Northwic, 873

The day following their raid in Serpent's Landing, Oswald and the others sailed to Northwic in Eivor's longship, carrying with them the riches they'd taken from Rued's men. After unloading their precious cargo, Eivor's crew made for the longhouse for a well-earned rest, leaving Oswald, Eivor and Finnr behind on the docks. Not long after, Valdis arrived, followed by Broder. Their sudden appearance dispersed the last of the curious onlookers who had come to gawk at the pile of treasure.

Valdis's eyes widened slightly as Oswald presented her with some of the goods plundered in their raid—crates of hacksilver, shields and weapons in near-mint condition, even a sack filled with stolen jewelry. Valdis looked at Oswald with furrowed brows, and it took him some time to notice that she was examining him. He blushed, wondering what had brought about her scrutiny.

"What's this?" Broder said, tilting his chin at Oswald.

Eivor glanced at him, and Oswald nodded. "We've raided the camp Rued's men had set up in Serpent's Landing," he explained. "This is but one part of our spoils. I thought to make it a wedding gift. Valdis, are you pleased with this offering?"

Before she could answer, Broder scoffed. "A wedding gift? Gods, you're a stubborn one. What part of 'no' can't you understand, boy?"

"That's silver and a trophy from our slain enemy," Oswald said with some irritation. "What more do you want?"

"Who said we wanted anything, Saxon?" Broder said. He turned to Eivor, giving a nasty laugh. "No battle-dented Dane would ever follow this lump of lard into battle! I don't care how many shields he brings me!"

Of course the man was referring to Oswald as if he wasn't there. Of course. "You mean to say you refuse my gifts, Broder?"

"I don't have time for this!" Broder exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "We've other matters to—"

"It's a generous offering, Brother," Valdis said, cutting him off. "You'd be a fool to turn your back."

"Refuse this," Eivor warned, "and your shame will stain the name of your sons, and their sons beyond."

"Stay out of this, Wolf-Kissed!" Broder exclaimed, jabbing a finger at her.

Eivor opened her mouth to retort, but a familiar voice called, in the distance, "Take the gift!" They turned to see Brothir heading in their direction; Oswald felt a touch of nausea when he noticed the body slung over his shoulder and he could not help but flinch when Brothir dumped the corpse at their feet. "We have bigger problems."

"One of Rued's men?" Oswald said, crouching to inspect the dead man.

"Aye," Brothir said. "Sniffing around the outer walls, looking for an easy way to slip a few dozen men inside."

"If there's one scout, there will be more," Valdis said. Her scowl deepened. "Something you might have learned if you kept him alive."

"I was passing water when he surprised me!" Brothir protested. "It was either him or my plow-sword!"

"Valdis is right," Eivor said. "There will be others."

"If I had seen any more," Brothir said, almost petulantly, "I would have killed them too."

"Where did you find this one?" Eivor asked.

"Just outside the city walls," Brothir said, "by the water's edge."

Eivor seemed deep in thought. "They'll be looking for points of entry, to sneak a herd of raiders through."

"Jesus." Oswald passed a hand through his hair. "Find another scout, we'll question him."

"I'll look around," Eivor said. "The rest of you stay here and out of sight. If I find anyone suspicious, I'll bring him here."

"No, I'll come as well," Oswald said. At Eivor's frown, he added, "I'll not sit on my hands while you risk your life for me, Eivor."

"I will help," Valdis added. "Brothir, Broder, you search one side of the river, on the northern side of town. Eivor, Oswald and I will take the other."

Oswald followed the two women to the edge of the city. Together, the three of them climbed the fortifications. Beyond the walls, Oswald could only see average people making their way to the eastern gate—families of refugees walking together in a frightened huddle, merchants in their rickety carts, drovers dragging recalcitrant livestock behind them. But then—

"There!" Oswald pointed below. By the side of the road, there was a burly fellow sitting on a log. The hood of his cloak was up, hiding the rest of his face. "That man! Isn't he—"

"That's not one of our warriors," Valdis said. "And he doesn't look the part of a pig farmer."

"I see him," Eivor said, darkly. "Valdis, wait at the city entrance. We will catch him in a pincer attack if he tries to flee."

Oswald cried in dismay as she flung herself over the wall. His heart settled, but only barely, when he saw her form moving below. From her expression, Valdis was as startled as he was by this feat. She murmured something in the Dane language that Oswald could not quite understand.

