The Blood-Tainted Winter (32 page)

Scrambling to his feet, Raef saw the lake begin to crumble around him as the ice melted and broke apart. Everywhere men were falling into the flames. Some crawled out again but the fire was upon them and would not let go. Raef was already running for the shore, his feet slipping but desperation kept him balanced as the ice vanished behind him. Sensing he had but a moment before the lake claimed him, Raef launched himself toward the shore.

He hit solid ground and rolled away out of reach of the flames. Wincing from the landing, Raef found his feet and collected his spear, which had flown from his grasp on impact. As he rose from the snow, his eyes took in the scene that spread out before him.

Raef had seen it in his mind’s eye, but the reality was far beyond what he had imagined. Where moments before Raef’s world had been nothing but ice and snow, now it was flames that licked and spit and heat that made Raef look away. Death was all around. Men caught in the fiery lake screamed and thrashed. Others who had made it to land were no better off and Raef saw many flaming bodies stumble and fall. And yet still the battle raged, though the flames had taken their toll and Raef guessed the number of warriors had been cut in half. Whether friend or foe had taken more losses, he did not know. He scanned the shore but Siv and Eira were not to be seen.

Through it all, Raef saw the Hammerling, his face wild with the battle-joy, his sword a flashing, singing instrument of death. And there, just beyond, the Palesword, the legendary blade bright in the sun, dressed in the life-blood of other men. At the Palesword’s side, the broad, tall form of Ragnarr Silenthand was unmistakable and he dealt death to all who approached. There the fighting was fiercest, a brawl without order, and Raef fought his way to the Hammerling’s side.

“Skallagrim,” the Hammerling shouted, catching sight of Raef. “Victory is at hand.” Brandulf bled from a blow to the head, but it was clear his spirit soared beyond any common wound. “Let us take him together.” Raef met the Hammerling’s eyes and nodded.

Before Raef could follow in the wake of Brandulf’s cloak, he was slammed to the ground by an unknown attacker from behind. Face in the blood-spattered snow, Raef worked to catch the breath that had flown from him. The weight of a man settled on his back and he felt a knife pressed against his spine.

A voice spoke low in his ear. “I told you I would rip your heart from your chest, Skallagrim.” Raef struggled to turn and face his opponent, but he was pinned too tight. “Ulrik Urgilson has come for you.” At last Raef was able to crank his neck around enough to look in his assailant’s eyes. The Hammerling’s captain had lost half the hair on his head to the fire but his eyes were full of fury. Ulrik gripped Raef’s hair and spun him around so they were face to face. “I will tell the Hammerling you fought valiantly but the enemy was too strong, too many,” Ulrik said, sneering. “I rushed to defend you but came too late. Or perhaps I will say you cowered before them, begging for your life, staining the snow with your piss and then your blood.”

Raef reached for a knife but Ulrik’s knees kept the blade at his belt out of reach and Ulrik placed the point of his knife between Raef’s ribs.

Thirty

T
he death blow
never came, for the sky split open and the air filled with a terrible scream, so loud and piercing that Ulrik dropped his blade and covered his ears, his face contorted in agony. Raef squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the noise but the scream was fear and death itself.

The pain of it was paralyzing, and Raef could only lie on the ground, still straddled by Ulrik’s weight. Opening his eyes, Raef felt terror strike his core as swiftly as a blade. The sky was a storm of color and light, as though the very stars were descending to earth. Nine figures, wreathed in brilliant light, rode waves of dark clouds to the earth, their monstrous horses as pale as moonlight. They wore shining armor of silver and gold, but brighter than anything the earth had to offer. Crested helms fitted close about their heads, but their hair streamed out from underneath and their eyes blazed down on the warriors. Raef’s eyes had never beheld such a vision, but there was no mistaking what had come down from Asgard. They were the Valkyries and they had come to claim what was theirs by right.

Whether it was the horses or the Valkyries themselves emitting the screams, Raef could not tell, but as they landed on the flaming oil the sound ceased, though Raef’s ears continued to ring. Seizing his chance, Raef first punched Ulrik in the belly and then flung him away. Drawing the knife that had eluded his grasp before, Raef pounced on Ulrik, whose eyes stared blankly up at the sky. The traitorous captain did not react when Raef’s blade slit his throat. Raef gathered his sword and the Asgardian spear and stood.

