by Matt Larkin
Another guard fell at his feet as Starkad’s blade cleaved through his chin. Blood splattered everywhere.
Screaming. The clank of metal on metal. The stench of shit and blood.
The utter chaos that accompanies any battle.
Hervor bellowed a war cry and slashed through a man’s arm, Tyrfing barely slowing before it embedded in the poor bastard’s chest.
Starkad whipped both blades together and rushed a man blocking the doorway. The guard caught the edge of a sword under his throat and fell back gurgling as Starkad pushed onward. With a growl, he shoved the man backward, sending the dying guard tumbling down the stairs.
Vebiorg leapt past him, caught a guard by the throat, and bodily hurled him into the far wall. The guard cracked his skull against the stone, hit the floor, and lay still.
“We still need to find the runeblade,” Win shouted from somewhere behind them.
Fighting every warrior in Miklagard had not been part of the plan though. Maybe Starkad should send the others back up to the balcony, try to cover their retreat.
More warriors came tromping up the stairs, two of them, followed by a man in an ornate, blood-red robe with golden embroidery. At his hip rested a sheathed sword in a scabbard even more elaborately decorated than those in the treasure vault.
Tanna.
Starkad point his sword at the man. “Kill him!” He charged forward, but was intercepted by another two guards and had to dodge a halberd thrust.
Vebiorg dashed around him, lunged between the two guards—embedding her axe in one’s skull—and grabbed Tanna’s throat. Or tried to. The Patriarch moved even faster than the varulf, caught her wrist and spun. His momentum inexplicably hefted her aloft and he swung her down like her arm was the shaft of a pendulum. The man brought the varulf crashing straight into the floor. The sound of bones cracking reached Starkad, even over the tumult behind him.
He faltered a step and almost took a halberd blade to the face. Only Tveggi’s sudden shove got him out of the way. Rollaugr’s thegn roared, blade flashing as he charged Tanna. The Patriarch stepped around Tveggi like the man was moving through quicksand. He appeared almost out of nowhere, with a hand grasping the back of Tveggi’s skull.
Tveggi flailed, trying to escape the man’s grasp but somehow unable to break free.
Starkad gaped, uncertain what he was even seeing.
Tanna jerked his hand down, pulling Tveggi to his knees. The old thegn was screaming, clutching his head. Tanna placed his other hand on the man’s forehead. Oh, fuck.
Starkad roared, charging in.
The Patriarch pushed his hands together. Tveggi’s skull exploded into fragments of bone and brains and gore, coating Starkad’s chest as well as everything around him.
Bellowing, Starkad launched lightning-fast slash after slash.
Tanna dodged around them as though they were dancing. A half dozen times Starkad’s blades passed within a hair of the Patriarch. But they never found flesh.
Starkad had always believed the fastest man was the only one who mattered. And he’d always been the fastest man. But Tanna moved with … inhuman speed and strength.
The lord grinned ever so slightly, exposing elongated upper canine teeth. A hint of red light gleamed in his eyes. Draug? He didn’t look rotten.
“Tveggi,” Win was moaning.
“Run!” Hervor bellowed. “Retreat.”
Damn it! Starkad swung again, pivoted, and thrust his other sword up at the same angle he expected Tanna to dodge the first. His second blade just managed to scrape the lord’s side. Tanna’s sneer dropped in an instant, and he backed away, hand to his ribs. He lifted it up. Dark red blood dripped between his pale fingers.
“Not so smug now,” Starkad said. Maybe the man could understand Northern. Maybe not. Didn’t really matter.
In a single move, almost too fast to see, Tanna jerked his sword free. Faint purple light gleamed from runes running up the length of the blade. The man bared his teeth, exposing those … fangs.
All right then.
Starkad lunged forward.
Tanna broke up into a cloud of dust. It billowed past Starkad, flowed around him like he was not even there. He spun to see the cloud reform into a man behind him.
Hervor was leading the others back up the tower, back toward the balcony.
Giving up.
