by T L Greylock
Raef had not spared the newly-made Valkyrie much thought. “It is Visna I wonder about. I imagine her releasing her sword, letting go of the last piece of Asgard she had claim to. And I wonder what has become of her.”
“Cilla said she wished to see the Valkyries. Do you think she lives?”
Raef had not thought of the young girl from Kelgard in a long time. So young and yet so fierce and determined. He had no answer, and could only hold Siv closer.
In time Siv stirred and said she wanted to visit with the three shieldmaidens from Vannheim who had followed Raef south. They were young, she said, and uncertain, and she would ease their fears if she could. Raef smiled and watched Siv dress in the fresh clothes that had been brought from their packs. After she left, he enjoyed the heat and the steam for a moment longer, but as he rose from the pool, the door opened and the steam parted to reveal Eiger on the threshold.
Eiger was swathed in a black fur, but the coarse chest hair and pink skin visible below his neck told Raef he was naked beneath. He held a wooden cup in his hand and raised it to his lips, draining the contents before casting it to the stone floor where it rattled and rolled to a halt.
“I have found the steam is best at this hour, Skallagrim. No, no,” Eiger said as Raef made to dress. “Stay. I would speak with you in private.” Raef retreated back into the depths of the pool, trying to discern Eiger’s mood. There was no impatience or demand in his face, only calm words and earnest eyes. “My father has ears everywhere. Only the baths are safe.”
The steam was thick, the light dim. Raef watched Eiger shrug out of his fur, a bear shedding its skin, and then sink his wide girth into the pool. He let out a groan of pleasure and lay back in the water, the rolls of fat and muscle on his chest and belly protruding like a rising whale.
“These waters have been known to heal,” Eiger said, his voice floating off the stones. “The spring is ancient. Frigg herself is said to have bathed here when there was nothing but trees and open air encircling the waters. They say Freya is the great beauty among the gods, second to none. But it was Frigg, when the sun’s light was still new and the grass fresh beneath her bare feet, who caught Odin’s eye. She is the one we should sing of and cherish.” Eiger swam closer to Raef so that they might see each other clearly through the steam. “Do you love the gods, Skallagrim? Have you known their presence, felt a strong hand at your back in battle when all is chaos and darkness? No,” Eiger hurried on, “you make your home by the sea, perhaps you have felt their caress in the form of a swift breeze that fills your sails and sets your course for home.” He looked at Raef with a hopeful expression, but Raef kept his features still even though his mind was filled with thoughts of ravens and his own dream-like meeting with Odin. Eiger went on. “Long have I felt the gods are my true family. The father, mother, brothers and sisters that are my blood are but a poor substitute, shadows of the family in Asgard that I yearn for. Much of my youth was spent hoping the gods might find reason to call me home. Gladly would I have given up any dreams of valor and renown for this.” Eiger paused and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. To Raef, his fleshy face had grown younger, almost childlike, as he revealed his dreams. “Sometimes I think I can hear them. Can you feel their presence?”
“I regret that my ears are deaf to such a marvel,” Raef said. But for him the marvel was not the presence of the gods, but Eiger himself. Some might think him mad, but there was no wildness, no raving. Only fierce obsession and utter sincerity. A far more dangerous combination.
“As I grew into a man, I began to understand that I should not be waiting for the Allfather to bring me home, to summon me to his shining hall. He is beset on all sides by terrible foes, each more deadly than the last and each striving to bring about his destruction and the annihilation of Asgard. He fights to stave off that dreadful fate, every breath holding back the tide, every breath a lifetime of woe and desperate survival. Who am I to ask the War-Maker to spare a moment for me?” If Eiger wanted Raef to answer, he did not wait long, but rushed onward, his gaze turned inward now. “I must find my own way to my father’s hall. I must gain Asgard.”
This statement lingered in the steam and Raef began to ask how he thought to accomplish this, but Eiger spoke again. “A perilous task, a dangerous journey, but one I have prepared for my whole life. I can see it before me, the bifrost leading me to the gates of diamond and gold, gates that reach up and mingle with the stars. And there, where the grass is ever green, the winds always gentle, the skies always bright, I shall at last make my home where I belong. For I have begun to understand the purpose of my life. The Allfather will have need of me when the twilight comes.”
