"Make no mistake," cautioned Vigdis. "He is going to try to kill you before you fight Loki. If you hope to end this, you will have to defeat them both."
"And he's counting on the fact that I'm unaware of him," I said, smiling.
"Yes," said Valdis. "Yet we have lived up to our end of the agreement by not telling you. You discovered it for yourself. Our word is not broken."
"What was the agreement?" I asked.
"Loki made a pact with our father," said Vigdis. "He would support Loki's plan to change Ragnarok, but he had to promise to keep Valgard away from us. He has been trying to force us to be his wives since we were children."
"Why didn't your father just kill Valgard?" I asked. "Thrym was one of the greatest warriors I've ever seen."
"Retribution from Loki would have been swift and severe," replied Valdis. "Valgard didn't fear our father, though. In fact, there was only one warrior he did fear."
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Surtr," said Vigdis.
"I defeated Surtr," I said, folding my arms across my chest. "You'd think that would make him want to stay away from me."
"Not as much as you might think, Grant," said Vigdis. "There are many among our people who believe you were lucky. That your victory was a fluke."
I let that sink in for a moment. It stung my pride a bit, but it was understandable. After all, even I was still shocked that I had pulled it off. Surtr was the most dangerous foe I've ever faced. Beating him was nothing short of miraculous. I'm sure that a fair amount of luck was involved, but Surtr underestimated me. That had cost him dearly. In fact, my enemies had been underestimating me since this all began. I sincerely hoped that trend continued.
"Would the two of you mind putting on your clothes?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Do we not please you like this?" teased Valdis.
"Do not tempt him, sister," cautioned Vigdis. "I have met his wife. She may not be a warrior, but she is a formidable woman. Do not lightly risk her ire."
Even here, far from our underground base, Karen could still intimidate people. I may never know exactly what was said between her and Vigdis, but obviously it made a lasting impression. I could understand her caution. I've been on the receiving end of Karen's temper before. It's never something I would risk lightly, either.
While they wrapped themselves in cloaks, I turned my head and gazed out across the water. I forced my mind to think of other things besides what was happening right next to me. Two very beautiful warrior-maidens were wrapped only in cloaks of fur and I had little doubt that they would welcome my advances. Only my love of my wife and my sense of duty would not allow that to happen. I still strove to be the man of honor I always claimed to be.
Once they were covered, I turned back to face them. It was easier for me to tell them apart, now that I had gotten to know them both. At first glance, they were identical except for the piercings. Right now, they weren't wearing them. However, there was something about Vigdis' eyes that set her apart. They were the same color, but the intensity was different. There was also something about the way she looked at me. Valdis had a playful look in her eyes when she teased me, but Vigdis was different. There was something deeper there. Something I could almost feel.
"You had better be returning to your camp, Grant," said Vigdis, softly. "They will undoubtedly be looking for you soon. We do not want to fight the Eldjötnar tonight."
"If you change your mind," teased Valdis, "our tent is just around the bend in the river. We would be happy to have you join us."
"Thanks for the offer," I replied. "I should be going."
"Grant," said Vigdis, placing her hand on my arm to stop me. "Wait."
"What?" I asked, turning towards her.
The intensity was there in her eyes and I felt like I could fall into the deep darkness of those orbs. There was strength there, but sorrow as well. There was something more, too. Something that I was sure she was not used to feeling. It was fear.
"Promise me you will not fail in stopping Loki," she said, softly.
"Even if it kills me," I answered with conviction.
"Beware Valgard," she said with a glint of a tear in her eye. "He knows nothing of honor. He will fight using whatever means he can use to defeat you."
"He'll try," I said with more confidence than I felt.
"Before you go," she added, "do one thing for me."
"What's that?" I asked, curious as to what it might be.
"One of the greatest honors that can be bestowed is when your enemies learn and sing your songs," she said. "It is something that our people have done since the beginning."
"Yes," I said, confused.