There was no time to gawk, however. Valdis made for the city gate, quickly followed by Oswald. Outside the walls, they heard a shout. Eivor was grappling with the man they had noticed, to the great alarm of the surrounding bystanders. He slipped out of her hold, rushing toward the gate. The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of Valdis running toward him. He grabbed something at his belt, and Oswald saw the telltale glint of a blade in his hand.

"Valdis!" he cried, heart catching in his throat.

The man lunged forward, face twisted into a hateful rictus. Valdis made a circular motion with her upper arm, redirecting the point of the weapon. Then, without missing a beat, she struck the man in the groin; he screamed in pain as he fell to his knees. Before he could move another muscle, Eivor rushed in, slamming him behind the head with the heel of her foot. Then, she twisted the man's arm behind his head, pushing his face in the dirt with her other hand.

"Stay down, muck-worm," Eivor said. "I have some friends who'd like to speak with you."

"Valdis!" Oswald cried, rushing to their sides. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," Valdis said. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"That man had a knife! He could have stabbed you!"

"But he didn't," Valdis said, with a slight frown. She was watching his face intently, as if perplexed by his reaction.

Oswald groaned, passing a trembling hand through his hair. For some reason, part of his mind could only focus on how Valdis had disarmed her opponent. She had acted in a fluid, practised manner... the motion had been graceful, almost beautiful to behold. It was a disquieting—and embarrassing—thought to entertain in such circumstances.

At their feet, Rued's scout fought against Eivor's grasp, letting out what seemed like a curse. She tightened her hold over his arm in response.

"I wouldn't try to escape if I were you," Valdis told the man, icily. "Otherwise, Eivor here will break your arm."

"Gladly," Eivor said with a manic gleam in her eyes.

Together, she and Valdis worked to bind the man's wrists. People around them were whispering among themselves, shooting uneasy looks at Oswald and his companions. In a surprising show of strength, Eivor flung the man over her shoulder, and the crowd parted to let her through.

They met up with Broder and Brothir in a secluded corner of the barracks. Finnr had come as well. Eivor tied the man to a wooden pillar. When she was done, Oswald gathered his courage, moving closer to their prisoner. Immediately, the hatred and fear that showed in the scout's eyes gave way to something else. Relief. Mixed with amusement. Oswald fought an urge to roll his eyes; he should have known better than to expect any other kind of reaction.

"Did Rued send you too?" Oswald began, speaking in the harshest tone he could muster. "Speak now, and you may live to see tomorrow."

"Argr swine," he replied, spitting in Oswald's face.

Oswald glared at him, wiping the man's saliva from his cheek. "That won't make you any friends here," he said, coldly.

"A scolding like that is a mortal offence, boy," Broder said. "I'd kill the bastard. Don't give him time to act again."

God, why had every Dane that Oswald had ever met been so eager to throw all strategic sense aside to nurse a bruised ego? "I'll ask once more," he told the scout. "Why were you lurking around Northwic's walls?"

The man grinned, teeth bloodied and broken. "I came to pay my respect, lord... to Oswald, the simpering Saxon ergi of East Anglia!"

"Tell him why you're here," Eivor growled, "and you may walk free with your head on your neck."

"Lick... my... dung-hole!" the man said, clearly relishing in that puerile comeback.

Eivor took her axe in hand, and the man recoiled at the sight of it. "Here's the tongue I use for licking," she said, voice icy as winter. The scout's eyes bulged as she brought the blade closer to his rear. "How does it feel against your arse?"

Sweat beaded on the man's brow. He struggled against his bonds, shaking and groaning in fear. Eivor's eyes remained fixed on him, cold as two shards of ice.

"W-When the brazier is lit at Dunwic," the man blurted out, squeezing his own eyes shut to avoid the steel of her gaze, "o-our Jarl will rally the men. They mean to attack Northwic by its weakest wall!"

Eivor glanced at Oswald. He gathered his breath, hiding his trembling hands behind his back. Of course Rued would think to attack Northwic. It was a risky gamble to target such a fortified location, but if the city fell…

Then there would be no one to stop Rued's rampage. Without the last of her protectors, East Anglia would be his for the taking. Oswald closed his eyes, remembering the slaughter of King Edmund's men outside Theotford. It was easy as well to recall with perfect clarity the butchery of a battle that had cost Aethelred his life. And, of course, the skirmish at Serpent's Landing was still very much fresh in his mind. God, the lands of East Anglia had been drenched in so much blood already…

And now, Oswald thought, heart clenching, there would be even more senseless killing. By the Lord, how could he stop such a thing from happening again?