Tanna’s runeblade flashed, cleaving through both of Fjolvor’s legs as she tried to run up the stairs.
The woman shrieked, pitched over backward, and toppled back onto the landing. The sheer suddenness of it left Starkad breathless, dimly aware of Baruch rushing to where his wife had fallen. Screaming in wordless, mad defiance.
Fjolvor convulsing as the shock set in.
Afrid was against the wall, spear trembling in her grasp, mumbling. Standing in a pool of her own piss.
Vebiorg struggling to rise with Hel knew how many broken bones.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Starkad sucked in a deep breath, willed his mind to calm. He lunged at Tanna, whipped his swords both around in a deadly dance. He had to save them. The ones he could. He’d brought them here, now he had to save them.
Tanna twisted around, broke into dust, and solidified beside Starkad, swinging. It took all Starkad had to twist out of the way, parrying. Tanna’s runeblade came down again, shearing cleanly through one of Starkad’s swords.
Win was dragging Baruch away from Fjolvor. If she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be.
Starkad flung the hilt of his broken sword at Tanna then took off running for the stairs himself, not waiting to see if the throw hit.
He dared a glance over his shoulder to see Vebiorg doffing her clothes, grunting in pain, and trying to climb the stairs all at once.
Tanna wasn’t pursuing, though. He’d paused to lift Fjolvor up by the neck. The woman was mercifully unconscious. The … creature bit into her neck and held her there, the both of them trembling.
What the fuck?
“Move!” Starkad bellowed at the others.
Vebiorg had become a wolf and was running. She dashed around him, leaving him the last one out. Starkad ran up to the balcony.
The clomping footfalls of guards chased him.
Afrid was already climbing the rope back to the other rooftop. But they’d never all make it.
How far down was it? Thirty feet, assuming he cleared the gap and made it to the other roof?
Vebiorg either followed his gaze or else had the same idea, because the varulf backed up, dashed forward and took a flying leap. She landed easily onto the next roof, Höfund jolting so violently Afrid almost pitched off the rope.
“We have to jump it!” he shouted. “Go! Go!”
“We can’t make that!” Win objected.
A guard rushed him. Starkad sidestepped his halberd thrust, caught the shaft, and tugged. The man stumbled toward him, too close for Starkad to use his sword. So instead he jerked the cross guard up into the man’s nose. It sent him tumbling down.
Beyond them, another robed man was closing in. His bared teeth revealed fangs like Tanna’s.
“Hel’s tits,” Starkad said through gritted teeth.
Hervor screamed behind him. Must’ve made the jump. Please don’t let her fall. He glanced back. She was on the other roof, laying on her side. Baruch was there too.
Just Starkad and Win still here.
The fanged man stepped up onto the wall and began walking along it toward Starkad, mouth wide. Oh, fuck this. Starkad spun, raced for the rail, and jumped. Let Win follow if he wasn’t an imbecile.
Wind rushed past his face.
For a moment, he thought he’d fall short. But he crashed down just over the building’s lip, rolled with it, and still slammed hard enough into the ground to knock his breath away.
As he rolled over, he saw Win try the jump. He didn’t make it nigh as far, but Höfund released the grapple line and lunged out, catching the prince’s wrist and heaving him on the building.
“
What happened?” Höfund asked. “Did you kill Tanna?”
“No!” Hervor said, seeming hard pressed to gain her feet. “Now fucking run.”
Shouts were up all over the area.
Some of the guards had climbed up on the rail to try the jump themselves.
Starkad scrambled to his own feet and dashed forward. The others were racing toward the next rooftop. It was one of those long ones, stretching out along the river, but angled.
Not ideal for jumping onto. Not that anyone of them had the least choice in the matter. Starkad raced for it, cleared the gap, and landed on the incline. His boots skidded a foot or so before he caught himself with one hand. Pushing off the tiles, he took off running again.
Hervor and Win were just ahead of him. No sign of Vebiorg, Baruch, or Afrid.
He glanced back. The other fanged abomination effortlessly made the jump from the balcony, landed in a crouch, and advanced on without hesitation.
