The Valhalla Saga

by Snorri Kristjansson

  ‘Rocks!’ Sven screamed as behind him, Skadvald roared orders to his own men, who shifted their planned lines of battle towards Ulfar’s indicated position.

  Carrying boulders the size of sheep, Askell and another six muscle-bound men staggered to the front and dropped their cargo over the edge. From far below, roars carried up on the wind. Ulfar saw Sigurd move to the edge and peer over, then quickly catch Sven’s eye.

  ‘Throwers!’ Skadvald shouted. Ten of his men and another ten of the Stenvik raiders, led by old Thjodolf, ran towards the edge and launched spears down towards the unseen army.

  ‘Hand-axes and spears!’ Sigurd shouted, retreating from the edge. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open!’ A group of rune-carved warriors armed with shields and axes took up position in a loose half-circle facing the edge. Spearmen stood behind them, both hands on their weapons, ready to stab over their shoulders. When the first wolf came bounding up the slope, Sigurd shouted again.

  ‘STEP ASIDE!’

  As the warriors in the middle of the half-circle created an opening wide enough for three carts side by side, Sven and a handful of his chosen men started wailing and banging weapons on shields. The wolves flowed through the gap and into the middle of the plateau, charging at the source of the noise, a tide of grey fur and sharp teeth.

  ‘CLOSE!’ As the last of the wolves streamed past, the axemen formed their circle again – and not a moment too soon. The trolls reached the top of the slope and went straight for the nearest humans. There were four of them; ugly bastards, too, swinging clubs and crudely broken tree branches.

  Ulfar watched as the mobile fighters quickly split up, two to a troll, giving them moving targets while the spearmen jabbed, aiming for knees and hips. The trolls bellowed, then in a blink of an eye stepped close into what looked almost like a formation.

  Another three trolls came running up the slope, followed by a handful of ragged humans with spears.

  ‘Humans first!’ Skadvald shouted.

  The spear-wielders followed his advice mercilessly and within moments throats were split and guts were spilled as the thick, pointed missiles found their targets, with force. The corpses fell where they stood and Ulfar watched as a troll angrily kicked one of them out of the way. Blood spilled in the snow and mixed with the sight of wolves losing their shapes, breaking in half under the ferocious assault of an attack team led by Sven and young Ognvald.

  ‘Bad choice of prey,’ Ulfar muttered.

  But the enemies kept on pushing up from the slope and what had been four trolls a moment ago were now eight, and a good twenty ragged people clustered around them. Slowly the mass advanced, with more bodies appearing by the edge.

  ‘STEP BACK!’ Skadvald shouted, and the axe-men were only too happy to oblige. Old Thjodolf, stepping backwards, sure-footed, yanked a spear from the ground and threw it hard into the group of enemies, then moved to the next one before the first spear had even connected. A cheer went up from the men as the first spear hit a troll dead in the eye socket, shattering its face, but many hands grabbed the lifeless body and shifted it out of the way almost instantly.

  The point where the slope rounded off onto the plateau had disappeared under a line of trolls and humans that stretched out, forty yards to either side. There were more than thirty trolls now, and they were advancing in precise formation, as one, step by step.

  In response, the raiders had drifted into a line of their own, facing the dark army. The gap was fifty yards wide and closing.

  At the front Ulfar saw Sigurd glance back at him, then draw a deep breath. ‘Fall back to Ulfar when the time comes!’ he shouted. Then he turned to face the trolls, slapped the handle of the axe and let out a fearsome roar.

  ‘He is a good man, Sigurd Aegisson.’

  Ulfar spun around so fast that he almost fell over. The sword was in his hand before he realised he’d reached for it. Only after he’d regained his balance and focused his eye on the source of the voice did he realise that Audun had somehow come to stand beside him and a fine white mist was lapping at their calves.

  Here, in the mountains, as high up in the world as anyone could go, he seemed somehow more substantial.

  Odin stood before them, tall and proud, grey and white like a mountain. Next to him stood a muscle-bound man, slightly shorter. There was a tangible sense of mass about him: broad chest, long arms, blacksmith’s hands. A big hammer in his belt.

  Thor.