Raef asked the only question he could. “And my part in it all? Why do you tell me this?”
Eiger’s fingers slid across the surface of the pool toward Raef, stopping just short of touching him. Eiger’s brow lowered and his eyes narrowed in a pained expression, interrupted by a small, almost wistful smile.
“They told me he would come with stars in his hair and a storm in his eyes. They told me that together we would walk the path to Asgard and together we would bring victory to the gods in their hour of need.”
“Who?”
“You, Skallagrim.” The words were a caress, full of longing and promise.
“You are mistaken, Eiger. My fate does not walk with yours. My fate is mine alone.”
“No, no, do you not see? You are meant to walk with the gods, not alone.”
Raef shook his head, trying to find words that would dissuade Eiger. “But stars? A storm? There were no stars in the moment of our meeting. The skies were clear and filled with the sun.”
Eiger smiled. “A storm of ice staked claim to the world this morning and it was as if the stars themselves had come to earth. What is ice if not the child of the stars? You were wreathed in that embrace.”
Melting ice was no sign from the gods, Raef might have said. But he could see that nothing he said would defeat Eiger’s ravenous belief. Eiger raised a hand from the pool, water dripping from his fingers like liquid gems, and reached out to Raef’s face, stopping to hover over Raef’s cheek, so close that Raef could feel the heat of Eiger’s skin.
“The gods have given you a great gift, Raef, son of Einarr, and made you as one of their own. They never told me you would be formed like one of the gods descended from Asgard.”
“They?” Eiger’s arousal was obvious now. Raef chose to ignore it.
“Those who have vowed to guide me from the realm of men. Let me show them to you. Hear what they have to say. And then together we will take the first steps on our glorious path.”
Raef searched for words. “You speak of a path that is not mine, Eiger, though surely any man would wish for it. You are mistaken. I am not the man you seek. My place is on the field of battle, where I will end this war.”
“You are too humble, Skallagrim.”
“Eiger. Hear me. I have come to Narvik for a single purpose, to see to Fengar’s defeat and destruction. What you seek is beyond me.”
Eiger’s mouth tightened, the sincerity gone from his eyes, but he kept his voice pleasant. “I can only hope you will discover the mistake you have made, before you come to regret it.”
It was not a threat, but Raef, as he climbed from the pool and pulled on his clean clothes under Eiger’s watchful eye, was sure he had run afoul of whatever good will the Great-Belly’s son possessed.
When Raef reached the room he and Siv would share, it was the Great-Belly who waited for him, half-hidden in shadow, a deep hood pulled down to hide his features.
“You have seen my son.” Thorgrim plucked back the hood as Raef closed the door behind him and settled the iron latch into place. “Does he rage against Daegren Clefthand? Does he speak of the captains who will follow him?”
Raef studied Thorgrim’s worn face, understanding then that the Great-Belly did not comprehend the depths of the workings of his son’s mind.
“His mind is far from Daegren C
lefthand tonight.”
“What do you mean?” The Great-Belly’s brow creased as his eyes narrowed.
“Your son is consumed with an obsession he has long harbored. I do not doubt that he intends to supplant you and claim Balmoran for himself, but this is not what drives him.”
“Speak plainly, Skallagrim.”
“He dreams of Asgard. He believes Odin is his true father and that he is meant to find a path to join the gods in their halls,” Raef said.
Thorgrim stared at Raef in disbelief. “Preposterous. His mind is bent on mead and hunting and bloodshed. He has no thoughts for the gods, he does not even honor them.” Scowling Thorgrim paced toward Raef. “I do not know what he has promised you in return for forging lies to tell me, but I see through your deceit, Skallagrim.” The Great-Belly made to push past Raef and leave the room, but Raef would not let him go.
“What of your assurances, Thorgrim? What of your son’s interest in the lady of Narvik? You promised you would draw his attention elsewhere,” Raef said, his hand on Thorgrim’s shoulder as he blocked the door.
