by Matt Larkin
13
T he growing ache in her shoulders began to overwhelm the throbbing pain in her head and back. Hervor cracked open one eye. The other seemed crusted shut with blood and wouldn’t respond. Manacles bound her wrists and strung her up from the ceiling. She was in a cell of some sort, lit—barely lit—by candles on a shelf along the wall.
Afrid was there too, still unconscious from the look of her, and strung up just like Hervor.
A closed metal door shut them in here.
“I can smell that you wake.” The words came from shadows beside the door. A man strode forward, the very faint glimmer of candlelight reflecting off his eyes. He wore a robe, elaborate as Tanna’s had been, but cut in a different style. Indeed, this one’s facial features were different, his skin darker, more like Afzal’s had been, though it seemed unlikely he was a Serklander if the two empires were at war.
Hervor grunted in discomfort. “Are you one of them?”
“Them?” The shadowy figure chuckled .
Of course he was one of them. With her head all fuzzy, she was asking pointless questions. “You work for Tanna?”
Now the vampire’s expression turned into a sneer. “You are here to answer questions, not to ask them. Tell me what you are doing in Miklagard.”
“Ugh. Selling wolf pelts.” She looked up at her chains. “Clearly they’re not in fashion here, though.”
“Arete.”
“Huh?” Hervor asked.
A faint disturbance in the air as something passed close behind her, then a female form took shape.
“The next words I hear from her shall be the truth,” the vampire said.
“Of course,” the female said.
Come to think of it, they were speaking Northern. So that whole exchange was for her benefit. Meaning …
The lord—another Patriarch, probably—threw open the door and left, not bothering to shut it behind him. They didn’t feel the need to lock their victims inside. Because they knew a human woman would never overpower a vampire?
“So,” Hervor said. “In my land, the best way to get to know new friends is over drinks.”
Arete—assuming that was her name—smiled, revealing fangs. “As you wish.” She leaned in close to Hervor’s face. Brushed her cheek along Hervor’s arm. They’d removed her mail, she suddenly realized. Made sense they’d have taken it with her runeblade.
The female vampire snatched Hervor’s sleeve. A single jerk of her hand tore the seams and the sleeve came away. Arete pulled it up, exposing Hervor’s left biceps. Without further warning, the vampire bit down on Hervor’s arm.
Her fangs punched through flesh with ease, scraped the bone, even .
Hervor shrieked at the burning, piercing agony of it. For an instant. Then it felt like the creature was sucking all the warmth right out of her. Ice welled in Hervor’s chest. So cold her scream died in her throat. It felt like her very life was fading away, consumed and devoured with each passing heartbeat. And even her heart began to slow.
“Hel’s fucking arse cheeks!” Afrid shouted, the sound muffled, far away.
Arete jerked away, blood dribbling from her lips and down her chin. She licked at it with a bright red tongue, smiled, fluttering her eyes like she was on the verge of a climax.
Hervor convulsed, unable to still shivers that seized her. So cold …
“So …” Arete ran her thumb over her chin, mopping up more blood, then sucked on it. “Lord Nikolaos asked you a question.”
“What was the fucking question?” Afrid asked.
Arete snickered and drifted over to the other shieldmaiden. “Why? Do you have the answer? You weren’t the one with the runeblade …” She leaned in close and sniffed Afrid’s neck. “Still. I’m deeply interested to know more about you.”
“Huh. Well, unless you have a cock the size of a bear’s, I’m probably not interested in you being so close.”
Arete chuckled, shaking her head. “How deliciously vulgar you North Realmers are. A cock? No. But I have a skillful tongue. There’s actually quite excellent blood flow in your nethers. A little nip where your thigh meets the groin and we could know each other so very well. People have been known to beg for it, after a while …”
Hervor finally managed to blink her other eye open, though everything was hazy from her blood loss. “Leave her alone.”
Arete trailed a long nail over Afrid’s cheek, drawing a line of blood as she did so. Afrid grimaced but didn’t cry out.
That was enough. “Listen, you sick, dead bitch—” Hervor began.
