Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Einarr Stigandersen

  • 13.17 – The Way Forward

    13.17 – The Way Forward

    Once the door closed and Runa had joined them over in the hot, cleansing bath, Einarr turned his attention to Jorir. “You said you think you know where we will find the high priest. Explain.”

    Jorir sighed and sunk back so that his head was resting on the stone edge of the hot spring. “It goes back to the Oracle’s visions. You see, in what she showed me, I didn’t manage to rescue you – not from the prison. Instead, everyone gathered at an outdoor shrine on the mountain. A shrine that wasn’t there when I left, by the way. The only way I got you out of it was by offering myself in exchange. Needless to say, we’ve already deviated from that.”

    “Quite.” Einarr paused, thoughtfully. “But if, as you say, the final confrontation must take place at this altar you do not know, then I suppose the question becomes where is it – and when?”

    Brandir raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you were so insistent. The where is the easy part. When, since the sacrifice was interrupted, that’s a little more difficult.”

    Jorir raised his head and turned a bleak look on Brandir. “Have they sacrificed dvergr there? Or men? Or merely animals?”

    Although he was looking at Brandir, it was Gheldram who answered. “Animals, yes. Men, yes. Dvergr rarely.”

    “Rarely?”

    “Yes, and criminals all. That’s the only way they get away with it.”

    “Criminals, you say?” Put in Kaldr.

    “Yes, unfortunately.”

    “Quite unfortunate. I think, after tonight, they will have a great many of those with an excuse to sacrifice.”

    “I cannot deny it,” Brandir answered. “That is why the instructions they were given were quite adamant that they lay low afterward. Very low. While we had not intended to move just yet, this plan has been in the works for a very long time.”

    “Even still,” Gheldram continued, “Now that we’ve begun we must needs act quickly.”

    “Quite,” Einarr agreed. He paused, thoughtful. “How would it be if one of us turned ourselves in? They would presumably need to choose an auspicious day for the ceremony, yes?”

    “Quite right,” Jorir answered.

    “Then, if one of us turned ourselves in, as an architect of the chaos of this night, might it forestall the capture of your allies? And could we not then be well aware of the timing for the next half of our strike?”

    A knock came on the door. Runa excused herself and went to answer the door. She received some packets of herbs from outside and closed the door again directly. After she had tested each packet, she sprinkled the water with its contents. “Here. This should help with the corruption we were all exposed to tonight.”

    They spent the rest of the night planning.

    Runa insisted that they, too, take several days to lay low and rest and recuperate after their daring rescue of her in the Holy Mount. Mornik, at a minimum, would not be ready for action for at least a week, and none of them were quite sure what would constitute an auspicious occasion, under the circumstances.

    At last, though, news reached their ears that the Thane’s men and the temple enforcers had begun going door-to-door through the city, searching for those who had taken part in the riots, and that they had already captured several with ties to Brandir and Gheldram.

    “I was exiled for daring to disagree with the Thane over this, and that was two hundred years ago. I doubt they will be so gentle now,” Jorir rumbled.

    Einarr nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It is time.”

    “It’s still too early. Mornik’s injuries are still grave.”

    “Runa, my darling, you’ve been against this plan from the beginning. No amount of stalling is going to give us a better one: we’ve all tried.” She never used to be this anxious: Einarr was inclined to blame the babe she still carried – not that there was much blame to assign. He could admit to his own anxiety on that front. How long had she been a prisoner there, exposed to their dark magics, before they fought their way through the corrupted? Einarr shook his head: now was not the time to worry over that.

    “That doesn’t change that you’re not ready yet.” She set her jaw, but this was one argument she couldn’t win.

    “My Lady,” Jorir rumbled. “While I appreciate your concern, the longer we delay the more of my kin will become fodder for Malúnion. If Mornik cannot fight when the day comes, then he cannot fight and we will manage.”

    It looked like she was going to protest again, but Kaldr forestalled her. “My Lady. They are right. To delay further would be folly. However, I cannot say that I am easy about you being the bait, my Lord.”

    “The only one they want more than me is Jorir, Kaldr. We’ve talked about this, too.” He finished checking over the bundle of belongings he was leaving behind, ensuring that his brokkrsteel maille and Sinmora were easily accessible. The others would carry those hidden in their own things. Better that than having them confiscated and useless in a storeroom somewhere. “And now I must be off. Fortune’s favor, everyone.”

    Jorir, sounding a little husky, answered for them all. “And to you.”

    Then, with one last embrace from Runa, he slipped out into the streets of Nilthiad.

    Three streets down, he tossed back the hood on his cloak and straightened his stance. Now that he was away from the bathhouse, he wanted to be seen.

