Blades of Wolfsbane - episode thirteen

A story in the Ravenglass Universe.

Ragnar stared into his father’s eyes, the disappointed expression unmistakable. Why could his father not be proud he reached the final two? Perhaps if he fought with a sword and shield, his father would think differently. But then he would not have made it so far in the tournament.

He gritted his teeth—he would prove his father wrong. He would make him bury his contempt and give him no choice but to raise his hand and show his pride to the rest of the clan. Creation favoured the victors.

He halted before Olaf and turned as Sven strode into the ring.

Sven’s sword gleamed in the sun, the entire length of the blade honed to a mirror edge on both sides.

Ragnar frowned and eyed the blade up and down. Though Olaf awarded victories to the boy who struck first blood, their weapons were blunted apart from the very tips to ensure no fatal wounds. That wasn’t the sword Sven had used in the previous bouts.

Sven smirked when he came to a stop across from Ragnar. Sweat glistened on his brow, his features pale. Was he afraid?

The pair bowed to Ragnar the Elder and then to each other.

“Fight!”

The crowd roared as Ragnar circled Sven.

Had someone given him the replacement sword?

He licked his lips and fixed Sven’s gaze. Fear lingered behind those eyes.

Sven lashed out with a vicious cut.

The blade hissed past as Ragnar barely ducked back.

He threw himself forward, aiming a low slash at Sven’s legs beneath his shield.

Sven blocked with ease, returning a backhand slash of his own.

Ragnar led Sven around the outside of the arena, dancing and dodging his blows, trying to frustrate and tire the older boy.

His technique split the crowd with some jeering and calling for him to fight like a man, while others mocked Sven for being weak.

Ragnar’s lungs burned and his arms ached.

He forced Sven back behind his shield with a flurry of blows designed to confuse and frighten.

Sven took the strikes, giving ground until Ragnar pulled back, gasping for air.

Standing in the centre of the ring, Ragnar lowered his blade. “Who put you up to it? My father, or uncle?”

Sven’s eyes widened.

Ragnar’s stomach lurched as a wave of sickness washed over him. Did his family hate him so much?

“This was my idea.” Sven spat on the ground and edged forward, his words barely audible over the crowd. “No one put me up to anything. I had this blade honed so I could watch you die in front of everyone.”

“When?”

A crease set on Sven’s brow. “When, what?”

“When would you have had time?”

“I…erm.” He glanced back at Olaf.

Ragnar charged forward.

Steel clashed with steel.

Beyond tired, Ragnar hacked at Sven like an untrained toddler fighting with a stick for the first time.

Sven lowered his shield, deflecting a low cut from Ragnar.

But his shield arm trembled when he tried to return to guard position.

Ragnar lashed out with all his strength and speed, his dagger’s tip glinting in the dying sunlight as it swung for Sven’s face.

Though Sven pulled back, avoiding the blade, Ragnar’s fist connected with his nose.

A piercing crack echoed across the ring.

Sven staggered back, tears streaming from his eyes.

He reached up to his nose, his back stiffening at the sight of blood on his fingers.

Ragnar dropped to one knee, breathless, and took in the crowd’s chants.

“Wolfsbane! Wolfsbane!”

The crowd turned silent.

Ragnar raised his head and struggled to stand as Olaf held up a hand.

“Ragnar the Elder has ruled there was no wound struck. The bout will continue.” He dropped his hand and the crowd cheered. “Unless either of you yield?”

Ragnar shook his head.

Sven cradled his broken nose and took up his sword. “Never.” He hefted his shield and staggered forward.

He delivered an overhand smash.

Ragnar danced aside and returned a cut with his dagger that Sven parried.

Sven bashed Ragnar with his shield, once, twice, throwing flashes of white through Ragnar’s vision.

Ragnar shot back, forcing Sven off balance for a brief heartbeat.

Ragnar shifted his stance and led with his sword.

Sven parried and brought his own sword down.

Ragnar backed off before throwing himself at Sven, smashing through his guard. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

Spotting the opening, he whirled, and thrust his dagger, driving it into air.

Something cold then searing hot slid up his left thigh.

“First blood to Sven!”

Ragnar stared at the long cut down his thigh as the crowd surged forward, hoisting Sven up onto their shoulders. But his gaze remained fixed on Ragnar.