In a heartbeat Arete was there, holding Hervor’s chin so tight it felt like her jaw bones would crack. “I want you to understand something, Northerner. I could pry open your teeth with one hand and rip out your tongue with the other to leave you choking to death on your own blood. Lord Nikolaos would forgive that. He’s got lots more of you to interrogate. The local man. The pompous one.” She sneered. “The filthy dog . The one with a dead eye.”
Starkad.
“Oh,” Arete said. “Oh, is that one special to you? Hmm.” She stalked back over to Afrid. Then she punched her in the gut.
Afrid seized up, clearly trying to double over and unable to do so. Breath exploded from her mouth, followed by wheezing. Gurgling. Coughing out blood in great heaving splatters.
“And does this one matter to you, too?” Arete shrugged. “We have all night if that’s what it takes. Or I can bring in the man you care for. Maybe break a few bones. Or would it be harder for you to watch if I drain him dry?”
The thought of that set an even colder chill growing in her gut. She couldn’t lose Starkad. Not like this.
Arete dug a nail into Afrid’s shoulder. The woman squealed, sucking in breaths that obviously pained her.
“Enough,” Hervor said. “Enough. What do you want?”
Arete’s hand only tightened on Afrid’s shoulder. “Why are you in Miklagard?” Hervor could barely hear the vampire over Afrid’s screams of agony.
“We came to steal Tanna’s runeblade.”
The vampire released Afrid, whose screams rapidly became whimpers. “Runeblade?”
“The sword he carries. It was forged during the time of the Old Kingdoms, by dvergar. We came to reclaim it.”
Arete licked the tips of her lips then strode for the door. She flung it open and slammed it behind her, leaving Hervor and Afrid alone in the candlelight.
Afrid was sobbing now, but after losing so much blood, Hervor found it damn hard to focus on aught. She just needed a little rest …
Maybe she dozed—or fainted—because when the door flew open again, Hervor jolted. How much time had passed? Arete hardly glanced at her. The vampire leapt to the wall and stuck on it. She climbed up the surface like a godsdamned spider, transferred to the ceiling, and crawled along that too.
What the fuck?
The vampire grabbed Hervor’s chains off the metal hook they dangled from, hefted her up, then let her drop to the floor. Hervor collapsed, too weak to even consider trying to escape. The sudden removal of the pain in her arms only served to remind her how much they ached.
Arete next dropped Afrid, who crumpled into a heap. Blood was still oozing from the wound on the woman’s shoulder.
Before Hervor could even say aught to the other shieldmaiden, the vampire dropped off the ceiling and landed between them. She grabbed each of them by an arm, yanked them to their feet, and began dragging them along with her.
Hervor struggled to walk, if only to avoid the indignity of being hauled like a carcass. Afrid seemed to be faring little better.
The vampire guided the pair of them along a dimly lit corridor for several dozen feet before shoving them through an open door. They both stumbled, pitched to the floor, and landed on hands and knees.
Groaning, Hervor lifted her head. The room within was cleaner than anywhere else down in these sewers, if still unadorned stone. Nikolaos sat in an ornate chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming on the armre
sts.
“Hervor,” Starkad said, coming to her side and helping her up.
Höfund moved to help Afrid, but she shoved him away, glaring at Nikolaos.
Hervor leaned on Starkad, too fucking tired to care overmuch on pride anymore.
The others were there, too, standing against the side wall. Vebiorg’s hands were behind her back. Manacled? So the vampires respected the varulf’s strength enough to keep her bound, while fearing naught from the humans.
“So,” Nikolaos said. “I am given to understand you came to Miklagard because of a grievance against my fellow Patriarch.”
Starkad grunted, maybe surprised.
Maybe Hervor shouldn’t have said aught, but it seemed better to be out with it than get tortured more and then reveal the truth anyway. Or to have to watch Arete torture Starkad.
Win almost snarled at the Patriarch. “Tanna has dared strike against lands under the protection of the Aesir. He has badly overreached himself.”
Nikolaos snickered. “It seems to me you are the ones who overreached at the moment.”
