Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  With Huld’s help, they found Valgerth’s horse. It was not crippled. Its wound would heal. She remounted it, then they rode back toward the place where the old warrior had been attacked as Huld watched for any new signs of danger.

  The defeated attackers along the way were still writhing but more weakly now, their glow dimming as whatever vestige of unnatural life they had left began to wane.

  Huld described the scene to the others, how the aged warrior lay bleeding in the center of the road, his body horribly torn, barely alive, but still gripping his sword. Nearby lay three death-horrors with shattered skulls. The warrior’s horse stood nearby as if watching over him.

  Bloodsong dismounted and knelt beside the dying man, wishing there was more light by which to see.

  “Warrior,” she said. “Ragnar Olaf’s Son. It is Bloodsong.”

  Huld saw his eyes flutter weakly open, trying to see Bloodsong, then closing again when he could not.

  “Odin will welcome you, warrior,” Bloodsong promised.

  Huld saw him give a slight nod, then incredibly, a smile.

  He laughed weakly, then grimaced, spasmed, and died.

  “The Valkyrie did not lie,” Huld quietly said.

  “Nidhug placed those death-horrors in our path,” Bloodsong reasoned. “They would have been hidden, their glowing bones unseen beneath their bleeding flesh. Even you might not have seen them in time, Witch.”

  “They would have sprung upon us before we could draw steel,” Valgerth added.

  “But Ragnar was riding ahead of us,” Thorfinn said, “and they attacked him instead, giving us warning.”

  “Aye,” Bloodsong agreed. “We’ve no time to honor him with a burial mound and a memorial stone, but I won’t leave him for the wolves. Stand back, all of you. Hold my horse, and his.”

  Huld saw Bloodsong’s lips moving soundlessly as the Hel-warrior intoned a spell.

  Valgerth moaned with horror as Bloodsong’s face became that of the glowing skull and the Hel-ring flickered with purple light. A brilliant purple ray shot forth from the ring, struck the fallen warrior’s corpse. The flesh of Ragnar Olaf’s Son burst into flames.

  Feeling suddenly deeply fatigued from the draining Hel-fire spell, Bloodsong staggered a few steps back from the searing heat, her face her own once more. Soon, nothing remained of the warrior’s corpse but a mound of ashes. Even his mail, battle-helm, and weapons had been consumed in the sorcerous blaze.

  “Very impressive,” Huld commented. “Can you teach me that spell?”

  “First you need a Hel-ring, I suspect.” Bloodsong answered as she mounted her horse. “And even I did not know of it until just now. It just came.”

  “Or was sent? By Hel?”

  “I don’t know, curse it. But why not earlier, if it was Hel who sent it? I could have used it before. Why now, just to consume a dead man’s flesh?”

  “Did it drain your energy? It must have.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then maybe Hel held it back. The temptation to use it might have tired you needlessly, where a lesser spell would have sufficed, which has indeed been the case. Or perhaps it—”

  “Enough! We could speculate about it all night.”

  Huld shrugged.

  “Valgerth,” Bloodsong said, “I heard you moan when I was working the spell. And earlier, you would not ride with me.”

  “Freyadis, I—”

  “And so I will repeat what I told you before,” Bloodsong quickly went on. “You owe me no debts. You are free to go your own way. I told you I had changed. You know now that indeed I have. I do not blame you for feeling repulsed. What I have become, for Guthrun’s sake, repulses me, too.”

  Valgerth said nothing.

  “I doubt that Valgerth would leave your side, Bloodsong,” Thorfinn said at last, breaking the awkward silence. He reached out and touched Valgerth’s arm in the darkness.

  Only Huld could see the look on Bloodsong’s face, the tears glistening in the Hel-warrior’s eyes.

  “What about the warrior’s horse?” Huld asked, holding the aged stallion’s reins.

  Bloodsong wiped at her eyes. “Bring him,” she said tightly, then urged her horse ahead down the road.

  BLOODSONG AND her companions rode through the foothills with Huld’s night eyes watching for danger. The trail twisted through a forest of towering trees that arched over the road, shutting out most of the moonlight. The higher they traveled toward the mountains, the colder the air became, patches of snow more numerous.

