He walked on his toes, hoping the creaking floor wouldn't wake his younger brothers.
The sun had just risen. His mother must be milking the cows now for breakfast, and his father must be feeding his horse. But only one of his parents was in the yard when Halgrim pushed the door of the house open.
"Where is Da?" Even his horse was not here.
"We say good morning first." Sitting on a stool, his mother didn't look at him as she squeezed the milk out of the cow's teat into a rusty bucket.
Now was not the time for a lesson in manners. "He didn't go for the raid, did he?"
"We talked about that, Halgrim." Still, she didn't bother to look away from the damned teat. "I'm not ready to have that conversation again."
"It doesn't matter. My conversation wasn't with you anyway." Halgrim returned inside the house, picked up his sword from the floor, and strode toward his horse, which was tied to the fence around the yard.
"You out of your mind?" his mother snapped. Finally, he became more worthy of her attention than the cow. "How dare you talk to your mother like that?"
He had gone a little bit too far, he knew. But he was too furious to mind his tone. It was not his first time to lose his composure, and for sure it would not be the last.
"Da promised me I would be part of the next raid," Halgrim said flatly as he swung up into his saddle.
"Promised you when?" His mother pushed to her feet and approached him. "Where do you think you are going?"
"Ma, please. I must catch up with him before he leaves the town with the band." Halgrim wheeled his horse and spurred it into a canter.
"Halgrim! Come back here!"
No doubt, his mother would be mad at him if he joined his father. But she wouldn't be exactly happy with her unruly son if he stayed by her side either. Most probably, he would spend the whole morning listening to a speech about respecting the elder. For a change, wouldn't it be wonderful if she taught the other two bastards in the house that they should respect their elder brother?
The miserable folks of Horstad greeted Halgrim as he rode through the mud-caked streets. Most of them were elderly or women who woke up early every morning to see if they had something to eat today. Being the nearest town to Rusakia, most of Horstad's Skandivian youth and able men were now mercenaries in the Rusakian army. Those who would survive and return to their families might alleviate their suffering with the Rusakian coin they earned. But nothing would change here before their return. The daily journey of securing food would continue.
Halgrim headed to the bridge, where the band usually gathered before they all rode together outside the town. He was already on the outskirts of Horstad when he spotted that familiar rider coming from the other end of the field. "Engrid?"
"Halgrim?" The brown-haired Skandivian girl halted her horse in front of his, a war ax strapped to her back. "Are you joining the raid?"
The disapproval in her tone irked him. "Are you?"
She nodded. "My uncle told me yesterday that I'm in. I just woke up late this morning."
So, her uncle had decided that his nineteen-year-old niece could finally wield her ax in a real fight, while Halgrim was still unable to convince his parents that he could handle himself on those raids. "You, Bermanians, are soft," Engrid's uncle always mocked Halgrim's father's sword and shield. "You would dance and fence rather than crush skulls and break bones." And that was why the war ax was the most popular weapon here in this part of the world. Halgrim might argue about the Skandivians' opinions of swords and shields, though. But he couldn't blame someone like Engrid's uncle if he regarded Halgrim and his people as soft people. After all, those Skandivians were renowned as the most ferocious warriors in Gorania for a good reason.
"What about you?" Engrid tilted her head, her narrow eyes betraying her doubt. "Your father said you could come at last?"
"Yes, he did." Recalling his last conversation with his father, Halgrim wasn't really sure if that was a lie. His father was talking to his mother about the coastal bandits who became bolder by the day. "We must strike them at their den. This will deter the likes of them from coming near our lands," he said while having dinner with Halgrim and his mother. When Halgrim asked if he could be part of that attack, his mother protested, so Halgrim waited. Outside the house, he found his father feeding his horse, so Halgrim repeated his request. "A lot might happen until the next raid comes," his father answered. "So who knows? You might be part of it."
Well, that was not exactly a promise, was it?
"If you are sure he did, then let's go." Engrid nudged her horse to move. "We need to hurry."
"Wait." Halgrim caught up with her on horseback. "What do you mean by if you are sure?"
"Don't get me wrong. But I never imagined your father would allow you to join the band this soon."
"This soon? I will be eighteen at the end of next summer."
She turned to him, the right side of her mouth quirking upward. "It's not only about age. Not everybody grows at the same pace, you know."
The lean Skandivian girl must be hinting at Halgrim's frame, which was slim like his mother's, yet tall like his father's (No man in Skandivia would describe Halgrim's father as a tall fellow, though. To the Sons of Giants, Halgrim's father's height was just not bad). He might get his arms thicker and shoulders broader over the years, but no way would he grow three more inches to be as tall as Engrid's towering uncle.
