Free Raven by Giles Kristian Page A

long two-handled axe and slapping its cheek. ‘I’ve still got something to show those Svartálfar out there.’ Svartálfar are the dark elves that live underground and that word made some of the Danes spit or touch the Thór’s hammers at their necks. Now for the first time since he had challenged me I locked eyes with Beiner, unsure how things stood between us.
    ‘I saw that your legs are swifter than your sword arm, Beiner,’ I said, eyeballing him as I looped my belt with the scabbarded sword back round my waist. ‘Stronger too, I think, as your spear fell far short of any of the blaumen.’ In truth I had not even seen the big Dane throw his spear, but I knew I had to finish what I had started outside when I had killed the horseman who had come to talk. ‘I admit you are a fast runner for an old man,’ I said, feeling men’s eyes on me as the insult hung for a moment in that musky air.
    Beiner glanced at Rolf, who gave nothing but a clenched jaw so far as I could see, then the big warrior grinned, cutting his grizzled beard with teeth.
    ‘You must be a Dane, boy!’ he said, shaking his head and drawing in his friends with a sweep of his arm. ‘You’ve got bats in your skull,’ he added, flapping his big hands. ‘Only a Dane would take on a swarm of Svartálfar – or draugar or whatever in Hel’s reeking cunny they are – on horseback, armed only with a bent spear and his own crooked cock.’
    I smiled, mostly in relief that the big Dane didn’t seem about to use that big axe on me. ‘Does that mean you’ll do as I say, Beiner?’ I asked.
    The Dane scratched his cheek and hoisted his brows. ‘Do you want us to go out there and ask for our spears back?’
    ‘I want you to take that axe of yours and kill some chickens,’ I said, pointing into the shadows where the birds clucked and scratched quietly. ‘I’m hungry.’
    ‘Fucking bats in his skull,’ Beiner muttered, swinging his axe from his shoulder into his right hand and shambling off, musky smoke billowing in his wake. Rolf looked at me, bewilderment on his face, and I shrugged, unable to hide the surprise in mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

    OUR PLAN WAS PLAYING OUT LIKE GOOD FLAX ON A DROP SPINDLE . The blaumen were encamped an arrow-shot south-east of us, foot soldiers and mounted men together now, sharing fires and food whose strange smells carried up to us on the balcony of Gerd’s Tit. I watched from those heights as they performed their strange ritual again, the day’s light rolling westward, relinquishing the dry land to the shadows, as the ululating song wove a braid of sound. I had two fears. One that they would vanish, choosing not to fight us at all, and the other that they would press their attack on the door and break through. For we would eventually run out of heavy things to drop from the balustrade and few of us had decent weapons. But our lack of good war gear was all part of the plan and no doubt much of the reason why the blaumen were still there. We had baited the hook and they had all but swallowed it, though I wanted to draw them in one last time.
    A roar of pain filled the Tit as two Danes put Penda’s shoulder back in its place.
    ‘We need them closer,’ I said to Rolf beside me. ‘If they decide we’re not worth the spilt blood it has all been for nothing.’
    ‘Attack them?’ he suggested, though there was no heart in the words.
    ‘No. Out there they would ride us down. Trample us to dust and horse piss.’ I shook my head, biting a succulent hunk of meat off a chicken’s leg. ‘Just keep your eyes turned to the sea,’ I said, ‘and I will think of something.’
    Inside Gerd’s Tit candles illuminated the darkness and the taut faces of men who now looked to me to keep them alive. The one who had fallen to an arrow outside lay choking on his own blood. Bubbles frothed over his beard and his friends sat with him, talking in low voices of all the swiving he would soon be doing in Valhöll. They were good men those