CHAPTER SEVENTY ORKA

CHAPTER SEVENTY

ORKA

O rka stood with her long-axe, blue slime and shattered shell from frost-spiders dripping from its blade. Breca was close to her, Lif and S?unn to his left and right, a handful of skraeling dead around them. Vesli had one foot on a skraeling's jaw, grunting as she ripped long, yellowed teeth from its mouth. The Bloodsworn had formed a shield wall against the first rush of Lik-Rifa's horde through the stone doors, but with the coming of the dragon all had broken apart. Orka just stood with everyone else and stared as Lik-Rifa rose into the air and flew towards Ulfrir, who stood before her, crouched, muscles bunched, and then he was leaping into the air, jaws wide, the two gods slamming together, a concussive explosion that shook the chamber, all swaying and staggering, and the two gods were crashing to the ground, bodies hurled into the air as the ground rippled and tremored. They came scrambling to their feet, ripping and tearing, jaws crunching, Lik-Rifa's wings beating, claws tearing at Ulfrir's belly. His jaws sank into her shoulder and the dragon roared, Ulfrir twisting, thick muscles of his neck dragging her, and he threw her crunching into the trunk of the tree.

Lik-Rifa shook herself, wings flicking wide, and set her feet under her, turned to face Ulfrir, but he stepped back a few paces.

"Gelta, come," Ulfrir said.

There was a ripping, tearing sound, and a shape tore away from the trunk of the tree, a woman, grey-skinned, tall as a mead hall, her face hard lines and knotted hollows, hair flowing like vines, her eyes swirling green and amber.

"You are not welcome here, Lik-Rifa, despoiler, malignant deceiver," the Froa-spirit said, her voice like the scrape of a thousand branches.

" R?tur kjarnaviear míns, rís upp, bind hana, fanga hana, rífa hana, mylja hana, " the Froa cried out, and the ground trembled. Roots thick as trees burst from it, snaking out, wrapping around Lik-Rifa's legs. She beat her wings in a great flurry, rose into the air, but the roots held her tight and dragged her back down with a crash. More roots swept over her, across her long neck, criss-crossing over her body, binding her, and Lik-Rifa roared, loud and deafening, edged with fear.

The chamber exploded into motion. Orka saw Ilska break from the line of her shield wall and run towards Lik-Rifa, hacking at all in her way with her sword, smashing them aside with her shield. Drekr followed her, roaring and swinging his long-axe, and more of the Raven-Feeders followed, fighting their way to the dragon.

Without thought Orka stalked after them, smashed a skraeling that ran at her in the jaw with the butt of her axe, chopped into it as it fell with the blade, swung the axe over her head and hacked into a frost-spider that scurried at her, ripped the blade free in a burst of shell and blue-tinged ichor, strode on, dimly aware that others were with her.

Lik-Rifa was thrashing and heaving, writhing, wings beating, jaws snapping, tail lashing, sending people and creatures hurtling through the air, the ear-splitting sound of roots tearing from the ground or bursting apart in explosions of splinters, but the Froa stood before Lik-Rifa and shouted her words, more roots appearing, whipping out from the ground, thick as trees, and the stone wolves leaped onto Lik-Rifa's back and began savaging at her with their jaws of stone, Lik-Rifa roaring in pain and rage and fear.

Orka saw Ilska reach Lik-Rifa, began hacking with her sword at a thick root, Drekr right behind her, raising his long-axe and chopping, splinters flying. More of the Raven-Feeders joined them, weapons rising and falling, Lik-Rifa bucking and writhing and as one root tore apart, Ilska and the others ran to the next one.

No.

Orka ran, smashing skraeling and warriors out of her way, heard a howl ringing out and realised it was her. Ilska paused in her hacking at roots, saw Orka and whoever was behind her coming and barked orders, the Raven-Feeders falling in around her, a loose wall forming, shields rising.

Orka slammed into them before they had time to lock their shields and set their feet, all of them scattering, Orka stumbling, falling to one knee and rising again, furiously swinging her long-axe in a looping arc and chopping into the shield of a Raven-Feeder coming at her, smashing through the linden boards and on into the warrior's chest, sent the warrior crashing to the ground, ripped her axe free. A roar behind her and Gunnar and Halja scythed through the gap Orka had made, Glornir there, too, swinging his long-axe and splintering shields, Halja and Lif and S?unn there with her, chopping and slashing, Breca snarling and stabbing with his short spear, and the wave of the Bloodsworn pushed the Raven-Feeders back between and around the legs of the Froa-spirit until their backs were against the trunk of the great tree.

" Eldur íss og loga, brenna og frjósa, brenna og bíta, sprunga hinn forna vie, " a voice called out, and Orka heard the crackle and hiss of rune-flames, glanced around and saw Rotta, back in his human form, bleeding from a dozen wounds. He was facing the Froa and her roots and vines, runes of fire kindled in the air before him. And then turned and hurled the runes at the trunk of the great tree. They exploded in a conflagration of flames, licking at the tree, spreading across the ground, the stench of charred wood and hissing sap spreading through the hall.

The Froa-spirit let out a great wail and lashed out at Rotta, but he leaped nimbly behind the trunk, disappearing. The Froa turned her vines upon the flames that were crackling and climbing, whipping at them, but flames sparked into life on the vines, swiftly racing along them, charring and blackening them. The Froa-spirit screamed.

Vol's voice rose high as she summoned runes of frost and ice, hurled them at the flames upon the tree, but they burst into clouds of steam at their first touch of Rotta's rune-cast flames.

"SKALK," Orka heard a voice roar, saw Glornir standing over a dead Raven-Feeder, pointing his long-axe past Orka. She turned and saw Skalk standing on the lower steps of the stairwell carved into the side of the great tree, his fair-haired drengr with him. He stumbled back a few steps, up the stairwell, clutching his staff, his mouth moving, forming words that Orka could not hear as Glornir started carving a way towards him.

Orka ducked the arcing slice of a spear, came up and kicked the shield of the warrior attacking her, a fair-haired man in a nasal helm with a rope-knot beard, sent him stumbling back, crunching into the tree. He tried to right himself as Orka's long-axe slammed down onto his helm, caving it in, blood sluicing down his face and he dropped like a cut puppet. Orka curled her lip, hefted her axe, and then she saw him through the flames. Drekr, standing with Ilska and a knot of the Raven-Feeders before the first steps of the tree's stairwell, fighting a handful of the Bloodsworn and Ulfrir's úlfhéenar . She broke into a run, leaped through the flames that were spreading about the base of the trunk and threw herself at him. He saw her coming, turned and twisted away from her axe swing and she was smashing into him, sending him tumbling up the stairwell, falling, rolling, coming back to one knee as she staggered and crunched into the tree, felt movement behind her and ducked, a sword chopping into the trunk where her head had been. Twisted and saw Ilska, cold-eyed, her face a cliff. She smashed her shield into Orka's face, sent her stumbling up the stairwell, ripped her sword from the trunk and strode after Orka.