by Matt Larkin
The fanged man stepped up onto the wall and began walking along it toward Starkad, mouth wide. Oh, fuck this. Starkad spun, raced for the rail, and jumped. Let Win follow if he wasn’t an imbecile.
Wind rushed past his face.
For a moment, he thought he’d fall short. But he crashed down just over the building’s lip, rolled with it, and still slammed hard enough into the ground to knock his breath away.
As he rolled over, he saw Win try the jump. He didn’t make it nigh as far, but Höfund released the grapple line and lunged out, catching the prince’s wrist and heaving him on the building.
“What happened?” Höfund asked. “Did you kill Tanna?”
“No!” Hervor said, seeming hard pressed to gain her feet. “Now fucking run.”
Shouts were up all over the area.
Some of the guards had climbed up on the rail to try the jump themselves.
Starkad scrambled to his own feet and dashed forward. The others were racing toward the next rooftop. It was one of those long ones, stretching out along the river, but angled.
Not ideal for jumping onto. Not that anyone of them had the least choice in the matter. Starkad raced for it, cleared the gap, and landed on the incline. His boots skidded a foot or so before he caught himself with one hand. Pushing off the tiles, he took off running again.
Hervor and Win were just ahead of him. No sign of Vebiorg, Baruch, or Afrid.
He glanced back. The other fanged abomination effortlessly made the jump from the balcony, landed in a crouch, and advanced on without hesitation.
Damn it!
Starkad raced forward, looking for the next rooftop. They had to lose that thing somehow.
Had to stay ahead of it.
Because Tanna had torn through his crew like a butcher.
7
H ervor jumped to another rooftop, landed wrong, and slid. Her knee cracked down on a shingle, dislodged the tile and sent it crashing down.
Win yanked her up by the elbow. “This way!” He was pointing around the bend created by a second tier on the current roof. No time to argue, really.
Hervor let the prince guide her. Win dashed around the bend, then scrambled off at an angle away from the river. Hervor was too fucking turned about to be sure, but she thought this route was taking them farther from the apartment where she needed to meet the others.
Hardly mattered, though. Anywhere was better than here.
Win leapt to another building, slightly lower than this one, landed in a crouch, and dashed forward.
Panting, Hervor chased after the prince. Odin’s godsdamned stones. She knew coming to this city had been a mistake. What the hideous blood-drinking fuck were those things? Like draugar, almost, but Tanna had looked human.
Win scurried over the next rooftop, dislodging a hail of tiles that came crashing onto the cobbled street below. No one down there to get hurt, but the noise of it seemed like to attract—
Dust billowed up before Win in a cloud bigger than he was. A red gleam rose up in that cloud, and then the cloud congealed into a man. Another fanged monstrosity.
Win turned so quick he toppled over sideways, rolled off the roof, and pitched down into the street below.
Troll shit!
Hervor twisted, looked down. A merchant stall stood just below her. With a glance at their attacker—now striding straight for her—Hervor leapt off. Landed on the stall’s roof. The thin wood cracked under her feet. A single heartbeat, then she plunged through. Splinters scraped her arms and face as she dropped down into the ruined stall.
The second fall knocked the breath out of her. Everything was hazy for a moment. Groaning, Hervor scrambled out to the street and caught a glimpse of Win disappearing into an alley. Off-balance, she blundered after the man, hit her shoulder on the narrow alley wall, bounced off it, and kept running.
A hand lurched out from a tiny space between two buildings, grabbed her, and jerked her inside. She was wedged in so tight she could hardly move. But Win was still squeezing through.
Hervor’s heart was beating all out of control. Over her shoulder, Tyrfing caught on the wall, scraping, making too damn much noise. She tried to reach for the hilt, but couldn’t get her arm up. No choice but onward.
This narrow passage let out into another alley. Hervor had not the merest clue where they were. Whole place was a fucking maze.
Win was already darting down another narrow passage, running blind, Hervor had no doubt. But she didn’t have a better plan. Who knew how close that thing was?