    He didn’t have to go much farther before he spotted what had to be one of the cult’s posses. He put on a lopsided grin, smoothed his mustache, and swaggered up to the heavily armed dvergr with the unhealthy color of the grave. “Leave these poor people alone. I’m the one you’re looking for.”

    He got a scornful look from one of the former dvergr before he turned back and pounded once more on the door of some poor fool’s house.

    “Hey.” He dropped the false smile and grabbed the dvergr’s wrist. “I said, I’m the one you’re looking for. None of that would have happened except for me.”

    The dvergr gave a violent twist to his arm – one which Einarr was reasonably sure should have been impossible – and pounded once more on the door. “We have orders to bring in every treasonous rat who took to the streets that night. Since you’re here, I presume you’ll go quietly. Magnyl, take him in. I’m sure His Lordship will be pleased to see one of his humans returned to the dungeons. And don’t worry: your friends are sure to join you soon enough.”

    One of the dvergr – certainly Magnyl, all things considered, reached out and tried to take him by the elbow. Einarr wrested it away almost effortlessly. “Is that so. You’ll regret that. I’m the Cursebreaker. You really think any of this would have happened if I weren’t here? You want to take me in, first you have to take me seriously.”

    Einarr was unarmed, but he wasn’t about to let this posse go about their business. A quick sweep with his leg brought the unsuspecting Magnyl ignominiously to the ground.

     

     

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

     

  • 13.16 – Escape

    13.16 – Escape

    That priest wouldn’t have come alone, or even just with a single attendant. Einarr and his companions clattered up the stairs, abandoning all pretense of stealth in favor of speed. When they emerged into the hallway, however, they found themselves in the middle of a swarm of grey-skinned acolytes. The passage was packed almost too tightly to fight. Probably the priest had been unsure what was happening, and they awaited some sort of signal. They didn’t get their signal, but they got something “better:” fresh meat.

    With a shout, the acolytes fell upon Einarr and his friends. Down the hallway, over the clamor of their own fight, Einarr could just make out the sounds of another battle going on. That must be Jorir, Einarr thought. He turned to face the sound of the other battle and lashed out at the closest dvergr in his path. “This way!”

    It had been a long time since Einarr found himself in this sort of a scrum, but not so long that he had missed it. He found, however, that the rhythm which had served him so well against the svartalfrs on his way to the docks in their fortress, and against the revenants of the Althane, once again worked to his advantage here.

    He stood shoulder to shoulder with Naudrek and Thjofgrir and Kaldr, with Runa protected in the middle, and they made their way, step by hacking step, slowly towards their dvergr friends and the exit where they had agreed to meet.

    The trouble with this sort of extreme close-quarters fighting was that it was slow, and over time you were certain to become injured. If you let it go on too long, it could become death by a thousand cuts. This was compounded by the fact that every time they struck an enemy they had no way to shield themselves from the corrupting black blood. Einarr already began to feel unwell, although he could not say for certain if it was only in his own mind. Thankfully, with their ring of blades, Runa was not being exposed. Also thankfully, Einarr was much stronger than the last time he had faced a wave of enemies such as this.

    After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been, they reached the place where Jorir and his kin stood with their backs to the secret passage, securing the way out.

    The dvergr looked awful. They were splattered with quantities of the black blood and covered in small slashes besides. Their eyes were bloodshot. Mornik, standing behind the other three, struggled to suppress a cough. Jorir’s face brightened when he saw Einarr and his crew cut their way through the last rank of enemies to join them.

    “Get inside!” Einarr ordered. “We’ll close the door behind us!”

    “Thank you!” Jorir gasped, and the four dwarves blocking the entrance backed further up into it. Runa was next, followed by Einarr and Kaldr, and then with a final slash Thjofgrir kicked the support and the door fell closed behind them. A shriek of pain and rage came from the other side: Einarr guessed that the heavy stone door had caught one of them.

    The closed-off passageway suddenly seemed very quiet, compared to the bedlam they had just left. Einarr took a deep breath. “Everyone in one piece?”

    “More or less.” Gheldram offered a wan, wry smile.

    “What happened to you guys?”

    “One o’ their cursed beasts,” Brandir spat. “And then, in spite of everything, I’ll swear ta ye that all the acolytes here were in that damned hallway.”

    “You didn’t see anyone down there?” Kaldr was incredulous.

    “Just a snake as thought we were mice,” Jorir answered. “And only that after I decided to apply a little fire to the situation.”

    Mornik coughed, underscoring the point.

    In spite of himself, Einarr snapped. “Then where in Hel’s lair is that shaman?”