  Huld’s head had long since begun to painfully throb due to the strain of maintaining the night vision spell. She longed for rest, for sleep, as did the others, but they dared not risk becoming stationary targets by making camp.

  “Valgerth,” Thorfinn whispered, “I, too, saw what Bloodsong became during the battle against the Hunt, and I’ve seen the skull that replaces her face when she works magic, but she—”

  “Don’t,” Valgerth warned, whispering harshly, hoping Bloodsong couldn’t hear. “Don’t make my shame worse by examining it aloud. I will find a way to deal with my feelings, and a way to overcome them.”

  Huld heard the whispers and was sure Bloodsong must have too. The young Witch glanced sideways at the Hel-warrior, Bloodsong’s face was an unreadable mask.

  “We will be in the mountains soon,” Bloodsong said. “When the road leaves the trees and we reach the entrance to Dvalin’s Burrow, I am going to enter it. Alone.”

  “Dvalin’s Burrow?” Huld was shocked. “You intend to pass through Dvalin’s Burrow?”

  “If the old tales are true, it is the quickest way through the mountains and, for me, probably the safest. Nidhug’s sorcery should be canceled there by the Dwarfs’ magical protections, and no mortal soldier would dare enter Dvalin’s realm. I do not think Dvalin’s Folk will harm me.”

  “You don’t think?” Huld laughed skeptically.

  “I am a Hel-warrior. Hel and King Dvalin are not enemies. But humans are enemies, and Nidhug is human, or started that way, and he became Hel’s enemy. Also, there is the old story about how Nidhug captured Dvalin’s son and tortured him to death.”

  “That may only be a fanciful tale,” Huld warned. “You’re just trying to protect us. You don’t think we’ll follow you into the Burrow. But you won’t get rid of me so easily. Besides, maybe all the horrible stories about Dvalin’s Folk are merely tales. Maybe Dvalin’s Burrow is no more than an old cave in the cliff. Maybe it doesn’t extend under the mountains to the other side. Who has ever seen a Dwarf with their own eyes? Maybe there are no Dwarfs.”

  “Listen to reason, Freyadis,” Valgerth said, riding closer. “Your idea about using the Burrow is crazy!”

  “My decision is to try. Alone. The rest of you will either take another route or go back the way we came.”

  “I told you before, I’m no good at following orders,” Huld responded. “Freya’s Teats, Bloodsong! I will not leave your side.”

  “Nor will we,” Valgerth agreed.

  “Aye,” Thorfinn added, giving Valgerth a frown. “If you want to be murdered and eaten by Dwarfs, so do I.”

  Huld laughed.

  “Freyadis,” Valgerth said, “in spite of how I acted earlier, I am your friend. I will not abandon you.”

  “Modgud’s Bones!” Bloodsong cursed. “You are all as stubborn as—”

  “As you?” Huld suggested. She rubbed her throbbing temples and renewed the concentration of willpower needed to keep her night vision active, wishing for dawn.

  * * *

  Jalna felt sick. The smell and taste of death from Nidhug’s kiss lingered. She saw silver strands in her dark hair. Her body showed other signs of aging. He had stolen years from her. Could a counter spell return her lost youth? Or was it permanent? New hatred burned away an urge to weep.

  When Nidhu
g returned, he was stooped and moving like an old man. He was followed by soldiers and four women. Jalna forced herself to watch all of the ritual at the Skull this time, and as she watched, she sought in vain for a way to disrupt it and harm the king. She could have yelled advice to the women, but there was no point, and Nidhug would merely have silenced her again.

  When the ritual was over, she noted that Nidhug’s movements were again those of a young man, making her certain that the purpose of the ritual was to renew his strength and youth, a more elaborate version of what he had done to her with his kiss. But Jalna was also certain that earlier he had been surprised to find his face still that of a corpse. Something must have changed and weakened the spell, she reasoned. Nidhug was therefore not invulnerable. He could be hurt, destroyed. There was hope.

  After the ritual, Nidhug and the guards again left the cavern.

