CHAPTER 1
Thora Sveinsdottir jerked awake suddenly; her mind slow to follow. She fought to free herself from the slowly receding violent nightmare to remember where she was. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears and she struggled to pull in each ragged breath. Her eyes scanned the murky darkness of the longhouse. Instead of seeing the images of her nightmare—where the fires that engulfed the homes of her village burned bright against the blackness of that fateful night’s sky—she strained to make out the sleeping figures of the men, women, and children that inhabited this home. In the meager light of the dying embers in the hearth, she slowed her breathing and calmed her runaway heartbeat as she listened to the sounds of the ones she loved sleeping peacefully. Gradually, the echoing shrieks of terror and the screams of the dying faded from her ears.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the sliver of sky visible through the smoke hole in the ceiling. From the pale tendrils of peach and dusky pinks peeking from the east, she knew dawn was coming, and with it another day of training. Unable and unwilling to go back to sleep, Thora sat up and pushed back her woolen blankets and sheepskins. Her fingers lingered on the top blanket as tears stung her eyes.
“Aesa…” She whispered as the image of her little sister asleep with her blonde head on their mother’s lap, wrapped in the blanket that now kept Thora warm each night played across her mind. Thora swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and blinked away the tears. She shook her head to clear away the ghosts of the past and wrapped herself in her anger to guard against the pain of her loss.
Thora climbed from the bench she slept on and skillfully threaded her long, sandy blonde tresses into a series of braids. Then, she pulled on her loose fitting leather breeches, slipped her heavy woolen tunic over her linen undertunic, and fastened her belt and leather jerkin over her tunic without making a sound. She slipped her sword through her belt and lovingly touched the hilt. She reached for her axe and shield before quietly making her way to the door. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she had not disturbed anyone before she slipped through the door and out into the dimly lit morning.
The cool, damp late spring air brushed against her skin, sending a welcomed chill through her body as she made her way along the muddy path between houses to the area used for weapons practice. She’d have the place to herself today because most of the men had gone on a hunt earlier that week. It had rained enough during the night to turn the dirt of the well-used practice field into slick mud deep enough to cover the top of her leather boots. She held her axe over her head with hands at opposite ends of the haft and stretched. Her lungs expanded, taking in the clean, smoke free air. She listened, and in the quietness of the early morning, she heard the sound of the river that ran along the south edge of the village. She dropped her arms to her side and eyed the post across the yard. With each step toward the post, she allowed her anger to flow freely.
Her vision shifted as her anger took over. She no longer saw the simple wooden post before her as her memories transported her back to that tragic night two years ago. Instead, she saw the armed men running through her village in the dead of night, chasing after the villagers who ran for their lives. The scent of the burning homes mixed with the metallic stench of blood and burning flesh, filling her nose until she choked on the awful smell. She was no longer on the practice field. In her mind, she was hiding under a wagon, helpless to do anything but watch in silent terror as a man viciously struck down her mother and sister from behind before they could reach the wagon. Thora couldn’t see the face of the man who ran her mother and sister through with his sword no matter how hard she tried. To move enough to see him would give away her position. She laid flat on her belly, trying to make herself invisible. She pressed her face closer to the ground, trying to drive away the smells of the attack with the grass and dirt beneath her. She pressed her blood-covered hands to her ears, trying to block out the sounds of steel cleaving flesh and bone with a sickening relentlessness. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to see the sight of men slaying women and children against the backdrop of their burning homes.
Her father’s grief filled shrieks broke through Thora’s attempts to block out the sounds around her. She opened her eyes in time to see her father rushing toward the man who had just killed his wife and daughter, sword drawn and eyes wide with rage. Before her father could reach the object of his rage, another man stepped around the corner. He stuck his foot out and tripped her father as he ran. Thora watched, frozen with fear, as her father landed with a hard thud on his belly just feet away from her hiding spot. He quickly turned himself over to his back, but before he could get up, the man that tripped him jammed his sword into her father’s neck. As his lifeblood soaked into the dirt, his head slumped to the side. Thora met her father’s gaze. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, and he whispered her name with his dying breath. Her heart shattered into a million pieces at the sound.
As the memory played, muscle memory from months spent training took over as she closed the distance and struck the post with a killing blow. She then launched into a series of blows, alternating between striking with her axe and blocking with her shield. With each blow, she saw the silhouettes of the men that killed her family. As she yanked her axe from the upright, thick wooden beam, her memories receded and she smiled at her accuracy. Had that been the men, they would be dead and in pieces.
“Another nightmare, eh?” The deep gravelly voice startled Thora from the appraisal of her efforts. Her back stiffened and she tightened her grip on the handle of her axe. She squared her shoulders and turned to face the intruder. She bit back a retort and forced a smile as she nodded curtly.
The burly man moved closer, placed a beefy hand on Thora’s shoulder, and sneered. She suppressed the urge to shudder. “They will pass. You just have to stop dwelling on the past.” His words lacked any trace of sincerity.
Thora rolled her shoulder and took a step back, dislodging his hand from its perch. “How easy you make it sound, Garmund.”
In the pale light of dawn, he shrugged as a smile spread across his red, stringy bearded mouth. How she longed to throttle that face. As the jarl’s most trusted friend and warrior, to act on her urges would spell her death. However, that didn’t stop her from dreaming about burying her axe in his chest.
He strolled over to the post and surveyed Thora’s handiwork. “Not bad…for a woman.” She bristled when the last of his words, said lower than the first, drifted to her ears. “I will never understand why Odinkar ever allowed you to train with the men. Shieldmaidens are useless anymore. Why train women to fight when men do the job just fine?”
