When Skatlakrimr had done so, the yarl again pointed at his axe and tapped his chest, his claw sinking into the massive, gaping wound that was, even then, closing. Next, he pointed to Owfastr and the sword that hung at his side.
With a gulp and a glance at Krowkr, Owfastr repeated Skatlakrimr’s preparations of his own mail shirt and shrugged into it. He strapped his shield to his arm and drew his sword with a metallic hiss. After saluting the yarl with the blade, Owfastr stepped forward and pointed at the oolfhyethidn’s lanky thigh.
The yarl grunted and nodded in an exaggerated manner. He held up his finger, pointed at Skatlakrimr, touched his chest, pointed at Owfastr, and slapped the inside of his thigh, above the femoral artery.
When he nodded, both young men struck like snakes, each striking true, each embedding his own blade into the yarl’s flesh. Blood sprayed the air and splattered the ground beneath them—the yarl’s blood, but it didn’t seem to matter to the oolfhyethidn in the least.
Oolfreekr nodded and made a burbling sound that Krowkr took to be praise. The colossal beast turned to Krowkr and at last something sparkled in his eye. The side of his face twitched in a gross parody of a crooked smile. He pointed at Krowkr, then at the small axe on his left hip and the sword on his right. He beckoned Krowkr to step forward.
Krowkr nodded and donned his armor. He freed his weapons from his belt. He strode forward as if he felt no nervousness at the thought of facing the immense creature.
Yarl Oolfreekr nodded once, expression brash. He went through the pantomime of assigning each warrior a body part to strike. To Krowkr, he assigned the sides of his abdomen and neck and motioned the man to go around behind him. He raised his hand and dropped it as though he was doing nothing more than starting a foot race.
The three men struck as one, each inflicting mortal wounds, but for the third time, the killing blows had no effect, and the yarl stood there gazing at them. He seemed to wait for something.
Skatlakrimr cleared his throat. “With your permission, Lord?”
The oolfhyethidn nodded.
“We understand this lesson, Great Wolf. As we are, we can’t harm you, let alone kill you. This is the power we seek, Lord!”
The yarl blew through his nose, making it sound derisive, dismissive. Again, he pantomimed who would attack where, but this time, he pointed to his own chest and marked each of his young opponents in turn, Krowkr first, Owfastr second, and Skatlakrimr last.
Krowkr saw his friend bristle at the insult of being left last. Skatlakrimr was a vain man, and this meeting was not going well for him.
The yarl lifted his hand and let it drop.
Krowkr leapt high in the air, sweeping axe and sword toward the great beast’s neck, but his blades whistled through empty air. Neither his brother’s nor his friend’s attacks landed either, and they ended the exchange staring at one another, only empty space between them.
Krowkr had seen the yarl move, but only just. The thing the yarl had become moved like lightning across the sky and with as little warning. From the darkness behind them, the yarl made his singular laughing sound.
“Lord, begging your pardon, but these exhibitions are unnecessary. We know what you can do, and we wish to learn to do it, too,” said Skatlakrimr.
The yarl’s freakish laugh stopped, and after a moment, a growl took its place.
“What must we do, Yarl Oolfreekr? What must we do to prove ourselves?” asked Owfastr.
The oolfhyethidn stalked from the shadows opposite from where Krowkr thought the sounds had originated. Eyes affixing Skatlakrimr, the yarl took two too-long steps and was in their midst. Without pausing, he snarled and pounced on Owfastr, claws rending his steel mail as though it were made from mist and sinking deep into the flesh of his chest and gut.
Skatlakrimr shrieked a war cry and launched himself at the oolfhyethidn, his ferocious swing making his axe whistle in a wide, disemboweling arc. Without taking his eyes off Owfastr’s, the yarl shot his hand out and knocked the axe away.
Krowkr had always preferred guile to direct, brute force, and he edged into the shadows, circling toward his brother and the oolfhyethidn’s exposed back.
Skatlakrimr stood for a moment, looking down at his hand as if he couldn’t comprehend where his axe had gone. When he looked up, fear was written on his face in large, capital letters.
Owfastr made a gurgling noise, deep in his throat, and along with the sound came a fountain of bright red blood. The yarl leaned close to the younger man’s face and crooned. Owfastr tried to lurch away but couldn’t seem to get his feet moving. Oolfreekr put his hand on the man’s chest, almost gently, and pushed.