Damn it!
Starkad raced forward, looking for the next rooftop. They had to lose that thing somehow.
Had to stay ahead of it.
Because Tanna had torn through his crew like a butcher.
7
Hervor jumped to another rooftop, landed wrong, and slid. Her knee cracked down on a shingle, dislodged the tile and sent it crashing down.
Win yanked her up by the elbow. “This way!” He was pointing around the bend created by a second tier on the current roof. No time to argue, really.
Hervor let the prince guide her. Win dashed around the bend, then scrambled off at an angle away from the river. Hervor was too fucking turned about to be sure, but she thought this route was taking them farther from the apartment where she needed to meet the others.
Hardly mattered, though. Anywhere was better than here.
Win leapt to another building, slightly lower than this one, landed in a crouch, and dashed forward.
Panting, Hervor chased after the prince. Odin’s godsdamned stones. She knew coming to this city had been a mistake. What the hideous blood-drinking fuck were those things? Like draugar, almost, but Tanna had looked human.
Win scurried over the next rooftop, dislodging a hail of tiles that came crashing onto the cobbled street below. No one down there to get hurt, but the noise of it seemed like to attract—
Dust billowed up before Win in a cloud bigger than he was. A red gleam rose up in that cloud, and then the cloud congealed into a man. Another fanged monstrosity.
Win turned so quick he toppled over sideways, rolled off the roof, and pitched down into the street below.
Troll shit!
Hervor twisted, looked down. A merchant stall stood just below her. With a glance at their attacker—now striding straight for her—Hervor leapt off. Landed on the stall’s roof. The thin wood cracked under her feet. A single heartbeat, then she plunged through. Splinters scraped her arms and face as she dropped down into the ruined stall.
The second fall knocked the breath out of her. Everything was hazy for a moment. Groaning, Hervor scrambled out to the street and caught a glimpse of Win disappearing into an alley. Off-balance, she blundered after the man, hit her shoulder on the narrow alley wall, bounced off it, and kept running.
A hand lurched out from a tiny space between two buildings, grabbed her, and jerked her inside. She was wedged in so tight she could hardly move. But Win was still squeezing through.
Hervor’s heart was beating all out of control. Over her shoulder, Tyrfing caught on the wall, scraping, making too damn much noise. She tried to reach for the hilt, but couldn’t get her arm up. No choice but onward.
This narrow passage let out into another alley. Hervor had not the merest clue where they were. Whole place was a fucking maze.
Win was already darting down another narrow passage, running blind, Hervor had no doubt. But she didn’t have a better plan. Who knew how close that thing was?
She chased after Win. This passage opened back out into another market street. Shit, maybe the same one, who knew?
Win glanced around, then back over his shoulder. “Aesir preserve us.”
The prince took off across the street, forcing Hervor to follow. He wasn’t paying enough attention, had let fear take him.
There was a figure in the street, a man in a cloak, so not the same creature. One of Tanna’s other men, maybe. And turning their way.
Hervor grabbed Win from behind and threw the both of them rolling into another merchant stall. She slapped a hand over Win’s mouth and pulled him in close.
The man in the street looked around as if he’d heard them. Turned in their direction. His eyes gleamed red. His face was rotting. But she knew it. Orvar-Oddr.
Of all the godsdamn bad timing possible … Why now? Odin’s bulging stones, why now? How did the bastard even know she was in Miklagard?
Win wriggled, had maybe suddenly realized he was looking at a draug.
Hervor pulled him tighter, low, so they could hardly even see out the edge of the stall. If Orvar hadn’t seen them yet, maybe …
The draug stalked closer. Looked about. Passed so nigh Hervor could smell the stench of decay off him.
She clenched her own teeth to keep them from chattering. Willed her wild heartbeat under control. Couldn’t let him find her. Not now. Maybe he’d kill her, maybe not. He’d sure as Hel kill Win, though, and probably torture Hervor.
All she had to do to end this was kill him, though. Just draw Tyrfing, close the distance, and stab him in the back. She’d done it when he was alive. Except now, he was stronger and faster than ever.
