Blades of Wolfsbane - episode ten

A story in the Ravenglass Universe.

The following night, Ragnar and Kest sparred behind the mead hall, Kest sweating and breathing hard, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace.

Ragnar danced left, spinning and lashing out with his sword.

Kest blocked and fended off the dagger thrusts.

He swung his axe down, its head padded with cloth, as Ragnar weaved to the right.

Ragnar pressed into Kest’s guard and brought his dagger past the shield. “That’s four in a row.”

Kest looked down and laughed. “You’re too fast. I should have gone for a sword.”

A flash of movement caught Ragnar’s eye.

He turned to see Sven leaning against the mead hall, a thin smile on his lips. The older boy disappeared into the shadows of the hall as he walked away.

“Prick.” Ragnar shook his head and cringed when Kest smacked a blow to his stomach. “Ow! Careful.”

“You’re dead.” Kest lowered his axe and gestured to the ground. “Your guts would be flopping out. There’d be blood everywhere.” He grinned and pointed past him. “That’s what happens when you—”

“That was Sven,” Ragnar said.

“Sven?” Kest glanced behind him. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“He distracted me.”

“That’s a crap excuse if ever I heard one.”

“In the eyes of Creation, I swear—”

“Alright. You don’t have to be so bloody formal about it.”

Ragnar took in a deep breath. “Do you think he’ll tell my father?”

“I doubt he’d bother telling tales. He’ll just figure out a way to hold it over you.”

“Yeah? Well, I won’t let him.”

“We’ll just say he made it up because he’s a massive arsehole.”

“If my father asks, I’m not lying.”

“It won’t come to that. And if it does, you just use your spinny blade crap at the tourney and make him eat dirt.”

Ragnar’s lip curled. “I’ll make him eat more than that.”

“We should gather some shit from the kennels. We could give Sven a beard like your father.”

“My father’s beard isn’t made of dog shit.”

“No, but Sven’s could be. You know how much he tries to look like a real warrior. Still got a face as smooth as a baby’s arse, though.”

Ragnar laughed and slid his foot back into stance. “You ready to go again?”

“That’s what your sister said to me last time I—”

“Piss off.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“No. We need to train.”

“And we need to sleep.”

Ragnar rolled his eyes. “What’s the matter, Kest? Weapons too heavy for you?”

“Yes. And it’s the middle of the bloody night.”

“Come on. Just a few more rounds.”

“Fine.”

Kest gestured to the torches glowing on the battlements. “What’s with all the guards?”

Ragnar followed Kest’s gaze and stepped past the axe swing. “That wyvern spooked Father.”

“He believed you, then?”

“Yeah.” Ragnar shoved Kest’s shield with a palm and parried the axe. “Not that it makes a difference.”

“What happened?”

He brushed the axe aside and rolled through, getting a strike on Kest’s back. “A few of the warriors came back and reported tracks on the sand.”

Kest smiled and jerked his shield forward, smacking Ragnar’s right hip. “So, what’s the problem?”

Ragnar stopped. “He thought I was a liar. He said it was a fantasy, that I was telling stories.” He blocked the axe and winced at the shot of pain racing up his sword arm. “And, then, when the proof arrived, I don’t even get so much as an apology.”

“Your father won’t show weakness.”

“It’s not weak to admit when you’ve wronged someone.” He took in a breath, feinted right, then lunged forward, getting a hit on Kest’s chest. He lowered his weapons and sighed. “For once, I just wish he could admit that he was wrong.”

“Yeah.” Kest raised his shield and began to circle. “And then we’ll get a visit from that talking narwhal.”

“What is it with you and narwhals?” He hit the shield once, twice, and parried the axe.

Kest smirked and staggered backward. “Narwhals are stupid. They’re funny.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if one of those tusks impaled you.”

“I could take on a narwhal. Screw those fishy bastards.”

Ragnar frowned. “I just wish he could be proud of me.”

“What? The narwhal?”

“No, dickhead. My father.” He thrust a knee into Kest’s shield and scored another hit against his chest. “I’m laying my heart out here and you’re taking the piss.”

Kest patted his shield and nodded. “Well, someone needs to.”

“Whatever.”

“You’ve just got to see it from the big old chieftain’s perspective. He’s a warrior, proud and true. You’re weak and unimpressive.”

“Piss off.” He ducked past the axe. “You really are an arsehole, sometimes.”

“You’ve got to stop taking yourself so seriously. Who gives a shit what your father thinks?”

“Everyone.”

Kest’s shield collided with Ragnar’s stomach.

He spun into the axe.

He dropped to one knee and gasped for breath.

“Pathetic.”

Ragnar met Sven’s eyes.

Ragnar the Elder stood to Sven’s right, his arms folded, his mouth set in a grim line.

Ice flooded Ragnar’s chest. He scrambled to his feet, his breaths coming thick and heavy.

With a single nod, Ragnar the Elder dismissed Sven before approaching the two boys. “Leave, Kest.”

Kest bolted, dropping his axe and shield in the dust.

“We have spoken of this,” Ragnar’s father said in a quiet voice. “Yet you have chosen to defy me again.”

 “But—”

His father threw a fist into his stomach.

Winded and gasping, Ragnar doubled over, retching from the pain.

“A warrior is always prepared.” He thumped down on the back of Ragnar’s head, slamming him to the ground. “Come, show me your technique.” He stepped back, signalling for his son to rise.

With gritted teeth, Ragnar forced himself to stand. He rocked on his heels, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head and stomach.

“Show me.”

“You’re unarmed.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “I said, show me.”

Ragnar assessed his father’s stance then threw himself forward, swinging his sword.

He spun and thrust his dagger.

His father stepped back, allowing the sword to pass by with ease. He punched Ragnar hard in the face, shattering his nose with a sickening crack.

Ragnar’s vision blurred. His ears rang. His breaths wheezed as blood oozed from his nose.

He blinked through tears and tried to steady himself.

A sweep to the legs sent him crashing to the ground, his skull bouncing off the bare earth.

Opening his eyes, he gazed up at his father looming over him, the will to fight gone.

His father grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the mead hall. “You are not and will never be a warrior if you dance around like a whore.” He spat on the ground. “Men will not respect you or follow you into battle. You can’t even defeat me, unarmed as I am. You are a disgrace.” He released his grip and Ragnar’s knees buckled, spilling him to the ground.

His father turned and walked away.

“Why do you hate me so?”

Ragnar the Elder stopped.

“I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry I’m not Sven. I’m sorry I’m not a cowardly prick who picks on the weak.”

His father jerked as if struck, and returned to squat before his son. “You’ve just given me an excellent idea, boy. If I marry Maja to Sven, he can become the next chieftain.”

Ragnar shot to his feet. “Mother would never have let you do this.”

“Don’t drag her into this. Let her lie with Creation. Listen to me, boy. You are forbidden to fight like a woman and you will show me the respect I am due as your father and chieftain.”

Ragnar coughed and spat blood at his feet.

A fist to the jaw sent him back to the ground. He lay for a second, gasping for breath as another barrage of strikes rained down.

Darkness claimed him.