by Peter Hall
Bryn grabbed the corpse by the throat and squeezed.
“See you soon.” she said and pulled her arm from the corpses grasp. She stood up and stomped on its head, blowing it apart in an explosion of brains and blood across the floor.
Starcaller was at the back of the church holding a book in her hand. “What’s this?” she said to herself and sat down next to Durandal. She flicked through the pages and Bryn came and sat down next to her.
“Well?” Bryn said “What is it?” The book was written in a strange language Bryn had not seen before. It looked like it was written in blood.
“It’s a grimoire. It deals with Necromancy.” Starcaller said. “It’s written in an old language. I can read some of it but not all.” She flipped to a page that had thirteen skulls drawn on it and a diagram with crystals and lines connecting them.
“What’s this?” Bryn said pointing to the diagram.
Starcaller ran her finger along the text and her eyes widened. “I think we have a problem.”
Durandal leaned over and looked at the book, still holding his stomach. “A problem? Oh that’s just wonderful! As if we don’t have enough already!” he said slamming his fist down on his knee, then wincing in pain.
“This page,” Starcaller said “it speaks of a ritual to resurrect… thirteen demons.”
“Demons?” Durandal said. “Like the white ones?”
“No. This is worse. Much worse.” Starcaller said as she continued to read the grimoire.
“Worse how?” Bryn said.
Starcaller looked up, her eyes were darting around, she looked nervous. “These thirteen demons. They are demon Gods. They could destroy Eteria if they were to be resurrected.”
Durandal looked dumbstruck. “Demon Gods? What the Hades? This is madness!” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
Bryn looked at Starcaller. “Is that what these cultists are doing? Resurrecting these demon Gods?”
“No.” Starcaller said. “According to this, the Master will resurrect the thirteen.”
“The Master… How?” Bryn said
“He will transfer his own Hugr to the thirteen once he accumulates enough power.”
“Transfer…” Bryn said, thinking. “That would mean he would have to die.”
“Yes.” Starcaller said. “It says here that there is a device that will transfer the Hugr to the thirteen upon the Master’s death. Something involving crystals but I don’t understand exactly what it says.”
Bryn stood up and paced back and forth for a moment. “I’m guessing this device will be in his castle.” she said.
Starcaller nodded. “Most likely.”
“So we can’t kill him?”
“Not in the castle we can’t. We don’t know if he has accumulated enough power yet but we can’t take that chance.”
“Hades!” Bryn screamed.
“Hold on,” Durandal said, still baffled by all this, “Are we actually going to believe this nonsense?”
Starcaller looked at him. “Look, moustache. I don’t know if any of this is real, but I have seen demons, I have seen the dead walk and I have seen magick in all of its many forms. In this world, one thing is certain; we know nothing. To deny this simple truth is the height of stupidity.”
Durandal sat back and pondered on this for a moment. “You make a good argument.” he said and winced.
Bryn walked over. “We need to lure the Master out of the castle, then kill it.” she said, hands on hips.
“Alright and how do we do that.” Durandal said, pouting.
“It wants to kill me. Perhaps I can lure him out.” Bryn said.
“Yes but how?” said Durandal “How do you propose to lure him out?”
“I don’t know!” Bryn said, “but we need to try.”
Starcaller closed the book and took it with her as they made their way back to the soldiers. Cerberus and Eir were still waiting just outside the gates for them when they returned. Durandal walked over and addressed the soldiers.
“Alright men, clear out the city of undead. We camp here for the night and move at dawn.”
The soldiers moved into the city and took care of the remaining undead. Durandal walked over to Bryn. “Something is bothering me.” he said and rubbed his chin.
“Is it the hole in your gut?” Bryn said.
“The demons… the white ones. We’ve not seen any since Iliad. Where are they?”
Bryn thought for a minute. It was strange that they had not encountered any more of the white demons. The creatures had seemingly wiped out the entire land and yet they were nowhere to be seen. “Good question.”
The five companions walked their horses over to the stables near the city entrance and put them inside for the night.
“You are being stupid.” Bryn said as she finished wrapping the bandage around Durandal’s stomach.
“So, nothing new.” he said and smiled.
Bryn sighed. “I give up.” she said and kissed him.
“We can make Drogan in seven days if we don’t stop from here on in.” Durandal said.
They laid down on the fur next to the small fire in the hearth while Eir was fast asleep in the corner, still wrapped in Durandal’s old red cape.
“I have a plan.” Bryn said.
“I’m listening.” Durandal said, closing his eyes.
“When we reach the castle, you and the others stay back, hidden. If there are demons at the castle, we get the soldiers to lure them away.”
“Alright then what.”
“Then I will approach the castle, alone.”
“No.” Durandal said
“Yes! Listen to me. If I go alone, he will come out to kill me. As soon as he comes out, Starcaller shoots one of her seeking arrows and he dies along with all the demons.”
Durandal contemplated the plan. “What if he doesn’t come out of the castle? What if he kills himself when he sees you?”
Bryn thought for a moment. “Then we better hope you were right about these thirteen demon Gods being nonsense, or we are in serious trouble.”
