Runeblade Saga Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  Without a word, Hervor just started off, not even bothering for Pakkanen to lead the way. The shaman fell in beside her, looking about, before pointing off a slightly different direction. Hervor changed her stride, still saying naught.

  The bitch had really caused all this with her murdering Orvar. If Ecgtheow died here, maybe she’d get away with it, too. Couldn’t say he much liked that idea, but he liked the thought of Starkad wasting away even less.

  So here he was.

  And here, on the far bank, the land looked different. Darker even than the shadowy realm they’d just left. Like the rocks were a bit more jagged than he’d remembered, and black. Mighty obsidian daggers jutting up from the mountainside, ready to cleave through anyone who got too close.

  Pretty much looking like a place straight out of a fever dream—or some skaldic rendition of the lands before Hel. All it needed was some snow and mist, and he’d expect to see the gates of the dark goddess’s lands open up before them.

  Ecgtheow grumbled under his breath as he walked. These days, he mused a great deal on what actions would make his ancestors proud. Even more so on making his son proud. In a situation like this, he found it hard to even know what that would be. If he didn’t do aught about Hervor, he was almost as bad as her. If he did … maybe he damned Starkad in the process. No good choices, those.

  A rumbling shock shot through the ground and sent him tumbling down to one knee, along with most of the others. One of the obsidian shards split down the middle and a kobold leapt out. It was smaller than the ones he’d seen in Midgard, and more deformed. A hunchbacked frog-wolf thing with warty bulges covering nigh to every bit of its skin. A half dozen more strode out of other ruptured shards, even as Ecgtheow rose, pulling his sword.

  The nearest kobold leapt in the air, croaking and slashing away with its claws. Ecgtheow dodged to the side, just out of its reach, and swept his broadsword. The blade bit into its gut and tore a gouge out that would’ve dropped a man. Instead, the beast let out another croak, this one almost a roar.

  Another obsidian shard shattered. Pieces as big as Ecgtheow’s hand flew at him. He flung up his arm reflexively. Jagged glass-like rocks sliced his flesh, tore open his brow. They screeched off his mail and drove him back. He looked down. A piece of obsidian was lodged into his forearm, right through the mail and between the bones.

  Hardly even hurt.

  Except now he was looking at it … now it hurt. It really fucking hurt.

  Ecgtheow looked up at the kobold he’d wounded. Creature stared at him with those hideous, bulging eyes, before leaping toward him. Ecgtheow jerked away, tried to bring his sword up, and found his arm was hardly working. No surprise, that.

  Kustaa’s axe caught the kobold in the back and drove it straight down into the ground before chopping it nigh in half. The pirate growled, trying to jerk his axe free with one hand, the other seeming half limp. Before he got it loose, another kobold leapt onto him and bowled him over.

  Two-handing his sword to get a measure of control, Ecgtheow chopped down into the back of the new kobold’s skull. Slime and brains gushed up out of the wound.

  The pirate threw the creature off himself, regained his feet.

  Hervor had already cut down two of the bastards from the look of it, blazing sword in hand. Wudga seemed to have felled the last of them. Least, Ecgtheow didn’t see more, nor any glimmers to show they might be hiding. Hard to tell with these things, though.

  Speaking of which, something about this had been bothering him. “How does Loviatar have kobolds in her service?” Ecgtheow asked. “I mean, aren’t they vaettir?”

  Wudga glanced at him for an instant before resuming scanning the surrounding area. “Sorcery. A sorcerer’s primary power—besides knowledge—comes in the binding of vaettir. If she is strong enough, she may hold numerous vaettir to her will. Doing so comes at a horrible price, of course, as her humanity withers away. Sooner or later, those so bound break free and exact their revenge.”

  “Or maybe she has made a bargain with some greater power,” Pakkanen added. “Such things are not for us to know. You would be happier not knowing the answers in any regard.”

  Tyrfing’s blue flames seemed to grow ever more intense, and Ecgtheow suddenly realized Hervor was staring at him—staring hard.

  Wudga slapped Hervor on the shoulder, though, and she grimaced, then blinked like she’d been half sleeping. Not a time to be getting groggy, far as Ecgtheow was concerned. They all needed to catch up on sleep. But not here. Not now.

