Kolbjorn’s heart thumped in his chest, his pulse drumming in his ears. His lungs burned from inhaling the smoke, his muscles already tired from the strain of hammering at the roof for what felt like an eternity.

He walked towards them without hiding, and as he emerged from the corner of the burning, roaring building, he saw Alfarr, Ebbe and three other warriors. They would have known that Kolbjorn would not get far in the storm, and this was the only shelter close to his father’s village.

Kolbjorn’s blood boiled. The maggots had the audacity to try to kill him—of course, like the cowards they were, stabbing him in the back, not brave enough to face him. And now there were five against one.

Rachel was right, he’d be useless as a jarl with his code of honor, with the rigidness of his beliefs. He was only as good as a pawn in the game of hnefatafl, just a warrior to execute the orders of the jarls and kings who had cunning and who could manipulate and backstab.

Such as these two.

He recognized the warriors standing by his halfbrothers: Ulf, Garpr, and Haki. He had raided with them since they had joined his father’s raiding force a few years ago. They had never been friends, but he had trusted them in battle.

Now he had to fight them because his father had believed his sons, the two snakes who had wanted Kolbjorn dead ever since they were able to tell a sword apart from an ax.

These men were fresh, and he was tired. They were fully armed in battle armor, with shields, swords, axes, and scramasaxes. He only had his ax.

Odin, will this be the day I meet you?

It would be not a bad death, with his ax in his hand, fighting his true enemies.

But then—

The blood stood still in his veins, his breath froze in his lungs, and he staggered a moment.

If he died, what would they do to Rachel?

The memories of how Alfarr behaved with women during raids made his skin crawl.

No. He could not die. At least not until Rachel was out of danger from them. How ironic. He was doing everything now to save her life, yet if he succeeded he’d still take her to his father.

He glanced back and saw her, wide-eyed, staring at him, steam pumping out of her mouth in a quick rhythm.

“Run,” he threw back. “Run, Rachel. Go home to your mother.”

“I’m not leaving you. If they injure you or worse—maybe I can help.”

“Run.”

But she stubbornly shook her head, and it both pleased him and made sweat break through his skin from fear for her.

Let it be then. The Norn had put another stitch in the tapestry of his life. His woman wanted to stand by him—To all goblins, why was he thinking of her as his woman?—and he’d rather die than let harm come to her.

He touched Mjölnir—Thor’s hammer—on his pendant, calling for the protection of the god of battle who had never left him, never let him lose a single fight.

“Thor!” he yelled as he launched himself like a spear at his enemies.

He roared as he ran—no, clambered—through knee-deep snow, calling the holy battle fury. One against five. The fury and the ax were all he had now.

It was hard to run in snow and would be hard to fight in it. But there was the burning house, and it could be his ally or his biggest enemy.

They clashed, the three warriors against one, Alfarr and Ebbe standing behind, of course, letting others do their dirty work.

Ulf was scything an ax towards his face, but Kolbjorn pierced his shoulder and kicked him into the fire, and his agonized scream was lost in the roar. Garpr hit Kolbjorn with his shield from the side. Kolbjorn staggered and almost fell but whirled, the blade of his ax cutting off the man’s foot. He fell, and Kolbjorn caught Garpr’s shield to protect himself—a mistake. Haki slashed Kolbjorn’s upper arm with his sword, the pain hitting him like a lightning bolt.

He heard Rachel’s scream and cursed because he was sure that Alfarr and Ebbe had heard her, too.

Kolbjorn whirled around and went for Haki, ax hammering, but only hit the shield, splinters scattering from under his blade. His wounded arm was weakening—he’d normally have split the wood by now.

He allowed his eyes to dart towards his half-brothers and saw that only Alfarr stood there.

Worry kicked his gut like a boot. Ebbe must be hurrying to Rachel. Gods, he hoped she hid or ran away now.

He had to get to Ebbe before he got to her.

Kolbjorn roared and came at Haki, hammering at him like a blacksmith, and one thrust found its aim, splitting the shield in two…and with the next hit, the man’s head. Blood sprayed in a fountain, and the man sank to his knees and then fell to his side in the snow.

