Chapter Thirteen
The air buzzed with unrestrained excitement.
Shouts and cheers, the heavy thump of wood against wood, and the sharp clash of weapons rose around Eadlyn in a chaotic chorus.
The crisp spring breeze cut through the crowd, laden with water, sweat, and the raw bite of damp earth.
She had watched Galen and his men train many times back home, but never had she seen anything to match the fervor and fierce determination that coursed through the warriors here.
This was not mere practice but a celebration of strength and skill. A test of pride and honor.
The ferocity was almost frightening. Yet the current of enthusiasm pulled at her, and she was caught up in the thrill as she stood at the edge of a ring.
Within it, Aevar, his brothers, Kian, and Heida stood in a tight line, shields locked, wooden swords ready to face off against a group from another clan in a mock battle.
While their group comprised only five, across the field she spotted clusters of ten or more preparing to engage.
At the signal, the two sides charged forward and clashed with a roar.
At first, it was just a chaos of bodies and swinging weapons, but soon, Eadlyn caught the subtle signals passed between Aevar and the others.
A nod, a shift of stance, a shouted command she didn’t understand.
They moved not as individuals but as a single living creature, outmaneuvering their opponents with swift, practiced efficiency.
She didn’t know the rules or how they counted a “kill,” but when one of the opposing men limped out of the ring, clutching a bruised arm, she understood enough.
Though Heida was fascinating to watch since she was the first woman warrior Eadlyn had ever encountered, she found her gaze kept slipping back to Aevar.
She knew little of warfare, but even she recognized the ease and skill with which he fought.
He moved as if born to war, ducking low beneath a swing, pivoting on the balls of his feet, striking with swift, decisive blows.
Her breath caught once when he spun and slammed the edge of his shield into an opponent’s shoulder, sending the man sprawling. Though this was only sport, the clash had a dangerous edge to it that made her heart pound against her ribs.
When the dust settled, only Aevar, Erik, and Kian remained standing in the ring. However, the two sides came together again, laughing and clapping one another on the back. Despite Braan’s bloodied knuckles and another man’s bleeding nose, a sense of camaraderie, not bitterness, filled the air.
A thrill of pride welled in Eadlyn’s chest. Pride.
For a man she had once feared marrying, and now she found herself drawn to celebrate his victory.
Across the ring, he caught her gaze. She offered him a smile, hoping he would see how she felt.
He didn’t grin like he did with his family, but he did return it, and something warm flared in his stern face.
Before she could savor it, someone slammed into her shoulder hard enough to jolt her sideways.
Turning, she caught sight of the woman with the shaved head moving through the crowd.
Eadlyn might have brushed off the collision as an accident, but the woman glanced back with a look cold enough to freeze stone.
When Eadlyn turned back to the ring, she found Aevar also watching the woman with a stormy expression.
Eadlyn shifted closer to Ranvi and Inga, seeking the comfort of familiar faces.
Together, they observed several more skirmishes as the competitions carried on.
Aevar fought four more times and won all but one when he was left to face three men alone.
Even then, he had made them fight hard for their victory.
Later, they moved to another ring, where single combat took place.
Here, warriors stood alone, challenging whomever they wished.
They watched two matches between strangers before a swell of excitement passed through the crowd.
Heida stepped into the center of the ring, sword and shield in hand, her stance relaxed but alert.
From the sidelines, Jarl Gudrik, a grizzled warrior, and his sons bellowed their support.
Heida called out a name—Oda Jokulfsdottir—and a murmur drifted through the crowd. A moment later, the woman with the shaved head stalked into the ring, glaring at her. Apparently, Eadlyn wasn’t the only one Oda held a grudge against.
The two women faced each other. Heida murmured something too quiet for Eadlyn to hear. Oda’s lip curled in response, and she snarled something back before charging.
Their wooden swords crashed together in a blur of strikes and parries, the sharp crack of wood ringing out.
Unlike the earlier matches, this fight seethed with hostility.
Each blow was meant to wound and humiliate, not just to win.
The fight appeared even at first, each woman matching the other’s strength and speed.
