Runeblade Saga Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  The official and the ship’s captain exchanged words briefly, then the captain beckoned to Starkad. Hervor’s lover tossed the official a jingling pouch. The official drew the strings to peer inside, nodded, and motioned for his guards to inspect the crates.

  The two men popped one open, dug around in the wolf pelts. Muttered something to their employer. And just like that, they all turned and left. Didn’t bother even checking the other crates, much less having a look at the passengers. Starkad’s crew had swords over their shoulders, axes hanging from their belts … Afrid had a damn spear in her hand.

  Nigh as Hervor could tell, all these Miklagardians cared about was their damn silver.

  “It makes the city run,” Baruch said, as if reading her mind.

  “You mean the whole place runs on greed.”

  The Miklagardian shrugged. “Word is you used to be a pirate, Witchslayer.”

  She flashed him a half grin. “Point taken.”

  The captain’s crew set to unloading their own cargo, while Starkad ordered Höfund and Tveggi and the others to haul up the three crates. Maybe he actually intended to sell them and turn a profit, maybe he just thought they’d need the cover again later. Either way, the eight of them bid the captain farewell and trod out into the city.

  Even in the harbor, it reeked. Ports always stank of brine and seaweed and refuse and such. But this one was too thick with humanity. Clusters of earthen buildings clumped together, practically on top of one another, some strung with colorful banners, other stained by the salty air. And every one of the narrow alleys between them was filled with gutters clogged with shit and stale piss and other unidentified filth.

  Baruch turned about after the first alley, looked around as if confused.

  “Lose the city?” Afrid asked. “I could probably point it out to you.”

  Indeed, the towering wall could be seen from pretty much anywhere.

  Baruch scowled at the young shieldmaiden. “Unless you can walk through walls, I thought you might want to go in the gate.” He pointed off down another street. “Which is that way.”

  “You sure?” the young shieldmaiden prodded. “We could give you a bit to think it over.”

  “I was a child when last I was here, younger than you, if slightly more mature.”

  Hervor quirked a smile and shook her head.

  “The crates are fucking heavy,” Tveggi complained.

  “It’s this way,” Baruch repeated. He led them through a winding circuit, eventually opening out into a main walkway crowded with people bustling in and out of a great archway at least fifteen feet tall.

  Hervor had been wrong before. Those walls were closer to forty feet high. And from the space within—lined with guards holding halberds—more than ten feet thick. The gates stood open, but double wooden portcullises hung above both sides. Starkad had been right when he said no army was taking this city by force.

  Hervor swallowed at the sight.

  Starkad though, he just strode right up to the gate, forcing everyone to follow. As usual, really.

  Baruch exchanged a couple of words with a guard, passed him something—more coins?—and then waved everyone on. “Welcome to Miklagard.”

  The main gate let out onto an even more crowded street. All the buildings in here were the color of dirt, save for the towering spires and palaces in the distance. Those put to shame the halls of the mightiest kings of the North Realms. Hel, it was hard to imagine Asgard itself being bigger.

  And this city just kept going on and on.

  They passed into a market clogged with vendors hawking clothes, fruits, incense, spices, and Odin alone knew what else. Men with skin so dark it seemed almost black. Men with pale skin like her own. And the greater part of them with the deeper skin tones like Baruch. Merchants from all over Midgard, it seemed.

  “Fuck me,” Afrid mumbled. “Didn’t know this many people lived in all Midgard.”

  All this splendor, but something was missing. Hervor couldn’t quite say what, but something for sure. Vebiorg was turning about too, nose wrinkled like she’d caught some foulness in the air. Exotic scents and strange meats cooking overwhelmed the stench of human waste in the market, but maybe Vebiorg’s nose was more sensitive, given her nature.

  “Torches,” Hervor blurted, suddenly realizing what was missing. There were hardly any torch poles and no obvious braziers. “How are they keeping the mists back without torches?”

  “The walls are high,” Win offered. The prince didn’t seem entirely convinced by his own suggestion though. Nor should he … the port hadn’t been over-saturated with mists either.

