Days of Broken Oaths

by Matt Larkin

  Vebiorg growled. “If the vampire bitch succeeds, maybe he won’t have breath left at all.”

  “Then we have to reach him before that happens. We know where Nikolaos’s palace lies.”

  Win glanced out into the alley. “The sun is already setting. The vampires will be at full strength now.”

  Hervor nodded. “Maybe, but we cannot delay any longer.” Not if they were to have any chance of recovering Starkad.

  “These creatures were our only allies in the city,” Win said. “If we turn on them …”

  Hervor shook her head. “If they are allies, they will not bar our reunion with Starkad.” She did not need to say what would happen if they were enemies.

  26

  T he sudden return of awareness struck him like a bolt of lightning. Starkad lurched upward, drew a reflexive breath that he didn’t feel fill up his lungs, and looked around. He sat upon the same stone slab Arete had brought him to.

  Runes were painted in blood in a circle around the stone, with a ring of candles beyond those. Arete herself lay on another slab, her eyes closed.

  The pain in his jaw had faded to a dull ache, though his mouth felt bloated. As his tongue brushed over his teeth, he knew why. His upper canines had grown sharp as spear points, and a hint elongated maybe. He grunted, unable to make sense of the strange flurry of sensations flooding over his senses.

  Countless aches remained from all the injuries he’d suffered, but none of them bothered him overmuch. His whole body trembled, though, feeling weak. His vision was still a bit hazy. And … He shut his right eye and all went dark .

  Damn it.

  He’d dared to hope whatever Arete had done to him might restore his vision, but his left eye was still dead and his right remained clouded over.

  When he opened his eye again, Arete had sat up and strode to the door. She shouted something in Miklagardian outside, then shut the door and came to Starkad’s side.

  “I know you have questions. Night has fallen and that is our time. Before aught else, you must feed and regain your strength. I took every last drop of your blood. A necessary part of the spell, I’m afraid.”

  He tried to rise, but his legs gave out, and Arete caught him in her arms.

  “Shhh. Just wait.”

  Out in the hall, he could hear the sound of a heart beating. Growing closer.

  He tried to lunge toward the noise, not even sure why he was doing it, but Arete held him in place, her arms iron bands.

  A moment later, the door opened and a hand shoved a girl into the room. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and looked up at him through a tangle of hair covering her face. She wore naught but a thin robe, and her hands were chained behind her back. A slave. A prisoner.

  “There now,” Arete said. “Eat her.”

  Eat … a person … The thought buzzed in his head, awful and inescapable, demanding his utmost devotion. It thrummed through his chest. He knelt beside her, not even sure how he’d gotten there or when he’d left Arete’s arms. But his hands were snared up in the girl’s robe. With a savage jerk he tore it open, exposing her pale breasts.

  Like Hervor’s, albeit without the scar she now bore .

  Starkad lunged forward, bore the girl to the ground and bit into one of her breasts. She shrieked, but he barely heard her. Hot blood streamed down his throat, sweeter than mead and more sating than venison. Except that he needed more and more. He tore himself free of her breast—her thrashing had already become faint—and then sank his fangs into her neck, sucking so hard his throat hurt.

  Slurping noisily, devouring her whole. Her blood, her life force seeped into him, like tasting her very soul. Beautiful and lonely and frightened, all drawn deep inside him, replenishing him. Warmth spread into his limbs, his fingertips. His toes. A pulse pounded through him, though he knew his heart did not beat.

  “He’s going to need another,” Arete said behind him.

  Starkad didn’t look at her, couldn’t tear himself away from the girl. Her breath had almost given out. Her hopes, dreams, fears … all slipping away. The blood he drew from her had become a trickle when he craved a fountain of it.

  And as if in answer, more heartbeats sounded out in the hall.

  Another vampire—no heartbeat—flung a second girl into the room, then shut the door once more. Starkad dropped the first, then launched himself onto the next. He grasped her neck, hesitated. Her smell was luxurious. Sweet and heady. Uncertain even what he meant to do, he pulled her robe up past her hips. She wore naught below them.