"Your song moved me," she said. "It is haunting and says so much, despite having no words. I listened to you play that night when you were checking the horses. Will you play your song for us, once more?"
Smiling, I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my battered old harmonica. Turning it over in my scarred hands, I gazed down at it and grinned broadly.
"I'd be honored," I replied.
Once more, perhaps for the last time in my life, I played Ashokan Farewell.
Chapter Thirty Two
Death's Ride
"I wish to have no connection with any ship that does
not sail fast; for I intend to go in harm's way."
- John Paul Jones
By the time that I arrived back at camp, the smell of roasting meat filled the air. It made my mouth water in anticipation of the flavor that was to come. I found Fornjot sitting near one of the fire pits. He smiled as I approached, gesturing for me to take a seat on the camp chair beside his.
"Did you enjoy your walk?" he asked, as I sat down.
He offered me a wineskin of mead, which I gratefully accepted. After a long pull of the sweet yet strong liquid, I sighed in satisfaction and handed it back.
"Yeah," I answered, "I guess I needed to clear my head and the walk did wonders for that."
"I assumed that you just wanted to be alone," he said, nodding. "I often find the need to seek solace in silence. It soothes the melancholies of life."
"Absolutely," I agreed.
"I assume you had no difficulties," said Fornjot. "Did you encounter any trouble?"
"No," I assured him. "It was refreshing."
"Ahh," he said, smiling. "I assumed as much. It was clear that you did not run into any enemies."
"How so?" I asked, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
"Well, for one," he began, "I see no signs of battle about you. No wounds or damage beyond what you already had when you left."
I nodded my agreement.
"And for another thing," he said, chuckling, "we did not hear any explosions. They do seem to be the hallmark of your battles."
I had to laugh at that. I couldn't argue the point, either. It seems that any time I am involved in a big fight, there is considerable damage to the surrounding area. I guess you could call it my calling card.
"Fair enough," I replied, still laughing.
One of the cooks handed me a plate of food that consisted for roasted venison and vegetables. There was also a large chunk of cheese and a moderate sized loaf of rich, dark bread. It smelled earthy and delicious, leaving my mouth watering with eagerness to taste it.
I glanced over to see Fornjot open his loaf of bread with a knife and begin placing the meat and vegetables inside the still steaming bread. Before closing it up, he added the cheese and folded the loaf shut with a smile.
"Please do not tell me that your people have never learned this trick," he said, smiling broadly.
I couldn't help myself and started laughing.
"Something amuses you?" he asked, still grinning.
"We call it a sandwich," I replied, wiping my eye with the back of my hand.
"Why?" he asked, incredulously. "There is no sand in this, nor is witchcraft involved."
"No," I replied, still laughing. "It was named after the first man to discover
it. It was centuries ago. A man from England who was the Earl of Sandwich."
"Still," he mused, "what an odd name. We call it a handfeast."
"Handfeast?" I said, chuckling. "I think I like your name for it better."
"As do I," he replied. "We have no need to involve black sorceries to aid us in our meals."
"We…uh…nevermind," I said, shaking my head.
Instead, I pulled out one of my own knives and slit open my loaf of bread. Then I began building my own sandwich. I mean handfeast.
"I don't suppose you have any mayo?" I asked, smiling.
"What is mayo?" he said, still chewing a mouthful of food.
"When this is over," I said, grinning, "I will introduce you to all sorts of condiments. Hold on, let me get my bag."
I went to the wagon and quickly checked on Spec-4. She was still asleep, so I grabbed my bag and headed back to the fire. Digging through the pack, I pulled out an MRE bottle of tobasco sauce.
"Here," I said, tossing it to Fornjot. "Try this on your sand…handfeast."
Taking the tiny bottle, he opened it up and dabbed some on his finger, tasting it before he put any on his food. His face lit up like a child who had their first bite of ice cream.
"Fire sauce!" he exclaimed. "It is a bit tame, but still very savory. Thank you, my friend."
