Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  She parried and thrust with her sword, feinted, thrust, managed to slay one, then two, as she backed toward the open door. The stench of charred flesh and black smoke from the burned soldiers made it hard to breathe and see. Pain lanced her side as a blade got through her guard. She twisted sideways to avoid another thrust, cut the warrior’s sword arm to the bone, thrust with her blade, jerking it free as he fell, and parried the blow of the next soldier.

  Another warrior fell, then another. She decided to chance a run for the open door. Heat from smoldering corpses singed her as she leapt over them and sprinted for the door.

  Agony gripped her right leg. She stumbled, nearly fell, kept going, heard a dagger clatter against the stone wall nearby, then another and another.

  She reached the door, limped through, slammed it shut, found a key in the lock, gratefully turned it.

  Bloodsong looked down the stairs. The small chamber at the bottom was empty. She reached to the back of her right thigh, wrenched out the dagger embedded there, threw it down with a curse. She did the same to the dagger that had struck the back of her left arm and then headed down the narrow stairs.

  Before she had reached the bottom, she heard the soldiers above hacking at the locked wooden door. She knew it wouldn’t hold them long.

  Bloodsong took the torch from its wall bracket and hurried through the dark opening at the opposite side of the chamber, into the passageway that led to the War Skull. She fought down a sense of triumph, told herself the worst was undoubtedly yet to come. Within the tunnel, Nidhug would surely have lethal dangers waiting. She moved tensely forward, limping on her injured leg.

  Something tickled the back of her neck. She ignored it and kept going.

  * * *

  Huld guided Valgerth and Thorfinn toward the camp as far as she deemed they could go without being seen. Behind them, the wall of soldiers came steadily closer.

  Huld looked back. “They don’t know we’re here, yet. Many have bored expressions. But there are too many, too close together, to sneak through their ranks.”

  Valgerth held her bow. “I will bring down the nearest guard ahead at the camp. Without his sounding a warning, we can ease into the place, then use surprise and speed to cut our way through. I still wear Bloodsong’s cloak and carry her shield. Maybe it will confuse Nidhug and give her a better chance somehow.” She drew an arrow from her quiver.

  “Here, Bright Eyes,” Thorfinn pulled a long-bladed knife from a sheath on his belt and handed it to Huld, hilt first.

  She held it, awkwardly. “I don’t know how to use a weapon.”

  “There is a secret to successful fighting with a knife like this one,” Thorfinn paused. “Are you ready to learn it?”

  “Tell me!”

  “Stab your enemies before they stab you.” He chuckled.

  “I’m about to die and you’re making jokes?”

  “Just trying to relax you,”

  “Relax me!”

  “And another thing.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Either do not enter a battle expecting to die, or believe you are already dead, so that you can be happily surprised when you live through it.”

  Valgerth’s bow twanged. The nearest guard fell to the ground without a sound.

  “Don’t worry, Huld,” Thorfinn said.

  “Me? Worried? What about?”

  “Stay close.”

  “By Freya’s Teats, I just hope I don’t scare anyone too much with this knife.”

  “Val,” he said, leaning toward her.

  Valgerth leaned toward him, too. Their lips met.

  “Bloodsong and freedom,” Thorfinn said.

  “Bloodsong and freedom.” Valgerth tied her bow to her saddle, drew her sword, and gripped Bloodsong’s black shield.

  “Ready?” she asked, glanced at Thorfinn, saw him nod, looked at Huld.

  “Not quite.” The Witch raised Thorfinn’s knife. “Bloodsong and freedom.” She lowered the blade. “Now I’m ready.”

  Swords in hand but held down beside their legs, Valgerth and Thorfinn moved their horses slowly forward to not attract attention.

  Huld did the same. As they passed the slain guard and entered the torchlit camp, the Witch revoked her night-vision spell. But they had not gone far when a man shouted, “Intruders!”

  Thorfinn and Valgerth kicked their horses into a gallop.

  Huld followed.

  Steel flashed as Valgerth and Thorfinn began to reap the lives of any who tried to stop them.