    Jorir shook his head. “I think I know where we’ll find him… but if we go tonight, we’ll only kill ourselves. Even assuming he would be there at this time of night.”

    Runa put a hand gently on Einarr’s arm – careful to avoid the inky splatters. “He’s right, Einarr. Not one of us is in any condition to fight right now. We need a quiet place to recover.”

    Einarr looked at the delicate fingers that somehow deigned to reach for him, not quite comprehending at first. “You’re right, of course. Brandir, if we get back to the bathhouse, will they let us rest there again?”

    After a long moment’s thought, he nodded. “She’s dependable. I can lead the way, but… we’re going to need you big folk to make sure we all make it in one piece. That beast nearly did us in.”

    “It would be an honor.”

    Their infiltration had taken long enough that the unrest in the streets had mostly calmed by the time they left the temple district, but it seemed to have taken its toll on the Thane’s men as much as it did on the uncorrupted dvergr. The streets were deserted, and they did not pass a single lighted window. They moved as quickly and as quietly as they could, but by the end of it Gheldram was supporting Mornik – the smaller dvergr seemed to have taken the worst of it.

    When they arrived at the familiar bathhouse, Einarr thought for a moment the proprietress was going to turn them away. That is, until she caught sight of Mornik. Based on her reaction, Einarr thought they might be more than simply friends.

    Once she spotted him, she clapped both hands to her mouth in a familiar gesture of shock and ushered the party of nine into the baths. She cast a sidelong look at Runa as she passed, but when Runa twined her arm about Einarr’s she was evidently satisfied.

    “Have you a stock of medicinal herbs?” Runa asked as the last of the men stumbled into the bathing room.

    “Some, yes. Why? What happened to them?”

    Runa just shook her head, even as she scribbled a list of herbs on a scrap of paper from her pack. “Can you get me these? As much as you can, please.”

    The dvergr woman lowered her brows as she read the list. “Aye, I have some of these. Some others I might be able to find in the market on the morrow – if you’ve the coin for them. These are all…”

    “Purifiers, yes. I’ll gladly pay for what you can provide. As much as you can bring, please.”

    The proprietress nodded slowly. “Since it’s for Mornik. Give me a few minutes, I’ll fetch some from my stores.”

     

     

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

     

  • 13.15 – Extraction

    13.15 – Extraction

    The five humans only made it as far as the hallway filled with priestly quarters before they ran into trouble. Halfway down stood a pair of dvergr dressed like priests. The white robes with their gold trim made their complexions look ghastly and grey.

    The one in the front shrieked and pointed directly at Runa. “The vessel!”

    Einarr wasted no time waiting for an explanation: he drew Sinmora.

    “That’s the one who kept examining me,” Runa said, then cleared her throat.

    “No! Don’t Sing here.”

    Runa looked askance at Einarr’s order, but an order it was.

    “Remember how the svartalfrs reacted to Song magic.”

    Now she nodded. Thjofgrir and Naudrek had already taken the lead, and while the two priests up ahead were more durable than your average dvergr, they were still subdued easily.

    “You want ‘em alive?” Thjofgrir asked, a knee in the back of the one who had spoken.

    Einarr frowned, thinking. Could someone be redeemed when they were as… corrupted as these two appeared to be? He didn’t know, but they might be worth questioning later. “Throw them in the cage. I’ll improvise a new lock.”

    “Why bother?” Runa’s voice was cold. At Einarr’s raised eyebrow, she continued. “Even the Matrons don’t know how to undo this. You’re the Cursebreaker, but these dvergr took the corruption into themselves – and willingly, as near as I’ve been able to gather. You’re better off killing them than leaving an enemy like this at our backs.”

    Einarr shook his head. She wasn’t wrong, but… “Do it, Thjofgrir. We have no good way to shield ourselves from the corrupted blood, so I’d rather not expose you to any more of it than I can avoid.”

    Runa grumbled, but evidently didn’t have a good counterargument for that. As well she shouldn’t: last time they’d fought this cult, the Matrons had sent him off after an artifact that belonged to Wotan’s wife – and that had disappeared after they destroyed Urdr’s Weavings over Breidelstein. (Einarr was not looking forward to explaining that to Ystävä, if the alfr ever decided to collect.) Somehow, he doubted Wotan would let him “borrow” it a second time.

    They locked them in the cage, only it was not so much a lock. Einarr traced a series of runes along the edge of the door, and when they began to glow the bars became red-hot. When they cooled, moments later, the runes were gone and the bars had fused together entirely.

    Einarr gave his wife half a smile. “You were worried about them being left behind us? I think, somehow, we’ll be okay.”