  A feral urge seized him and he leaned low, licked his tongue over the girl’s trench. She shuddered, moaned. Before he knew he’d planned it, he sunk his teeth into her thigh. Her moan turned into a gasp of pain, a whimper. Starkad grabbed her hips and hefted her up so he could rise into a sitting position .

  He drank and drank, until her whimpers grew faint.

  “Are you not sated? I can give you what else you crave …”

  Starkad dropped the girl and she lay on the stone floor, shivering. Ignoring her, he spun toward Arete.

  The vampire leaned against the stone slab, staring at him with mischievous eyes and a faint smile. “The blood pounding now, coursing to every part of your body. Alive with fresh sensations and craving every pleasure of the flesh. You cannot eat, save for blood, but you can yet enjoy other temptations denied to many of the dead. We are blessed by the gift of—”

  Starkad lunged at her, seeming almost to fly off the ground, and tackled her back onto the slab. Arete chuckled as Starkad ripped her golden dress down the middle. He lathered his tongue over her breasts and she drew her nails down along his back. From the warmth that dribbled down there, she must’ve drawn blood.

  He didn’t fucking care.

  Wished he could hold it back, draw this out. But he couldn’t stand it. He tore the rest of her dress until he got to the bush of black hair between her legs. She snapped the ties to his trousers with ease and yanked them down, as if he’d need the help or encouragement. He buried himself inside her, pumping away with more fervor and power than he’d ever felt.

  Grinding, until the stone creaked beneath her. Until they were both screaming in release.

  Then she traced a lazy hand along the back of his neck. “Finish your meal, then we can do this again. It’s always best just after feeding. Things grow cold if you go too long without fresh blood, then everything ceases to function as you might wish. ”

  He turned, looked at the wretched, half-naked girl trying to crawl to the door. He’d already murdered one person today. He wouldn’t take another life. Not another …

  Except he was already on top of her, fangs piercing her throat.

  27

  T o Hervor’s great surprise, Nikolaos’s slaves admitted her and the others to the palace and even agreed to escort them to where Starkad was resting. While not having to fight them was a relief, their reaction did not bode well. Her gut roiled at the thought of why they would not bar her from seeing Starkad. Especially given what Win claimed to have overheard Arete say.

  And Hervor could think of but one reason they would not stop her.

  Because it was too late.

  And Starkad was …

  No. No, she would not allow herself to think that. No.

  Because if Arete had slain him and turned him into some kind of deathless abomination like the other vampires … it would be Hervor’s fault. Hers was the blade that had mortally wounded Starkad. Hers were the crimes and lies that had led to that fight in the first place. And much as she wanted to lay all the blame at the feet of the Arrow’s Point, her churning stomach would not allow that much self-delusion .

  “Calm yourself,” Vebiorg whispered by her side.

  “I am …” It was hard to swallow. Hard to even make the words come out. “I am left with the awful realization that maybe a life of blood and murder can only end one way. The same way it was lived.”

  Vebiorg snorted. “A child ought to know as much. Have you so deluded y
ourself to believe that there is no price to be paid for the things we do?” The varulf shook her head. “There is only one way a bad life ends—badly.”

  Hervor clenched her jaw and said naught. How could she argue with such words?

  Win grabbed her wrist. “Keep your head clear. There is a time and place for macabre rumination, but never while in peril. If it comforts you, consider: a violent life is like to end in violence. But a great many peaceful lives end in violence, too. Such is the weave of urd and the will of the Aesir. We have but our parts to play in a greater tapestry.”

  She tried to take comfort in Win’s words, but his fatalism seemed a bitter draught at best.

  The slave led them down some stairs and through darkened halls. The rooms lining the halls might well have been cells to hold prisoners for all she knew. But if they held Starkad prisoner, why freely walk her and the others down here? Did they lay an ambush at the end of this path?

  At a bend, the slave paused and inclined his head, speaking in broken Northern. “Please use left door.”

