Page 3 of Highlander’s Viking Snakes

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The sun blazed as gloriously as Odin's chariot through the sky. These were not the lands of Egon Hoffstad's Norse ancestors, but they had been claimed by his father, and Egon felt his blood sing with pride. Yes, he was a master of these Highlands. As the son of a union between a Viking and a Highlander, he had earned the right to own these lands and declare himself the master of all, although his savage nature was always tamed by his family, who continually told him to seek new avenues for his bloodlust. Egon never understood why they chose to flee from their birthright. The way of Vikings was the way of warriors, and it filled him with dismay to see them working as humble farmers and masons and fishermen. Where was the glory? Where was the honor?

“Who will fight me?!” Egon thundered, his mighty voice booming out of his broad chest. He was every inch the man his father, Ragnar, was. Tall enough to be confused with a giant, his shoulders were broad, and his body was packed with muscle. He had seen twenty-five summers and was in the prime of his life. Every aspect of him was honed in the art of combat, and all he longed for was a worthy challenger so that he might earn his place in the halls of Valhalla.

However, it seemed as though such a challenger was not going to be found. His chest was bare, aside from a small symbol resting in the middle of his chest, a trinket in the shape of Mjolnir, Thor's mighty hammer.

Egon had long brown hair that turned into a blond shade towards the tips, as well as a short beard upon his chin. His eyes were a mixture of grey and blue, and they watched everything with an inscrutable gaze. In his hand, he wielded a mighty sword. Straight and broad, it would have taken a weaker man two hands to wield, but Egon was able to wield it with one.

He grinned as a challenger approached. One of the Highland boys wanted to prove themselves against a Viking. He was ready to give them a swift lesson. The Vikings and Highlanders had mixed over the years, although not all of them had lost feelings of enmity. There were those who resented the Vikings for coming to this land and installing themselves as a huge force. Others recognized the part the Vikings had played in keeping this village safe from unscrupulous people, but sometimes tensions could be high, especially among the youth of the land. Egon could tell they were all jealous of him for being so strong. None had yet been able to defeat him in battle, and he didn't anticipate a defeat today.

“I'll take ye on, Egon, and I'll wipe that smile off yer face,” Miles said as he strode forward. The youth was well developed for his age and had an arrogant manner about him. He drew a sword. The blade gleamed as it caught the sun. Miles's entrance was met with cheers from his friends, who all wanted this to be the day when the Viking finally fell.

Egon looked forward to spoiling their party.

He strode across the makeshift training ground and held out his arms, beckoning Miles to attack. He always let any challenger have the first attack. It only seemed fair considering how he was superior to them in practically every way. Miles swung his sword in front of him, creating a blur before he struck. Egon had to give him credit for such an inventive tactic as it had almost drawn Egon's gaze away from the blade. He felt a rush of air pass him as the blade went to strike. Egon nodded in respect to Miles before he struck back with his own. His bicep swelled, and every muscle in his arm and shoulder tightened as he brought his sword crashing down. Miles only just managed to deflect the blow, but Egon could tell that pain ran all the way down his arm. Egon pressed the advantage, not wanting to waste any time. He brought the sword around again for another strike, and again Miles only just managed to deflect it. Miles was sent scurrying around the ground like a frightened rabbit as he tried to regain his footing and balance so that he could fight back, but Egon never gave him a chance.

“Is this the best you can offer!” Egon asked, swiping the sword through the air again, almost hacking away Miles's foot. Miles looked shocked at the savagery of Egon's blow, but Egon wasn't in the mood to be merciful. If there wasn't any danger, there wasn't any point to this, and none of them would ever improve.

“Aye, aye, I surrender!” Miles said, falling to his knees, offering his sword up as a sign of his submission. Egon looked at him with disdain upon his face. He sneered and shook his head.

“You are giving up already?” he asked.

“Aye, I dinnae want tae lose a limb,” Miles said. Egon took the sword in a huff, indicating that the duel was over, and then threw it to the ground as he stormed away. It had been a wholly disappointing affair; he had barely broken a sweat.

He stormed away from the training ground with a look of thunder on his face. His blood was primed for battle, and if he couldn't find a duel here then he thought he would go for a ride in the forest. Perhaps he would find an animal to hunt or some bandits to fight, anything to indulge his desire for battle.

But before he could leave, he was stopped by his older brother, Erik. Erik's features were softer than Egon's. His looks favored their mother, Ailis, whose blood was that of the Highlands. Yet his name was given to him in tribute to their uncle, Erik. At the time, Ragnar and Ailis had believed that Erik had died in a terrible storm, only to learn later that he had actually washed up on the shore of a small island off the coast of the Highlands. Egon had visited there a few times. It was a nice place but far too small for his liking, and he still couldn't understand why his father and uncle had given up the ways of raiding for the sake of staying in the Highlands.

“You should go easier on them, Brother,” Erik said. He was not a man of good humor, and while he and Egon had a lot of mutual respect, they often clashed as their personalities were dissimilar.

“Why should I? If they don't have the strength to defeat me, then they should train until they can. If they spent as much time as I did, then perhaps they would be able to offer me a challenge.”

“They are never going to learn unless you show them some mercy. Perhaps you could even teach them yourself? They are our allies. We are supposed to help them,” Erik said.

Egon spat in derision and waved a hand dismissively through the air. “I do not need any allies,” he said. “This is all a waste of time. I'm not going to find anyone to fight here. I should be out there, raiding, just as Vikings are supposed to do.”

“Not all Vikings are supposed to do that. We are building a better life here, a world for us to build and grow.”

“You don't have to tell me again. I've heard it enough from you and Father and Mother.”

“And yet still you do not listen,” Erik sighed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Why should I? How is building a new world out here going to earn our place in Valhalla? Where are our tales of glory that are going to win the favor of the gods? Where are the deeds that are going to weave their way into songs? We are sacrificing our eternal life for the sake of some land. The gods aren't going to be proud that I taught some weak Highlanders how to fight.”

“There are other ways to win the favor of the gods. Fighting is only one of these ways. I wish you could open your mind to other possibilities, Brother. Perhaps then you wouldn't be so angry all the time.”

“I'm not angry!” Egon thundered. His face was red, and his features were twisted into a tight expression. His free hand was curled into a fist, while the other looked as though it was ready to strike with his sword the next thing that moved. Erik arched an eyebrow and said nothing for a few moments.

“If you would like, we can duel. As I recall, the last time we fought, you ended up on your backside,” Erik said, his lips curling into a smile.

“You were lucky,” Egon muttered.

“Come on, Brother, raise your spirits! We are in a fine land making history. We are surrounded by our family and good friends who are always at our side. There is much joy to be found here if you look, but if you close your heart to the possibilities and continue to long for a life that isn't yours, then you are always going to be angry.”

“I'm not angry,” Egon replied, although this time far more calmly. “I'm unhappy. I'm bored. I feel like I'm not meant to be here. It's fine for you...you are good at working with the Highlanders and tending the land. You fit in well with what Father and Mother intend for this place, but for me... it doesn't feel like home. The stories we were told never affected you in the same way as they did me. When I listened to the stories of Viking raiders, I could feel the seawater splash onto my face; I could hear the cries of the warriors. All I've ever wanted is to rush into battle alongside my brethren and win glory for myself, my tribe, and to honor the gods.”

“But that is not the world we live in, Brother.”