Melcorka found that she was hungry, while Bradan observed the faces of the Norse invaders who seemed little different from the Alban warriors in attitude and bearing.
“You come in bad times,” Thorfinn said openly. “Evil is abroad in my Jarldom, as it is in Alba. You must have noticed the black cloud over the loch.”
Melcorka nodded. “That is why we are here,” she said. “We hope to quell that evil, and the worse one that caused it.”
There was no laughter in Thorfinn's eyes as he spoke. “Wars between nations are normal, Melcorka. It allows warriors to win renown, and men the chance to capture slaves and booty. That is life as it always will be. It is the same in this realm as it is in Asgard.”
Melcorka listened without comment.
“But this new evil…” Thorfinn shook his head. “It is beyond my understanding, Melcorka. All across my lands, there is disturbance, murders and unrest.”
“It is the same in Alba,” Melcorka said. “Wherever we travelled, we met with evilness. Even the wild animals and birds are aggressive. I have never known the like.”
“Nor have I,” Thorfinn said. “I am sure this man they call Butcher is the cause. I have sent my finest warriors to combat him, and none have come back. Every week, my men compete for the honour of seeking and fighting this man. I have suspended my war with Alba to defeat the evil.”
Bradan looked up from behind his horn of ale. “You are sending men to their deaths,” he said. “No single warrior or combination of warriors can defeat the Butcher.”
“He is like a hero of olden times,” Thorfinn said. “Except he is no hero. He has no honour and no purpose except to rape, kill and destroy. When he appeared, I thought he was an Alban champion, until I learned he was killing in Alba as much as in my jarldom. He has a servant, a man in grey, and now I hear there is a second killer in my jarldom.”
“We have met the man in grey.” Melcorka said. “And the grey woman. I will deal with them, by and by.” Her hand hovered over the hilt of Defender.
“Another killer?” Bradan put down the horn. “We had not heard that there was another. The disease of evil is surely spreading.”
Thorfinn drained a horn of mead in a single swallow. “There is a second killer who calls himself the Headhunter.”
Melcorka glanced at Bradan before she spoke. “Is he part of this evil? Or is he exploiting the disturbed state of the land?”
Thorfinn shook his head. “I do not know, Melcorka.” He gestured to the crowded table. “My men are here to decide who will fight him next.”
Bradan frowned. “Is this Headhunter a good warrior?”
“He has killed some of my best.”
“Then why fight him in single combat? Why not send a war party after him and ensure he is killed?”
“You are bloodthirsty for a man who carries no weapon,” Thorfinn said. “Where is the glory in that? Where is the honour? My men wish to leave a reputation after their death. Valhalla welcomes warriors, not 10-to-one murderers.”
Bradan nodded. “Aye, but where is the sense in allowing a killer to continue his murders when you have the means to stop him?”
“We follow the same path, Bradan, but with different ideas,” Thorfinn said. “My men are getting ready to decide. Watch.” He raised his voice to a roar. “Bring torches!”
Followed by a crowd of women, children, dogs and slaves, the warriors stood up from the table and filed outside the great hall to form a circle.
“The Norse have a unique conception of honour,” Bradan said, leaning on his staff.
“Erik kills honourable Norse warriors as easily as bold Albans,” Melcorka said. “These men are merely competing to die.” She sighed as Thyra joined them, freshly dressed in a white smock embroidered with silver.
“I like to watch the men fight.” Thyra spoke like a princess rather than the scared child she had been that morning. Lifting a finger to one of the slaves, she demanded a chair and perched herself on it, leaning forward as the contestants appeared.
The slaves bustled in with flaming torches to create a ring of fire 20 feet in diameter, with the entire population of the settlement gathering to watch. The women and children seemed as interested as the warriors, while dogs snarled at each other as their masters kicked them, and mothers cuffed their children with casual unconcern.
Of the first two warriors to enter the ring, one was very young, scarcely more than a boy, while the other was a bearded man. They fought with sword and shield until the older man was the clear winner.
“Erik would rend either of these without breaking sweat,” Melcorka said. “I do not know how good this Headhunter might be.”
“Who is Erik?” Thorfinn had been listening.
“Erik Egilsson,” Melcorka said. “He is the Butcher. Or rather, that is the name of the man who has become the Butcher.”
“I knew Egil. I do not know his son.” Thorfinn grunted. “Egil was a fine warrior.”
“He killed my mother.” Melcorka kept any emotion from her voice.
“Your mother was a Bearnas, a noted warrior.” Thorfinn surprised Melcorka with his knowledge. “Egil killed her in battle – it was an honourable death. Bearnas will be in Valhalla, feasting with the heroes.”
Melcorka looked around the ring, where the Norse roared their approval. There was no condemnation of the losers. If they fought bravely, their companions treated them with honour. Thorfinn's words made her think again about her mother's death. The Norse considered Bearnas's death to have been honourable and thought she was in Valhalla. Perhaps she was. Melcorka sighed. Should she allow the past to die now and stop seeking vengeance for something she could not alter?
Two more warriors entered the ring,
