Runeblade Saga Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  “Abandon my brother?” Starkad snorted. “Would you abandon yours? I think not.” He resisted the urge to spit—barely. He might not have owed Odin respect, but only a fool would antagonize a man … being … of such power.

  “I cannot allow an apple to fall to those who will not serve the will of Asgard.”

  No. Starkad supposed that only a fool would willingly give away such a gift, especially when too few of the treasures remained for his own loyal servants. So the only answer he could offer was to shrug.

  “And yet … you may yet serve and earn a reward. Go to King Gylfi in Sviarland and serve him well, and you may serve me in so doing.”

  Win Odin’s favor … no. Starkad shook his head. “I serve no man, for I have no people left. And I will make my own way, King of the Aesir.”

  “Urd is cruel, Starkad. We will see each other again in the days to come … in the darkest of nights.”

  Starkad shook his head and left the old man in the forest. He was done with such things, forever. Done being one more tool in Odin’s arsenal.

  Starkad’s life, his urd, they would be his own to make.

  8

  Ostergotland lay south of Njarar, several days’ walk in the best of weather. With winter settling, Hervor and Starkad had already travelled for three days and were not even halfway there. The snows had not settled enough for dog sleds, so walking appeared the only option. Shame.

  Most of those long hours, he barely spoke to her.

  Hervor cleared her throat to try again as they passed under the deeper reaches of Deeppine. “There are bogs all over … best be wary.”

  “I walked these lands many times. Even before you were born.”

  Right. Fine. “So how old are you, then? I’ve heard tales that you don’t age so much like a normal man.”

  Starkad cast a glance over at her, his face unreadable but certainly not warm. Badgering him into sleeping with her had clearly not been her best idea. Then again, Hervor had a lot of poor ideas in retrospect. “After this job is done, I’ll be moving on.”

  “What? Where?”

  “Farther than you would care to travel, I am certain, and no place you’d have heard of.”

  “Huh.” She spat to the side of the path. “Good to see your arrogance is back. I was starting to worry over your health. Seems maybe someone needs another reminder—I fought that draug prince on Thule. As far as I know, that’s not even really part of Midgard.”

  “Nor is the kingdom where I soon walk.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Starkad paused then, and Hervor drew up short, turning back to look at him. “Hervor … I must seek another dverg ruin. And should I find that … I go next to Glaesisvellir in Jotunheim. Tales speak of great treasures.”

  “And you didn’t have your fill of treasure hunting in Thule?”

  Did his so-called curse truly compel him to such recklessness? Or was that merely an excuse to not take responsibility for his own failings?

  Starkad shrugged and started walking again. “What did we come away with, truly? A few silver coins, a few gems. A runeblade taken by Ecgtheow?”

  “The runeblade …” Was that what this was about? “You regret giving it to him. Or … are you angry that I gave it to him?”

  He scoffed, not bothering to look at her. Which was not an answer.

  Hervor scowled as she followed him down the path. Had they not promised the blade to Tiny—to Ecgtheow? What had he expected her to do? Break her oath? She’d never do that … nor, had she thought, would Starkad. Why could the damned man never figure out what he really wanted?

  “It will be hard going,” he said a few moments later. “Assaulting Upsal in winter, I mean.”

  So he wanted to change the subject. Fine. She had recruited him for a reason, and it was past time she got back to it. Sometimes she wanted to like this man, true, wanted to think him a friend. Odin alone knew what Starkad actually thought. But none of that mattered. Hervor had her own oath, one to bring down the Ynglings. And that meant taking on Upsal. That meant Starkad leading Haki’s champions.

  “King Haki has a fleet of longships. We’ll descend on our foes before they know what’s coming for them.”

  “Sailing the Gandvik in winter poses its own risks. The storms can crop up with little warning and leave us all prey to Rán.”

  Hervor had spent enough time on a ship to know that fear. “We’ll hug the coast. No one will be meeting the mermaid queen this winter. None of ours, at least. Trust me, Starkad, this will be fast and brutal. Then you can go and do whatever you want—even throw your life away in Jotunheim.”

