The Codex Lacrimae (48 page)

The wolf tore apart a ravening dog and then bit deeply into the thigh of a wild man before a mob of the dead warriors jumped on him, cruel daggers stabbing repeatedly into Fenris's fur. His wolf pack leapt to his defense, but Aurelius lost sight of him as he fell beneath the undead attackers and lupine defenders.

Then it sounded as if Fenris laughed, so resounding were his growls and snarls, and suddenly he was
thrice
his earlier height, easily shrugging off the
Ville Folk
and crushing many creatures under his tree-sized paws before returning to the knight's area.

Aurelius said nothing, his sword drawn and fully preoccupied with his own battle. He blocked the jabs and strokes of the blank-eyed, slack-jawed corpses in front of him, aware that some archers were starting to fire arrows into the woods. The black-feathered, iron projectiles thudded deeply into trunks nearby, causing hissing sounds wherever they hit; some of the arrow-tips were dipped with a substance that made the frozen bark smolder and burn.

He felt a tugging at the top of his boots and looked down to many yellowed and deteriorating hands grasping at his legs, trying to pull him into the snow with a hideous strength. It seemed as if the members of the Wild Hunt weren't limited to the skies and forests of Niflheim; the corpse-laden earth, too, offered another line of attack for Hela's hunters! Invigorated in a way that would've seemed impossible only seconds ago, Aurelius leapt from the clutching hands toward Fenris and Skade. He tripped, and bony hands latched themselves onto the wrist of his sword arm, immobilizing it.

Then Fenris bounded toward him, plucking the emerging bodies like they were troublesome weeds, hurling them into one another and making his way steadily toward Aurelius. When he reached the knight, fangs that were now the size of the youth's legs chomped the hands and freed the Hospitaller. Aurelius stumbled backward, wrenching off the last hand still clinging to his wrist.

“They don't want us, Codex Wielder — they want you!” Fenris snarled, whirling to defend him against more wild men and women racing into the forest.

“Leave Skade and me to fight this,” Fenris continued. “Flee, else all will be lost! Make your way directly backward from this point, in as straight a line as possible….”

An arrow burying itself deeply into his left shoulder interrupted the enormous wolf's words. Fenris yelped in pain and scrambled into a stand of trees as his fur burst into flame where the projectile had struck.

Aurelius lost track of him, then, because more bodies were emerging from the frozen ground, their eruption from the ice-caked soil like miniature earthquakes that imbalanced him as he worked furiously with his blade. He hacked his sword into the nearest corpse, the blade splintering its arm like dried wood. He kicked another who approached, and knew Fenris was correct. It was time to retreat.

He began to run, then stopped short, choking as his cloak got yanked backward. He managed to free himself, but as he flailed at his unseen attacker more gaunt creatures erupted from the earth! His fumbling left hand brushed against Grimnir's mattock, still securely slipped into his belt at the hip. He grabbed the hatchet and swung downward at the creatures.

The effect was explosive. At the touch of the mattock's blade, the hands and arms of the undead burst asunder, the putrefied flesh and aged bones bursting at the tool's touch.

More arrows flew through the air as he rolled behind a tree and heard the familiar hissing as the wood began to burn at their touch.

“Codex Wielder!” Fenris roared upon seeing him, a massive shrug casting a host of cadavers off his back. He burst into the ranks of wild men to help the injured knight, the impact like a wooden ball in a game of Dutch Pins, bowling over the members of the undead and
Ville Folk
that cleared a path to the beleaguered Hospitaller.

“The
Død Bueskytteres
come!” Fenris growled. “The Death Archers! We'll forget the plan to escape for now, eh?”

“I can't keep my footing, Fenris!” Aurelius shouted in frustration. “I'm spending more time hacking at my feet than helping you!”

Fenris stomped a few more attackers into the icy ground directly in front of Aurelius, the undead bodies unable to withstand the force of paws that were now the size of a man.

The wolves were still with him, presenting a formidable force to any that came against them. Aurelius, heaving, looked up in wonder at the monstrous ally. The arrow in Fenris's shoulder had been extinguished, but still smoldered and reeked of attar. The giant wolf's blood ran freely from it, staining the entirety of his chest and leg.

“Onto my back, then, my friend!” Fenris snarled the command at him, his ears erect, and fur bristling as his lips curled backward to reveal spear-length incisors. “We bring the war back to Hela! My sister forgets that she's not the only Power on this field!”

Aurelius nodded, saying nothing because the heat of battle was upon him, also.

He'd had enough of running, enough of not understanding, and enough of being injured — it was time to fight back. A fury overtook him, matching the wolf's in its intensity.

Fenris crouched to a place where Aurelius could make his way from an oversized boulder onto the great wolf's shoulders.

Once the knight was astride him, Fenris roared in approval and gave more instructions. “Grasp the mane tightly, and ride as if I were a horse. If you're unseated, stay with the wolves until I can get back to you!”

“We ride, Codex Wielder!” Fenris barked. “We need to help Skade to drive away the Hunt — kill until not one remains or they've fled the field!”

“
Così sia
,
” Aurelius screamed, his anger at the last few hours finally finding release. This was an impossible task. The members of the Wild Hunt were everywhere, and his ally's only plan was to wade into the center of the horde and fight until they or the attackers were dead.

“So be it!” he shouted again, flexing his knees on Fenris's shoulders, and urging the wolf forward. The creature roared in exultation and leapt into the melee, in one bound reaching Skade's side where she was battling werewolves and death archers with sword and dagger.

Girded by the horrors of Hel, Aurelius gripped Fenris's mane as tightly as he could and began wielding his sword, in one swing he beheaded a
vampyr
,
and then with the back stroke dispatched a wild man trying to scramble up Fenris's left flank.

