In the following morning, Randvi and the others regrouped at Duroliponte. After they had broken their fast, Sunniva gave a detailed account of what she had seen: the location of the camp, the number of men she'd counted, the weapons they had been amassing...

"They're planning a raid, it's obvious," was Sunniva's conclusion. "And it will happen today."

"The priest we've interrogated said something of the sort as well," added Valdis. "Their scout noted that their target of choice was weakly defended with its longship gone."

Birna's face twisted in fury. "These thrice-cursed bastards! They're going to attack Grantebridge now that Soma is gone!" She turned to Eivor, angrily jabbing a finger at her. "Let's pay them a visit so I can give these cowards a taste of my axe!"

Eivor was sitting on a log, arms crossed over her chest. Randvi thought some colour had come back to her cheeks this morning. She was also glad to see that familiar gleam shining once more in those beautiful blue eyes of hers.

"We will," Eivor told Birna, "though at first we must talk of strategy. From what Sunniva has told us, these bastards are safely ensconced in Utbech."

"And they outnumber us," Randvi added. "We cannot win in a direct assault. And time is against us. We must stop them before they sail out to raid Grantebridge."

"Do you have a plan, then?" asked Sunniva.

"Of course she does," Eivor said. Gods, she had that twinkle in her eyes, the one Randvi loved so much. "Lay it out, love."

Randvi nodded, then looked at Sunniva. "Can you draw an approximation of the camp in the sand?"

Sunniva grabbed a stick and did as Randvi asked. The plan was crudely drawn compared to the maps Randvi usually employed, but it gave her a good idea of the camp's layout. And that was all Randvi needed to work out a strategy.

"The best is to strike before they sail out," Randvi said, pacing around Sunniva's outline. "Sunniva, you must go to Grantebridge to ask for reinforcements."

"I will," the woman said, putting aside her usual amiability to become Randvi's most efficient scout once more.

"Meanwhile, we will concentrate on sabotage to keep them from launching their offensive. We must keep to the shadows until our allies from Grantebridge can arrive to support us."

"So, what do you suggest?" Ljufvina said.

Randvi gestured at Eivor and Birna. "These two will cause a diversion. Sunniva, you said there was a building on the edge with a thatched roof?"

"Yes," Sunniva answered. "It's next to where they keep their horses. Might be where they store the hay."

"Then, Eivor and Birna will set it on fire. You two will find a way, won't you?"

Birna laughed loudly. "Are you truly asking us that question? You shouldn't doubt our combined ability to sow chaos, flamehair!"

"Good," Randvi said with a nod. "Meanwhile, Ljufvina, Valdis and I will swim up to the docks. Sunniva, you said they were loading the boats with supplies?"

"Shields and axes, aye," said Sunniva. "They have a large number of those. And horses, too." Her expression grew grim. "They must have ambushed a lot of Norse warriors on the roads. That's the only way I could see them getting their hands on so many weapons."

"We will avenge these drengir," Randvi assured her. "While their soldiers are distracted by the fire, we will cut the boats adrift. Petra, you will serve as ranged support. I trust you will keep any guards from noticing us."

Petra simply nodded. She had spent the morning taking care of her equipment in near silence, fletching new arrows in anticipation of the fight.

"Sounds like an excellent plan, love," Eivor told Randvi. Gods, Randvi thought, her beloved was nearly purring as she said those words. "As expected of our distinguished Table Maiden."

Birna grinned, pointing back-and-forth at Randvi and Eivor. "So, is this some kind of bizarre foreplay ritual you two have going on or…?"

"Birna," Randvi warned.

"You've seen the way Eivor was looking at you, haven't you, Randvi?" Birna continued, grinning like the cat who had gotten the cream. "Of course Eivor's flames are stoked by talks of strategy. Of course."

"We should have seen it coming," Sunniva said sagely, "considering the use they make out of that poor map table—"

"Sunniva, stop," Randvi said, throwing her a warning look.

Ljufvina tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. Valdis raised one brow.

"The one where you keep a map of England?" she said, mouth nearly twitching in a smile.

