* * *
“She held her own against me in swordplay today, Valgerth,” Bloodsong said to her oldest friend as they watched Guthrun accept another gift. Valgerth and Bloodsong had once been slaves together, arena warriors who survived to escape and, years later, to destroy Nidhug, the tyrant who had enslaved them. “If it had been a life-and-death battle, I could have beaten her. But on the basis of technique and speed, she’s very nearly my equal. Her strength is still somewhat lacking, of course, but that will change as her strength exercises force her muscles to keep growing. Her Witch-senses are going to give her an extra edge in battle as well. I’m very proud of her, Val. Very proud.”
Valgerth nodded. “I am proud of her, too, Freyadis.” No one but Valgerth called Bloodsong by her given name, Freyadis, not even Guthrun. She was known to most only by her battle-name of Bloodsong. “Nearly as proud as of my own Thora and Yngvar,” Valgerth continued. “After what the Hel-Witch Thokk made Guthrun become, she could have degenerated from the influence of the Hel-magic in her. But she has fought against the Hel-forces in her and continues to do so, proving to herself and all of us that she is determined never to give in to the darkness that wants to claim her.”
Bloodsong’s expression darkened.
Valgerth saw and cursed. “Skadi’s Bow, Freyadis. Forgive me. I did not mean to open old wounds today. I was just—”
“No. It’s all right. Those are the reasons for which I am most proud of her, too, and of how she’s learned to use her Witch-powers to aid us. And thank Freya for Huld. She has done much to help Guthrun fight the darkness.”
“Speaking of me,” Huld said, overhearing as she came up behind them, “I have something urgent to talk with you about, Bloodsong.”
“The small Rune-lamp you gave Guthrun was very thoughtful, Huld,” Bloodsong said. “Guthrun was delighted.”
“Yes,” Huld said with a nod, “but I need to talk with you about those two you accepted into the encampment last night. There’s something not right about them, secrets even my Witchcraft cannot penetrate. I cast the Runes last night, and again early this morning, and could learn nothing to confirm my suspicions, but I still don’t trust them. It’s as if there’s a magical barrier around them that keeps my Witch-senses at bay.”
“Maybe you’re suspicious of them because you unconsciously recognize them,” Bloodsong suggested.
“Recognize?”
“You met them once nine years ago, on the same night you first met me. Look closely at them, Huld. Don’t you recognize them now?”
Huld frowned. “The two children in the slave cage with me? They were desperately looking for a Witch to bring their dead mother back to life.”
“And after you assured them that what they wanted was not possible, we sent them off with the husband and wife who had also been in the slave cage. They have survived on their own for several years now, since their surrogate parents died. Then recently they heard that I had restored this old military encampment and came to visit. Or at least those are the things they told me. I don’t think they intend to stay. Does that ease your suspicions, Huld?”
Huld thought for a moment. “No,” she said finally. “I still sense that they’re hiding something. I wish you hadn’t let them in.”
“Bloodsong,” Ulfhild called as she pushed her way through the crowd to Bloodsong’s side. “I need to speak with you at once.”
“Of course, Ulfhild,” Bloodsong answered, “but Huld—”
“I’ve said all I need to say for now,” Huld replied.
“Could we go outside?” Ulfhild asked.
“If you wish. But first you should have some food and—”
“Later,” Ulfhild interrupted, and began pushing her way back outside.
Bloodsong shrugged at Valgerth and Huld, then followed the Berserker.
“I sense danger,” Ulfhild told her once they were alone. “Have you?”
“Danger? No. Of course, I haven’t been thinking of much except Guthrun’s birthday. But Huld just told me she was suspicious of the brother and sister I welcomed into the encampment last night, and now you—”
“I do not trust them either,” Ulfhild agreed. “Their scent is wrong. Let the beast within you stir, Runethroat. Let the beast’s senses reach out as I have taught you to do.”