  Hervor frowned. Something was unnatural about Miklagard, even if she could not quite say what.

  “Win,” Starkad said. “Take Baruch and find some place we can sleep. Somewhere we won’t attract attention, where we can work, plan. Hervor, you and Vebiorg see about getting us some food.”

  “We don’t speak the language,” Vebiorg objected.

  Starkad handed her another pouch of silver. “Fair universal communication.” He looked to the others. “The rest of you, scout the market in small groups. Get a feel for it. We’re going to need to know our way around. If you find those who speak our tongue, you can ask a few questions about Tanna, but be discreet. We don’t want him to know we’re coming.”

  “I stay with my prince,” Tveggi said.

  Starkad shrugged and motioned them on.

  Hervor frowned. Vebiorg had already started off toward a vendor selling roasted meat on a stick. She trotted off after the varulf woman. “Do you even know what that is?”

  Vebiorg sniffed, cocked her head to the side. “Rat.”

  Hervor blanched, not bothering to hide her disgust.

  The varulf grinned at her. “It’s hot and it’s fresh. I don’t think you can ask for too much more in this strange land.”

  That only reinforced Hervor’s doubts about whether they should have even come here. No matter how she tried, she could not shake the unease that had settled upon her the moment she’d walked through those gates.

  2

  Baruch had found them an apartment in the maze-like warrens behind the market. It was just one room and would’ve been cramped for a family of four or five. With nine grown people, they were practically jammed up against the walls like it was a fucking tomb, especially with those crates taking up one corner.

  Starkad misliked this whole city, but these confines most of all. He could’ve sat by the window, except that let in the stench of human waste lining the narrow alleys around the building.

  Here, close to the fire pit, at least the smoke cut down on the reek. Besides, Vebiorg had kept her head hanging out the window almost constantly. Starkad preferred giving her space. As much space as possible.

  Hervor had her back pressed up against his and he could almost feel the vibrations of her teeth grinding. No need to even ask how she felt about Miklagard.

  Afrid groaned, scrunched up in a corner. “Why in the frozen wastes of Niflheim would people choose to live like this? It’s like jamming yourself into a beehive.”

  “You prefer the mists?” Baruch asked, though from his face he didn’t seem sure of the answer himself. He sniffed. “People don’t talk about the emperor much. Nobody’s ever even seen him as far as I know. But there’s tales—whispered, mind, when there aren’t too many to overhear—they say he keeps out the mists himself.”

  “Troll shit,” Afrid said. “No man holds back the mists.”

  “Don’t know that he is a man. Here, people figure he’s … like a god. Like the Aesir, maybe.”

  “Do not compare these foreigners to the Aesir,” Win snapped.

  Starkad’s frown only deepened. The Aesir lived without the mists because of the World Tree, not any power of their own. Some of them might’ve been immortal, but he’d not have preferred to think of them as gods. Maybe least of all since he’d lost his chance at immortality among them.

  They were men and women, arrogant ones
. But he could not deny they had powers, strange gifts. Odin especially. Starkad’s dreams had been plagued with cryptic visions of Miklagard ever since they left Kaunos. He’d seen the city in his mind before they got here. Worse, then, to arrive and find it matched his visions. Such made it hard to dismiss his dreams.

  Odin was fucking with him again. Or … warning him.

  It wasn’t words with the Ás though. Naught so explicit nor useful. No, Odin had to keep up his mysteries. So he taunted Starkad with shadows, with the hint that something ancient dwelled in Miklagard. Something even Odin didn’t fully understand … and maybe feared. That alone was enough to give a man pause. Odin, who’d faced Niflung sorcerers and the Vanir and linnorms and who knew what else, seemed apprehensive of this place.

  Had Odin sent Starkad here? Starkad had thought his own choices had brought him, but as long as Odin kept messing with his dreams, how could he be sure? Maybe it didn’t matter overmuch though. He was here now.

