Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 3: Books 7-9

by Matt Larkin

  “Yes. Now come, walk to your chambers and question no more societies ancient beyond your ken. Or I shall see to it the Wild Hunt comes to claim you.”

  She spoke as though she had authority to convince Fjalar of aught, but a moment ago she’d seemed a slave. There was more going on here than Odin could wrap his mind around. He let the female guide him onward. “What is the Wild Hunt?”

  “A free roaming band with members drawn from all the city-states. Its singular purpose is to hunt down souls to ferry back to the princes, most of which they must then pass on to Nott.”

  “Souls …”

  Sustenance …

  These spirits ate one another. They devoured the very existence of each other, and of any mortals they could catch out. “The Wild Hunt crosses into the Astral Realm?”

  “Oh, even into the Mortal Realm, when conditions are right. Yes, human souls are a feast for us all. Those who serve well attain true immortality by such meals. At the discretion and sufferance of the princes, of course.”

  Weth led him to a doorway composed of a grated disc that spun into the wall, revealing a narrow, dark room, with shelves along either side for sleep. She shoved Odin inside. “Do you wish companionship? I can arrange for any sort you desire.”

  “Including you?”

  “If you wish.”

  Odin groaned.

  You lie to yourself … pretend your lust more pure than those who admit to the shadows deep in their souls … in time, such lies must falter …

  Audr’s words left a roil in Odin’s gut, until he felt apt to retch up the foul meat he’d taken. And then a worse, darker fear struck him. “Where is Idunn?”

  “The liosalf lives.”

  “She is not to be touched, or I will never use my Sight for Fjalar or this city.”

  Weth bared her teeth. “Am I to take such a message to the prince?”

  “Yes!” Odin could see himself strangling every last svartalf in this world.

  Rampant slaughter … We are all dead …

  He pressed a palm to his head. “Get the fuck out of here and see to it no one touches Idunn.”

  “You mean touches her any further.”

  Odin clenched his fists. Oh, he could kill her. Could feel his arm rising, intent to crush her throat with one blow.

  Weth smirked, then disappeared back down the dark corridor. The disc-door sealed behind her and did not reopen when Odin pressed against it.

  Odin wanted to scream at the walls of his tiny cell. To pound his fist upon the door.

  To bargain requires aught of value, Valravn said.

  Odin jolted at hearing another voice besides Audr’s. One more welcome, certainly. The Moon vaettr was less vile, though it too required souls.

  You cannot bargain if you have naught, Valravn said.

  Groaning, Odin slumped down onto one of the bed shelves. Valravn meant he could not protect Idunn—or himself—unless he had something Fjalar wanted. To get that, he needed to learn about the forces of Gnipahellir.

  He lay flat on his back and closed his eye, trying to focus his Sight. He’d find out what the prince wanted to know. He had sworn an oath to truthfulness … but there must be some way around that oath. Some way he could get himself and Idunn both free from here.

  All of it would have to come through his visions. He needed answers to give to the dark prince.

  But one day, he’d see these vile creatures pay for their crimes.

  20

  Gelderus had camped his forces atop a hill just south of the border between Kalevala and Pohjola. Against most armies, it would’ve offered a secure spot, forcing their foes to attack uphill, all while the Kvenlander snipers picked off those trying to make the climb. Hödr had chosen it for that reason. Because Rutto would—with luck—believe Gelderus thought himself secure up top, while Hödr and his remaining crew hid in the undergrowth in the valley.

  A decent plan. Not a great one.

  The problem with getting involved with armies was the chaos. In a small skirmish, Hödr could make out friend from foe by their auras. But with dozens, maybe over a hundred warriors engaged, all of them driven to fury, desperate, all mashing about together, it became a tumultuous maelstrom of blood. He couldn’t easily tell where a given man ended and the next began, much less make certain he wouldn’t wind up stabbing an ally.

  War suited him ill.

  Maybe it suited all men ill, but they courted it, just the same.

  All he could do in this situation was wait, and hope he’d be able to figure out where Rutto was among the attackers. Assuming the attack even came.

  “Shouldn’t be lingering here,” Kasmira complained.