  The shieldmaiden sheathed the runeblade at last, eyes seeming half dead like she hadn’t stopped acting for the ferryman. Ecgtheow couldn’t say as he much enjoyed this place. Not in the least.

  Pakkanen started off again, and they followed him for a short distance until the shaman held up a hand. “There is sorcery in the air. We draw nigh to our foe.”

  Worked for Ecgtheow. He was running out of time to make his glorious last stand and maybe earn the attention of a valkyrie to take him to Odin.

  Before he could say aught about that, the sounds of battle reached them from beyond the next pass.

  30

  Who else would be fighting here? Another foe, most like, but still. If someone beset Loviatar’s forces, the distraction might allow Hervor to move in for the kill. She’d deal with other foes later.

  Keeping low, she crept up, around the edge of a boulder to peer down into a gulch ten feet below.

  And she almost gasped.

  In the midst of a trio of hiidet, a man spun, whipping a pair of swords around and fending off all three of them. Scraggly, looking burned and beaten and worse, still Starkad moved with uncanny speed, somehow able to keep at bay his vicious attackers.

  How in Hel’s bloody gates was Starkad here, in this realm? Was she dreaming? Was it another of the witch’s illusions?

  The man twisted, revealing a gaping, scorched hole where one of his eyes ought to have been.

  Odin’s blistered …

  The hiidet kept pushing in, and one scored a slash on Starkad’s thigh that sent him staggering.

  Not even he could hold the three of them off forever.

  Well then, illusions be damned. Hervor rose, scurried to the edge of the gulch, and picked out a rock ledge halfway down. She jumped to this, then down again to bring her level with the melee. Then she pulled Tyrfing, roared, and raced in.

  One of the hiidet spun on her, claws flashing. Tyrfing took its arm off at the wrist and ignited the wispy hairs above its lip. The creature staggered backward, clearly unaccustomed to a human with such ferocity. Hervor used its distraction to swing horizontally, a chop that cleanly severed its head from its body.

  Not even a godsdamned hiisi kept fighting long without a head.

  Starkad roared, now faced with only two foes, and managed to gouge the eye out of one with one blade while nicking the other in the knee. He shifted his momentum in a single fluid motion, jerking his first sword into the gut of the one he’d nicked while cutting out the throat of the other one.

  Before Hervor could even bring Tyrfing back around, Starkad had whipped his blade in the opposite direction to smash in the impaled hiisi’s skull.

  Hervor let Tyrfing drop. “I don’t know how you’re here, but praise Odin that—”

  Starkad roared, whipped the sword embedded in the hiisi free, and swung at her with the other.

  Hervor stumbled backward, unable to bring Tyrfing up in time to parry. Starkad’s blade sliced open a shallow cut across her abdomen. If she’d had her mail, it wouldn’t have done much. As it was, it stung like Hel’s own spit.

  She jerked Tyrfing up and into position just in time to parry Starkad’s other blade. “Starkad!”

  He launched into relentless attacks, almost blindingly fast. In the space of a few heartbeats, he’d scored two more cuts on her—one to her calf, one to her arm. She twisted and parried, giving no thought to offense, just trying to keep those flashing blades off her.

  “Stark
ad, it’s me!” she shrieked.

  Even the effort of speaking nigh cost her an ear as one of his swords drew a gouge along her cheekbone. So fast, the pain barely registered. Parry, dodge. “Starkad!”

  She may have borne the flaming runeblade, but it did her no good if she couldn’t manage to so much as swing it.

  Clang! His sword rang out on hers. Hervor shrieked with fury, desperate to drive him back. He only moved faster.

  “What happened to you?” Ecgtheow shouted from behind her.

  Scuffling sounded, and then Wudga was there, parrying Starkad’s swords on his own runeblade. Hervor could barely afford to glance at him. Fuck, but Starkad earned the name Eightarms. Hel, she might rather have fought eight different men instead of just four, if it meant not facing this onslaught.

  “His travails have harrowed his mind,” Pakkanen shouted from behind her. “Your friend cannot tell reality from illusion.”

