by Matt Larkin
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
O rvar-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!”
“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.
She whipped Tyrfing around in an arc, hoping to keep Starkad at bay. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Urd brought us invariably here.” Starkad stalked forward, his own blade now steadied with his other hand, mirroring her posture. “It demanded this from us. The strands of fate bound us to this end, maybe from before either of us was even born. I tried … to think I could master urd. But it held me in its grasp, just as Odin promised. I denied him, like a fool.”
“You sound like one now.” Urd was one thing, but Starkad wasn’t making any sense. “We still have choices.”
He roared, coming in with rapid swings, though the fatigue had slowed him a bit. Hervor concentrated only on parrying. Tyrfing gave her additional stamina to carry on where she otherwise might have faltered. She had to count on that now.
Orvar’s maddening cackles echoed around the room, interspersed by the clang of metal on metal and the heavy panting coming from her and Starkad. Again and again his blade passed a hairsbreadth from her flesh. A fell rage had taken him, a madness Orvar had engendered in him.
And she had lost him.
The thought—the utter certainty—hit her like a blow from a jotunn’s club. It hammered her mind down into pitiful numbness, unable to form a thought, even as her body continued to fight on reflex. A numbness and a rage of her own. Burning, searing at what she had lost.
At a future turned to ash by the Arrow’s Point.
At her worst fear come to light.
Shrieking, she whipped Tyrfing up to parry. The runeblade tore through Starkad’s other sword and continued up, cleaving into his chin and out the front of his mouth.
He toppled backward, moaning and clutching a hand to the spot where she’d half severed his jaw. He was on the ground, writhing.
Dying.
Tyrfing’s poison would do its work.
No.
No.
Fucking no!
Orvar’s hysterical cackles now drowned out even the sound of Starkad’s whimpers of pain. Odin’s … Oh … gods … what had she done?
She stared aghast at Tyrfing, blood trickling down into its runes. It demanded blood. Always, always blood. Never sated.
Starkad fell to his back, thrashed. Convulsed. Poisoned …
Oh fuck … oh gods no …
Hervor backed away, unable to bear the horrid sight of what she’d done. Her lover … her beloved … her future … dying.
“Hel take you all!” she shrieked and flung Tyrfing to the floor. It slid along the stone, flames winking out.
Urd … he had said.
Urd.
The fate of the damned. Like her. Like them all. Damned, all along.
Unable to still her frantic breaths, Hervor fled down the nearest tunnel.
Damned, because hope had always been a lie.
Part III
Eleventh Moon
Year 31, Age of the Aesir
24
R ivers of agony surged through Starkad’s veins as he writhed on the floor, unable to still the convulsions even as he cracked his skull on the stone over and over. The runeblade’s poison arced through him in burning pulses.
It ought to have killed him by now.
Like in the Otherworlds. He’d wanted to die. Ought to have died, over and over.
His tremors eased just enough that he managed a feeble groan. A gasp of pain.
An agonizing, failed attempt to roll over onto his side. Followed by more wretched, burning breaths.
The dim awareness that blood was oozing from his split jaw. That the bone hung loose, half-severed on one side.
A figure crouched over him. Rotting, as dead as Starkad soon should be. Almost as dead. Orvar-Oddr. A fallen friend … “You’re dying, Eightarms. Slowly, in agony, poisoned by both the runeblade and its viperous owner.”
All Starkad could do was grunt. Any attempt to move his jaw resulted in fresh bouts of blinding pain .
“She sunk her fangs into you, didn’t she? Filled you with her venom, her lies. Poison that you swallowed for years …” Orvar shook his head. “The dead are not known for their mercy. I hated you. All of you who left me. Those who sent me in the first place. Everyone left alive. I hate you all. But, almost, I pity you, Eightarms. Once the most glorious, famed warrior in the North Realms.”
Starkad groaned.
Orvar chuckled his hateful laugh once more. “What are you now? More than half blind? Maimed? Even if you weren’t poisoned, it seems you would never speak again. Maybe never eat solid food. Did she bring you to this end? Or perhaps, as you supposed, it was all urd.” He snickered at some private joke Starkad had neither the time nor the strength for. “In the name of old friends, I offer you one gift. To end this swiftly for you. I can tear out your throat and be done with it.”
Done with it all … Done with the suffering and lies and betrayals and constant disappointments. Maybe, in the Otherworlds, part of him had longed for that. It had been what Ogn had wanted, of course. To see him give up and lose himself.
&n
bsp; But Starkad wasn’t the giving up type. Maybe that was urd, too.
Snarling, he shook his head, as much as his wounds allowed at any rate.
Orvar chuckled again. “Then die in agony or live in worse if you somehow manage it. Either way, we heap suffering on the one who brought us here.” He rose, baring fang-like teeth. “Speaking of her, it’s time for me to go and put an end to this. How far do you think she made it?”
Without another look, Orvar rose and strode down one of the tunnels, leaving Starkad alone in the chamber .
The only sound was the fading crackle of Starkad’s torch and his own moans of torment.
It took all he had to pull himself up to his feet. The suffering Tyrfing had wrought inside him had dimmed, casting the pain in his jaw into even starker relief.
Torch in one hand, the other supporting himself on the grimy wall, he limped and plodded down one of the tunnels. Didn’t matter which, other than that it wasn’t the one Hervor and Orvar had gone down.
He had no idea what had become of Win, save that the prince appeared to have taken Tyrfing, since both were missing and he didn’t recall Orvar claiming the runeblade.
He couldn’t bring himself to much care anymore.
I swear to stay by your side, then. I give you my oath of love, Hervor. I swear it! I swear it!
He’d given Hervor his oath … And she’d forced him to become an oathbreaker. And herself in the process.
Maybe Odin’s spell prevented Tyrfing from quite killing him. The runeblade had ravaged him, though. Torn through him like a blistering scythe, slicing and burning and destroying. He’d felt it, carving up his insides and leaving him hollow and pitiful. A shell of what he’d been. A shell of a man.
It felt like his jaw would just fall off any moment now. Would he die of that ? He’d surely be praying for it if he had the slightest inclination to believe Odin would hear his prayer or, if he did, be able to do aught for Starkad. But Odin wouldn’t do troll shit, wherever the fuck he was. He’d failed to warn Starkad about Miklagard and failed to warn him about Hervor .