  “Not hardly,” Gudbrand agreed. “Fucking mist everywhere, and those arse-munching kobolds hunting for us. We ought to run straight into the heart of Kalevala and keep running until we’re on a godsdamned boat straight to Sviarland. Or Bjarmaland. Even the damn Deathless liars work out better than what … fucking Ingfred! Worst thing I ever saw in my whole damn life, that’s a fact.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Hödr said. “I’ll see to it their shares get to their families.”

  “You’re not seeing trollshit,” Gudbrand mumbled.

  Hödr chose to ignore him. It was better that way. Better than losing his hired crew. But if this continued, they’d turn on him. At best, they’d flee as Gudbrand suggested. At worst … He could almost see it in the man’s aura. The overpowering need to blame someone for the horrors he’d witnessed. To kill someone.

  After finding out Hödr was an Ás, they’d worshipped him. For a bit. Until the shock had worn down. Until they’d spent days lingering here, underfed and given too much time to think. Now they were scared. Sometimes, men did wild things rather than admit their fear. Wild, like turning on their own.

  Night had settled in when the shouts went up. Fierce cries that almost didn’t seem to come from the throats of men. A rush of warriors surged up the hill, greeted by calls of surprise from the sentries.

  “Who are they?” Hödr asked.

  Brynjar grunted. “Can’t make out much through the mist. Savages, though. Men what serve the witch-queens. Guess that means they follow Rutto, too. Wearing wolf skulls and skins, and a few snow bears.”

  Would Rutto be among them? Hödr just didn’t know enough about his foe to judge whether the man would join the first charge or hold back.

  A hail of arrows fell among the attacking warriors. Cries of pain broke out over the wild yells, but not enough. Then the sounds of weapons hitting flesh, and wood, and steel. Slightly off, though, the impacts.

  Hödr cocked his head. “Are they using stone weapons?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me none,” Brynjar said. “Can’t rightly make out such things from here, though.”

  Well. That might serve to distinguish their leader.

  Of a sudden, the screams of battle turned to cries of utter terror. Bloodcurdling shrieks.

  “What the fuck?” Gudbrand demanded.

  So much chaos. Hödr couldn’t make out auras, couldn’t tell what was going on. “We have to get closer.”

  “Mist-madness …” Kasmira mumbled.

  Hödr crept forward, drawing his sword in the process. Behind him, the others followed, their panting seeming loud to his ears, even given the battle ahead. Scared. Terrified.

  “That’s more kobolds,” Brynjar said. “Got to be, the way men are fleeing like that.”

  “Invisible toadfuckers,” Gudbrand said.

  Kasmira just moaned.

  No good way to deal with this situation, but Hödr could make out a few discolored auras now. Those had to be the kobolds, creeping about and slaughtering Gelderus’s men, making it impossible for his otherwise better-armed warriors to face down the onslaught coming up the hill.

  “We have to get closer,” Hödr repeated, continuing forward.

  “No,” Kasmira mumbled. “No way. I’m done with this trollshit.”

  Hödr grimaced, not needing to glance bac
k to know she made a mad scramble away. He could almost feel it, the other two considering joining her. “Run now, and you get naught for your troubles.” He continued forward.

  “I want her share,” Gudbrand demanded.

  Hödr paused a moment. “Fine. Just stay ready.”

  He needed to find Rutto before this went on much longer.

  “There’s a man at the base of the hill,” Brynjar said.

  Hödr cocked his head, trying to catch a sign of whoever the scout had seen. Yes, someone shouting orders in a strange tongue. Not Northern, though perhaps related to it. And there, the aura of a man, twisted though, warped by sorcery, whether his own … or that of his witch-queen mother. “That’s got to be him.”

  “Can’t get a shot from here,” Brynjar said.

  Hödr crept forward further, faster than he normally would have tried while sneaking. The noise of the battle should cover his approach, and he needed to do this before too many of Gelderus’s people had fallen. If they broke …

  Other, darker, twisted auras surrounded Rutto. Without warning, several of them peeled off and started loping in Hödr’s direction. They moved in awkward hops, made great leaps into the tree branches that sent them rustling, and they bounded across the snows.

