SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

Bard let out a slow breath, choking back a nervous laugh only to go rigid at a muffled susurrus in the wet grass behind him. He ducked as a whirl of smoke and steel hurtled over his head, crashing into the statue with a clang and sending chips of stone flying.

The vague shape of boots appeared and Bard lashed out, driving the point of his ax toward where he believed the enemy came at him. Metal sang out. A sharp gasp followed as needling stabs reverberated up his forearms. His blow had done its work. The boots toppled backward, barely visible, and Bard scudded forward to keep on the move. A pained grunt slipped loose of his assailant as he struck hard earth. Bard closed without hesitation, his left hand seizing the warmth of his opponent’s throat. He growled and hefted his ax to rain down a blow but then his arm went stiff as a familiar face formed beneath him.

“Gods, Hilde,” he cursed. “I nearly killed you.” He released the woman’s neck and lowered his weapon.

“Don’t be so certain,” she answered, grim humor in her voice as two slivers of steel crept from the gloom and wavered before his face.

He grinned as twin shadows took shape — brothers he’d thought dead coalesced from the fog, their own smiles a radiant sight to behold.

“We found her smirking atop the bloodied remains of a great, horned mare, its head split asunder and its brains gouged from its skull,” Devin boasted, gesturing to the woman. “If ol’ Hrimgerd herself couldn’t bring down Hilde, I doubt a fifl like you could.”

“At least that’s how she’d tell it,” Arndt said with a chuckle.

Relieved laughter spilled from Bard’s throat and he rose, pulling Hilde to her feet. He embraced her quickly and did the same to the others in turn.

“We’d thought you dead,” Arndt told him with a clap to the shoulder, his plaited red beard darkened and congealed with blood. His helm boasted a respectable dent, and a shallow cut ran across the bridge of his broad nose but Bard had seen the warrior worse off.

“As did I.” Bard slapped a hand over the warrior’s meaty shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “As did I.” He let his gaze wander over the others; having been separated rather quickly on the battlefield, he reveled in their unexpected presence and found his mettle buttressed by their good company.

Hilde looked much as she had when they’d disembarked: her long blonde hair pulled so tight against her scalp as to appear untouched by chill wind or her wretched battle against the strange beast. Her big blue eyes stared back at him as he appraised her. Her buckler hung on her arm, and her breastplate was painted with the crimson stains of those who’d dared stand before her — only the slight indentation from his own ax marred the steel of it — but no visible wounds other than a shallow cut or two proved she had given more than she got. A subtle flicker of amusement played at her pale lips and a hint of rose colored her freckly cheeks, then she bent and retrieved the sword Bard had knocked from her grasp.

He watched her, grateful he’d not buried his ax in that fair skull of hers, for he was sure that would provoke the goddess not to mention her aunt, Queen Gunnhild. Bard’s gaze flickered to Devin, a wiry Thuringian who stood blade in hand, and gave Bard a solemn nod. The man’s frame made Hilde look almost masculine, but Bard knew deceptive strength lurked within the warrior from his long years as a galley slave pulling oars on a Byzantine dromon before his liberation at the hands of Bloodax’s longships. Dev’s sharp features peered from the gloom like an eagle’s, barely shadowed by the growth of fuzz at his chin. He’d lost his shield somewhere along the way but he looked no less fierce for it.

“If we don’t find sanctuary Óðinn might yet catch us in his hall,” Hilde said, the ghost of her smile having passed on. Thunder rumbled somewhere above as if to punctuate her point.

Bard nodded, the pleasure at finding his companions alive fading at the return of their unfortunate reality. For all their company, they were no less safe from Haakon’s witches than when they’d been divided.

“The ships?” Arndt asked.

“Likely put to the torch or set adrift by now,” Bard said. “We’re a long way from shore.”

“Then north is all we have, brothers. North to the far shore where we might stumble across those who slipped away…should there be any, that is.” Devin spun in a slow circle, eyes growing narrow as he surveyed their surroundings. “Of course, it might help to know which way that is first.”

Hilde grunted agreement, and Bard peered through the fog after Devin, eyes settling at last on the hazy statue that hovered nearby. He let out a quiet laugh, drawing the attention of the others. “Were you a monument to a king of old, would you stare at the land behind you or the way your spirit pushed on?”

Hilde stood quiet a moment and followed his gaze, her eyes gleaming crystalline in the murk. “To the sea,” she answered with a grin.