They waited, tensed, wondering what had happened and why they had not been further attacked. But when the moments stretched away and nothing else happened, they began to relax.
“Perhaps it was not Nidhug’s sorcery at all,” Thorfinn suggested as he sheathed his sword.
“Perhaps not,” Valgerth agreed.
“Whatever it was,” Bloodsong noted, “it did us no harm.”
“That’s not true,” Huld said unsteadily. “That flash was too bright for my night eyes. I’m blind.”
* * *
Nidhug fought to push back the throbbing pain from the failed spell, fought to understand what had happened in the cavern, struggled to free himself from the deadly hands at his throat.
His eyes finally focused on the Death Slave before him. Its tattered hands gripped his neck. Its skullish face mirrored his own.
Nidhug tried to shout words of power, found he could but barely make a sound, immediately forced himself to try to mentally project the needed words of power into the Death Slave’s mind.
He felt his consciousness slipping, saw the room darkening, understood that the Death Slave was winning the battle. He frantically renewed his efforts, broke through to the Death Slave’s mind at last, and mentally screamed the words of power.
The Death Slave shuddered and slumped to the floor. It immediately became dust within which maggots writhed.
Nidhug staggered backward and leaned against the table of scrolls. His vision cleared, revealing another Death Slave reaching for him, and behind that yet another. Farther away, near the wall of the cavern, Nidhug saw a Death Slave holding the slave woman he had imprisoned within the Death Slaves’ chamber. In the wall of the cavern a man’s height above the floor gaped a dark opening, rocks scattered below it on the cavern’s floor.
The king drew air deep into his starved lungs, evaded the attacking Death Slave, breathed deeply again, and shouted the words of power needed to revoke the Death Slaves’ unnatural lives.
Jalna fell heavily to the floor amid Eirik’s disintegrating flesh as he crumbled with the rest of the Death Slaves. Moments later, cold mounds of dust alive with maggots were all that remained of the Death Slaves in the cavern.
Nidhug staggered and clutched at the table for support. He fell to his knees, his corpse’s face twisted into a mask of pain, his energy-drained body succumbing to a new attack of age-sickness.
He raised his arms toward the Skull, muscles trembling, his strength nearly gone. He struggled to pronounce the incantation for rejuvenation, fought to concentrate before death succeeded in claiming him.
Understanding that he was trying to activate the youth spell, Jalna acted, began pulling herself across the floor toward him, determined to try to stop him, to strike while he was yet weak, to finish what the Death Slaves had started.
Teeth clenched with determination, panting from her exertions, Jalna pulled herself closer and closer. The distance between her and the sorcerer decreased at a maddeningly slow pace. She tried to crawl faster. Sweat streamed from her skin. The dust from one of the Death Slaves clung to her moist body as she crawled through it and kept moving toward Nidhug.
But now the Skull was glowing, the women screaming louder, the spell beginning to work.
No! Jalna thought, trying to crawl even faster. He can’t win again!
She had nearly reached him now. But four purple rays suddenly streamed down from the Skull, bathing the sorcerer-king’s body, renewing his youth and strength.
Jalna reached up, grabbed his gold-trimmed robe in her hands, pulled herself higher, and gasped in pain as the purple rays covered her too. She circled his throat with her hands, began to squeeze with all her strength, her eyes half closed with agony and strain.
Nidhug threw her back. She sprawled upon the floor, sobbing with defeat.
He stood tall and glared down at her for but a moment, then stepped forward, drove a booted foot into her side, her stomach, shoulder, back, striking out at her again and again as she twisted and turned, trying to avoid the blows.
When her screams stopped and her movements ceased, he bent down and made certain she still lived, then dragged her by her hair to the cavern’s wall and clamped the iron collar around her slender throat.
He went back to the Skull, leaned against the table, and tried not to think about how close he had again come to dying.
The rejuvenation spell had given him the strength to deal with the slave woman, but her intervention had prevented the youth spell’s satisfactory completion. The women chained to the Skull were now dead, however, and therefore useless. More sacrifices would have to be brought to complete the spell.
