by Matt Larkin
“Could be. Or could be you’re just fucking mist-mad and can’t tell your mouth from your arse. Reckon ’cause you’ve got vampire cocks stuck in both.”
Orvar seized the half-jotunn by the throat and squeezed. Hervor cared for this man on some level, valued him, at least as much as the self-absorbed bitch could value the life of another. His death would hurt her, maybe have slightly more effect than all the others.
Then again, maybe making her watch the big man draw his last dying gasp would be sweeter.
Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance.
Orvar released the big man. He drew the vial Tanna had given him from his shirt, then upended it over Höfund’s feet. Naught happened. Maybe, like oil, it needed a spark.
After grabbing a torch, Orvar tossed it at the big man’s boots. His screams of agony caught even Orvar off guard and sent him falling back several steps. The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the room. He chuckled, shaking his head. What foulness these Miklagardians had come up with. As if men did not have enough awful ways of killing one another.
In truth, though, he hoped the fires wouldn’t kill the half-jotunn. Hervor should see his end, just before her own.
So then, time to find Nilos, and then Hervor. The time had come to crush her out of existence at long last.
22
Pendulum blades swung back and forth across the tunnel. Starkad frowned, judging the timing. They could double back once more, of course. Could take their chances wandering around this maze longer.
But they’d seen shifting blocks closing off passageways and fires that somehow never seemed to burn out. And more blades like these, making every corridor its own deathtrap.
It had been hours already, and the constantly shifting passageways had done naught but delay them and cut off any attempt at return. While he knew no conscious mind ran this maze, still he could not help but feel someone was toying with him.
Urd, maybe.
Either way, sooner or later, they would have to stop turning away from the traps and cross one.
“What are you doing?” Hervor asked. “There’s another tunnel behind us.”
“It goes nowhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
His instincts insisted that way would only send them wandering deeper into the convoluted paths. He shook his head. “We can do this.”
“You jest,” Win said. “Those blades are the bigger than even Höfund’s axe. I hope you do not think your mail will protect you if one catches you.”
“No. I’m going to avoid getting hit. Wait for it to pass, step forward, wait for the next, and so on.”
The prince groaned. “This is not some child’s game of balancing on logs over the river.”
Starkad spun on him. “None of this is a fucking game. People are dead and my goal here is to keep from losing any more of the crew. Every moment we delay may bring the vampires closer toward us. If we can make it to the upper city, if we can survive until daylight, maybe we have a chance. But down here, the sun never comes up, and we cannot afford to be caught out.”
Hervor was staring at him, face grim. Clearly, she knew he had the right of it, because she pushed past him to pause just before the first of the three pendulums. As it swung back the other way she lurched forward, then pulled up just short of the next. She repeated the maneuver twice more to come out on the other side.
Starkad looked to Win. “You see what she did? I’m going to repeat it. Just learn the timing, same as you’d study a foe in a duel, except these blades never vary their speed. You’re dodging an axe blow. No more or less than that.”
So, then. Starkad watched the blades, danced forward when one passed, and then repeated it twice more to join Hervor.
He glanced back at Win. “Come on.”
“Starkad,” Hervor said. She was looking down the tunnel, into a circle chamber with other paths branching off it like rays of the sun. And striding down one of them, runeblade in hand, was Tanna.
Alone. Supremely confident.
Growling, Hervor drew Tyrfing. Pale flames sprang to life along the blade’s length. The shieldmaiden stalked forward.
“Hurry up, Win!” Starkad shouted, pulling his own swords. He raced to catch up to Hervor.
“It’s two on one,” she said. “We can do this.”
Starkad wanted to believe that. But Tanna’s speed was almost unfathomable. His strength like that of a troll.
The vampire bared his fangs, uttering a hissing growl. He lunged forward without further warning, his form blurring, becoming half a dust cloud as he flew at them.
Starkad shoved Hervor to one side with his elbow and then swung both swords at Tanna. In a blur, the vampire parried one blade and jerked Mistilteinn up to knock aside the other. And then Starkad was the one on the defensive, desperately parrying and ducking Tanna’s blindingly fast assault.