Dousing it all on his handfeast, he began eating with a very pleased look on his face. Shrugging, I dug out another bottle and added some to my own food. Then I began eating. The food was very well cooked and oddly seasoned. I wasn't familiar with some of the flavors, but they were very good.
Once we had finished eating, one of the camp cooks returned to collect our wooden plates. Then we were given large drinking horns filled with rich, dark mead. This was very different than the mead in the wineskin. The color was almost red.
"This is different," I said, looking at the liquid in my horn.
"Blóð mjoðr," said Fornjot. "Blood mead."
"Blood?" I asked, surprised. "Who's blood?"
"According the legend," he explained, "there once was a warrior named Kvasir who was widely known for his great wisdom. Upon his death, the Gods mixed his blood with the mead so that his wisdom would be passed on to all who drank of it. Now, I do not know if this legend is true, but it inspired a tradition among my people. We mix the blood of a dangerous beast with our mead so that the strength and ferocity of the creature will pass to the warriors who drink of its blood. This is made from of a fire worm. What your people call a dragon."
"Dragon?" I said, shocked. "I thought those were just a myth?"
"Aye," he said, lifting his drinking horn to his lips and drinking deeply. "I suppose you would. It has been more than two thousand years since the Bifrost was closed to your world. It has been long indeed since your people have seen some of the beasts that wander the other worlds touched by Yggdrasil[7]. Come hunting the plains of Muspelheim with me, Grant. I will show you dragons."
"Maybe when this is all done," I said. "I'd love to travel the Bifrost and see the other realms."
"Indeed you shall," he said, nodding. "Rest assured that your deeds are worthy of Eternal Asgard."
"You speak as if you honor the Gods, as I do," I said, taking my first sip of the Blood Mead.
It burned, but I felt it radiating throughout my body. It was stronger than any drink I had ever tried before. Not even my precious Bushmills had ever had such a kick to my system.
"Just because we have been enemies does not mean I do not respect or revere your Gods," he explained. "They are worthy warriors, and that should be respected by all."
"Agreed," I said, lifting my horn. "To the honored warriors of both our peoples."
We both drank deeply of our mead and I felt the warmth radiating throughout my body. I felt wonderful. In fact, it was more intoxicating than any drink I had ever drunk before. I knew that I had better go easy on this stuff or I was going to pass out or do something stupid.
"May I ask you a question, my friend?" I asked, my speech slurred slightly.
"Of course," replied Fornjot. "You may ask me anything."
"Do you know of a Hrimthurssar warrior named Valgard?"
Suddenly, everyone around us went silent. Fornjot lowered his drinking horn slowly and had a dark expression on his face.
"Where did you hear that name?" he asked, his voice somber.
"I'd rather not say," I replied. "I know he's Loki's son."
"Just as I have a name among my people," he said, "so does Valgard. I am called the Destroyer because of the battles I have won. Valgard has many names, some of which do not bear repeating. I know of no curse in our language or yours that is vile enough to describe Valgard. Some call him the Merciless. Others, the Treacherous. He is both of those, but I prefer what he is known as among my mother's people. They call him Valgard the Defiler."
I could hear the anger and venom in his voice. Clearly, Valgard was a name that was known to them and they held no love for him.
"It is said among my mother's people that it was a mercy to kill the women before he could take them," rumbled Fornjot. "Valgard is known for his cruelty and rapacious lust. He is no warrior. He is an animal. So, I ask again…where did you hear that name?"
Fornjot's tone was dark and ominous. I could see the rage smoldering in his eyes and there wasn’t a single sound from any around us. It wasn't fear that I sensed from them. It was hatred.
"I had a vision when I was in the woods," I said, not completely lying to him.
The White Stag was clearly a vision.
"A vision?" he said, slowly.
"I have them from time to time," I explained. "They have served me well throughout all of this."