Win spat. How princely of him. “Even if we fail, others will come. The Aesir will not let your corruption spread across Midgard.”
Now Nikolaos broke into a full chuckle, shaking his head. “Blood of Kvasir, human! Who do you think you are? Your precious, dear Ás king himself was here not a moon back. He fled, bloody and weak, no doubt hiding on his far-flung islands.”
“Blasphemous lies!” Win shouted.
Odin had come here? Had fought these creatures? Had … lost?
Even Starkad seemed shaken, had drawn in a sharp breath at Nikolaos’s comments. No, the vampire lord didn’t seem to be lying. But Hervor found it hard to fathom or credence that a god could have come here and failed. Would that not make the Patriarchs themselves … gods?
Nikolaos leaned back, clearly not interested in disputing his claims with Win. His smirk said it all.
Arete, meanwhile, stalked in front of the crew, looking each up and down with a sneer. “They cannot do it. Most of them are human .” The sheer contempt with which she said the last word left Hervor reeling. How far removed this creature must have been from her own humanity.
Or … well, Hervor was assuming that like draugar, vampires had once been human. Perhaps they were aught else entirely. Hardly mattered, really.
“Cannot do what?” Baruch asked.
Nikolaos’s smug grin only deepened. “If outsiders came here and slew Tanna, it might open opportunities for those Patriarchs who remained. Voids in the structure of society. No such void can long exist, and thus, those who are most prepared would be best able to take advantage.”
Starkad grunted. “You mean you want us to kill Tanna so you can move in on his territory.”
“A vast oversimplification of political structures more ancient and more complicated than you might begin to fathom, mortal.”
Maybe it was Hervor’s imagination, but it seemed Arete cast an almost concealed glance between Starkad and Nikolaos. Something hidden, even from her lord?
“Suppose we could do it,” Starkad said. “What would you offer us?”
“Your lives and freedom.”
Hervor groaned. “Just let us leave. Coming here was a mistake.”
Arete snorted at that. “I can see what he sees in you, shieldmaiden. You have utterly mastered the blisteringly obvious.”
Hervor glared at the female vampire but had little energy to do aught more.
“Last time we faced Tanna, things went amiss,” Starkad said. Kind of understating it, wasn’t he? “What can you offer us to ensure our success?”
“A hidden route into his palace.”
“His tower?”
Nikolaos waved that away. “You think he owns but one dwelling in the whole of the city? No. You are more like to catch him unawares if you strike in a different location. Even now, he has his agents hunting you. Had they found you before mine stumbled upon you, you would be having this conversation with him. Tanna might be less amenable to your mission than myself. Considerably so. ”
No. No. No. “This is mist-madness,” she whispered to Starkad. “We’ve lost enough. Let us flee this place.”
Nikolaos quirked an eyebrow as if he’d heard that. “What will it be, then?”
Starkad blew out a long breath. “We agree to your terms.”
The vampire lord uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “I will have an oath on your blood that you will not leave this city until the deed is done.”
“So be it,” Starkad said.
Arete drew close to him then snatched his wrist. He grimaced as she bit down.
Starkad held up his arm, allowing blood to dribble down it to the floor. “I give you my oath on my own blood, I will not leave Miklagard until I have slain Lord Tanna.”
Nikolaos chuckled. “Wonderful. Let us begin.”
14
Two Moons Ago
N o one could much deny hard times had fallen on Holmgard. Worse even than when last Hervor had come through, some two years back. The population seemed shrunken, less than before. Maybe too many had died, maybe they’d begun to abandon this colony, come back to Sviarland.
Word of Gylfi’s death would’ve reached them by now, maybe made things worse. The sorcerer king had ordered this colony founded. After his son-in-law died, Rollaugr’s father had come to power and the kingdom had flourished—more or less. But now, so many houses stood empty. Boats left in disrepair. Some buildings had logs missing from them, like people had just claimed them for firewood.
Despite it all, Rollaugr received them warmly, offering up a table of fresh perch and mead—if the latter seemed a bit watery to Hervor’s taste. The king himself sat across the table from them, barely touching his own food so intent was he on watching Starkad .