He glanced angrily back at the unconscious slave. Even the most horrible punishments he could imagine no longer seemed sufficient for her. When Bloodsong is destroyed, I will enjoy inventing new agonies for that one, he thought, while I decipher the true identity of her soul.
* * *
In darkness, Jalna drifted, unconscious, alone. Then came a woman with long blond hair in a black, silver-trimmed cloak to stand before her. Courage! Your Goddess smiles on you! And I bring a gift.
From Skadi? Jalna asked, but something, a memory she could not quite reach, said her Goddess was no longer Skadi. But who?
The gift will drive away the king, for a little while. I will say a magic word to you, and your mind will remember it when the right time comes.
The woman pronounced strange syllables, smiled at Jalna, then vanished.
And Jalna, alone, drifted in darkness once more.
* * *
Nidhug stood at his table below the Skull.
Once more, Bloodsong had escaped certain defeat. Or had she?
Nidhug concentrated, reached out with his senses beyond Nastrond’s walls, searching for the riders in the valley. Yes, there they were, three riders riding hard through the moonlight, unharmed, her three companions, and, he assumed, somewhere nearby, Bloodsong herself.
He widened his search, seeking soldiers, found them, a patrol of a dozen men camped at the exit from the valley, one of the groups General Kovna had sent out the previous afternoon.
Nidhug doubted that the soldiers could stop or capture the Hel-warrior, He suspected that whatever cloaked her from his sorcerous senses probably cloaked her from physical ones as well. No, the patrols General Kovna had sent out would probably be no more than an annoyance to Bloodsong and her companions. He had never really expected her to succumb to such conventional forces, anyway, or he would never have used sorcery to try stopping her, nor would he have expended his strength and endangered himself as he had. And if she did have a way to cloak her presence from physical senses, she could probably slip through the army camped on the plain beyond Nastrond as well. Yes, Bloodsong might be able to do that, but not her companions.
Very well, he thought, let her come to me, let her even enter Nastrond. I’ll leave the gate invitingly open. But once she steps within the fortress, my powers will be able to shatter whatever defenses she has, magical or otherwise. And even if she should succeed in reaching the passageway leading to this cavern, there are always the guardians waiting to burrow into her flesh.
A pleasing image arose in Nidhug’s mind: Bloodsong lying helpless at his feet on the cavern’s floor, unable to walk. He laughed at the thought, almost hoped she got that far, imagining the amusements he could have with her before he placed her corpse in the dark cavern below and sent her soul to the realm of unending agony.
Amusements could be had as well with her companions, should they survive the trap he would have prepared for them within Nastrond.
A wave of weakness brought his thoughts back to himself and the interrupted youth spell. He looked at the unconscious slave chained to the wall. I can steal a little more strength from her, then summon more sacrifices.
He walked to Jalna and used sorcery to awaken her.
; She opened her eyes and stared into his.
“I will honor you with a fresh kiss, slave.” He laughed and bent down. “Resist and I will paralyze you again.”
Jalna did not try to get away as his corpse-like face neared hers. Then, just before his grinning teeth touched her lips, she whispered strange words, “Jitzah tee jeeah lou dloo.”
Nidhug stopped. Into his mind flashed the image of the watcher from his nightmare.
Jalna saw confusion on his skullish face. Then horror.
He cried out a strangled sob. The watcher now had a face. “You?” he gasped. “By all the Gods of the Damned! Please! Not you!”
Nidhug lurched to his feet and stumbled from the cavern, pulling on his black silken hood as he went, sobbing with horror.
In shock, Jalna watched him go. She had no idea what the strange syllables she had uttered meant or why she had felt compelled to say them. She thought maybe she had heard them in a dream, and like a dream they were already fading from her mind. She quickly tried to remember them. She might need them again. But she soon gave up. They were already gone.
