"Ubba!"
"Shut up... Just shut up!"
"We have healers! We can fix this!"
Ivar screamed, his voice cracking. He dragged his useless legs through the mud, ignoring the black smoke and the coppery smell of the burning courtyard.
"Damnit, Ivar." Ubba's dark eyes fluttered open, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
A weak grin slowly spread across his lips, and he coughed, a splatter of blood landing on his chin. "You... you got your fine clothes completely dirty for me..."
"There is no magic for this, brother," Ubba whispered. He slowly raised a hand, placing it gently over Ivar's shaking fingers. His deep voice faded into a hollow rasp. "The Irish dog... he got me good. It is a warrior's death."
"No!" Ivar shrieked.
Ubba let out one shuddering breath. His hand fell limp into the mud. His chest stopped moving.
Ivar stared at the lifeless face.
"Ubba...?" Ivar whispered, his voice trembling. He shook the giant's shoulders. "Ubba... why... even you?"