  Alone once more, Jalna examined all she knew about Bloodsong, searching for some way to further help the Hel-warrior. I will not tell him about her daughter, no matter what he does to me, she vowed.

  Jalna’s eyes flitted to the chains embedded in the Skull. Would he hang her there again? Would he use the Venom Wand once more? Or the nightmare spell? Or something even worse?

  Panic rose. She fought it down.

  Nidhug returned after a while and approached Jalna. He removed his hood with a flourish. “I can tell that you delight in my appearance, slave. Therefore, you shall have the pleasure of seeing it when we are alone.”

  Jalna defiantly locked her gaze with the stark blue orbs staring from out of Nidhug’s death’s head.

  “Did you enjoy our first lover’s kiss?” he taunted. “Perhaps you would like another? In time, should the kiss be long enough, I could give you a beautiful face like mine.”

  Jalna did not reply.

  “Bloodsong is doomed,” he told her. “At this very moment, Flesh Demons should be stripping the flesh from her companions’ bones. But even if they fail to kill her companions and do not bring her to me, I will have many other surprises in store for her along the way.” He walked to the table before the Skull. He studied a scroll then nodded to himself.

  He raised his arms, chanted a ragged phrase three times. The pulsing glow of the Skull grew momentarily brighter, then returned to normal.

  The king walked back to Jalna. “I have just arranged for fresh dangers to amuse Bloodsong and her friends, should any of them escape the Flesh Demons. With luck, her friends won’t survive till dawn, and she will soon be my prisoner.”

  Looking up from the floor, Jalna kept her eyes on the king’s.

  “I still want to know the Hel-warrior’s other secrets and her plans, slave, even if she is already on her way here in the grasp of my Flesh Demons. You took inhuman punishment then lied to me, so I cannot trust your words, even under torture. I must use other means to make you comply.”

  Summoning her courage, Jalna spit at the king and this time hit his gold-trimmed robes.

  Nidhug laughed. “Would spending time with my Death Slaves loosen your tongue? They get so lonely, being dead.” Laughing again, he pulled on his silken hood, then turned and left the cavern.

  * * *

  “Freya’s Teats!” Huld suddenly gasped, staring at the road ahead as they rounded a turn in the twisting forest trail.

  “Stop!” Bloodsong reined up and unsheathed her sword, as did Valgerth and Thorfinn.

  “What do you see?” Thorfinn whispered. “I smell something dead again.”

  “More of those skeletal monsters?” Valgerth asked.

  “No,” Huld answered. “This time it’s animals.”

  “Animals?” Thorfinn asked with a slight laugh.

  “Dead ones,” Huld added. “Wolves, bears, troll-apes, snow-lions, more than your three swords can destroy, watching, waiting.”

  “More of Nidhug’s filthy necromancy!” Bloodsong growled. “He has awakened the forest’s dead.”

  “Can you help us, Witch?” Thorfinn asked. “A counter-spell?”

  “I—” Huld began, not wanting to tell them she knew no such spell.

  “She need not,” Bloodsong cut in. A new spell had suddenly arisen in her mind. She wondered at its sudden appearance, just when she needed it. “Dead beasts they may be, but let us discover if they still fear fire.” She recited the needed incantation.

  Valgerth forced herself to look as Bloodsong’s face again became a glowing skull.

  Bloodsong’s Hel-ring flashed with purple fire. A ray from her ring struck the road ahead, turning several of the awakened dead into blazing carcasses that writhed frantically in silence for a moment, then were still. The scent of charred flesh tainted the air.

  The creatures that had not been hit drew back, clearing a slight path. The flickering firelight made visible to all what Huld had seen.

  Though already drained from the first Hel-fire spell, Bloodsong was not satisfied. She snapped another command and felt more of her energy drain into the Hel-ring. Another beam of purple light shot forth, igniting more of the death-horrors and creating a wider path.

  Not daring to risk exhausting herself further, Bloodsong let the Hel-fire spell dissipate. Her own face replaced the glowing skull.

  “Follow closely,” she ordered, then kicked her horse into a headlong gallop, sword held ready.

  As they galloped past the awakened dead, the massed horrors watched with empty skull sockets. Then they began to follow, skirting the flames, crowding back onto the road, silently rushing after the riders.