    Jorir was pleased to discover that the smoke had not spread to the floor above. As they climbed out of the choking miasma, they all began to regain their strength. He hoped that meant they had made it out in time. “Once we’ve destroyed the Squiddies,” he muttered. “I’m dragging all of you with me to a priestess of Frigg.”

    Mornik coughed. He seemed to have taken the worst of it. “Suits me fine.”

    “We need to keep moving.” Brandir looked nervously up and down the hall. It was odd that they hadn’t seen more acolytes: were they perhaps down in the streets, dealing with the bigger distraction?

    Jorir moved up next to Brandir and took a look around as well. This would be a level for the next level of initiate, Jorir suspected, but there were only three more levels between where they were and where they had left the humans. “Well, come on. This way. We kill anything that moves, and break anything that looks like it might keep them busy, just like below.”

    Gheldram chuckled drily. “Perhaps not just like below.”

    “Hrmph. Perhaps.”

    Unfortunately for Jorir’s team, the second level was lined with initiate quarters along the outside edges, but the features in the more spacious interior seemed largely recreational. There was a mess, and a training hall, and not much of anything else. Furthermore, this floor, too, seemed to be deserted.

    Less than halfway through the floor, as Jorir judged it, he stopped. “Something’s not right here. Where is everyone?”

    Gheldram, too, frowned. “You’re right. The distraction in the streets wouldn’t account for this.”

    “We head back up. We’ll meet Lord Einarr’s team in the designated spot and keep it clear.”

    The four dvergr found themselves crouching in the middle of the stairway up to the final floor, the one they had entered through the hidden passage, and cursing their fortunes. They could just see the floor above, and it appeared to be packed with squiddies.

    “More or less what we feared,” he whispered.

    “Rather. But, the more we can clear out, the fewer your human friends have to deal with, right?” Brandir looked grim, and Jorir didn’t blame him at all. That was a lot of squiddies: their best hope was that they were clustered together in groups, rather than packed that full the whole way through. He nodded in response and took a firmer grip on his axe handle. Then, without a word, he held up three fingers.

    Two.

    One.

    When the last finger became part of Jorir’s fist, all four dvergr charged the high ground.

    It never would have worked if the squiddies had been expecting it. Thankfully for Jorir and his team, none of the acolytes near the door were paying any attention to the stairway behind them – almost as if they didn’t think there could be any other groups of enemies in the Mount. Not for the first time, Jorir was glad that the corruption changed the way people functioned in some rather predictable – and stupid – ways.

    The first rank of four, those closest to the door, fell without a fight, and suddenly Jorir and his team were standing where they had been, laying about themselves and destroying the corrupted dvergr as quickly as they could manage. They were halfway back to the secret passage when Jorir felt his strength beginning to flag. He supposed, after that cursed snake and all the smoke down below, that he shouldn’t be surprised, but it still rankled.

    That was when some of the squiddies began to stand back up. One of them, quite nearby, had been disemboweled. When those bowels began to twist and writhe on their own, their color getting darker and darker until it was nearly black, Jorir concluded they were entirely too close. “Gheldram!”

    He hardly needed to catch the man’s attention. Even as the word left his mouth, the massive hammer came down on the writhing tentacles on the floor, pulverizing them. Now Jorir felt queasy for an entirely legitimate reason.

    “Quickly! We must secure the passage!”

     

     

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

     

  • 13.14 – Inner Sanctum

    13.14 – Inner Sanctum

    Einarr kept one hand on the low ceiling as he walked, bent half-over, down the passageway the runes had revealed. It was dark, but the far end of the passage was also open. Light filtered in from both ends: brilliant white from ahead, and the warm yellow of a torch from behind.

    The passage was smaller than anything else they’d seen in the so-called Holy Mount, plainly sized for a single dvergr (or perhaps two) at a time. Still they went warily: not all dangers came in large forms, and that was doubly true when dealing with the mad followers of Malúnion.

    At the far end of the tunnel, Einarr pressed himself against its wall and peered out into the room beyond.

    In it, he saw a large stone slab, about the right size for a human body, with ropes drilled through it. Against the far wall stood a table, covered in implements whose use he could not guess at, and a door. The room was lit from above, by some means that seemed to mimic true sunlight, and otherwise empty. Einarr stepped out of the shadows of the tunnel cautiously, and the others followed.

    “What is this place?” Naudrek wondered aloud.

    “The Weaver-witch used to have a table like that,” Kaldr mused. “We found it while we were clearing out the dungeons. Only, hers wasn’t nearly so clean.”

    Einarr nodded, suppressing a shudder. “Runa said she’d used human blood to dye her threads.”

    Abruptly, horror filled his belly and closed his throat. Where was Runa?