Around Raef, everything was still for all the warriors could only stare as the Valkyries advanced across the flaming lake, untouched by the fire. Their eyes transfixed Raef and he felt his arms go slack and his hands begin to tremble, as fear that did not come from within enveloped his mind and body. He tried to fight it, but the power of the Valkyries was too strong.

The shieldmaidens reached the shore and dismounted. One, tall and fair beyond reckoning, cast her glance on the closest warrior, rendered mute and still as a statue. She swatted at him with her shield as though he were an insect and the body flew nearly as far as Raef could throw a spear. And then she spoke, her voice like stone grinding against bone. Somehow Raef knew each and every warrior heard it as he did, both a whisper in his ear and a far-flung battle cry.

“The world of men will fall.”

With that, the nine Valkyries drew their swords, so bright and deadly they nearly blinded Raef. The fear still gripped him, still held his feet to the earth like the roots of a tree, but something in that voice stirred his memory. He had not heard it before, and yet it was familiar. Caught in the throes of that voice, Raef knew the Valkyries had not come on Odin’s behest, that the Allfather did not wish the destruction of man. For within the Valkyrie’s voice, he could hear both the Deepminded and the strange voice that had come to him in the tunnel beneath the mountains of Freywyn. The voice that had cursed the world, Asgard, and Odin most of all. And Raef knew Loki was his true opponent.

Regaining control of his limbs, as though this clarity in his mind had freed him from the fear, Raef gripped his sword and advanced on the closest enemy warrior. He alone seemed capable of movement. Far along the shore, the Valkyries dealt death to all. Men fell to their blades, unresisting, and Raef knew they would reach him soon. Raef found the Hammerling and shook him hard. He blinked and his eyes took a moment to focus on Raef’s face.

“We are lost.”

“It may be that we will fall to the Valkyries this day. There is no shame in that,” Raef said. The Hammerling’s eyes slid away from Raef’s face but he clapped a hand to the other man’s cheek, forcing Brandulf to look back. “But let it not be said we could not finish what we came for.” Raef pointed at the Palesword, who stood a mere twenty paces from them. The Palesword was rallying warriors to him and Raef could see that the Valkyries were no longer spreading fear, but instead a mad frenzy seemed to be overtaking the Palesword’s warriors.

The Hammerling, responding to Raef’s words, his eyes growing bright again, slapped Raef on the shoulder and, tilting his face to the sun, roared his defiance for all to hear. Without waiting for Raef, he charged toward the Palesword. Raef hurried after him.

Together they cut a path through the enemy but the Valkyries did the same and Raef knew time was short. At last the Palesword stood before them, his chest heaving with exertion, but strength yet flowing through him. He held his arms wide, the pale blade dripping blood, and greeted the Hammerling.

“At last you come before me, Brandulf. The Valkyries will grant me your death.” The Palesword’s smile was wide. “Come. Let us end this.” Before either man could advance, the hulking form of Ragnarr Silenthand stepped between them. His sword cut through the air and the Hammerling had to throw himself to the ground to avoid certain death. Ragnarr advanced on the fallen lord.

“Ragnarr!” Raef shouted, desperate to gain the half god’s attention. “I am the one you want. Kill me.” Ragnarr looked at Raef but he raised his sword to finish the Hammerling. Sprinting forward, Raef charged into Ragnarr. They fell hard to the ground and Raef rolled away. Gasping for air, Raef knew he had broken more than one rib but still he struggled to rise as Ragnarr did the same. The pain kept Raef hunched over, but he held sword and spear firmly, even as he drew ragged breaths.

Ragnarr moved with speed and though Raef brought the spear up to block the bigger man’s sword, the force of it sent spikes of pain shuddering through his chest and he fell to the ground again. This time he was still on one knee when Ragnarr’s sword came for him and though the spear again saved his life, blood spurted from Raef’s chest and he fell backward into the snow.

Ragnarr loomed over him, blocking the sun. Raef’s breathing was shallow and his body was racked with pain. He raised a hand to defend himself but saw that his fall had made him weaponless. He met the silent half god’s gaze but in his mind he saw his father’s corpse and he knew he had failed, for if he died without a weapon in hand, he could not even seek vengeance in Valhalla. Raef turned his gaze to the clear blue sky above, let its beauty consume him, and waited for death to come.

