Raven: Sons of Thunder by Giles Kristian Page A

fit to burst as he drove Mauger back, growling like an animal. Then Mauger dropped his shoulder, rolling left and throwing Sigurd off balance. The Wessexman scythed his blade full circle and Sigurd raised his shield just in time but the limewood split with a loud crack. Both men jumped back, breathing heavily, their faces sweat-soaked. Sigurd did not have to look at his shield to know it was damaged and he must have known he was taking a risk by using it still. But it was too early in the fight to be down to two shields. I suddenly realized why each man got three. It was so they would exhaust themselves smashing each other’s shields to kindling, and not have the strength left for a killing blow. But this was noordinary hólmgang, and it would not end with the first spilled blood.
    Sigurd dragged his forearm across his head and spat saliva thick as frogspawn. The two men circled, their eyes locked. Sigurd slashed high, fast as lightning, but Mauger was already moving and the sword’s point passed a breath away from his face as he swung for Sigurd’s shield, cutting the thing clean in half. Sigurd gripped the lower half, kicking the other part away. At least the iron boss still held, though he would not have long. So he attacked, launching a series of hammer blows which Mauger took on his own shield, and I cursed because I had chosen that shield and it was harder than a wheel from Thór’s chariot.
    Now Mauger attacked, no grace, just swinging his sword like a man hacking through brambles, battering what remained of Sigurd’s shield and lopping another quarter from it, leaving the jarl with the iron boss, two mangled strips of metal and a sliver of wood. Blood dripped rhythmically from the inside of the shield boss.
    ‘They said you were a great warrior, Mauger,’ Sigurd said, giving his wolf’s grin, ‘but I can see that you are an old dog whose best days are long gone. Come. I will end your shame.’
    ‘This dog still has teeth, heathen,’ Mauger said, raising cheers from the Wessexmen. I glanced at Ealdred and saw that his eyes were gleaming with pride, or hope, or both.
    Olaf handed Sigurd a new shield and Mauger waited until Sigurd had set himself, then the English warrior attacked again. Sigurd stood his ground and when Mauger stepped back to suck air into his belly, the jarl thrust for his neck. Mauger caught the point with his shield and drove it up and away, but Sigurd’s lunge was a feint and he thumped his shield into Mauger’s face, sending the big man reeling. Sigurd stepped up and slammed his foot into Mauger’s thigh, almost taking him down. Mauger staggered and yelled and planted himself again, dipping hishead and bringing his shield and sword up. Sigurd hacked at the man’s shield. Splinters flew as he kept up the vicious assault and it was all Mauger could do to catch each blow, though each must have felt like Ragnarök, the end of the world. The Wessexman edged around the cloak, his shoulders bouncing with ragged breaths. He yelled and threw his right foot forward, swinging his sword from left to right, attacking Sigurd’s unshielded side, but Sigurd hefted his sword. The blades bit and a shard of steel flew, slicing Sigurd’s cheek. Sigurd punched his sword’s pommel into Mauger’s teeth, breaking them, and I heard Mauger’s deep grunt as blood spilled from his chin like water down a mountain. The Wessexman was dazed. He stumbled, his thighs straining to keep his knees locked, and Sigurd sensed victory. He came on, his sword thundering down like a god’s vengeance, and I threw myself forward, catching the sword on a shield, that one blow hammering me into the earth like a tent peg. Sigurd stepped back, wide eyes shining like silver coins. Around me the Norsemen clamoured. I cringed, expecting cold steel to tear my flesh.
    Mauger had stumbled over to the far edge of the arena and was shaking some sense back into his head, spitting cracked teeth and great gobs of thick blood on to the