    He had seen enough of this room, he thought: recklessly, he pulled open the door that stood near the tool-covered table.

    “Wait!” Thjofgrir called. When Einarr looked over his shoulder, he saw the others rushing towards him.

    Nothing had happened. “I don’t think this is the sort of chamber you trap,” Einarr said, answering their obvious worries. “It’s possible he has some sort of alarm set up on this door, but this feels like a place that gets used a lot.”

    A feminine voice came from the far side of the door. “Einarr?”

    Einarr grinned and flung the door open the rest of the way. “Runa!”

    His wife, looking faintly green, reclined in the center of a large, iron-barred cage in the middle of the room wearing nothing but her shift. She appeared to be alone. As the four men streamed in, she got unsteadily to her feet – although she couldn’t quite stand up straight.

    Relief flooded her face. “Einarr! You made it. Thank goodness.”

    “Of course I made it. How are you? Have they done anything to you?”

    “No, I’m fine. I don’t even think the food was tainted – except with peppermint.”

    “Peppermint?”

    She made a face. “Literally everything they gave me tasted of peppermint. I think I must have vomited on their priest.”

    Kaldr looked troubled. “We were imprisoned for quite some time ourselves. They’ve had you here for ages now: do you know what they wanted you for?”

    She shook her head. “Something about a vessel. I don’t know what he meant by that, though… and I should dearly love to get out of this cage.”

    “Of course.” Einarr turned his attention to the lock and frowned.

    Thjofgrir put a hand on his shoulder. “Allow me.”

    Einarr and Runa both took a step back from the door of the cage as Thjofgrir raised his massive sword and brought the pommel down on the lock hard enough to smash it. The noise rang in Einarr’s ears.

    Naudrek and Kaldr hurried over to guard the door while Thjofgrir stepped back, inspecting his hilt, allowing Einarr to be the one to open the door and free his bride. She half-stumbled out of the cage and into his arms.

    After a quick embrace, he asked, “Where’s Vali?”

    Wordlessly, Runa pointed to a corner of the room none of them had noticed. “I haven’t seen him since we fought off the salamander in the tunnels.”

    Einarr frowned. “Troubling. Can you still carry his jar? It wouldn’t be right to just leave him behind.”

    She nodded and hurried over to the corner where the painted jar sat. She still looked stiff, although as she moved she visibly loosened up. For a long moment she studied the jar before shaking her head and tucking it under her arm.

    “Something wrong?”

    “I don’t know. We’ll want to take a closer look at it later. Until we know for sure, it’s probably for the best if he stays asleep, though.”

    “As you say, my Lady. Have you got your things? The longer we stay here, the more likely someone is to come investigate,” Kaldr said from his post by the door.

    “Of course.”

    Not many minutes later, Runa had gathered the few things she had carried from the pile they had been unceremoniously tossed in, dressed herself properly, and stood ready with Vali’s jar once again under her arm. “Okay. I’m ready.”

    Panting and nauseous, Jorir stood looking on the corpse of the giant serpent they had unintentionally awakened by burning the lower hall. Smoke still billowed out from around its body, which would keep them from blocking the rest of the smoke in the doorway. It didn’t matter that the doors were well and truly down now: the smoke would infect anyone who ventured in here.

    “Let’s go,” he croaked. “We can’t stop this, and we have a job to finish.”

    Coughing, Brandir nodded his head in agreement while Gheldram helped Mornik back to his feet. Either the acolytes would come to clean up this mess, or the fire would spread further in the temple. He just hoped he hadn’t facilitated monsters like the ones they had faced on the docks at the svartalfr hideout.

    Gheldram and Mornik had just limped into the stairwell leading to the next level when Jorir turned around. Something had changed… the heat on his back felt more intense, suddenly.

    He didn’t truly know what any of that meant, only that something was seriously wrong. He spun back towards his friends and tackled Brandir, sending them both tumbling down the stairs and into Gheldram and Mornik.

    The whole room shook, and the sound of calamitous thunder was followed by a gout of flame that nearly singed Jorir’s boots.

    That was one way to get their attention.

     

     

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

     

  • 13.11 – Deeper In

    13.11 – Deeper In

    The dvergr who faced Thjofgrir was matching him blow for blow, keeping them both locked in the clinch. Other than Arring, Einarr would be hard-pressed to find a man stronger than Thjofgrir, but these were dvergr. Furthermore, they were corrupted dvergr. Rather than wait for the corrupted dvergr to pull his trick, Einarr and Kaldr both charged him, their blades leveled at his back.

