“He defeated Brendan the Briton, the defending Champion of Champions,” said Sir Fergus. “That gave him more points than any other competitor.”
“And who’s your highest point scorer?” asked Harald.
Magnus beckoned with his finger. Out of the crowd stepped his enormous, gloomy-faced son, Osric the Brick-Swallower, winner of the elk-lifting competition.
CHAPTER 13
After Magnus and his men left, Harald led Thorfinn, along with Velda and Oswald, away from the fire to the quietest part of the camp. They sat down among beer barrels and chickens hanging upside down, plucked and ready for the pot.
“Look, Thorfinn, do you understand what is going to happen tomorrow?” said Harald.
“Er, yes,” said Thorfinn, trying to be polite, then he shook his head. “No, not really. But it sounds fun.”
“No, Thorfinn. You’re going to be up against a very big, powerful boy. Unless we can turn you into a ferocious maniac by morning then the big boy is going to win.”
Velda was incensed. “But then we’ll have Magnus for a chief!”
“Fat lot of good you were,” said Harald to Velda. “You were supposed to be training him to be angry.”
“Yes, and I’ve had an idea about that. Stay right there!” Velda got up and ran off in the direction of the fire. Then she returned leading one of the actors.
Thorfinn stood up to greet him. “Good evening, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a great admirer.”
“This man,” said Velda, “is going to teach you the tricks of his trade. Which means that tomorrow the world is going to see a whole new Thorfinn.”
“What are you on about, girl?” said Harald.
“Look, I can’t make Thorfinn angry. But I can make him seem angry.”
Oswald was sitting lopsided on a giant sack of turnips. “Whatever you do,” he said, straining his eyes in the darkness, “be true to yourself, for then you cannot be false with anyone.” Unfortunately he wasn’t addressing Thorfinn, but one of the upside-down chickens.
“Hmm, wise words for any chicken, old friend,” said Thorfinn.
Later, Harald went to bed worried. They couldn’t pull out of the big fight tomorrow. The honour of the village would be lost. But what about his little boy – gentle, kind Thorfinn? How could the nicest Viking charm his way out of this one?
CHAPTER 14
The following morning, all the different tribes on the island assembled on the plain by the castle.
Magnus and his son Osric, who was dressed for battle, stepped into the middle and waited. But where was Thorfinn?
“Ha!” cried Magnus. “He’s run away! I knew it. Harald forfeits the bet.”
He spoke too soon: a tiny figure stepped out from the crowd. He was wielding a sword and shield and wearing armour.
“That’s Thorfinn!” said someone in the crowd.
“He beat Brendan the Briton!” said someone else.
“They say his very name strikes terror into men’s hearts,” said another.
“Let combat begin!” cried Sir Fergus.
Thorfinn roared, then charged the field, screaming and waving his sword around. It was a performance that would make any actor proud. This sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd.
Osric the Brick-Swallower didn’t move. He just stood there, watching with a puzzled expression, his sword hanging at his side.
Thorfinn ran right up to him, then stopped. He took off his helmet. “Good day, my dear sir!”
Osric nodded. “Uh, good day. No, wait. I’m supposed to be hitting you.”
“I’m supposed to be acting. Take that!” Thorfinn waved his sword around again.
Osric looked over at his dad, who mimed vicious punching. Osric gave a sad sigh. “OK, c’mere.” And he grabbed at Thorfinn.
“Oh, a chasing game,” said Thorfinn. “I LOVE chasing.”
Osric chased Thorfinn round and round in circles until he got tired, and jeers and boos went up from the crowd.
“Stand still so I can thump you and get this over with!” said Osric.
“Thump me? Why would you want to do that?”
Osric slumped down onto the ground, panting. “I don’t know. I don’t like hitting people. My dad told me to. He says I’m a monster. Maybe I am.”
“A monster? No, you look like a jolly nice fellow to me.”
“Do I really?” said Osric. “Dad’s always getting me to beat people up. I hate it. I’d rather stay at home. I have a pet tortoise called Gar.”
“I have a pet pigeon,” said Thorfinn. On cue Percy fluttered out of the sky and landed on his shoulder. “He’s called Percy.”
“That’s a nice pigeon.”
The jeers and boos from the crowd were getting louder.
