by Matt Larkin
The girl continued coughing, trying to catch her breath.
She slipped a knife from her belt and held it to the Ás’s throat. “Tell me, wench. Just who are you to think to match wits against the Niflungar?”
“Sigyn,” the girl said, between coughs. Coughs she seemed to be trying to still, considering the blade so close to her.
“And do you even know who we are? Do you realize your hubris in acting against us?”
“Gods, listen to you.” She coughed once more. “Managing to accuse me of hubris while guilty of it yourself in the same breath. Do you practice that arrogance, princess?”
Gudrun frowned. The girl knew who she was. This Sigyn clearly belonged to Loge, but Gudrun didn’t much like that the man knew so much of her, either.
“Yes, I know who you are, Gudrun. And, yes, I know who the Niflungar are. Men—and women—who think they’re gods. In truth, you are but one more fallen kingdom, just like all the other heirs of Halfdan. Except you just don’t seem to know when your time has passed. The Old Kingdoms are dead as your draugar, and like them, you are too stubborn to remain in the grave.”
Gudrun’s frown deepened. The Ás woman had read the thoughts right off her face. Too clever indeed. And Loge had clearly told this wench far more of the Niflungar than she had expected. Had he told all the Aesir, or just his woman?
“Clever,” Gudrun repeated aloud. “But not clever enough to keep your mouth shut when you ought. You play at courage, but I can see the fear in your eyes.” Gudrun was an expert in fear, of that, her mother had made damned certain. “So tell me, frightened little girl … Why shouldn’t I just slit your throat and be done with it?”
In truth, she was grateful to Sigyn for her actions. By separating Grimhild from her tome, Sigyn had dealt a blow Gudrun never could have. Embarrassing the queen was an added bonus. Under other circumstances, she might have even liked this Ás wench.
Sigyn pressed back against the tree, a futile attempt to put more space between herself and the knife. “Well, I could have shot you—twice, in fact. Once in the ice cave and once when I stole the book.”
Mercy? Gudrun hadn’t even thought of it, but no arrows had targeted her. And back then, in the ruins, Gudrun had been too frightened of Loge to even consider his woman, but reflecting, she had had a bow then, hadn’t she? “That just proves you are once again not half so clever as you think yourself.” Gudrun shook her head. Sigyn knew far more about her and her people than someone outside their ranks ought. Maybe she was innocent, maybe Sigyn wasn’t a killer. Circumstances of birth, however unfortunate, had made her an enemy.
Sigyn smirked. This bitch was reading her face again, and Gudrun didn’t like that. “If you think yourself so much cleverer, princess, consider this. I am Loge’s woman, as you well suspect. If you harm me, he will hunt you to the ends of Midgard and beyond. He and his blood brother, Odin—yes, your precious Odin—will come for you. Do you want that? Is that risk worth what small satisfaction you’d draw from spilling my blood? On the other hand, if you spare me, you win favor from both men.”
Gudrun sighed. Put that way, the wench was probably right. Sigyn knew too much, but no doubt less than Loge himself. Odin’s blood brother … Hel, did Odin even know the truth about his ally? She shook her head. A question for another time. Killing this woman carried with it plenty of risk and little possible gain, and yet, Loge and Odin had both made themselves her enemies already. Sigyn had not personally done aught to earn her wrath, and Gudrun didn’t believe in killing without purpose.
But neither did she much care for this girl’s cocky grin. The bitch thought she could read her, princess of the Niflungar. Manipulate her? There would be a price for that.
She leaned closer to the Ás woman. “I won’t kill you.”
“What?”
Gudrun sank her dagger into Sigyn’s thigh.
Her shrieks of pain made Gudrun’s hair stand on end. The girl fell over, clutching the wound and wailing. Gudrun hadn’t ever wanted to hear another woman cry out like that again. She’d seen too much of it, felt too much of it herself. This was her mother—Grimhild! Grimhild was getting inside Gudrun, shaping her in her own image. And Gudrun would not have it. She would be a queen of the Niflungar, but not like Grimhild. Never like that.
