Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 3: Books 7-9

by Matt Larkin

  “Should’ve known,” Tove said. “The daughter of a man capable of betraying his own guests like that, burning his own hall … she’s as evil-minded as he is. Spit out from the gates of Hel, I have no doubt.” The woman’s voice was unsteady.

  The shieldmaiden was a ship in a storm, ready to break apart, held together only by her rage.

  Baldr’s mouth wouldn’t work. He’d brought Asa here in an attempt to forestall slaughter. He’d brought her to Guthruthr.

  A sudden realization hit him. Sick, and burning in his gut. “Who saw Snjalli try to claim his brother’s wife?”

  Tove looked like she wanted to spit. “No one. Girl herself laid the claim against him, from what the king said.”

  Baldr groaned.

  Tove blanched. “You mean she tricked the king into murdering his brother? Why?”

  Most people needed a reason to murder. But, over his long life, Baldr had met a few—mercifully few—who simply reveled in chaos in all its many forms. Considering her actions, Asa seemed to fit such a description.

  “We’re organizing a party to hunt her down,” Tove said when Baldr failed to answer.

  If they found her and killed her, it would serve to bring Ingjald’s retribution on Skane. On the other hand, maybe that was inevitable now that the alliance had burned to cinders.

  “Will you join us?” the shieldmaiden asked.

  Baldr shook his head. “I’m leaving now. I’ll deal with her.”

  “You can try. Unless we find her first. I’m inclined to let the wolfhounds tear the bitch to pieces for this.”

  Baldr left her and hurried outward. He needed to find the girl before Tove and the others.

  Oh, part of him wanted to leave Asa to the shieldmaiden and let her get what she truly deserved. But doing so wouldn’t serve Skane and it wouldn’t serve his aims to solidify the North Realms under the old ways. Not if Ingjald blamed the people here for her death.

  On the other hand, if Baldr killed her alone in the woods and no one ever found out … That was sorely tempting.

  He caught up with Asa wandering off the path that headed back toward Agnafit. Already, he had a knife in hand when he found her.

  The girl spun to face him, blood still staining her dress and arms. She was grinning broader than she had at her own wedding.

  “Why do this?” he demanded. Asa shrugged. “And why deface his body?”

  “Oh. I wanted something to remember our time together. Only, turns out it doesn’t work so well without the stones. Shame.”

  Baldr blanched, faltering in his steps. She was completely mad. Had she drank in too much mist? Or was she just one of those rare people who had always been wrong? Born wicked, dark. Maybe … maybe not so different from her father?

  Ingjald had fair leapt at the occasion to betray his fellow kings. Why should it surprise Baldr his daughter maimed and killed for pleasure?

  “What?” she demanded. “You planning to stab me?”

  If he did, his hope of a unified Sviarland might die with her. Maybe it should, and he should help Tove and the others unite against Ingjald. But then the Aesir would lose everything. All Midgard would fall to the Deathless faith.

  Growling, he shoved the dagger back in its sheath.

  “Wonderful!” Asa actually giggled. “So then, you can escort me home.”

  “No.”

  “Well I’m not sure I can find the way without—”

  “I won’t kill you. It’s up to you how you make out on the road alone.” He allowed himself a tight smile at her moment of doubt. The fool girl had been counting on him to track her down, hadn’t she? And she thought he’d help her get back to Ingjald. But Baldr would grieve little if wolves or bandits killed Asa.

  As for him, he planned to head back to Agnafit. Nanna was waiting. Ingjald and his vicious daughter could attend to their own mess.

  9

  Hödr sat perched in the boughs of a twisted oak tree outside of Agnafit, listening to the chirp of birds in the forest beyond, and the soft pad of boots through the snow. Back in the town, men in the harbor were shouting about how far to risk taking the boats out. The skies were clear this day, but storms could crop up quick as a hare, and send men down to Rán.

  To the fishermen, those storms probably felt like they came from nowhere, but Hödr could feel it, oft hours ahead of time, as a tingle on his skin. A change in the texture of the air, a taste on the wind that warned him. Had he been in better spirits—and had he thought they’d have believed him instead of calling him mist-mad or vaettr-possessed—he might have bothered to tell the fishermen they’d have several hours, at least this day.

