by Matt Larkin
And … there, cowering beside her throne. Roskva.
“Y-you helped them?” Thor couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that. Even trying brought the spots swimming in front of his eyes.
Roskva spit in his direction.
Well, he deserved that. Thor turned to Skadi. “King’s dead. Guess that leaves you in charge. Briefly.” Mjölnir was just hungering for her now. He could feel some fell power writhing inside the hammer, just itching to devour her as well. “Shame you all have to join him, but considering what you’ve been up to …”
Skadi reached out to her right. Another jotunn woman moved to her side and handed her a bundle. A very young child, probably only a single winter behind him.
Thor glowered. “You seriously plan to hide behind a babe? You steal that from one of the women out there?”
Skadi’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “You might say I stole it from your companion.”
Thor looked to Loki. His uncle had turned pale, his breath seeming irregular.
“Your son, Loki. I’ve named him Narfi. He has your eyes, I think. See how they sparkle blue?”
Loki took a threatening step toward the jotunn woman.
“It’s true?” Thor demanded. Loki had slept with this creature? Thor had always thought him utterly dedicated to Aunt Sigyn. Loki glanced at him, but didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His face spoke for him.
Thor hefted Mjölnir. “Fine. I smash your skull, woman, then we take the babe.”
Loki spun on him. “We cannot fly holding an infant.”
Huh. And was that the reason, or did Loki not want the mother of his child turned to pulp? Either way, it did seem true. Their means of escape relied on them donning the cloaks and Thor couldn’t imagine carrying a babe as a swan. Even could the child have survived the cold flying over the mountains.
Loki, though, he just kept staring at Skadi like he could burn her with his gaze. Thor quirked a smile at that thought.
“I will be back for my son, Skadi. However long it takes, I’ll not allow you to raise him.”
Skadi leaned back on her chair and cradled the boy to her chest. “Appearances notwithstanding. Shall you suckle him yourself? Surely that little wench of yours can’t have milk.”
“See,” Thor said, pointing Mjölnir at her. “Vulgar, arrogant words like that make me consider killing you regardless and taking our chances saving the babe.”
Loki’s hand fell on his arm and Thor lowered Mjölnir. A shame, though. Especially given Skadi’s condescending smirk.
“You cannot do aught to me without worse befalling the child. Oh, believe me, I have grand plans for this one. After all, how truly magnificent the father’s daughter turned out.”
Eh? Loki had a daughter? Since when did Loki have a daughter? Thor might not have spent much time on Asgard anymore, but he was pretty sure he would have heard about it if his uncle had another child. After all, the man’s son had turned out so very poorly. In fact, Thor had almost killed Loki when he learned what Hödr had done to Thrúd, possessed or not.
Loki, however, didn’t seem inclined to answer Skadi’s taunt, instead drawing up the hood of his cloak and becoming a swan. The man flew to the window, alighted on the sill, and then looked back to Thor.
This was it, really. Thor could end Skadi right now. He could probably kill all these women and then fly away. Yes, it would doom Loki’s son, but how many other lives might he save by destroying the Winter Queen? How much better might their world grow knowing the jotunnar were broken? Loki himself had spoken of sacrifice this very morn. But … but Thor had almost lost Thrúd, and he’d not have wished that pain on any father.
For that alone, he’d not risk this Narfi. So he cast a last rage-filled glance at Roskva before he pulled up the hood and became a swan, then flew up to where Loki sat, cringing as Skadi cackled.
Letting her live was like to come back to haunt them, wasn’t it? Thor had a terrible feeling he’d regret this mercy.
30
Sigurd chuckled as he strode through Castle Niflung at Gunnar’s side. He could almost feel Hogne fuming behind him, at Gunnar’s jesting. Hogne, the elder brother, might’ve been king, had Grimhild not chosen Gunnar for the honor, having seen something special in him. Hogne claimed to harbor no ill-will because of it. Still, the man could be easily riled which only made it the more entertaining.
“Asger!” Gunnar called to one of the slaves. “My horse is laden with a reindeer we felled. Have it prepped for the night meal.”
