20
The door led to a short, open hallway and down a wide set of stairs. The main section of the mead hall was below. As before, the place was full of cooking smoke and the smell of food, and the sounds of laughter and talking greeted me as I stepped to the top the stairs and looked down at the gathered crowd below. Wolf-Runner's throne was below me and to my left, and the main door was far across the hall on the other side.
My heart beat in my chest so loud it was deafening, and I squeezed the handle of my sword so hard that my fingers were white and my arm throbbed. I could feel it building inside me, a sensation I had not felt for years. Even when Gaea and I had been attacked in the woods, I had not felt the overwhelming rush of a berserker fury, because it had been too sudden and I had only been defending myself. But now, the rage and the anger was boiling inside of me, and my vision seemed like it was tinted red. Finding Mirisa like that had pushed me over the edge.
I stood on the top stair and looked out among the crowd of Nords, trying to scan the crowd, as if I could identify my target without knowing him.
"Erich Stag-Horn!" I screamed.
The entire hall went silent, and every face turned in shock to look up at me. Every man and woman looked at me in disbelief, and among the multitude of faces I saw one man standing among a crowd of guards, the look on his face identifying him for me.
The door behind me banged open and Mirisa tumbled to the floor, reaching out to clutch the railing. She shook her head, face still wet with tears, mouth open to beg me to stop. But when she looked out at the crowd, she went silent and began to shake.
"Stay here," I said, not looking at her.
I descended the stairs, each heavy step down booming out like a crack of thunder. No one spoke, they all just stared. Not just at my face, but at the drawn sword in my hand. Such an act was a great offense, but causing offense was the least of my intentions.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the Nords gathered around me scattered and moved away as if I had a magical force field around me. Confusion, surprise, fear, disgust, and apprehension moved across their faces, but I ignored all of them. There was only one person in this room that I was interested in.
"Erich Stag-Horn," I said again. "I challenge you. Defend yourself."
The crowd spilled away from me like leaves blown in the wind, opening up the center of the room and revealing Stag-Horn standing by one of the pillars. He was a huge man, larger than Wolf-Runner, with long black hair and a bushy black beard, wearing a sleeveless black fur parka. His deep set eyes regarded me coolly as his hand reached for the longsword at his side.
"This some kind of joke?" he grumbled. "You're nothing but a little girl."
I swung my sword down on the edge of the table nearby and swept off several wooden goblets and plates of food, throwing them in Stag-Horn's face. He swung his arm to the side and knocked away one of the plates, spilled mead dripping from his beard.
"Defend yourself!" I screamed in a rage.
"You little bitch!" he snarled, jumping at me. He swung his longsword in a wide sideways arc and I leaped backward to avoid being cut in half.
People all around us screamed and ran for cover as I lunged at him, swinging my sword in a blur of movement. He brought his blade up and blocked the strike and immediately pushed me back, baring his teeth and sputtering curses. I slashed again and he struck back with the hilt, slamming into my shoulder.
The berserker fury was upon me, taking over control of my body. I seemed to watch the combat from far away, my vision swarming and blood pounding in my veins. Screeching madly, I lunged at him and brought my sword down at him over and over, forcing him to back up. The sound of our blades clanging together was like a blacksmith pounding on an anvil. Stag-Horn bellowed furiously and slashed back at me, his long blade giving him much longer reach, but I was too fast, and easily ducked out of the way, swinging my own sword in a low thrust. He dodged and swung his sword expertly over his head, wielding the huge, heavy blade as if it was as light as air.
I jumped back and his brutal, downward slash cut a chair right in two, the pieces flying as he kicked them aside. I jumped in and slammed my sword against his guard, forcing him back once more. My hair whipped across my face and I spun around to slam into his sword with all the force I could muster.
Stag-Horn staggered back under the assault, grimacing as his sword rattled in his hands, barely able to maintain his defense. I ran in again, attacking him relentlessly, not letting up for even a moment, the berserker fury like an overdose of adrenaline. My sword moved too fast for the eye to follow, and Stag-Horn could not counterattack because my own attacks were too rapid for him to find an opening. It was all he could do just to hold me back, and he shouted angrily, his voice carrying over the din of our clashing blades.
He jumped behind one of the pillars to create some space between us, and the nearby spectators quickly scrambled out of the way. He swung his sword around, hoping to catch me off-guard, but the edge of the blade missed me and I swung down to knock his blade farther down, pushing him off-balance.
He stumbled and tried to bring the longsword back up, but I slashed down again and struck the hilt, my blade cutting right into his hand and severing some of his fingers.