  But Hödr wanted little to do with anyone in the town save for Nanna. He’d never pick out her voice among the multitude from this far away, but still, he tormented himself with trying. Desperately wanting to catch her scent, her sound, and hold it inside himself.

  Mother had once claimed that love, real love was an all-consuming fire that dimmed out the light of all else. What was it that so pulled him to Nanna, then? Her scent, more intoxicating than the headiest of mead? Her laughter that set his skin to tingling? Or were those but symptoms of a preexisting condition?

  Father might have questioned whether the two answers were mutually contradictory. As though both the condition and its manifestation might be predicated upon one another in an unending circle of ever greater need. Hödr suspected some truth must lie in both answers.

  The steady gait of a lone traveler trekking through the wood identified Baldr, even before Hödr caught his scent. The glorious Prince of Asgard. The beloved hero of all lands in Midgard, worshipped everywhere he went, in any land. The man who thought himself justified in scheming however he saw fit, perhaps because of his birth, or perhaps because he thought himself alone qualified to decide what was best for all the world. Not so unlike the prince’s father had been, really.

  As Baldr drew nigh, Hödr hopped down from the tree branch before him.

  The prince started, then backed up a step. “Startling a man like that could get you hurt, cousin.”

  Hödr sneered at him. “Did you try to claim Nanna just because you knew I wanted her? Was it pride, cousin? Some arrogance within your breast that refused to let blind, pathetic Hödr have something wonderful when you did not?”

  Baldr took a threatening step toward Hödr. “You forget yourself. You are speaking to your prince, and I have no mood for your temper. All I’ve worked to achieve is unraveling. The last thing I wish to deal with is your childish obsession. Had you wished for Nanna’s hand, you should have asked for it in a timely manner.”

  Oh, how he wished he’d done so. But even had he posed such a question sooner, Baldr might still have tried to snatch her away. The prince had to have the best of everything, didn’t he? His mother had given him an apple before he’d earned it. She’d given him a runeblade. And still, it wasn’t enough. Hödr drew close to his cousin. By the Tree, how he wanted to beat the man senseless. “You have probably lain with more women than anyone else on Midgard. But you had to have Nanna, didn’t you? Withdraw your offer for her hand.”

  Baldr shoved him backward. “What do you care whether your wife is beautiful? You can’t see her anyway! Settle for a plain girl, the daughter of any king or jarl you wish. Hel, you can have Asa now.”

  Hödr caught Baldr in the jaw with a right hook. The prince spun around, stumbled, and turned back to Hödr, snarling. He jerked free his runeblade. Though Hödr couldn’t see it, exactly, he felt the heat as the blade burst into flames.

  Falling back a few steps, Hödr drew his own blade. “All I’m asking, is for you back down this one time! But you can’t even do that, can you? Not once can you come in second.”

  “I am the prince!” Baldr launched into a series of slashes with the flaming blade. The prince had unmatched speed and strength, his ferocity driving Hödr back. Laevateinn’s flames licked at his flesh on several close misses, the heat a painful reminder of Eldr.

  Hödr g
rowled, whipping his own blade up to parry. Baldr’s runeblade chipped Hödr’s sword, leaving him gaping. The prince’s boot caught Hödr in the chest and sent him sprawling. A swipe from Laevateinn knocked Hödr’s sword aside.

  Another slash tore through Hödr’s cheek. The flames singed his skin and ignited his hair. All he could do was scream in pain and terror, frantically patting down his hair in an attempt to extinguish it. Baldr heaved him up to his feet with a hand around his throat.

  “You have attacked your prince. That’s treason and I’d be well within my rights to cut your head from your shoulders.”

  “Do it!” Hödr snarled at him.

  Laevateinn’s pommel caught him square in the face. Everything blacked out, Hödr’s senses overwhelmed by the pain. He steadied himself and realized he was lying flat on his back in the snow. The sounds began to filter in an instant before a boot caught him in the ribs. An audible snap issued inside him. Two broken ribs.