  Huld stayed close behind.

  Onward through the half-empty camp raced the three riders, the two in front trampling, slashing, slaying all in their path, screaming the battle cry of Nastrond’s slaves.

  Huld saw Thorfinn jerk in his saddle. An arrow jutted from his left thigh. He snapped it off and rode on. An arrow swished near Huld’s head, causing her to duck and cry out. She heard the soldiers shouting to use bows.

  Valgerth took an arrow in her left arm, ignored the shaft, kept her horse at a gallop toward the far side of the camp.

  Huld saw other soldiers aiming bows. An arrow struck Thorfinn in the back of his right shoulder. He cried out, cursed as he reeled in his saddle, hunched forward, and hung on to his galloping steed.

  A solid thunk made the Witch look down. An arrow was sticking from the leather of her saddle just in front of her right thigh. Another shaft slashed in front of her face.

  Pain pierced the Witch’s left side. She cried out, looked down, saw an arrow’s tip drenched in blood protruding from just beneath her ribs, shallowly angled into her body from behind. They aren’t trying to kill us! she realized, feeling sick with fear. They’re shooting to wound us, to bring us down alive!

  She heard soldiers laughing now, enjoying the sport. Just ahead she saw an archer aiming at Valgerth. Fury lanced through her. “Freya curse you!” she screamed and threw Thorfinn’s heavy weapon. It spun wildly through the air. Its hilt struck the archer’s arm, ruining his aim. The arrow meant for Valgerth went wide and struck a soldier in the chest.

  Clinging to her galloping horse, Huld glanced back and saw an archer aiming a shaft at her. She ducked just in time, and the arrow missed her, but another arrow suddenly struck her horse in the neck.

  The beast reared in agony. Huld tried to hang on. She succeeded for a moment, then lost her grip and fell, crying out her pain as the arrow in her side snapped off against the ground.

  Soldiers crowded around her at once. She tried to get to her feet and was pushed back down by a soldier’s boot. She heard them laughing at her, remembered what other soldiers had done to her in the forest, and choked back a scream.

  Thorfinn fought to ignore the pain coursing through him and sought to clear his darkening vision to stay even with Valgerth as they galloped onward through the camp. He heard her cursing, saw the concerned glance she gave him, and forced a smile to reassure her just as his horse went down, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, saw his horse struggling unsuccessfully to rise, an arrow deep in its side.

  Valgerth reined up and headed back for him.

  “No!” he shouted. “Keep going!”

  Valgerth leapt from her saddle to stand over him, the arrow still jutting from her left arm, ready to fight the ring of soldiers pressing closer on all sides. Arrows were aimed at her, bowstrings pulled back.

  “See the Hel-Runes on her shield!” a soldier called. “Aim to cripple her!”

  “Bloodsong and freedom!” Valgerth screamed and launched herself at the nearest archer, jerking her dagger from its sheath and throwing it as she ran. The archer went down with a dagger in his chest. Another archer let fly, narrowly missing her as she dodged to the left. She lifted her shield in time to deflect another arrow, but a different arrow struck her left hip, staggering her, driving her to one knee.

  The so
ldiers came at her.

  She blocked a blow with her shield, slashed with her sword, cut the legs from the nearest soldier, parried a cut, thrust through a warrior’s guard, and started to parry another blade. But then from behind her head received a savage blow.

  Thorfinn struggled back to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, shield and sword held ready despite his pain. He saw Valgerth slump to the ground from the blow to her head.

  “Bloodsong and freedom!” he cried, staggered forward, blocked a cut with his shield, parried and thrust with his blade, killed one soldier, then a second, felt an arrow grind into his side.

  Hands grabbed his arms. He went down under hammering blows, was still trying to fight back when a sword hilt slammed into his head and darkness engulfed him.

  * * *

  Bloodsong limped deeper into the passageway. There had been no further attacks. Soldiers must be waiting in the cavern, she thought, or worse. Probably worse.