Roaring, Hervor came in, cleaving with Tyrfing. The vampire’s form became dust and then solidified, facing Hervor and bringing Mistilteinn up to parry her blade. He kicked her in the gut, sending her flying through the air.
Hervor! Bellowing, Starkad thrust at Tanna. His form broke apart, letting the sword pass through harmlessly, before reappearing to Starkad’s side. On pure instinct, Starkad flung himself away in a roll, barely clearing the space before Mistilteinn whistled overhead.
Tanna’s body came apart again, and reformed in front of Starkad, chopping downward before he’d gained his feet. Starkad rolled to the side once more.
Win’s broadsword cleaved into Tanna’s shoulder, wedging down into his collarbone. The vampire bellowed in pain, an inhuman cry that echoed off the chamber and sent Starkad’s brain recoiling.
Half crawling, half running, Starkad scrambled to where Hervor had fallen. The shieldmaiden had pushed herself up to her knees, hands around her gut, clearly trying to catch a breath.
Starkad let go of one of his swords and snatched up Tyrfing. Hervor would forgive him for that, eventually. The blade flared to life in his hand, filling with enhanced vigor. And rage.
Win lay collapsed on the floor, so Starkad could only guess at what had happened to him. Tanna had driven Mistilteinn into the stone. The vampire grabbed the broadsword wedged into his shoulder by the blade, ripped it free, and tossed it aside, spraying blood in the process.
Even as Starkad closed in on him, the vampire’s wound began to close. That was fucking wonderful, wasn’t it?
Hissing, the vampire lord jerked Mistilteinn up and focused on Starkad.
“I don’t care how many centuries you’ve lived,” Starkad said. “I’m going to kill you. I’ll send your soul screaming down to Hel.”
Tanna snickered. “How old am I …? Old enough to know that dark goddess by other, older names.”
“Well, then you two should have a lot to talk about. I imagine she’ll be glad to see you.” Starkad charged forward, leading with his normal sword.
Predictably, Tanna’s body turned to dust and he flew around Starkad. Spinning around, Starkad whipped Tyrfing in an arc. The flaming runeblade cut through Tanna’s gut even as the vampire tried to hack at Starkad. All strength left Tanna’s blow, and the vampire fell back, hand to his abdomen.
It came away bloody. This wound wasn’t healing so quick, either.
Starkad bared his own teeth at Tanna. “I’ve slain alfar and draugar and dragons. You’re just an old man who doesn’t know when to die.”
Tanna hissed at him, then exploded into lightning-fast attacks. Starkad parried one, then another, ducked, dodged. Tanna’s form kept turning half to dust, leaving all of Starkad’s blows empty.
The vampire’s assault forced Starkad to give ground rapidly. It didn’t seem that wound was going to kill him, was it? Did the poison not work on immortals? Win was groaning somewhere behind Starkad, alive but clearly in no shape to help.
At Hervor’s war cry, though, Tanna spun, parrying a blow that would’ve split his skull. Hervor swung again, this time clearly trying to lop the vampire’s
head clean off.
Since Tanna knew that was the only way to kill him in one blow, he saw it coming. It made it too easy for him to dodge or parry or just break up his body into dust.
So Starkad didn’t bother going for the head. He swung both swords at Tanna’s legs. The vampire broke apart, but not before Starkad’s ordinary blade nicked flesh. Tanna became a flurry of dust, breaking apart and re-forming facing in different directions, parrying and attacking so fast sometimes he looked like he was in more than one place at a time.
Damn it. Just fucking die! Starkad feinted one of his steel blades, then thrust with Tyrfing. The vampire broke apart to avoid the blow. Starkad jerked Tyrfing along through the dust cloud, guessing at what direction Tanna would try to flow.
His guess proved right, and Tanna re-formed with the flaming runeblade embedded in his gut. Bellowing, Starkad yanked it free.
Tanna was staring at him. Eyes wide with shock.
Yes. A man had beaten him. Yes, he was going to die.
Starkad swept Tyrfing back around, but Tanna broke apart once more. Starkad was expecting that too, and kept sweeping the blade around.