"I see," said Fornjot. "It appears that you are truly touched by the Gods. Be grateful that you did not encounter him."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"The Defiler knows nothing of honor," he replied. "He would attack you and keep sending wave after wave of his men until you fell. You do not want to know what he would do to your friends."
"I think I have a pretty good idea," I said, frowning.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "You do not. You cannot imagine the depths of depravity he is capable of. If you face him, be prepared for brutality the likes of which you have never before seen. It has been said that he once hung the severed heads of an entire village inside his tent so that the women he had taken as prizes could look on their families and despair."
"Got it," I said, taking another swig from my horn. "Kill him fast."
"He does not deserve a quick death," said Fornjot. "But you are correct. Put him down like a rabid dog before he can do too much harm. Do not show him mercy, for you shall receive none from him. If the opportunity presents itself, then you should strike first. Do not wait for him to attack."
I could see the emotion was raw on his face. There was something more to this than he had told me. I couldn't help but wonder what it was.
"Let me tell you a story," he said softly. "Long ago, when I was but a boy, there was a woman from my clan named Astrid. She was an Oracle of my people. She sang the songs that told our history and lore. It is a position of great honor among my people, and she was the greatest in many generations. Her voice was like honey to your ears, a voice that was only matched by her beauty. It was said that no man of the Eldjötnar could gaze upon her and not fall helplessly in love."
His voice trailed off and grew thick with emotion. After a few long pulls from his drinking horn, he continued.
"One day, while the majority of the warriors of our village were off on a raid," he said, this voice low and heavy, "The Defiler raided our camp. Many people were killed and he took our Oracle. Some of the villagers managed to escape. I was one of the lucky few who survived. When the warriors returned, they immediately set out after the Defiler, but he was already gone. They lost his trail and had to return to camp."
Pausing for another drink, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I could see the st
rain that telling this tale was placing on him, but I didn't want him to stop. I was captivated by the tale.
"A fortnight passed before she came staggering back into our camp," he said, anger rising in his voice. "She was naked and covered with blood. She had been tortured near to death. Our healers did what they could, but the damage was severe. While burning up with fever, she told of her ordeal at the hands of the Defiler."
He clenched his fists tightly and I could see him shaking with emotion.
"The Defiler had raped her for days before throwing her to his men. He told them not to kill her, but for them all to have their turn. More than a hundred warriors took turns at her for more than a week. Before turning her loose to wander back into our camp, he cut her throat. Not deeply enough to kill her, but enough to ruin her vocal chords. Her voice as well as her beauty had been ruined; all for spite. She fought valiantly, but in vain. Death took her after almost a week of agony. Our entire clan mourned her loss and still does to this day."
He turned to me then, his eyes smoldering with hatred and rage.
"So you see," he said, darkly, "if you have the chance to kill him, take it! If I see him on the field of battle, I will do my best to destroy him. It is said that he is as powerful as Surtr and that he has killed over a hundred warriors in single combat. Do not underestimate him and do not hesitate to strike."
"I won't," I said, grimly. "I swear."
My thoughts turned to Vigdis and Valdis. I had little doubt what fate would befall them if I failed to stop him. I knew at that moment, killing Valgard was going to be a high priority. From what I had just heard and observed first hand, I had little doubt that the son-of-a-bitch would cheat. I'm pretty sure that the phrase "fair fight" wasn't in his vocabulary. That was fine with me. Frankly, I wasn't planning on giving him the chance. He was nothing short of a monster. Good thing I remembered the old tales. It was only fitting that a monster meets Beowulf.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of activity in the camp. It wasn't the sound of people scrambling for their weapons. No one had raised an alarm. It was more like the sound of people moving to break camp. I had made a bed in the back of the wagon to be near Spec-4. She was still out, but her fever had broken during the night. Her color was better, too. As I sat up, I heard her stir.
Ragnarok Rising: Desolation: Book Five of the Ragnarok Rising Saga Page 42