The man bowed to his king and scampered off, back outside.
It had been a good hunt and Gunnar had fared the best of any of them, at least as far as that went. On occasion, they practiced arms together, and Sigurd could easily overmatch either of the brothers, skilled as they were. It had become a matter of pride for him that no one in the whole of the kingdom could equal him in swordplay.
They came into the great hall beyond, where Queen Grimhild sat overseeing a small number of ladies drinking and gossiping.
Sigurd had made it but a few steps when little Sigmund came stumbling toward him, the boy’s awkward attempts to run so endearing Sigurd burst out laughing once more. His mother Gudrun came following behind and threw her arms around Sigurd’s neck and kissed him. He lifted her in his arms and held her close. Much as he enjoyed riding out with his brothers-in-law, naught could compare to the joy of seeing his wife and son.
“Am I mistaken,” he whispered in her ear. “Or is there a slight bulge in your belly once more?”
Gudrun laughed again, the sound so free Sigurd thought it might burst his heart. “It could be. It could be.”
Gunnar chuckled as Hogne slipped out of the room. “For the life of me, I cannot recall the last time my sister laughed like that. You do so well by her I almost envy her.”
Sigurd rolled his eyes and slumped down on a bench. “Surely you, King of the Niflungar, could find any wife you chose.”
The queen cleared her throat. “About that. Gunnar, you prosper in all ways save one—you remain unmarried. Your alliance with Sigurd has secured us tribute from most of Reidgotaland. The raids you two have been on have brought us wealth. But still, the throne needs an heir and a man needs a wife.”
Gunnar frowned looking at his mother, and then strode closer. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“I do. Lady Brynhild is among the fairest in all the North Realms.”
“Who is Brynhild?” Sigurd asked.
“The foster daughter of King Heimir,” Gudrun answered. When Sigurd looked to her, his wife was frowning, staring hard at her mother. She turned her gaze on her brother, but he was still looking at Grimhild.
“I am not unwilling …” Gunnar said, then glanced at Sigurd.
He nodded in encouragement. Why should his blood brother not have a most beautiful wife? “Marrying the princess of Laaland will only strengthen their ties to us. You should do it.”
“And you,” Grimhild said to Sigurd. “You shall ride with my son and help him secure the match. No one will deny you aught when Kings Gunnar and Sigurd ride together to command it.”
Gudrun groaned, drawing Sigurd’s glance. “What?” he said. “It’s not so very far. I’ll be gone a few days. A fortnight at most. You’ve naught to fret on.”
His wife cast another glance around the hall. “So be it, then.”
Sigurd kissed her on the cheek. “Come, brother. Let us prepare and we can set out on the morn.”
Sailing to Laaland took two-and-a-half days. The fair weather made the voyage pleasant, and Gunnar took to singing songs of the glorious days of old, before the Lofdar betrayed the Niflungar and brought ruin upon the whole of the Old Kingdoms. The mournful song carried out over the water, through the mist, and echoed around them.
Sigurd found himself closing his eyes and imaging wars long gone, ancient powers that ought to have lasted until the end of the world. How great was the sorrow of the Niflungar, how much they had lost along the way. And if there was hope for M
idgard, they might be the last ones left who could reunite the world.
Thus had Sigurd lent his aid in swaying all the kingdoms of Reidgotaland to accept Niflung rule. Wearing the Tarnhelm and with Gramr, he had trod among those unwilling to capitulate and had wrought flame and devastation until they understood what urd demanded of them. He’d given the other runeblade—Hrotti, Grimhild called it—to Gunnar so that the king too could be mighty, and Gunnar had in turn offered his blessing for Sigurd to continue to wield Gramr, though she might have once been Gunnar’s own legacy.
Sigurd sent word to his kingdom in Rijnland and they too had pledged themselves to King Gunnar. Within a decade, Sigurd suspected Gunnar might be High King of both Reidgotaland and Hunaland. Sviarland, though, that was like to prove more challenging, caught in its unending internecine wars.