The dust cloud didn’t re-form, though. Instead, it passed right through Hervor, sending her coughing and stumbling. Starkad pulled up short, not daring to risk hitting Hervor with Tyrfing. The cloud continued past her, flying down one of the tunnels faster than Starkad could’ve run.
“Fuck,” he mumbled.
Hervor swept her hand in front of her face as if dust yet remained. Then she extended Starkad’s other sword to him hilt-first while reaching out her hand for Tyrfing.
Always so attached to that runeblade. Whatever, Tanna was gone. Starkad handed over the blade, reclaiming his own. “I had hoped to claim Mistilteinn. I’m not sure how to corner him, unless we could draw him into the daylight.”
“How are we to fight such an abomination?” Hervor demanded. “He lived through multiple wounds from Tyrfing!”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure something—”
“This is mist-madness!” Hervor shouted at him. “If we reach daylight, the only thing we ought to do is find a boat going anywhere but here.”
Win coughed. “Much as I wished this mission to succeed, I fear I’m inclined to agree with the shieldmaiden. We face a foe far beyond ourselves and possess no means of killing him.”
Starkad spat. “I made an oath and I’m not giving it up.”
A dark, hollow chuckle echoed from one of the other tunnels. “You two and your oaths.”
Starkad spun. Another vampire? But that voice sounded inhuman, like a draug or other ghost.
He brought both swords up.
The creature that strode forward had red eyes that gleamed in the darkness, reflecting off the torch Starkad had dropped and the one Win had taken up. The draug drew closer, revealing its rotting flesh.
Starkad hadn’t realized the vampires employed draugar. But just one here, and he should be able to handle it, even winded as he was.
“No, no, no,” Hervor was mumbling.
The draug continued to advance, sword in hand but not even raised.
As Win came up behind Starkad, the torchlight fell upon the draug’s face.
A face Starkad had known for years, though now it had turned rotten with decay. The face of a friend, long dead. A face that could not be here.
23
Orvar-Oddr, the Arrow’s Point. For years he had tormented Hervor, a presence in the shadows. A whisper in the darkness, haunting her, always drawing out her torment. But never, in all that time, had he shown himself before her when others were about.
Eventually, Hervor had come to realize that had been its own little torment. Forcing her to live alone, to keep the truth of her crime buried, always fearing when it would come out.
Her gut clenched now, trying to rebel. Her heart felt apt to burst. Her right hand was twitching, a phantom pain in the finger the draug had bitten off long ago.
“Orvar?” Starkad asked, taking a half step toward. “Orvar? Oh … my friend. I had not considered you would meet such a dark urd.” He shook his head sadly. “We failed you, didn’t we? Failed to give you a proper send-off. And I should’ve … should’ve known.”
Orvar chuckled. Fuck. Fuck him.
Hervor bellowed and charged the draug, Tyrfing flashing. The draug ducked out of the way, came up behind Hervor, and kicked her in the arse, sending her sprawling.
The draug snickered as Hervor struggled to her feet.
“Forgive me,” Starkad said. “I cannot imagine how you’ve come here, but I will bring you the peace of oblivion you ought to have had these long years.”
Win was circling the draug as Hervor regained her feet. They could do this together, maybe silence him before he could tell all.
“You still don’t know,” Orvar said.
Hervor shrieked and came in swinging, Tyrfing’s blue flames crackling through the air. Orvar dodged, falling back from each, parrying only once. The impact numbed Hervor’s arm and forced her to end her assault.
Win lunged in, hacked Orvar in the side with his broadsword. The effort earned him a cuff to the side of the head that sent him toppling to the ground, clearly dazed.
“Why would a draug come so very far?” Orvar asked.
Odin’s bloated stones! Why wasn’t Starkad attacking?
“Help us!” Hervor shrieked at her lover.
“Vengeance …” Starkad said. “Draugar care only for revenge. Y-you blamed us … Maybe not without cause.”
Orvar snickered.
Hervor brought Tyrfing down with a mighty two-handed chop. Her foe twisted out of the way with shocking speed, caught the back of her mail with one hand, and flung her at Starkad’s feet. The world spun around as she tumbled, everything hazy for a moment.