Yet, the differences soon became clear. Heida remained calm and composed, measuring each strike, while Oda fought with raw anger, her movements sharper and less controlled.
With a furious yell, Oda lunged, but Heida sidestepped, shield up, letting Oda’s momentum carry her off balance. Then, in a smooth, brutal motion, Heida slammed her shield into Oda’s, catching her square in the face. Blood blossomed from Oda’s lip.
She howled in rage and attacked wildly, but Heida was ready.
She parried, dodged, and waited. As soon as Oda’s anger burned itself out, Heida pressed in until the other woman stumbled.
Losing her footing, she fell to her knees.
Before she could rise, Heida pressed her sword to Oda’s chest, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
Heida said something low and harsh before turning her back on her defeated opponent.
As she strode from the ring, she exchanged a nod with Aevar.
Eadlyn wasn’t sure what it communicated, but they both appeared pleased.
Behind her, Oda threw down her shield and sword with a clatter and stalked away, blood dripping from her chin.
Aevar clapped Erik on the shoulder, the weight of another victory settling between them with easy pride.
His brother had yet to lose a single bout, proving not only his strength but his worthiness as a future king.
Hopefully, the gods granted their father many more years on the throne, but it was good for Erik to carve his place now.
With Erik’s match finished and Braan still locked in a bout with one of his future brothers-in-law, Aevar was up.
He lifted his shield, adjusted his grip on the worn wooden sword he had chosen, and stepped into the ring.
He searched the crowd, not looking for just anyone.
Heida had handled Oda. Now it was his turn to answer the insult dealt that morning.
He raised his voice above the murmur. “I challenge Sig Sigvidsson.”
A ripple passed through the spectators. Conversations fell into a tense hush, as if everyone sensed this bout was not just for sport.
Across the ring, a pair of men stepped aside to reveal Sig, grinning like a wolf scenting blood.
He swaggered forward, and Aevar let the tension coil in his limbs. He would end that grin soon enough.
Aevar raised his shield and braced himself. As the one challenged, Sig would strike first. However, he took his time, strolling a few paces closer and sweeping the crowd before locking on Eadlyn.
“You sure you want your new wife seeing this? She might wonder if there were better warriors she could’ve married.”
Aevar snorted. “What she’ll see is me putting a loud-mouthed fífl in the dirt where he belongs.”
Sig’s smile faltered, rage flaring in its place as he sprang.
Aevar caught the blow on his shield, and the jarring impact jolted up his arm.
He answered with a quick swing of his sword, striking Sig’s exposed ribs.
Not a hard hit, but enough to sting. Laughter bubbled from the sidelines, and that would wound Sig deeper than the blow.
They circled, boots grinding into the churned dirt.
Sig attacked repeatedly, but his strikes were sloppy, his shield drooping as frustration ate at him.
Aevar let him wear himself out, conserving his own strength.
When the next opening came, Aevar struck with a jab to the chest that sent Sig stumbling back with a grunt.
Reckless now, Sig tried to shoulder into him with a wild roar.
Aevar sidestepped and tripped him with a sweep of his sword.
When Sig crashed into the dirt, Aevar planted a boot against his chest to keep him down.
Pressing the tip of his blade into the hollow of Sig’s throat, he leaned in close enough to see the rage and humiliation battling in the man’s eyes.
“Stay away from my wife,” Aevar growled low enough only Sig would hear, “or the next time you face my blade it will be a real one.”
He gave a slight push with the sword, making Sig wheeze, before straightening and turning away.
The crowd erupted around him, voices blending into a rough, roaring cheer.
Erik and Kian were grinning as he approached, yet his gaze drifted to Eadlyn.
She stood near Ranvi, a smile blooming on her face, something unexpectedly proud and fierce.
But then her expression shifted. Her eyes went wide, her mouth parting in alarm.
A shout tore from somewhere nearby. “Look out!”
Instinct roared through Aevar. He spun around. Sig charged at him, sword raised high. It slammed into the side of Aevar’s head. Pain exploded in his skull. The world tilted. He staggered but forced his body to obey, raising his shield to block the next vicious blow.