    As an attack, it failed utterly as the dvergr spun and batted away both their blades in one smooth movement. As a distraction, however, it was a wild success. Thjofgrir rebounded from the clinch and buried his blade across the dvergr’s back. “I had him,” Thjofgrir growled as the corrupted dvergr crumpled to the floor.

    “Maybe so,” Einarr allowed, catching his breath. “But it looked to me like he was playing with you. These are monsters, not men, and you never know when they’re going to show their true colors.”

    Thjofgrir hummed but offered no more protest.

    Einarr, after a quick glance across all of them showed only minimal exposure to the blood, nodded and continued down the hall. Without another word, the others jogged after him.

    They encountered no more guards before they reached the hallway Mornik had mentioned. As he rounded the corner, though, Einarr stopped to gape.

    The hallway ahead seemed to stretch on for miles, although that should have been impossible – they were inside a mountain, after all – and the walls were nothing but one door after another, with almost no space in between. The space behind those doors couldn’t be anything but cramped, even for a child. Einarr shuddered to think how Runa might be taking such confined captivity.

    “Naudrek, you’re with me on the right. Kaldr, Thjofgrir, you take the left. We leapfrog down the line. Any captives who aren’t immediately hostile can go free if their blood is still red.”

    A noise of agreement came from all three men together, and they began working their way down the line. When they had gotten about halfway down, leaving the doors open for a handful of unfortunate, weeping dvergr women, Naudrek stopped.

    “Come take a look here,” he said.

    In front of him, instead of another room, was a steep, unlit stairway heading deeper into the mountain.

    “We haven’t found anyone up here with even a hint of magical talent, nor anyone who seems to have been captured recently enough,” Einarr mused. “I think we need to head down.”

    Kaldr raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

    “No,” Einarr answered with a rueful smile. “Just a hunch. Only, based on what I saw before, a woman like Runa is going to be a much more valuable prisoner for them than anyone we’ve seen here.”

    “Valuable as a hostage?” Kaldr’s question was reasonable, but that wasn’t it.

    “As an experiment.” He felt sick saying it, but that was what he had seen among the svartalfrs. “They make a target out of Singers – maybe those who practice other Arts, as well, but Singers for sure. Part of it is, they claim to hate magic – any magic that doesn’t come from their ‘god,’ anyway. But there was a she-troll we had to fight our way past in their fortress, before. A she-troll, who had once been an ordinary Singer.”

    “How do you know?” Naudrek looked vaguely green as he asked the question.

    “After we killed her, she turned back.”

    “By the gods…” Thjofgrir breathed.

    Kaldr shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense, though, that the dvergr cult would be creating monsters like that. Not with how Brandir said they’ve sold themselves here.”

    “Doesn’t it? Wouldn’t they need an all-powerful army to defend Nilthiad during Ragnarok?” Einarr shook his head. “Even if no one outside these halls knows about it, we’ve seen plenty of evidence already that they’re turning their own members into monsters, and that’s proof enough for me. There’s a rather significant measure of madness involved in whatever the Squiddies touch.”

    “And what if your hunch is wrong?” Naudrek challenged.

    “Then we fight our way back up here, I suppose. But I don’t think it is. I think they’ll have Runa much further in than this.”

    There was nothing more to be said to that. The others followed him down the staircase, another glowing rock in hand to light their way.

    At the bottom was another long hallway, although in this one the doors were spaced somewhat further apart. The cages, while larger, were mostly empty. One or two were occupied, but their occupants were both chained and drugged into a stupor. Einarr did not like to think what that suggested about their mental state, or how controlled they were. They moved on: as horrible as this was, they could not lose sight of their goal. Runa was in here somewhere, and Runa was with child. Please let them be unharmed…

    Now that they were well and truly separated from the humans, Jorir and the other dvergr ran down the halls without a care for who they alerted. They had – not entirely selfishly – taken on themselves the task of causing mayhem in the Holy Mount of the Deep Wisdom sect. Once upon a time, he had tried to bridge the gap between the squiddies and the rest of the dvergr: for his trouble, he had been cursed: never more would his smithing produce magic, nevermore would he be able to so much as recognize the runes. And, when he raised the alarm, he had been exiled for his trouble.

    This may have been a little personal from the beginning.

    Jorir’s mouth curled into a rictus of a grin. With the capture of the Lady Runa, they had just made this very personal. He was going to enjoy this.

    He and Brandir approached a wide double-door, leading – he thought – into the outermost temple area. As one, they kicked forward with heavy boots and the doors flung open. It looked like a gathering place, anyway: there were long benches with comfortable-looking cushions, and the walls were draped with ridiculous quantities of cloth. He snatched a torch from its sconce and flung it forward into the room.