Randvi pinched the bridge of her nose, giving a long, beleaguered sigh. Despite herself, pleasant memories floated from the back of her mind; memories of soft smiles and softer touches, of breathless laughter—and passionate cries. That poor map of England indeed…

"At least they've installed a door recently," Birna said, rather pleasantly. "Before, well, anyone could just—"

"Odin takes me," Randvi said, rolling her eyes to the skies.

"Wouldn't that be more like Eivor ta—"

"That's enough, Birna," Eivor said, standing up. "You would not want to incur the wrath of my bride-to-be, would you?"

Randvi glared at Birna, and the woman actually swallowed. Good. She tolerated—and even enjoyed—Birna's antics for the most part, but there were times when one had to get serious.

"It would have been good to attack under the cover of night," Randvi continued, "but we cannot risk it since we do not know when they plan to start their own assault. We will have to be careful."

Eivor cupped her cheek with one hand. "Of course we will."

Randvi mirrored her smile, thinking how, not so long ago, Eivor would have simply answered that simple, but heartfelt demand with a cocky grin. How her beloved had changed, through these winters spent in these new war-torn lands serving as their new home.

Not far from the campfire, Valdis was pacing. "The longship," she mused out loud. "The priest said that the town they had targeted was vulnerable to attacks because the longship was gone."

Eivor's smile immediately dissipated, and she whirled to look at Valdis. The same expression of horror could be seen on both of their faces. Randvi felt a chill down her back.

"Ravensthorpe," Eivor whispered. "They're going to attack Ravensthorpe."

Before going to battle, Eivor and her companions covered their faces in dark war paint. It was not simply a matter of making themselves look more formidable to their softhearted, Christian enemies; Eivor wanted to blend in with the black mud of the marshlands and the dark greens of the riverside vegetation.

Sunniva took off, hoping to reach Grantebridge in time to ask for help. Birna tried to hide it, but she was seething with rage. Petra remained cool and collected, as always. Valdis did not fare so well; it was evident that she was thinking of her little family, whom she had thought safe in Ravensthorpe.

Randvi drew Eivor into a long kiss before they separated. It was rare for her to show open affection in view of others. Kissing her while in company felt like a victory in itself; never again would the two women have to hide their passion. Whatever the Nornir had woven in their fates, Eivor would spend the remainder of her days joyful in the knowledge that she loved, and was loved in return.

Grey clouds hung heavily in the sky while Eivor and Birna moved to approach the hut Sunniva had described, crawling in the mud along the way. The palisade was in poor shape; surely this new band of roving marauders had not been here long enough to tend to it. Inside the camp the bandits were occupied with preparations, scurrying about while a dark-haired bear of a man shouted orders. They would depart soon, then. There was no time to lose.

There were two men guarding the horses near the hut, and another group standing watch by the docks. They would surely see Randvi and the others if they swam too close to the boats. Randvi's group would make easy targets for arrows while they would be in the water. Eivor had to get these men away from the docks.

"Boost me up," she whispered to Birna.

The woman helped Eivor over the palisade. Eivor grabbed a fistful of thatch to hoist herself up to the roof of the hut, climbing carefully to avoid alerting the pair guarding the horses. Eivor then lowered herself to the ground, slipping inside the hut through a window. Inside, as Sunniva as predicted, was a few bales of hay sitting in a corner, beside various farming implements. Eivor poured some oil on the fodder, then took out a piece of flint, striking it once, twice to make a spark. She swore under her breath as the flickers failed to catch.

Outside, she could hear the two men talking; one of them seemed to be moving toward the entrance of the hut. Eivor cursed again.

Then, in the distance came a loud sound. An obscene sound, growing higher and higher in a cascading crescendo. Eivor could not suppress a snort; that Birna. Never again would someone like her walk the lengths of wretched Midgard. Eivor silently thanked the Nornir for putting the woman in her path.

"What the hell?" one of the men said, and Eivor heard him walking away from the door. "Where is this coming from?"

Finally, Eivor struck true, and a spark came to life. The hay quickly came ablaze. Eivor leaped out of the window, sneaking behind the makeshift stable. The horses grew nervous, giving panicked neighs when smoke started to pour out of the hut.