  Hervor didn’t bother to further acknowledge the man, just hurried down the hall. The sound of grunting reached her before she got to the room. Was he hurt? Still dying from his wound? Or was the bitch trying to turn him even now?

  Breaking into a trot, Hervor raced to the door, flung it open, and darted inside .

  Starkad and Arete were there, both naked, and he had her shoved up against the wall, pounding into her trench with impressive fervor.

  Starkad cast a glance her way, bared his teeth. Fangs. And kept right on fucking Arete. She squealed, laughed, her legs locked behind Starkad’s back. The bitch moaned louder than necessary, clearly for Hervor’s benefit.

  Hervor backed up, hit the doorframe, and fumbled, unsure whether her hand was reaching to cover her mouth or go for her sword.

  Beside her, Win groaned in disgust and fled the room, while Vebiorg stared with apparent interest.

  “Starkad …” Hervor whimpered. “Starkad …”

  Odin’s … why wasn’t he stopping? He just kept pumping into the vampire, on and on.

  That roil in Hervor’s stomach had grown to an icy hand, squeezing her heart and taking her breath away. Choking her. Killing her with its slow, inevitable pressure.

  “You made oathbreakers of us both,” Starkad said, not looking at her.

  Strange he wasn’t even out of breath. Stranger, she had trouble wrapping her mind around his words. They were there. She’d heard them. But it just didn’t seem clear.

  He was saying … saying …

  He just kept staring at Arete’s face.

  Vebiorg grabbed Hervor’s arm and pulled her away, out of the hall and after Win who stood waiting for them by the slave, studiously staring at his feet.

  They knew. They knew what Starkad was saying. Win hadn’t even heard it, and he’d known.

  He wasn’t the fool Hervor was.

  Anyone could see it. Starkad was saying he was done with Hervor. That she wasn’t even worthy of the effort of killing for her mistakes.

  That she was worthy of naught at all.

  “Your pack all died when you were young,” Hervor said to Vebiorg, her voice sounding dry in her ears. “If you knew who killed them, you’d have avenged them, yes?”

  The varulf woman nodded, walking alongside Hervor while casting furtive glances to either side as they stalked the alleys. “Of course.”

  Win had taken charge and insisted they needed to make it off the streets. Going back to the apartment was too great a risk, considering Afrid knew of it. They could not wander the streets at night any longer than they must, though, so the prince was hunting for any place they could take shelter.

  Accord to Win, Hervor seemed in no shape to finish the mission and slay Tanna. So they’d retreat, rest until sunrise, and then break into his palace and rescue Höfund. Somehow, the prince still believed they’d kill the Patriarch and steal Mistilteinn. And then escape to the harbor.

  All Hervor wanted now was to kill the Arrow’s Point. But she’d fight alongside Vebiorg and Win. She’d fight with them, maybe die with them. Really, they were all she had left. And maybe her best chance to overcome either vampires or a draug.

  “Why ask such a thing?” the varulf asked a moment later.

  Oh. Vengeance. Beautiful. Horrible. Dark. Bloody.

  Hervor couldn’t even swallow. “Orvar-Oddr helped murder my father and all his brothers. And I found that out and I came after him. And I infiltrated his crew, bided my time, and killed him when the opportunity presented itself.”

  Vebiorg grunted. “So you murdered him instead of challenging him to a holmgang and doing it the right way.”

  “I couldn’t have won that way.”

  “Then you didn’t deserve to kill him, did you?”

  Hervor flinched. “Wolves don’t catch their foes out by surprise?”

  The varulf shrugged. “I’m not the one looking for justification for my crimes.”

  “I don’t have to justify myself to anyone!”

  “Then stop trying. Your mistake cost you and it cost all of us.” Vebiorg sniffed. “Then again, we’ve all made our share of mistakes.” She shrugged. “It’s life.”

  “This one,” Win said, pointing to a soaring building where the dome had cracked and a great chunk of it had fallen inside. The tip remained, probably forty feet in the air, while the surrounding structure covered at least a hundred feet on the long sides. Maybe it had once been a temple of some kind, but Hervor knew less than naught about Miklagardian religion, assuming the locals even had one.

