“Prove it!” Horick shouted, darting forwards as his hands gripped the hilt of the longsword on his back, pulling it over his head and cleaving down with a slash powerful enough to split the wind.

  Pre-empting this, Bjorn shrugged his shield from his shoulder and into his fist. As the sword crashed down, he squatted in the same direction, blocking with his shield and dispersing the weight a little. His arm ached, bones threatened to crack with the force of the attack. The wooden boards of the dock beneath his feet cracked under the pressure, splintering as he was forced further down, and then he was sliding his axe from the loop on his belt and striking outwards around the rim of his shield.

  Legs burning, he exploded upwards, swiping with his shield and the longsword slid from the side, the scraping of metal on iron boss shrieking in his ears as the sword fell from the shield and crashed through the wooden slats on the dock, splinters flying.

  Without missing a beat, Bjorn shot forwards, axe swiping at his foe who was dancing out of the way, jumping backwards as the sword was wrenched out of the wood and Horick was adopting a fighting position: legs slightly bent, one in front of the other, both hands gripping the long hilt of the huge sword.

  “Not bad, Ironside,” he said, a flicker of amusement on his scarred lips. “But not good enough.”

  Horick charged forwards again but this time Bjorn was ready. He darted to the side and slammed the iron boss of his shield into the Ulfhedinn’s back, sending him tumbling into Ivar’s shield wall. Drengir laughed as they pushed the warrior back into the centre with their shields. As he came stumbling back towards him, Bjorn swiped with his axe, slicing through Horick’s cheek, bone crunching, and then he was shuffling backwards, shield high, his stance low to the ground as the big man’s blood ran like a waterfall from the deep facial slice.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” Bjorn said, gasping slightly. “But I am better.”

  Growling and breathing heavily as he spat a glob of blood onto the docks, Horick looked at Bjorn and his eyes changed. The whites of his eyes turned a deep yellow and then his features were shifting, nose elongating, nails growing thicker and longer, skin tightening as sharp fangs grew outwards, hovering over his bottom lip which was pulled back in a frothing snarl.

  “It has been a while since a drengr forced me to show my claws,” he rasped. “Now I will show you why the Jomsvikings are feared all across the North Sea.”

  That has to be a class, like my Berserkr! He thought. Does Horick have the weave?

  Bjorn raised his shield, bracing himself for impact as Horick pounced forwards with inhuman lower body strength. Then the world paused.

  Experience threshold met, advancement to level 2 will begin immediately.

  The runes floated in front of Bjorn who was stuck in his crouched and readied position. Around him, the drengir on both sides were a frozen still of a battle scene. Froth flying from lips, axes pounding shields. Horick was in midair, his longsword held in a single hand, biceps bulging unnaturally large, claws escaping his fingertips in the other hand. The runes changed.

  Welcome to level 2.

  As this is your first time levelling, The Nornir’s Weave will explain the process. This will be the only time, so please pay attention.

  Upon levelling, you will receive 5 free points. You will then be able to attribute them to any of your 3 stats: strength, agility, or vitality.

  Some levels will also give you a choice of skills to pick from. Choose wisely.

  Note: weapons levels cannot be upgraded with free points as weapons craft must be earned.

  Bjorn saw the five free stat points appear before him, along with his current stats.

  What will help me most right now? He thought, looking out at the scene around him. Vitality would help him to survive the potentially fatal blow, which was heading his way, but getting hit was not his plan. With increased agility he might be able to dodge the attack, but Ulfhedinn were known for their agility and if Horick really did have the ability to become part wolf – which was what seemed to be happening – then he doubted five extra points would be enough.

  It has to be strength, he thought. His class was based around strength. Berserkir were known for having the strength of bears and surely a bear could defeat a mere wolf. Steeling himself, he placed all five points into strength and his stats sheet changed before his eyes.

  Your free points have been applied. Due to your class’ [Berserkr] affinity, you have gained 1 extra point to strength and vitality.

  Class: Berserkr

  Level: 2

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Life’s Blood: 7/7

  Stats:

  Strength: 16

  Agility: 7

  Vitality: 7

  As he suspected, vitality was directly linked to his life’s blood. He was not expecting his class to add extra points for him, but he was glad for it. If he was correct then that would mean he would get an extra point in both vitality and strength every time he levelled up. This would be useful. The runes changed before him and displayed across his vision in three boxes were skills he could choose from.

  Choose ONE of the following skills:

  Sheild Bash (common):

  Prerequisite:

  Minimum of three levels in shield

  Minimum of ten levels in strength

  Charge forward with the strength and speed of Freja’s chariot, to smash the iron boss of your shield into a foeman.

  50% chance of launching the foeman into the air for two times the damage.

  Bjorn thought that this skill seemed quite useful. It could work well with his strength-based class and in his current holmganga, it could give him the edge that he needed to turn the tide on Horick. Still, he kept reading.