The scout's wheezes eventually turned into soft, unhinged laughter. "Oh, you English Danes are soft as butter now." His gaze flicked over to Valdis; Oswald felt queasy at the sight of his foul grin. "Rued sends his blessing, lady. He'll see you again very soon."

Eivor frowned, pulling her axe away. "He may still be of value to us if he—"

Before she could finish, someone surged forward—Valdis, Oswald was shocked to find. She made a sharp motion to the man's side, and he let out a gurgle, blood bubbling at his mouth. Only then did Oswald noticed the dagger she had plunged into his flank. The man's body convulsed in a few horrible twitches, then he went very still.

Valdis turned to look at Oswald, green eyes ablaze with fury. "Any man who questions your courage and feels no shame," she spat, "there's your answer."

God, Oswald had never seen such naked emotion upon her face. She was almost frightening. Still, he held on to her glare and said, "I will not have blood spilled needlessly in my kingdom! This has to end!"

"Peace, Oswald," Eivor said. "Perhaps Valdis did all of us a favour. Alive, this man was a risk."

Oswald stifled a curse, heart still pounding madly. "Valdis," he said, finally, "this man spoke as if he knew you."

She glanced at her brothers. Oswald had never seen them look so… uneasy. Finally, Broder gave her a tight nod. That seemed to be the cue Valdis needed.

"Rued was my husband," she said, speaking each word like it was a curse.

"Your husband!" Oswald exclaimed. "You're married already?"

"I was," she answered. "We've been apart for five summers. I never expected to see him here." Valdis paused, before continuing, in a wretched voice, "And I never wanted to."

Oswald's mind reeled at this revelation, but it would not be fair to Valdis to start pestering her with questions right in front of her brothers and Eivor. Instead, he sighed to settle his frayed nerves, knowing all too well the only path offered to him if he wanted to avoid more bloodshed.

"East Anglia's prosperity depends on our safety and unity," he said, managing to keep a steady voice despite the terror gripping him. "With Rued's clan stomping around, neither is possible. I must speak with him myself, man to man. There's no place for him in East Anglia. He must hear it from me."

"Right," Finnr said, blunt as a hammer. "I'll start looking for a new king tomorrow." He turned to leave, waving his hand in the air. "It was good to know you, lord."

Valdis grabbed him by the arm, stopping him in his stride. "You old fool," she spat. "You can't foist this up on us while making yourself scarce. I won't let you."

"Rued will eat your lungs for supper, Oswald," Broder said. His tone was strange; Oswald realized it was the first time the man had spoken to him without showing scorn or distaste. "Steer clear of him."

"If I'm to be a worthy king," Oswald answered, "I must meet the man who bedevils us. I'll light the brazier at Dunwic and face him when he comes."

"You sure you want to do this?" Eivor said. "Meeting Rued in the open comes with many risks."

"It's the only way. We must face him head on, and we cannot waiver."

"Then we must make for Dunwic," Valdis said, grimly, "and quickly. There is no time to lose. Oswald, are you ready to leave?"

"I… well…" Now that the words had left his mouth, his own courage threatened to escape as well. "Could I take some time to pray before we depart, at least? It would… it would ease my mind a little, I think."

Oswald had almost expected her to show scorn at his request. Instead, Valdis nodded. "I understand. I would accompany you… unless you object?"

"N-No," Oswald said, shocked by that answer. "I'll lead the way…"

As he and Valdis turned to leave, Oswald heard Eivor saying, "Of course, I will see the lot of you there as well, else the songs of your cowardice will ring out over the generations."

One of the brothers made an angry noise, but Finnr only said, "We'll be there, Eivor."

"You don't speak for us, steward!" Was that Broder? It sounded like him.

Finnr gave a nasty laugh. "Need I remind you wags what Halfdan will do with us if East Anglia falls into Rued's hands?"

By then, Oswald could not hear the brothers's response. In grim silence, he led Valdis to Northwic's stone church. There was no one inside, to his surprise—and relief. Oswald made the sign of the cross before walking up the aisle; he noted belatedly that Valdis was watching his every move. Was that curiosity on her face? It was hard to tell.