And she couldn’t make her treacherous hand release Win to grab the sword. She was holding on to him to steady herself as much as to keep Win still.
Every time she’d tried to fight the Arrow’s Point, he’d hurt her. Years of it. She couldn’t beat him. He was too strong. If Höfund was here …
With a start, Hervor realized it wasn’t Win trembling in her arms, it was herself.
Because Orvar had turned her craven.
“I-I think this is the way,” Win mumbled for the third time. He’d been muttering under his breath about Tveggi from almost the moment they’d left that merchant’s stall.
By all rights, Hervor should have been the one leading them back to the apartment. Starkad had more or less declared her his second, true. But right now, Hervor just couldn’t quite make her brain work, much less her body or heart.
Dumbly, she followed behind Win. All this felt like some waking nightmare. She could only assume Tanna and his men were some new kind of draugar. As if Hervor had not had enough of the deathless abominations on Thule and in the years following it.
On that cursed ship she had somehow sailed into the Otherworlds and never, ever, been able to pull free of them. They had their grasp on her and would not let go.
“There,” Win said. “I definitely recognize those stalls.”
“How can you even tell with all the goods removed?”
“Trust me.”
Hervor shrugged. Maybe the prince did know something. Either way, it seemed as good a course as any. She followed him until, indeed, the back alleys did start to look familiar, if more eerie in the night and deserted of all life.
Deserted … Everyone fled the streets before nightfall here. Because they knew. Even if they didn’t know exactly what prowled the night, they knew something did. And Baruch was from this city. Even as a child, shouldn’t he have known?
Win took a wrong turn, and they had to double back before they came to the apartment Baruch had rented for them. The door was shut, but voices sounded within. Hervor eased open the door.
Starkad had his hands on the hilts of his swords at her intrusion. “Hervor. I feared …” He shook himself.
Hervor stepped inside, followed by Win. Höfund was there, and Afrid, huddling in a corner and trembling, arms wrapped around her knees. Beside her sat Vebiorg, with a blanket wrapped around her waist and another draped over her shoulders. No spare clothes?
“Where’s Baruch?” Hervor asked.
“We’re not sure,” Starkad said. “Maybe he didn’t make it. There were soldiers all over the city. And more of those creatures stalking us.”
Hervor grimaced. “He’s the only one who knows aught about this cursed place. Without him—”
“Tanna has the runeblade, Mistilteinn,” Starkad said. “It’s the last of them still lost to the North Realms. We have to claim that.”
“And kill Tanna,” Win said. “As long as he lives—”
“Lives?” Afrid asked. “He seemed to me more like a draug.”
“Indeed,” Win said, “but do not interrupt me again. Of all the shocking things, we saw an actual draug on the streets. One of Tanna’s minions, no doubt, assuming the locals don’t keep the things as pets. Through the grace of Odin alone, he didn’t see us.”
Starkad frowned. What was he thinking? He couldn’t know aught about Orvar-Oddr … He couldn’t. “I had reason to believe some ancient, fell powers lurked in the city, though I didn’t know—”
“Someone’s coming,” Vebiorg said. She sniffed the air. “Baruch.”
“Odin be praised,” Win mumbled. “We’ve lost enough people already. We lost …”
Everyone fell silent.
Tveggi had trained Win, hadn’t he? Like Gunther had taught Hervor, except the prince seemed to have appreciated the man even before he was dead. Loved him, the way she ought to have loved her tutor with the sword. But then, Hervor had always been an ungrateful bitch. And now it was too late to make it up to Gunther or anyone else. All she had left was Grandfather and Starkad.
Hervor wished she had aught to say that might comfort Win. She’d lost enough friends to know naught would.
Baruch flung open the door. “They’ve found us.”
Vebiorg growled, already on her feet and stalking out the door, axe in hand.
“Gods damn it,” Afrid said. “They really ought to warn travelers in the harbor about this place. Enter at your own risk. The locals will kill and eat you.”