Heat. For a moment it was all Raef felt and it seared across his face and along the wound on his chest. Crying out, Raef wondered for a moment if this was what death outside the corpse-hall felt like, but then he was aware of the snow around him and he knew he was yet in Midgard. Struggling to one elbow, Raef saw that Ragnarr no longer stood above him. Instead, the half god stumbled back, forced away by a wall of flames. The flames took the shape of a man and a burning blade drove Ragnarr back. Raef lay back and closed his eyes, relief flooding through him. Vakre. Vakre had come.

Gradually the sounds of battle came back to Raef and he forced his eyes open, though weariness and pain threatened to overtake him. His fingers stretched and found his sword. He grasped it tight and used it to bring himself to one knee. Ragnarr was in the snow now, and Raef could see he bled from many wounds. Vakre was yet consumed by fire and was prepared to finish the son of Heimdall.

Raef called out, “Wait!” Vakre, his face just visible behind the flames, checked his swing. Crawling forward, Raef pulled himself to Ragnarr’s side. The half god looked him in the eye. “You were never my enemy, Ragnarr,” Raef said. “Go in peace and I will drink with you one day.” He did not expect an answer and had just looked to Vakre when a whisper emerged from Ragnarr’s mouth and the half god broke his vow of silence.

“The shame is mine.” Ragnarr’s face was desolate and full of remorse and private misery that Raef could not understand. “The shame is mine,” he said again. He closed his eyes and Raef knew he was dead before Vakre’s flaming sword finished him. The fire around Vakre vanished and he extended a hand to help Raef to his feet.

“The Palesword,” Raef said, for he could see that Torrulf and the Hammerling now fought each other. The Valkyries were close but their power no longer influenced Raef and he trudged forward, his right arm clutching his ribs, just behind Vakre, to reach the Palesword. “A good fire would go along way,” he muttered.

“I cannot,” Vakre said, and it was only then that Raef saw how weak his friend was, the strain in his eyes, the uncertainty in his step. “This cloak was meant for a god. My mortal body cannot withstand another use, not without rest.” Raef nodded.

The Hammerling and the Palesword were locked in combat but broke apart as Torrulf saw Vakre and Raef approach. He stepped back, his gaze flickering between the three warriors that opposed him. All four men were wounded in some way, all four far from their full strength, but equally willing to fight to the death and Raef knew the Palesword, despite being outnumbered, would not go down easily.

Vakre struck first, attacking the Palesword’s right. Torrulf deflected with ease and turned to meet the Hammerling who advanced from the opposite side. The short sword in his left hand clashed with the Hammerling’s steel and Raef, willing away the pain in his ribs, advanced.

A warning shout from Vakre pulled him up short. Vakre’s eyes were focused on something behind Raef and he spun around to see the fierce, beautiful, terrifying face of a Valkyrie. Her blade, sunlight turned solid, sliced through the air with unnatural speed and Raef’s sword shattered under its impact. He stumbled back, the hilt still in hand, and fumbled for the broken axe at his belt. The Valkyrie, her face both a stormy sea and a calm lake, prepared to swing again but something halted her arm and Raef saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Her gaze looked beyond Raef and then back to his face, the deadly blade still threatening to descend. He met her eyes and saw starlight there, and then she was gone, turning away and leaping onto the back of her waiting horse. Snorting, the horse took to the sky, followed by eight others, and the Valkyries were gone.

Raef exhaled and then turned to see what had halted her blade and saved his life. The Palesword lay at Vakre’s feet, his unseeing eyes staring up into the blue that had swallowed the Valkyries. A great hole in his belly emptied his life-blood onto the snow. The pale sword was yet in his hand.

“It is done,” Vakre said.

He spoke true. Though a few warriors still resisted, the Hammerling’s force had won the bloody strip of land between the burning lake and the snow-covered hills.

Raef looked at the bladeless handle in his hand. The sword had once been a stranger to him, borrowed when his own was stolen. And yet it had become a part of him. He tucked both it and the broken axe into his belt and walked to where the Hammerling leaned on his sword.

“The field is yours, lord. Victory is yours.” Raef knelt in the snow. “Hail, Brandulf Hammerling, king!” Raef’s cry carried on the wind and soon all the warriors, even those who had fought for the Palesword, were on their knees, echoing Raef’s words for the ears of the dead to hear.