“Then a hole it is,” Devin said. He motioned for Hilde to enter the nearest of the huts first. “Never thought we three would share a warren on a cold winter’s night.” He winked at Hilde. “Don’t tell your faðir, now.”
She grinned and grabbed at her armored chest as she went inside. “It’ll be my blade you need worry about should you try making a nest of these pillows, boy.”
Devin glanced to Bard, an eyebrow raised.
“You’ll find no love here, either. Keep your hands on your own sword tonight,” Bard told him, stepping in behind Hilde. Hilde’s throaty laugh welcomed them, and Bard eased the door shut, setting the bolt.
“Damn Freiøya’s eyes. Leave me to spend my final hours with a swollen sack and two old maids with shuttered arses,” Devin muttered. “I could have stayed home with my wife had I wanted to die with a limp kokkr between my thighs.”
Hilde dropped into the corner furthest from the door, wiping the grin from her lips. “If we make it home, brother, I’ll let you take Dagny for an eve.”
“Your goat for a whole night? How generous.”
Bard sat near the door, muffling his laugh against the stiff sleeve of his tunic while balancing his ax across his knees. The other two prattled on in quiet voices as he settled in, resting his head against the cool stone of the wall, letting its chill sink into his fevered flesh. He blinked once, twice, resting his eyes, the quiet murmur of his companions blurring, and then darkness pulled him under.
* * *
“They’ll be here soon.”
Bard snapped upright, eyes flying wide at the familiar voice. Arndt stood before him. Blood had crystallized upon his chest, and the wound at his throat pulsed – a gaping black crevice in his pale skin, as though it clasped at the air, trying to draw breath.
“How…?” Bard asked, barely able to get his tongue moving in the dry well of his mouth.
“No time,” Arndt answered, drawing Bard’s gaze to his friend’s face. It was there that Bard found his answer as to how the warrior he’d thought dead could be there beside him.
Eyes a deeper blue than Lake Votka stared back at him. Bard’s gaze sank into their abysmal depths, will o’ the wisps drawing him deeper with every passing moment. He shook his head to clear the sluggishness from his limbs and scrabbled to his feet. Though his gaze never left Arndt, he avoided the warrior’s eyes, focusing instead on the man’s broad nose.
“Why have you come?”
“The hounds are loose. They have come upon your scent.” His spectral hand swept the room, motioning first to Devin, and then to Hilde. “Flee now, but beware the roan that has shorn its coat.”
“Arndt?”
Hilde’s questioning voice cut through the gloom. Bard looked to her as she clambered up from the floor, and then back to the warrior spirit only to find he was no longer there. Only the barest scent of grave dirt remained in the wraith’s stead.
Hilde pawed at the space where Arndt had just been, fingers stirring empty air. “Was he truly…?” The question was devoured by the bestial roar that set the night to trembling.
“Merciless Hel,” Devin muttered as he came to stand alongside Bard and Hilde. “What was that?”
“We need to leave.” Bard retrieved his ax and went to unbar the door.
“No,” Hilde called out. “We can’t just—”
But Bard had no ears for her. When the dead warned of doom, those who wished to live heeded their words. He shucked the bar free of the door and yanked it open, charging outside, ax leading the way. Only the empty village greeted him, but there was no mistaking the corruption that wormed its way amidst the darkness. It set his skin afire.
Another guttural roar thundered, this one nearer than the last. Whatever Haakon had loosed would be upon them soon. The sound faded, and he heard Hilde’s and Devin’s shuffled motions over the last of it as they followed him, their reluctance nipped in the tail. He spun about, his companions but a blur to his side, and instinct made his choice for him. Bard sprinted for the trees.
Though the darkness crowded about, the stars lent him their sight. He cut straight across the grassy terrain, doing nothing to hide his presence from whatever witchery dogged his heels. Neither stealth nor subterfuge would serve him now. His companions followed where he led, their huffed breaths keeping pace.
They reached the line of trees just as something crashed at their backs. Wood splintered like shattered bones and stones clattered, heavy thumps sounding as they rained down from the force of the blow that had demolished the hut they’d only just fled. The ground shook beneath Bard’s feet, but it did nothing to slow his headlong flight. He barreled through the clustered trees, branches and leaves slashing at his face, each fresh sting spurring him on.