Still, thinking of Sviarland remained premature when obstacles yet remained in Reidgotaland. Chief among them, King Beowulf, who refused to bow before any other. Sigurd feared one day he’d have to fight and maybe kill the great king, slayer of Grendel. Part of him longed to test his strength against such a warrior … But he did not much look forward to having to slay him.
“I thought myself tired of war,” he said, when Gunnar finished singing. So many died in wars, oft at random. It seemed … tedious.
“Indeed.”
“Yes, but I’ve come to see, it perhaps has its uses. It serves to unite the land behind us.” A necessary evil.
Gunnar nodded, still staring out over the mist.
The ship arrived in Laaland, and Gunnar led a small retinue on to Heimir’s hall in Hlymdalir. The king of Laaland had long since married a woman named Bekkhildr, some distant relative of Brynhild’s, and thus—Gunnar had told him—had come to take Brynhild in as his adopted daughter. Sigurd’s blood brother had no details about the arrangement, but it hardly mattered. Adopted or not, as the daughter of Heimir, Brynhild was a princess, and thus would further serve to legitimize Gunnar’s rule over Reidgotaland.
Maybe, with such a marriage, even recalcitrants like Beowulf would acknowledge the inevitable and thus obviate the need for another war. Sigurd dared to hope so, at least.
Heimir’s hall was built upon another ancient fortress from the Old Kingdoms, but unlike Castle Niflung, this place had not stayed in repair by its original builders who were now long gone. Regin had taught Sigurd that the Hildings had ruled here, before the Niflungar betrayed them and cast them out. Gunnar, however, had explained that it was the Hildings themselves who had broken their truce. And they had paid for it, fading into the oblivion of history and leaving their places behind as naught but ruins.
Heimir’s archers manned ramparts that had crumbled in places. Stonework far inferior to the original patched obvious holes lower down in the walls. This place was strong by modern standards, yes, but it would not have kept an army out for long.
The King of Laaland received them graciously, inviting them into his great hall and bidding them to sit beside him in chairs almost as fine as his own. The man showed but the first signs of gray in his beard and still had the look of a warrior. Sigurd could respect that.
Heimir rose from his chair as Sigurd drew nigh and offered his arm. “Praise Odin, you’ve finally returned to us.”
“Er … returned?” Sigurd took the offered arm then glanced at Gunnar, who shrugged.
“Yes, indeed!” Heimir said. “My daughter will be most pleased. We’d begun to wonder if you would ever arrive.”
Sigurd frowned. If Heimir had ever sent an invitation, Sigurd had not received it. “Well, it is for your daughter we come. My lord, King Gunnar, seeks her hand in marriage.”
“K-king …” Heimir glanced back and forth between the two of them. “You jest?”
“No, my king,” Gunnar said. “I am quite in earnest in wanting to marry Brynhild. Word of her beauty has spread across all the islands of the Morimarusa and beyond. Besides which, the union of our houses can only serve both of our interests.”
Heimir looked to Sigurd with a raised brow. “And you are … amenable to this arrangement?”
“Of course, my king. I encourage it!”
Heimir nodded, his face drawn surprisingly tight for a man receiving such joyous news. The chance to bind his house to that of his king he had sworn loyalty to should have had him calling for a feast to last for days. “I’ll inform Brynhild, then. In the meantime, my servant shall see you and your men receive chambers.”
The room granted to Sigurd overlooked the sea, or at least the mist gathered above it. He stared out over it, feeling it call to him, as if those vapors held his destiny upon them. Sigurd, Champion of the Niflungar, who must help the world to see what he had seen. The glory of King Gunnar and his people. The last glory of man.
The door to his room creaked open and he spun, hand over his shoulder on Gramr’s bone hilt. A woman slipped inside, her long blonde hair in braids, her aspect fierce but stunning.
“Sigurd,” she said and, though he could scarce understand why, he could not help but think a hint of reproach lurked behind her tone.
“Lady Brynhild?” Surely it must be her, for who else but the famed shieldmaiden princess would be so bold as to burst into his chamber?
She frowned, staring hard at him. “Where have you been these past years?”