  To reach the structure, they’d have to cross a wide open street, though. A faint mist drifted over a cobblestone road maybe twenty feet across. They could dash from the alley, reach the intersection to the main street, and be close to the building in the space of a few heartbeats. But those heartbeats would be time they spent exposed to anyone watching.

  Still, part of the wall had cracked, too, exposing a window maybe eight feet up. One big enough for them to fit through and drop inside, finding shelter from the night. Their best chance, probably.

  Rest a little, wait for daylight .

  Just make it across the street first.

  “Ready?” Win asked.

  Vebiorg sniffed, glanced both ways, and took off at a dash Hervor would have been hard-pressed to match on a godsdamned horse. She raced after the varulf, but the other woman had leapt up and caught the windowsill before Hervor was even into the temple’s yard.

  She and Win reached the building, panting, and Vebiorg extended a hand down to them, one of her legs resting inside the building, one out. Hervor took her hand and the varulf jerked her up to the sill beside her. Then Hervor dropped down inside.

  In here, the architecture seemed even more imposing than the outside had. Great marble columns supported a roof, several of these cracked where sections of that roof had collapsed into piles of rubble blocking a central walkway to the back of the temple. The dome lay over a circular mosaic in the floor, but the fallen pieces from above had shattered whatever design had once lain below. Some of those stones now littering the floor were bigger than Hervor was.

  She couldn’t imagine what it took to build something like this. A place maybe even beyond the knowledge of the Old Kingdoms. It almost seemed as if gods themselves had raised up the temple in some age long past. How and why the Miklagardians had allowed it to fall into such disrepair, she had no idea.

  Win and Vebiorg had also dropped down to the ground, and the two of them slunk to the back of the temple, into a semi-circular alcove where the floor was slightly raised. They both lay down there, clearly as tired as Hervor felt.

  They had the right of it. And part of Hervor wanted to lay down right beside them.

  Wanted to hold on to them and believe she could call them friends. But how could they trust her, knowing what they knew? No, they tolerated her because they needed her. Naught else.

  So best to keep her distance, give them spac
e.

  After strolling the temple a bit, Hervor slumped down by the mosaic. Through the hole in the roof, she could see the stars.

  She didn’t sleep. For a long time she watched the night sky. Then she watched the others as they slept. She stared at Tyrfing’s golden hilt. Maybe she should have heeded her father’s ghost and left it buried in the barrow.

  Maybe she should have done a great many things different.

  Rather pointless to muse on that now, though.

  All that remained now was to finish what she’d started. The skalds would’ve liked that.

  She’d started out to kill the Arrow’s Point, and now she’d be doing the same—

  A shadow blocked out the moonlight and Hervor looked up to see a man dropping down from the dome above. She scooted a foot away an instant before Orvar-Oddr crashed down in the middle of the mosaic. His impact further crunched the stones, sending dust and debris flying as he landed in a crouch, then lifted his red, gleaming eyes to her. Snarling, teeth bared.

  Hervor scrambled away, jerked Tyrfing free, and just managed to get her own feet as Orvar rose. Behind him, Vebiorg and Win had leapt up as well.

  Orvar chuckled, the sound an assault on Hervor’s brain. The hideous, tormented mirth of the damned. “And now the last one you care for is dead. By your own hand no less. I could not have wrought my vengeance more perfectly. Only one thing yet remains. I will feast upon your black, withered heart and send what remains of your soul screaming down to Hel. Then your torture shall truly begin.” The draug pulled a broadsword from over his shoulder and spun as Win and Vebiorg raced forward.

  The varulf reached him first, already changed into a wolf. The draug twisted out of the way of her lunge and the wolf flew by him. Unwilling to give up the edge that granted, Hervor darted in, swinging Tyrfing in a tight arc.

  Orvar parried that, turned, knocked aside Win’s thrusting sword, and then danced back around to keep them both ahead of him. He was fast. Faster than a man now, it seemed. Maybe not as fast as both her and Win at the same time, though.