Days of Bloody Thrones (Runeblade Saga Book 2)

by Matt Larkin

  “So?” he asked, wiping his mouth after drinking deeply.

  “A Vallander who so disobeyed his commander would find himself strung up,” Tyr said. “Nor can I well ignore Vikar’s actions. In pursuit of his own glory, he endangered our oath-sworn allies. But I can’t see him hung either.”

  Starkad nodded. “Then where do we go?”

  “There is only one punishment befitting his crimes, an Ás punishment. He must go where the wind takes him, welcome no longer in Valland … nor Asgard.”

  “Banished?” Vikar blurted. “You cannot be fucking serious. All I did was kill some Hel-cursed Serklanders!”

  From the sound of it, Vikar had done a bit more. Tyr spoke the truth, little though Starkad loved it. Exile was the traditional punishment for betrayal. But then again … fuck tradition.

  “What authority does Roland have over Asgard? Send us back. Vikar may have earned the wrath of the southerners, but he may also have earned an apple of Yggdrasil.”

  Tyr scoffed. “You think the boy deserves a reward? The ultimate reward? Boy shamed us. Shamed all the Aesir.” The man cracked his neck. Groaned. “No. Banishment it is. Odin was nearby, though. Came to speak to me over it. He’s made allies in Sviarland, allies who might have use for Vikar. Give him a chance at a glorious life.”

  Vikar sputtered. “But … the apples?”

  “Those are for Aesir, son. I am left with no choice but to strip you of that title.”

  “And me.” The words were bitter in Starkad’s mouth.

  “What?” Vikar said.

  Tyr spun on him. “Son, you have no idea what—”

  “Do not call me son, Tyr. Were I your son, you would have fought for my brother. If you cast him out, I go with him.”

  Tyr glowered now. “Your bravado and threats change naught, Starkad. Urd is cruel. You might yet claim the prize of an apple … if you don’t do this.”

  Starkad sneered at his would-be father. “If my brother is no Ás, neither am I.”

  Grumbling about fool children, Tyr rose, shook his head. And ducked out of the tent.

  Fuck. Fuck them all.

  Starkad turned to Vikar. “Gather supplies. We leave camp at first light.”

  “You did not have to come with me.”

  “Of course I did.” Starkad stalked outside. The others were watching him. Maybe just that they’d heard about Vikar. Or maybe word had already spread that he too was leaving them. Well, Hel take every last one of them. All this war, all this training, fighting. It ought to have earned both brothers an apple of Yggdrasil. Earned them the right to live forever, to fight forever, to reign in glory over the world.

  Instead, they left here with even less than they’d come. Without a people to call their own.

  A pair of shieldmaidens sat at a fire, chatting. Good then. Best get one last romp before he abandoned the Aesir forever.

  But as he approached, the women looked at one another, rose and slipped away.

  That was new.

  Starkad frowned.

  Shook his head.

  Well, there would be women wherever he next trod.

  As he passed through the camp, an old man in a wide-brimmed hat stepped into his path. No vagrant belonged in a war camp, and this man had seen too many winters to be a soldier … so …

  “King Odin?”

  The old man nodded, then motioned for Starkad to follow. That drew a frown. He didn’t look like Odin—not that Starkad had seen the king too oft—but somehow, he’d known it must be him. War must have honed his instincts.

  The old man led him away from camp, into dark woods.

  “You are vexed at being denied an apple,” Odin said without bothering to turn around. Shadows drenched the king of Asgard, hiding even his disguise. Even knowing the Aesir had once been men, Starkad could barely stop from balking at Odin’s presence. At his … airs of mystery. At his touch of the Otherworlds.

  Starkad grit his teeth. If he was no longer Ás himself, Odin was no longer his king. And he owed the man no further respect. “Would not you be vexed, having fought harder than any other for a prize and to have it snatched away?”

  Odin turned slowly. “Harder than any other? Are you so certain no other man has suffered and fought as you have … ah, well it matters naught, Starkad. You have but to abandon your brother and come into my service, and all you desire may yet come to you.”