Kolbjorn twisted, his eyes searching for Ebbe and Rachel, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Alfarr was coming at him now, one eye black on the side that Kolbjorn had hit yesterday. Alfarr aimed for Kolbjorn’s wounded arm—of course he did, the contemptible worm—but Kolbjorn escaped the sword and hit Alfarr from behind with his shield.

He could not kill his half-brother. Even though he deserved death for all he had done, Kolbjorn knew that his father would be devastated, and he could not bring such pain to him.

But Alfarr was not a bad warrior, and he thrust his sword, almost piercing Kolbjorn’s shoulder. Kolbjorn dodged and smashed the man with the back of his ax.

“Afraid to spill my blood, mongrel?” Alfarr growled as he beat Kolbjorn’s shield down and plunged his sword into the empty space between Kolbjorn’s arm and body, just missing his rib.

“I am not afraid of you,” Kolbjorn spat as he kicked at Alfarr. His brother had to take a step back to avoid falling down. Seeing an opportunity, Kolbjorn slashed Alfarr’s thigh, and blood spilled like red lightning.

Alfarr fell on one knee, clutching at his leg and screaming.

Kolbjorn left him and clambered through the snow looking for Rachel.

The house roared with fire, the earth black around it, and dark clouds of smoke billowed into the white sky.

Behind the house, he saw broad tracks and a chill reached his bones. He rushed towards the sound as fast as he could, ramming through snowdrifts, his heart beating war drums in his ears.

Then he saw them.

Ebbe by the tree and Rachel several feet above him, plastered to the tree trunk, hugging it like a ship’s mast. Ebbe cursed and hit the trunk with his ax, but he had no spear and no bow to reach her.

“Get away, Ebbe, you rotten fish’s turd!” Kolbjorn roared.

Their heads shot in his direction. Ebbe paled and ran.

Kolbjorn pressed on after Ebbe, but the man was as quick as a bird. He was unharmed and had not just fought four men.

When Kolbjorn knew that he would not be able to reach his half-brother, he stopped, hands on his knees, steam rushing from his mouth and clouding his vision. His lungs burned from the smoke and from the strain of the fight. He allowed himself a fit of coughing that tore his throat and chest apart.

“Loki’s sweaty ass,” he mumbled when the cough subsided.

“Are you all right?” Rachel called out.

She began crawling down, carefully, cursing. “Who knew that coming down from a tree would be harder than climbing it,” she said. “Are you okay?”

Finally, she jumped down, awkwardly, and sank into the snow right on her ass. He helped her up.

“You’re wounded! Let me see.” She turned him to see his arm.

“It’s nothing.”

“We need to get someone to look at it. It’s not nothing. You’re bleeding a lot.”

He turned to look at his arm.

“I’ve had worse. Let’s go. We need to take Alfarr with us. I can’t leave him here. He’s bleeding much more than I am.”

They clambered to the front of the hut. Alfarr lay in the snow, which was crimson around him. The three warriors were all dead. Rachel gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. “We need to tie his hip to stop blood loss,” she mumbled through her hands.

Kolbjorn glanced at her. She was as pale as the snow, her eyes wide. She looked like someone who had seen death for the first time.

“Yes. Let me.” He sank on his knees and tore the edge of her apron dress to make a bandage, then bound Alfarr’s leg as best he could. They needed to hurry. Alfarr had lost a lot of blood, his skin grayish and clammy.

“We need to make a sledge. There’s no way I can carry him home through the snow. I’ll cut pine tree branches broad enough to put him on.”

“I’ll help,” she said, hefting the woodcutting ax.

Kolbjorn met her eyes, and relief at seeing her unharmed flooded him. Her beautiful face spread in a broad smile that made the whole day brighter, and he could not see anything else but her.

No. Thief. She had betrayed him, stomped on all the hope that he had been stupid enough to feel. He had been right all along. He needed to shove his feelings far away. They had no future, and he had better remember that.

She grabbed his arm, and tingling went through him. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

His solar plexus and his chest were on fire, torn between his duty to his father and his love for the woman who had threatened everything that had been important to him.

“Don’t be. Nothing has changed. You betrayed me. You have been playing games with me all along. But no more. It’s over.”