CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE BIÓRR

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

BIóRR

B iórr stood on the stairwell behind Rotta and stared as the doors of Wolfdales ground open, a black tide pouring out of the night and washing into the hall. Night-hags came first, floating like mist, screeching and grasping with their long-fingered hands, then the frost-spiders were scuttling through, sweeping across the ground like spilled ink. Trolls lumbered behind them, skraeling swirling about them, and then came the steady rhythm of the shield wall, loosely formed up, Ilska leading them at their front and centre with her Raven-Feeders.

Chaos exploded, horns blasting, voices yelling. Biórr saw the Bloodsworn with their black, blood-spattered shields falling back, forming up into their own shield wall, mercenary chiefs marshalling their warriors, saw drengrs gathering to their jarls, heard the clatter of hooves as mounted warriors burst from one of the corridors, clothed in lamellar armour and horse-hair helms, recurved bows in their fists. They crashed into the chamber, hooves trampling frost-spiders, arrows hissing, spears slashing. And among it all Biórr saw the wolf-god standing before him, lips curled in a gut-loosening snarl, giant stone wolves at his side, a small host of úlfhéenar gathered behind him. Despite the fact that he was in a room with two war-hosts and two gods, all Biórr could look at was the broken, mangled body of Elvar, still and lifeless upon the ground before him.

He had come here to kill her, knew that she deserved death. Or he thought that she did. Her words still rang in his head.

I have set Ulfrir free, set all the Tainted free.

"A lie. She must have been lying, to save herself," he muttered to himself.

But she had me down, her sword at my throat. She did not need to lie to save herself.

"What are you muttering about?" Skalk snapped at him, the Galdurman stood on the stairwell beside him, Rotta ahead of them. The Galdurman's fair-haired drengr was with him, all the others still fighting in the chamber and on the platform, or they had been, when Rotta hauled Biórr to his feet and led him down the stairwell.

Biórr looked at Skalk, then Ulfrir was roaring, bunching his legs to leap at Rotta. The winged woman with the red hair swooped over Ulfrir's head, loosed an arrow at Rotta, who dived to the side, the arrow thunking into the tree. A drumming sound of footsteps behind Biórr made him turn; he saw Grend hurtling down the stairs, half running, half falling, his face twisted in rage, lips drawn back, teeth bared, eyes mad with fury, an axe in one fist, seax in the other. Biórr took one look at him and leaped from the stairwell, his rat-instinct for flight and survival taking over. He fell the last distance to the ground, grunted with the impact and rolled, saw Grend slam through Skalk and his drengr , sending them falling, saw Grend almost fly from the stairwell, leaping and crashing into Rotta's back, chopping and stabbing as they fell. Heard Rotta crying out, screaming in pain as they rolled, Grend's blades rising and falling, spraying great gouts of blood in red arcs. They rolled to a stop, Grend grappling on top of Rotta, raised his axe and chopped it into Rotta's chest, Biórr hearing the sound of bones cracking.

"NO," Rotta roared, a spasm convulsing through him, and he shook, the air shimmering and rippling around him, limbs lengthening, body thickening, tail and fur sprouting, and Grend was thrown through the air, crashed into the trunk of the tree where he fell to the ground, slumped, stunned and groaning.

Rotta stood there in his rat form, all thick fur and lashing tail, clawed feet and sharp, yellowed teeth. Patches of his fur were slick and matted with blood.

Then Ulfrir was leaping, Rotta scurrying out of his way, Ulfrir's jaws snapping shut with a sharp crack, twisting, turning, hunting for Rotta. All about them the hall rang with combat, warriors stabbing and hacking at frost-spiders, night-hags squeezing necks, here and there bursts of black light as Seier-words were shouted out by warriors who remembered them, night-hags exploding, trolls lashing about them with their thick clubs and spears, Berserkir frothing and roaring, úlfhéenar snarling and tearing at flesh with steel, tooth and claw, warbands forming shield walls and standing like boulders in the blood-fray against the swirling tide.