“This way,” Hilde called as she darted past, her long legs slicing away at Bard’s lead. She ducked low and veered left, and Bard turned after her. He heard Devin do the same just behind.
Trees whipped past as they ran, humus crunching beneath their boots. Whatever hounded them stayed the course, malevolent shrieks peppering their spines with sharpened knives of terror. Branches snapped in discordant rhythm as the creature entered the woods.
Bard set his eyes on the back of Hilde’s head, her blonde hair a beacon in the darkness, and matched his pace to hers as best he could. She ran as if Fenrir himself chased after them, and that was not far from the mark.
“Lindvurm!” someone yelled, and Bard glanced back at the outline of the enormous monster, for it was indeed a lindvurm of sorts, a massive serpentine shadow that parted the trees and crushed the undergrowth as it came slithering and grunting.
Bard turned to keep running but before he could spot Hilde, or spy where Devin was behind him, he collided with something that gave way with a howl of pain – albeit a howl from a human throat. They both hit the hard ground, and Bard found himself sprawled alongside a man in mail who wore the sign of King Harald Bluetooth on his coat. The man spared him a brief glance, then looked agape at the lindvurm as it came on. He left his sword and helm among the leaves and scrambled to his feet.
“Wait,” Bard growled, fetching his ax and clambering upright, but the man dashed into the darkness of the woods.
Bard cast about, noticing more of Bluetooth’s raiders fleeing in the same direction. Toward the sea. Had they been coming this way to join the battle? Perhaps decamped here at the coming of early night due to the völur’s accursed fog? Mayhap the sea was closer than he thought, and mayhap Bluetooth’s ships awaited.
A scream grabbed Bard’s attention before he could sort his thoughts, and he looked to see a warrior snatched within the massive lindvurm’s jaws. The man’s howls were cut off as the monster’s snout snapped shut. It swallowed the warrior down, tossing its head back, and shafts of white moonlight illuminated the beast. Atop its snake-like coils swiveled the head of a dragon and a spiky mane of bleached spines. The bulk of the monster was seemingly made from a motley transgression of slain nidhoggr, patched in spots with rivulets of grave dirt, while here and there jutted the moldy bones of the long-dead, as well as much fresher, battle-fallen corpses.
Bard started as something gripped his shoulder, raising his ax before seeing Hilde and Devin standing there.
“What are you doing?” Hilde looked at him as if he were a fool.
“Bluetooth’s men…”
“Aye,” Devin hissed. “Let’s move!” He jerked his head toward the men fleeing northward, or at least Bard believed so.
“Get down!” Hilde suddenly yelled, shoving Bard.
“Too late. It’s spotted us,” said Devin. “Go!”
The lindvurm, glaring at them from two nacreous pairs of eyes atop its scaly skull, barked a croaking howl. Chewed up corpse-meat dropped from its maw as it slid toward them, snapping saplings and scrub beneath its daunting bulk.
Bard was yanked backward as the lindvurm’s maw clacked shut where he’d only just stood. He felt the air of its passage, a fetid stench hammering against his nose. Hi
lde’s hand was a vice about his wrist while she tugged at him, pulling him along with her, but Bard knew it to be futile. In close, the vurm was just too quick to be outrun, too powerful to be faced down. If there was to be any hope, it lay in wit, not brawn.
“Separate,” Bard shouted as he shook Hilde free and shoved her aside. “Find a way to get behind it, out of its line of sight.”
Hilde stumbled, hesitant, but Devin seemed to see the sense in his words. The warrior bolted between two large trees that had grown clustered together, leaving his companions to stare down the monster.
Bard gave the creature no time to choose between him and Hilde. He snatched the sword left behind by Bluetooth’s man and hurled it at the beast. It rang out against the lindvurm’s skull, bouncing harmlessly aside, but it had done its duty. Hilde was forgotten as the vurm reared up and loosed a fearsome roar, its blood-red gaze latching onto Bard with flash fires of fury burning inside. Ragged claws tore at the trees that separated them, clearing the way.