     

     

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  • 13.10 – Secret Passage

    13.10 – Secret Passage

    The patrolling guards never saw what hit them. Einarr blinked to realize there were only two who came to investigate, and those two were already down.  They continued on their way.

    The passage Mornik led them down showed every sign of having been long forgotten. They passed truly massive spider’s nests and other signs of vermin as they crept down into the mountain and towards whatever horrors might lurk beneath on their way to reclaim Runa. Still, though, they moved cautiously and kept their speech to a minimum: voices carry in caves, after all, and there was no telling who might be listening on the other end.

    They had not gone very far, though, before Einarr decided to risk a light. He claimed a loose stone from the ground and inscribed it with a sun rune, willing it to life very dimly – much as he had with his shield in the Paths of Stone.

    From time to time they passed small branch passages, some of them no bigger than a crack in the wall, all of which appeared to have been claimed by vermin. When they heard a skitter or a squeak, it almost invariably came from down one of these passages. Little wonder they had been claimed by vermin after something like two hundred years – Jorir had never said when in the upheaval he was exiled, and now was not the time to ask.

    At long last, their path led up against a stone door which did not look to have been disturbed for a very long while – although, since this was the route Mornik said he took before, looks were almost certainly deceiving here. The sneakiest of their dvergr companions, Mornik pressed his ear against the blocks that appeared to seal up the passage and listened. The others held their breath. After that seemingly breathless eternity, when Mornik was satisfied that the passage outside was clear, he put his back to the stone just off-center and pushed. Shockingly, the door swung open silently, as though it had been perfectly balanced for just such a circumstance.

    Inside the habitable portion, the passages of the cult’s holy place were shockingly bright when compared with the stronghold of the svartalfrs. The walls were done in white limestone, and the fire that burned in the sconces was of the ordinary color. Einarr glanced to Jorir for an explanation, but the dvergr merely shook his head and shrugged.

    It was Brandir who had the answer. “They’ve positioned themselves as the path to eternity and a way of ensuring survival through Ragnarok. They promised long-life, and cheating death, and for that their colors are white and gold,” he whispered. The fact that the same cult could have two such different faces was a puzzle to Einarr, but not a puzzle whose answer presented itself just yet.

    Now that they were inside, it was time to part ways. Jorir and Brandir, and Gheldram and Mornik, were to split off and head for the outer reaches of the temple to cause yet more chaos. Meanwhile, Einarr and the other men were to seek out the priestly offices where they held their female captives.

    As they parted ways, Jorir knelt before Einarr and hung his head. “My lord… forgive me. If it were not for me… for my conflicted loyalties, and my foolish obedience to a summons by a Thane no longer my own, none of you would have been captured, and Runa would not be in danger.”

    Einarr smirked. “What are you bowing your head for? Rise. I knew we would have to come here someday, and you warned me what insanity we would face when we fought the svartalfrs. I knew that you were as loyal to your dvergr kith and kin as you were to me.” He offered Jorir a hand and pulled him to his feet. “As much as you are my liegeman, you are also my friend. We’ll save Runa and the babe, both. Good luck out there.”

    “And to you.”

    The two clasped hands, and then the party split – Einarr and his company heading off to the left, Jorir and his to the right.

    There would be no hiding for their group: if they encountered cultists, the only thing they could do would be to kill them quickly. For that reason, Einarr was very glad to see that the ceilings had been built far taller here than in most dvergr architecture, to the point that they could actually all stand up straight. He preferred not to think too closely on why they might have done that, however: the only answer he got was of a she-troll, dead on the ground, and suddenly no longer a troll but a human woman. He shuddered as they rounded a corner.

    “What is it?” Kaldr kept his voice low.

    “Just… if the squiddies here are as… creative as the svartalfr ones, know that the creature you’re fighting may not be the creature you think you’re fighting.”

    He glanced over long enough to see a troubled look on Kaldr’s face: just as well. It had been a terrible thing to be surprised by.

    Mornik had given them a general idea of which way to go: after this passage, there would be another to their right, which would bring them into a long hallway lined with widely-spaced doors. Behind these doors were their female captives.

    Around that third corner they practically collided with the first patrol they had seen since they entered the secret passage. Einarr didn’t think: he reacted. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sinmora was out of her sheathe and embedded in the dvergr’s belly. Black blood oozed around the crossguard. He gave the blade a twist to free it and sprang back before the corrupted blood could reach his hands.

    As quickly as he dispatched that one, the other members of the patrol had not been caught quite so off-guard. One of them was occupied in holding off Thjofgrir’s powerful blows, while the last was dancing circles around Kaldr and Naudrek. Well. I can probably do something about that. He may have been preternaturally quick, but he still didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. Einarr swung Sinmora at the back of his legs, and while Sinmora bit deep it did not go down.

