Sunlight pierced the morning mist as Magnus's drakkar pitched against Gunnar's flagship. Through gaps in the shield-wall, Sigrida watched Magnus and Kjell claim the enemy deck step by bloody step. The familiar rhythm of combat carried across the water - the clash of steel, the thud of boots, the grunts of men fighting for their lives.

  Captured warriors pulled steadily at Helga's oars, bringing them alongside the battle. Sigmund paused beside her, his voice low. "Not your first time on a ship in battle. The moves are the same, we're just on the other side now." He nodded toward the chaos ahead. "Stay close to Helga and me. Mind the roll of the deck."

  Sigrida's fingers tightened around her axe as she remembered pirates swarming their trading vessel. But this time she wasn't defending against boarders - she would be one of them. This was her chance to prove herself worthy of the freedom she'd claimed.

  As they approached Magnus's drakkar, she studied every detail, memorizing the maze of ropes and rigging, the positions of mast and cargo, every space where warriors would clash and find their advantage. Just as Erik had taught her to read the water's movement, she read the battlefield that awaited them.

  When the grappling hooks bit deep, she followed Sigmund across their iron span. Ahead, he and Helga carved through the enemy's defense with practiced ease. Helga's massive frame drove forward like an unstoppable force, her blade finding gaps in mail and shield with deadly precision.

  Before she could find her footing on Magnus's swaying deck, steel flashed toward her head. The impact against her shield sent shockwaves through her arm as the ship pitched beneath her. The warrior pressed forward relentlessly, each strike coming faster than the last while sweat stung her eyes. In the confined space between mast ropes, where larger warriors would stumble, her small size let her move like water. She dropped beneath his next swing, her axe finding flesh in the opening.

  Through the press of bodies crowding the deck, she caught sight of Magnus struggling near the stern. A mountain of a warrior had him pinned against the gunwale, tattoos rippling across his bare torso as his axe crashed against Magnus's sword. Each blow rang with brutal force, driving Magnus further back. Nearby, Kjell fought with desperate fury against one of Gunnar's men, throwing frantic glances toward his brother but unable to break free.

  The ship's roll and maze of ropes created a deadly obstacle course that would slow most warriors - but for someone Sigrida's size, it offered a path. She ducked beneath a swinging blade, weaving through the web of rigging like she'd done countless times on fishing boats. Her axe spun through the narrow space between warriors, finding its mark in the giant's back with a meaty thunk.

  The giant warrior staggered as the deck pitched beneath them. Magnus's sword flashed forward, claiming the kill while Sigrida wrenched her axe free. Through the clash of steel and waves, she heard Sigmund's struggle near the mast. Two warriors had him pressed against the rigging, and though his blade kept them at bay, his strength was failing.

  Without hesitation, she moved to aid him, leaving Magnus staring after her in disbelief. As she passed her fallen enemy, his last act was one of vengeance. White-hot pain exploded in her calf as his dagger drove deep, twisting before his hand fell limp. Sigrida's axe came down with final brutality, ensuring he would never rise again. Blood soaked into her boot leather, each heartbeat forcing fresh crimson from the wound.

  The deck lurched, and her wounded leg nearly betrayed her. She caught the gunwale, knuckles white against smooth wood as agony pulsed through her calf with each roll of the ship.

  A war cry cut through her haze of pain. Through sweat-stung eyes, she saw another warrior charging, his sword raised high as he sensed her weakness. Sigrida bared her teeth, bracing against the gunwale. She let the deck's upward pitch add force to her swing, timing her strike with the ship's motion. Her axe met his blade again and again, each clash sending fresh waves of pain through her wounded leg.

  Kjell's sword flashed beside her, cutting down a warrior moving to flank her position. Together they pressed forward, Sigrida's axe finding its mark while Kjell protected her side.

  "That leg needs binding," he said sharply. "Hrothgar!" His voice carried across to Magnus's drakkar. "We need you here!"

