Harald looked at him strangely. “You are not well. I want you coming back from this. You don’t need to prove your bravery today. You have fought a draugr.”
“I want to make sure my plan works,” said Ragnvald, although in a way Harald was right. He had only to prove himself to Odin now.
Ragnvald formed up in the shield wall, with only Thorbrand between him and Harald. As they pressed up the hill, the army of Gudbrand coalesced into a wall above them, shields overlapping as though they made a warship out of men.
Around Ragnvald, Harald’s men tightened and advanced, until they were pressing against the shield wall in front of them. Thorbrand’s shoulder dug into Ragnvald’s on the right, and another man, whose name Ragnvald could not remember, wedged against him on the left. Behind him, one man pressed on his back to keep him in place as his feet tried to slip down the slope. In front of him one of the Hordaland warriors snarled, his face mostly hidden by his shield and helmet.
Ragnvald had only heard songs of shield-wall battles before. Usually, men in the Norse lands preferred to attack by stealth, to raid and then slip away, and rarely mustered large enough armies to fill a shield wall. He had heard tales of Ragnar Lothbrok and his shield-wall battles in England, but he had retreated before the English in those battles as often as he was successful.
Ragnvald had time to think of all this, since the shield wall was a place of pushing and burning muscles, but not much movement. It was hot, except where a morning breeze found his face, and the air around him stank of fear-sweat and wet leather. Occasionally the man he faced across the line, a warrior with a braided red beard, tried to send his sword over the top of the shields, or below the bottom of them, but mostly nothing happened except pushing. Ragnvald’s feet slipped, and the man behind him pushed him up. He looked to his left and right, and saw that, as he had suggested, the inside of the line had slipped down, and the men at the edges advanced higher.
He probably should have come up with some sort of signal, but this was Harald’s battle. Ragnvald was only here to bleed and die. At least the strain in his legs from pushing up against the man in front of him distracted Ragnvald from the pain in his hand. He glanced at Harald, who seemed determined to shove through the man in front of him. He probably could—he was that strong—but Ragnvald shook his head slightly. It would do them no good if the shield wall broke upward. Harald would lose more men that way than if they followed Ragnvald’s plan.
Harald gave him a questioning look, and Ragnvald nodded. Harald smiled, just slightly, and then toppled forward, landing on the man in front of him and knocking his sword out of the way. The tide of Hordaland men crashed through the break in the wall, taking several steps down the hill before realizing that the only thing that lay in front of them was a long slope, and that the enemy had gained the ground behind them. The gap in Harald’s line widened farther, letting more Hordaland men through.
Ragnvald let out a yell—“Turn, turn, turn!”—and Harald took up the call. Ragnvald caught a glimpse of Oddi and Heming, in the center of the bands of Harald’s men they had been given to lead, turning to face the enemy downhill.
Harald heaved himself off the ground with a mighty push and whirled to take the foolish men who ran at him. Now that the shield wall was broken, it would not form up again. Men fought hand to hand. From everywhere came the thuds of swords hitting shield and armor, and the screams when blades found flesh. A small ax sailed overhead, thrown by one side or the other.
Ragnvald gripped his sword as tightly as he could. Once he let go, he would not be able to grip it again. He clashed against a huge man with no armor at all, and no shield either, who attacked fiercely and died quickly, choking on blood when Ragnvald stabbed up into his throat. His bravery could not protect him from Ragnvald’s Odin-given certainty.
The next man Ragnvald faced was better armored, and smaller. He gave Ragnvald a good fight for a few minutes, but Ragnvald had nothing to lose, not today, not now. He hardly felt it when the man slashed at his left shoulder. It was not a deep wound, and it hurt far less than his hand, which screamed every minute for him to stop. If he would not stop for that, he would not stop for a lesser pain.
The Hordaland army started to retreat, at least from one side of the field, melting back down toward the lake. Some of Harald’s men gave chase. It seemed wrong to Ragnvald, splitting their forces like this. Something was amiss. Why would one side of Gudbrand’s forces retreat, and not the other?
Ragnvald dispatched the man he was fighting with a two-handed stroke that severed the man’s head from his body, a blow that sent a shock up through Ragnvald’s arm and tore his sword from his grasp. He tried to work it out of the man’s shoulder bone. It would not come free. His grip had failed, and his hand would not close around the hilt. He tugged for a moment with his left hand, but he could not waste time here. It was a pot-metal sword. He would not need it where he went. He could as easily die with an ax in his hand and gain Odin’s favor.
Ragnvald pulled his ax from where it was strapped on his back. He could hold it with two hands, let his left do more of the work. He looked around for Harald, who stood in a circle of fallen men, his skin and hair streaked with blood. A terrifying smile lit his face. He looked like a berserk, but he clearly still had all his faculties, because he called out to Ragnvald.
“That was a good plan you had.” Harald tossed his hair back. “This is my favorite battle yet. You’re not tired, are you?”
“We’ve won,” Ragnvald called out as he drew closer. He wondered if Odin would still take him if his ax did not taste blood. “Shouldn’t we fall back?”
“I want a full surrender,” said Harald. “Where is the false king Gudbrand?” A man sat up out of the ranks of dead and wounded. He yelled a war cry and threw himself at Harald, and Harald killed him as quick as blinking.
Harald roared out, “Gudbrand, king of Hordaland! Come to me, and I will spare your life. If I have to look for you, you die.”
Ragnvald’s neck prickled. Something was wrong that Gudbrand was not here. He peered up into the woods that blanketed the top of the slope.