As Owfastr toppled backward, two things happened at the same time. Skatlakrimr screamed and darted toward the shadows. Krowkr leapt out of the darkness, his sword opening a long, fruitless furrow across the oolfhyethidn’s kidneys. At the same time, Krowkr chopped downward with his axe, trying to split the yarl’s skull.
Oolfreekr lashed out, claws ripping through Krowkr’s mail, requiring as little effort as they had to rupture his brother’s. Krowkr felt the sticky-hot sensation of four wounds shredding across his upper chest and left bicep and cried out—more from anger than pain.
With a streak of gray fur, the oolfhyethidn ducked and spun away, arms thrown out, claws bared. His eyes darted toward the shadows—no doubt picking Skatlakrimr out of the darkness—and snapped to Krowkr’s. “Little bird,” he rumbled, his voice distorted and wrecked.
Krowkr nodded and dipped into a crouch. Guile would no longer serve him, he’d used it for all it was worth, and now there was nothing to do but stand guarding his brother and die well. He spun the sword in his hand and beckoned the yarl with his axe.
Oolfreekr’s head tilted away, and he stared at Krowkr with appraising eyes for the space of a deep breath. When he came, he came with blistering, blinding speed and a savage howl. He came in low, almost on his knees, angling his jaws upward to knock Krowkr’s head back and expose his throat.
Krowkr threw himself to the side, chopping at the yarl’s neck with his axe on one side and his blade on the other. The yarl altered his approach in mid-stride, taking the axe blow on the shoulder and batting the sword down with arm-numbing force. Krowkr scrambled to keep his feet and his weapons, but his head snapped back with stunning force as the oolfhyethidn butted him, and stars exploded in his vision, and his ears rang with the sound of a thousand gongs. He fell, almost senseless, to the ground, but he kept hold of his weapons out of instinct.
The yarl loomed over him, gazing down at him without remorse, but also without anger or hatred. The yarl looked…bored. He made a strange, chin-jerking motion and curled back his lips to expose his fangs. He bent, and Krowkr readied himself to die.
Is that pity? Do I see compassion in this beast’s eyes? he wondered. Krowkr turned his head, looking for the Valkyries, longing for the glorious sight of the goddess Freya. Which will it be? Valhatla or Fowlkvankr? In the corner of the hall, an oval filled with the colors of the rainbow swirled into existence. I will soon see.
A harsh shout filled the hall followed by the sound of a cleaver striking meat, and Krowkr no longer sensed the yarl standing over him. Fascinated by the emergence of the Reknpokaprooin—the Rainbow Bridge that linked Mithgarthr to Osgarthr, he didn’t even look. A dark form emerged from the Reknpokaprooin, but its shape confused Krowkr. It was male, not female. Neither Freya nor a Valkyrie. Not even Hel herself, come to claim his soul for a slight to the gods. As he watched, a man ran to this new figure and fell to his knees.
The sound of a frantic battle crashed through the hall, accompanied by snarls and growls from the oolfhyethidn. Krowkr tore his eyes away from the Reknpokaprooin, almost swooning from the motion of his head.
His brother, Owfastr, stood between him and the beast, blood flooding down to pool at his feet. Krowkr struggled to believe his eyes—that his brother not only still clung to the thread of life but had somehow found his feet and faced the great oolfhyethi
dn, driving the beast back, giving Krowkr a chance to gather his wits.
Krowkr’s gaze darted toward the corner, but the beautiful pool of molten color had disappeared, and only shadows reigned. He peered into the darkness, demanding that his eyes discern the two man-like shapes, but he could see nothing.
He shook his head and glanced down at his wounds. They didn’t look fatal though the massive blow to the head he’d taken might limit his chances of surviving the night. He drew a huge breath, willing the sweet air to fuel his muscles, to clear his thinking.
Owfastr kept his feet and with wild swings of his sword and judicious use of his shield was holding his own for the moment. Where is Skatlakrimr? Krowkr wondered. He’s no coward. He’s seen battle, seen poor odds before, and still he has stood with us.
Krowkr lurched to his feet, and his mind reeled. His stomach rebelled at the abrupt movement, but he kept his feet, and his hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons. He knew what his brother expected of him, and he slipped away into the shadows, leaving Owfastr to draw the beast’s attacks. It was time for more cagey fighting.