He brushed her hair back behind her ear. “Do you believe it Brynhildr? Do you think there really are… demon Gods?”
She looked down. “When I was a child, the old woman that took me in. Her name was Kara. She spoke of a great darkness that would befoul the land. She spoke of the dead rising and ancient demons coming back into the world.” She looked up into his eyes. “I was never quite sure whether or not I believed it. But now that I have seen all this… I fear the worst.”
Durandal nodded and stared into the fire. They held each other and fell asleep, as the watchmen patrolled the city throughout the night
The next morning before the dawn broke, Durandal got dressed and gathered the soldiers, informing them of the plan going forward. As the soldiers gathered at the northern gate, Bryn was at the stable with Eir, Starcaller and Cerberus.
“So are we all clear?” Bryn said looking at the group.
“I don’t like this plan Bryn.” Eir said with a worried look.
“I don’t either Eir, but what choice do we have? We have to stop this Master.”
Eir nodded and Bryn helped her up onto Angel’s saddle.
Bryn put her hand on Starcaller’s shoulder. “You won't miss, will you.” she said.
“I never miss.” Starcaller said and mounted her horse.
The four rode to the northern gate and joined up with Durandal and the soldiers. As the sun started to rise, they headed north in a final push to Drogan. They rode all day and into the night and every town or settlement they came across was deserted, apart from a stray draugr here or there. Bryn couldn’t stop thinking about what the Master had said… the last Asgardian. Was she truly the last of her people? There must be some that escaped Asgard, how could they all be dead? Bryn had been gone for a long time, not by choice, yet she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I should have been there for my people, she thought. I have let them down. I was supposed to save them. I have f
ailed Kara. The Master is right… I am not a Valkyrie. I am nothing.
They rode all night through hills and valleys and by morning they were heading into the mountains. They continued riding all day through the unforgiving terrain and late into the night. If they kept their pace up, they would reach Drogan in five days or thereabouts. The snow was falling steadily and the winds were fierce. From their vantage point they could see all the way across Asgard to Siera behind them. After hours trekking through the mountains they came to a small village. Bryn recognized it immediately. It was Gorik.
The village looked the same, as if it was frozen in time. The bodies were all gone, maybe covered by snow or maybe eaten by something or other. As the group headed into the town Durandal turned his horse around.
“We rest here for a few hours and gather our strength, then we continue north.” He said to the soldiers, and they began setting up camp. Bryn walken Odin over to Durandal and grabbed his arm.
“This is the town I grew up in as a child. This is Gorik.” she said.
Durandal looked around and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright Brynhildr?”
“Yes, yes I’m fine.”
She turned and walked toward what was once her home, the small cabin still there, almost buried in snow with the door ajar. The interior of the cabin was covered in frost and snow. The wind gusting through the door sent a chill up Bryn’s spine as she looked at the spot where her parents had died. She stared at the room and memories of her childhood came flooding back. She remembered her mother’s stories, the way her father had always brought a gift home each day for her, the delicious meals her mother would prepare, her friends in the village… then that night came rushing back like a whirlwind. The demons, her parents dying in front of her at the hands of the Master, the lonely months alone, the wolf.
She turned and went back outside, then walked behind the cabin where she had buried her parents. She saw the hilt of her fathers sword rising from the ground, just where she had driven it into the snow that day. She dropped down and placed her hand on the ground. Mother, Father… She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She grabbed the hilt of her father’s sword and pulled it from the snow. It was an exquisite blade of shining steel with Asgardian Runes engraved down the centre. There was a red ruby embedded within the hilt that glittered in the moonlight as Bryn held the sword aloft, inspecting it. She unsheathed the sword at her waist, drove it into the snow next to her parents grave and sheathed her fathers sword, once known throughout Asgard as Gunnlogi, or ‘Battle Flame’.
She walked over to the woods bordering the village and stopped, gazing down the hill. She was looking for the wolf, but it wasn’t there. She rested her hand on the hilt of Gunnlogi and gripped it tight. He no longer protects me, she thought.
“Brynhildr!” Durandal was walking over from the village. “Brynhildr… are you alright?” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked at him. He had a worried look on his face. She saw such warmth and kindness in his eyes. It was something she had thought didn’t exist in this world anymore. She smiled and put her arms around him and they embraced each other as the snow fell down in the cold dark of night.
A horn with a strange squealing sound was playing a frantic tune over the roaring desert winds. It was quiet at first but it was getting louder, causing Steig to stir in his cage. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. The caravan was rattling and rolling down a cracked, rocky path on which the horn player passed by, riding an elephant in the opposite direction. There were tall palm trees scattered around on either side of the road and clumps of dry grass were becoming more abundant, there were plants here and there in the sand. They must be near a water source. Steig looked ahead and saw a wall in the distance.
There was a gate with people, they were wearing dusty rags and robes, turbans and sandals. Camels. Elephants. A troop of soldiers wearing heavy red steel armour with domed helmets and spears marched past the caravan as it rolled along. Steig watched them as they marched past. They were fierce, tanned men with long black beards and large frames. Where am I? he thought as the caravan came to an abrupt halt at the large archway leading into this city in the desert.