Bloodsong frowned at the name Ulfhild had called her. She had first met the Berserker when she’d gone to the Berserkers’ island, seeking help to rescue Guthrun from the castle of the Hel-Witch, Thokk. But before the Berserkers would help, Bloodsong was required to prove herself worthy by undergoing an ordeal on a gallows tree sacred to the God Odin. When they found her in the morning, barely alive, the noose from which she had hung had been broken and charred black, while encircling her throat there had been burned Runes no one could read. Later, during a battle, the Odin force the ordeal had instilled in her had caused her to shape-shift into a monstrous black beast, and since that day, Ulfhild had worked to help Bloodsong accept and use the enhanced beast-senses that she now possessed.
Bloodsong touched the Rune-scars upon her throat. “I have never come to accept the beast as you have, Ulfhild.”
“Odin’s Breath,” Ulfhild cursed impatiently, her sense of danger growing stronger by the moment, “I’m not asking you to transform into the beast. I know how you feel and have stopped asking you to practice doing that. Just use your full senses. And hurry. I feel as if a storm is about to break about our heads.”
Bloodsong nodded, breathed deeply, let her control over the beast in her slightly relax. Her eyes closed in concentration for a moment, then snapped open.
“You sense it now too?” Ulfhild anxiously asked.
Bloodsong’s frown deepened as she met Ulfhild’s gaze. “For a heartbeat, Ulfhild. Then something pushed the feelings away and made me feel that all was well once more. You’re right! Wait here.”
Bloodsong slipped back inside the longhouse. She soon reappeared, Guthrun and Huld in her wake.
“Ulfhild senses danger and I agree,” she quickly told them. “I want the two of you to combine your Witch-powers and try to break through the sorcery that is disguising the danger. Quickly!”
Huld nodded. “To my hut.”
The two Witches hurried away.
“The watchtowers!” Ulfhild suddenly exclaimed, and began running toward the one where she had but recently talked to her friend.
Bloodsong saw that no sentries were visible in any of the watchtowers. She rushed back into the longhouse and saw Grimnir standing near the vat of ale. She caught hold of his arm. “There’s danger, Grimnir. Alert the others and assign new sentries to the watchtowers. And keep a close eye on Mani and Sol.”
“New sentries? Mani and Sol?” Grimnir called after her, but she was already slipping back outside. The red-bearded warrior cursed, then began hurrying to do as bid.
Ulfhild was already dropping back to the ground from the watchtower, sword drawn, when Bloodsong emerged. Bloodsong drew her own blade.
“The sentry’s asleep and I can’t wake him,” Ulfhild called as she ran toward Bloodsong. “He’s either drugged or ensorcelled.”
Bloodsong cursed, then began running toward Huld’s dwelling, Ulfhild on her heels. They pushed inside, swords still drawn. The two Witches glanced up from an array of Rune-stones on the floor between them.
“I now see poison in the Runes,” Huld said before Bloodsong could speak, “or at the least drugs of some kind.”
“And I see Hel-magic, Mother,” Guthrun said, trying to hide the apprehension she now felt. “Very strong. And now I remember a nightmare I had last night, about Lokith. It was as I told you after you thought you’d slain him in Thokk’s castle. He was not truly dead. He stood laughing at me, started coming closer and closer, but I couldn’t move.”
“Can either of you do something about the poison or drug?” Ulfhild asked. “Y
ou are right about that. I found a sentry asleep and could not awaken him.”
“Freya’s Teats!” Huld said, springing to her feet. “I’ll see what I can do. Come with me, Guthrun. If it’s Hel-magic, maybe your powers will be more effective than mine.” She quickly gathered a selection of herbs she thought she might need and stuffed them into a leather pouch. “But if Mani and Sol are involved—”
“They could have poisoned my birthday feast!” Guthrun exclaimed.
Bloodsong cursed. “And we’ve all eaten that food.”
“We may all be dying of poison right now!” Huld said as she hurried out the door, Guthrun in her wake.
“I haven’t tasted the food,” Ulfhild mentioned as she followed Bloodsong outside.
“Thank the Gods,” Bloodsong responded. “Whatever happens, it may be up to you to—”
“Look there!” Huld cried as she came to a stop and pointed over the encampment’s northern wall. The tops of billowing black clouds were boiling into view, black clouds such as those conjured by Hel-magic to protect HeI-horses from the rays of the Sun. And in the distance they now heard the moaning of a shadow-wind upon which Hel-horses trod.