Once in the cloaking shadows, Krowkr sprinted around the edges of the room. The oolfhyethidn’s eyes remained locked on his brother’s, and Krowkr dared to hope.
The yarl lunged toward Owfastr, quicker than the eye could follow, and slapped the Viking’s shield away into the darkness at the edges of the room.
Owfastr glanced down before shaking the broken leather strap from his arm and taking his sword in a two-handed grip. The yarl laughed his preternatural laugh and lunged forward, one clawed hand high, one low, and his jaws gaping wide.
With a roar, Krowkr charged out of the darkness, chopping his axe into the yarl’s ankle, and ramming his sword between the beast’s ribs, burying it to the hilt.
The yarl looked at him in surprise and cried out, this time from pain rather than to mock their paltry efforts. He tried to side-step on the ankle Krowkr had maimed and howled in agony as he teetered and fell. Even as he fell, he lashed out at Krowkr.
Pain exploded across his belly, and it felt as though something was snaking out of his stomach, hooked like a fish on a line. He let go of the sword, leaving it buried in the beast’s chest and clamped his hand to his gut. When his hand sank into a hot mush, he understood there was no hope. He would die that foul night, disemboweled by the immortal oolfhyethidn.
Owfastr cried out, and Krowkr met his gaze. Anguish etched his brother’s face, but Krowkr smiled, calm, accepting. He jerked his chin toward the door.
Owfastr shook his head wildly.
Krowkr made the gesture a second time and spared his brother one last, long glance. He looked down at the snarling beast who was pulling his guts out and smiled as he imagined Veethar might smile at a foe. He took his axe in both hands and lifted it high over his head.
The yarl’s eyes widened with fear, and Krowkr smiled. He swept the axe down with all his remaining might, praying to Owthidn that Owfastr was running for the hills. As the axe slammed into the dome of the oolfhyethidn’s skull, he realized that the yarl wasn’t afraid of him.
Oolfreekr’s wide eyes were not on Krowkr, nor on Krowkr’s axe. His gaze traced to something behind Krowkr.
His axe stuck fast in the yarl’s skull, and with a weak shrug, Krowkr released his grip on it and half-turned, half-fell to the side. Agony screamed through him as more of his bowel snaked into the open air, but he didn’t cry out. He couldn’t—amazement had stolen his voice.
The yarl stared at another oolfhyethidn, this one covered in coarse brown fur. At the new beast’s side stood Skatlakrimr, smiling an evil smile and holding his axe.
With a cry, Owfastr stumbled back into the fray, sword arcing toward this new oolfhyethidn. The beast barely glanced at him before he ripped Owfastr’s throat out with a single swipe of his claws.
“No!” screamed Krowkr, but it was no use. Owfastr fell lifeless to the floor.
His brother was dead!
The brown oolfhyethidn spared him a second’s glance and spoke a garbled word. His bones snapped as he shrank, his coarse, disgusting fur fell out in pustulant clumps. When human teeth had pushed the lupine fangs from his mouth, and his palate was human enough, the man spoke, “Oolfreekr, is what this karl tells me true?” He was tall and as thin as the yarl had been, and though pustules and sores also covered his skin, he looked healthier than the yarl.
The yarl turned his head away, the axe embedded in the crown of his head making the movement comical.
“Revert! Speak to me as a man, Oolfreekr.”
The yarl made the same garbled noise as the other oolfhyethidn and began to change back to his human guise. The axe clattered from his skull as it shrank and the yarl kicked at it as would a petulant child.
“Did you, Oolfreekr, kill the others of the Briethralak Oolfur? Did you break your vows?”
“Yes!” croaked the yarl. “You lied to us, Luka. The layth oolfsins did not make us gods. It only made us petty, avaricious. It made us demons, not gods.”
Luka shook his head and sucked his teeth. “You were always the philosopher. I knew I should have killed you at the start.” The tall, blond man began to pace. “Now, when I need the Briethralak Oolfur, I find only you. Now, when I could use the support of my brother oolfa, I find only a broken old fool, a dead boy…” Luka’s gaze tracked over to Krowkr and followed the ruins of his bowel as it snaked across the floor with his eyes. “Make that two dead boys, and an eager young whelp who knows only that he wants what I offer.” Luka’s gaze crawled back to the yarl’s, and his disgust and displeasure were evident in the gaze. “I should have killed you and eaten your heart.”
