Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  Huld moaned. They turned to her.

  “Freya!” the Witch gasped, shielding her eyes.

  “We’re outside,” Valgerth said, reaching down and helping Huld to her feet. “Safe, it seems.”

  Huld eyed the cliff and the cave. “It’s different,” she said.

  Valgerth nodded. “I thought it might be.”

  “Yes. Are we on the other side of the mountains? And Bloodsong?”

  As if in answer, they heard a moan nearby in the direction of the cave.

  “Bloodsong!” Huld cried, running toward the cave. Valgerth and Thorfinn followed, hands on their sword hilts, suspicious.

  The moan came again, puzzling Huld by its seeming nearness. Suddenly, her running feet collided with something and she went flying, hit the ground hard, cursed at the pain, heard her curse echoed by one from Bloodsong. But now Bloodsong’s voice was coming from the other direction, back toward Valgerth and Thorfinn, both of whom had stopped and drawn their swords.

  “Bloodsong?” Huld asked uncertainly, her eyes narrowing.

  “There was no need to kick me, Witch,” Bloodsong growled, still groggy from her unnatural sleep. “And why are you staring at me that way?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Have you gone blind? I’m right in front of you.”

  “Careful, Huld,” Valgerth warned. “This may be some Dwarfish trick.”

  Huld took a step backward.

  “Can’t you see me, either?” Bloodsong asked, turning toward Valgerth and Thorfinn.

  “I hear your voice, Freyadis, but see nothing of you.”

  “Nor I,” Thorfinn agreed.

  Bloodsong got to her feet. She could see her own body, could see her friends. She checked her scabbard, found her sword in its place, her shield strapped again to her back. All seemed in order. Puzzled, she looked at the entrance to the cave.

  “It’s not the same!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Huld agreed.

  “We’re on the other side of the mountains,” Bloodsong decided. “The Dwarfs must have decided to accept my offer, and to return you unharmed.”

  “And did they make you invisible as well?” Thorfinn suggested. “Are you perhaps wearing a—”

  “A Tarnkappe!” Bloodsong finished. She quickly removed her steel battle-helm, found a tiny red cap beneath, atop her long dark hair. She removed the cap.

  “Freya!” Huld cried, startled when Bloodsong suddenly appeared within arm’s reach. Then the Witch laughed and threw herself forward, embracing the Hel-warrior, tears stinging her eyes.

  Bloodsong awkwardly patted Huld’s back, then gently freed herself from the embrace. “I’m glad you are safe,” Bloodsong said. “Very glad. All of you,” she added, glancing at Valgerth and Thorfinn.

  “I told you Bloodsong would rescue us.” Thorfinn laughed, clasping Bloodsong’s shoulder.

  “Some rescuer.” Bloodsong grinned. “I stumbled around in darkness for what seemed forever, then succumbed to what must have been a sleep spell, just as I was about to look into a chamber filled with red light.”

  “Thank you, Freyadis,” Valgerth said, coming closer, “for coming after us.”

  “Did you doubt that I would?” Bloodsong asked.

  “May I try on the Tarnkappe?” Huld held out a hand.

  Bloodsong tossed the small red piece of cloth to the Witch.

  Huld studied it carefully, frowned that it seemed nothing but ordinary cloth. Then she placed it on her head. “From your expressions I assume it works,” Huld said. “And look! Even my shadow is gone!”

  “Best you not wear it, then,” Valgerth warned. “To lose one’s shadow is an evil thing.”

  “It’s not lost,” Huld protested. “Merely hidden.” She took off the Tarnkappe. Both she and her shadow became visible again. “See?” she said, then returned the Tarnkappe to Bloodsong.

  “I asked the Dwarfs to be my ally,” Bloodsong said, “asked them to help me destroy Nidhug, and they’ve given me a Tarnkappe.”

  The Hel-warrior replaced her battle-helm on her head and walked to the entrance of the cave, Tarnkappe in hand. She stopped beneath the high-arching stones.

  “My thanks to Dvalin and his Folk!” she cried, her voice echoing hollowly within the cave. “Nidhug, our enemy, shall be destroyed and Dvalin’s son avenged!”