He listened to the slavers talking up ahead but he didn’t understand any of it. This heat is unbearable. Galadon was known as one of the more temperate parts of Siera, but this was something else. I can’t breathe. His head was pounding and he couldn’t keep his eyes focused. I am going to die. The caravan began to move again. As it rolled through the city, Steig watched the people going about their daily lives. Traders selling their wares, ladies carrying baskets along the dusty road. Children running by and playing their games, pretending to be soldiers. There was a priest or preacher of some sort speaking to a congregation, all wearing white robes and holding their hands to the sky as he spoke. No one paid any attention to him as he watched on from his cage at the rear of the wagon. He would have called out for help but his voice was gone, throat dry and closed over. He could hardly breathe let alone talk. He realised no-one would care even if he did.
The buildings were all painted white and many had golden or blue domed ceilings. Steig looked up as they passed by a rotunda style structure and saw that the interior of the domes were covered in a mosaic of tiles creating beautiful colorful patterns above. The floors of the buildings were mostly covered in shiny blue and white tiles and he saw water fountains and gardens here and there, the further they ventured into the city.
The caravan began to slow down and took a right turn along a steep, downhill path that led into a tunnel. After a short distance the caravan turned right into another tunnel and passed through a large, steel gate that closed down behind them. Steig could hear what sounded like smithing work being done, clanking metal and sizzling water, the sound of hammering and sharpening steel getting louder as the tunnel opened into a large underground chamber. It was dark but there were furnaces and fires in the room and Steig saw men working on swords and armor, there were piles of weaponry all around. The caravan slowly continued past the workers and into another tunnel. The tunnel curved around to the left and then came to another gate that led to a small, round, outdoor yard. The rock walls were at least fifty feet high and there were two other gates leading into the dusty arena.
The slavers began shouting and cracking their whips, Steig could hear commotion going on ahead. Then a burly slaver walked up to his cage and unlocked the latch. He reached in, grabbed him by the throat and pulled him through the door. As the slaver released his grip, Steig stumbled back and fell to the ground, coughing. He hadn’t the strength to get up, so he just laid there in the dirt. He felt a hand on his neck and he was pulled to his feet. The slaver was shouting at him angrily but he didn’t understand any of it. He steadied his legs and planted his feet in the dirt. His bones ached and his legs shook but he stood there as the slaver let him go. He swayed a little but held his ground, staring back into the slaver’s eyes. The slaver stepped back, a little surprised, and grunted, moving along to the next man.
Steig slowly turned his head to the left, his neck ached with every movement but he focused his eyes and saw a line of about eight men standing next to him, all were battered and beaten, wearing the same loincloth he had found himself in. The slavers walked up and down discussing something between themselves as Steig fought to stay on his feet. The man beside him dropped to the ground in a heap. One of the slavers walked over and kicked the man and he started sobbing. The slaver shouted at him and kicked him but the man kept sobbing, curled up in a ball in the dirt. The slaver unsheathed a wide curved blade from his waist, raised it high, then slammed it down on the man’s neck in an explosion of blood, spraying up into Steig’s face as he watched on. Two men wearing rags ran over and carted the man’s head and body away, leaving a large pool of blood to slowly seep into the dirt.
The slavers cracked their whips and led Steig and the others through one of the gates leading out of the arena and into a long underground
room with chains attached to the stone walls. There were a few other men chained up in here, their wrists shackled to chains that attached to a wooden board running along the wall. The slavers led Steig to a chain and attached it to one of his wrists. He waited until they had left the room before collapsing to the ground. He dragged himself over to the wall and sat against the stone. It felt cool on his back. It was the most pleasant feeling he had experienced in a while. He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
He heard a door unlock and swing open, then footsteps walking past. He heard something scrape along the stone floor nearby and the footsteps walked away, the door slammed shut and the lock clicked. Steig opened his eyes and forced himself to lift his head, every muscle in his neck and shoulders aching. There was a bowl and a cup sitting next to him. He leaned forward and got on his knees, reaching for the cup with a shaking hand, then wrapping his fingers around it. It felt cool. He slowly lifted it to his mouth and drank. Water! As it hit the back of his throat he coughed and spilled some out of the cup. He held the cup tightly and tried again. Slowly he sipped the water down and dropped the cup. There was some bread sitting in the bowl but he wasn’t hungry.
“Hey you! Are you going to eat that?” he heard a raspy voice say.
He looked over and there was a man chained nearby. Steig stared at him and tried to focus.
“Hey! Are you going to eat your bread or not?”
Steig shook his head.
“Slide it over here! Come on boy! Slide it over, I'm starving here!”
Steig pushed his bowl across the floor to the man and he snatched the bread out, stuffing it into his mouth. Steig sat back against the wall and closed his eyes.
“You're never gonna make it out of here boy.” The raspy voice said.
Steig opened his eyes and looked over at the prisoner. He coughed, clearing his throat and tested his voice again.
“Who are you.” he said in a quiet, raspy voice.
“Who am I?” the man said, “that’s the least of your concerns boy!”