“Vengeance. Because the bitch ran me through with a runeblade.”
Starkad took a step back. “The draug prince …”
Troll shit. Hervor struggled to rise, but her limbs felt like jelly. Her hand closed around Tyrfing, and the blade brought her strength, helped clear the wool from her head.
“Oh …” Orvar said. “Yes. We killed the draug prince, the shieldmaiden and I. And then, one oath fulfilled, she saw to the next. Drove the flaming sword through my lung, which even now wheezes, punctured and scorched. Almost a relief I no longer draw breath.”
Starkad had turned, was staring down at Hervor, gaping, backing away, shaking his head.
Orvar chuckled again. “Funny. She told the half-jotunn but not you.”
“You told Höfund?” Starkad’s mouth hung open after that, eyes wide, like she’d killed his beloved.
Hervor pulled up to her knees. “Starkad … you have to listen.” Didn’t quite have her breath. “There are things you … don’t understand.”
“You murdered my friend … You lied to me. Told us that …” Still backing away.
“He murdered my father!”
Orvar had drifted back into the shadows near to one of the tunnels. “Oh, delicious … And it makes one wonder … Ecgtheow disappeared not so long after I told him the truth.”
Starkad blanched. “Ecgtheow? You … you didn’t …”
Oh, Hel fucking take Orvar. “Starkad.” Hervor gained her feet. “He’s a draug. Otherworldly, made of lies. He’s twisting the truth around, trying to drive us apart.”
“He was my friend for years … And Ecgtheow … And you lied to me. You murdered those I cared about and lied about it. For years and years.” His breaths were coming so fast he seemed like to faint from it. “You … shared my bed … I trusted you … I trusted … shouldn’t have trusted a woman. I knew better.”
Not this shit again. “Fuck you with that ‘women are liars’ shit, Starkad. You want the truth? I am the granddaughter of Arngrim the Berserk. I hunted the Arrow’s Point for the murder of my family and I avenged them, as I’d given my oath to do so. You’d not have done less.”
“I’d not have lied about it!”
<
br /> “Arngrim …” Win said. “Arngrim who … The sword. Sigrlami’s magic sword. The one … you carry.”
Hervor ignored the prince. “You know I speak the truth now. You must understand why I couldn’t tell you.”
“Yes … because Orvar is right. You are a murderer, a betrayer. And you betrayed my trust!” Starkad took a step toward her now, swords raised before him. “You … defiled me. Your treachery sickens me, even as I deserved it for my own crimes.”
She hefted Tyrfing. “What’re you doing? Starkad! Don’t do this.”
“There is naught left but this. You brought us here. Or urd did. Vengeance, upon me, for betraying my brother so long ago. I deserved it … as urd must now guide my actions. Vengeance, your war cry, must be the last sound you hear.”
Odin’s stones! He’d lost his godsdamned mind. Gasping with short, shallow breaths, Hervor looked around. Orvar had disappeared into the shadows. Win was backing away from her, shaking his head in shock or loathing. And Starkad was closing in, seeming fey, almost possessed.
Without further warning, Starkad launched himself at her. His blades flashed in a terrible blur of death. Hervor ducked one, used Tyrfing to parry another, and dodged as the first blade came round again. It still caught her cheek, tearing open a gouge as long as her finger. The other came back around, hit her in the ribs and sent her reeling.
She barely got Tyrfing up to parry a sword coming down to split her skull. Starkad’s boot caught her thigh and sent her down to one knee.
Shrieking, desperate, she swung Tyrfing at Starkad’s gut. He twisted away, using one blade to knock her attack wide.
Rising and using her momentum, she swung not at him, but at the blade. Tyrfing flashed, chipped Starkad’s sword and tore a shard from it. The metal piece flew past her face, a hair from embedding in her skull.
Starkad gaped at his sword, grimaced, and tossed it aside.
By now, Hervor had backed away, putting space between them. She used her second hand to steady Tyrfing, to give it power. Maybe she couldn’t match Starkad’s speed or skill, but she wasn’t dying without a fight. If the bastard refused to see her side of it, that was on him.