  Hödr tried to roll over into a ball to protect his midsection.

  Baldr’s foot caught him in his arms and hefted him off the ground, sending him flying several paces before crashing back down into the snow once more.

  Hödr lay there, groaning, unable to focus his senses enough to even know what went on around him.

  “This is mercy, cousin,” Baldr spat. “Instead of taking your life, I banish you from Asgard. Count yourself lucky. You’re the only man to ever draw a blade on me and live.”

  Hödr wanted to protest that Baldr had drawn first, but all he managed was a gurgle of blood and a groan.

  Baldr’s footsteps receded into the town, stomping on snow as he went.

  Shit, shit, trollshit!

  Hödr coughed, spasmed, and spit out a glob of blood. A surge of pain in his mouth at the motion had him probing a tooth with his tongue. The tooth fell loose at even the slight touch, pulling out by the roots. Hödr moaned, letting it fall into his hand before tossing it aside.

  “Owwww.”

  Nanna.

  No, no, no.

  He’d be going to her. And now Hödr had no chance. None at all, unless he could overpower Baldr, and any other Ás who came to his aid. But Hödr would never manage to defeat Baldr, least of all while he had that runeblade. All he could do was get himself killed.

  Even that no longer sounded so bad. The pain in his body was almost as agonizing as the pain in his heart.

  Blood still dribbled down from Hödr’s mouth as he limped along through the wood. He could not return to Agnafit. Baldr would no doubt have turned Eindride against him. Maybe Hödr had once thought of the jarl as a friend, but no man, least of all a jarl, would cross the Prince of Asgard. Ironically, the only place Hödr could now find shelter from Baldr’s wrath was like to be among the lands overrun by the accursed Deathless.

  Of course, any Deathless priest who learned of his immortality or status as an Ás—former Ás?—would be like to have had him hung or burnt alive. They did not tolerate immortality besides that which their faith promised.

  Hödr raised the back of his hand to his mouth to scrub away at the blood. Damn Baldr. The prince thought he could have aught he ever desired, and no matter if anyone else had desired it first. Everyone on Asgard had shunned and disdained Hödr all his life. Why should this prove any different?

  He had no friends there, and Baldr had everyone.

  Maybe he ought to travel to Hunaland or Bjarmaland and dwell in lands claimed by the Deathless. Maybe, though he could not stand the thought of living without Nanna. No, it was better that he find a time to ambush Baldr and end this. More like than not, he’d die in the attempt. Better than living in this anguish.

  But he did not turn back toward Agnafit, rather following the sound of water to a bubbling creek. A figure sitting on the rocks there held so incredibly still Hödr almost wouldn’t have noticed him, but for his scent.

  “Father?”

  Of course. The man must have seen this in the flames and come to console his son. Hödr forced a smile then realized that probably revealed a bloody gap where one of his canine teeth had been.

  Father rose and pulled him into an embrace. His hand was warm on Hödr’s shoulder, and Hödr stood there a long while. If he had eyes, maybe he’d have wept. Perhaps not. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to have eyes.

  Finally, Father broke away and drew him down to water’s edge, then began dabbing at Hödr’s injuries.

  “I can do it myself.”

  “I know.” Father rinsed a scrap of linen in the almost freezing waters then handed it to Hödr.

  Hödr wedged the cloth inside his mouth a moment, pressing it hard in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. After a moment, he handed it back. “If you knew this would happen, why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I see less than I once did, and I never saw everything. I know things, events that will happen, but they’re oft fragmented and out of context. I cannot always determine things like when or why something will happen. I’m better about finding people.”

  “Not Odin.” That failing had bothered Father for long years, though he maintained he’d know if Odin had died.

  “No, that’s different.” Father blew out a breath. “You must let this go, Hödr. Your mother, she … she knows it was a terrible mistake, what she did to you.”

  “She did it for me.” Hödr had never blamed Mother for summoning Eldr, despite the torment it had created for him. Well … he hadn’t blamed her much. In his darkest moments, he’d traced his suffering back to that accursed day. His blindness had always bothered her more than it bothered him.