  She waited while more echoes died away, then turned to go, wondering what had changed the Dwarfs’ minds, why they had decided to help her instead of kill her.

  I have neither trusted nor shown mercy to any human since one of your race murdered my son, a deep male voice suddenly said within her mind.

  Bloodsong turned back to face the shadowy entrance of the cave.

  But I deemed your soul worthy of trust, Hel-warrior. You came after your friends despite my warning.

  “Of course,” Bloodsong responded.

  “Of course? Even though you had to know that your battle skills would be useless, had I wished your death?

  “You give my intelligence too much credit,” Bloodsong replied. “I fully intended, if need be, to kill you all.”

  After a moment came, Truly?

  “Well, to be completely honest, I admit I was worried,” she paused, “that I might miss one or two.”

  A long silence ensued, then from within Dvalin’s Burrow came deep, booming laughter, joined at once by the deep laughter of many others.

  Bloodsong turned and walked back to her friends.

  THE KING, silken hood in place, led two soldiers into the cavern. Jalna saw that one was Tyrulf! Their eyes met. Lingered. She was certain she saw relief in his eyes. But Tyrulf then looked away. At the king. And she saw anger tighten the lines of his face.

  “Unchain her,” Nidhug ordered, “then bring her. She has admirers waiting.”

  When her iron collar had been removed, Tyrulf started to pick her up.

  “Not you,” Nidhug said to Tyrulf, then pointed to the other soldier. “You.” Then back to Tyrulf, “You were too gentle with her, before. You did not think I noticed? You also whispered to her. Yes, I noticed that, too.” Then he laughed. “Be a good soldier now, or I’ll force you to beat her!”

  Jalna heard the exchange as the other soldier was picking her up. Tyrulf was in trouble for wanting to help her. “Thank you!” she exclaimed loudly, “my king! I did not want that lout touching me again. The things he whispered to me were vile!” And she glared at Tyrulf. “Pig!” She spit at him.

  Tyrulf looked shocked for a second then made himself look angry, too. He raised a hand as if to strike her.

  “Enough!” Nidhug broke in. “Strike her at your peril.”

  Tyrulf clenched his fist and touched his chest in salute as he bowed his head to the king.

  Nidhug strode from the cavern. Tyrulf followed behind the soldier who carried Jalna.

  The king stopped in the darkness of the tunnel and concentrated his willpower. He hissed an incantation. The glowing purple image of a rough-hewn portal appeared in the solid rock wall of the passageway. The rock within the outline vanished, leaving an opening edged in pulsing purple light.

  “This is where my Death Slaves dwell,” Nidhug said to Jalna, “men who displeased me greatly while alive. Consider this your reward for being so helpful and obedient to your king.”

  Jalna stared wide-eyed from the king to the open portal. An overpowering death-stench wafted out of the revealed chamber in waves of stagnant, ice-cold air. She glimpsed a shambling shape within the chamber as it edged closer to the portal. The stone floor of the chamber was alive with tiny crawling things.

  “Tell me, slave,” Nidhug said, relishing the terror he saw growing in Jalna’s eyes, “have you been lonely in the cavern? My Death Slaves are lonely too.”

  The thing within the chamber came near enough to the glowing portal for her
to see it clearly. She almost screamed but stopped herself, unwilling to give Nidhug the satisfaction.

  ”Put her in,” Nidhug ordered.

  Jalna tried to be impassive, but as the guard neared the thing that was waiting for her, she began to struggle. “You don’t need to do this! I will cooperate!” she lied.

  The guard hesitated, staring at the horror within the chamber.

  “Put her in!” Nidhug growled.

  Tightening his hold on the woman now writhing in his arms, the guard quickly stepped within the portal, edged past the Death Slave, bent down, and placed Jalna on the filth-encrusted floor. He hurried from the chamber, gagging from the stench.

  Jalna looked up at the Death Slave. Panic swept away the remaining dregs of her courage. She began to frantically pull herself toward the opening.

  “I will let you and your new best friends get acquainted, slave.” Nidhug laughed.

