CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN BIÓRR

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

BIóRR

B iórr and Red Fain stood with shields and weapons, the Tainted children behind them, and stared at the battle. It raged all about them, the sound of it a swirling, deafening maelstrom, Ulfrir howling, Lik-Rifa roaring, tearing at each other and the land about them, Rotta squealing, warriors screaming, dying, trolls bellowing, frost-spiders hissing, night-hags shrieking, and all of it appearing in fractured glimpses through the sheeting snow. God was fighting god, drengrs fighting drengrs , Tainted fighting Tainted, only the vaesen fighting together against Ulfrir and his horde.

Before them a knot of úlfhéenar and Berserkir fought against Tainted who had come to Lik-Rifa's call, growling, snarling, stabbing, ripping, moving in and out of sight.

"How can it be like this?" Red Fain breathed. "We are supposed to stand together, against the tyrants who have enslaved us. Not fight against each other."

I have set the tainted free , Biórr heard Elvar's voice.

"Lik-Rifa said she would set the Tainted free," Fain said.

Biórr remembered Orka's words to him.

The gods did not care for the lives of anyone then, Tainted or not, I do not think they care now.

Dawn was seeping into the world, a pale light clawing over the horizon, shadows separating around them. They saw a knot of frost-spiders swarm upon a Berserkir , dragging her down by their weight. Riders thundered out of the snow, hacking and slashing with their curved swords, and a troll lumbered at them, swung her club and smashed a rider from the saddle. It was impossible to tell, but to Biórr it seemed that the numbers of the vaesen were beginning to turn the tide against Ulfrir and his followers.

"How can it be that only the vaesen have loyalty," Fain grunted.

A howl from Ulfrir rang out, long and ululating, and Biórr saw Skuld swirl out of the snow, climb higher and hover in the air, her red wings beating slowly, and she raised a horn to her lips, blew it, the sound echoing Ulfrir's howl.

There was a shift in the air around Biórr, and a sound rising up from the forest at their backs. Biórr and Fain turned, heard a strange sound ebbing and flowing, high-pitched, a shrieking wail, growing louder, like an approaching storm. And then shadowed shapes were appearing, small figures emerging from the treeline, looking like wood carvings, their hair spiked leaves, hands like twisted thorns. They were running, mouths twisted in snarls, shrieking.

"Faunir," Biórr gasped.

"The children," Fain said desperately, and he turned, started shouting orders and the Tainted children ran to one of the wagons, scrambled beneath it, as Fain and Biórr stood before them, shields raised.

The faunir came shrieking out of the snow, washing across the battlefield, hurling fistfuls of thorns and splintered wood as they ran, throwing themselves at frost-spiders, swarming over trolls, and then they were at the wagon. The horses whinnied and reared, wild-eyed, but the faunir swept past them. A handful skidded to a halt and glared at Biórr and Fain, who stood there with their shields raised, but they made no move to strike at the faunir. One of the small creatures crouched to peer beneath the wagon. Its head twisted to one side, looking at the children, and it spoke in a chittering, snap and crackle voice to the others. It stood and they were running, leaving Fain and Biórr alone as they swept on into the camp. The din of war rose higher, shafts rang on shields, faunir leaping, gouging, shrieking, and blood stained the snow.

Biórr looked at Fain.

"We should leave," he said.

"What?" Red Fain said.

"These gods, they are not worth fighting for. Not worth dying for."

"But our freedom," Fain said.

"We are already free. Whoever wins, the dragon or the wolf, the Tainted will not be thralled."

"And our vengeance," Fain said, a twist of his lips. "My sons, your Myrk …"

"I have had my taste of vengeance, and it is bitter, like ash in the mouth," Biórr said. "It does not bring the dead back to us. I am done with it. Let us do something … good. Let us take these children from here. Far from here. Take them from war and a red-robed death."

Fain looked at him, then at the children huddled beneath the wagon. Many of them had spoken of war, of living in a skáld-song, of their name being sung of in the hero's sagas, but looking at them now, they just looked terrified.

"Aye," Fain said. "Lads, lasses, into the wagon," he said, and they scrambled out and clambered into the wagon, Harek climbing onto the driver's bench, where he always sat beside Fain.

HELP ME , Rotta's voice screamed in Biórr's head.

Fain hauled himself up and offered his hand to help Biórr, and Biórr hesitated.

"You get along, and I'll follow after," Biórr said, "there is one thing that I must do first." He looked among the children and saw him.

"Bjarn, you come with me," he said.

"Why?" Bjarn asked.

"I am going to take you back to your mother."

"I shall wait for you," Fain said.

"No, get them away from here, while you can."

Fain looked at the swirling battle and nodded. "Then we shall wait in the woods for you, where it is safer."

Biórr nodded, sheathing his sword. Fain clicked his lips, snapped his reins and the horses jolted into movement, the wagon rumbling away and disappearing behind the veil of snow.

Biórr watched them go, turned, putting a hand on Bjarn's shoulder and guided him into the battle. They weaved around heaped piles of the dead, the roar of war washing over them. Two warriors came staggering out of the snow and Biórr slammed them away with his shield, moved on. He reached down to his belt, drew out the axe he had taken from Elvar and offered it to Bjarn.

"Just in case," Biórr said and Bjarn nodded, took the weapon.

They moved deeper into the battle, towards the heart of the storm, and then Biórr saw them. Lik-Rifa and Ulfrir, jaws biting, claws ripping, and around them the dragon-born and úlfhéenar fought, and the Seier-witches. Runes bloomed and flared, fire and ice crackling as they fought for their gods, fought against one another, and Biórr saw Uspa. She was standing with another Seier-witch, as dark as Uspa was fair. Berak was with her, too. Huge and hulking in his mail, shoulders hunched, a bearded axe in each fist. A pile of the dead ringed him.

Biórr ran, then, crouched, gripping Bjarn's wrist. Berak glimpsed their movement and turned, snarling, axes raised. Paused, axes hovering, his expression shifting from feral rage to confusion, to surprise, and then he was lowering the twin blades, a smile splitting the braided weave of his beard.

"Uspa," he said, and she turned. Mouth opening wide, and she was running, eyes bright with tears, and Bjarn was running, too, threw himself into her arms, Uspa lifting him up, laughing and kissing his cheeks. Berak reached them and swept them both up in his big arms, squeezed them tight, spun them in a circle.

Biórr smiled and turned away, began threading his way back through the battle.

BIóRR, HELP ME , Rotta screamed in Biórr's head.

No , Biórr snarled back at him.

A sound behind him, footsteps.

"Turn around," a voice snarled at him.

Biórr froze, a ripple of fear in his gut, let the rat flood him. Turned swiftly, reaching for his sword, saw the Bloodsworn warrior he had fought before. The man's green eyes blazed as he lunged forwards, chopping with an axe. Biórr raised his shield, but the axe snaked over the top rim, crunched into Biórr's temple, sent him reeling, the ground rising up to meet him. The wind knocked from him as he hit the snow. Tried to move, lift his shield, draw his sword, but his body was not responding, a pain in his head pulsing through him. His stomach lurched and he vomited.

A weight on his chest, the green-eyed man putting one boot on him.

"I am Gunnar Prow of the Bloodsworn, and I am your end ," he snarled, raised his axe.

"No," Biórr whispered.

"For Revna," Gunnar Prow said, and the axe came down.