“What are you doing, boring him to death?” someone yelled.
“Hit him, you idiot!” yelled Magnus.
Osric huffed. “He’s always calling me that.”
“You know,” said Thorfinn, “my dear old friend, Oswald, said just last night that you must be true to yourself, for then you can’t be false to anyone.”
Osric thought about this, rubbing his chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure I understand what it means, but I like it anyway.”
Thorfinn plonked himself down next to Osric. “What do you really want to do?”
“Me and my pals, we have a band. It’s called Rune Direction. I play the drums.”
“You’re too good at fighting; that’s the problem. You keep winning.”
Osric looked over at his father, who was jumping up and down and turning red.
“You’re right,” said Osric. “There’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to lose.”
“Did you ever hear the story of the great Gruesome Games sword fight?” asked Thorfinn.
“The one with the Pictish knight fighting the common sailor? Of course! Everyone has heard that one.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we act it out for them? Without any burying on the beach. It’ll be fun. I do love acting.”
“That’s a great idea!” said Osric. “But remember: you have to win at the end.”
Thorfinn and Osric stood up, faced each other as if they were deadly foes, and began sword fighting.
“At last! Now we’re getting somewhere!” cried Magnus.
The two boys fought for hours. Their fight carried them right across the island, up hills and over clifftops, just like in the old legend. The crowd followed them, cheering them on and placing bets.
“Where did Thorfinn learn to fight like that?” yelled Erik.
“He didn’t,” said Harald.
“He just learnt to act like that,” said Velda.
The five great tribes of the games seemed to forget their differences as the fight wore on. They knew they were seeing something special: a new great legend. Scots, Picts, Angles, Vikings and Britons now stood shoulder to shoulder as they watched.
Finally the two boys arrived back where they’d started.
“I’ll fall down and pretend to be knocked out,” said Osric.
“Righto, dear pal.”
Osric stumbled dramatically to the ground and lay still.
Which is how Thorfinn the Very-Very-Nice-Indeed ended up standing over Osric the Brick-Swallower and being declared the winner of the Gruesome Games.
Osric made an amazingly swift recovery. He leapt up to shake Thorfinn’s hand. “Well done, friend, and thank you,” he said.
Then Brendan the Briton, the swimmer, stepped up. “Well done, Thorfinn. Thank you for saving my life.”
Then Velda ran onto the field, swinging her axe and shouting, “Yay Thorfinn!”
And Oswald, who was still riding Logrid like a horse, said, “Well done, young friend!”
“NEIGH!” cried Logrid.
Harald stepped towards Magnus. “Now, give me back my shield, Bone-Breaker.”
Magnus flung the shield at Harald, and muttered, “I’ll get you back for this, Skull-Splitter. You’ll see.” He grabbed Osric by the collar
and turned to leave, but Osric pushed his father away and returned to the happy celebrations.
Harald addressed his tribe. “At last, my sword and shield are together once more.” Then he turned to Thorfinn and tapped the boy’s cheek. “And, more importantly, my boy has come out winning again.”
The crowd of Vikings, Angles, Scots, Britons and Picts picked Thorfinn up and carried him towards the platform in the middle of the plain. They put him down at Sir Fergus’s feet. The steward bowed.
“The Great Hammer is yours, champion.” He stepped away, to reveal the hammer gleaming in the sunlight.
“Why, thank you, sir.” Thorfinn walked around it, stroking his chin. Up close it was very large indeed. Larger than him in fact. “But how am I to lift such a thing?”
The crowd laughed, and Harald stepped forward and placed a hand on Thorfinn’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, my boy. I’ll carry it for you.”
“Huzzah!” the crowd cheered.
Harald shouted over them with his huge booming voice: “All hail Thorfinn the Very-Very-Nice-Indeed, Champion of the Gruesome Games!”
Copyright
Young Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books
First published in 2015 by Floris Books
Text © 2015 David MacPhail. Illustrations © 2015 Floris Books David MacPhail and Richard Morgan have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988 to be identified as the Author and Illustrator of this work
This eBook edition published in 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh
www.florisbooks.co.uk
British Library CIP data available
ISBN 978-178250-161-9
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Thorfinn and the Gruesome Games Page 4