Thora stood silent, refusing to allow him to bait her into an argument. He was not worth the ramifications that came with disrespecting the man the jarl held so close. Garmund knew as well as Thora that Odinkar agreed to allow her to train because she was the only living relative of both her mother and father capable of seeking vengeance for their deaths, and she demanded the opportunity to carry out the task. It may not have been easy to win the jarl’s approval to train, and she didn’t do it alone. In the end, Odinkar found it difficult to deny his best warrior’s demand to let him train her. Thanks to Bjorn’s efforts, Thora had been in training for eighteen months and was skilled enough to keep Bjorn on his toes.
Garmund’s gray eyes raked her over from head to toe and his lips turned into a sneer. “As if a little thing such as you could ever do more than cook, sew, or give a man children. There is no way a girl who has seen only nineteen winters can be as useful in battle as a man of the same age.”
Thora’s anger surged, but she said nothing. She carefully schooled her expression into one of boredom while inwardly she imagined all the different ways she would love to lay this man open. She couldn’t decide which way was her favorite. It was a toss-up between cutting him open from his neck to his belly with her father’s sword, or separating his head from his shoulders with her axe. She fingered the blade of her axe, testing the sharpness. Her axe may be dull for a beheading after all the time spent training on the post, and it may require multiple strikes to get through the bone, but that was why that option tied as a favorite. A smile tugged at her lips as she envisioned him lying lifeless in a pool of his own blood.
“What?” He cocked his head sideways as he eyed her. His reddish brown hair barely moving because of all the grease. Thora couldn’t help but wonder when the last time was that the man bathed.
Thora shook her head. “What do you want?” If only he would leave her to continue her training in peace.
“Training.” He waved his thick hand around to the posts. “I am supposed to see how your training is progressing and teach you some things. As usual.”
Thora glanced around at the still sleeping village, hoping to see others nearby. She normally trained with Bjorn, her father’s friend, and a small handful of some of the other warriors, but never with Garmund. In the year and a half she had been training with the men, Garmund only ever interacted with her when he wanted to test her training—not to help with her training. Those tests always ended with Thora beaten and bruised because she kept to the rules of training even when Garmund didn’t. As much as she wanted to defend herself properly and best him, she couldn’t do anything that would harm Garmund, or else she’d answer to Odinkar. She eyed him warily as her stomach churned.
“Why now?” She asked, hoping someone would come along and divert Garmund’s attention.
Something sinister flickered in his eyes before he quickly masked it. Thora’s brows drew together.
“The jarl wants to make sure he didn’t waste the men’s time in training you. You know that. Why do you have to ask the same questions each time?” He stepped around, forcing Thora to turn to follow him if she wanted to keep him in her sight. “Quit stalling.”
“Odinkar was out here watching me train two days ago and showed no concern then.” She gripped her axe handle tighter and glanced around the village one last time. No one was coming to her aid. Funny how Garmund always timed his tests to when no one was around to witness or intervene. She brought her shield up to her torso. Her muscles coiled as each of her senses sharpened. When he sprang at her, sword drawn, she was ready and quickly deflected the blade with her shield. Before he could come at her again, she struck him in the chest with the flat side of her axe, careful to keep the sharp edge turned away from his body.
His eyes widened as he straightened. “Not bad.” He muttered as he adjusted the iron sword in his grasp.
She kept her eyes fixed on his as he circled her, slowly at first. He took two quick steps to the left before lunging a step to the right. He moved swiftly for his hulking size, but not fast enough to get around Thora. She raised her axe and slapped him on the side, again careful to keep the blade from hitting him.
He ran a hand through his beard as he nodded. “Good. You seem well trained in anticipating an opponent’s moves. I wonder how you would do when attacking an opponent.” He held up a hand and gestured for her to come at him.
Thora shifted her weight and squared her shoulders. She studied his every move, but never took her eyes from his. She noted how he left his right side open because he kept his sword raised and away from his body. It was a risky attack, but one he wasn’t likely to expect. She took a few steps to the side, making him turn in order to keep her in front of him. When he went to move his foot, she saw her opening and took it. She lunged forward, planting the side of her axe head against his ribs while raising her shield to block the sword thrust.
His face turned red and he sputtered with anger. “I’ll not be bested by a woman!” He roared as he raised his sword over his head and brought it down in a crushing blow against her shield. He was no longer holding back as he stepped and swung with precision, forcing Thora onto the defensive to prevent any of his attacks from landing. She backed away as he reached back for another hard blow and when his sword connected to her shield, the force of the blow knocked her on her backside and sent a shock wave of sharp pain through her forearm. She gasped as her shield fell out of her now weakened grip, and she was unable to pick it up before he advanced on her again.
She scrambled backwards, slipping in the mud as she tried to stand, her heart pounded in her chest and her breath labored. His attacks were calculated, forceful, and fast. She needed to find a weakness if she had any hope of ending this. Not that she was free to fight back on the same level as he was attacking her. Odinkar would have her head if she broke the rules of training, even when Garmund had. The injustice of the situation grated on her nerves, but she was powerless to do anything about it. When Garmund gripped his sword with two hands and raised it over his head in preparation for another blow, she saw her chance. She launched herself from her seated position on the ground and into his midsection. His wind left him in a rush, leaving him stunned. She swung her axe, intending to hit him in the face, but he brought his sword up to block the attack. As he wound his sword around and down to remove the axe from her grip, she fought to keep hold. She tried to free her axe, but before she could, he brought the elbow of his other arm up and connected with her nose. Pain erupted in her nose and radiated throughout her face as she fell to the ground. When she was down, he planted a booted foot hard into her ribs before walking away. Pain exploded and burned like fire in her side. The kick forced the air from her lungs and the pain in her side made it difficult to suck it back in. She stayed on her back, head slightly turned, as she watched him leave. She concentrated on the flow of warm blood that trailed from her nose and along her cheek until it dripped off just in front of her ear, unsure of what just happened.