CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT VARG

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

VARG

V arg ran from the Bloodsworn's sleeping chamber, still blinking sleep from his eyes and slipping his shield across his back, horns ringing and echoing. He followed Glornir and a handful of others, the rest of the Bloodsworn behind him, sprinted through a wide corridor and hurtled into the great hall. Skidded to a stop behind Glornir and Vol and looked around, trying to make sense of it all.

"There'd better be a good reason for waking me," Svik growled as he ran up to stop beside Varg. "I haven't even had time for a mouthful of cheese."

Warriors were fighting before the doors, steel clashing, screams and battle cries. Varg saw Elvar's drengrs with their backs to the doors, and many of those fighting against them bore shields with two black-scrolled ravens upon them, others with the eagle of Darl.

"Hjalmar's Fell-Hearted," Glornir growled and hefted his long-axe.

"Estrid and her drengrs , too," Svik grunted. "Oath-breaking scum."

A scream from high above, Varg watching as a body fell from one of the thick branches of the great tree. It plummeted, limbs loose, spinning, and crunched to the ground before Varg and Glornir, the crackle of bones shattering, blood exploding, spattering in a wide circle. A warrior in mail, blonde braided hair. One arm twisted unnaturally, the woollen sleeve pulled up. A white-coiling scar on her forearm.

"Elvar," Glornir breathed.

No. A wave of shock tremored through Varg, horror sweeping him at the sight of her. Elvar, who had brought this war-host together, who had stood against the dragon and the rat, led them against Lik-Rifa's war-host, set the Tainted free.

A man screaming high above them, Varg letting the wolf filter into his blood, his vision and hearing sharpening. He saw Grend standing on the branch high above, staring down at Elvar's corpse, others behind him fighting on the platform of Elvar's bed-chamber. Warriors running at Grend. Movement on the stairwell, a cluster of figures hurrying down towards the chamber's floor.

The din of battle from before the doors grew higher, more frantic.

"We are betrayed," R?kia said as she stepped close to Varg.

"They seek to open the doors," Vol said.

"Well, let's put an end to that," Glornir growled, the Bloodsworn moving behind him at a loping run. The combat was too dispersed for the shield wall, so they formed a loose line, Glornir yelling orders, Varg shrugging his shield from his back and pulling his hand-axe from his belt, and then they were upon them, carving through Hjalmar's Fell-Hearted and Estrid's drengrs , warriors falling as the Bloodsworn scythed through them like the north wind. Varg swept around a warrior who sought to cave Varg's skull in with an axe swing, hacked into the back of the warrior's neck as he ran past him, ripped the blade free and the warrior spun in a circle, hands going to the blood spurting from his wound, fell to his knees as Varg ran on, punching with his shield, chopping with his axe, and he was at the doors, no more warriors before him. He skidded to a halt and turned, saw Glornir fall upon Hjalmar Peacemaker, the chief of the Fell-Hearted setting his feet and raising his shield, sword hovering in his fist.

Glornir did not break his stride, lifted a leg and straight-kicked Hjalmar's shield, sent the warrior tumbling and crashing to the floor. Glornir strode after him, raising his axe. Hjalmar lifted his shield over him and Glornir hacked down, his axe chopping into the shield, burst through it in an explosion of splinters, the blade carving on into Hjalmar's chest. Glornir put a boot on Hjalmar's shield and wrenched his axe free, blood and bone erupting, and Hjalmar gasped, blood-flecked foam on his lips, and died.

"Oath-breaker," Glornir growled and spat on Hjalmar's corpse, then turned away, looking for the next warrior to kill.

Varg saw a spurt of red flame around an ash-wood staff, saw Sturla the Galdurwoman apprentice snarling runes, fire licking at one of Elvar's drengrs , the warrior bursting into flames like an oil-soaked torch, screaming, arms flailing as he blazed. Estrid was close to Sturla, shield and sword in hand, a handful of her drengrs with her. There was a crackle of Seier-runes in response as Vol's voice commanded a rune flicker into blue, ice-flecked life before her, spinning slowly, expanding and spreading like a tapestry upon a loom, sharp lines flowing, becoming a net of ice, and Vol was flinging it at Sturla. The Galdurwoman saw it coming, shouted words, and fire leaped from her staff at the net, exploded into it, a fountain of red sparks, steam hissing, but the ice-net rolled on, consuming the flame. Sturla stumbled back, turned to run and the net was upon her, wrapping about her, shrinking, pulling tight, and Sturla was screaming, frost crackling across her body, ice crusting on her and she slowed, as if wading through a bog, and she stopped, frozen in mid-stride, the net tight and constricting about her.

" Mylja hana, brjóta hana í sundur, " Vol cried out and the net shuddered and tightened again, and Sturla broke apart, ice-shards exploding, cutting into those about her.

"To me," Estrid was crying, a score of her drengrs around her, and Varg saw the survivors of Hjalmar's crew fighting their way to her.

A howl echoed from one of the huge tunnels that fed into the chamber, many disengaging from their combat, turning to look, and Ulfrir came loping from the tunnel in his wolf-form, Skuld in the air behind him, the two stone wolves at Ulfrir's feet and a warband of úlfhéenar following him. He padded up to Elvar's corpse, stopped and looked down at her, sniffed her, whined. Then he looked to the tree, to the stairwell, where figures were hurrying, almost at the chamber's floor now. And Ulfrir growled, the sound of it echoing through the hall, thrumming through Varg's bones and blood, and the figures on the stairwell paused, stopped. One of them was far taller than the rest, lean, dark-haired and handsome, clothed in mail. He held a seax in his hand, red with blood.

"Brother," he said, smiling at Ulfrir. "How I have missed you."

"I should have killed you when last I saw you," Ulfrir rumbled.

"You should have," Rotta agreed. "It would have saved you a lot of trouble, and me a lot of pain." His face flickered, and Varg saw the smooth skin of Rotta's face disappear for a moment, revealing a red smear of scarred tendon and pitted, red-raw flesh. A shimmer and ripple in the air and the smooth, handsome face was back.

"But, if I were dead, then I would have missed out on this warm-hearted reunion, and that would have been a shame."

"Uncharacteristically brave of you to come here," Ulfrir growled.

"I have hidden depths," Rotta shrugged, still smiling.

"Brave, but a mistake. You have committed your last atrocity," Ulfrir snarled.

"Oh, far from it," Rotta said, and opened his mouth, lips and jaws expanding, elongating, teeth growing.

" Hureir úr steini, heyreu ore úlfris og opnaeu mér úlfagryfjuna, " Rotta cried out, his voice ringing, filling the chamber. The echoes slowly died, replaced with silence. And then there was a grating, grinding sound and the doors began to open.

A crow-black line between the doors, the darkness before dawn, and a black mist flowed through the opening gap, night-hags screeching and wailing.