  “Abandon my brother?” Starkad snorted. “Would you abandon yours? I think not.” He resisted the urge to spit—barely. He might not have owed Odin respect, but only a fool would antagonize a man … being … of such power.

  “I cannot allow an apple to fall to those who will not serve the will of Asgard.”

  No. Starkad supposed that only a fool would willingly give away such a gift, especially when too few of the treasures remained for his own loyal servants. So the only answer he could offer was to shrug.

  “And yet … you may yet serve and earn a reward. Go to King Gylfi in Sviarland and serve him well, and you may serve me in so doing.”

  Win Odin’s favor … no. Starkad shook his head. “I serve no man, for I have no people left. And I will make my own way, King of the Aesir.”

  “Urd is cruel, Starkad. We will see each other again in the days to come … in the darkest of nights.”

  Starkad shook his head and left the old man in the forest. He was done with such things, forever. Done being one more tool in Odin’s arsenal.

  Starkad’s life, his urd, they would be his own to make.

  8

  O stergotland lay south of Njarar, several days’ walk in the best of weather. With winter settling, Hervor and Starkad had already travelled for three days and were not even halfway there. The snows had not settled enough for dog sleds, so walking appeared the only option. Shame.

  Most of those long hours, he barely spoke to her.

  Hervor cleared her throat to try again as they passed under the deeper reaches of Deeppine. “There are bogs all over … best be wary.”

  “I walked these lands many times. Even before you were born.”

  Right. Fine. “So how old are you, then? I’ve heard tales that you don’t age so much like a normal man.”

  Starkad cast a glance over at her, his face unreadable but certainly not warm. Badgering him into sleeping with her had clearly not been her best idea. Then again, Hervor had a lot of poor ideas in retrospect. “After this job is done, I’ll be moving on.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Farther than you would care to travel, I am certain, and no place you’d have heard of.”

  “Huh.” She spat to the side of the path. “Good to see your arrogance is back. I was starting to worry over your health. Seems maybe someone needs another reminder—I fought that draug prince on Thule. As far as I know, that’s not even really part of Midgard.”

  “Nor is the kingdom where I soon walk.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Starkad paused then, and Hervor drew up short, turning back to look at him. “Hervor … I must seek another dverg ruin. And should I find that … I go next to Glaesisvellir in Jotunheim. Tales speak of great treasures.”

  “And you didn’t have your fill of treasure hunting in Thule?”

  Did his so-called curse truly compel him to such recklessness? Or was that merely an excuse to not take responsibility for his own failings?

  Starkad shrugged and started walking again. “What did we come away with, truly? A few silver coins, a few gems. A runeblade taken by Ecgtheow?”

  “The runeblade …” Was that what this was about? “You regret giving it to him. Or … are you angry that I gave it to him?”

  He scoffed, not bothering to look at her. Which was not an answer.

  Hervor scowled as she followed him down the path. Had they not promised the blade to Tiny—to Ecgtheow? What had he expected her to do? Break her oath? She’d never do that … nor, had she thought, would Starkad. Why could the damned man never figure out what he really wanted?

/>   “It will be hard going,” he said a few moments later. “Assaulting Upsal in winter, I mean.”

  So he wanted to change the subject. Fine. She had recruited him for a reason, and it was past time she got back to it. Sometimes she wanted to like this man, true, wanted to think him a friend. Odin alone knew what Starkad actually thought. But none of that mattered. Hervor had her own oath, one to bring down the Ynglings. And that meant taking on Upsal. That meant Starkad leading Haki’s champions.

  “King Haki has a fleet of longships. We’ll descend on our foes before they know what’s coming for them.”

  “Sailing the Gandvik in winter poses its own risks. The storms can crop up with little warning and leave us all prey to Rán.”