Oswald kneeled before the altar, hands clasped. The face staring back at him from the stained glass above his head was benevolent, fatherly. Usually, his Lord's image would have filled him with peace and warmth, but now…

Please save us, please don't forsake the people of England. Oswald shook back and forth on his knees, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Protect my people, protect East Anglia, oh, don't let good, innocent people be sheep for the slaughter, please…!

He did not know whether or not his pleas would be heard, but eventually calm suffused in him, and he blinked back his tears. When Oswald stood, a few moments later, it was on steady feet. He turned to face Valdis. She was looking at their surroundings with obvious interest. Her eyes lingered on a stained glass depicting the Lord as a child with his saintly mother. Was she impressed by the craftsmanship of the piece or was she touched by the tender moment displayed before her? Oswald did not know.

"Is it the first time you've set foot in a church?" he asked her.

Valdis nodded. "From what I've heard from your priests, I half-expected your god to strike me the moment I set foot inside."

"They would be mistaken to believe they know the true depths of God's mind," Oswald admitted, with some levity. "Some of our holy men tend to forget they are fallible humans as well."

Was it Oswald's imagination or did the corners of Valdis's mouth almost twitch upward? Soon enough, her face had gone back to its usual sternness. "Have you finished your prayers, Oswald?"

He managed a nod. "Yes. But before we go, there is something I wished to discuss with you…"

"Yes? What is it?"

Oswald breathed in, deeply. He tried not to sound too accusatory as he said, "You were married? And to Rued of all people? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Is there anything to tell? He was unsatisfying as a husband, so I demanded an end to our marriage."

"Unsatisfying? What do you mean?"

"Does it even matter?" Valdis said, in a cold tone. "It does not concern you."

"It does not—" Oswald inhaled sharply, trying to keep his voice steady. "Here in England, a marriage cannot be broken, it's simply not done—"

"Oswald," Valdis cut him off, "drop the matter. I will not speak of it again."

Oswald blinked, finally meeting her eyes. The hatred he saw in their green depths startled him—and suddenly he understood with horrifying clarity why she was so reluctant to speak of her first marriage.

"Lord Almighty," he said. "Valdis, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried…"

"You truly are a strange one," Valdis commented, with a somewhat softer expression. "I've never met a man who apologizes as often as you."

Oswald was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu. "Someone said that about me, once. Ivarr Ragnarsson."

"You've met Ivarr Ragnarsson?"

"Yes," Oswald said. "You're kin with him, aren't you?" With King Edmund's murderer.

"No," she said, rather abruptly. "I am Halfdan Jarl's cousin on his mother's side. She was my grandfather's sister."

Oswald was somewhat surprised by her reaction. "You don't like him. Ivarr Ragnarsson, I mean."

"Why should I?" she said. "There is a difference between a warrior seeking glory in battle and a madman sowing chaos in his wake without caring how it harms both allies and foes. Halfdan and Ubba are the former, but Ivarr… Ivarr is the latter."

Oswald remembered that wicked grin and those pale, piercing eyes. He could not repress a shudder. "I lost a tooth to him."

"Ivarr Ragnarsson struck you," Valdis said, eyes widening, "and you still live?"

For some reason, her words rubbed him the wrong way. "Why would he waste even more of his precious time on someone like me?" In his mind, Oswald could hear every insult, every threat lobbied at him by Ivarr Ragnarsson's ilk. Weak. Effete. Craven. For the past five years, he'd heard nothing but that drivel from his would-be—from his so-called allies. "I'm nothing to people such as him, less than the dirt on his shoes." And before he could exert any control on his words, he blurted out, "I'm nothing to you Danes."

Valdis frowned. "You look at my people and think they are all like my brothers. Or Ivarr Beinlausi."

"Or Rued." Why had Oswald said those two words? He did not know. Something strange was brewing in the pit of his stomach, something cold and dark that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Yes," Valdis replied in a cool, but controlled voice. "Like Rued." She sighed. "You must understand... most of my raiders aren't warriors by trade. They're farmers. Merchants. Craftsmen. Fighting isn't their occupation, only…"

"Something they do when bored," Oswald completed. "A hobby, if you will. Burning down churches, stealing from Christians, murdering them… lovely ways to pass time, I say!"

"People go a-viking because their crops have failed them," Valdis continued, as if that justified anything. "Because they've lost everything in a bad business venture. Because the other alternative is to starve."

"And? People starve in England too. Are Saxon lives lesser than Dane lives?"