  “Kobolds,” Hödr said, rising up. No more point in stealth.

  Brynjar loosed an arrow that thwacked into a tree. “Too damn fast.”

  Gudbrand hefted his axe. “Arse-flogging Otherworldly abominations.”

  Hödr drew up close to him. “They’re almost upon us. You’ll never hit them, Brynjar.”

  Groaning, the man dropped the bow and drew a seax. Not nigh a long enough weapon to Hödr’s thinking.

  “I see a shimmer,” the scout said. “Shit! It’s coming straight—”

  Hödr felt it, as the creature distorted the aura, springing from the treetops. He swiped his sword up and it connected with a body in midair, flinging it aside. Another aura jumped at him and Hödr caught it with a backswing.

  “He’s only got a handful of these things back with him!” Hödr shouted. “Kill them now!”

  “Godsdamned trying to!” Gudbrand said, his wild axe swings connecting with naught.

  Damn it. Hödr raced forward and slashed as another kobold leapt off the trees for his head. The impact slowed his charge, but the creature landed in two pieces. Decapitated? He didn’t have time to check.

  The man was charging in now, his blade distorting the surrounding air.

  Brynjar screamed behind him.

  No. Hödr couldn’t get distracted. Another kobold bounded for him. The creature hopped at him, croaking. His blade bit down on its flesh, but it kept coming. The impact barreled him over into the snows. Razor-sharp claws shredded through his mail and pads and flesh, scraping his forearm straight down to the bone. Hödr shrieked as a haze of red filled his vision.

  His pneuma could help block the pain, but still, he found himself enmeshed with the creature, rolling. Its slimy skin was so slick he couldn’t get a grip to throw it off. Its breath stank of decay, like a bog.

  He caught an arm as a claw swiped at his face. Even with the pneuma, the kobold had almost his strength.

  Gudbrand roared, and his axe splattered the kobold’s skull. “Fucking die, arse-gnawing swamp frog!”

  Rutto charged in. Hödr shoved Gudbrand off him and the mercenary passed a hair under the runeblade.

  Brynjar roared, stabbing with his seax. The runeblade came up too fast, taking his arm off at the elbow, leaving the man screaming in horror.

  Hödr roared, swiping with his sword. It bit into Rutto’s ankle and the man stumbled.

  The next instant, Gudbrand was on him, burying that axe into the back of his skull.

  Blood sprayed over Hödr’s face.

  Rutto shuddered. Then he turned around, axe still sticking from his head, and caught Gudbrand with a hand around his throat, hefting him off the ground.

  Brynjar shrieked in agony, but Hödr couldn’t spare him a thought.

  Rutto should have been dead. This was madness.

  The witch’s son reared back with the runeblade, intent to ram it through Gudbrand’s gut. Hödr flung his arms around the man’s legs and heaved, using his pneuma for strength. He sent Rutto toppling over sideways, the blade wedging in the snow. Gudbrand fell, gasping, clutching his throat and choking.

  Hödr climbed atop Rutto and rammed his sword through the man’s throat. A geyser of blood exploded over his face.

  Rutto heaved him backward, matching his strength. The man stood, Hödr’s sword still run through his neck and Gudbrand’s axe in the back of his skull.

  Hödr gaped. How did one kill someone like that? How to kill …

  The runeblade!

  He lunged for it, jerking it around even as Rutto leapt in with obvious intent to strangle him. The blade punched through his foe’s chest with ease.

  Now, the creature—for he was no man—looked down at the blade in his chest. He spasmed once, then lay still.

  Hödr fell back into the snow, cradling his mangled left arm.

  His flesh felt aflame where the kobold had mauled him. His hands had begun to shake.

  He needed …

  “Help …”

  Part III

  Year 399, Age of the Aesir

  Winter

  21

  “Had to put that poor bastard Brynjar out of his misery. Figuring this trollfucker needs the same, except then I won’t be seeing my pay.”

  “No,” another voice said. “No, bring the Ás. Me, I’m not having anyone say I let him die.”

  Hödr struggled to rise, but everything kept bobbing around. Someone carried him, but he was far too weak to focus on auras or refine his senses.

