Page 67 of Hungry Like a Wolf
“Ah, we have my good friend Sindri,” Ravn said, clasping him on the shoulder. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Sindri kind of growled and turned to the target. He gripped the handle of his knife as though still testing the weight of it, rocked back on his left heel, and then hurled it.
It flashed as it pierced the air and then slid almost silently into the center of the target.
The crowd roared, clearly impressed.
Sindri punched the air and beamed, showing a distinct lack of teeth.
Thormod clapped excitedly.
“He’s good, right?” Ravn said to her. “Been at my side in many a battle.”
“That sounds like the right side of him to be on,” Carmel said.
Ravn chuckled then turned to watch the next knife thrower.
It was a woman and her blade was long and shone brightly, the handle made of bone. She didn’t do any of Sindir’s showmanship, simply stood in his footprints in the sand, took aim, and threw. Her knife spun once before landing on target.
Again, the crowd cheered.
She nodded once at them, then walked to her knife, snatched it up again, and re-sheathed it on her belt.
“Who is that?” Carmel asked Ravn.
“Bodil, Sindir’s little sister. He taught her that. He’ll be pissed now she’s drawn level with him.”
“If they both win, can they both dine with us?”
“Would you like that?”
“Aye, I’d enjoy the company of a shield-maiden, if that is what she is.”
“Most definitely that is what Bodil is. She has been to almost as many battles as I.”
“So she can dine with us?”
“If it would please the queen, thenja, she will dine with us.” Ravn smiled then clapped as another knife thrower hit the target, but not the red, the white.
“And the joint winners are Sindri and Bodil. You will both feast with your king and queen this eve and receive three gold coins each.” Ravn held up his hands as the crowd cheered and several slapped Sindri on his bare shoulders.
Bodil looked right at Carmel, her gaze unwavering.
Carmel held it, though she couldn’t decide if it was hostile or curious.
She hoped for curious.
“Now for the spear throwing,” Ravn said when the crowd quieted. “Who is to go first?”
“I will.” A thick-shouldered man stepped forward with a thin fur draped over his tunic that was held in place with a large, brass brooch. He held a long, dark wooden spear with a highly polished pointed steel head.
He took his position farther back from the knife throwers, farther back from the archers too. The crowd cleared some room for him as he drew a line in the sand with the toe of his boot and then paced back some more.
He studied the target, littered with holes now, and hoisted his spear high, then he seemed to bounce on the spot twice before breaking into a run. After five paces, he hurtled the spear into the air.
It flew fast and straight before arcing down and hitting the white section of the target.
“Ah, so close,” Ravn said shaking his head. “You’d have taken off the enemy’s arm but not his head.”