  Wonderful. And what was she supposed to do about that?

  “Eightarms!” Ecgtheow bellowed, now coming up as well, as did Kustaa, the two of them moving to flank Hervor’s lover.

  Kustaa swung that massive axe. Hervor’s gut clenched as the blade descended on Starkad. No! Starkad twisted at the last instant, jerked the pommel of one sword back into Kustaa’s face, shattering the pirate’s nose and sending the man stumbling to the ground. Almost at the same instant, Starkad launched the blade forward at Wudga in a thrust that drove the man on the defensive.

  His other sword parried Ecgtheow’s counter, whipping up to slash the man in the face. A hair to the left or right and he’d have torn out the big man’s eye. As it was, Ecgtheow blundered away, blood streaming from a cut that ran from his right cheek, across his nose, and over his left brow. A brutal scar, if he lived.

  Hervor could’ve struck. She should strike. But one blow from Tyrfing … one small cut … and Starkad was a dead man. And all of this was for naught.

  And that, she could not bear.

  She backed away. He paused a brief moment, looked at her.

  Hervor drove Tyrfing’s point into the ground. As it left her grasp, the flames winked out. “Starkad …”

  With a growl, he whipped his swords around again, close to taking Wudga’s head off. Wudga fell back, parried a second strike. He was losing ground fast.

  Oh, Odin’s giant stones. Hervor charged in, empty-handed, and dived for Starkad’s abdomen, knowing she’d probably take a sword through her skull for her trouble. But he didn’t turn quite fast enough, and she plowed into him, sent the both of them tumbling to the ground.

  A fist cracked into her jaw and lights filled her vision. Buzzing drowned out sound. She was caught, heaved downward, thrown on the ground, a heavy weight atop her. A cold chill on her neck. The lights dimmed, just a bit, and Starkad was over her, blade pressed down against her throat. He had but to lean forward even a little …

  “Starkad,” she mouthed.

  His hand trembled and the blade bit through her flesh. She felt the warm blood trickling down to the hollow of her throat.

  “Please.”

  “You’re not real.”

  “I am. I swear it.”

  The barest edge slipped from his grimace. A hint of doubt. He looked around, at Wudga, at Ecgtheow, at the other two he couldn’t have known. Finally, he tossed his blade aside and grabbed his head, collapsing down atop her with enough force to knock her breath away.

  Slowly, Hervor folded her arms around his back. “Starkad …”

  31

  Starkad hardly seemed himself. Shouldn’t have much surprised anyone, Ecgtheow supposed. Damn strange meeting someone you knew here, in this place. All he could figure was, the nightmare realm Starkad inhabited, and this Tuonela were either the same, or close enough they touched one another and the man had passed between the two.

  Either way, though, the man walked like he was in a daze, stuck close to Hervor.

  Which, unfortunately, made it difficult to catch him aside and let him know about the shieldmaiden’s part in this all. There she was with him, so close as to erase any doubt left that the two of them were fucking fair regular, and her playing him for a fool. Hervor had murdered Starkad’s own friend and now shared his bed.

  A cold trick, that, and it didn’t sit well with Ecgtheow. Starkad had a right to know the truth, but it seemed best to tell him in private, without the shieldmaiden there to try and spin it round. She was a practiced liar, after all. Last thing anyone needed was her getting the chance to weave another web around them all.

  Hel, who knew what she’d been whispering in his ear this past hour? Naught good, Ecgtheow supposed. He frowned, shaking his head at the pair of them.

  “Jealous?” Kustaa asked, words a muffled whine through his broken nose.

  Ecgtheow cast him a half-hearted frown. “Finally chose to speak, and that’s what you’ve got to say now? That I’m jealous of Starkad?”

  Kustaa grunted. “Me. Jealous.”

  Huh? Oh. “Count yourself lucky, my friend. The shieldmaiden is more trouble than she’s worth.”

  Kustaa just grunted again.

  “Here,” Wudga whispered from the head of the group. He had ducked down atop a ridge overlooking a valley. Mountains were strange in this land—no snow. Just rock and shadows.