“These lies you have fed me deserve nothing in return,” Thorgrim snarled. “And the lady of Narvik is nothing to me.” He shouldered into Raef and this time Raef let him go. The door swung behind him and Raef watched as Thorgrim Great-Belly assumed his crippled stoop, his pained gait, and vanished down the hall.
TWENTY-FOUR
“So you see.” Bryndis shielded her eyes from the blinding sun and she squinted into the distance. “He is well-defended.”
Fengar had chosen his position wisely. Or perhaps it was Stefnir of Gornhald, if he still lived, for Raef knew Stefnir to be a veteran of many battles and more skilled in strategy than Fengar.
The ruins of the ancient fortress lay across a narrow valley and high above them, perched at the top of a cliff and surrounded on all sides by sheer rock. Bryndis had pointed out the sole access route, a narrow stair carved into the cliff. A perilous path, full of switchbacks and uneven footing. Any man who dared the climb would be easy prey for an archer above.
“Why not return to Solheim?” Siv asked.
Bryndis shrugged, her eyes still on the cliff. “News of the Hammerling’s death came to us only with your arrival. If Fengar remains ignorant of it, he would keep clear of his home lands, as he has done all winter.”
“The fortress is far more secure than your hall, lady,” Raef said. “Why did the rulers of Narvik abandon it?”
Bryndis laughed. “To answer that I would need to tell you a long, bloody story involving so many twists and turns and broken oaths that even I have trouble remembering all of it. It is enough to know that someone was very clever and cunning, and someone else was very stubborn and proud. They were friends until they were no longer friends. Such is the way of things.”
“And there is no other way? Not even from the high passes above?”
“A goat might manage it, Skallagrim, but not an army.”
“Then we will starve them out. As I have said before, lady.” Eiger had pulled his horse up alongside Bryndis and spoke now with brash certainty. He had been quiet on the ride east from Bryndis’s hall that morning, though Raef had caught him staring more than once. Whether it was a malicious eye, or merely a watchful one, Raef was uncertain.
“And as I have said, we believe Fengar to be well-provisioned. He pillaged enough storehouses to make it so. There is no telling how long they might last. And through it all, our own warriors would sit and shiver, at the mercy of the winds and the snow, while Fengar waits behind stone walls.” Bryndis sighed. “And yet, I do not know what else can be done.”
They retreated to the large white tent that had been erected on the valley floor. Around them, the warriors of Narvik, Vannheim, and Balmoran were at work setting up shelters and starting fires. They were within sight of the cliff-top fortress, though well out of arrow-range, and no doubt more than a few pairs of eyes were taking note of their every movement. It had been Raef who had insisted on staking out ground so close to the fortress. He wanted Fengar to know what waited for him and Bryndis had been willing to agree. The array of small tents would be an intimidating display, made even more so by the fact that fully a third were being set up merely as decoys to create the image of a far larger force.
Inside the tent, Raef waited while Bryndis spoke to a grey-bearded warrior who seemed to trail her like a shadow, her father’s brother, she had told Raef, and then went and spoke quietly in her ear.
“I would have you show me how a goat might access the fortress.”
Bryndis studied him, her green eyes intense above the black charcoal paint that lined her lower lids. “If it could be done, Fengar would be dead already, his head on a spear outside my hall, and we would be choosing a new king.”
“I do not question your courage or your resolve, Bryndis, I only wish to know what you know.”
The lady of Narvik was silent for a moment. “It cannot be done.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “But if it could, you would have to begin at the Dragon’s Jaw.”
“And where might I find the Dragon’s Jaw?”
Bryndis pushed aside the tent flap and surveyed the far side of the valley. She pointed. “First you would climb to the top of that ridge, there. Follow it to the shadow of the mountain. From there, you must go underground.”
“A tunnel?”
“Of sorts. It will lead you high above the ruins of the old fortress.” Bryndis’s brow furrowed as she looked at Raef. “In truth, I have only seen the entrance. No living man or woman has set foot inside. Not since my great-grandfather was a boy has the Jaw been climbed.”