  “They’re gaining on us!” Huld cried.

  “Keep your eyes ahead, Witch!” Bloodsong shouted. “We must be nearly in the mountains! Watch for a cliff and cave! Nidhug’s death-spell may lose its power near the entrance to the Burrow!”

  “You hope!” Huld noted, taking another glance backward, shuddering at how fast their silent pursuers were drawing nearer.

  The Witch turned her attention back to the road ahead as her mount galloped onward, fear of what approached from behind giving the tired beast new speed.

  She still held the reins of the old warrior’s horse, leading it behind her. But now the older horse-was pulling back, unable to keep up. Huld’s mount began to slow as a result. Suddenly the aging steed stumbled, wrenching its reins from Huld’s grip. Her own horse, freed of the restraint, plunged madly ahead, away from the pursuing horrors.

  Glancing back, Huld saw the wave of silent death engulf the old stallion. She saw the steed valiantly rearing, its hooves crushing several attackers before being pulled beneath the ripping claws of the death-horrors. The fallen horse screamed its agony.

  Huld looked forward once more, cursing, thinking that both the old warrior and his mount had now given their lives in battle against Nidhug. The screams of the fallen mount stopped, and another quick look back showed Huld that the dead things were pursuing them once again.

  “The terrain is changing!” Huld shouted. “The trees are thinning and there’s a cliff ahead!”

  “The cave?” Bloodsong yelled, now able to dimly glimpse the cliff face in the moonlight far ahead.

  “Not yet!” Huld answered. She glanced back again. She saw that their pursuers were nearly upon them again and that in but moments Valgerth’s horse would be within the long-armed reach of a troll-ape.

  “Faster, Valgerth!” Huld shouted. “Bloodsong! Do something! More Hel-fire! Valgerth’s about to be pulled down!”

  Bloodsong cursed, gathered her remaining energy, and began reciting the Hel-fire incantation once more.

  Valgerth tried to urge her mount to go faster, but exhaustion and the wound the beast had suffered earlier were taking their toll. The horse began to slow even more.

  “Valgerth!” Huld yelled, clinging to her galloping steed.

  “On your right! A troll-ape! Reaching for you!”

  Valgerth sliced to the righ
t and back with her sword. It struck something in the darkness. Icy drops splattered her face. She inhaled an overpowering death-stench, gagged with disgust, struck again and again with her blade until she encountered only empty air.

  Suddenly a bolt of purple fire flashed backward from Bloodsong’s ring, nearly striking Valgerth, hitting her pursuers. The death-horrors hesitated round newly blazing and silently writhing carcasses.

  Bloodsong let the Hel-fire spell go arid fought to cling to her saddle and retain her grip on her sword. The drain on her energy from the last blast of Hel-fire had almost driven her into exhausted unconsciousness.

  The narrow trail left the trees, emerged into the moonlight, and followed the edge of a ledge that extended back several bow-shots to the towering cliff.

  “There’s a cave!” Huld suddenly saw. “And runes carved in the rocks around it!” she added, straining to keep her night vision sharp.

  “It’s the Burrow! Guide us, Huld!” Bloodsong gasped, clinging weakly to her saddle.

  Huld angled away from the road across the rock-strewn expanse of moonlit flatness that led to the cliff. Bloodsong followed, only barely able to see Huld’s mount ahead in the moonlight, her muscles trembling with exhaustion. Behind Bloodsong, Valgerth and Thorfinn followed.

  Huld glanced back for an instant and saw that three decayed wolves had nearly reached Valgerth’s horse. She started to cry another warning but suddenly found herself racing through the dim moonlight, as nearly blind as the others.

  “Freya!” she cried, fighting madly to renew the night-vision spell. “My eyes! I can’t make the spell work!”

  “We’re safe!” Bloodsong looked back, saw no movement behind her in the moonlight, confirming her deduction. “Rein up!” she ordered. She pulled back on her own mount’s reins. Her exhausted muscles trembled from the effort.

  Huld did not obey, and a moment later Thorfinn and Valgerth thundered past the Hel-warrior, too.