THE VALLEY ENDED at the mouth of a narrow passage between two high cliffs. Bloodsong had dismounted to scout ahead, alone and invisible, fearing an ambush. The eastern sky was gray with the coming dawn when the others heard her return and say, “No ambushes, but a patrol of soldiers are camped just beyond the end of the valley. We can’t go around them without being seen, so we must take them by surprise and slay them. There are only three sentries, each atop a low hill outside the camp. I will approach wearing the Tarnkappe, slay them quietly, become visible so that it will appear that they are still standing there. Then one of you will take my place, so that I may go on to the next one, till all three have been slain and replaced.”
“But my eyes,” Huld said. “I’ll be no good to you blind.”
“You heal others,” Thorfinn said, “but not yourself?”
“I’ve wondered that, too,” Valgerth added.
“It does not work that way, or I would already have done so. I’m useless to you now.”
“You can stand holding a spear as if on watch,” Bloodsong answered. “You do not need sight for that.”
“Aye. No slacking off for you. Impersonate the first guard,” Thorfinn said. “I will guide you there before moving on to take the next one’s place.”
Bloodsong nodded. “When you three stand atop the hills in place of the sentries, I will go into the camp wearing the Tarnkappe and send the rest of Nidhug’s men to Hel.”
“Let’s do it,” Huld said. “Someone lead me.”
“Lead?” Thorfinn asked. “Take my arm and walk beside me.”
Bloodsong turned and hurried toward the entrance to the valley. The others followed. If it grew too light, the plan would not work.
Soon, she reached the first guard.
He tried to cry out when pain bit into his throat. He heard only a bubbling sound, understood that it was his blood pouring from a gaping wound in his neck, and saw a black-clad woman suddenly appear beside him as if out of thin air.
Seeing the guard fall and Bloodsong appear, Thorfinn rushed Huld forward, careful to keep out of sight behind the hill.
“Hurry!” Bloodsong whispered. “It’s growing light.”
Leaving Huld holding the soldier’s spear, Thorfinn moved down slope out of sight and circled to the next hill.
Bloodsong, again wearing the Tarnkappe, took a direct route to the next guard.
But not everyone in the camp still slept. One soldier, awakening from a disturbing dream, had risen to empty his bladder beyond the circle of firelight. He thought he had seen the first guard fall to the ground and, an instant later, reappear as if from thin air. Rubbing his sleep-blurred eyes, he turned to go back to his place by the fire, wondering at the trick his eyes had played upon him. But then he stopped, turned back, and began walking toward the guard atop the hill.
Huld heard footsteps approaching. She stood like a statue, tightly gripping the spear.
“I thought of the answer to that riddle, Rolf,” a male voice said, coming nearer. “You owe me that silver piece we wagered.”
Huld’s heart hammered in her chest. Sweat broke out upon her face. Her thoughts raced, saw no hope. I mustn’t make a sound, mustn’t give the others away!
“Did you hear what I said, Rolf? You owe me.” Then he saw a dark form sprawled on the ground behind the crest of the hill.
Huld heard the whisper of a sword leaving its scabbard. Her knees felt weak. She grasped the spear even tighter, her teeth clenched. May Freya receive me in Folkvang, she thought, certain she was about to die, tears brimming in her blind eyes.
A strange bubbling sound came from nearby, followed by the sound of a man falling to the ground.
“It’s all right, Huld,” Bloodsong whispered, gripping the Witch’s shoulder. “I saw him leaving the camp, came up on him from behind.”
The Hel-warrior felt Huld’s shoulder tremble, saw the tears on the Witch’s cheeks. “You are very brave,” Bloodsong said, then hurried away toward the next sentry.
“I thought something had happened to you,” Thorfinn whispered as he came to take the second guard’s place. “Where were you so long?”
“A soldier approached Huld. I saw and stopped him.” Bloodsong glanced at’ the brightening sky as she hurried toward the last sentry, and soon Valgerth stood atop the third hill.