Höfund tore into his plate with his usual relish, slobbering like a wolf with a fresh kill. She’d mostly gotten used to it, anyway. Still, she’d avoided letting him catch her alone on the voyage here. It wasn’t hard—longships didn’t offer overmuch in the way of privacy. Even Höfund seemed wise enough not to mention his proposal for her hand in front of the crew.
Hervor took another swig of the disappointing mead before passing it to a green-eyed shieldmaiden beside her.
A slave whispered something in the king’s ear and he nodded, offered some answer Hervor couldn’t catch. Rollaugr looked apt to burst from his request, but tradition dictated he offer guests food before business, and he was clearly a man of tradition.
“Is it true you bear a runeblade, shieldmaiden?” he asked.
Damn. Did he know it for the very blade once held by this same kingdom? Hervor struggled to keep her face neutral. “I do.”
“I might very much like to see it. Perhaps when you have eaten.”
She stared at her fish.
Starkad grunted and shoved his plate away. “I for one have had my fill. Tell me, king, why did you send Höfund for us?”
Before Rollaugr could answer, another man strode into the hall. A young man, with travel-worn clothes and armor bearing the scuffs of battle. The king rose and embraced the young man, who returned the gesture. It was a moment before either of them looked back to Starkad. When Rollaugr did, he outstretched a hand toward the other man. “My son, Win, just returned from the front lines.”
“Front lines?” Hervor asked. “Are you at war?” Numerous petty jotunn kings had carved up most of Bjarmaland between them, but, so far as she knew, none had yet invaded Holmgard. If they had, she didn’t see how the kingdom would yet be standing at all.
“At war, yes,” Win said. “Soldiers of Miklagard strike out further and further with each passing summer. We had to hold our outposts in the south until we were certain they’d retired for the winter. When the snows melt …” Win looked to his father. “We cannot hold out another season.”
Miklagard? The great South Realmer empire was the stuff of legend as far as Hervor knew.
“They push out from Kaunos?�
�� Starkad asked.
“Yes, but that’s only a staging ground for these godless barbarians. The real threat comes from the city of Miklagard itself. So removed they think themselves untouchable.”
Rollaugr cleared his throat. “We rather hope you can prove them wrong.”
Starkad grunted. “You mean to mount an attack on the city of Miklagard itself? That bespeaks mist-madness, king, if you’ll forgive my bluntness. Even could we muster all the warriors of Sviarland, I doubt we could take and hold that city.”
Win sat at the table beside his father. “We need neither sack nor hold Miklagard. With Odin’s blessing, we need merely strike a blow against them such that they realize we are not helpless prey. Let them set their ambitions elsewhere and leave us in peace.”
Hervor frowned. “What possible blow do you imagine will dissuade them?”
Win glanced her way and quirked a smile, though no hint of mirth reached his eyes. “We know their empire is governed by leaders they call Patriarchs. One of these, Lord Tanna, is responsible for Kaunos and the incursions made through there.”
“You aim to murder him,” Starkad said, voice so flat Hervor couldn’t guess whether he approved or not.
“I aim to bring the wrath of the Aesir down them,” Win said. “Reports claim Tanna holds a sword of the North Realms. One of dire strength, engraved with strange markings the Miklagardians do not understand.”
Starkad leaned forward. “A runeblade?”
Odin’s stones. If there was any chance of not doing this, it was gone now. Hervor rubbed her temples. Starkad would never pass up the chance to claim his own runeblade.
“It stands to reason,” Rollaugr said. “We want you to infiltrate Miklagard and kill Tanna. Then we hope his replacement is more timid.”
Starkad rubbed his palms together and glanced at Hervor. She could shake her head. Could try to talk him out of this—it was clearly mist-madness. The Holmgarders weren’t trying to hire him to fight a battle or hold off any enemy. They were sending him well beyond known lands into Odin alone knew what. But Starkad would never back down. Never could, maybe. So what point in her arguing with him over it?