She moved to retrieve her dagger. What if Sigyn hadn’t had an apple? Gudrun had assumed she had, but … if she removed the dagger, the woman might bleed to death before help arrived. Had she hit an artery? What in Hel’s name was she even thinking?
Damn it. Damn the girl and damn herself and damn Grimhild.
The bitch queen had tried to shape Gudrun and had done so! Grimhild had made Gudrun into something cruel, something like the queen herself.
Gudrun would not be that. Not ever. Her hands trembled as she examined the wound. It didn’t seem to have hit the girl’s artery. She yanked the dagger free as quickly as she could, then pressed Sigyn’s dress against the wound.
“Keep pressure on it.”
What was she doing? Helping this Ás wench? It wasn’t about Sigyn, though; it was about Gudrun, about not being Grimhild.
Gudrun pulled some herbs from her pouch, then forced them into Sigyn’s mouth. “Chew it. It will help with the pain.” Gudrun rose and wrapped the mists around herself, eager to be away. The other Aesir couldn’t see her, she was certain, but Odin would, as might any vӧlva and most likely Loge.
Hel, Grimhild would have been proud of her. Stabbing a frightened girl just to keep her from following. Of course, Grimhild would probably have killed the girl and then enslaved her soul. Small comfort that Gudrun was a measure better than that.
But then … No. She had to stop thinking of Odin as a prize she might one day win. He and Loge were foes to overcome, and to face such foes, she needed every edge possible.
Neither Odin nor Loge would dare act against Gudrun while she held Loge’s beloved. This pathetic, self-righteous girl might prove the key to undoing the fire priest.
“Fetch a draug,” she told the Mist spirit. “Have it bring the girl back to Castle Niflung.”
This Sigyn would prove even more useful than she already had.
Gudrun stalked through the woods, slipping between the fighting Aesir warriors and the draugar, then out into the deeper forest. She had to get away from here, and not just because of the Aesir. Grimhild’s rage would cool, and she’d turn all her vaettir toward finding this book. Gudrun needed somewhere where those spirits would not look. Somewhere Grimhild would not think to search, and she needed it in a hurry. If Grimhild even suspected her daughter had stolen the grimoire—well, Gudrun didn’t want to think on that.
Where would Grimhild not look? Where would she not send her vaettir? The river? Maybe Gudrun could break through the ice and submerge the book. From stories, the book was indestructible, so it shouldn’t harm it. But the current might sweep it away, and Gudrun might never find it again. The mountains perhaps, but she had not time to carry the book so far. She needed an immediate hiding place, somewhere to keep it until she could conceal it at her leisure.
And Grimhild would send her spirits to tear this forest apart looking for it. Looking for Sigyn … Hel, maybe the girl would have been better off if Gudrun had killed her. Assuming Grimhild wouldn’t pull her soul back from the Penumbra to torment her for her crimes. No, she’d have to convince Grimhild to spare the girl, convince her of Sigyn’s value as a bargaining chip.
Sigyn didn’t have the book, but if Grimhild interrogated her … So Gudrun would need to lie, to tell her Sigyn had already admitted to turning the book over to Odin. Or, better still, to his vӧlva wife. Yes. A vӧlva would be the natural choice for the tome. So Grimhild would search everywhere in the Ás fortress and their camps beyond. Every tree, every rock, every … fire? Mist spirits would not dig through the ash of a bonfire: even the memory of flame was hateful to them. And why would they? Grimhild would not even imagine her foes might burn her book. To her, it was the most precious thing on all Midg
ard.
Gudrun slipped into the Ás fortress. Shrouded by mist, none would see her, but the longer she took, the greater the risk. She needed to do this quickly. The Aesir had great bonfires in the courtyard, but once Gudrun approached a fire, her invisibility in the mist would fall away and the Aesir would be able to see her.
Instead, she focused on what she’d seen Grimhild do, shrouding the mist beneath her to solidness and carrying her up, far above the fire. And she let the book fall into the blaze. A few women huddling around it started at the sudden sparks that leapt out, but they wouldn’t see.
A blaze of that size would cover the book in ash. Sooner or later, the Aesir would leave this fortress, and then Gudrun could return and claim what lay buried beneath the soot.