  “As best we can surmise so far,” Win said, “twelve Patriarchs rule Miklagard. They alone claim to have seen the emperor. If we assume for the moment this emperor exists, his sole province appears to be preventing outright war between the Patriarchs, and only just, at that.”

  Baruch nodded. “The Patriarchs themselves aren’t seen much either, for that matter. Tanna is one of them, though. Each Patriarch is responsible for a district in the city as well as a prefecture of the empire at large.”

  “Pre-what now?” Höfund grumbled.

  “The largest divisions of the empire,” Baruch answered. “Kaunos is in Tanna’s prefecture.”

  “So,” Hervor said. “Which district of the city does he rule?”

  Baruch shrugged.

  Now the shieldmaiden pulled away from Starkad’s back to stare at the Miklagardian. “You don’t know?”

  “I had seven, maybe eight winters when I was taken into slavery and sent to work farms around Kaunos. And before that, I didn’t spend my time mingling with the lords of the city. I spent it begging, scrounging, and stealing just enough food to avoid starving to death. I spent it running from shopkeepers and guards. And sometimes getting caught. Being forced to …” Baruch grimaced, then spat into the fire.

  Fjolvor scooted closer and put her arm around her husband. She never said much, really. Baruch leaned against her, glowering.

  “Not so happy to be back here, then?” Afrid asked.

  “No.”

  “Something is wrong with this city,” Vebiorg said, still not drawing back inside the window.

  Baruch scoffed. “A great many things are wrong with any settlement so large. Shoved into tight confines, humans become more like animals.”

  That did get Vebiorg looking at him, head cocked sideways.

  If Baruch appreciated the irony of talking to a varulf about men acting like animals, he gave no sign of it.

  Starkad cleared his throat. “So what we need is more information. We’ll sleep here tonight and use the morning to scout the city. The nine of us together might attract too much attention, so we’ll go in two groups. I’ll lead one and Hervor will lead the other.”

  Win bristled. “As a prince of Holmgard—”

  “As a member of the crew you’ll do what I godsdamned tell you to. Rollaugr hired me to lead this quest. If you could’ve done it on your own, you would’ve. You’ll go with Hervor, Höfund, Tveggi, and Vebiorg. Learn whatever you can.” Starkad looked to Baruch. “You’re with me. Fjolvor and Stonekicker too.”

  The prince scowled at him, then rose and stomped over to where Vebiorg stood at the window. The two of them began whispering to one another. No doubt whining about Starkad. He couldn’t say as he much cared.

  Hervor leaned in close to his ear. “I appreciate the honor of command, but I might’ve preferred to stay by your side.”

  “I need someone I can trust to watch over the others. Win’s got too much pride and Vebiorg is like to be driven by her nature.”

  “Huh. Suppose so. Listen.” She rubbed his arm. “When this is done … We still need to talk. Think about where we’re going from here.”

  “Wherever the next adventure is.”

  She groaned. “You jest? We’ll be rich after this. Surely it’s enough for you?”

  He shook his head. “You know it doesn’t work that way for me. And I’m not having this conversation again. Get some sleep. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can leave Miklagard.”

  Hervor grimaced, mumbled something under her breath, and crawled as far away as the narrow confines allowed.

  Starkad shut his eyes. They’d taken oaths to stay by each other’s side in all their journeys. But she’d known who he was back then. Known well his curse would never let him rest nor hold wealth.

  No peace. No children.

  Just the road. And them.

  And for a little while, he dared to believe that might be enough for her.

  3

  Whatever Starkad had said about placing Hervor in charge of a team, it sure as fuck seemed he just wanted to push her away. After all they’d been through, still he couldn’t open up about what went on inside his head. No, but she could harbor a guess.

  Bastard.

  Never listened to her. Not really.

  Höfund tromped along beside her as she strolled the market, drawing stares everywhere they went. “Something I been meaning to talk with you on. Ain’t had much chance, really.” He glanced back at where Vebiorg was trailing behind them, probably not out of earshot given her nature, but maybe Höfund didn’t know that.