"It's not only about size either," Halgrim said. "Did you already forget my duel with Obinson last week?" The youth was twice as huge as Halgrim yet Halgrim had managed to win thanks to his swift strikes.
"Obinson is slow and stupid," she scoffed. "I can beat him too."
Slow and stupid, yet he has been part of the band for almost two years. "You should have seen me spar with Da a few days ago. I was so fast I—"
Engrid shushed him. "We need to stop talking and start flying to the valley. Unless you want to miss all the fun."
She spurred her horse into a gallop, and so did he. "No, you won't," he teased her. "You can never outrun a Bermanian."
"Says the Bermanian with a Skandivian name," she snorted. Truth be told, Engrid was too good for a Skandivian horse rider. Or perhaps it was Halgrim himself who was too bad for a Bermanian, if he was a true one in the first place. Born and raised here in Skandivia, sometimes he felt he belonged to neither of the two countries.
Shortly after they crossed the bridge, Engrid pulled the reins of her horse. "What is that?"
Only when she stopped did Halgrim notice the company emerging from the north. A dozen men marching on their feet led by four horsemen. From his spot, he couldn't recognize any familiar faces.
"I don't feel good about this," Halgrim muttered when the horsemen of that mysterious band hurried toward him and Engrid, leaving their fellows behind. "Engrid, find Da and your uncle and bring them back to the village. I will hinder those men until you return with the whole band."
"Hinder them on your own? How will you do that?"
Halgrim had no clue, and still those dubious horsemen were getting closer. "Just go now. We must split before it's too late."
Engrid didn't seem convinced, but she nudged her horse and galloped anyway. Now if Halgrim had any doubts about the intentions of those visitors, those doubts were gone. They are here for us, he thought as one of the horsemen changed his direction and followed Engrid into the valley between the eastern hills.
Those visitors were coastal bandits.
Halgrim wheeled his horse, and quickly crossed the bridge again, but in the other direction this time. Looking over his shoulder, he spied three mounted bandits on his tail. They want to catch me before I warn the folks in Horstad, Halgrim thought, and he hoped he was right. Because that meant that those bastards would follow him wherever he went. Until they killed him, of course...
On Horstad's side of the bridge, Halgrim headed north toward the coast and away from his town. The thudding hooves behind him were getting closer. "Come on!" Leaning forward, he slightly raised his body from the saddle. Maintaining a firm grip on the reins, he pressed with his legs on the horse's flanks.
Halgrim was getting away from his chasers; he could barely hear their horses now. Something is wrong, he thought and dared to glance over his shoulder while his horse was galloping at full speed. "Blast!" he blustered when he found out why the thudding of the hooves behind him was fainter now. His chasers were no longer chasing him.
Halgrim pulled the reins, turned his horse, and spurred it to a gallop after the bandits heading to his town. Outnumbered, he could not defeat them in a head-to-head fight. He might, if he stunned them one-by-one. But how could he do so in this open field? My only chance is in the town itself.
But until he caught up with those marauders, some of the helpless folks in his town might get hurt. His mother and little brothers were among those folks...
Alarmed by the thought, Halgrim urged his horse to gallop after the mounted bandits. They would hear of his coming from half a mile, but that wouldn't matter now. Only one thing mattered at this very moment; those scum must never come close to his family.
The hut the bandits were about to reach belonged to Old Falka, a lonely widow who had survived her husband and children. Without too much thinking, Halgrim roared to have the horsemen's attention, and it worked. The three bandits wheeled their horses to face him, and that was when Halgrim discovered one important fact; he didn't have the slightest clue of what he should do now.
Perplexed, Halgrim didn't stop or make any maneuvers with his horse. Heading straight toward the bandits, he would collide with them in the coming few seconds.
Were it not for that thrown ax.
Halrgim had no idea whether that happened by accident or that was the bandits' intention, but the thrown ax hit his horse's neck. The agonized beast whinnied as it suddenly raised its forelimbs. Before the horse fell on his side, Halgrim had already lost his balance. Thanks to a last-second reflex, his left wrist absorbed the shock of his fall, sparing his back from a disabling hit.
Halgrim rose before those bastards might throw another ax at him. One of them charged at him on horseback, growling as he swung a larger ax this time. Halgrim evaded the sharp blade as he rolled sideways on the muddy ground. Drawing his sword, he pushed to his feet and lunged at the mounted bandit who had just swung at the air. For less than a second, Halgrim felt that the horseman had the time to parry his strike, but fortunately, Halgrim was wrong. The sword was faster than the ax and cut through the marauder's right side. Grunting, the bandit fell off his horse and squirmed on the ground.