  “Thought you didn’t worship the Aesir.” Gudbrand. He was the one carrying Hödr.

  “The man saved my kingdom. Least I can do is bring him to my shaman.”

  The two fell silent a while, save for Gudbrand’s huffing, and the crunch of snow under their feet.

  “Figure it’s over, then? What with that arse-lord dead?”

  “I think so,” Gelderus said. “Without the witch’s son controlling them, the hiisi disappeared back into the wilds of Pohjola.”

  “Kobolds, you mean.”

  “Call them what you will.”

  “Prefer not to call them a damn thing. Prefer to keep on thinking them tales what people tell when the winter goes on too long. Given as my whole band’s dead now, don’t figure how that’s going to work, though.”

  It felt like Hödr’s brain was baking inside his skull. His left hand had begun spasming, fingers drawing up into a claw-like grip he couldn’t force open. Something was worming around, beneath his skin. Like maggots, eating him alive, starting with the muscles in his arm.

  “Saw some serious trollshit regarding the kobolds, not long before we met you. Can’t say as I want to see it again. His teeth start falling out …”

  “Just bring him. Shaman’s tent is just around the next hill.”

  The downhill motion made Hödr’s stomach lurch until he wanted to retch, but couldn’t make himself do more than cough and moan.

  “Didn’t happen this fast with Ingfred,” Gudbrand said. “Figured him being an Ás ought to have bought him more time, not less.”

  Trembles shot through Hödr, followed by chills that had his teeth chattering.

  “Don’t see much point in speculating on that,” Gelderus said.

  A while longer—maybe he’d slept?—and Gudbrand carried him past a tent flap into a warm interior, with a crackling fire. The mercenary laid Hödr on a fur.

  Another man scrambled over, hovering above him, clucking his tongue. “What happened to him?” His Kvenlander accent was so thick Hödr had trouble making it out.

  “A hiisi,” Gelderus said.

  More tongue clucking, then the shaman prodded at Hödr’s wound, making him gasp. “Rotting already.” Another cluck. “It’s hollowing him out so another one of its k
ind can take him over. I can feel it, pressing against our world. Trying to crawl up from the depths and into him. Be a mercy to take his head off.”

  “No.” Gelderus’s voice brooked no disobedience. “Do whatever it takes to save him.”

  “Eh. Huh. I can take the arm then, try to stop the rot before it reaches head or heart. Most men can’t live through that, though.”

  No. No! Hödr wanted to shout his objections. Take his arm? Not if it would save him from the very gates of Hel!

  “Assuming he lives,” the shaman said, then clucked again. “Assuming he does, I can invoke the spirits and try to banish the bad one. Not without risk, though.”

  “We’d all be dead were it not for him. Do whatever it takes.”

  No. No …

  “Best get some men to hold him down,” Gudbrand said. “Might seem weak now, but you’ve seen how strong he gets when roused. Don’t figure he’ll be too keen on having his arm hacked off.”

  “Aatami!” Gelderus shouted. “Get your arse in here!”

  A moment later, the tent flap opened again, and more footfalls beside him.

  “Heat the axe blade in the fire,” the shaman said.

  No. No. No. No.

  Hödr moaned.

  “Make it a clean swipe,” the king said after a moment.

  “Have to take it above the wound.”

  “Elbow?” Gudbrand asked.

  Someone wrapped Hödr’s wrist in an iron grip and pulled his arm taut.

  No! He surged pneuma into his limb to throw the man free. Or he tried to, but it refused his command and all he managed to do was thrash. A heavy knee fell on his shoulder.

  “Get it done,” Gelderus said.

  “Don’t …” Hödr managed.

  “Sorry, my lord,” Gudbrand said. Not even a hint of mockery this time.

  Hödr’s breaths came so fast he felt he’d choke on them. They stuck in his throat. Stung. Everything hurt, especially breathing.

  Rutto had taken off Brynjar’s arm at the elbow, hadn’t he? Seemed ironic that—

  Thwack!

  Hödr screamed as red hot pain exploded through his body. The agony built and built until he could have sworn it would rupture his skull. Until his brain must explode.