“What are you looking at?” Erik shouted. “What are you looking at?”
The hills did not reply.
Erik stood on a plateau, with a sheer drop on three sides and a narrow ridge leading to a saddle on the fourth. Lifting Legbiter, he poised it over the edge of the cliff, where the sheen of a lochan showed hundreds of feet before.
“I am stopping now!” Erik shouted. “Can you hear me, Cu-saeng, or whatever you are? I know you are not Loki! I am stopping now. Here is my sword with all the power you have put inside it. Take it back! I will not kill any more for you!”
As the grey man watched without expression, Erik lifted Legbiter and threw it as far out as he could. He watched the sword spin end over end, with the sun reflecting from the pommel but never from the dull black of the blade. After a long, slow descent, it splashed into the lustrous surface of the lochan, raising a column of water and causing ripples to surge around to the shore and return. A brood of black-headed gulls rose from the lochan, squawking.
Erik watched until placidity returned to the lochan's surface before he turned around. The grey man had not moved.
“Get ready for your next challenge now.”
The words burned into Erik's mind.
“I will not,” Erik said. “I have no sword.”
The grey man pointed to the depression in the centre of the plateau. Legbiter stood there, point first in the ground and sunlight glinting from the pommel.
“No! I threw that sword away!” Erik yelled the words as he stared at Legbiter. The grey man said nothing.
“Get ready for your next challenge, now.”
“I will not!”
Erik cringed, expecting more agonising laughter. When it did not transpire, he pulled Legbiter free from the granite, wondering that the blade had not made a single mark or left even a slight slit in the ground. For a minute, he held the sword, feeling the weapon as a dead weight in his hand. It was only steel and leather, with a sharkskin grip and an iron pommel. It was a sword, like any other.
“Get ready for your next challenge, now.”
Holding Legbiter in his right hand, Erik took two steps toward the grey man, and then another two. When the grey man remained static, Erik made a sudden rush, swinging Legbiter in a slash that would have taken the grey man's legs off, had it landed. Erik did not see the grey man move, but he was 10 paces away, unsmiling and unconcerned.
“Get ready for your next challenge. Now.”
“No!” Erik tried again, rushing forward to swing Legbiter, only for the grey man to be elsewhere. No matter how hard Erik tried, he missed, and the grey man was the same 10 paces away.
“Get ready for your next challenge. Now.”
Sobbing in frustration, Erik lifted Legbiter and threw it at the grey man. The sword slashed Erik's leg, deep enough to draw blood but not to cause serious injury.
“Get ready for your next challenge. Now.”
Erik lifted Legbiter and threw it again, with the same result, except this time the blade cut deeper into his leg.
“Get ready for your next challenge. Now.”
Losing blood, Erik collapsed. He was naked in a shallow depression in the ground, with Legbiter lying on his chest and the cold soil all around. As Erik lay there, the grey man hovered above, and the earth closed in, smothering Erik within, silencing his screams. There were only the darkness and the scent of cold earth, the pressure of the world as he sunk deeper, and then nothing at all.
* * *
Erik stood on the plateau, with a sheer drop on three sides and a narrow ridge leading to a saddle on the fourth. He stamped his feet, feeling the renewed strength that flowed through him. Looking down at himself, Erik saw the healthy shine of unmarked skin and the smooth slide of supple muscle. He smiled, stamped his feet and lifted Legbiter. The power of the earth flowed from the sword into his hand, wrist and arm to his rejuvenated body.
“I am Erik Egilsson! I am the Butcher! Who dares meddle with me?”
Even the hills seemed to pull back at Erik's challenge. When he laughed, the two ravens rose to seek and guide the challenger to their death on the plateau.
“I am Erik Egilsson, the Butcher!”
And not even the granite hills could see the tear that fought from a single duct to roll slowly down Erik's cheek.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Norse waited to send them away, the warriors watching Halfdan with envy and some of the women with expressions of regret. Astrid clung to Bradan's arm.
“Stop this way on your return,” she said. “A man of peace is a rarity in this place of warriors.” Her eyes were bright blue, more inviting than ever. “I have never met such a man before.”
“We may return this way,” Bradan said. “You know now that not all men are warriors. The Norse also have men of peace.” He held her eyes for a second, recognising a woman lost in a world where she did not belong. “Find strength, my lady. Peace is a rare commodity and a woman of peace has more strength than a woman of violence.”
“Your woman is violent.”
“There is peace within her,” Bradan said. “It will come out when her violence is no longer required.”
When Astrid looked towards Melcorka, her eyes seemed to glow. “I see battle and blood with that woman, Bradan, and there is a fight where she will fall.” Her fingers drifted to Bradan's leg. “I will see you again, Bradan the Wanderer, and you
