In his youth, Ragna had been huge. A man grown early because of his size, his muscle and strength. He was a lot less slim now, the muscle going to fat over the soft years spent at the keep, but he still had his bulk, dwarfing all of these southern softies.
A spear thrust into the space where his head had been the second before. Ragna slashed it away with his sword and sent the spear over the edge, its owner crashing into him and knocking him against the rock wall.
Ragna shoved him back with his shield, thrusting it into his chest, pushing him away so he had space to bring his sword down, but pain ruptured in his wrist and he was vaguely aware of something metal spinning away at the corner of his vision. His arm abruptly stopped its downwards arc, now lacking his sword and instead gaining a bolt that stuck right through his forearm; sticking out, top and bottom, in equal parts, blood already gushing down his fingers.
“Arrrg!” he screamed, rage driven into the man before him. Striking him in the face with the rim of his shield, the iron band cutting his jaw open. He smashed it again and again, cracking bone and knocking out teeth.
As the limp body fell another sprung forward, cutting down with his sword, imperial steel chipping chunks from the aged wood. Ragna caught the blows but suddenly lost control of his left leg. Glancing down he saw another bolt sticking out from his thigh, a dark stain spreading from the wound. The strength left him and he fell to one knee, his arm still held aloft, shaking with the effort to hold against the rain of blows.
When the rush of footsteps charged towards him, he knew his time was up. This was the end.
With a final breath he mustered the last of his strength and before his body failed him, his fingers curled about a fallen sword, not caring whether it was his or not, he held tight and growled from the pit of his stomach.
Ragna used the orchestra of pain been played against his body, the wound in his belly, the bolt in his arm, in his leg - the pain of leaving Ejan behind, of never seeing Jaygen again, of everything he should have done, of everything he should have said. He closed his eyes and let his shield drop, but still held tight to his wife’s hair, gripping it between thumb and forefinger. He would die with her in his mind, Ejan and Jaygen both and of happier times.
Bringing his left arm to join his right he held the sword and dragged himself standing - shaking with fatigue, with effort, with pain.
Ragna raised the blade high above his head and opened his eyes onto the charging death. With his final breath, he screamed from his spent body as he brought the sword crashing down.
“Oodiiiin!”
Chapter 23
Aslania
Ragna’s final war cry echoed through mountains, bouncing off the God’s Peaks as Elora’s feet thumped down against rock. Her legs buckled at the sudden change from bouncing wood to solid ground. Bray placed an arm around her waist and kept her upright before pulling her behind a large boulder. She was soon joined by her uncle and Otholo.
Ejan was the last off the bridge, dragging her husband’s hammer behind her, sparks flying from the head as it scraped against rock. Her own head was hung low, hiding her face as she turned to gaze back across the bridge, seeking out the body of her fallen husband.
“Ejan, get behind the boulder. We need to cut the ropes,” said Diagus, ushering her with an arm. The Norsewoman paid him no heed, instead remaining where she was, standing at the posts, Fist of the North held slackly in one hand.
“Ejan,” hissed Diagus, more urgently, “They’re coming.”
From the other side of the void, Elora could see the soldiers stumbling onto the bridge in a race to reach them.
“Let them come” replied Ejan, calmly. Her new shorter hair making her seem like a different person.
Elora stared past her and watched as the soldiers were halfway across the bridge. Perhaps a dozen in all, running as quickly as armoured men could, on a swaying structure that jostled with every step. But coming they were and bringing a lot of steel. At the other side, where she could just make out Ragna’s body, laying amongst the men he had slain, came others. A bedraggled line of soldiers that curled back down the mountain side, out of sight. The numbers could be endless, too many to count, too many to fight.
“Ejan, we need to cut the ropes.” Bray spoke smoothly, placing a reassuring hand on her arm, but the Viking was having none of it. She shook his hand off and raised her head, focusing on the men stalking closer. One woman against an army.
Elora saw the grief on her face, the tears in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. Ejan was a loose cannon, hell bent on avenging her husband’s death.
“Let them come,” she repeated.
The soldiers were closer now. Close enough to see their clenched teeth, to see them pull swords from scabbards, to bring about spears, ready to charge. Elora thought that Bray would need to drag the grief-stricken woman back, when the Viking slowly took a step away from the bridge and heaved the hammer onto her shoulders - eyes focusing on the threat. A wicked smile formed on her lips.
Elora watched as she slowly turned away, showing her back to the soldiers and wondered what she was doing but soon realised her intentions. Ejan kept turning, beginning to spin on the spot, lowering her late husband’s weapon and having to lean back to compensate for its weight. Three times she spun, picking up speed and momentum, the Fist levelling out like an extension of her arms. As she finished her last rotation she dropped to her knees. The hammer continued its cycle and struck the anchor post with a thunderous clap that admonished all other sounds as the world seemed to halt.
Nothing happened for several heartbeats, until the silence was replaced with a deep groan as the post Ejan had struck began to topple. Almost lazily at first, yet the sheer size and weight made it continue its path out into the void.
Soldiers shouted and attempted to scramble back, the pursuit now forgotten as they struggled to get passed one another to reach the safety of solid ground. But when the post suddenly came away the bridge jerked and more than half the men tumbled off, screaming as arms futilely sort for something to grasp. Elora closed her eyes, the sight of men dying too much to bear, yet she couldn’t block their screams that only death silenced.
When she reopened them, she saw that a few of the men that had held fast to the bridge had clambered back to safety on the other side and only one that had been almost upon them was now dangling from the rope - spitting distance away.
“Help him,” said Elora, rushing to Ejan’s side. But she could tell by the anguished look on the Viking’s face that help was the last thing on her mind.
There was another groan, followed by a splintering crack and the last anchor post, now unable to hold the bridge, began to slowly fall.
“Help me. Please,” yelled the man as he shakily began to work his way along the rope, yet Elora knew the distance was too great to cover as the post sank lower still.
“The blood that’s on your hands, that’s clinging to your cloak,” said Ejan, coldly as she stepped up to the falling post and placed her boot against it. “Is my husband’s.” She gave her boot a push and the post fell away with a snap.
“No!” Elora shouted, closing her eyes once again, but not before seeing the image of the helpless soldier, his hand clawing at air, his face screwed up in terror as he plummeted.
The crash of the bridge hitting the rock face on the other side of the void, drowned out the man’s screams as it broke to a thousand pieces - as he, most likely broke to pieces. Elora felt cold, and not because of the weather.
Bray must have sensed her unease and stooped down to pick her up.
“We need to keep moving” Diagus said. He eyed Ejan for a moment before turning on them and walking away.
“You alright?” whispered, Bray. Giving her a hug before setting her down.
She nodded, although felt numb as the images of the previous moments, flashed across her mind. Numb at the realisation of losing Ragna. A friend that gave his life for her cause. She spared a glance to Ejan, who stared across the emptiness, seeking out her late husband’s body.
“Ejan,” she began, feeling tears prickle at her eyes once again. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s done now. Can’t be undone, can it?” the Viking replied, her voice dry. Then raised a hand to her lips, kissed them and saluted her husband. After staring across the void for a moment she turned, hefted the hammer onto her shoulders and set off after the Shadojak.