  ‘There is a problem,’ Odin said.

  ‘Really?’ Ulfar said, casting his eye over his shoulder. He could see the fighting men in a haze. ‘You are truly all-knowing.’

  Thor’s nostrils flared but he kept still, though with some amount of effort. ‘Shut up,’ he growled.

  ‘Loki has chosen Valgard to take his place,’ Odin said, ‘and he is working hard to bring about the destruction of the world.’

  Ulfar looked at Audun, then back at Odin. ‘You’re going to say what you want to say, so could you make it quick? We have to go and kill an army of trolls.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Odin said.

  Ulfar sighed. ‘Fine. We don’t. What is the master stroke that I’ve missed?’

  ‘Your friends are mighty and strong. I am happy to see Helga Finnsdottir’s hand in this.’

  Ulfar smirked and glanced at Audun, who glared back at him.

  ‘But even if you slay all the trolls, Valgard will quite easily defeat all of you.’

  Ulfar searched for a witty comment, but he couldn’t think of anything. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Belief is a powerful thing,’ Odin said. ‘Did you hear many of the men shout my name before they went into battle?’

  ‘. . . hm,’ Audun said. ‘No.’

  ‘My powers are fading,’ Odin said. ‘They don’t believe in me because they don’t feel they have to, and if they don’t have to they won’t believe in me.’

  ‘So what is there to do?’ Ulfar said. ‘Are we troll-food?’

  ‘They don’t eat,’ Thor said. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  Shocked by the familiar tone, Ulfar looked at the blacksmith. Then he looked at Audun, standing next to him.

  Then Ulfar understood what needed to happen. ‘. . . Oh,’ was all he managed.

  Odin looked at him then, a twinkle in one eye. He raised his finger. Ulfar strained against it, but his sword rose as if it had its own will. The All-Father placed the point at his heart – and stepped forward.

  Ulfar screamed, frozen in place, staring at the sword handle where it met the sternum of the All-Father.

  Odin coughed and whispered, ‘Don’t fight him on the ground. When the gods do battle in the realms of man, the gates of Hel will open and that will be too much even for you.’

  Ulfar had a moment to break Odin’s gaze. To his side, Thor held a hammer handle-first to Audun. The Norse blacksmith grabbed it and swung.

  *

  When Ulfar opened his eyes, all worlds rushed in to meet him.

  The plateau was a cauldron of battle. A hundred and twelve men were left standing, Sigurd and Sven among them, but there were a hundred and seventy trolls and more coming: a flood of them.

  ‘Too many,’ he said. ‘Need to even this out.’

  He turned to the nearest Stenvik man. Too close by far. The raiders had pulled back and left a score of dead men and trolls lying between the two armies.

  ‘Spear,’ he said.

  The grizzled raider took one look at him and scampered away, looking frantically for a spear.

  At Ulfar’s side, Audun rooted in his backpack.

  ‘Ah! There we go.’ He pulled out a broad leather belt.

  Ulfar looked at his friend. The old blacksmith’s hammer in his belt had been replaced. The new hammer looked a lot more substantial. A square head inlaid with runes all round sat on top of a handle reinforced with leather straps for gri
p.

  ‘Nice hammer,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Audun said. He took a deep breath, fastened the belt around his waist and almost inflated, becoming more solid than his surroundings.

  The raider re-appeared and wordlessly handed Ulfar a thick spear. Words came unbidden, muttered incantations that seeped into the wood, then Ulfar pulled his arm back and sent the spear flying.

  The missile arced over the fighting forces and cleared the heads of the onrushing trolls by a wide margin.

  ‘You missed,’ Audun said.

  Ulfar just smiled.

  Skadvald’s men and the raiders of Stenvik shouted in surprise as the snow trembled beneath their feet. Where the spear had passed figures emerged out of the ground, pushing troll and human alike out of the way.

  ‘Einherjar?’ Audun said.

  ‘Hey – if he is allowed to cheat then so am I,’ Ulfar said.

  The moment they were on their feet the big warriors, armed and armoured and almost of a size with the trolls, laid into the nearest of the dark army’s soldiers. The newcomers came in all sizes – some were dressed like mercenaries; others wore big furs and wielded heavy clubs – but they all had one thing in common: they had been sent to Valhalla for their valour in battle. Bodies fell around them, but wherever one dropped, two came to fill his place.