But Bard was already gone. The moment its attention was solely on him, he had run. For any of them to survive, he needed the lindvurm’s focus. He stomped and screamed and struck out at the trees as he fled. His breath scorched his throat at every exhalation while he pushed on, the monster tearing up the ground between them. Though every footfall was a minor victory, it would be on him soon, and he envisioned much more than a momentary reprieve.
Then, just ahead, an unfortunate hope appeared.
Huddled in the trees, steel helms poking up from the ground like rigid mushrooms, cowered dozens of King Bluetooth’s soldiers. Their eyes went wide upon seeing him leading the vurm in their direction. Curses rang out and chaos took hold, the warriors scrambling from the path as Bard plotted a course through the trees. There was no avoiding them, scattering as they had. He growled and dug his boots into the soft earth to turn away from the men. He’d hoped to find a ravine or someplace he could duck into and hide as the creature stormed past, not sacrifice his allied king’s own liegemen.
The Norns evidently had other plans. His foot caught an errant root, and Bard crashed face first into the ground. Bitter dirt filled his mouth and clouded his vision. He rolled onto his back, wiping at his eyes, just as the vurm slithered to loom over him, putrid slime raining down from its mouthful of sword-like fangs. Bard raised his ax, turning its edge toward the lindvurm. It would do nothing to kill the beast, of course, but he would hack and saw as the creature swallowed him down. Bard would not be devoured easily, nay.
His Thuringian friend, Devin of Nordhausen, clearly felt the same.
The warrior leapt from the trees and drove his sword into one of the lindvurm’s pale eyes. It sunk in to the hilt, and the creature shrieked and thrashed its head to be rid of the offending steel. Bard jumped to his feet as the vurm reared up, taking Devin with it as he clung to his blade.
“Let go!” Bard screamed.
Devin did just that, but the creature twisted aside. Before the warrior had fallen but a hand span, the lindvurm grabbed Devin’s torso in its maw. A symphony of snaps erupted all along his ribcage as the monster clamped down. He gave one last scream, and went silent, the two halves of his body dangling at unnatural angles on either side of the creature’s mouth.
Bile filled Bard’s throat at seeing his brother so defiled, yet there was nothing he could do to free him from the clutches of the beast. And though the decision would haunt him for however many moments remained to him upon Midgard, Bard spun and ran, leaving Devin’s corpse to the lindvurm.
He said an oath to the Allfather and to the Thunderer both, wishing his brother well on his way, yet despairing that Devin’s sacrifice was not enough to see Bard clear of the hellish abomination. The lindvurm screeched, and Bard heard it resume its chase, trees giving way to its insistence. The sound set a trail of Surt’s flames to Bard’s posterior, and he marshalled every last vestige within as he flew through the woods. Death came next for him, and there was naught else he could do. A warrior might make a final stand, but the crack of Devin’s bones echoed in Bard’s head, and the sharp salt of the sea was on the wind and gave him wings.
Then, the din of hundreds of voices and the familiar ringing of metal joined the vurm’s blaring. The trees parted before him and a yellow-white field hove into view. Greycloak’s and Bluetooth’s soldiers spanned the length of the winter-washed meadow, all locked in combat with Haakon’s forces, warriors and beasts alike.
Bard stopped at the forest’s edge and gawped not at the battle, despite a nidhogg atop a nearby man, screaming as it tore into his guts, but at the stupefying vision of greedy flames cavorting amidst their longships. The wrath of Surt himself leaped between the vessels on black pinions of distorted smoke. Bard roared in desperate fury. Their way home was well and truly gone, for Haakon had set his völur bitches’ magic loose upon the víkingr fleet, razing their ships in one fell blow, setting them to bright white flame like funeral pyres atop the water.
Bard’s heart thrummed a mournful dirge, but the beast at his back offered him no time to grieve. It burst from the trees with a savage howl, Devin’s steel still buried in its eye, the warrior’s blood still staining its maw. The ground shook beneath the lindvurm, and Bard nearly lost his footing, but terror lent him renewed strength. He realized he’d lost his ax in his flight from the beast, so he skirted a fighting throng of soldiers, took up a fallen sword, and jabbed it into an enemy who had spun on him but then paused upon taking note of the lindvurm bearing down on them. The warrior fell with a peculiar expression of awe and pain, and Bard bellowed and struck a leaping nidhogg, the bloody-hafted sword ripped from his grasp as it wedged in the writhing monster’s scales. Behind him, the lindvurm struck the ranks like an angry storm, men flung wildly about on the sharpened ends of teeth and claws.