  Starkad glanced up at the sky, though he could not have possibly made out much through the canopy and the mist. “I think it will be dark before long. Perhaps we should see about finding a camp.”

  Another night in the woods with little conversation between them. How appealing. “If we press, I think we can reach my grandfather’s hall in an hour.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “Jarl Bjalmar is sworn to King Haki.”

  Starkad grunted and rubbed his scraggly beard. “Lead on then.”

  Darkness had settled before they reached the town, and the gates were closed. She could almost feel it as archers drew a bead on her when she approached.

  “I am no vaettr!” she called up to them.

  “You’re out in the mist at night.”

  She took another step closer, slowly. Alarm these bastards and they’d shoot her before they had the first clue who she was. That didn’t sound the least bit pleasant. “It’s Hervor—Bjalmar’s granddaughter.”

  Murmuring above. Men shifting.

  A warrior leaned over the wall just a bit, waving a torch out to his side. “Step into the light.”

  She did so.

  “It’s her,” the man said a moment later.

  A pair of warriors escorted her to the main hall—where Gunther was waiting. The thegn looked even older than when she’d last seen him. Like one who had no more business wielding a sword, though he’d taught her well enough with one in days long gone.

  “So you’re back.” He looked to Starkad. “And this is?”

  “Starkad Eightarms.”

  Gunther recoiled, then visibly stifled his shock and offered Hervor’s friend a respectful nod. “Well then, I’ll take you to see the jarl.”

  “I don’t believe you ever mentioned being nobility,” Starkad whispered as he strode beside her to the back of the hall.

  No. She had not. Nor was she quite certain why she’d let him learn so much about her now. Except … Odin’s stones. What was she doing with him, anyway? Starkad was even more fucked up than her. He couldn’t have stayed in one place if his life depended on it. No, now normal adventures were not enough. Now he had to go delving beyond all mortal ken into places touched by the Otherworld.

  Imbecile.

  Gunther plodded over to Hervor’s grandfather’s side and whispered in his ear.

  Strange that her mother was not here to greet her. It was too early for her to have retired for the night.

  “Hervor,” Grandfather said and rose. “It is good you have returned.”

  “Only for the night. We need supplies for a short journey. At dawn we must continue on toward Haki’s hall.”

  Grandfather glanced at Gunther as if the thegn ought to have had any say whatsoever in this hall. “Hervor … walk with me. Gunther … see to our guest.”

  Gunther nodded, then motioned for Starkad to follow him to a table.

  Actually, hot food and some mead were about all Hervor wanted now herself, but she allowed Grandfather to guide her into his private chamber behind the main hall. He motioned to a chair, and she sat, her stomach suddenly roiling, though not with any thought of food.

  “What’s going on?”

  He sighed as he collapsed into a chair across from her, then let his forehead fall to his palm. For the barest instant, his shoulders bobbed and when he looked up, he was blinking away a tear.
How unmanly. And unlike Grandfather. What the fuck?

  And then it hit her.

  For there was only one thing that might cause him to react thus.

  “Where … is my … mother?”

  “She … fell ill.”

  “In the summer?” Hervor lurched to her feet. It happened from time to time, but summer was supposed to be safe. “I must see her.” As if she did not know. As if she did not … did not … already understand …

  His face … “She’s gone, Hervor.”

  “Y-you didn’t even send for me?”

  He sighed, shaking. “We … tried. Sent men to the king, but he said you’d gone north. And so we had to send her on her way.”

  She clenched her jaw and leaned down on the armrests of his chair. “You mean you already fucking burned her. You burned her without me! Without her daughter!”

  He leapt to his feet, sending her stumbling backward. Raised his hand like he might slap her. “Losing one’s parents is inevitable, Hervor. I, however, have lost my daughter. And you dare to raise your voice to me as if I have wronged you? I have suffered my grief alone while you gallivanted around with that mercenary monster you brought into my house!”

