Grimacing at the sting of wind-driven hail, Thordis Hreinsdatter tightened sinewy fingers around the haft of her axe.  She hoped the anger that burned in her eyes sufficed to mask her despair.  Upon the hilltop on which she stood, 30 hardy men faced 100 of the same. But the 30 were garbed for the hunt; and the adversaries who ringed them clad in helms and mail. Frost settled on grim bearded faces as warriors waited for the inevitable clash.

"Is this the hospitality of a Shieldsson, Dag?" Thordis' husband Gunnlaug cried, shaking his spear in outrage.  "My brother will never forgive you for this!"

Standing at the head of the enemy flanked by four of his cruel sons, Dag met his eyes without remorse and spat. "How will the king know, if there is no one to tell him?  I will inform him you were slain by Skraelings, when you are dead."

Dag's warriors prepared to charge, and Gunnlaug Halkellsson lowered his spear to meet the attack. "Hel take you, you treacherous cur!  You will never reach Valhalla!"

Thordis touched her husband's muscled arm, trying to draw strength from the contact. She feared for his life and her own, but lamented the fact that both she and Gunnlaug had come here more. If neither of them survived, who would raise their daughters with the same love?  Somehow, she needed to insure that at least one of their parents came back.

"My road to Hel is long yet," Dag replied as the swarm of his allies swallowed their doomed foes. Thordis hacked desperately at the enemy warriors, knowing her efforts could not delay the end for long. "For now, I will be content to sit in your place at the side of the king."

#

In the hall of King Valgard Halkellsson, monarch and thanes alike sat enjoying a grand feast.  Men and women gorged themselves with venison and mead, as hearty singing warmed the cool air.  Boisterous voices told deeds of valor and prowess in battle, to the cheers of fellow warriors and laughter of wenches. The festivities came to a dead stop as the doors swung open and in blew a chill wind. All thought at first they saw a huge figure, hunched and lurching, enter their hallowed refuge. Then it became clear it was two figures they beheld:  a husky man and the strong woman who carried him on her back; both wearing torn garments and covered with blood.

The woman staggered in a few steps, then knelt and lowered her burden to the floor.  By now most recognized the two as Gunnlaug and his proud wife.  King Valgard rose and hurried to his fallen brother's side. "He lives," the white-faced Thordis said, in a voice sounding in desperate need of water. "You must save him."

"Take him inside, quickly!"  Then, recognizing wounds made by sword and spear, he bellowed, "What happened?!"

"It was Dag; he ambushed us under the pretense of an invitation to hunt.  Thirty of our warriors are dead."

"Dag?  But he has been the most loyal of thanes.  Are you certain it was him?"

With a movement of her chin, Thordis indicated her shoulder.  "Look at this arrow.  The crest is his."

Valgard's eyes widened then blazed with anger.  Just then the doors opened again, and in strode the architect of said honorless plan.  Dag's expression was pleased, content — at least until he spotted the woman kneeling before the king.  "W-what are you doing here?" he sputtered with a step back.  "You and your husband are dead, I... I — "

"Killed us?" she finished for him. "My husband is alive.  But you will soon not be."

Dag turned to run, but Valgard's men blocked his way.  The king closed the distance in three strides and swung his great sword Slag.  Dag's head rolled against the wall, and Valgard sighed heavily.  "Justice is served."  Then he looked back to Thordis, and realized she had not moved from her position on one knee.  "What is the matter, woman?  Did you not wish to see the manner of your betrayer's death?"

She remained still, and Valgard walked around to her front. Thordis made as if to rise, then fell backwards to lay staring at the ceiling. "I would," her cracked lips mouthed, "but I have not the strength.  Thank you, my king ... and protect your brother when I am gone."  Her eyes closed, and only now, as her bloody hand slid aside, did those in the hall see the ghastly stomach wound she had hidden.

"What courage," someone muttered. "To journey so far with such a wound, and carrying a man ... not many warriors could manage that."

Then Valgard touched her neck to make sure she was truly gone, and recoiled as he registered that she was cold.  Cold!  It was as if she had been long dead. Yet how could that be when they were just talking?

 He looked again to her wound, to the hideous mess the spear had made of her belly, and knew in his heart no one could survive that.  He rose, shivering, and made a prayer to the goddess of the dead.  Even death, it seemed, had not been enough to keep Thordis from saving her man.