  Hervor had spent enough time on a ship to know that fear. “We’ll hug the coast. No one will be meeting the mermaid queen this winter. None of ours, at least. Trust me, Starkad, this will be fast and brutal. Then you can go and do whatever you want—even throw your life away in Jotunheim.”

  Starkad glanced up at the sky, though he could not have possibly made out much through the canopy and the mist. “I think it will be dark before long. Perhaps we should see about finding a camp.”

  Another night in the woods with little conversation between them. How appealing. “If we press, I think we can reach my grandfather’s hall in an hour.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “Jarl Bjalmar is sworn to King Haki.”

  Starkad grunted and rubbed his scraggly beard. “Lead on then.”

  DARKNESS HAD SETTLED before they reached the town, and the gates were closed. She could almost feel it as archers drew a bead on her when she approached.

  “I am no vaettr!” she called up to them.

  “You’re out in the mist at night.”

  She took another step closer, slowly. Alarm these bastards and they’d shoot her before they had the first clue who she was. That didn’t sound the least bit pleasant. “It’s Hervor—Bjalmar’s granddaughter.”

  Murmuring above. Men shifting.

  A warrior leaned over the wall just a bit, waving a torch out to his side. “Step into the light.”

  She did so.

  “It’s her,” the man said a moment later.

  A pair of warriors escorted her to the main hall—where Gunther was waiting. The thegn looked even older than when she’d last seen him. Like one who had no more business wielding a sword, though he’d taught her well enough with one in days long gone.

  “So you’re back.” He looked to Starkad. “And this is?”

  “Starkad Eightarms.”

  Gunther recoiled, then visibly stifled his shock and offered Hervor’s friend a respectful nod. “Well then, I’ll take you to see the jarl.”

  “I don’t believe you ever mentioned being nobility,” Starkad whispered as he strode beside her to the back of the hall.

  No. She had not. Nor was she quite certain why she’d let him learn so much about her now. Except … Odin’s balls. What was she doing with him, anyway? Starkad was even more fucked up than her. He couldn’t have stayed in one place if his life depended on it. No, now normal adventures were not enough. Now he had to go delving beyond all mortal ken into places touched by the Otherworld.

  Imbecile.

  Gunther plodded over to Hervor’s grandfather’s side and whispered in his ear.

  Strange that her mother was not here to greet her. It was too early for her to have retired for the night.

  “Hervor,” Grandfather said and rose. “It is good you have returned.”

  “Only for the night. We need supplies for a short journey. At dawn we must continue on toward Haki’s hall.”

  Grandfather glanced at Gunther as if the thegn ought to have had any say whatsoever in this hall. “Hervor … walk with me. Gunther … see to our guest.”

  Gunther nodded, then motioned for Starkad to follow him to a table.

  Actually, hot food and some mead were about all Hervor wanted now herself, but she allowed Grandfather to guide her into his private chamber behind the main hall. He motioned to a chair, and she sat, her stomach suddenly roiling, though not with any thought of food.

  “What’s going on?”

  He sighed as he collapsed into a chair across from her, then let his forehead fall to his palm. For the barest instant, his shoulders bobbed and when he looked up, he was blinking away a tear. How unmanly. And unlike Grandfather. What the fuck?

  And then it hit her.

  For there was only one thing that might cause him to react thus.

  “Where … is my … mother?”

  “She … fell ill.”

  “In the summer?” Hervor lurched to her feet. It happened from time to time, but summer was supposed to be safe. “I must see her.” As if she did not know. As if she did not … did not … already understand …

  His face … “She’s gone, Hervor.”

  “Y-you didn’t even send for me?”

  He sighed, shaking. “We … tried. Sent men to the king, but he said you’d gone north. And so we had to send her on her way.”

  She clenched her jaw and leaned down on the armrests of his chair. “You mean you already fucking burned her. You burned her without me! Without her daughter!”

  He leapt to his feet, sending her stumbling backward. Raised his hand like he might slap her. “Losing one’s parents is inevitable, Hervor. I, however, have lost my daughter. And you dare to raise your voice to me as if I have wronged you? I have suffered my grief alone while you gallivanted around with that mercenary monster you brought into my house!”