She chased after Win. This passage opened back out into another market street. Shit, maybe the same one, who knew?
Win glanced around, then back over his shoulder. “Aesir preserve us.”
The prince took off across the street, forcing Hervor to follow. He wasn’t paying enough attention, had let fear take him.
There was a figure in the street, a man in a cloak, so not the same creature. One of Tanna’s other men, maybe. And turning their way.
Hervor grabbed Win from behind and threw the both of them rolling into another merchant stall. She slapped a hand over Win’s mouth and pulled him in close.
The man in the street looked around as if he’d heard them. Turned in their direction. His eyes gleamed red. His face was rotting. But she knew it. Orvar-Oddr.
Of all the godsdamn bad timing possible … Why now? Odin’s bulging stones, why now ? How did the bastard even know she was in Miklagard?
Win wriggled, had maybe suddenly realized he was looking at a draug.
Hervor pulled him tighter, low, so they could hardly even see out the edge of the stall. If Orvar hadn’t seen them yet, maybe …
The draug stalked closer. Looked about. Passed so nigh Hervor could smell the stench of decay off him.
She clenched her own teeth to keep them from chattering. Willed her wild heartbeat under control. Couldn’t let him find her. Not now. Maybe he’d kill her, maybe not. He’d sure as Hel kill Win, though, and probably torture Hervor .
All she had to do to end this was kill him, though. Just draw Tyrfing, close the distance, and stab him in the back. She’d done it when he was alive. Except now, he was stronger and faster than ever.
And she couldn’t make her treacherous hand release Win to grab the sword. She was holding on to him to steady herself as much as to keep Win still.
Every time she’d tried to fight the Arrow’s Point, he’d hurt her. Years of it. She couldn’t beat him. He was too strong. If Höfund was here …
With a start, Hervor realized it wasn’t Win trembling in her arms, it was herself.
Because Orvar had turned her craven.
“I-I think this is the way,” Win mumbled for the third time. He’d been muttering under his breath about Tveggi from almost the moment they’d left that merchant’s stall.
By all rights, Hervor should have been the one leading them back to the apartment. Starkad had more or less declared her his second, true. But right now, Hervor just couldn’t quite make her brain work, much less her body or heart.
Dumbly, she followed behind Win. All this felt like some waking nightmare. She could only assume Tanna and his men were some new kind of draugar. As if Hervor had not had enough of the deathless abominations on Thule and in the years following it.
On that cursed ship she had somehow sailed into the Otherworlds and never, ever, been able to pull free of them. They had their grasp on her and would not let go.
“There,” Win said. “I definitely recognize those stalls. ”
“How can you even tell with all the goods removed?”
“Trust me.”
Hervor shrugged. Maybe the prince did know something. Either way, it seemed as good a course as any. She followed him until, indeed, the back alleys did start to look familiar, if more eerie in the night and deserted of all life.
Deserted … Everyone fled the streets before nightfall here. Because they knew . Even if they didn’t know exactly what prowled the night, they knew somethin
g did. And Baruch was from this city. Even as a child, shouldn’t he have known?
Win took a wrong turn, and they had to double back before they came to the apartment Baruch had rented for them. The door was shut, but voices sounded within. Hervor eased open the door.
Starkad had his hands on the hilts of his swords at her intrusion. “Hervor. I feared …” He shook himself.
Hervor stepped inside, followed by Win. Höfund was there, and Afrid, huddling in a corner and trembling, arms wrapped around her knees. Beside her sat Vebiorg, with a blanket wrapped around her waist and another draped over her shoulders. No spare clothes?
“Where’s Baruch?” Hervor asked.
“We’re not sure,” Starkad said. “Maybe he didn’t make it. There were soldiers all over the city. And more of those creatures stalking us.”
Hervor grimaced. “He’s the only one who knows aught about this cursed place. Without him—”
“Tanna has the runeblade, Mistilteinn,” Starkad said. “It’s the last of them still lost to the North Realms. We have to claim that.”