“I loathe to slay men while they sleep,” Bloodsong whispered to Valgerth. “But there are battles yet to fight, more important ones. We must not risk ourselves needlessly.”
Bloodsong moved down the slope toward the sleeping camp, bloodstained dagger held ready.
She reached the camp, bent down, slashed with the dagger, and moved on to the next man, then the next. Five now remained. She bent toward her next victim. Someone cursed behind her and began shouting, awakening the others.
She whirled, threw her dagger, drew her sword.
The man who had awakened and found the slain soldiers grunted in surprise as a dagger suddenly embedded itself in his throat. He fell forward.
Bloodsong thrust into a soldier with her sword, pulled free the blade, and killed another man who was sleepily trying to rise. Only two were left. Both had gotten to their feet, drawn swords, and were looking confusedly at the horror around them, searching for the attacker.
The Hel-warrior’s blade slashed sideways, killing one and slaying the other man on the return stroke. The look of confusion on the faces of the last two corpses sickened her.
She wiped her blade on a soldier’s cloak and was sheathing the sword when Valgerth and Thorfinn raced into camp.
“Freyadis!” Valgerth cried.
“Here,” Bloodsong called. “I am uninjured, Valgerth. Look at their faces. Men should not die the way these died, having no chance to face their attacker.” She retrieved her dagger and cleaned the blade.
“Given the chance to slay you from behind, few of Nidhug’s men would choose to fight you face-to-face,” Thorfinn said. “Nidhug’s soldiers do not deserve honorable deaths.”
Bloodsong was silent a moment, then said, “We must go to Huld. She will not know what happened.”
Bloodsong set out for the Witch’s hill, Thorfinn and Valgerth following.
Soon they were mounted on their horses and riding for Nastrond once again, Thorfinn and Valgerth in the lead. Bloodsong held the reins to Huld’s horse while the Witch clung blindly to her saddle.
“Bloodsong,” Huld said, “when other soldiers appear, drop my horse’s reins at once or someone may guess that—”
“If other soldiers appear,” Bloodsong cut in, “I will give your reins to Thorfinn or Valgerth, who will lead your horse as you escape. The plan is just as before, Huld.”
“Except that now I cannot see. I will only endanger the rest of you. Bett
er to leave me. I won’t tell them anything, I promise, not even if they torture me. Or perhaps you should slay me to make certain. Nidhug might use magic to probe my thoughts.”
“Enough!” Bloodsong ordered. “You are our friend, Huld. My friend. I will not slay or abandon you. Don’t talk nonsense. I feel horrible about your eyes. But maybe they can be cured. Norda Greycloak may know a way, a spell, once you have found and freed her.”
“I’m blind. I can’t find or free Norda, or anybody.”
“We wouldn’t have gotten this far without your aid, Huld. If Norda is found and freed, it will be your doing as much as ours, no matter the state of your vision.”
Huld was silent a moment, thinking. It suddenly occurred to her that Bloodsong had called her a friend and had vowed not to abandon her. She thought a bit longer, considering the thoughts she had been having, the way she had been feeling.
“I’ve been feeling sorry for myself,” Huld finally said.
“Perhaps,” Bloodsong said, her tone softening.
“I won’t let it happen again. I promise. I’m still breathing. I must be happy for that.”
“Aye,” Bloodsong answered, “that is reason enough.”
Neither spoke for a long time, each lost in her own thoughts, Bloodsong watching ahead for other soldiers.
Much later, Bloodsong heard Huld laugh. She glanced sideways at the Witch, saw that Huld was smiling, a look of surprise on her face, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Huld?” Bloodsong asked.
“I think I am seeing again!” Huld cried. “There’s light, and the sun is there?” she asked, pointing.
“Aye! That it is!” Bloodsong exclaimed.
Huld laughed again.
Thorfinn and Valgerth heard her and looked around.
“I had hoped your blindness to be only temporary, Huld,” Bloodsong said, “like the blindness someone gets after being too long in the snow. But I didn’t want to give you false hope.”
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