by Matt Larkin
“Right then.” Höfund rose up, hefted the grapple and began to swing it round in a circle. Faster, until its whoosh whistled through the air. Until its passing ruffled Hervor’s hair. Then he strode forward a step and flung the grapple.
The metal prongs clanked against the side of the balcony, then fell down to clatter on the cobblestone street. Hervor flinched. That had been graceless.
Höfund crouched down among the others, all now pressing themselves even lower against the roof. “Uh. Sorry ’bout that. Could’ve gone better, I reckon.”
Starkad scrambled to the edge of the roof, grabbed the rope, and began drawing up the grapple with remarkably little noise. Then he turned, looked about. “No sign of patrols anywhere. Like they don’t even watch the streets at night.”
Vebiorg sniffed. “Something is amiss in this place.”
“No doubt,” Starkad said, then turned to Höfund. “Try again.”
The big man rose up again, twirling once more. Another heave. Once more, it smacked against the tower and plummeted to the street.
“Odin’s godsdamned stones,” Hervor mumbled.
“W-what did you say?” Win sputtered. “How can you … how dare you invoke the name of the—”
“Give me the damn thing,” Vebiorg snapped, snatching the grapple line from Höfund. “Oaf.”
Hervor flinched at the varulf’s tone, but she wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Right then,” Höfund said, slumping down on his arse and gnawing at his lip once more.
Vebiorg twirled the grapple, then flung it. It clanked over the lip of the balcony and she jerked it into place. The varulf smirked. “Who’s first?”
“I am,” Starkad said. “Secure the line.”
The varulf looked around the empty roof. “To what?”
“Swing to the tower,” Fjolvor offered.
Starkad shook his head. “No one else would be able to follow. The line won’t reach down to the street.”
Höfund stood now. “Reckon I could hold it steady enough while you climb. Long as you’re going one at a time, leastwise.”
Meaning the half-jotunn would be left behind on the rooftop. There were few people Hervor would rather have at her side if they ran into guards up there, but she had no better suggestion. She clapped him on the back and he nodded at her. Then he took the line from Vebiorg, wrapped it around his meaty forearm, and pulled it taut, with his feet braced against the lip of the roof.
Starkad eased himself onto that lip, grabbed the line with both hands, and then wrapped his legs around it too. Hand over hand, he pulled himself along. He made progress quickly, though a sheen of sweat had risen on Höfund’s brow before Starkad reached the balcony.
“I’ll go next,” Hervor said. She shouldn’t have let Starkad go first. The man could barely see anymore.
She climbed onto the lip and repeated Starkad’s tactic, edging her way up along the rope. Halfway through, her hands were burning. Cold sweat tickled down her neck. Pulling herself along with naught but the strength of her arms left her panting. And wondering if all the others could even pull this off.
The skin on her palms chafed from the rope. Come on. She could do this. She’d made harder climbs before. On several godsdamned occasions, in fact.
Grunting with the effort, she reached the balcony. The question was, how was she supposed to reach around behind herself and hold it? Awkward maneuver, even were she not dangling eighty feet above a cobbled road. If she fell from here, they’d be hard pressed to gather enough of her for a proper pyre.
“Hervor,” Starkad whispered. “Take my hand.”
There he was, arm outstretched over the rail. Hervor twisted around as best she could and lunged for his arm with her left hand. The motion jostled the line despite Höfund’s obvious efforts. Her fingers brushed over Starkad’s palm. Missed. Before she could even curse, his hand had wrapped around her wrist. She had to turn a bit to grasp his hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
Odin’s stones. This was not going to be pleasant. Naught to do but get it over with, though. She released the line and lunged at the wall. Her half-useless right hand caught the rail. For a heartbeat.
Then she slipped, pitched over the side.
Starkad grunted, yanked forward. Her movement jerked to a sudden stop, slamming her hip against the side of the tower and threatening to tear her shoulder right out of its socket. Hervor clenched her teeth and stifled her gasp of pain.
“Get … up …” Starkad had both hands on her arm now.
Sucking in rapid breaths, she twisted around and caught his other arm with her right hand. Like that, she managed to edge her feet against the tower wall. He pulled slowly, letting her walk up the side several paces, until her foot brushed the bottom of the balcony. Then he heaved her up over the rail.
She collapsed on top of him and they both fell, panting. How in Hel’s frozen underworld had he managed to get over that himself? Two working hands, she had to guess.
Starkad eased her off him, rose, and beckoned the others. Vebiorg made the climb faster and with more grace than either of them had. The varulf twisted around, grabbed the edge, and heaved herself up like it was naught at all.
It left Hervor shaking her head.
Vebiorg winked at her. Of course the varulf had seen Hervor’s blunder earlier.