  Ulfar glanced towards the far end of the plateau. Almost half of it was filled with dark bodies now, all twisted inwards towards the distraction of the risen Einherjar, pressing in towards them, suffocating them with numbers. With one careful eye on the spectacle, the raiders of Stenvik were inching backwards to a position by Audun and Ulfar.

  ‘About time you two showed up,’ Sven said.

  Ulfar looked at the old man. He looked tired, but there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘What can I say? Sometimes it takes a while to figure things out.’

  Sigurd snorted at that. ‘Well, now you have, and here you are.’

  Skadvald, Ognvald and Thora approached, as did Helga.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ the big raiding captain said.

  They glanced over at their soldiers, less than a hundred of them now left standing. As they looked at the line of trolls and dead-eyed humans, the line of the dark army turned to look at them. They stepped forward.

  Audun looked at Ulfar and unhooked the hammer from his belt. Then the two of them stepped forward, between the chieftains and the trolls.

  ‘We’re going that way,’ Ulfar said, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb at the advancing army. ‘And if you don’t join in we will have all the fun.’

  With that, they set off at a run. Ulfar drew his sword just in time to feel a rush of air as something flew past his head and pulverised the chest of the first troll. The hammer was a blur as it returned to Audun’s hand.

  ‘Nice!’ Ulfar shouted. Within range now, he swung at a thick blue leg; the sword passed clean through the knee joint and the troll toppled over.

  A many-throated roar went up behind them, and Ulfar didn’t need to look to know that was Sigurd and Sven, charging into battle.

  Thora was behind them, grinning fiercely.

  On either side of her were Skadvald and Ognvald, father and son, armed with axe and sword.

  And then the trolls were upon them. This close they were even bigger, the smallest of them at least a head taller than Ulfar. He looked at their muscles and their blood-crusted clubs and felt a curious absence of fear.

  It’s almost like a dance, he thought as he bent under a swing, came up so close to a troll he could smell it as he sliced up under the armpit, severing the cords that powered the arm. The big beast roared at him, but a savage kick broke its kneecap and it collapsed in a useless heap.

  Ulfar was moving, grabbing a spear that was thrust at him and yanking, feeling the satisfying transfer of weight as the wielder lost his footing in the snow. A knee to the nose sent bone into his brain and ended his life instantly. The tall Norseman spun the spear in his hand, leaned to the side almost lazily and thrust the point of the weapon up under the chin of a charging troll.

  Almost like a dance, he thought again. Then he glanced to his side and couldn’t help but grin. Well, for me at least.

  On his right Audun pushed with the flat of his left hand, trying to pull his fist clear of a troll’s ribcage. His right flashed out to the side just in time to catch the returning Mjölnir, which was slick with blood. Behind him lay a straight trail of carcases with smashed weapons and pulped joints, suggesting that Audun had considered an approach that meant sidestepping and found it to be bothersome.

  On the flanks Sigurd and Sven fought as a pair, forming a whirling cloud of blades that moved in perfect harmony, slicing every bit of flesh that came close. Skadvald moved without hurrying, timing every blow to hit where it should. Beside him Ognvald and Thora hacked at anything they could get at, moving almost too fast for the human eye.

  But am I human?

  Ulfar smashed the bridge of an onrushing attacker’s nose with the pommel of his sword.

  Have I been, since Stenvik?

  The man dropped like a stone and was ground into the snow by a troll stepping into the breach.

  Was I ever?

  Slowly, ever so slowly, the line of Valgard’s army inched backwards, trying to absorb the furious attackers.

  ‘I’VE TAKEN A SHIT THAT WAS MORE CHALLENGING THAN THIS!’ Ognvald screamed at the top of his lungs, legs wrapped around the waist of a troll and knives going snick-snick into its neck, searching for the – yes, there! – spine. The troll’s legs buckled and Ognvald pushed off, landing on his feet. ‘SEE? THERE’S NOTHING TO—’

  Ulfar smelled the death on the air moments before he felt the wind on his neck and heard the beating of the wings. He dispatched his opponent with a fierce slash and stepped backwards, picking his way past the bodies of fallen men.