“Why so long?”
“Some say the Jaw is home to a dark alf, one who was cast out of Svartalfheim. Others say a great serpent dwells there, a child of Jörmungand who sleeps in the deep.” Bryndis blinked and her voice grew sharper. “Perhaps it is no more than a stair carved in the stone. full of treacherous paths and bottomless crevasses.”
“Whatever it is, I will climb it. Tonight.”
But no sooner had Raef spoken than a shout came from across the camp. A man raced to Bryndis’s tent, nearly tripping over his boots in his haste, arm outstretched behind him in the direction of the cliff face.
“Someone,” he slid to a stop and was forced to catch his breath and begin again, “someone is making the descent. He bears a flag of peace.”
Bryndis was on her horse in a moment, throwing herself over the tall black’s back though he was unsaddled. With her fingers twined in the horse’s mane, she took off across the snow, threading her way through the shelters, and Raef followed hard at her heels, his own horse eager to catch and race hers. The commotion caused many to follow them across the valley, warriors and shieldmaidens strung out behind them, watching with curious eyes.
Raef could see the peace flag now, borne aloft by a single man who was making the descent down the narrow path with deliberate steps. Bryndis’s uncle was not far behind them, and he called out a warning that Bryndis ignored as she leaned over her horse’s neck and urged him onward. By the time they had come within a spear’s throw of the cliff, the man had reached the bottom. Bryndis did not slow, but raced so close that her horse’s tail whipped against the man’s shoulder as she passed. He did not flinch as she wheeled the horse and circled him.
Stefnir of Gornhald watched Bryndis pass in front of him, but his gaze did not follow her as she continued to trace circles in the snow around him.
“You will not harm me, Bryndis,” Stefnir said.
With a snarl, Bryndis vaulted from her horse’s back, landing just in front of him. She took a step forward, so close now that Stefnir would be able to see the deep brown ring on the edge of her irises. She came only to his chin, but she stared at him as though she were looking down at him, not the other way around.
“What do you want?”
“Fengar asks for your surrender.”
Bryndis said nothing and Raef was pleased to see her remain calm.
; “The king does not wish for further bloodshed. He seeks peace with Narvik.”
“The king is no king of mine,” Bryndis said. “But if it is peace he wants, perhaps he should not have laid waste to Narvik’s farms. Perhaps he should have thought of peace instead of slaughtering innocent people.”
“A regrettable outcome, lady,” Stefnir said. “But surely you do not wish to see more of Narvik’s people die? For that is what will happen if you resist.”
“It is you who will die, Stefnir. You will waste away up there. What will you do when your stock of meat runs out? When the warriors grow gaunt and weak with hunger? Will you kill the ones closest to death and feast on the flesh of men? Is Fengar willing to go to such lengths?” Bryndis leaned closer. “I think not.”
But Stefnir was unmoved. “I do not speak of the deaths of the warriors behind you, lady. I speak of the one and twenty men and women and children up there,” Stefnir said, gesturing to the ruins above, “who live only as a token of Fengar’s generosity.” Bryndis froze and Raef felt his heart rise into his throat. Stefnir smiled. “They are well taken care of. For now. But one will die with every rising sun that sees you still here in this valley. Beginning tomorrow. Go home, Bryndis, and spare them.”
“I do not believe you!” Bryndis’s voice burst out of her, wild and full of fury. She was trembling but still she held her ground, as though sheer strength of will would make Stefnir’s words a lie.
“A child will die with the sunrise, Bryndis. Think on that.” Stefnir turned and began to retrace his steps.
“I will not yield,” Bryndis called after him. “That is the only answer you will have from me.”
“Do not be hasty. In his kindness, Fengar has given you time to make your choice. Do not throw away such a gift.”
“A foul gift, full of poison.” Bryndis spat but Stefnir did not look back a second time.
“Come, away.” Bryndis’s uncle dismounted and put a hand on her arm. She did not at first respond, but after a moment she let him lead her away to where her horse waited. She spoke not a word as they returned to the camp and shut herself alone inside the white tent.