  What? Grandfather rarely showed overmuch temper. When he did … Hervor fell back another step, still uncertain if he planned to hit her. Or whether she would defend herself if he tried. “You mean Starkad?”

  “I can think of few men in all Sviarland with so ill a reputation.”

  “I was sent to recruit him by our king.”

  Grandfather waved that away, then glanced about the room as if wanting something to steady himself on. “Listen to me, girl. I have indulged your whims as best I could, let you train as a shieldmaiden, and find service to the king. But now your mother is gone, and I am not like to see many more winters. Our land needs a ruler. It is past time for you to give over your foolery, find a husband, and pop out an heir or three.”

  Hervor sputtered, not even able to form a response to that. Did he seriously expect her to give over her oath to her father, to her kin? “I have a mission to complete.”

  “King Haki got on well enough for many years without Hervor at his side, and I dare say he’ll manage to live on without you.”

  “I’m not only talking about my oath to the king, though now you mention it—”

  “Enough! You returned from Thule a scarred, bitter wreck and from all I can tell, barely alive at all. You tempt your urd with your petty quest to avenge those who neither want nor need your aid. Your father and all his kin are long gone from this world. Their side of the family is not the only one to which you have a duty! Or perhaps you would like to see us too restless and wakeful after death?”

  Hervor spat on his floor. “Were I to speak to the king of your words …”

  “So you would now betray your family again?”

  No. She would not do that, whatever she might threaten. She had done enough damage in her days with Red-Eye’s Boys. Nor, however, was she going to stand here and let the man browbeat her into marrying some arrogant jarl’s son while her oath lay unfulfilled.

  “Give us the supplies or do not, Grandfather. Either way, we leave at first light and go to join Haki. And when he claims the throne of Upsal, I will be there at his side. And he will think you a good and loyal supporter to have sent him so great an ally.”

  She spun and left, unwilling to let him get in another word.

  Part II

  Fourth Moon

  Year 28, Age of the Aesir

  9

  Screams rang out through Fyris Woods, as men died slowly and quickly. Hundreds of corpses clogged the paths, blanketed the roots, made navigating treacherous. Blood and guts and shit coated the trees and Hervor as well.

  Panting and reeling, she dodged around another tree.

  An arrow thunked into the wood beside her, and she stumbled and scrambled back the way she’d come. So much chaos. Couldn’t think … couldn’t tell what direction that missile had come from.

  Hard to even say who was on which side.

  A man bellowed, charged her with an axe over his head. A swift thrust from Tyrfing. The blade punched through his chest and stole all strength from his intended blow. Hervor kicked him, shoving the body away.

  They had attacked with surprise, slaughtered so many of Ochilaik’s men. But now everything had gone to shit.

  Shit and blood, like the damned trees.

  It was impossible to hold any kind of line in the forest.

  Hervor had meant to stick by Haki’s side at first, but Ochilaik’s thegns had led a counterattack.

  Leaning against a tree, she wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d seen a lot of battles, but war on this scale … it was something else.

  Two armies clashing in the woods.

  And naught but death everywhere she turned.

  So be it then, she had brought death here. Death, with a golden pommel, always hungry for more blood. And she would feed it until she found Ochilaik. She’d kill the bastard herself and not only fulfill her oath but win high praise from Haki.

  A few more deep breaths to steady herself and she raced back out, ducking between more trees. There, a cluster of men all fighting.

  One spun about several others, wielding two swords and engaging at least five men. Some of Ochilaik’s own thegns and champions … fighting Starkad. If he was there, the king of Upsal must be close.

  Belting out her own war cry, she charged back into the fray. Tyrfing darted around shields and under guards, drawing fatal scratches along the necks and sides and limbs of a half dozen warriors who did not know death had already claimed them. No mail could turn aside the runeblade. No armor could protect against such a weapon.

