall, whether bare and wooden or blackened and burnt. A few old women were too tired or lazy to move, had seen too many years to bother fearing whether one bastard they didn’t like died, or whether another did.

A sorrowful wind swept in through the open doors and set torch flames dancing.

“Go on, then!” shouted the first man, Aksel. “Any of you cowards not wanting to stand against this mad man get out of the way.” Those around him parted, leaving the tall, handsome man standing in the torchlight with a broken-toothed smile.

Three groups formed in the poorly lit hall, one at either wall, and a sparsely spaced group of a dozen at the middle. Those armed men faced the six standing in a line ahead of them, blocking the way to Gudmund’s empty chair.

“You five should leave as well!” shouted the old man. “No sense risking your lives for the likes of him.”

Eirik barked laughter. “You’re not exactly standing high yourself, Hallstein. You ancient, ox-raping cunt.”

Aksel scowled. “Hard words are for soft men.”

Gudmund rested a hand on Eirik’s armoured shoulder. “Why don’t we all settle this in a duel?”

“Oh, aye.” Hallstein’s aged face crinkled with a black-toothed smile. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Sorry to say, I’m going to pass on that.”

“It’s me that’s sorry,” Gudmund replied. “I don’t want innocent men to die for my crimes, that’s all.” He held his fur cloak closed as he strode forward. “I tell you what. A duel, not between me and you, but—”

Aksel shook his head. “We ain’t fighting pairs.”

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“In honour of Ouro,” Gudmund explained, torches wavering behind him, his cloak shimmering with firelight. “Me, alone. Against any and all men that want to face me.”

Hallstein spat onto the floor. “This a trick? You’re telling me your boys over there—” He waved a hand towards the five grim-faced torch-bearers. “Are just gonna stand by while we hack you to pieces?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Gudmund’s smile was sorrowed. “I haven’t got any boys.” He took a deep breath. “Now do you want to fight the man you’ve a grievance with? Or do half a dozen other men have to die for the sake of… well, for no sake at all?”

Ralf stepped forward. “Gudmund.”

Gudmund glared back at him. “That’s Chief Gudmund, you fat fool. Go mourn your son and wife, and leave me to my business.” He heard a boot scuff and an abrupt grunt, so made great effort to twist his body.

“I accept!” Hallstein’s sword came down near Gudmund’s shoulder, shearing strands from his fur cloak.

Gudmund’s vision shifted from burning torches to Aksel’s mad eyes and an axe’s glistening blade. He brought his sword up from under the folds of his cloak, at angle to cleave metal head from wooden shaft. Gudmund slammed his boot into the falling hunk of metal, driving it into Aksel’s boot.

Hallstein’s second sword slash was weak but still sent Gudmund staggering forwards. He slammed his head into Aksel’s mouth. A fat man then lunged to drive a spear at Gudmund’s left hip, but the point didn’t puncture the mail rings under his cloak. Gudmund grabbed Aksel by the chest, using the hold to throw him back into Hallstein’s sword thrust. Aksel screamed now metal ripped through flesh. He tripped over, nearly bringing Hallstein down but the old man slipped free from the fall.

Gudmund stilled the fat man’s wrath with a glare. A bowstring thrummed and an arrow thudded into his shoulder. He dropped his sword, staggering forward, but managed to grab the wrist of a skinny man, stopping his axe. Gudmund then bulled the man towards the distant wall, grasping his greasy head, sliding his grip to the man’s hand and twisting the axe back on him.

The skinny man screeched when the blade sliced into his eye.

Gudmund drove him towards a spectator crowd that then parted ways. He shoved the skinny man into the wall, with enough force that the axe crunched through his cheek bone. An arrow buried into the nearby neck of a hunched man.

Gudmund turned to throw the skinny man, at Hallstein, who dived clear.

He gritted his teeth, watching folk flee in the corners of his vision, watching three armed men marching towards him with sword, spear and dagger. Worse than all that, Gudmund thought, was the chubby woman across the hall who had drawn her bow and was about to stick him dead with an arrow.

“Shouldn’t have said that shit about Ouro.” Hallstein laughed. “Now any man helps you and they’re cursed by the gods.”

The chubby woman narrowed her eyes, making sure of her aim in the distant light. So intense was her focus that she didn’t notice Anna standing hollow-eyed beside her, didn’t flinch when the sword swing came. The woman’s throat tightened as if to breath, but the blade was stuck in her neck.

Her fingers fumbled and an arrow flew loose into charred walls.

“I am sorry,” Anna whispered, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder, using it as leverage to wrench the sword from her neck.

Gudmund had been backed into a corner. He smiled in relief seeing the chubby woman crumple to her knees. “Bloody woman.”

“Call her what you want,” the fat man snapped. “My wife still stuck you good.”

Gudmund frowned at the arrow in his shoulder. “I meant that she’s covered in blood.”

The fat man turned to see his wife lying in a pool of her own blood. “No,” his voice trembled with denial. He shook his head, chubby face twisting with rage, then charged at Anna with his spear gripped for a thrust.

Gudmund hurled his axe into the man’s shoulder; he staggered onward, keeping at his charge until his legs collapsed.

“That was foolish,” Hallstein muttered.

Gudmund upturned his palms. “Didn’t want her to risk her life for the likes of me.”

Hallstein’s lip curled. “She’ll get worse than hurt when we’re done here.”

He dashed towards Gudmund, made a wide swing to set the fur-cloaked man off-balance. Gudmund backed far enough that the arrow shaft protruding from his back touched charred wood, catching a hold on the uneven surface. He bit down on his tongue. Pain blurred his vision. He swept his arm up and out from the folds of his cloak.

Hallstein lurched forward, hearing a crunch now he brought down his sword. He stared at Gudmund, proud face, cold eyes, and unruly hair all in shadows.

Hallstein felt frozen, so much numbness between his teeth, an odd fogginess to his thoughts. He stared at his sword, wondering why it wasn’t going down, why it was slipping from grip, why his mouth felt so cold. He wondered why he felt so afraid.

Gudmund let go of Grettir’s axe, wedged into Hallstein’s chin, and the old man toppled to the floor. He matched scowls with the ginger youth who had just been meaning to kill him, and could see a rough pair further back that looked ready for violence.

“Duel’s over!” Anna declared. “Whatever this grievance was it’s settled!”

The five torch-bearers, who had all shifted for a better view, closed in on Gudmund. Their presence warded off any further attempt and left the ginger man trapped between their naked axes and Gudmund’s bloody hands. “I don’t know what you look like,” he muttered. “Don’t care what you look like. So go on and leave and I’ll have forgotten you by tomorrow.”

The ginger man bowed, and made his flight from the place.

Gudmund stood unsteady, pale-faced, his fur-cloaked shoulder soaked with blood.

Eirik’s eyes were wide with concern. “I’ll empty the hall.”

“No.” Gudmund shook his head. “Drag the bodies out. I have a meeting I need to finish.” He turned to Ralf, who seemed a little angry and a little confused. Gudmund stared for a few seconds, then blinked. “Wanted to fight alone.”

Eirik and Arfast walked over to take the dead woman, knowing her body was closest to the door. They struggled with the weight and cursed the decision.

Gudmund sniffed, his eyes a little drunk and meandering. He noticed people were leaving. “This isn’t over!” He glanced back at skinny man behind him, face broken open by an axe. “This isn’t over…” He took a long breath, and shivered. “Do stay!”

“Gudmund.” Anna placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

Gudmund noticed her standing ahead of him, cold beauty buried under shadows. “We’re all bleeding.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s just you.”