"Of course not," Valdis replied, a bit heatedly. She narrowed her eyes. "Speak plainly, Oswald. I tire of these word games. Say what lies heavy on your heart, and let us be done with this."

"What lies heavy on my heart?" Oswald felt the blood leaving his cheeks, and for a while, his thoughts became still as calm water, as if he could not quite parse her words. Then, that great unknown feeling crashed, surged, raged through him, and he threw his hands in the air and shouted, "What lies heavy on my heart is that none of this would have happened if you Danes had not come to England! All these deaths, all that destruction… all of this is your fault, and your fault only!"

Oswald could remember all too well the weeping of the bereaved and the broken, he could see in his mind's eye the charred ruins of so many villages, oh, he could still smell the distinct stench of decaying flesh on the battlefield. He was very well aware that he must have looked like a raving lunatic, but he was past caring, he was a dead man walking, the last in a long list of innocent Saxons murdered for the terrible crime of already existing in the land that the Danes coveted for themselves.

"None of this would have happened if your people hadn't come to East Anglia!" he screamed, voice growing hoarse. "If they hadn't murdered their way through my kingdom!"

There, he had said it. He had said it, and he could not take those words back. Oswald panted, unable to stop himself from trembling from the shock and anger. He should have felt foolish for exploding in such a manner… but it only felt good. He glared at Valdis, as if goading her to say something, anything. He waited for her scorn, for her indifference, for the callous excuses he'd heard a thousand times before from others like her. Say it. Say you hate me, say you hate us Saxons, say you all wish us dead, say it!

Prove that you are the beast that my people claim you are.

There was silence, then Valdis said, so bluntly, so simply, "I know. What are we going to do about it?"

The air sapped out of Oswald's lungs at those words. Still, he looked at her with the practised suspicion of an animal used to mistreatment. "We?"

"The chaos in this land is threatening the people under my protection. Not so long ago, that meant only the members of my clan, but if I am to become queen…" Valdis held his gaze without flinching. "That now includes the Saxons of East Anglia as well."

Oswald's breathing slowed down. There it was again, that weariness he'd glimpsed only a few times before. But now Oswald was starting to understand from what source sprang that well of sorrow.

"You…" he began, unsure of what to say, "you really are different from the others, then…"

"No," Valdis said. "I am a wolf, same as Halfdan and his brothers."

"But… you said…"

"I am simply not a rabid one like Ivarr," Valdis continued. Sunlight poured from the stained glass behind her, bathing her in an eerie, many-hued glow. Oswald did not know whether he found her beautiful or frightening. "I don't expect you to forgive or forget. I understand enough about the Christian religion to know that I would not be considered a good person according to your faith. My hands are more stained than you can imagine. If you want to break our engagement on these grounds, I would not hold it against you." And she turned to walk away.

"Wait!" he called after her. Valdis frowned at him. It took Oswald some time to gather enough courage to say, "My… emotions got the best of me. I shouldn't have been so rude. You've endured your fair share of suffering as well, it's plain to see. And you must have done it while having to care for others in your responsibility. That's why you have to stay so strong all the time."

Valdis seemed taken aback by his words—even troubled. Then, she shook her head, and that emotion flitted away.

"Your anger is understandable," she said. "My people have harmed yours. My own kin has sown death and destruction upon your kingdom. I would think less of you if you did not hate us, even a little."

"I don't hate you," Oswald blurted out. It was surprising; he had meant every word of his previous outburst, yet that simple statement also rang of truth. "I could never hate you."

She looked at him mutely, before muttering something, averting her eyes from his gaze.

"What?" Oswald asked. "What did you say?"

"I said they're mistaken about you," Valdis told him. "Finnr, Brothir, Broder—they're all mistaken about you. The only one who can see you for what you're worth is Eivor. You do have courage. They are mistaken, and… so was I." She sighed, and it seemed to pain her to add, "That's why it's a shame that you have to…"

"That I have to…?"

"Face Rued. You cannot win. All the courage in the world will not change that. It's simply not possible."

"You don't know that," Oswald said. "Only God does. Besides, my hope is that it doesn't come to a fight. We can come to another arrangement, the two of us. We must come to an arrangement."

Even as those words left his mouth, Oswald was aware of how pathetic he sounded. Deep down, he knew she was right. He was never going to live to see the end of summer.

Hell, he was probably never going to see another sunrise.

Oswald was surprised to glimpse a hint of sadness in Valdis's eyes; he'd expected something like pity instead. Oswald startled even more when he felt her hand over his shoulder. It was the first time she had ever touched him.