  Relief flooded through her as she spotted Helga moving to aid Sigmund, her blade clearing a path through his attackers. Hrothgar appeared at the gunwale, his steady hands helping Sigrida back onto Magnus's deck as the battle raged behind them.

  "You've done well, child," Hrothgar said softly, guiding her to sit. "The wound will heal quickly." His steady hands began binding her leg.

  Sigrida nodded, grateful for his calm presence.

  Around them, the last resistance crumbled. Magnus's men secured the survivors while Helga directed the capture of the remaining vessels. The defeated warriors of Drakefjell sat in sullen silence as they were bound to the oars, their eyes hollow as they watched their fallen kinsmen being cleared from the blood-slicked deck.

  "This was the best outcome we could hope for," Hrothgar said, following her gaze to the captured warriors. "Your courage today saved many lives on both sides."

  She felt eyes on her and looked up to find Magnus studying her with an unsettled intensity. His expression held a mix of calculation and disquiet, as if her very existence threatened something fundamental in his world. She met his stare for a moment, then turned away. The Jarl's struggle with what she represented meant nothing to her.

  "Look there," Hrothgar said gently, drawing her attention to the harbor. "Brandr has already secured the channel. Your friends fight as bravely as you did."

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  Behind her, Helga and Sigmund's voices carried across the deck as they organized the aftermath of battle, but the sounds seemed distant and unimportant. Her focus remained fixed on the smoke rising from the village, flames licking at strategic points of her childhood home where Torbjorn's men had begun their assault on the longhouse. Her hand found Thor's hammer at her throat as she watched the battle continue without her, thoughts only of her friends fighting somewhere in that chaos. Astrid, Erik, Brandr - she could do nothing now but pray to the gods for their safety.

  Brandr's shield wall pushed relentlessly up the slope, warriors shoulder to shoulder as they advanced through the smoking ruins of the village. Astrid's arms burned from hours of fighting, but she kept pace with Erik, grateful for each step gained. When war horns echoed from the forest above, her heart leaped.

  "Your brothers," she whispered to Erik. Harald and Sigurd emerged from the trees, moving together as they had since childhood. Behind them came Asbjorn, directing warriors with the same steady command she remembered from countless practice bouts.

  Her father's voice cut through the chaos, ordering men to secure the longhouse. Fire arrows streaked overhead, flames catching quickly at the wooden doorways. To their left, Thor's hammer kept Gunnar's men from the high ground while the twins darted around him, their hounds' snarls mixing with their synchronized strikes.

  Caught between Brandr's advance and Torbjorn's forces, Gunnar's men began to break. His mercenaries fled first, scattering toward the eastern forest. But his veteran raiders closed ranks around their leader, their war cries defiant as they formed a shield wall. These were men who had followed Gunnar through years of conquest, and they would not abandon him now.

  "Let them run!" bellowed one of Gunnar's veteran warriors, his face a map of battle scars as he beat his axe against his shield. "True warriors die with their chief!"

  The warriors lifted their shields high and began a deep, rhythmic chanting. The sound built with each breath, punctuated by the clash of weapons against shields. Gunnar's massive frame rose behind the wall of wood and iron as his men worked themselves into a battle frenzy.

  Through the chaos, Astrid finally saw him - the man who'd torn her world apart. Gunnar cut through the battle like a storm, his red-trimmed armor and wild beard marking him as clearly as his massive axe. Her grip tightened on her sword as his gaze found them. Erik went still beside her, his fury matching her own.

  Through the press of bodies, Gunnar's gaze found them. A savage grin split his beard as he recognized Erik and Astrid.

  "Torbjorn's unfaithful hound!" His voice boomed across the battlefield. "Followed a bitch in heat and now he crawls back begging forgiveness!" His eyes fixed on Astrid with cruel contempt. "Or did she lead you here to die for her father?"

  Next to her, Erik adjusted his grip on his sword. "Let's end this," he said grimly.

  Gunnar answered their challenge, striding toward them with his axe held high.