“And kill Tanna,” Win said. “As long as he lives— ”
“Lives?” Afrid asked. “He seemed to me more like a draug.”
“Indeed,” Win said, “but do not interrupt me again. Of all the shocking things, we saw an actual draug on the streets. One of Tanna’s minions, no doubt, assuming the locals don’t keep the things as pets. Through the grace of Odin alone, he didn’t see us.”
Starkad frowned. What was he thinking? He couldn’t know aught about Orvar-Oddr … He couldn’t. “I had reason to believe some ancient, fell powers lurked in the city, though I didn’t know—”
“Someone’s coming,” Vebiorg said. She sniffed the air. “Baruch.”
“Odin be praised,” Win mumbled. “We’ve lost enough people already. We lost …”
Everyone fell silent.
Tveggi had trained Win, hadn’t he? Like Gunther had taught Hervor, except the prince seemed to have appreciated the man even before he was dead. Loved him, the way she ought to have loved her tutor with the sword. But then, Hervor had always been an ungrateful bitch. And now it was too late to make it up to Gunther or anyone else. All she had left was Grandfather and Starkad.
Hervor wished she had aught to say that might comfort Win. She’d lost enough friends to know naught would.
Baruch flung open the door. “They’ve found us.”
Vebiorg growled, already on her feet and stalking out the door, axe in hand.
“Gods damn it,” Afrid said. “They really ought to warn travelers in the harbor about this place. Enter at your own risk. The locals will kill and eat you.”
“Everyone up,” Starkad snapped. “Move. ”
How the fuck had they found them so quickly? What was going on in this city?
Baruch beckoned everyone onward, waving as the crew piled out of the apartment one by one. “This way. There’s a grate to the sewers down the alley.”
“What are sewers?” Hervor asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Baruch said. “Just move.” He led them scrambling down the next alley. Vebiorg dashed past him. “Wait!” he called. The man paused at a metal grate in the middle of the ground. Knelt and grabbed it, clearly straining to heft it up.
Höfund grabbed hold of it, yanked it up, then wrinkled his nose. “Smells like rank shit down there.”
“Accurate enough,” Baruch said. “Jump in.”
“Sure,” said Afrid. “But how about you tell us your real plan.”
Baruch shook his head and slid down the circular hole, landing below with a slight splash.
Hervor glanced at Starkad.
“Do it,” he snapped. “All of you.”
Afrid grimaced. “No, really. I think it’s probably filthy down there. I’d like to request a new option.”
Hervor slid down onto her arse and let her legs dangle. “Your other option is getting eaten.” Then she dropped down into the dark tunnel beneath.
She landed in muck up to her ankles. The stench almost bowled her over.
Baruch was ahead, had already lit a torch. The tunnel itself was arched, with holes in the upper reaches every so often, from which dribbled more streams of filth.
Odin’s stones. What possessed men to build this?
“The rain washes some of it down,” Baruch said, as if she had actually asked. “Keeps the city above from drowning in its own waste. Nicer homes have pits that drop directly in here.”
“Pits?”
“Holes where people can shit down.”
He was serious, wasn’t he?
Behind her, she heard the others dropping down into these sewers.
“Keep moving,” Starkad said. “With luck, they won’t know we’ve come down here. It’ll be hard for them to track us.”
Hervor shook her head. Mist-madness had brought her here. And now, all she wanted was a way out.
8
Three Moons Ago
T he Yngling hall in Upsal sat on the edge of the Fyris Wood, uncomfortably close to marshland, really. Still, that same supposedly haunted forest had covered their approach. Her and Starkad and Lennius. Not Aun, of course. The Yngling lacked the stones to even come and watch the holmgang, much less fight it himself.
And now here they were, back in the hall of Hervor’s former enemies.
Ole was a big man, sprawled over the throne like he couldn’t be bothered to act royal. Maybe in his youth he’d been fit, but by now he’d earned a gut that bespoke too much mead. Still had arms that looked fit to snap a tree trunk in half, though.