"I will pray to Tyr so you can achieve victory," she said, tapping the Tiwaz rune painted on her chin. "He favours those fighting for just causes."

Oswald looked into her eyes, not knowing quite what to say. Thankfully, he was saved from an awkward moment when Finnr walked inside the church. The steward considered the two of them, lifting one bushy grey eyebrow.

"You two lovebirds are done?" he drawled. "We need to get going if we want to get there before sundown."

"Y-Yes, we're done," Oswald answered. "We can leave for Dunwic." As Valdis turned to follow Finnr out of the church, he added, "I've just realized… this is the longest conversation we've ever shared."

Valdis pressed her mouth into a line, before nodding. "Strange to think, isn't it? We are to be married, yet we barely know each other."

We will not be married, Oswald thought dully. He would be dead tomorrow, and she would be free to marry the man of her choosing. Oswald expected her new groom would be strong enough to show his conviction with feats of arms rather than just words. Finally, she would have someone worthy of her.

"I would be happy to learn more about you," Oswald said, masking his sadness. "Once this is all over."

Again, Valdis's eyes widened in slight surprise. Then, her expression softened. "We will have many more opportunities to speak once this is over, yes."

Oswald nodded, grimly. "Onward to Dunwic, then?"

"Onward to Dunwic," Valdis agreed.

Dunwic, 873

Hours seemed stretch into days as Oswald hid and waited.

He and the others had gathered in an old dilapidated stone building near the seaside fortress of Dunwic. Like all the castles of East Anglia, it had been built on the foundations of an old Roman garrison. Dunwic itself was half a ruin. King Edmund had worked on repairing all these old strongholds in the years preceding the Danish invasion, but then the Great Heathen Army had come to East Anglia, and, well… poor Edmund had been left with far more pressing matters to worry about.

Following Eivor's advice, they had favoured a cautious approach. She had snuck inside the castle to neutralize any soldier she might find, while Valdis and her brothers had gone to scout the docks. Oswald, of course, had been left behind with Finnr. They would make their way inside only upon receiving Eivor's signal.

Finnr seemed to be dozing off, but Oswald could not stop looking toward Dunwic, the whole of his body tense with apprehension. Finally, a light showed in the distance, and a plume of smoke rose in the dusk sky.

"Finnr," Oswald said, shaking him by the shoulders. "Finnr, we have to go."

The old man stood up, groaning as he made his joints pop. "All right," he drawled, taking his axe in hand. "Stay behind me, boy. I don't need you dying on me tonight."

"That would render all of your efforts moot, yes," Oswald said. "Halfdan would be most displeased."

Finnr blinked at him, almost cluelessly. "Yes," he said. "I'm doing this for Halfdan. Of course."

They walked carefully up the path. To Oswald's great relief, they saw no figure moving up on the battlements. When he and Finnr crossed the bridge into the fortress, it became frighteningly clear why there had been no one to notice their approach.

The castle courtyard was full of corpses. A cursory examination of one body told Oswald what he had expected to find: most of these men had a gaping wound at their throat. It was also apparent that they had died without ever seeing the face of their killer. Oswald stood up, suddenly very, very glad that Eivor was his ally and not his enemy.

"Heimdallr's teeth…" Finnr said, looking upon the corpses. "How did she…"

Oswald said nothing and continued to make his way up, where he could see the blazing light of the brazier. He found Eivor sitting by the fire, face hidden under her hood. At her feet, Sýnin was ripping a piece of meat with her beak while Eivor cleaned the small blade fastened to her wrist. Beside her stood Valdis and her brothers. Oswald saw on their faces the same expression he could spy on Finnr's grizzled features: a strange sort of awe bordering on uneasiness. That confirmed Oswald's lingering suspicions; Eivor was far from a normal Norse fighter.

"The brazier is lit," Eivor said. "These curs will soon come. Are you ready, Oswald?"

"Yes," he said, tightening his grasp on the hilt of his father's sword. "I am ready."

Not long after, voices rang out in the chilly evening air, full of rage and shock. Eivor stood, taking her axe in hand as a few men clad in mail and leathers emerged from the darkness. Valdis, her brothers, and Finnr did the same, falling into fighting stances. Oswald tensed, but he did not unsheathe his sword. He could not meet Rued with a bared blade; how could he profess to have come seeking peace, then?