Biórr clambered to his feet, reached for his weapons belt and realised his sword was gone, kicked from his hand by Elvar, only his seax still sheathed at his belt. He looked about him and saw a shield, swept it up, two black ravens upon it, one of Hjalmar's Peacemakers, and then he saw an axe on the ground, slim-shafted with a small blade, and he remembered it.

Elvar's. She had used it against him, sliced through the rings of his mail as if it was flesh, and he bent and took it, tested it in his hand. It was as light as a feather, the balance exceptional.

HELP ME , Rotta's voice screamed in his head, and he turned to see Ulfrir chasing Rotta around the trunk of the huge tree, Skuld swooping and loosing arrows at the rat. One hissed past Rotta's head, and the next punched into his back leg, and he squealed, fell, and Ulfrir's paw slammed down onto Rotta's tail, pinning him.

Biórr ran.

Ulfrir's jaws opened.

Biórr leaped, brought the axe down on Rotta's tail, sheared through it, fur, muscle, gristle and bone, left the tail hanging by a shred. Rotta screamed, his claws scrabbling on the ground and the shred of tail ripped and tore away, Rotta running, leaving half his tail beneath Ulfrir's paw.

The wolf snarled down at Biórr, saliva dripping from teeth as long as swords, and Biórr looked up at him, his back to the trunk, nowhere to run. He felt that savage flare from his rat, cornered and fierce, and set his feet, raised his axe defiantly.

A deafening roar resounded behind Ulfrir, from beyond the open doors of his hall, and a great wind swept into the room, Ulfrir turning, crouched and snarling.

Lik-Rifa burst out of the darkness and through the open doors in a maelstrom of wings and jaws and snapping teeth, of scales and talons and razored, lashing tail, a hurricane of destruction riding the winds of a great storm. She beat her wings and slowed, descending, sending people flying with the turbulence of her landing, others running, leaping to escape her as she alighted in the great hall before Ulfrir. Almost gently she landed, and a silence settled over the hall, all those in combat pausing, stepping apart.

"Three hundred years I have waited for this," Lik-Rifa said, her voice deep as the sea, rumbling as distant thunder.

Ulfrir looked at her, snarled, but said nothing.

"I tore Orna to bloodied shreds," Lik-Rifa said and licked her lips with a black, serpentine tongue. "She tasted good."

Ulfrir trembled, muscles bunched, quivering, but still he did not move or speak.

"You seem awestruck by my appearance, which I understand," Lik-Rifa said. "I have a gift for you, brother." She opened one of her great-taloned claws, gently dropping something that she had carried.

A man rolled out onto the ground, and slowly stood. Dark-haired, lean, heavy browed. He stood with one shoulder slumped, bandages around his back.

Broeir , Biórr realised.

"Speak it," Lik-Rifa growled, setting Biórr's bones trembling.

"Come to me," Broeir said, his voice cracking, then, louder. "Come to me, Ulfrir-wolf. Come to me, my thrall."

Ulfrir stood straighter, cocked his head to one side, staring down at Broeir, and then he laughed.

"Come to me," Broeir shouted this time, louder, trying to be more commanding, though there was an edge of panic to his voice .

Ulfrir stopped laughing.

"I am no one's thrall," he said, voice a rumbling growl, and he lifted his head, showed the thick fur on his neck, where the iron collar had once been. "Elvar set me free."

Biórr felt the strength drain from him at those words, at the sight of Ulfrir's collarless neck, and he stumbled back against the tree.

It was no lie. Elvar spoke the truth.

Lik-Rifa looked from Ulfrir to Broeir.

"Useless, lying human," she snarled, her serpentine neck lunging forwards, her jaws opening, and she swept Broeir up, bit down, the crunch and crackle of bones splintering, a few droplets of blood dripping from her lip, and Broeir was gone. She looked at Ulfrir.

"I shall have to do this the old-fashioned way then," she said. Her wings snapped open, beat and she was leaping at the wolf.