along ropes suspended across a raging torrent of waterâDrott the Dim had lifted a hand to wave to his mother on shore, fallen in, and nearly drowned. And in a tree-climb, Orm the Hairy One lost his footing and fell down onto Fulnir, who was clinging to a limb right below him, and they both went tumbling all the way to the ground, where they landed in a heap and lay moaning and writhing in pain, and had to be carried off and tended to. This, ofcourse, drew cheers from the raucous crowd, seeing others cry out and writhe in pain being the whole reason most folk watched sporting events in the first place. The other reason being to watch people actually die.
Perhaps most popular of all was Astrid, Mistress of the Blade, as she had come to be called. Looking fine and fetching in furred vest and blond braids, she put on a dazzling display of axe throwing that had the crowd on its feet. In speed, distance, or accuracy, no one could beat her, and by midafternoon sheâd swept all five axe-throwing events, winning a standing ovation. Then, as spectators chanted for more, she began juggling her axes, spinning them up in the air two, three, four at a time, until finally she was juggling five axes at once, each sharp enough to slice off a finger in one false move. And thenâjust as the crowd thought she could do no betterâshe caught and threw them one by one backward over her shoulder and thwik! thwik! thwik! thwik! thwik! each axe sank into the side of a tree, forming the runic symbol, which represented her name.
The Blade Mistress had done it again! The place exploded in cheers! No one appeared more pleased than her father, Blek the Boatman, who looked on in pride, cheering a little too loudly at his daughterâs prowess.
Thidrek took a keen interest too, telling Voldar that he thought Astrid possessed âremarkable poise and a pleasing shape.â She would make a fine serving wench, he went on to say, to cook and clean and polish a manâs armor andbring him a drink whenever he liked and work out the kinks in his back. Voldar agreed, saying the Blade Mistressâs beauty was indeed a subject much talked about throughout the surrounding fjordlands, and adding that several men had already approached Blek with proposals to take her to wife, but her father had driven them off at spearpoint.
Dane gazed at Astrid with the kind of singular intensity and longing that only comes to one first in love or to a wolverine in heat. He cared dearly for the girl, and not a night went by that he didnât wish upon the stars and ask the gods to grant him the strength, charm, and musculature to win her affections and someday make her his wife.
But Astrid was no buttercup. Though she had feelings for Dane, she wasnât going to let him win her easily. Others sought her hand. Suitors from neighboring locales and even eligible young men from her own village had given her pause.
There was the good-looking Jarl the Fair, for example. And once or twice sheâd entertained the notion of going with Orm the Hairy One, but the thought of all that braiding and combing had put her off. This, and his annoying habit of saving the heads of all the animals heâd killed. No, thereâd be no easy way into her heart. To win her, a young man would have to prove himself worthy. She wasnât going to give in and give over to just any smooth talker who professed undying love. She knew that, for love to last, for it to grow and endure the various calamities oflife, a man must be made of harder stuff than talk. And though her affections were with Dane, he still had yet to prove that he possessed the kind of inner fire her heart told her she deserved in a man.
Â
Dane fought hard to stand out in the dayâs contests, and by afternoonâs end, it was down to him and Jarl in the final round. They were called out to the center of the field and stood side by side in the sun.
Jarl the Fair had great hair. Gorgeously long
Perhaps most popular of all was Astrid, Mistress of the Blade, as she had come to be called. Looking fine and fetching in furred vest and blond braids, she put on a dazzling display of axe throwing that had the crowd on its feet. In speed, distance, or accuracy, no one could beat her, and by midafternoon sheâd swept all five axe-throwing events, winning a standing ovation. Then, as spectators chanted for more, she began juggling her axes, spinning them up in the air two, three, four at a time, until finally she was juggling five axes at once, each sharp enough to slice off a finger in one false move. And thenâjust as the crowd thought she could do no betterâshe caught and threw them one by one backward over her shoulder and thwik! thwik! thwik! thwik! thwik! each axe sank into the side of a tree, forming the runic symbol, which represented her name.
The Blade Mistress had done it again! The place exploded in cheers! No one appeared more pleased than her father, Blek the Boatman, who looked on in pride, cheering a little too loudly at his daughterâs prowess.
Thidrek took a keen interest too, telling Voldar that he thought Astrid possessed âremarkable poise and a pleasing shape.â She would make a fine serving wench, he went on to say, to cook and clean and polish a manâs armor andbring him a drink whenever he liked and work out the kinks in his back. Voldar agreed, saying the Blade Mistressâs beauty was indeed a subject much talked about throughout the surrounding fjordlands, and adding that several men had already approached Blek with proposals to take her to wife, but her father had driven them off at spearpoint.
Dane gazed at Astrid with the kind of singular intensity and longing that only comes to one first in love or to a wolverine in heat. He cared dearly for the girl, and not a night went by that he didnât wish upon the stars and ask the gods to grant him the strength, charm, and musculature to win her affections and someday make her his wife.
But Astrid was no buttercup. Though she had feelings for Dane, she wasnât going to let him win her easily. Others sought her hand. Suitors from neighboring locales and even eligible young men from her own village had given her pause.
There was the good-looking Jarl the Fair, for example. And once or twice sheâd entertained the notion of going with Orm the Hairy One, but the thought of all that braiding and combing had put her off. This, and his annoying habit of saving the heads of all the animals heâd killed. No, thereâd be no easy way into her heart. To win her, a young man would have to prove himself worthy. She wasnât going to give in and give over to just any smooth talker who professed undying love. She knew that, for love to last, for it to grow and endure the various calamities oflife, a man must be made of harder stuff than talk. And though her affections were with Dane, he still had yet to prove that he possessed the kind of inner fire her heart told her she deserved in a man.
Â
Dane fought hard to stand out in the dayâs contests, and by afternoonâs end, it was down to him and Jarl in the final round. They were called out to the center of the field and stood side by side in the sun.
Jarl the Fair had great hair. Gorgeously long
Similar Books