  What? Grandfather rarely showed overmuch temper. When he did … Hervor fell back another step, still uncertain if he planned to hit her. Or whether she would defend herself if he tried. “You mean Starkad?”

  “I can think of few men in all Sviarland with so ill a reputation.”

  “I was sent to recruit him by our king.”

  Grandfather waved that away, then glanced about the room as if wanting something to steady himself on. “Listen to me, girl. I have indulged your whims as best I could, let you train as a shieldmaiden, and find service to the king. But now your mother is gone, and I am not like to see many more winters. Our land needs a ruler. It is past time for you to give over your foolery, find a husband, and pop out an heir or three.”

  Hervor sputtered, not even able to form a response to that. Did he seriously expect her to give over her oath to her father, to her kin? “I have a mission to complete.”

  “King Haki got on well enough for many years without Hervor at his side, and I dare say he’ll manage to live on without you.”

  “I’m not only talking about my oath to the king, though now you mention it—”

  “Enough! You returned from Thule a scarred, bitter wreck and from all I can tell, barely alive at all. You tempt your urd with your petty quest to avenge those who neither want nor need your aid. Your father and all his kin are long gone from this world. Their side of the family is not the only one to which you have a duty! Or perhaps you would like to see us too restless and wakeful after death?”

  Hervor spat on his floor. “Were I to speak to the king of your words …”

  “So you would now betray your family again?”

  No. She would not do that, whatever she might threaten. She had done enough damage in her days with Red-Eye’s Boys. Nor, however, was she going to stand here and let the man browbeat her into marrying some arrogant jarl’s son while her oath lay unfulfilled.

  “Give us the supplies or do not, Grandfather. Either way, we leave at first light and go to join Haki. And when he claims the throne of Upsal, I will be there at his side. And he will think you a good and loyal supporter to have sent him so great an ally.”

  She spun and left, unwilling to let him get in another word.

  PART II

  Fourth Moon

  Year 28, Age of the Aesir

  9

  Screams rang out through Fyris Woods, as men died slowly and quickly
. Hundreds of corpses clogged the paths, blanketed the roots, made navigating treacherous. Blood and guts and shit coated the trees and Hervor as well.

  Panting and reeling, she dodged around another tree.

  An arrow thunked into the wood beside her, and she stumbled and scrambled back the way she’d come. So much chaos. Couldn’t think … couldn’t tell what direction that missile had come from.

  Hard to even say who was on which side.

  A man bellowed, charged her with an axe over his head. A swift thrust from Tyrfing. The blade punched through his chest and stole all strength from his intended blow. Hervor kicked him, shoving the body away.

  They had attacked with surprise, slaughtered so many of Ochilaik’s men. But now everything had gone to shit.

  Shit and blood, like the damned trees.

  It was impossible to hold any kind of line in the forest.

  Hervor had meant to stick by Haki’s side at first, but Ochilaik’s thegns had led a counterattack.

  Leaning against a tree, she wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d seen a lot of battles, but war on this scale … it was something else.

  Two armies clashing in the woods.

  And naught but death everywhere she turned.

  So be it then, she had brought death here. Death, with a golden pommel, always hungry for more blood. And she would feed it until she found Ochilaik. She’d kill the bastard herself and not only fulfill her oath but win high praise from Haki.

  A few more deep breaths to steady herself and she raced back out, ducking between more trees. There, a cluster of men all fighting.

  One spun about several others, wielding two swords and engaging at least five men. Some of Ochilaik’s own thegns and champions … fighting Starkad. If he was there, the king of Upsal must be close.

  Belting out her own war cry, she charged back into the fray. Tyrfing darted around shields and under guards, drawing fatal scratches along the necks and sides and limbs of a half dozen warriors who did not know death had already claimed them. No mail could turn aside the runeblade. No armor could protect against such a weapon.