  From the look of things, Ochilaik must have lost damn nigh to half his army.

  There, Haki’s brother Hagbard swung a maul at a big man bearing a battleaxe and shield. Ochilaik’s man leapt sideways out of the path of the mighty blow, the hammer smacking into the ground. His own counter caught Hagbard on the shoulder. Only the prince’s mail saved him, and still the blow sent him reeling, weaponless. Arm hanging limp.

  Damn it.

  That must be one of Ochilaik’s champions. Geigad or Svipdag?

  Hervor slew another warrior, then raced in, intercepting the champion before he could close in and finish off Hagbard.

  “I am Hervard, thegn to Haki! Face me.”

  Up close, the man seemed even larger. Six and half feet, maybe more. He spit and sneered. “Geigad Rockfist.” The big man eyed Tyrfing. “I know what that is, boy. And I think I shall make an even greater name for myself with it … after I ram it so far up your arse it scrapes your teeth.”

  Colorful. Under other circumstances, Hervor might have traded insults with him. But she wasn’t going to intimidate this man. And that meant naught remained left to be said. Geigad stood between her and vengeance against Ochilaik.

  Hervor raised her shield up between them, Tyrfing held ready just off to her side.

  Geigad beat his axe against his shield once, hard. Even as the motion finished, he sprang at her, much faster than his big form ought to have allowed. His axe came down so quickly Hervor only just managed to get her shield in position. The axe clanged against it, chipped the wood. Numbed her arm. Again and once again Geigad rained blows upon her shield. After the third, her arm wasn’t working.

  She jerked Tyrfing up in a clumsy counter, but he batted it away with his own shield. She was too far out of position. She had to get around—

  Geigad snapped his own shield into hers with such force the impact lifted her off her feet. Without balance, she flailed in the air for a bare instant before crashing down into the bloody muck. Tyrfing slipped from her fingers, though she clenched her shield even tighter.

  The big man was on her in a heartbeat. Another axe blow on her shield. Another.

  Hagbard thrust a spear at him, and Geigad twisted, knocking it away on his shield. The reprieve gave Hervor enoug
h time to snatch up Tyrfing and scramble to her feet. Couldn’t catch her breath.

  Everything hurt.

  Arm wouldn’t respond right.

  Couldn’t feel the fingers in her shield hand.

  Damn thing was splintered all to pieces too. A few more blows and it would crumble like kindling.

  Hervor lunged at Geigad again, swiped with Tyrfing. With one arm limp, every blow felt off-center, every strike sloppy. She couldn’t properly get her weight behind a swing. But all it should take was a scratch and at least she’d take this big fuck down with her.

  Moving too fast once again, he knocked away Tyrfing with his axe while smashing his shield into Hagbard’s face. The king’s brother crumpled like a discarded shirt.

  Geigad spat. Turned on her. “You and me, boy.”

  Grunting with the pain, she pulled her shield back into position. And he kept advancing.

  She was going to die.

  The realization was sudden, certain.

  She had Tyrfing, but Geigad was bigger, stronger, faster. Had more reach. He was … just plain better. A champion feared throughout all the North Realms. Only a few men like that alive. She’d killed one, once, in Orvar-Oddr.

  Killed him—through treachery. Stabbed him when he was exhausted and had no idea she intended it.

  She was, after all, a treacherous bitch. About to get what she deserved.

  “Starkad …” she tried to shout the name, though it came wheezy, winded as she was. She backed away, not nigh to fast enough to escape anyone, much less this killer.

  Geigad sneered. “Meet your death with honor, boy. Maybe Odin will take you to Valhalla.”

  Maybe. Or after all the wretchedness she had wrought, maybe Hel herself would come to claim Hervor’s soul …

  “This is … Tyrfing …” She hefted the sword. “It will have your blood.”

  The champion smiled grimly and charged. She raised her shield to block—and he slammed his into it once again, this time driving her almost straight into the ground. She swept up Tyrfing to chop out his knees. His axe came down faster.