  Hervor and Starkad went crawling up beside Wudga, so Ecgtheow supposed he’d best have a look himself. Climbing up there winded him, though, and he was huffing by the time he reached the top. By then, the others had already started to skirt down the other side, swift but stealthy.

  And there she was hiding in the valley, the witch-queen herself. Except here, her beauty had withered and left a hag in its place, one with bulging growths bubbling out of her exposed shoulders. Her neck bore slits like gills, spewing out some no-doubt toxic gas. The worst of it though—her missing eyes were whole here, globes of green luminescent jelly.

  A trio of kobolds circled her, croaking about whatever the witch had told them. If there was only the three of them, Ecgtheow supposed that meant she was running low on minions just about now. A good sign, that, since he figured he was running low on time himself.

  Even standing enough to crest the rise hurt, sent his guts churning.

  Best get this over with. He scrambled down after the others and Pakkanen glanced back at him, face stern. Maybe the shaman had some idea what was eating away at Ecgtheow. Funny, he’d have expected the rot in his body to hold no sway over his soul wandering around this place. Suppose the two must be connected after all. Either way, Pakkanen nodded at him, then turned back to the task at hand.

  Eightarms and Hervor were just at the bottom of the valley when the kobolds set to their rapid croaking, scrambling off to meet them. The witch curled her lip at Hervor, then fled into a cave in the rocks.

  With luck, there wouldn’t be another way out of that hole. Sadly, Ecgtheow hadn’t had overmuch luck on his side of late.

  The kobolds leapt from one obsidian shard to the next, crawling over them like lizards and hopping like frogs. They didn’t vanish from sight though. Did that mean that power only worked in the real world? If so, he’d have to thank Odin for even a small boon.

  Ecgtheow pulled his sword and trotted forward, each step painful, struggling not to topple over as he ran down the slope.

  One of the kobolds made the mistake of leaping at Starkad. Two blades diced the beast into pieces before it even landed. The other leapt away from Hervor’s flaming runeblade only to find itself impaled on Wudga’s cursed sword. Pair of vicious bastards, them, but Ecgtheow supposed he was lucky they were along. At least for now.

  Hervor cut down the last of the kobolds, turned, and raced straight into the cave. Not one for planning overmuch, then.

  Ecgtheow grunted, sucked down a painful breath, and sprinted for the opening, his left leg trying to give out with each step.

  He reached the cave last, a few steps behind Pakkanen. The shaman had pulled up short inside. Everyone had, all transfixed by the swaying
head of a serpent at least a hundred feet long.

  In the swamp, he’d not gotten too close a look at Ajatar. Everything had happened so fast, and it was so damned dark … Here, though, the dragon was revealed in all its hideous glory. Wing-like protrusions jutted from the back of its head, toxins spewing out behind them. Venom dripped from curving fangs as big as Ecgtheow was. Awkward arms seeming small next to its bulk, but still tipped with massive claws.

  The abomination’s coils encircled Loviatar, made it impossible to charge the witch without running right under the serpent’s mouth. Ecgtheow’s stomach lurched, clenching and unclenching. His fingers had gone so limp, so clammy, he was surprised the sword hadn’t fallen from his grasp.

  Fucking … huge.

  They’d barely escaped it last time … when they had somewhere to run.

  Now …

  Hel.

  “It passes between realms …” Pakkanen said, seeming like he was half talking to himself.

  Ecgtheow shook himself. He wanted a glorious death … “Time to earn your keep, shaman.” He hefted his sword back up. Naught for it, really. If he ran, the serpent would catch him and kill him anyway. If he somehow escaped, he’d probably be dead of the sickness not long after. Just one way this could go.

  “You killed a dragon before,” Hervor said, presumably to Starkad.

  “Smaller.”

  The dragon roared, the sound echoing through the cavern, setting the ground and walls to trembling.

  Yeah, fuck it all. Ecgtheow bellowed a war cry and raced straight for that gaping maw.

  The serpent surged forward and its coils battered into Ecgtheow and Pakkanen both, sending them tumbling through the air and slamming down hard on the rock floor. Obsidian stalactites crashed down from above, shattering, exploding into shards. Ecgtheow knew he was screaming, hands over his head, but couldn’t quite stop.