  Astrid's heart thundered as she and Erik advanced to meet him. Around them, the sounds of battle – blade meeting shield, death cries, splintering wood - merged with the crackle of burning buildings. Smoke stung her eyes as she gripped her sword, silently begging the gods to protect Erik.

  Gunnar’s axe crashed against Erik's shield with bone-jarring force that echoed across the burning slope. Astrid circled them, sword ready, watching for any opening. Gunnar heaved his axe in crushing overhead strikes while Erik slipped past each blow, his blade testing Gunnar's defenses. With each near miss, Astrid's heart lurched, but Erik moved with the same steady precision she'd seen in countless practice bouts. Still, against Gunnar's raw power, she could see Erik's arms trembling with each blocked strike.

  The clash of weapons nearly drowned out a cry of triumph from one of Gunnar's veteran warriors. "Einar's ships! Your son approaches!"

  Gunnar hesitated, axe raised mid-strike as he turned toward the sea. Through gaps in the smoke, sails appeared on the horizon bearing the black and red colors of Drakefjell. Pride blazed across Gunnar's scarred face as he watched them draw closer - his heir, coming to join his father in slaughtering their enemies. Each passing heartbeat brought the ships nearer, their approach seeming to slow time itself on the battlefield.

  But beyond them, Magnus and Helga's fleet commanded the waters, their victory evident in the captured drakkars flying their colors. Through the smoke, Astrid watched Gunnar's face transform as his son's ships slowed their approach. His prideful grin crumbled to disbelief, then twisted into rage as Einar's fleet hung motionless between advance and retreat. Then, with agonizing slowness, the black and red sails began to turn away from Skogstrand's waters.

  His son's betrayal transformed Gunnar. Even Erik's practiced defense couldn't match the inhuman strength of his next strike. The axe sheared through his guard, biting deep into his sword arm. Erik stumbled backward, blood flowing freely from the wound.

  Time seemed to slow as Erik fell, his blood dark against the rain-soaked ground. Gunnar's laugh echoed strangely in Astrid's ears as he raised his axe for the killing blow.

  "Die like the dog you are!"

  As Gunnar raised his axe for the killing blow, Astrid saw his exposed side. All her training crystallized in that moment - the countless times he'd shown her how to find an opening, how to strike true. Her blade moved without hesitation.

  For a moment, the mighty Jarl of Drakefjell stared at her in disbelief - not at Erik, not at his fleeing son's ships, but at her. Then his massive frame crumpled to the earth, and Astrid's world narrowed to Erik's pained cry behind her.

  Astrid barely registered her bloodied sword before Erik's cry snapped her attention back. He lay sprawled on the muddy ground, his wound bleeding freely.

  "Erik!"

  She dropped beside him, pressing hard against the wound with trembling hands. His face had gone pale, but his eyes found hers, steady despite the pain. She tore a strip from her tunic, trying to remember everything Runa had taught her about binding wounds.

  Through the smoke, Astrid glimpsed Brandr struggling against a giant warrior, each step forcing him further back. The twins' familiar whistle cut through the chaos. Hilde and Hervor appeared with their hounds, their practiced attack pattern flowing around the warrior like water around stone. When Thor's hammer fell, the giant never saw it coming.

  Around them, weapons clattered to the blood-soaked ground as Gunnar's remaining men surrendered. From the slopes above came her father's voice, commanding his warriors to secure the prisoners. The sounds of battle faded to cries of surrender and the wounded.

  "Erik!" Her voice cracked as she called for help.

  Brandr's boots pounded up the slope. He dropped beside them, victory draining from his face at the sight of Erik's wound.

  "Hold on, Erik," he said, his voice tight despite their triumph. Blood pulsed between her fingers as she pressed against Erik's shoulder. His skin grew colder beneath her hands.

  Erik's eyes grew unfocused, his head heavy against her shoulder. "Stay with me," Astrid whispered fiercely. His fingers tightened around hers even as his breathing turned shallow and quick. They had taken back Skogstrand, but none of it mattered if she lost him now.