  On down the narrow, twisting passageway she crept, surprised there were no sounds of pursuit from behind, certain soldiers had had time to break through the locked door. Unless they were only pursuing me to drive me forward, like a herded animal.

  She hesitated, listening. A faint throbbing she knew was the War Skull heartened her. She was nearly there! But loss of blood and the use of the Hel-fire spell had weakened her. She had to reach the War Skull soon, before she grew too weak to fight whatever final resistance was waiting for her there.

  She continued on, saw the opening to the cavern. She crushed out her torch, moved forward, peered into the cavern, saw her goal towering in the center, just as she remembered it. Flashbacks of fear stabbed through her, memories of humiliation and horror, torture and defeat.

  A man in dark, gold-trimmed robes stood with his back to her at the table of scrolls. Nidhug! The king appeared to be alone and unaware of her. This is too easy, she thought. Or, was the greatest danger simply the sorcerer himself? He must know I’m here. It must be a trap. But I’m so close!

  She eased into the cavern, looked right and left. Flickering torchlight and the purple light pulsing from the Skull revealed no soldiers, but nearby was a young woman with long dark hair chained to the wall by her neck. She lay unconscious, breathing evenly, her naked body covered with wounds and bruises. Jalna! Bloodsong thought. Or was it not Jalna but a threat Nidhug’s magic had disguised, something that would transform and attack?

  Beyond the woman, a pile of rocks lay strewn on the floor, and above them gaped a dark opening in the cavern’s wall. That wasn’t there the last time I was here, she noted.

  Bloodsong stayed alert to the woman, the hole in the wall, and the tunnel behind her as she raised her left fist, aimed her Hel-ring at Nidhug’s back, and whispered the Hel-fire incantation. The ring flickered. Her face became that of a corpse. A purple ray blazed forth and struck the king—

  The robe collapsed blazing to the floor but empty, nothing inside.

  She cursed and ran for the Skull.

  Agony ripped through her legs.

  She staggered and fell, tried to get up, could not, realized her legs were paralyzed.

  Cursing, she began to crawl.

  A living corpse emerged from the hole in the wall.

  Bloodsong raised her Hel-ring.

  The walking corpse hissed a command.

  Bloodsong slumped to the floor, completely paralyzed, unable to move even her eyes. She strained to shake off the paralysis.

  “Welcome back to Nastrond, slave.” Nidhug approached, prodded her helpless body with his boot. He brought the stench of death with him. “You are probably wondering what has happened to your legs. I’m afraid it’s permanent. And I have forgotten the healing spell.”

  He bent down, jerked the Hel-ring from Bloodsong’s finger.

  Her body changed, became that of a corpse. Her vision dimmed. Weakness flooded her. A death-stench arose from her flesh. She gasped for air.

  Nidhug observed the change with great interest. He replaced the ring on her finger. Her appearance returned to that of a living woman. He removed the ring and saw her become corpse-like once more.

  The sorcerer-king examined the inner surface of the ring. “Intriguing Hel-Runes,” he noted. “This ring may help recharge the War Skull.”

  Nidhug slid the Hel-ring onto his left hand’s first finger and waited, hoping to see his wizened hands become those of a young man. But his hands, face, and body remained those of a corpse.

  He took the ring from his finger and examined the Hel-Runes again. “It must require a variation to make the spell work on someone other than you.”

  He slipped the ring into a pocket of his robe. He bent down, removed Bloodsong’s battle-helm, and found the Tarnkappe.

  “So, the Dwarfs did aid you.” He slipped the Tarnkappe into a different pocket of his robe. “But you have lost.” And his laughter rang out.

  AS HULD RETURNED to consciousness, she struggled to clear her thoughts. She remembered that one of the soldiers who had crowded around her in the encampment had jerked the arrow from her side. The pain had been so intense, she had felt consciousness going, then something had hit her head and she’d been unaware of anything, until now. She half-remembered a dream with a woman who had long blond hair. Had it been Freya, she wondered? Comforting and strengthening her?

  “The little Witch awakens.”