  She heard the laugh. She stopped trying to get away. She made herself smile at the Death Slave. “Hello, lover,” she whispered, loud enough for Nidhug to hear.

  Nidhug stopped laughing. “Don’t expect me to return for you, slave,” he snapped, “not for a very long time, if at all.”

  The Death Slave bent toward Jalna. Particles of its crumbling flesh broke free and sifted down around her while its muscles creaked like dried leather. It grasped her wrists in bone-cold fingers and began dragging her further into the chamber.

  She heard the scuffling tread of other Death Slaves coming to meet them. She vowed not to scream and to find a way to endure. She fought for each breath, gagging at the stench as she was dragged deeper into the chamber.

  Behind her, Nidhug hissed an incantation. The solid wall returned to seal the opening. Darkness engulfed the chamber.

  I’ve helped Bloodsong, she reminded herself, struggling in the Death Slave’s grip, holding back her screams. Bloodsong will avenge me and destroy Nidhug. For Bloodsong and freedom! she thought, repeating the legendary battle cry over and over in her mind while straining to keep her terror from releasing her screams.

  Her wrists were released. She felt the crawling things on the floor tickling her flesh but did not try to brush them away. It would have done no good. She heard the Death Slaves crowding around her in the darkness. It became even harder to breathe. Then she heard the creaking of dead, dried muscles and guessed they were bending toward her. She felt bony fingers touch her, scratch her, clutch at her.

  Jalna cursed, fought, gasped, whimpered, but still held back her screams. Then the Death Slaves began to seek the satisfaction of their lust for warm flesh, and she could no longer hold her horror inside.

  “Bloodsong and freedom!” she cried aloud with the last of her self-control, and then mindlessly began to scream.

  * * *

  Nidhug smiled beneath his hood when he psychically knew Jalna had started screaming. Then he turned his thoughts elsewhere.

  Emerging from the passageway into the outer chamber, he ascended the stairs without a backward glance, leaving the two guards to take up their posts behind him.

  As the king passed through the portal at the top of the stairs and out of sight, Tyrulf cursed, then sat down on the stone bench. He breathed deeply several times, trying to calm his shaken nerves and push down his seething anger.

  “What’s wrong with you, Tyrulf?” the other soldier asked in a harsh whisper, glancing fearfully at the top of the stairs, afraid Nidhug might reappear.

  Tyrulf removed his battle-helm, leaned back against the wall. “Nothing. Forget it. I’m fine.”

  “Get control of yourself, man! Do you want to become one of those things yourself? A Death Slave? Resume your post!”

  “Gods!” Tyrulf suddenly cried, slamming a clenched fist down against the stone bench. “No woman should have to suffer so, or men to become like those in the chamber!”

  “Then why don’t you just ask the king to free the woman and to let the Death Slaves be truly dead? I’m sure he would do anything you wanted, if you merely explained how you felt.”

  Tyrulf glanced angrily up and shook his head. “She was so beautiful. She said her name was Jalna. I wanted so to help her.”

  “Return to your post, fool! Or we’ll both suffer.”

  Tyrulf nodded. “Aye.” He rubbed his eyes, ran a hand through his blond hair, placed his battle-helm back on his head, and stood. Then he returned to his place on one side of the entrance, trying to forget what he’d seen in the chamber and trying to forget Jalna, but doubting that he ever could.

  * * *

  Nidhug strode into his throne room. He ignored the bowing nobles scattered about the vaulted chamber. The black marble walls, inlaid with golden runes of power, glittered richly in the flickering light of the torches lining the walls as he made his way to his black marble throne. Its highly polished outer surface was carved with scenes of death and horror. He sat upon its thick purple cushions and gazed over the bowing nobles as he reached beyond Nastrond’s walls with his powers, trying to sense something of the approaching Hel-warrior. He frowned, concentrated harder, but could still detect nothing.

  No Flesh Demon or awakened predator had returned with Bloodsong. He dared not assume her dead. But what, other than her death, could explain his inability to sense her presence beyond Nastrond?

  He knew that she had been approaching the mountains.