Bloodsong’s eyes flicked to the longhouse. Its door stood open, but no one was in sight. She cursed and set off for the longhouse at a run, shouting orders for Huld and Guthrun to come with her.
Ulfhild sprinted for the northern wall, reached it, and climbed swiftly into a watchtower. The guard lay unconscious on the wooden floor. She looked out to the north and cursed. In the distance, black-clad riders mounted upon skeletal, wind-treading white horses were sweeping rapidly nearer.
She turned and shouted to Bloodsong, “An army!” but Bloodsong could no longer hear, for near the longhouse door, Bloodsong, Guthrun, and Huld now lay unconscious in the snow.
ULFHILD LEAPT to the ground and ran toward Bloodsong. She reached her and tried in vain to awaken her.
The moaning of the Hel-wind was louder and the black clouds were piling higher in the sky. Then the clouds covered the sun and dimmed the daylight to a greenish-hued twilight gloom. Ulfhild knew that she had but moments before the Hel-army arrived.
She quickly lifted Bloodsong onto one shoulder, encircled Guthrun’s waist with an arm, and then, carrying them both, she hurried toward the longhouse’s open door, her thoughts on an escape tunnel whose entrance was hidden inside. If she only had time to get Bloodsong and Guthrun to safety—
Mani and Sol suddenly appeared in the doorway. Shock and surprise showed on their faces. They slammed the door shut in Ulfhild’s face. The Berserker cursed and kicked at the door, but Mani and Sol had slipped its bar into place just in time.
The moaning of the Hel-wind howled in her ears. Ulfhild turned and ran for the nearest hut, now just hoping she could keep Bloodsong and Guthrun hidden and protected until she found some way to wake them up, but halfway to the hut a flicker of movement over the northern wall told Ulfhild that her time had run out.
Mouthing a silent curse, Ulfhild fell unmoving to the snow, Bloodsong and Guthrun sprawling on each side.
Atop skeletal, wind-treading Hel-horses, black-clad warriors invaded the encampment over the northern wall, riding upon the moaning, darkly swirling, shadow-winds of Hel.
Nine Death Riders appeared first, corpse-warriors little more than skeletons, purple Hel-fire burning in the sockets of their skulls, black-bladed Hel-swords gripped in their leather-gloved hands.
Behind them rode a pale, clean-shaven, handsome youth with blond hair and icy blue eyes.
After the youth came an army of Hel-warriors, men and women who had died Hel-praying, in return for which Hel had returned them fully to physical life to be warriors in Her army,
All the riders were clothed in black mail and leather. All but the pale youth wore black steel battle-helms on their heads. Shaggy, black-furred cloaks they all wore around their shoulders. Silver Hel-Runes were inscribed on their circular black shields. Silver skulls formed the pommels of their swords.
The Hel-horses rode the swirling shadow-winds to the ground. The youth’s gaze fell upon Bloodsong and Guthrun. He guided his mount to their unconscious forms and looked down at them. Hate twisted his face. He spit onto the snow.
“My greetings to you, Mother,” Lokith said to Bloodsong with a mocking bow from his saddle, “and fond birthday wishes to you, Sister,” he said to Guthrun, and then began to laugh.
* * *
“We have to tell him about the Berserker,” Mani whispered to Sol as she opened the longhouse door. Outside, they saw Lokith dismount and stand looking down at Bloodsong and Guthrun.
“We’ll tell him nothing,” Sol hissed. “Bloodsong and Huld helped destroy Thokk, but Lokith is our true enemy. The Berserker may be their only chance, and ours, to slay Lokith.”
“We’ll have no choice but to tell if he asks,” Mani nervously replied, “not when the Hel-flames burn in our skulls.”
“Or he may read our thoughts and find out about her,” Sol responded, “but we’ll not volunteer the information.”
Lokith glanced at the unmoving Berserker, then turned his full attention back to Bloodsong and Guthrun.
He motioned to a burly Hel-warrior named Torg Bloodear.
Torg jumped from his horse and hurried forward. He saluted sharply and waited for orders.
“Take these two into the Ionghouse,” Lokith ordered, gesturing at Bloodsong and Guthrun, “and take that blond-haired wench over there too,” he added, pointing to Huld.
