Battle Through the Nine Realms - Chapter 23 - Showing Off (Patreon)

Magnus couldn’t help but appreciate the lesson he was learning from all these fights.

Seventy-plus matches today were scheduled, and over a fourth of them had been won by someone using a trick or underhanded moment. The fighting this year had already surprised many; the young warriors were pulling out all the stops and not waiting for later rounds to use their secrets or tricks. Day three was too important, and as the level of competition appeared stronger, no one could afford to hold back.

A pair of healers were working on a boy from the Northeast. His arm had almost been severed off by the blow he had suffered.  

“Do you really think that blade was poisoned?”

Arngrim grunted and nodded.  “I’d bet money that it was, but the judges won't test it.  The winner is local, and as such, he gets a free pass.”

“Don’t dishonor those men like that,” Reinn said, glaring at the back of Arngrim.  “If they believed it was, they would test it.”

“Forgive me,” the older man replied, giving a slight bow before turning back to the action across the dirt floor of the dueling fields.  Only Magnus saw the eye roll Arngrim had given.

“Tomorrow should be a good fight for whoever faces him.  His skill with two axes was impressive.”

Hrein started to chuckle, ignoring the glare that his Lendmann gave.

“You men are impossible,” Avitue protested. “Shieldmaidens do not partake in any kind of mischief like this.  You have seen our fights are done with honor, and if a woman was foolish enough to attempt such a thing, no warband would take her, lest Freya’s anger make all of us suffer.”

“You don’t understand,” Guat replied. “We don’t fight with honor when we face a troll or a giant or a—”

“Stop, Guat,” the shieldmaiden commanded. “I do not need you to speak of what it is like to face any of those creatures until I see firsthand the scars you wear and the bones of it you carry.  Until then, you are wet behind the ears.”

Osvif coughed, and everyone else remained silent as the one she had just insulted stood up, his face now as red as her hair.

“Don’t do it,” Hrein growled, putting a hand out toward Guat’s chest as the older warrior started to rise.  “You need your Strength for these next few days, and losing to my daughter would not be good.”  The red-headed warrior finished getting to his feet and leaned in close to Guat. “It would be even worse if you won.”

The clearing of Reinn’s throat stopped all of them before something was said or done.

“I don’t want to hear any more about this,” the Lendmann said.  “I don’t care how you win.  Just win.  Every other boy on that field has been told the same thing. You are fighting for honor for yourself, your family, and our village.  At the end of the tournament, no one will remember how you got to the top, only that you were above the rest.”

Magnus turned his attention back to the circle on their right, where a fight was about to start.  This one was going to be one worth watching.

The older man glanced down at the updated list of notes Osvif had given him this morning.

“The one with two swords is Braesi,” Arngrim said when he saw Magnus’s attention return to the dueling field.  “He’s from the Northwest, and as you can see, his build is a stocky one like Osvif’s.  The other boy is Grimolf, from the southwest.  His father is a thegn, and while he’s not very thick compared to most, the skill he has with that spear and shield has been talked about a lot.  His odds of making the final ten were evidence that most feel he’s a lock.”

“So, what about his opponent?”

“Many think he’d make the top twenty, but once his matchup was picked… most expect it to end here,” Arngrim replied.

The spear was a weapon Magnus had learned provided reach and power.  Only a few Vikings considered using a sword over an axe.  The tradition was hard to overcome even when logic told them differently.  Reinn had mentioned there were warbands in his younger days that had died because they refused to simply swap out weapons.  Always rushing in with an axe when a row of spears could bleed a creature out from safety was foolish.

“Look how Braesi is standing,” Magnus said.  “He’s going to be completely offensive.”

An eyebrow raised on the rune crafter's face, and then his beard split as he smiled.

“You’re right… he’s going to rush Grimolf.”

The horn for the fight to start came, and as both had predicted, Braesi darted forward, his swords kept out in front of his body. 

Jabs came from the red-haired spear user as he tried to keep space between them, yet Braesi somehow managed to deflect and direct the spear up and away.  He got in close, swords now moving with a barrage of slashes from every direction.

Grimolf was trying to back up while blocking with his shield, the shaft of his spear doing nothing but pushing against the side of his stockier opponent.

Blood dripped on the ground as a slash connected against the retreating Viking.  Roars and cheers came as they saw him stumble for a moment, his shield getting up just in time as Braesi continued his assault.

“The spear!”

Everyone in the stands saw that Grimolf had let go of his spear, the weapon providing no defensive or offensive value.  A glint of metal came, and Braesi stopped his assault, stumbling back a few steps himself.

The dark-haired teen appeared confused, now retreating as his tall opponent pressed the attack, slamming his shield and wielding a long dagger.

What had seemed one-sided was now a new fight. Braesi’s swords moved to defend, but the reason why he was acting as he did was hidden from this side of the dueling floor.  As the boys fought, they finally traded positions, allowing spectators over here to see blood was running down the leather armor over the stocky boy’s chest.  As he breathed, more of his life flowed from his nose and mouth.

“A lung wound!” Arngrim shouted. 

Grimolf tried to press his advantage, his left leg bleeding with every step he took.  The tan dirt was stained red as the boys moved.  All over the stands, people stood and cheered them both on, excited to see a fight none had expected.

The shield came toward Braesi as Grimolf tried to slam into him, but as he connected against the brown-haired teen’s chest, a sword came down from above.  

Moving his head at the last second, Grimolf avoided getting his head sliced open, instead losing an ear and a chunk of his cheek as the blade slid down the side of his skull.