“We tried, Lord Luka,” said Skatlakrimr. “We came prepared for the ritual. We asked Yarl Oolfreekr to teach us, but he attacked us instead. He—”
Luka’s lips twitched into a mean smile. “Ritual? Who told you there was a ritual?” Luka threw back his head and laughed. “If you have the blood, lad, all you need to do is eat!”
“Eat, Lord?” asked Skatlakrimr, a worried expression dancing on his face.
“Yes! Begin with this one,” said Luka, kicking Owfastr’s dead foot.
Skatlakrimr’s face became a writhing mask of emotions: terror, disgust, avarice, wonder. “But…but Owfastr… I’ve known him since we were boys, Lord.”
Luka shrugged. “He’s not using his flesh any longer, surely he wouldn’t begrudge you a meal.” When Skatlakrimr’s face twitched into a grimace, Luka’s expression darkened. “What was it you said minutes ago? Oh, yes! ‘Anything, Lord Luka! I will do anything you ask to learn layth oolfsins! Let me serve you, Lord.’ That was what you said, no?”
Skatlakrimr nodded, but his expression didn’t change.
“Oh, very well,” snapped Luka. “Start with this one, then.” This time he kicked Krowkr’s foot. “He’s not even dead, yet. Can’t get any fresher than that!”
“Lord, I…”
“You begin to annoy me… What did you say your name was?”
“Skatlakrimr, Lord. Forgive me. This is all so…it’s so much to take in.”
Luka squinted at him but shrugged. “Yes, I guess it must be. Did you grow up with this old wretch, too?” he asked, kicking Oolfreekr’s foot.
Skatlakrimr sighed with relief. “No, Lord Luka. For him, I have nothing but contempt. To give up such a gift is…is—”
“Yes, yes,” said Luka.
Oolfreekr snarled up at him. “Am I to be an endless smorgasbord? A walking dinner?”
“Who said anything about immortality, Oolfreekr?” crooned Luka.
“Am I not oolfur?”
Luka shook his head. “You gave up the right to that title when you turned on your brothers. Now, you are nothing but cattle.” He pointed a long finger at Oolfreekr. “Tayia!” he commanded, and the old yarl gasped and died.
Luka slapped Skatlakrimr on the back. “Take a haunch from his old corpse,” he said. “No time like the present.”
As Skat
lakrimr strode forward, his hand wrapping his axe in a tight grip, Krowkr closed his eyes and pretended he couldn’t hear his boyhood friend butchering the dead old man beside him.
“What about him?” asked Luka. “Shall I dispatch him, as well?”
“Lord, if… Lord Luka, I’d rather you didn’t. I’d prefer to think that Krowkr may survive, no matter the state of his wounds.”
“Such a compassionate soul,” Luka mocked. “We must rid you of that if you are to become the new leader of the Briethralak Oolfur.”
“Yes, Lord,” said Skatlakrimr, and Krowkr could have sworn he was gloating. Krowkr shuddered and gave up his grip on consciousness.
Twenty
The memory faded from my mind. Krowkr took one glance at my expression and averted his gaze. I shook my head. “Seems you might have left out a few salient points about what brought you to Yarl Oolfreekr’s place, Krowkr.”
His throat worked, and he nodded, but he didn’t raise his eyes, and he didn’t speak.
“What do you mean?” asked Jane. “What happened?”
“We’ll get into it later…after we get indoors, but let’s say it didn’t happen exactly as Krowkr told the tale.” Behind me, the garage door opener whirred to life, and a black SUV backed out into the circle. “We might have missed our chance.” I turned to walk through the backyard, meaning to flag the SUV down, but Jane grabbed my arm.
“No, Hank. Let the car go. It’s better if the house is empty.”
“Okay, but I don’t know how I feel about breaking into my own house.”
“If it’s still ours, it’s hardly breaking in, is it?” Once the SUV had burbled off down the street, Jane nodded. “Now, go to the door and ring the bell. If no one answers, we’ll go in.”
“Okay,” I said. “Everyone stays here. If no one answers, and if my key still fits the lock, I’ll let you in from the deck.” I turned and fixed the puppies with my sternest stare. “You two, stay here.”
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