He cried out and the sword clattered to the floor. Backpedaling hurriedly, he fumbled for the long knife hanging from his belt with his good hand, while holding out his bloody, wounded hand in a fearful gesture, shouting, "No! No, stop!"
But I did not stop, I could not stop. I charged in and swung my sword down just as he thrust upward with his knife, hoping to gut me when I was in mid-strike. But I slid away from his outstretched arm and swept my sword across his midsection, cutting open his stomach.
He gurgled dumbly, looking down at the blood spilling down his legs, and the long knife dropped from his hand. His body went limp and he slumped to his knees, quivering hands folding over his ravaged stomach. Eyes glazing over, he lifted his head to look at me, opening his mouth as if to speak. I did not wait for his last words. I stabbed my blade right into his heart.
I don't know how long I stood there. Perhaps it was only a few seconds, but it might have been minutes. As the raging berserker fury wore off, I began to realize my surroundings, and glanced up at the horrified faces of the Nords around me. My chest heaved with ragged breaths, but slowly it returned to normal, my vision clearing, the intense throbbing in my veins receding to a dull ache. The aftereffects of the fury weakened me, and I felt ready to fall asleep on my feet.
Instead, I put one foot against Stag-Horn's chest and yanked out my sword, toppling his body over backwards. Blood splashed to the floor and dripped from the edge of the blade. I returned it to its scabbard without bothering to wipe off the blood.
I could hear the faint traces of whispers around me as I walked away from the body, heading toward the front of the hall where Skjoldr Wolf-Runner was seated.
"... never seen any woman fight like that ..."
"... should have yielded when he had the chance ..."
"... said she was from Skyrim, and I believe her ..."
"... got what he deserved ..."
"... remind me to stay on her good side ..."
"... was a fair fight, but she better watch her back ..."
My whole body felt sore and bruised, but I walked to Wolf-Runner's throne forcefully, trying not to show signs of my weakness. His men gathered around him like a protective swarm, their hands on their swords and just itching to draw them. Wolf-Runner had barely moved from when I had seen him earlier; he sat back comfortably, his longsword resting horizontally on the arms of the throne. He studied me carefully, his face giving away no indication of what he was thinking, although I was sure I could guess. The voices around me died down as I approached the throne.
I stared confidently back at Wolf-Runner, my arms at my sides. His men seemed ready to jump if I so much as lifted my hand, so I remained still.
"By rights, all his possessions now become mine," I said, my voice carrying across the entire hall. "That is the custom in Skyrim. Do you follow the same custom?"
"Yes," Wolf-Runner said calmly, regarding me without a trace of emotion on his face.
I looked up at Mirisa, who gazed down at me in absolute shock.
"Come down here and take his boots and his parka," I said.
Mirisa's eyes opened wide and she shook her head frantically, clutching the stairway railing. "No," she whimpered. "No, I … I can't, I –"
"Do it!" I snapped. "Unless you want to walk back to the fort in your bare feet! Now do what I say!"
She whimpered again, but this time began to slink down the stairs. I hated to yell at her, especially after what she had been through already, but we did not have time to fool around here, and I was not about to turn my back on Wolf-Runner and his men, no matter what customs we shared.
I returned my gaze to him and said, "You knew about her, didn't you? You knew she was up there and you did nothing to protect her."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
He had to be lying and we both knew it, but he wasn't about to admit it and I was not going to push the matter. Behind me, Mirisa ran over to Stag-Horn's dead body and began to pull off his boots.
"He took her captive," I said, staring in Wolf-Runner's eyes. "He abused her against her will. Is that how the men of your village treat outsiders?"
"Erich Stag-Horn was a good warrior," Wolf-Runner said matter-of-factly. "But he was not perfect. His failings are not our failings. If he abused the missionary, then he broke our laws and you have carried out his sentence. You challenged him lawfully and he accepted. You have defeated him, so that settles the matter."
I had to hand it to Wolf-Runner. He might have been a simple clan chief of a small Nord village, but the man knew how to play politics and knew how to say exactly the right thing. He had managed to admit nothing and take no responsibility, while at the same time accepting my version of events and vaguely implying that Stag-Horn might have been guilty. He had defused the situation expertly, without losing face for himself, Stag-Horn, or the village. But he had done so while still validating my actions and essentially telling the entire hall that no one was to blame.
"I am returning to the fort," I said, "and I'm taking Mirisa with me."
"You are free to go."
"But I hope you will stop and consider the offer I made you," I said. "Do the right thing and help the Legion find the criminals who attacked the fort. Because if you don't, they will come here. And when the Legion soldiers come here seeking their revenge, they won't issue a formal challenge when they do it. And they won't give you the chance to yield."