"Shit!" one of the guards cried out. "Fire! Fire! Don't just stand there, you fool, go fetch some buckets!"

"What buckets?!" the other shouted back.

His companion immediately slapped him behind the head. They were idiots as well as cowards, Eivor thought with some satisfaction. "Go find the chief! Hurry!"

A figure came closer to Eivor, crouching in the low grass. "Hej, warchief," Birna said, eyes gleaming mischievously. "They're looking for me outside—and no doubt very much enjoying the company of all kinds of cursed bloodsucking critters as they do so."

"We should move closer to the docks," Eivor whispered back. "Make sure Randvi and the others can work undisturbed."

"Aye, Jarlskona."

It was the right move; barely a moment later, men were scurrying about like ants, shouting and pointing at the blaze. Eivor and the others would have to work fast to sabotage the boats before those fools wizened up and came to the river with buckets to douse out the flames. A man took out the horses from the stable as the building caught fire as well. One of the beasts reared up, kicking him in the face with its hooves. As the man fell in the mud like a stone, the horses made their escape, rushing out of the camp and into the marshlands.

Good. That was one problem taken care of.

For now, no one seemed to be guarding the docks. Eivor and Birna hid in the deepening shadows, making their way to the water's edge. Birna was about to emerge from their current hiding place under a stilt hut—when she came face to face with a young man.

He opened his mouth to scream—then the point of an arrow irrupted through his throat, silencing him forever. He toppled forward in Birna's arms, and the latter lowered him on the ground, as gently as possible to avoid making any noise.

"Was that Petra?" Birna said in whispered awe. "She's got Skadi's own eyes, that one!"

"She does," Eivor said, mirroring her grin. "We are lucky to have her."

They hid the body and continued on their way. By then, the flames were spreading high up in the air, and the inside of the camp had devolved to pure chaos.

Eivor hid behind a barrel, eyes scanning the docks. Yes, there were figures moving about in the dark waters. A pair of hands gripped the rope anchoring one of the boats, working to cut it free. Under Eivor's watchful gaze, one boat drifted away, then another. By the time Randvi and her companions were cutting free the fourth ship, there was a sudden shout. One man had spotted Eivor's beloved.

"The boats!" he cried. "Someone's tampering with the boats!"

Another arrow burst from his chest, but this time Petra had been too late; the bear-like man—who must have been their leader Beorthric—turned to look toward the docks, his eyes widening.

"We're under attack!" he shouted, raising his axe in the air. "Kill those intruders, kill them!"

As his men roared in rage, rushing toward the pier with their weapons in hand, Randvi emerged from the river, water dripping down the blade of her axe like blood. Gods, she looked like some fierce spirit ready to exact violence and vengeance upon the cravens and the unworthy. Behind her rose Ljufvina and Valdis, equally fearsome in their cold fury. Some of the men flinched at their sight, and one even made the sign of the cross. The rest charged forward, screaming all the while.

"Now!" Eivor cried, springing out of her hiding place. Her first opponent barely had the time to cry in surprise as she buried her axe in his flank. She kicked at him, then twisted on her heel to face another attacker. This one raised his shield to block her axe; Eivor felt his spittle in her face as he roared, attempting to strike her in retaliation. Then, there was a thwip, and a gust of air by Eivor's left ear. An arrow was sprouting from his eye. The man vacillated, a hint of shock registering on his face. Then he toppled in the mud at Eivor's feet.

"Find that fucking archer!" someone—Beorthric, most likely—screamed. "Kill him, kill him now!"

One man ran up the palisade, an arrow nocked at his bow. He aimed at one of the rare trees that could be found in the marshlands outside the camp. Heart pounding, Eivor finally noticed the figure perched up its branches. Petra would make an easy target; she had nowhere else to go.

"Not on my fucking watch!" Birna roared, throwing a knife into the enemy archer's direction. The blade embedded itself between his shoulders. When he fell from the palisade, Eivor could see his face, forever frozen in shock. In the distance, Petra seemed equally surprised. Birna made a reverence toward the huntress before returning to the fight.