  Dvalin’s Burrow passed beneath those mountains. If she had entered the Dwarfs’ domain, their magic would shield her from his senses. But surely even Bloodsong would not dare walk among Dvalin’s Folk, unless—

  Yes, he decided, it was just possible that the Dwarfs might see her as an ally, allow her to pass through the Burrow, perhaps even try to aid her in some way. He would have to be on guard for that possibility, though in a confrontation he was certain Dwarfish magic could not prevail against his sorcery.

  The sorcerer-king rasped an order. “Bring Kovna!”

  One of the three messengers waiting near the throne bowed low and hurried off to find the commander of Nidhug’s army.

  While he waited for General Kovna, Nidhug leaned back in his throne and willed himself to relax. Though he had enjoyed questioning the slave woman, the time she had cost him and his failure to make her tell him Bloodsong’s true plans had tensed him with a deep anger. He thought about her screaming beneath the decaying bodies of his Death Slaves and chuckled softly. Those near the throne wondered at the sound but made no outward indication that they had heard.

  A noble cautiously approached the throne and bowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but at an impatient wave of Nidhug’s black-gloved hand, the noble thought better of it and backed silently away from the throne.

  At last General Kovna entered the throne room, approached the king, and bowed curtly. The general had been in Nidhug’s service for nearly three decades, starting as a lowly foot soldier and gradually working his way upward through the ranks, mercilessly destroying anyone who got in the way of his ambition. It was no secret to Nidhug that Kovna lusted for the throne itself.

  The tall, massively built soldier, his dark hair graying, scarred face weathered like leather, stood waiting, his smoldering blue eyes gazing disrespectfully directly into Nidhug’s.

  When Bloodsong has been destroyed, I must rid myself of this man, Nidhug thought.

  “General Kovna,” Nidhug said, “you are to send out men along all roads to the north. They are to search for a swordswoman dressed in black. The pommel of her sword will consist of a silver skull. On her left hand will rest a silver ring, also in the image of a Skull. And look for a shield with the Runes of Hel upon it, Hagalaz, Ehwaz, and Laguz. There may be others with her. Her companions are to be captured alive, if possible, but may be slain if necessary. The swordswoman herself is also to be taken alive, if possible, then brought to me, but if she, too, is slain, her corpse is to be returned here, as is the ring she wears. W
hen you have sent your men forth, assemble the rest of the army in an encampment on the plain outside of Nastrond to await my further orders.”

  General Kovna hesitated, frowning. “Black-clad, silver skulls, and Hel Runes, your Highness?”

  “Aye. What you are thinking is true. Hel-warriors do exist, and it is a Hel-warrior your men are to find. Her name is Bloodsong.”

  A murmur of surprise ran through the nobles in the throne room. The general’s expression showed that he, too, was surprised.

  “Bloodsong?” Kovna remembered Bloodsong tied naked to a tree to die.

  “You thought she was dead.” Nidhug nodded his head. “Nevertheless, she is riding toward Nastrond. You have your orders. Tell your men her name. Many will remember her arena days and thus not underestimate her sword skill. And tell them no greater honor can befall a soldier in my service than the capturing or slaying of a Hel-warrior. Whosoever captures or slays her may name his reward, though the reward will be greater if she yet lives when delivered to my dungeons.”

  General Kovna hesitated a moment longer, saluted with a slight bow, then turned and strode from the chamber, wondering if the Hel-warrior might in some way be used to help him usurp Nidhug’s throne.

  * * *

  Only moments after Jalna had begun to scream, the Death Slaves had drawn back, leaving her untouched. Now she lay sobbing, naked on the filthy stone floor, expecting her torment to continue. There came the creaking of dead flesh as a Death Slave bent toward her again. She screamed and struggled as bone-cold hands and arms slid beneath her and lifted her into the air:

  Struggling helplessly in the Death Slave’s arms, Jalna was carried through the darkness a short distance, then placed on the floor next to a wall.

  She pressed herself against the wall, pulled herself along it, and immediately discovered another wall. The Death Slave had placed her in a corner of the chamber.