Tveggi followed, then Win. Then Afrid, and finally Baruch and Fjolvor.
Across the gap, she saw Höfund slump down. Exhausted, no doubt, and he’d have to support them all once again on the way back down.
Once everyone was up top, Starkad began to circle around the balcony. Hervor chased close on his heels. Shortly, they came to an archway that led inside, through the thick outer wall and onto a landing. From this, a stairwell circled downward, leading deeper into the tower.
Tanna’s office was in the upper reaches, so probably only one or two flights down from here. With a bit of luck, they’d be in and out of this place quick.
Starkad nodded at her, then started for the stairs.
Hervor grabbed his arm and leaned in close. “Let Vebiorg go first,” she whispered. He glowered. “You can’t see out of one eye. We need someone watching for guards who’ll spot them before they see us. You know it’s true.”
Grumbling under his breath, he motioned the varulf forward, but started off right after her. That was fine. He could still fight, but Hervor wasn’t about to let him get himself killed over his pride.
She crept on after him.
The stairwell wrapped around, with a let off at a small landing. Starkad and Vebiorg had paused before reaching it, staring at something. Peering over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a pair of guards down there.
Couldn’t clearly make out what they had on them. Polerarms, maybe, though probably not at the ready.
Her crew would need to move fast, to silence those men before they could raise a shout. Starkad looked to Vebiorg. The two of them seemed to be thinking the same thing. He motioned for Hervor to fall back a step.
She did so. It was a tiny landing, and too many people would just get in the way.
He eased his swords free, then nodded at Vebiorg. The woman took off with the speed of a real wolf. Starkad chased after her.
A quick yelp of surprise escaped one of the guards. The sound cut off soundly, muffled.
Hervor stepped down the stairs to find Vebiorg had slapped a hand over each guard’s mouth and then driven their heads into the wall. An instant later, Starkad cut their throats. The two men collapsed, gurgling.
Well, that pretty well solved that. Hervor scrambled down to the landing, then motioned the others behind her to follow. There was only one door here, though the stairs continued down. But the two guards had flanked the door, so something good had to be beyond. Tanna’s bedchamber if they were lucky.
Things were going well enough for now.
Vebiorg looked at everyone, then tried the door. The handle clicked, but wouldn’t open.
“It’s lo
cked,” Baruch whispered.
Oh. Well, that had seemed too easy, hadn’t it?
Fjolvor set to searching the guards while Baruch knelt and examined a tiny hole in the door.
“I might be able to pick it,” Baruch said, drawing a metal pin from inside his shirt.
“Won’t it be barred from the other side, then?” Afrid asked.
“Not how they do it here,” Baruch mumbled without looking away from the hole. He was fiddling with it, taking far too long. Every moment they wasted with this increased the chance someone would come along and find eight intruders and two dead guards.
She glanced at Starkad who was twitching one of his swords ever so slightly from side to side. Nervous? Him ?
Vebiorg sniffed, staring at the stairs. “Whole tower reeks of blood. Lot of people died in here.”
“And I don’t want to be among them,” Afrid said. “Would it be too much trouble to do this faster, Miklagardian?”
“Not helping,” Baruch mumbled. A faint click sounded inside the door. “There.” He rose and eased open the door.
What lay beyond was no bedchamber.
Instead, a half dozen chests of gleaming gold and silver coins glittered around the room, catching the firelight from the brazier out here. Piles of gems on a low table sparkled. Jewel-encrusted sword sheaths hung on a rack on the wall. All of it a hoard of wealth unlike aught Hervor had ever beheld nor even dreamed of.
Afrid blew out a whistle and pushed her way inside, immediately grabbing handfuls of the gems.
It broke Hervor out of her daze, and she joined the younger shieldmaiden. This might not have been why they’d come, but with so much wealth, Hervor could easily reverse Grandfather’s fortunes. Could buy an army and ensure he gained a jarldom somewhere, if not the one he’d once held.
“We have little time for this,” Win said. “We came here to accomplish a mission, not rob Lord Tanna.”
Starkad was shoving silver coins in a pouch too. “We’re not all princes here.”
The others joined in, jamming whatever they could carry into bags and pouches and inside shirts. Even Tveggi had snatched one of the jeweled swords from the rack.
A Miklagardian shout went up out on the landing.
Hervor spun, hand on Tyrfing. A group of guards was flooding into the treasure room.
6
S tarkad tore through the guards, whipping his blades around in rapid arcs. He twisted around, cut a man’s throat and parried the halberd thrust of another. Behind him, the others were fighting too, but he couldn’t keep track of them. He could barely mind himself now. Always had to keep turning to ensure no one could come up on his blind side.
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 a
gain, 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.