Halgrim needed a moment to comprehend what he had just done, but the other two bandits didn't give him a chance. One of them hurled a small ax, and to Halgrim's astonishment, he found himself deflecting it with his sword; a reflex that astounded his foes as well.
While they were still gaping at him, Halgrim charged. He slashed the forelimbs of their horses, and instantly, he hopped backward to evade any probable counterattacks. One second later, he pitied the poor animals, but at this very moment, he couldn't come out with a better idea to defeat his two mounted attackers. His move didn't work perfectly, though. Only of them fell off his horse, the other landing on his feet before his horse lost its balance. "You scum!" the coastal raider howled, swinging his war ax at Halgrim's head. Knowing that he couldn't block that mighty strike with his sword, Halgrim stepped sideways and thrust his blade through the Skandivian's trunk.
The other bandit, who had risen to his feet, held his ax and waited for Halgrim to attack. He is hesitant to attack the boy who has just slain two brothers of his, Halgrim thought, seizing this opportunity to catch his breath. Take your time, you bastard. I'm in no hurry at all. But as the brief rest made Halgrim aware of the pain in his left wrist, he ran out of patience.
With a double-handed swing, Halgrim charged, but the stronger Skandivian foe met Halgrim's blade with a massive counterstrike that sent the sword flying away. Now was the bandit's turn to swing his ax, and thanks to a swift backstep, Halgrim saved his chest from being torn apart by the Skandivian blade. He couldn't save his tunic, though.
The bandit swung again, Halgrim leaping backward. I'm dead this way, he thought as he evaded a third killing blow. Upon finding an opening, he lunged forward, growling out of fury and fear. Gripping the Skandivian by the wrist to prevent him from swinging the ax for the fourth time, Halgrim used his momentum to shove the bandit out of the way. The Skandivian tottered backward before he fell at last, next to the ax Halgrim had just deflected a few moments ago. Knowing that he couldn't pin the sturdy bandit to the ground for long, Halgrim sat on him, snatched the fallen ax, and stuck it into the raider's forehead. The hideous crunch of the Skandivian's skull made Halgrim retch.
Halgrim filled his lungs with air as he dragged himself away from the bandit's corpse. Leaning backward on his hands, he lay on the moist soil and contemplated the dead bodies he had made today in his first real fight. He thought of wrenching that ax from the bandit's skull, but when he recalled that nauseating crunching sound, he changed his mind. Father was right after all. Taking a man's life was not as easy as it seemed in training duels.
For a minute or two, Halgrim's chest didn't stop rising and falling. Blast! It is not over yet, he realized as he remembered the other dozen bandits coming on foot. They must have made it to the bridge already.
Halgrim needed a moment to scan the ground with his eyes until he found his fallen sword. When he rose to retrieve it, he heard those footsteps coming from behind him, from the bridge's direction.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a firm voice warned when Halgrim was about to pick up his sword from the ground. Slowly, he turned to face the twelve coastal raiders who had just crossed the bridge. Now they were standing not far away from him. Why aren't they attacking me already?
"Good," the bandit's leader curtly said, gazing at the corpses and the fallen horses. "Where are the rest?"
"The rest of what?"
The Skandivian gnashed his teeth. "Your games won't do you any good, boy." He looked around before he went on, "Tell your friends to show up and drop their weapons, and we will let you scram out of here."
They think I have partners, Halgrim reflected. Who would believe that this slim lad could defeat three horsemen on his own? I wish they were right, though. Because once the bandits realized that Halgrim was on his own, they would make sure he joined their slain brothers.
"So," Halgrim stalled to win a few more minutes, "you give us your word?"
The bandit couldn't conceal his smile. "Yes, I do." He pounded his fist on his chest. "From a fighter to another, you have my respect."
"Good." He takes me for some gullible fool. Which might help Halgrim keep this farce going as long as possible. "What about the others?"
"Others?"
"Your friends." Halgrim gestured toward the gang waiting for their leader's order to lay waste to Horstad. "You speak for them?"
"My word is theirs." The Skandivian forced through clenched teeth. "Now tell your friends to surrender or we kill you anyway."
"No need for that." Halgrim gazed at the band of horsemen galloping on the other side of the river. The marauders, who must have heard the distant thundering hooves, looked over their shoulders. Nothing Halgrim had enjoyed today like the sight of the alarmed faces of those rascals. "My friends are here already."