The king had welcomed them warm enough, even offered them food from his table and mead to drink. Kind of made Starkad’s purpose here sit even less well with Hervor. She sat at the table beside Lennius while Starkad bantered with the king he’d come here to murder .
All of it a sham.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Starkad said. “Urd favors you of late.”
Ole chuckled. “Urd is a fickle bitch, as you well know. One day she’s got her mouth around your cock, and the next you know, you're the one on your knees.”
Hervor snorted at that. Poor bastard had no idea how right he was.
Starkad scratched at his beard. “Unfortunately, that’s why I’m here.”
Ole slapped a meaty palm on his armrest. “So! Urd been mistreating you, my friend?” The king inclined his head to where Lennius sat. “Not keeping the best of company, I see, though. Does make a man wonder at your purpose here.”
Now Hervor’s lover shrugged. “I rather think it makes the purpose obvious enough.”
“Argh. Maybe it does, at that. But then, who’s to say I shouldn’t just have my men cut his head off and be done with it?”
Oh. That wasn’t good. Because if Ole was going to have Lennius killed, it seemed more like than not he might try the same with her and Starkad. Hervor shifted just a little, making sure Tyrfing was in easy reach.
Starkad cast a wary glance at her and offered the barest shake of his head. Man knew what she was thinking. “You start murdering your guests, you’re like to find yourself with fewer friends and more enemies.”
The king scoffed. “Can’t say that sounds much different than where I’m seeing myself now, friends turning against me.”
“The difference is, I’m offering you a fair fight. One on one—a holmgang. The old way. You win, you keep your honor and everyone knows you bested Aun’s champion. ”
Now Ole snorted. “And if I lose, I’m fucking dead. Can’t say as that’s overly tempting.”
“You lose and maybe you see Valhalla. We both know you’ve got the stones to make it a good fight, one way or the other. But if you back down from the challenge …”
“You’re a right bastard, Eightarms. Trying to put me in a position like that.”
Starkad nodded. “You’re probably right. But did you really think you could come and take away a man’s kingdom without it costing you aught? Especially if you were
fool enough to let that king escape.”
“You think I didn’t try? Little shit-eater crawled behind Gylfi’s skirts. Would you’ve had me march on Dalar too now? Couldn’t have done. Not when that sorcerer was alive, leastwise.”
Wait, what?
Starkad faltered. “Gylfi?”
Ole chuckled. “Oh, you didn’t hear that already? Word came this very day he was murdered down in Skane, torn down by varulfur. Hardly clear what’s happened, but some are blaming Siggeir Wolfsblood.” Now the man lurched to his feet, his throne groaning as he did so. Standing, he was even more impressive. Practically a snow bear. “See, nobody makes war in winter. So for now, Aun is safe in Dalar, stewing in his own piss and trembling like a fucking trench. Come summer, maybe I’ll take your advice and finish what I’ve started.”
“Gylfi … is truly dead?”
The big man shrugged, his gut jiggling with the motion. “Seems even sorcerers can’t stave off death forever. It comes to us all, Eightarms. But you’ve the truth of it … I can’t rightly refuse your challenge without looking a craven before my own men. And we both know I’m no craven. ”
“We do indeed.”
“Tomorrow, then. Not dawn. I wouldn’t wake that early for Odin his godsdamned self. But in the morn, by the wood. And Eightarms? I’ll see you get the funeral you deserve. A proper pyre and all that. Some of us remember old friendships. You faithless wretch.”
Hervor stood on the edge of the holmgang circle. Most times, men preferred to do this the old way, on an island. Here, though, everyone was so eager to see it done, they’d just formed a ring of torches stuck in the snow, maybe fifteen feet across.
A tight space, truth be told.
Especially considering Ole the Strong seemed to take up half the damn circle himself with his bulk. The man beat an oversized axe against his shield, that too, larger than average.
Starkad circled around him, swords in hand, a wolf stalking a mammoth. Usually, Hervor would have counted that a stupid fucking wolf. Still, Starkad was light on his feet, limber next to Ole’s plodding tromp. Starkad clanked his swords together in acknowledgement.