The battle went on—two dozens of men against only five shieldmaidens. Ljufvina was screaming in a language that Eivor did not know. Still, it was easy to understand the tenor of those war cries; the Bjarmian warrior was dedicating her kills to the gods of her people, the ones she had left behind when her fate had intertwined with a worshipper of the Aesir.

In contrast, Valdis was silent—and deadly. Her fighting style was graceful and precise, and her eyes were filled with cold determination as the enemies fell under her blade. The years in England had lessened her lust for battle, but they had not eroded her warrior's spirit. Like Eivor, Valdis fought to defend what she held most dear—and that made her all the more dangerous.

As for Randvi…

Eivor's betrothed was a vision of beauty and brutality. A hammer in one hand, an axe in the other, Randvi was dancing to the song of blood and steel, face contorted in righteous rage. Had there ever existed a fiercer shieldmaiden, a closer depiction of the winged she-warriors who scoured battlefields to find warriors worthy of Folkvangr? Eivor doubted it.

"Eivor, stop eye-fucking your bride-to-be!" Birna exclaimed, snapping Eivor out of her contemplation. "Gods, you two are so sweet on each other, it almost makes me want to puke!"

A smile played along the edge of Randvi's mouth. Gods, all Eivor wanted was to kiss her. Now their enemies were encircling them, their superior numbers finally edging on the element of surprise. Still, their horses had fled, and they had lost their ships and much of their equipment; they could surely not raid Ravenshorpe now that they were so severely weakened. Soon, Eivor and the others would face the judgment of the Valkyries—but the clan and their loved ones were safe. That was all that mattered.

Eivor looked at Randvi. The fire raging on the other end of the camp haloed her head, making her flame-kissed hair appear even more sublime. Her eyes were the blue of the spring flowers that grew in Heillboer near the longhouse, the flowers that Eivor had so loved to pick for her mother. Who needed a Valkyrie in the company of one such as her? Odin and his maidens be damned; all Eivor wanted now was to die by Randvi's side, to see that lovely smile as she passed on to whatever world awaited her in the next life.

Then—

"VALHALLA!" someone screamed in the distance, that cry followed by several other savage shouts. Eivor whipped her head toward the docks; two longships had landed on the shore. Several warriors surged out of the boats, and Eivor grinned at the snake sigil on their shields. Grantebridge's drengir—Soma's drengir—had answered their call.

Lif and Sunniva were spearheading that assault. At the sight of the former, Birna laughed loudly.

"Gods, Lif, you crusty piece of sheep dung!" she called. "That might be the first time that I am happy to see your ugly mug!"

Lif evaded one attack, buried his axe into the man's head, then turned to scoff at Birna. "I should have expected to find no gratitude on your part. Foul-mouthed bint."

"Tell me, Lif," Birna said conversationally, as though she was not occupied in raging battle, "are your balls as hairless as that shiny dome of yours?"

Eivor never heard Lif's response; across the camp, her eyes found a slight, smaller figure, their face hidden under a hood. They froze under Eivor's stare, then ran inside a nearby hut.

"Wait!" Eivor shouted, pushing her way through the throng of fighters. Inside the hut, she found her quarry rummaging through a small coffer on a table. The figure startled, whirling to look at Eivor. Their hand was clenched around something. Eivor's stolen pouch.

Their eyes met, and Eivor lowered her axe. The thief had removed their hood, and now Eivor could get a good glimpse at their face. Something clenched at her heart.

It was a girl, one who must have seen fourteen winters at the most. The braid resting on her shoulder was a dull, mousey colour, and her teeth were crooked, with a prominent gap in the front. Her pale grey eyes became wide as saucers, fixed on Eivor in the panicked stare of a prey who'd suddenly come face to face with a predator.

Eivor put her axe and shield away, raising her hands in a soothing gesture. "Easy, girl. I am not here to hurt you…"

"Why are you here, then?" the child said, fear dissipating from her face.

Eivor smiled, surprised by this show of defiance. "What's your name, child?"

"Why do you care?" she spat back. "I know my life is forfeit. By the old king's laws, I should have my hand cut off. I doubt you Danes are much kinder to thieves."

