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"Then maybe he can get that human." Korm called back. "Venj! Venj, you under there!"
There was a screech like metal scraped over stone, and shouts, some goblin, the others from Venj and Ragnar.
Beneath the overturned wagon a fight began. Ragnar could at least crouch, the space was some four feet high, but the ogre first crashed his head against the wagonbed which formed the roof, then fell to hands and knees. Goblins, those that could move, ran about in a panic.
The opening by the driver's bench loomed like a gateway for the little monsters and in a rush they fled through it, leaving only Ragnar, the ogre and their dead or wounded behind.
A quick jab sent the topspike of the axe deep into the ogre's neck. Venj roared and rose up, the axe slipped free, and the ogre smashed its head against the overturned wagon hard enough to crack a plank and open up a wound in its scalp. Blood poured down into its eyes and sprayed from its neck.
The topspike scored again, both arms and shoulders behind the blow, Ragnar drove the spike into the hollow of Venj's throat turning the ogre's roar into a bloody spray.
Two hands, each more than twice the size of Ragnar's own, grabbed the haft and tore it from the northman. Venj fell to its knees, shook, first like a dog with a rain soaked coat, then a spasm went through its body. Steel scraped across the ogre's spine as it pulled the topspike free, blood fountained from the wound. Only the unnatural strength and vitality of the ogre made it possible for it to draw out the spike and wave the axe blindly toward Ragnar.
Reaching out slowly, almost gently, Ragnar took the axe from Venj's hand then drove the spike through the monster's unseeing eye into its brain, killing it instantly.
***
"Venj!" Korm yelled. A small head appeared, popping out from beneath the overturned wagon. The ogre stamped it into the dirt with a crunch. Korm began a kind of manic dance as the goblins tried to escape. Ribs cracked, bones snapped, a goblin went sailing through the air propelled by the ogre's foot, but a little more than half-a-dozen scrambled past to safety and disappeared into the thick weeds of the marsh.
Mad with fury, distracted, Korm barely avoided the steel spike that shot out and nearly impaled one of his lower legs. It was a broad target and the spike grazed it, scratching the skin, but only serving to alert the monster.
As the northman threw himself forward, the ogre landed a kick against his side that sprang Ragnar's injured rib and awoke the red-eyed fury of Vatun. The second kick seemed to slow as it came toward his face, as if the ogre's foot passed through glue instead of air.
Ragnar had been flipped onto his back by the first kick, knocked against the side of the wagon, halfway through the opening beneath the driver's bench. His legs were still in the space sheltered by the overturned wagon, but his chest and head were fair game for Korm's mule-strong kicks.
The huge foot came at him, directed at the center of Ragnar's face, but slow, so very slow. It was no effort to pull away, to roll forward and jump to his feet even as Korm's foot splintered the end of a plank where Ragnar's head had lain against.
Axe in hand the northman whipped around to face the ogre. Korm had barely turned, its face showing a shocked, amazed expression. Then Ragnar hewed into its side as if he were a woodsman felling a tree.
The blade sank in between the ogre's ribs, buried to the haft. Ragnar dragged the blade free, ducked a flailing arm, and swung again. Down low with the blade, then up to his shoulder, and down again chopping into the monster's chest, cutting through hide, gouging bone and skidding across ribs, leaving notched bone behind.
Korm's hand brushed Ragnar's face, leaving a bloody flap of scalp hanging above the northman's head. Ragnar felt the blow, one eye suddenly blinded, awash with blood, but the world was, for him, painted red already. Pain did not exist, only a fire that rushed through his veins and filled his heart with a divine enchantment and joy.
Words were beyond him, though Ragnar would have sung if he could. Nothing could express the feeling of Vatun's blessing except for action.
The ogre's arm was barely past him as Ragnar ducked and drove the spike of his axe up into the monster's armpit, through lung, across spine and puncturing its throat. Korm twisted, still slow, but the berserk fury did not last and had already begun to fade for Ragnar.
Korm's one arm was hurt, too much so to use even with the ogre's dying fury, but it punched Ragnar with the other. The monster's fist striking against the northman's armored chest like the head of a sledgehammer, knocking him back. The spike came free.
Wordlessly Ragnar managed a shout, a barking growl that might have been a laugh, then he leapt toward the ogre and brought his axe down atop its skull. The edge skittered across bone, shaved off flesh as the ogre's hand had opened Ragnar's scalp and sent sparks of light jumping in the ogre's darkening sight.
Ragnar swung again before Korm could recover. His blade opened the ogre's throat, cutting to the spine, then Ragnar stumbled back. Vatun's blessing had left him and all the pain and weariness of the fight came back to him in a rush as the world spun fast again.
They stared at each other with only a dozen feet between them. Korm bled a river from its opened throat and side. Another ogre ran to Korm and looked from Ragnar to its leader, then back again.
"Come on." Ragnar called to it in the Cold Tongue. "Come on, I'll have your other arm, and your head." he waved his axe and his body swayed.
To his surprise and relief the ogre ran. Ragnar fell to the ground only moments before Korm did the same.
* * *
(To Be Continued)