A thud came as the sword sunk into the taller boy’s collarbone, and he fell backward, crying out as he let go of the shield and reached up for his face and ear.

Braesi was on the ground, wheezing and struggling to breathe, the blood filling his lungs as the air had been knocked out of him.

Both teen boys were down, and neither were making a move to get up.

A few seconds passed, and then the horn sounded, multiple healers rushing the field.

“Who won?!”

Groaning, Arngrim threw up his hands and shrugged.

“It may be a draw, or at least it should be,” the older man replied. “I doubt the judge can call that fight as both of them went down at the same time, and either would die from what had been received.”

“That is why you always get back up,” Brennor bellowed out over the cheers of the crowd.  “If either of them had rolled over and got to their knees, they would have been the victor. As it stands, the red-headed one will have a scar no matter how good that healing is.  He may never grow a beard on that side of his face.”

Osvif looked at Magnus and winced.  They knew this was going to be a blood fest, and yet the scene before them reminded each that death wasn’t the only thing one had to fear.  Many teens already had scars that would be there for the rest of their lives.

“Osvif, you need to go warm up,” Reinn said.  

Nodding, their own strawberry-topped Viking rose and moved toward the stairs.  

Right behind him was Magnus, ready to help in any way he could.

***

“Can you see anything tricky about this one? All the research I did yielded nothing special about him.” 

Magnus shook his head after studying the boy his friend would face.

“Just a standard teenager with an axe and a shield, hoping one of them bashes your skull in.”

Chuckling, Osvif nodded as he finished stretching.  

“One more… I just need one more.”

“Then get it.  Don’t stop till either he is down and the judge calls it, or he can’t get up.”

Taking the shield and axe that Magnus held out, Osvif smiled at the one who had helped him get this far.

“I owe you.  At some point, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“You bet Thor’s arse you do! Now win so I can make money off you!”

Groaning, Osvif moved toward the ring where his next fight was to be.  

***

“Two down, one left,” Arngrim said quietly.  “Guat and Osvif did their job. Now it’s time to do yours.”

“I’m not sure Osvif’s fight counted as much.  It was clearly one-sided.”

Chuckling, the crazy, brown-haired old man nodded.

“This one isn’t going to be like that.  He is the reason why your odds were so high.  If you win this fight, those odds are going to go down unless the next one is one of the others expected to reach the end.”

Magnus already knew who he was facing.

“He really does remind me of Guat, even if his hair is blond.  Did you hear what Reinn told me?”

Snorting, Arngrim nodded.

“Two silver coins if you beat him.  Apparently, Kraki Vikarsson’s father doesn’t get along with Reinn.  Both of them are Lendmann, and something happened a few years back.  The only way this fight would be sweeter for him is if Guat fought and won.”

The teen boy was tall and built like Guat.  His blond hair was braided behind him, and the boy was a few inches taller than Magnus.  The massive two-handed axe the teen carried seemed a bit overkill. Unless he was exceptionally strong, the weight of it would cause problems for consecutive swings.

“You’re certain it's okay if I go all out?” Magnus asked as he moved toward the circle.

The goat laugh echoed across the dueling field as Arngrim let go, putting on a show for those who were watching.

“Just remember to tell Odin someday that I deserve some of the praise you earned from all this.”

Nodding, Magnus kept his eyes focused on the teen before him.  After this fight, everyone would know his name.

***

“You’re certain that is all you want?”

Magnus nodded at the judge.  

“May Thor have mercy on you,” the man muttered as he walked away.

Across the circle, Kraki laughed, holding the axe in both hands, letting it rest on his shoulder.

“Are you going to beg for mercy like a dog?” the teen called out. “A knife and a shield? I’m going to chop your head off for disrespecting me like that!”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus ignored the comment. He had seen the boy fight and knew everything he needed to.

“Is it true your mother doesn’t know which of her brothers got her pregnant?”

Those blue eyes shook with fury as the teen lifted his axe off his shoulder and slammed it into the dirt, sinking the blade deep into the tan soil and roaring at Magnus.

The horn sounded, and the ten yards that separated them were all Magnus needed.  The teen was a loose cannon, and rumors of his rage and temper were more common than drunks at a free mead party.  Even better was the tidbits of information Osvif had learnea bout what really angered his opponent.  The big question revolved around who his actual father was and it always got him upset.  When Kraki was upset, his ability to think and process stuff failed.  He was one who wanted to be a berserker, and from what was on display for the arena, he embodied it.

Dashing toward the pissed-off teen, Magnus watched as his opponent started to pry the axe from the soil.  It had sunk deeper than Kraki had intended and didn’t come up like he had expected.  It took two big pulls to break it free from its prison, but by the time it was loose, Magnus was in Kraki’s face.

The shield slammed into the boy’s throat, both arms pointed downward as the axe was starting to rise, unable to block Magnus’s attack.  His head was tilted back from the jerk, completely exposed.

A crunch came as the windpipe was crushed. 

Even then, Kraki’s body couldn’t react to what had happened.  His hands wouldn’t let go of the handle of his axe as gasping and wheezing noises came from his mouth.  

Shifting to the side, Magnus moved like a dancer, graceful as the shield rolled along the boy’s throat.  In a moment, the dagger was pressed against Kraki’s spine.

There was no noise in the dueling field for three seconds other than the gurgling coming from the boy frozen on his feet.

“It’s over!” the judge called out, just as surprised as everyone else was.

Cheers washed over Magnus as he took the dagger from the boy's neck, walking toward Arngrim, who was laughing again.  

In that man’s brown eyes was something Magnus had seen a few times over the last few years.

Excitement and anticipation of what was to come.