  As one, the trolls stopped fighting and stepped back, a line of silent, sullen faces.

  Ognvald’s face had turned a deepening shade of red. Behind him, the dark shape of a raven descending melted into human form and landed smoothly on the plateau. Skadvald shattered the skull of the troll next to him and rushed towards the boy, who had fallen to the ground, blood seeping out of his nose.

  ‘I’m afraid I must disappoint,’ Valgard said, dusting an imaginary speck off his rich, purple cloak. ‘Your son is dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.’ Quick as a flash he spun and grabbed Thora’s knife hand by the wrist. She had been silent and quick – but not quick enough.

  ‘I like you,’ he said, smiling. They stood toe to toe, almost like tentative lovers. ‘You’ve got a bit of enterprise. But I’m afraid you might have’ – she screamed as he snapped the bones in her hand – ‘issues.’

  Thora’s scream was cut short as Valgard’s free hand swept up in a smooth arc and he spun her around so she hit the ground face-first, a spray of arterial blood from her cut throat painting a line in the snow that ended under her body. With a smooth movement he eased the sliver of wood back into the folds of his tunic.

  The plateau had fallen silent.

  Valgard’s dark army, quiet and malicious, filled over half of the area. In a corner a handful of beaten and battered soldiers huddled, staring at the gathering in the open space.

  Sven stepped out in front of Valgard. ‘Kill me.’

  For a fraction of a moment, Valgard was confused. ‘Stay out of this, old man,’ he hissed.

  ‘Shut up, whelp, and do as you’re told. You need to kill me.’ Sven’s voice was cold. He looked Valgard straight in the eye and very deliberately moved into a relaxed fighting stance.

  ‘I said—’

  ‘Because twenty-five years ago I clearly made a mistake, and now I’m going to correct it.’ The words hung in the air between them – and then Sven moved.

  Almost too quickly for Ulfar’s eye he flicked
his left hand, just so, and sent a blade flying towards Valgard’s face. The moment the knife was airborne and in the tall man’s field of vision Sven followed, pushing off like a cat, swiping at Valgard’s stomach.

  Like a tree in a storm Valgard swayed out of the way of the onrushing blades. His hand shot out and plucked the flying knife from the air by the hilt. A quick step put him to the side of the old fighter. He buried the knife in the old man’s spine, just below the neck. The momentum of Sven’s lunge carried him forward, but when he hit the ground the body was already dead.

  ‘Bastard,’ Ulfar said.

  ‘I could have made that last a LOT longer!’ Valgard screamed, looking down at Sven. Then, with visible effort, he regained control. ‘It’s regrettable. But if I’d inflicted on him only a small part of the pains of my childhood, he’d’ve been screaming for a month.’

  He looked at Skadvald and Sigurd. ‘If you touch your weapons you will die too. What I’ve got planned will be a lot more fun if you stay around. I am only here for them.’ He turned to look at Audun and Ulfar. ‘And they do not get the option to—’

  The sheer weight of Oskarl’s shoulder crashing into Valgard’s ribs pushed the air out of him. The Eastman’s big, meaty hand shot up and grabbed the collapsing form of the tall man by the hair on his neck. ‘You talk—’ Oskarl grunted, smashing the top of his head into Valgard’s face, ‘—way—’ and again. Blood gushed. ‘—way—’ and again, and bones cracked. ‘—too much.’

  As he twisted Valgard’s body to the ground, Oskarl’s head snapped up to see Audun and Ulfar staring at him, open-mouthed.

  ‘RUN.’

  The breath caught in Ulfar’s throat. This was how it’d have to be. He looked to the skies. The clouds cleared.

  He didn’t dare think about what would happen if this didn’t work.

  The rays of the midday sun found the plateau.

  Oskarl screamed as Valgard’s fingers dug into his flesh, tearing their way into the muscle, but he still held on, smashing Valgard’s head into anything he could find.

  Multi-coloured light washed over the assembled warriors as a rainbow touched the place where Audun and Ulfar were standing.