The wolves howled as the
Wilde Jadg
advanced on the trio across the plain of Niflheim.

Chapter 7

The Grottoes of Mimir's Well

Back in Hela's tower, Clarinda didn't even run to the window to see what happened to Aurelius. Instead, she broke into a sprint at Old Nick.

It wasn't that she was unconcerned about the young knight — actually, her attraction to him had warmed again since realizing he'd been a pawn in some game between Hela and Satan
— but merely that she'd begun to follow the instincts of the part of her that was becoming Urd. She intuitively knew that the wolf had just saved Aurelius, and she'd had enough experience in the Nine Worlds to know that he'd find a way survive. If he didn't, the frigid winds and pelting snow rushing into the hall through the shattered window forestalled any hope of trying to help him at the moment; she might have supernatural assets as a Norn, but the ability to fly wasn't one of them.

Pragmatic as ever, though, she'd have to take care of herself first, and then look for him. Another thought flitted into her mind about the wolf itself, and the name Hela called it: Fenris.

She'd have to look up the mythology later, and pushed the thought away.

Servius would know who Fenris is.
Well, when the two hit the ground below they can have a nice chat together and figure things out. For me:
primo
,
grab that coral lying on the floor for the fossegrim;
secondo
,
kill Old Nick; and,
terzo
,
escape Hel!

So, instead of rushing to watch Santini's fall, Clarinda used the instant of distraction to leap at Old Nick.

Her quarterstaff thrust forward, she hurled herself at him with a cry more befitting a Valkyrie than a Norn. Clarinda moved with all the haste that her rage could muster. She didn't care what he called himself — Abbadon, Old Nick, Uncle Servius, or Satan — as Evremar of Choques, the man had been partly responsible for crucifying her father!

Hela's scream of rage confirmed her guess about Santini's survival and the wolf's benign intentions. The queen rushed to the window
with the speed of a heart attack and glared into the abyss.

Clarinda scooped the coral necklace from the ground, shoved it securely into her waistband, and lowered the staff as she neared her opponent.

The man dressed as ‘Uncle Servius' needed no help from the Mistress of the Dead. He grasped the end of Clarinda's quarterstaff, rolled back with it, and used her momentum to fling her away from him and into another part of the hall. She somehow retained her grip on the weapon, but went crashing upside down and sidelong onto a banquet table and over its side to the floor beyond.

“Fenris will get them lost in Niflheim!” Hela shouted. “Ganglati and Ganglot! To my side — blow the horns for the
Wilde Jagd
!”

The Wild Hunt?

Clarinda didn't like the sound of that, but couldn't dwell on the matter. She rose unsteadily to her feet, and saw the disgusting nature of the dead diners' feast: live rats, snakes, and toads were everywhere on the table! She moved away from the horrible meal, but stumbled backwards over another one of the corpses who, too, struggled to stand and return to its seat.

Indeed, a line of undead bodies led from the edge of the table to the very corner of the room itself. The press of bodies were so great it formed a veritable wall. She was trapped.

She frowned, something about the curtains against the wall seemed out of place. After peering more closely, she leapt onto the table. Even with all the squealing rats and squirming snakes, sprinting down the stained planks in the middle of the long table still offered the clearest path! She quickly closed the gap and arrived at the draperies.

She'd been right! There was an animal on top of one of the curtain hanging rods, but it wasn't a rat, it was an enormous squirrel.

“Ratatosk!” She yelled, half in relief at the sight of a familiar friend, and half wondering what in Hel is
he
doing here? “Where'd you come from? Never mind! How do I get out?”

“Well, hello, Clarinda!” the squirrel chirped, leaping to its hind legs and balancing itself on a ledge behind the rods. “I went to visit you in the grotto, and Mimir told me you were playing around down here with Hela and Old Nick.”

“Playing around…?” she said.

“Oops, speak of the devil — duck!”

Clarinda threw herself forward off the table, landing with a crouch on the floor.

Old Nick had cast a silver platter at her that embedded itself deeply into the chest of a corpse getting force-fed rotten food by one of the attendants. Clarinda realized that she'd narrowly escaped a beheading.

“Now, get back here, you little witch!” Old Nick chuckled, evidently amused at her actions. “I usually can't bother the Norns, but you're not one yet, are you?”

Clarinda whirled, and saw that Old Nick was making his way through the mob of gluttons, having reverted to his Evremar of Choques guise.

“Oh, Ratatosk, you naughty squirrel,” Old Nick chortled, “get over here, you little furball. You haven't come to make things complicated, have you?”

“Not at all,” the squirrel shouted, then under his breath, said quickly, “Clarinda, I'm going to do you a favor and remind you that Old Nick has to play by the rules when he's in mortal form.” Then, loudly, Ratatosk raised his voice and cheeped, “Hello, Abbadon, you greasy fiend!” The squirrel leapt lightly onto Clarinda's shoulder and hissed in her ear, “Make for the door that's hidden behind the curtain by all these fat fools — I think it's your only way out.” Then, to Old Nick he chirped loudly, “I'm just along for the ride. This one's late for one of Mimir's history lessons!”

“He'll have to wait a while on that, Fox Bait!” Old Nick shouted, shoving aside more gluttons as he closed in on Clarinda. “I'm going to spend
years
teaching her some lessons of my own!”

Clarinda petted the squirrel's back, having only a second to make a decision. Should she continue the fight (and probably get trapped in Hel because Old Nick was incredibly strong), or make a run for it and use the crowd of corpses queuing at the table to escape from Hel?

She screamed again, knowing the right thing to do and completely frustrated by it. Old Nick seemed to think that she was going to lunge, because he braced himself and invited her to come along and get to it, but she merely grabbed a platter of wriggling snakes and flung it directly at the devil's face.