"Stand down!" a voice boomed from behind the line of raiders. "Let me through!"

A tall brute of a man, black hair gathered in a loose tail behind his head, was heading toward Oswald and the others, roughly shoving his fellow warriors out of the way. The sides of his head were shaved, with blue-black symbols inked on his skin instead. His beard was long and coarse—a far cry from the well-groomed whiskers of Valdis's brothers.

"Odin gifts me a bargain!" the black-haired man proclaimed, with a snarling grin. "A few dead men at my feet in exchange for a ripe East Anglia and my wife returned. What a day!"

Rued. This was the monster plaguing East Anglia. The one responsible for much of the death and destruction of the past two years. Aethelred's killer. Beteleah's scourge.

Valdis's first husband, who had treated her so horribly that she could barely stand to speak of him.

Rued seemed completely ignorant of the hateful, furious look Oswald was throwing in his direction. "Who called for me?" the warlord said, before turning his attention toward a certain shieldmaiden, offering her a bloodcurdling smile. "Was it you, Valdis, my love?"

Valdis responded with the fiercest scowl Oswald had ever seen on her face. "Why would I call you now," she spat, "after five happy years away from your stinking balls?"

"I called you, Rued," Oswald proclaimed.

"You?" Rued barely seemed able to suppress his laughter. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"You know who he is," Eivor snapped. She had not put her axe away. "Say his name."

Rued looked at Eivor, squinting his eyes. "You... I don't know you."

"You don't need to know my name," Eivor said. "You will not have a use for it beyond today. Any questions you have, you ask King Oswald. And bend the knee while you do."

Rued bristled at her tone. Still, soon enough he was grinning once more. "So this is Oswald, the hopeful king of East Anglia."

"And Valdis's husband-to-be," Oswald added. The smirk was gone from Rued's face in an instant. Scorching hatred flared in his eyes, the likes of which Oswald had never seen before. He did not know how he managed to muster the strength to face that glare and say, "Take your men and go. East Anglia is strong with Saxons and Danes united. It will not fall to raiders."

Rued scoffed. "Must I set sail for Denmark with nothing to show for the journey? After coming all this way?"

"You'll have my weight in silver," Oswald said. "And an abundance of livestock and grain."

"I've taken ten times that already. What's the real prize?" Rued's mouth twisted into another grin. "I'll make you an offer, pig-foot. A holmgang, just you and me, for the future of your kingdom."

Oswald's heart hammered in his chest as he considered this proposal. With those words, Rued had sealed his fate. Oswald of Elmenham, last thegn of East Anglia, was going to die at this man's hands tonight. But perhaps, with God's grace, he could still give his kingdom the chance she needed to be freed of this wretched brute's reign of fear and violence.

"I accept," Oswald said, after a slight silence that seemed to stretch into eternity. Valdis looked at him with shock, and his heartbeat thumped louder in his ears. "I accept!" Oswald repeated, with more conviction. "A fight to the death!"

Rued's smirk grew crueller. "East Anglia's the prize, let it be heard!"

Oswald remained in a daze as he and the others were led to a wooden platform built at the highest point of the castle. Rued's men made the square with straw and bits of wood. Oswald watched them work without making a sound, feeling numb. Then, Rued let out a satisfied exclamation.

"The hazel is laid!" he announced. "The square is made!"

That was enough to snap Oswald out of his stupor. Inhaling sharply, he moved toward Eivor, touching her arm.

"When you have your chance," he said, "lead Valdis and the brothers to safety. They must not fight tonight. East Anglia needs them."

"Let me fight in your stead," Eivor said, in an unusually soft voice. This time, she was the one to grab Oswald by the arm. "Let me be your champion."

"No," Oswald answered, surprised—and touched—by the worry he could read in her eyes. "He called on me."

That concern turned to sorrow, and Eivor let go of him, almost reluctantly.

"Whenever you're ready, king of sheep shit!" Rued roared.

Oswald stepped forward, to the jeers and laughter of Rued's men. He glanced behind, meeting Valdis's eyes. She nodded; her face was open, almost earnest. Oswald drew his father's sword. Finnr came closer, wordlessly correcting Oswald's stance. Oswald tried to find the old steward's gaze to express his gratitude, but Finnr wouldn't even look at him.

"I'm ready," Oswald managed, voice cracking at that last syllable.

The raiders around him were chuckling. Rued himself was shaking with silent laughter, lifting his chin in a goading manner. All of Oswald's instincts were screaming at him to turn on his heel and flee.