“My lady? I … I have been with my blood brother, Gunnar, securing his kingdom. Surely you know this—your father swore fealty to him.”
“Because you left him no choice!”
Sigurd flinched back from her vehemence. Of course she spoke the truth and, in fact, that had been the entire reason behind his public pledge to Gunnar. It showed everyone that they had no choice unless they wanted to face a war they could not hope to win. Nevertheless, Laaland had acquiesced without a fight and Sigurd hadn’t dared to suspect Lady Brynhild would have harbored such resentment. What would that bode for Gunnar’s intended proposal? Woe, no doubt.
The woman shook her head. “You … you don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Of course I know. You’re the adopted daughter of King Heimir, a shieldmaiden come to him through his wife. Your aunt, I believe?”
Brynhild grimaced. “As you say. I … suppose then I shall give Gunnar his answer in the morn.” She turned to go.
“Lady Brynhild?”
When she looked back, he could have sworn she hid a slight smile.
“You know that to refuse the king’s offer would weaken Laaland’s position greatly. You do know that?”
The woman scoffed and slammed the door behind her.
“My daughter,” King Heimir said, “has agreed to marry only the man who can walk through fire to reach her, and then must best her in combat.”
Sigurd glanced at Gunnar, who stood before the king, terribly still. Why would the princess ask such a thing? Was it not nigh to the same as a refusal? Sigurd could pass through flame, yes, but what other man could do so?
Gunnar growled under his breath. “If that is her will, then so be it. Where is she?”
“She has borrowed a hall from one of my jarls and has set a ring of fire around it, claiming it will bar all but her true love from reaching her. You’ll find it up the road to the north, an hour’s ride.” Heimir frowned as if not even he approved of his daughter’s antics. Yet he clearly indulged her in her decision.
“Then loan us horses, my king,” Gunnar said.
And Heimir did so.
Gunnar left his men behind at Hlymdalir and called only for Sigurd to accompany him, which, of course, Sigurd agreed to. He’d come on this errand to help his blood brother claim a wife and would scarcely turn away now, despite Brynhild’s outlandish request.
They rode in silence, Gunnar looking grim and perhaps on the edge of despair, until at last they came to a jarl’s hall on a hill above a small farming town. On their approach, a woman tossed a torch from a brazier onto the ground. Immediately, the ground caught flame and fire shot around the hall in a ring that seemed somehow familiar to
Sigurd, though he could not recall quite why.
Gunnar ground his teeth, shaking his head. “This horse will never ride through that … I have to pass through on my own.”
Sigurd frowned. “You’d be like to die from such flames.”
Gunnar looked to him, shut his eyes and shook his head once more. “Damn you for this, Mother …”
“I don’t understand. What does Queen Grimhild have to do with Brynhild’s strange conditions for marriage?”
Gunnar opened his eyes and looked hard at Sigurd. “Naught worth mentioning. No, but we both know I cannot pass through flame. It is especially hateful to a Niflung. But you, brother, are unharmed by fire. And you have a helm that will let you take on my aspect.”
Sigurd sighed. “Which gets me inside the hall looking like you. It does not get you inside to fulfill her other condition and best her, much less to …”
“Bed her? No,” Gunnar said. “No, it doesn’t. But what choice is left to me? Go in as me and prove your strength. Conquer her completely, such that no further tests become necessary.”
Sigurd blanched. “You cannot be serious. Your sister—”
“Need not know. Nor will Brynhild. Ever.”
“I shall know! I’ll know I betrayed Gudrun to lay with another woman. Under false pretenses, no less.”
Gunnar frowned, laying a hand on Sigurd’s shoulder. “Do you think I like this? To send another man—even you—to fuck my future wife? But I must have her. You have seen her, yes? Her beauty. By Hel, Sigurd! I cannot sleep since laying eyes upon her in Hlymdalir. And yes, damn my mother for putting such an idea in my head, but it’s too late now.” Gunnar withdrew his hand, clenching his fingers. “To say naught of the need for this alliance. It can help secure my claim to Reidgotaland. Even Beowulf will not rise against us once we are so united with Laaland.”