  Win and Tveggi were across the street, talking to a street vendor. The prince was not nigh so fluent in Miklagardian as Baruch, but better than the rest of them. Which wasn’t hard, really.

  “See, the thing of it is,” Höfund said. “Right, well, best be out with it. A while back, I came to be thinking—”

  “Focus on the reason we’re here.”

  “Oh. Uh, sure.”

  Maybe it would’ve been best to have out with it. Tell him things would never go the way he wanted and he might as well look elsewhere. Except, the thought of seeing the big man’s grimace didn’t sit well with her. Besides, right now, she really did need him focused on the mission. Höfund was the strongest of their crew and she couldn’t well afford to lose his loyalty.

  Win trudged over to where Hervor and the others had stopped. “None of the locals know exactly which lord rules which district. Apparently the lords don’t readily show themselves. Maybe they fear being murdered for their despotism. So they work through an interminable chain of intermediary officials.”

  Hervor sighed. “You mean we’ve been wasting our time.”

  “Perhaps not. There’s a primicerius’s office up the street, and, even if the official does not directly tie back to Tanna, he is more like to know of the lords than any common man.”

  “A what’s office?” Höfund asked.

  “A primicerius.”

  Höfund chuckled. “Sounds like a beast what needs slaying. Got an office though. Ain’t heard that before.”

  At least he still had his sense of humor. “What exactly is a primicerius?” Hervor asked.

  Tveggi glanced around as if this was all some big secret. Hand on his sword hilt. Ever watchful of his prince.

  “A primicerius,” Win said, “is a subordinate to a tribune. Nigh as I can tell, tribunes are officials who administer the city on behalf of the Patriarchs.”

  All right … “I thought the Patriarchs ran it on behalf of this emperor?”

  “Odin alone knows how many titles fall in this chain. What is of consequence here, though, is that this official receives plebeian inquiries directly. That is to say, we can talk to him ourselves, this very day, assuming we’re willing to pay enough to push ahead of other claimants.”

  Hervor didn’t bother asking what plebeians were. Not only was the city laid out in a maze, it was as if the inhabitants had worked their whole social structure into a twisted knot to mirror the landscape. “J
ust lead the way.”

  As it turned out, “this very day” was used rather liberally. The primicerius’s office was practically drowning in people waiting to plead their cases. All of whom had probably laid down bribes to get ahead of the others. Which meant Hervor had been standing around for at least four hours before the man’s assistant even called them in.

  Didn’t really leave her in a gracious mood.

  Nor did the man’s sneer when he looked upon her and her crew. The pompous little shit sat behind a table laden with books, ink vials, and no less than a dozen coin purses. Plus some construction of beads that slid along a rod. A child’s toy?

  “North Realmers,” the man said, in a grating accent. “What do you want?”

  Hervor stifled her shock at hearing him speak—if you could call it that—her own tongue. “Where do we find Tanna?” she demanded.

  “Diplomacy,” Win urged, motioning with his hands downward.

  Hervor rolled her eyes. “Please … tell us where the fuck to find Tanna.”

  Win groaned, rubbed his temples. “Primicerius. We’re lately out of Kaunos and have come in the hopes of establishing a mutually beneficial trade agreement for both our peoples. We need to arrange an audience with the Patriarch and thus require directions to his district.”

  There was that sneer back on the Miklagardian’s face. Would it seem less obnoxious if she cut off his nose? Might soften his features a bit.

  “The Patriarch does not see merchants himself.”

  Win looked around a moment, then leaned on the table, pulling another jingling pouch from inside his shirt. “We’d be more than willing to plead our case to his immediate junior, if you could but direct us to the right place.”

  The Miklagardian’s sneer eased, ever so slightly. Almost haltingly, he reached for the pouch, then drew it open to look inside.

  “Tanna’s tower is nigh to the river, east side. Call upon the tribune there. Now, if that shall be all?”

  Win motioned to Tveggi, who produced yet another pouch from inside his shirt and dropped it on the table. How much coin had the prince brought? And did he intend to give it all away in bribes in their first two days in the city?