There were sounds, voices. Angry voices. Yet they sounded familiar. Spotting the two men, Kolskegg halted, his eyes grew large spotting the sorcerer Cho.
“Cho? Cho!” Kolskegg shouted at a distance, his voice carrying perhaps enough, perhaps not. The appearance of Cho was a portent of magic. The last time he had faced Cho he nearly died and, in fact, had killed Cho. But implored Hel to release the spirit of the man back into his body.
Moving slowly as Cho and the Berserker . . . What was his name again? Fóthraðr? Freygeirr? No, that wasn’t it. Freygeirr had been a shield Jarl whom he faced the Jotuns with. Freyviðr? Friðgeirr? No, no, no . . . Friðgeirr owed him a half-dozen sheep and a cask of mead, no two casks. Feidlimid? That sounded right, Feidlimid. Yes, that was it.
Moving with some haste as the Berserker would most likely provoke a fight with the sorcerer, who had travelled to Hel’s lands and come back changed, that much he had noted when he last spoke with the man.
Would he reach them in time? Perhaps, perhaps not. If they came to blows who would he side with? Would he side with Cho? Odin had sent him here, was this then his test? He’d face the metal sorcerer again? Truth be told, he would not mind that. Eying the repaired hole in his shield where the might staff pierced it. It had been a good day, he had killed many of Cho’s company and nearly lost his life.
“Odin you have sent me a worthy challenge then! I swear though your shield maidens will have to wait to cull one of us to your hall. We shall fight and drink, then fight again!”