  Huld’s vision cleared to reveal a corpse standing before her in dark, gold-trimmed robes. The air was foul with his death-stench. It’s him! she realized. Nidhug!

  Chained with her wrists over her head, she saw that her manacles were covered with Runes and that the black chains glistened as if wet. Spell-chains. She could work no magic, could open no locks. She was helpless. The wound in her side throbbed. Her tattered robe did little to warm her. She shivered in the cold air.

  Nidhug stroked her face with an ugly, decay-riddled hand. “You are a pretty little thing, but don’t worry, I can fix that.”

  With a laugh, the king moved to Huld’s left. She saw a naked woman’s corpse hanging by its wrists. But no! The woman was breathing and looking at her with familiar eyes.

  “Bloodsong?” Huld asked in horror.

  “I’m surprised you can recognize her,” Nidhug said, laughing. “Her appearance has somewhat altered since last you saw her.”

  “What has he done to you?” Huld cried.

  “Merely took her ring,” Nidhug answered. “Hel’s magical energies had already done the rest. Now please, be silent, Witch. My guest of honor is bored from inattention.”

  Huld jerked on her spell-chains and twisted her head to the right, saw Valgerth hanging unconscious in chains, and Thorfinn beyond her, also chained to the wall, unmoving. Bloodstains covered their hair and clothing, but both were still breathing.

  The sorcerer-king conjured a slim black wand from out of the air. Its tip glowed with a vile green light. He moved the floating wand toward Bloodsong’s face.

  The Hel-warrior cursed as Nidhug pressed the wand to her cheek. Her death-corrupted body jerked with pain. Smoke rose from her rotting skin where the wand touched.

  “Stop it!” Huld cried.

  He directed the floating Venom Wand toward Huld’s face.

  “Leave her alone!” Bloodsong growled.

  Nidhug asked Huld, “Do you need both of your eyes?” He floated the wand closer. “The slave hanging next to you won’t scream or beg for me, but maybe she will, for you, if—”

  The king gasped in pain. He slumped against the wall. The wand vanished in a burst of greenish-yellow light.

  Huld watched as Nidhug staggered into a tunnel and was gone.

  “It is the age-sickness,” an unfamiliar voice said.

  Huld looked past Bloodsong and saw on the floor a woman with long dark hair, chained to the wall by her neck.

  Bloodsong turned her head towa
rd the young woman. “Jalna, tell me more about Nidhug, anything that might help me defeat him.”

  “You still have hope?” Jalna asked in surprise.

  “I may look like a corpse, but I’m not one, yet.” She eyed the pile of black clothing Nidhug had stripped from her and saw her scabbarded sword, left lying atop the clothes to mock her. “If only I could get free!” Bloodsong pulled on her chains. “If I can but touch the Skull and say an incantation, Hel will come! There must be a way!”

  “He didn’t use spell-chains on you,” Huld noticed. “A Hel-fire spell might melt your chains.”

  “Without the Hel-ring, I can work no magic. Nidhug knows I’m not a real Witch, or I’d be in spell-chains, too.”

  Huld frowned. “Are you certain you can’t do the spell?”

  “Of course. “

  “Have you tried?”

  “No, but—”

  “I need no ring to work my spells. Neither does Nidhug. Perhaps you no longer need one, either? Maybe wearing the ring transferred magical energy to you. It must have, from the way it changed your appearance. And look at your finger, Bloodsong, the one where you wore the ring.”

  Bloodsong glanced impatiently up and felt sick with horror at the sight of her decayed flesh. But around the finger where she had worn the Hel-ring there was a dark circle, as if charred.

  “Is the Witch-lore still in your mind?” Huld asked.

  Bloodsong nodded. “You’re right. I still know the incantation to summon Hel, so everything else must also be there.”

  “Then try the Hel-fire spell!”

  Bloodsong closed her eyes and concentrated.

  The sound of footsteps interrupted her.

  Nidhug appeared again, followed by two soldiers and four women. When the sacrifices were chained to the Skull, Nidhug said to the guards, “Bring four more here, in advance.”