And yet he did not. Instead, he surged forward, raising his sword. Rued was not even moving. Oswald swung his blade, but Rued evaded his attack in an easy, almost lazy manner, before roughly grabbing Oswald by the face, shoving him backward. Oswald was sent careening to the ground; still, he managed to roll and push himself into an upward position.

Gritting his teeth, he lunged at Rued, only to earn himself a kick in the stomach. Bright pain burst through Oswald's midsection as he was sent flying in the air. He landed on his back, and he choked, bones still rattling from the impact.

Oswald had no time to dwell on his agony; at the very last second, he saw the glint of an axe whirling toward him. Mustering all of his waning strength, he raised his father's shield. The piece of wood snapped under the force of the impact. Oswald howled, white-hot pain surging through his shield arm.

And Rued was laughing. "Another Saxon king has bent the knees!" he called loudly, to the great delight of his warriors. Through ringing ears, Oswald could hear them roaring in glee and banging on their shields with their axes. He was going to die in front of their eyes—and they were glad of it.

Rued was striding toward Oswald, arms open, face still twisted in that horrid smile. Oswald managed to rise on his knees, struggling to grab his sword again. Once his hand wrapped around the hilt, he quickly turned around, swinging the blade to hit Rued in the flank. Rued immediately caught his wrist, twisting it. Oswald let go of his blade, crying out in pain. His scream turned into one of rage, and he made a fist with his hand, landing a hit on Rued's jaw. Immediately, Rued countered by striking him across the mouth. Oswald fell flat on his stomach. God, he could feel tears mingling with the grime and the snot and the blood covering his face. With trembling hands, he pushed himself off the ground, just enough to meet Eivor's eyes. She was looking at him with sorrow, her entire body taut as a bowstring. It was evident that she was yearning to go to him—but could not.

"Call me king before I gut you!" Rued shouted from above Oswald.

He tried to crawl away from the man, hands twisting in the dirt. Oswald found a scrap of wood, and he rose to stab Rued in the side with it. Once more, Rued grabbed Oswald's arm before the attack could connect. In a forceful motion, he snapped it across his knee. This time, the pain was so great that the world went white in front of Oswald's eyes. He screamed again, writhing on the ground.

God, he thought, it hurts so much, make it end, make it end—

Rued chuckled darkly. "Fighting dirty, are you?"

Rued gripped the now limp arm, using it to drag Oswald behind him. Oswald struggled, with everything he still had, kicking his feet, trying to claw at Rued's hand, digging his nails in the wood under him until his fingers were bleeding. Help me, the panicked thought burst into his mind, help me, oh, please, someone help me… Soon, they had reached the end of the platform. Rued hoisted Oswald up by the neck, dangling him over the edge. He held on to Rued's arm, legs kicking uselessly beneath him. Oswald could hear the sea crashing over the rocks below.

God, please, someone, Father, Mother, help me, someone, PLEASE—

"Call. Me. KING!" Rued bellowed, spittle flying all over Oswald's face.

With a shuddering gasp, Oswald managed to crack his eyes open, seeing his allies from across the square. Eivor's face was a mask of pure horror. Finnr was looking away in shame. And Valdis...

"OSWALD!"

That single cry seemed to pierce at Oswald's heart, cutting through the pain fogging his mind. Valdis was trying to run to him, but her brothers were holding her back. Rued whipped back his head to look at her, clearly startled by her shout. For a split second, all his rage seemed directed toward her.

A distraction. Oswald's betrothed might have given him the opening he needed.

With a bloodied snarl, Oswald surged forward, sinking his teeth into the man's cheek—and taking a bite out of it. As Rued backed away, howling, Oswald found a foothold on the platform. Rued's soldiers had stopped banging on their shields; in fact, everything had gone dreadfully quiet. Oswald struggled against Rued's grip. Finally, he mustered enough strength to aim a punch at the man's stomach, once, then a second time.

Rued made a strange, muffled sound. He twisted on the spot, feet slipping.

And the two of them fell.

All thought vacated Oswald's mind as he felt his feet leaving solid ground. There was no peaceful acceptance as he plummeted toward the raging sea. No relief at having achieved what he'd set out to do, no sudden burst of fearlessness as he considered his approaching doom.

No, only pure, abject fear flowed through Oswald's veins at that moment.

His body hit the water before his lips could even let out a scream, and everything went black.