“And this one?” Torg asked, appreciatively eyeing Ulfhild’s muscled, nearly naked body.
Lokith probed Torg’s thoughts. “You desire her?” he asked with a mocking grin. “She’s more beast than human. Is that what excites you, Torg? Do you sneak off to the stables at night?”
Torg said nothing, but his face revealed the rage seething within him.
“Leave her there to freeze in the snow,” Lokith finally said, chuckling with amusement. Then his face became grim. “And follow your orders!”
Torg saluted, then turned and pointed to two mounted Hel-warriors. “Dakk!” he shouted, “and Sven! Come and help me with these women.”
Dakk and Sven quickly dismounted and hurried to Torg’s side. Torg carried Bloodsong into the longhouse. Dakk carried Guthrun. Sven brought Huld.
Lokith followed them inside. He stopped and glanced down at Mani and Sol, who were kneeling on the floor as they’d been taught, heads bowed, hands behind their backs.
“You did well,” he told them as he reached out and touched Sol’s long blond hair.
She cringed slightly at his touch.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, pretty Skull Slave.” He patted her head as if she were a faithful hound. “I won’t require your screams tonight. I have more interesting toys with which to play.”
Sol concentrated on her hatred, trying desperately to blot out all thoughts of the Berserker woman in case Lokith probed her mind.
Lokith’s attention turned back to Bloodsong and Guthrun.
“Take them to the other end of the longhouse,” he ordered, “and then remove their clothing.”
Soon, Lokith stood studying Bloodsong’s battle-scarred flesh, Huld’s willowy beauty, and his sister’s developing musculature. “Find some rope and bring the special chains in my saddlebags.”
While Torg and his two helpers hurried to obey, Lokith walked around inside the longhouse, glancing at the unconscious bodies strewn upon the floor and casually probing their thoughts. He stopped when he came to Grimnir, probed deeper, then laughed. “So you love Bloodsong”—he grinned down at the red-bearded warrior, “and she loves you. I’ll have to do something about that,” he decided, laughing again, then walked on.
He came to Valgerth, Thorfinn, and their children. He probed their thoughts. “It’s a shame for you, your mate, and your children,” he said, looking at
Valgerth, “that you’re Bloodsong’s oldest friend. Maybe I’ll kill you first, while she watches. Or, perhaps, last?”
Lokith moved on and came to Jalna. “You’re a lovely one,” he noted, then probed deeper into her thoughts, “and another close friend of Bloodsong’s,” he added. “Then you shall have special treatment too,” he promised, “and since your nightmares are about becoming a slave again, a slave I shall make you become. Although—” He studied Jalna’s thoughts a little longer, probed deeper. “Mother Hel helped you once, I see, so that you could help Bloodsong return the War Skull to Her. Well, Hel won’t help you this time. I promise!”
His eyes fell on the blond-bearded warrior lying at Jalna’s side. “And you are her mate,” he said to Tyrulf, “or rather, used to be. I’ll see to that.”
A hint of something even more interesting caught his attention in Tyrulf’s mind. He probed deeper and discovered that Tyrulf had been with Kovna’s army before it attacked Bloodsong at Eirik’s Vale. “You turned traitor because of this woman?” He looked again at Jalna. “How fascinating. And when Bloodsong later found out you’d once helped kidnap Guthrun for the Hel-Witch, Thokk, she nearly made you leave.”
He continued probing Tyrulf’s thoughts and discovered that Huld, as well as Guthrun, had wanted him killed because Guthrun’s kidnapping had led to the death of Huld’s Witch-teacher, Norda Greycloak.
Lokith looked thoughtfully at Tyrulf a moment longer, then he roared with laughter. “We’re going to have such fun.” Lokith grinned. “Guthrun and Huld have only just begun to stop hating you and wanting you dead. I think I can arrange for their hate to be rekindled before they die. I’ll make you do such interesting things to them. But for now, sleep well.” He chuckled, then walked back to Bloodsong and looked down at her face.
Hated memories cycled through his mind. He saw in Bloodsong’s face the face of a hated enemy but also the face of a loving mother attempting to softly sing an off-key lullaby to him while she gently held him in her arms, urging him to sleep.
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