  “Yes, she did.” Father sighed. “All actions create ripples, they become links in causal chains leading invariably toward urd. As much as we might wish to change the course of urd, fate will not be denied. Still, if we perceive the necessary results of actions and thus trace those chains forward and realize we are carried toward a dark urd, we are obliged to at least try to sever the chains, aren’t we?”

  “Such musings suit you and Mother more than me.” Least of all when he was in such a mood. Maybe Father meant all of this entailed out of necessity from Mother first summoning Eldr into him. Maybe that was even true. But if so, that too had been predicated upon causal chains in her life, the pains she’d felt in her own childhood. Either way, Hödr had no desire to dwell on such a thing. It served no purpose. Urd was urd, and Hödr was sick of it.

  “Indulge me, and stray from this course you’ve set before yourself. You will find naught save woe on the path you start down.”

  Hödr shook his head. “I will not surrender to Baldr, not even if it means my death. If that is urd, so be it. But I cannot deny my own heart.”

  Father sighed again. “No. We cannot deny our hearts. In the end, it’s better to follow your heart, knowing it will lead to pain, than to give up on everything.”

  That truth was one lesson Father and Mother had always imparted to him, always agreed on. “I must overcome Baldr.”

  His father rose, stretching. “If you try to fight Baldr as it stands, he’ll kill you.”

  “His runeblade makes him almost invincible. There must be another one out there, one not claimed by Odin. Hermod has one …”

  “He’ll never allow you to use Dainsleif, much less with intent to betray his prince. No one loyal to Asgard will aid you, at least not if they know what you are about. There is a runeblade out there. It was claimed by Sigurd Fafnirsbane, given to Thrain the Witch-King, and buried with him. Many years ago a man named Hromundr plundered his barrow and used the blade to fight his enemies—at least until he lost it in the Gandvik.”

  Hödr slumped down onto his arse. Part of him wanted to wail in frustration, but surely Father would not have come all this way if he could not offer some help. “What good is a runeblade at the bottom of the sea?”

  “The son of a Witch-Queen of Pohjola traded for it from a mer, and now wields it in his attempt to overthrow Kalevala. He has nearly succeeded. If the last kings of Kalevala fall, all Kven
land will come under the yoke of the twisted warlord.”

  Hödr had heard of trouble in Kvenland, but Frigg had forbidden the Aesir to get involved, given that the Kvenlanders refused to worship them. He had not, however, realized the land was so nigh to faltering. “Suppose I go there, then, and kill this warlord?”

  “Rutto, a son of Loviatar.” Father paused, helping Hödr to his feet. “The witch herself died centuries ago, though her son remains a formidable foe.” Father paused to hand him another clean cloth with which to dab at his cheek. “Son, if you go down this path, if you kill Baldr, there will be a terrible price to pay.”

  Hödr pulled the cloth from his wound. “I’ll not surrender and do naught! I will not live out the rest of my immortal life knowing I gave in to Baldr.”

  Father’s hand fell heavy on his shoulder. “Just consider your actions with care.”

  “All I must consider now is where to get a crew to reach Kvenland in winter. No one wishes to sail and risk the storms.”

  “You’ll have to go overland,” Father said.

  Unfortunately, Hödr feared he was right. Still, such a trek would take far too long. He’d have to get dogsleds at the very least, and even then, it would be a long, tedious journey.

  The subtle shift in Father’s aura revealed that the man wanted to say something, though it pained him.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a crew of mercenaries out of Gardariki at Agnafit, men who fled the spreading Deathless faith. For the right price, they’ll serve you, especially with Gevarus’s blessing.”

  Oh. But would King Gevarus give his blessing in a quest to thwart Baldr?

  Moving through Agnafit unnoticed had taken some effort. Being able to hear men well before they came into view allowed Hödr to slip between buildings, wait for passersby to move on, and otherwise avoid detection, though that meant the whole process proved painfully tedious.

  He could never enter Eindride’s hall like that, so Father had passed on a message to the king to meet Hödr down by the harbor. Sitting under the eave of a fisherman’s house, Hödr had begun to wonder if the king would even show up.