And then … then she would have the power that once belonged to Grimhild.
57
An army of the dead swarmed over the Aesir, breaking down what little remained of their defenses after the constant battles with the trolls. A draug retained the skills of its life, meaning those who were great warriors before had become unstoppable waves of death now.
Even as Odin slew another of the undead, others charged Tyr. No finer warrior graced the Aesir’s ranks, so Odin didn’t fear for his friend. The bone draug Tyr had fought off not long ago seemed a leader among them, for even the dead now hesitated to face Tyr.
At least until another of the bone-helmed ones closed in on Tyr.
Odin impaled the draug before him and flung it off his spear. Ought to slow that thing down a moment. Not sparing a glance at the fallen undead, he rushed one attacking Tyr. Odin’s champion dodged from side to side, barely avoiding the constant slashes, thrusts, and kicks of the undead warriors. Unlike the trolls Odin’s people had become accustomed to fighting, this draug fought with controlled savagery—its strength, complemented by skill, precision.
The draug turned at Odin’s approach. The thing bore armor of sharpened bone, its face concealed by a bone helm, eyes gleaming red beneath it. Even while looking at Odin, it took another swing at Tyr.
Odin lunged forward, a low strike with Gungnir, forcing the draug to fall back. Or so he expected. Instead, it leapt forward over the spear and slammed its shield into Odin’s face and chest. The sudden, violent impact knocked Gungnir from Odin’s hands and sent him toppling to the ground.
Dazed, Odin was barely aware of his foe spinning, swinging its sword down at Tyr. The runeblade parried, though Tyr remained on his knees. The draug’s foot caught Tyr in the face, sending him sprawling. It immediately twisted and leapt back at Odin, leading with a thrust that ought to have skewered him.
Odin rolled to the side, and the draug’s blade whipped around, seamlessly flowing from thrust to a slash that opened Odin’s cheek. A roll carried Odin out of its reach, and it spun back to Tyr, who now launched his own series of attacks.
The distraction gave Odin just enough time to scramble over and retrieve Gungnir. Immediately he thrust the dragon spear at the undead warrior. Now the draug was forced into naught but defense, deflecting attacks with its sword, with its shield, always losing ground.
Even it must see the end approach. And yet, what Odin saw of its face revealed only more hatred, not fear. The draug was the antithesis of life, an abomination that ought to be sent back to Hel.
As are we all …
Odin grimaced at Audr in his mind. The wraith grew ever stronger, every more maddening.
He thrust his spear again, and this time the draug did not parry. Instead, it surged forward into the spear, letting it pierce right through it. The dragon spear punched out the draug’s back and, as its momentum carried the creature forward, pierced so far as to become useless in Odin’s grasp. Too late Odin realized the thing’s intent, as it swung its shield at him and sword at Tyr.
Again the creature’s shield caught him in the face, sending him stumbling back to the ground. Everything spun, and Odin’s ears were ringing.
Tyr. He had to get to Tyr.
An instant later the shield flew at him. Odin dropped flat on the ground, avoiding the projectile. As he rose, the draug yanked Gungnir free with its open hand and almost immediately brought it to bear against Tyr.
Did this abomination mock them?
Odin rose. He had had more than enough of this thing.
Calling upon Audr, Odin stepped in the Penumbra, vanishing from sight. The draug hesitated for a moment, turning to look for him, it’s motions slowing as if it moved through a bog. It was all the time Odin needed. He shoulder-slammed into the creature, knocking it to the ground.
Tyr was on the undead in an instant, driving his blade through its face. “My lord …” Tyr’s breath came in pants. “I think I hate draugar.”
Odin retrieved Gungnir. “Then what say we kill a few more?”
“What have you done?” a woman shouted.
Odin and Tyr both spun at her voice. The woman wore a form-fitting black dress, slit to leave her thighs bare. With her long golden hair, she might have been intoxicating, if not for the troll-skull mask that obscured most of her face.
“Grimhild,” Odin said. Queen of the Niflungar, and the reason for all of this. Once, she had tried to seduce him with flesh and foul Art. Now, she moved to strike them down.
