Mist & Moonlight

Chapter 16 | The Gods' Justice

The cold morning air hung heavy over the battle ring as the crowd gathered, their murmurs creating a low hum of tension. The ring itself was a wide, sand-covered pit enclosed by wooden barriers, with raised platforms for spectators to watch the spectacle unfold. Freydis stood at the edge, her fingers digging into the wood as she watched Erik and Jarl Arlick prepare for the fight. Her heart pounded, each beat like a hammer blow as Erik stepped forward, bare-chested, his eyes steady with resolve. Across from him, Jarl Arlick gripped his sword, a cruel smile curling his lips.

The signal was given, and the two men circled each other, weapons drawn. The first clash of steel against steel echoed through the air, a sharp reminder of what was at stake. Erik met Arlick's powerful blows with practiced skill, parrying and striking back, but the jarl's strength was undeniable, and he drove Erik toward the edge of the ring.

Freydis clenched her fists, her breath hitching each time Arlick's blade narrowly missed Erik's flesh. The jarl fought with a brutal efficiency, his strikes calculated to exploit Erik's every weakness. Yet Erik did not falter. He sidestepped a swing aimed at his neck, then lunged forward, his blade slicing across Arlick's arm, drawing first blood.

The crowd roared, but Arlick's expression darkened, and he charged at Erik with renewed fury. The jarl's sword came down in a crushing blow, and Erik barely managed to block it. The force of the strike sent him staggering back, and before he could fully recover, Arlick swung low and the blade bit deep into Erik's side.

A sharp gasp escaped Freydis's lips as Erik stumbled, blood seeping from the wound. But Erik gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, his eyes blazing with defiance. He moved with sudden swiftness, catching Arlick off guard. With a fierce cry, Erik drove his sword into the jarl's chest.

Arlick's eyes widened in shock as the blade sank deep. He fell to his knees, blood pooling around him as the strength drained from his body. His hand grasped feebly at the sword still embedded in him, and then his eyes glazed over. The jarl collapsed to the ground, his life extinguished.

For a moment, there was silence, as if the entire world had held its breath. Then, a cry rose from the crowd—a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief. Freydis rushed forward, her heart racing as she reached Erik's side. He was already swaying on his feet, his hand pressed to the wound in his side.

"Erik!" she cried, slipping an arm around him to support his weight. She helped him down to the sand, tearing a strip of cloth from her dress to press against his wound. "Stay with me," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "You're going to be alright."

Erik winced, his breath ragged as she tended to him, his eyes never leaving hers. "I told you... I'd win," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the pain.

The villagers' outrage was mounting, the crowd pressing forward with cries of vengeance for their fallen jarl. Freydis felt the panic rising in her chest as she looked up, the faces around her contorted with anger. But then, a voice rang out above the chaos.

"Enough!" Sigrid's voice cut through the air like a blade. She stood tall on the platform overlooking the ring, her expression fierce and unyielding. "The gods have spoken," she declared. "Justice has been served."

There was a hush, and all eyes turned to the young princess as she stepped forward. "My father died not because of Erik's blade, but because of his own sins," Sigrid continued. "He was no true leader. He murdered my mother in cold blood, a crime he hid from all of you. Her death was not from illness—it was by his own hand."

The crowd recoiled, gasps and whispers spreading like wildfire. Faces turned from anger to shock, some eyes widening in disbelief while others glanced at one another in dawning realization. Sigrid's gaze swept over them, her voice steady and strong. "The gods knew of his crimes, and today they delivered their judgment. Erik's victory was not an act of rebellion but an answer to the will of the gods."

The murmurs grew quieter, uncertainty and awe replacing the earlier outrage. Sigrid's revelation had cast a new light over the scene, and it bought Freydis and Erik the time they so desperately needed.

Freydis continued to bind Erik's wound, her hands steady despite the fear that still coursed through her. "We have to get you to the healer," she whispered, her eyes darting back to the crowd to see if anyone would challenge Sigrid's words.

Erik nodded weakly, his breathing shallow as Freydis helped him to his feet. The villagers parted reluctantly as they made their way out of the ring, but no one moved to stop them. Sigrid remained on the platform, her gaze lingering on Freydis for a moment, then shifting back to the crowd to ensure her words continued to hold them at bay.

As they left the ring behind, Freydis couldn't help but glance back at the body of Jarl Arlick lying motionless on the sand surrounded in a pool of blood. She had feared that Erik's victory might incite more bloodshed, but Sigrid's courage and quick thinking had turned the tide. For now, the villagers' anger had been quelled, and the gods had indeed served justice—however harsh it might have been.

Freydis tightened her grip on Erik as they moved toward the healer's hut, her heart heavy with both relief and sorrow. As Erik leaned against her, she whispered a silent prayer to the gods, hoping that this hard-won justice would be enough to keep the peace—for a little while longer, at least.