  Thor’s Hammer Fist (common):

  Prerequisite:

  Minimum of five levels in unarmed

  Minimum of twelve levels in strength

  Channel the force of Mjolnir into your fists when striking downwards.

  10% chance to stun a foeman.

  10% chance to cause a lightning chain attack.

  WARNING: lightning chain attacks are indiscriminate. Use with caution.

  The Weave can grant my fists the power of lightning? He thought.

  This one also sounded useful, but it would not do Bjorn any favours to accidentally strike lightning across his brodir’s shield wall. Also, there would be no hiding his Weave affiliation with such obvious galdr in his fists. It was unheard of on Midgard. So far, shield bash seemed to be the better option. He read on, looking at the final box of runes.

  Berserkr’s Wrath (common):

  Prerequisite:

  Minimum of fifteen levels in strength

  Only available to drengir with a Berserkr class

  Channel the strength of a bear to crush a foeman with brute force. Double your strength for a period of ten seconds.

  This skill can only be used once per day.

  This is an upgradable skill.

  Bjorn’s lips tugged upwards, eyes hardening as he read through the berserkr’s wrath runes. The warning bothered him slightly, but the power trade off would be invaluable. Also, as his strength stat grew, so would this skill, making it scalable to his level progression.

  This is the one, he thought as he clicked on the box with his mind, a haptic buzz singing in the back of his thought cage.

  A new skill has been added to your status sheet.

  Hardening his expression, he looked up at Horick as he flew through the air towards him, spittle frozen in the space around his snarling, fanged face. Then Bjorn mentally activated his new skill just as time unfroze.

  He felt the change, like a sudden burning as muscles throbbed and tore, expanding underneath his skin. His lips pulled back as the muscles in his jaw grew, stretching the skin. Horick flew towards him through the air and with barely an effort, Bjorn punched his shield boss into the Ulfhedinn’s stomach, lifting him above his head before twisting and launching him into the Jomsviking’s shield wall.

  Drengir gasped as the huge, snarling man crashed into their shields, taking multiple drengir to the floor. He was up in moments, throwing himself towards Bjorn who stood there, breathing heavily as rage churned inside him like Njord’s stormy seas. As Horick threw himself forward, all claws and fangs, Bjorn dropped his axe and shield and ran at him.

  The two clashed in the middle, grappling with each other as Horick tried to bite and scratch Bjorn. The Berserkr grabbed both of the man’s wrists and twisted them outwards until they cracked. The sound ricocheted around the docks and onlookers gasped, some cheered, as Bjorn pulled Horick closer to him and headbutted him violently on the nose.

  He felt the cartilage crumple before his mighty forehead as he bashed it against the, now whimpering, leader of the Jomsvikings again and again. Horick went limp, falling to his knees, his body a dead weight, but Bjorn paid it no mind and continued to bash his skull into the face of the Ulfhedinn who was now bleeding heavily as his fangs and claws began to retract.

  And then it was over and Bjorn felt his newfound strength leave him as quickly as it had come, and with it, the infernal battle-rage which had fuelled him in his frenzied state.

  Releasing Horick’s broken wrists and allowing him to drop to the floor with a groan and a thud, Bjorn took a step backwards and looked at his bloodied palms.

  What is this power? He wondered, before the noise in his thought-cage was broken by a hefty slap on his back.

  “Brodir,” Ivar said softly, “when did you get so strong? I have never seen you fight this well before. Conquering Sweeden has changed you, I see.”

  “It seems the little brodir has become the big brodir,” Hrafn squawked, flapping his wings as he came to perch lightly on Bjorn’s head. “We also have an answer to our question about Ulfhedinn being Weave-blessed. It seems they are not or, at least, Horick is not. He would not have crumpled so easily to you if he was.”

  Horick groaned and moaned on the floor and then his Jomsvikings’ shield wall broke and an elderly woman holding a steaming stick walked though. The butt of the stick cracked rhythmically against the splintered wooden dock with each step she took.

  “Silly boy,” she chastised, kneeling next to the Ulfhedinn and pulling out a suspicious looking bag of ground herbs, green and fragrant. She began spreading them over his wounds and then she pulled a small phial from inside her wolf skin cloak and tipped it down his gullet. “Look at this mess, you had better fix this dock Horick.” Then she was using the stick to help her stand and she was walking away; shields cracking closed behind her.

  “She might be Weave blessed,” Hrafn squawked. “Healers of that calibre are rare even in the other realms.”

  “Galinn old crone,” Horick muttered, pulling himself up as he spat a glob of blood onto the wooden docks.

  Bjorn looked down at him, but already his wounds had healed. His wrists were turning and snapping audibly back into place and then he was placing a hand on his knee as he stood and looked Bjorn up and down, pain etched into the crags on his sea-bitten face.

  “Well met, Bjorn Ironside,” he said. “We will work with you, let us talk about the price.”