Bard fought on, heading away from the vurm and into the hue of battle, seeking his doom while wielding steel against men rather than in the belly of that crazed, Hel-spawned abomination. His lungs billowed like forge bellows as he kicked an enemy warrior in the back and snatched his spear away. He turned and barreled toward the sea, toward where he saw the chanting völur raising their blue-painted arms to the sky, waving their knotted staves as they beckoned more storms of monsters and flame.
Every step rattled his jaw as he made his way toward that chanting circle. Behind him he heard the cries of his brethren as they fell, but he never once tarried, and just as he felt he could run no further, his feet struck the sandy beach, kicking up gold in their wake. He loosed his stolen spear with foul intent.
Focused as they were on their task, the ring of nine völur saw nothing until it was too late. The spear took the first in the chest. She grunted and fell back into her companions, pulling several down with her in a tangle of thrashing limbs. Bard crashed into another before they could gather their wits about them, fists flailing. Blue lips exploded with red as Bard waded into the group, but there were simply too many to keep track of.
Pain cut across his lower back, the smell of his own charred meat filling his nostrils a heartbeat later. He spun to see a lone völva holding her crooked staff in Bard’s direction. Wisps of fire sputtered at the tip. More flames crackled, and Bard was alight with witch fire. He screamed and beat at the flames but they would not be denied. Still more of the völur closed while he battled the conflagration he’d become.
Hooves thundered close by and amidst the whirling chaos Bard saw a half-dozen riders. He recognized Haakon leading them, and the Good King pointed at him with a bloodied sword. “Kill that man!” he ordered his warriors, and the others kicked heels to flanks, urging their mounts toward Bard, spears lowered.
Disarmed and aflame, Bard turned from the charging riders and Haakon’s blue-skinned she-demons, and ran for the sea as gouts of fire roared past. A moment later the frigid water caressed his ankles, and then his knees. Waves lapped at him, and he dove into their midst. Still the fires pecked at his flesh, steam hissing off his blackening skin, but Bard denied them thei
r victim.
He stretched above the waves and drove into deeper water, swimming toward open sea until the flames sputtered and died. Not long after, his arms gave way and he was forced to embrace a remnant piece of wood. He gathered a few more as he drifted through a field of wreckage, desperate to collect enough to hold his weight afloat so he might rest his scorched and weary arms, but there was little of substance to cling to.
He was fast growing weary, hands benumbed in the cold swell. He cast a glance at the shore he’d left behind. He saw the lindvurm prowling the beach, its prodigious size diminished by distance, a frantic shadow cavorting about the field of its slaughter. And he saw the riders had returned to the slaughter as well, while the völur resumed their chanting, minus one of their nine. Bard wished his brothers glory in the next life; for certain, he would join them soon.
He watched as the island of Frei was swallowed by the darkness. Bard felt a pang of muted joy at having escaped despite every wave that carried him further from shore, and once the isle slipped from view, so did Bard slip into the ocean, the last of his strength sapped from his limbs.
Darkness encircled him. He took one last breath of glorious air before he plummeted toward the bottom of the sea.
Then came light.
He opened his mouth to greet the Valkyr, but choked and spit water from his lungs. Strong hands clutched him. Pain speared through his veins, and Bard cursed the god who would be so cruel as to not extinguish his agony before ferrying him to Valhöll.
When at last he could squint through cataracts of brine, he saw the wide-set blue eyes and freckly cheeks of the Valkyr who’d collected him. “I’d thought the choosers of the slain…might be hideous to behold,” he muttered, pressing a weak smile to his lips. “I thought…true.”
“Aye,” Hilde answered, drawing him higher onto the makeshift raft of splintered boards with a quiet chuckle. “And I thought I’d caught a fish worth keeping.”
SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest Page 8