"I'm not Dane," Eivor said. "So I'll ask again: what should I call you?"

The girl narrowed her eyes. Eivor noted how her gaze occasionally flicked over to the door. "Leofe. That's the name my parents gave me. But I won't need it for much longer, will I?"

"You seem very certain of your fate. Are you a seer?"

"Of course not, I'm Christian, not a… a pagan, like you."

Eivor was still smiling. "Then, you should not be so sure that your life is about to come to an end."

"You weren't so merciful with the rest of the band." This time, her voice shook slightly. It was obvious the girl was terrified, but too proud to show it.

A stubborn one, Eivor thought, with some admiration. "Were they your family? If so, I am sorry that—"

"They're not my family," Leofe said, with much venom. "Though even if they were, I wouldn't have cared."

Eivor quirked one brow. "Harsh words, and a harsher sentiment."

"That's called being pragmatic. No one can stab you in the back if you don't get attached."

Ah, that anger was ever so familiar to Eivor. But at least she'd had Sigurd in those dark days of her childhood, she'd had Gunnar and Valka and the rest of Fornburg. This girl only had a couple of opportunistic bastards who would surely have thrown her to the wolves at the first sign of trouble.

"Hand over what you stole," Eivor said, "and I will let you go."

"The ring?" Leofe clenched her fist more tightly. "You went through all this trouble… just for a stupid ring? You know it's not worth much, don't you?"

"Its worth to my heart is greater than any treasure in England," Eivor replied. "So I must have it back." She paused before adding, "It's the ring I will use to wed my wife this Frigg's day."

The girl's face went slack. "Your wife. Your wife. You're a woman, you can't be married to another—" She shook her head. "No, that's impossible!"

"Why is that so?" There had been a hint of ice in Eivor's voice. "Why shouldn't I not be allowed to marry the woman I love?"

"A marriage is supposed between a man and a woman, it's always been that way." Leofe seemed genuinely distraught, and she had even started shaking. "Is it because you're pagan?"

"It's because I forge my own path and make my own choices," Eivor said. "And so should you, I think." She took a step forward, holding out her hand. "Give me the ring. And all will be forgotten. I swear on my mother's name."

Leofe's gaze flicker over to Eivor's outstretched hand, then back to her eyes. Before Eivor could do anything, she surged forward.

"No—" Eivor warned, trying to catch the girl—but Leofe easily escaped her reach, making it to the door. She's fast! Eivor thought. Leofe managed to take one step outside—and then a hand sprung up to grab her by the arm, stopping her in her stride. The hulking figure of Beorthric glowered at the child, fingers digging deep into the fabric of her tunic.

"Beorthric!" she cried. "Let me go, let me go!"

"You little bitch!" he spat at her. "Stealing from me, are you?"

Leofe struggled to escape his grip. "It's not yours, I found most of it, it should be mine!"

Beorthric struck her across the face in response. Eivor grit her teeth, blood boiling at the sight.

"Ill-made, unnatural brat," the man spat. "To think you would leave us to die and flee after we took you in!"

"Beorthric, Beorthric, stop, stop, you're hurting me!"

"Leave her alone!" Eivor threatened, hand twitching toward her axe.

Beorthric finally looked at Eivor, teeth bared as if he was an animal. "The godless Dane takes your side?" He tugged harder on Leofe's arm, and the girl cried out in pain. "You really are the Devil's child! God, we should have left you in the woods to starve!"

Tears were gathering in the corners of Leofe's eyes. She was looking at Eivor, beseechingly.

"Let the girl go," Eivor growled.

"Or what?" Now Beorthric had a savage grin. "You'll let me live in her stead? Is that what you're offering, Dane?"

Eivor tossed her axe aside. "Yes. Your life for hers. That is what I want."

Beorthric huffed out a laugh. "Why should I believe the word of a pagan?"

"We Norse do not keep your God," Eivor said, coldly, "but we know the meaning of honour. I am a drengr. I would rather die than break an oath."