Two more of the bone-armored draugar flanked the woman. They interposed themselves between the Aesir and the sorceress queen.
“Where is it?” Grimhild demanded.
Odin looked at Tyr, who shrugged. “What?” Odin asked. “Your soul? I suspect you traded that long ago.”
Tyr advanced on the bone draugar. “I will handle these things, my lord. Finish her.”
Two of them? Odin had to admire Tyr’s bravado. “No. We do this together.”
“Yes,” Grimhild said. “Die together!”
The draugar charged forward, one at each of them.
He had no time for this. Odin stepped again into the Penumbra. The draug hesitated an instant, then, through Odin’s Sight, snapped into focus once again and began heading right for him.
“Well, damn,” Odin mumbled. Apparently draugar could return to the Penumbra or had something along the lines of the Sight.
He stepped back to the Mortal Realm. The uselessness of his ploy did not stop Audr from tightening his grasp around Odin’s mind, like a serpent slithering its way up his spine and into his brain. It took all his will to beat the wraith down.
“Kill them!” Grimhild shouted.
Odin felt the air condense, then twisted to the side as an icicle the size of a spear launched from Grimhild at his head.
Fighting both wraith and draug would prove too much—one of them would have him.
And then a wave of heat crashed over Odin at nigh to the same instant a horrendous crash rent the air. The rush of wind threw him and the draug both to the ground. Odin could hear naught but the high-pitched whine now filling his ears. He tried to push himself up, but only managed to roll over.
Had Grimhild …?
The draug by Tyr was now a pile of smoldering bone. The mist had burned away to steam in a clearing ten paces around the pile, and everyone, Grimhild and the other draug included, was struggling to regain their feet.
Everyone save Loki, who stood with his arms wide, looking over the scene. He held a torch in each hand, though one had gone out.
“B-brother?” Odin mumbled.
Loki spoke, but Odin couldn’t make out any words over the whine in his ears. How had Loki done that? Odin had never asked what power the apple had given him. Or was this some fell sorcery? At the moment, it didn’t matter.
The draug engaging Odin regained his feet even before him, once again advancing.
Odin grabbed Gungnir, drawing in its strength, using it to help him fight back Audr. His hearing returned with it, albeit slowly.
As the draug advanced on Odin, Loki stepped up beside him, tossing away the extinguished torch. From the other, flames began to spin, then leap and dance up Loki’s arm, coalescing into a ball in his opposite
hand.
Gods above and below, he looked like some horror born of Muspelheim.
“Go and face her,” Loki said. “I will hold off the fallen Bragning champion.”
The draug lunged at Loki, but Odin’s blood brother spun, whipping flame around in an arc. The creature immediately fell back, clearly frightened by the fires. Flame. Enemy of Mist, as Niflheim and Muspelheim annihilated each other. Lessons Gudrun had taught him swept through the back of Odin’s mind.
Loki had bought him time. Time enough to finish Grimhild, and that was what he needed to do.
Tyr was trying to rise, but his strength had failed him. It fell to Odin. Without another look, Odin ran for the sorceress queen. Loki could clearly take care of himself.
Grimhild had regained her feet as well, her gaze drawn by Loki and the final bone draug’s standoff. As Odin neared, she turned to him, her hatred magnified. Not a hint of fear. Not yet. “I will finish you myself.”
Odin advanced on her. “Surrender now, sorceress. Your army is occupied, and you cannot hope to overcome me alone.”
“Fool. How do you think I built an army?” Grimhild vanished, disappearing into the mist.
Odin immediately embraced Sight, revealing her location, and continued his slow advance. “You cannot hide from me.”
“I am the chosen of Hel. I need not hide.” Grimhild reached a hand toward him.
Odin rolled to the side as another icicle spear launched from Grimhild’s hand.
“You think immortality enough, my little king?” Grimhild asked. “You think you know aught of the Art?”
Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him to his knees. He turned and saw the mist itself had coalesced into a club that again swung at him. Odin dove to the side, then roared in pain as an icicle lanced through his side. He scrambled away, trailing blood in the snow, and looked to Loki, still engaged with the draug, though he cast a glance Odin’s way. No. This was Odin’s fight.