Beorthric's laughter boomed in the tiny hut. He shoved Leofe forward, and Eivor moved to guard the girl with her body. Then Beorthric was upon Eivor, axe raised above her head.

"Watch out!" Leofe cried in dismay.

Eivor surged forward before Beorthric could even have the time to complete his movement. In the blink of an eye, her hidden blade had sunk into the tender flesh of his neck. Beorthric's startled—and terrified—eyes found Eivor. He was only met with a blue gaze filled with cold fury.

"Honourless cur," she hissed. "You are a blight for your proud people."

Then, she removed her blade, and Beorthric's lifeblood spurted from the wound, splattering the frozen mask of rage that was Eivor's face. Beorthric agonized in the mud for the length of one, two heartbeats—then he went very still.

For a moment, all Eivor could hear was the shaking staccato of Leofe's breaths. Then, the girl staggered forward. Her eyes were fixed on Beorthric's corpse.

"He's dead," she whispered. "He's dead, he's finally dead…"

"He is," Eivor said. "You are safe now, Leofe."

Leofe looked at her—and burst into tears. Eivor said nothing, only guiding the child outside the hut, away from Beorthric and the hatred still etched on his grotesque features.

The sun was starting to set while Eivor and her companions finally sat around a fire, eating a well-deserved meal as Lif's raiders cleaned up the camp.

At first, Leofe had grown very pale at the sight of the corpses littering the ground. Then, her eyes had hardened, and a scowl had formed on her face. She had even spat on Beorthric's corpse as one of Lif's men dragged it from the hut. Sunniva then invited the girl to sit with them around the campfire. To say the girl had been surprised would have been an understatement—yet, she took a place beside the scout, silently sipping her bowl of stew as Eivor and her companions celebrated their victory with laughter and ale aplenty.

"Gods, Birna," Ljufvina was saying, "you fought with Thor's own rage! Just like my youngest son, in fact." A sad little smile played alongside her lips as she added, "My eldest is more like his father. A strategic mind, he has, less guided by the fury of the fight."

"How are they?" Eivor asked. "Geirmund and Hámund, I mean?"

"They seek their own fortunes now," Ljufvina answered wistfully, "journeying the whale roads in search of adventure and glory."

"Wait," Birna said, "how old are your sons?"

"Only a few winters younger than Eivor."

"Only a few winters younger than…" Birna goggled at Ljufivna. "Wait, just how old are you?"

Ljufvina snorted. "Forty-two."

"Forty-two!" Birna cried out. "Gods, I hope I'll be as fit with an axe as you are when I'll reach your venerable age! How did you do it, you madwoman?"

Ljufvina gave a sly smile. "I've lived my life to the full, what can I say?"

"Is that a subtle way to say that you drank, fought and plowed to your heart's content?" Birna waggled her eyebrows as Ljufvina's grin grew wider. "If so, I stand to live as long as you do, Bjarmarsdóttir!"

Her assertion was met with drunken snickers from the rest of their companions. Then, Eivor said, a bit thickly thanks to the copious amount of ale she'd imbibed, "You know, I was just thinking... remember how a groom has to steal a blade from his ancestor's barrow before he gets wed? With his best men? Tonight was just… well, it was just the same for us. Except…"

"We are women," Valdis said.

"And we raided a camp full of bandits," Ljufvina added.

"And we did it to take a ring back!" Birna completed.

Eivor scowled. Beside her, Randvi was laughing.

"…then perhaps it is not the same, not completely," Eivor said, slightly pouting.

"It wasn't, but the most important part's still there, isn't it?" Birna said, leaning to grab Eivor in a crushing, one-armed embrace. "It was a bonding experience, Wolf-Kissed. And that makes it all the better."

"Hear, hear!" Ljufvina said, raising her ale horn. Valdis scoffed, but she did the same. Petra simply drank. And Randvi lay a hand upon Eivor's knee; her eyes were sparkling in the firelight.

"An auspicious way to start our lives together, my love," she said.

In response, Eivor only moved to capture her lips, to raucous whoops and cheers from the rest of their companions. Across the campfire, Leofe stared in silence.

If anyone had paid her any attention, they would have easily seen the longing in her eyes.