    That was when eyes did, in fact, open on the back of its head.

    “Aah!” Einarr turned his shout of horror into strength for his attack as he stabbed at the dvergr guardsman’s head. In the same moment, Kaldr and Naudrek buried their blades in its sides and it collapsed to the floor. Now all that was left was the one Thjofgrir fought.

     

     

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  • 13.8 – The Temple Path

    13.8 – The Temple Path

    The two days of waiting dragged out until they felt more like two weeks, but at last Brandir had matters arranged to his satisfaction. The eight of them would be the only ones to venture into the Mount, while a rather sizable number of dvergr caused a distraction in Nilthiad proper.

    The path to the Mount from the bathhouse where they hid was long and circuitous, but there was little to be done about that. This area had apparently always been rough, and before the Cult of Malúnion wormed its way into power the Mount had been an especially rich gold mine – on the outskirts, yes, but nearly on the opposite side of the city.

    So it was that, as the afternoon began to wear on into evening, the cloaked and hooded figures of four dvergr and four men slipped out of a friendly bathhouse and into one of the narrow footpaths that wound between buildings, carrying little traffic and often well-shielded from view.

    Often, however, was by no means entirely. The sun of Myrkheimr – dimmer and redder than the sun of Midgardr, but somehow hotter – was still well above the horizon when their footpath led them to a wide-open field, well-trodden and fallow. They halted, still in the shadow of their alley, while Mornik scanned ahead.

    “The proving ground,” Brandir muttered.

    Einarr’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Proving ground? What on earth are they proving?”

    “Pah.” Gheldram chuckled. “Mettle, mostly. But some of the older smiths – the ones deep in Thane Soggvar’s confidences – have been working on something big the last few decades. Every once in a while they’ll kick the duelists out. Not much after that, there come some rather deafening roars.”

    “That sounds… troublesome,” Kaldr mused.

    “But also promising.” Einarr’s mind had gone immediately to the Empire’s spigots of sea-fire that had sent many a raider down in an impromptu funeral ship. Were the dvergr developing something similar?

    Mornik stood and dusted his knees. “I think we’re clear. Couldn’t see the whole field, though.”

    “If your distraction is doing its job,” Naudrek muttered. “There won’t be anyone but us and maybe the odd farmer’s daughter this far out.”

    “If.” Brandir started forward again. “We can’t take that for granted, and you know it.”

    They all streamed out of the alley single-file, then moved to walk two abreast across the field. After some brief jockeying about, they put all the humans in front. Behind them, the dvergr marched, their axes in hand, in hopes that the men would be taken for prisoners.

    It would have worked beautifully if the dvergr who came spilling out of the wood on the far side of the field had been soldiers, or even temple acolytes. Instead, Einarr and Thjofgrir found themselves face-to-face with the (equally surprised) leaders of a gang of thieves.

    For a long moment, the two groups stood staring at each other before one of the thieves drew himself up to his full height, bristling.

    “Hey now, what’s the meaning of all this? This is our turf. If those thralls are your spoils, you’d best be turning them over to us now.” He looked right past the four humans to the dvergr standing behind. Einarr bristled but bit his lip. Their ruse would not be helped if he protested his status here.

    Brandir and Gheldram both blustered forward.

    Gheldram puffed up his chest. “Thralls? These are the humans those thrice-cursed apostates freed! I fear the god’s wrath if we do not take them back.”

    The thief who had been speaking sized Thjofgrir up like he was a cow. “You expect me to believe that a big lummox like that escaped? You’re no Acolyte – but your crew must be new. Hand them over, or I’ll show you just who’s on top in the back streets.”

    With a sigh, Brandir tugged at the heavy chain around his neck. “We haven’t time for this. If we must fight, then let’s get it over with.”

    The other dvergr – even Mornik, whom Einarr would not have expected – also made a show of drawing attention to their matching chains. One or two of the thieves ’ gang blanched, but not their leader.

    “So that’s how it’s going to be, then. Fine.” He turned back to his men – there were at least twelve of them, but under the circumstances it was difficult to be sure. “Take the humans, kill the rest. Those chains’ll fetch a pretty price.”

    With a toothy grin, Einarr drew Sinmora. Kaldr, Thjofgrir, and Naudrek all drew their weapons, as well. That was when the bandit leader seemed to realize he’d miscalculated.

    It was too late.

    One on one, a dvergr could usually outmatch a human of similar experience. They were stronger, heartier, and despite their short stockiness, they were often faster. Dvergr blacksmiths had an additional advantage: their profession trained their strength, without diminishing the rest, and they were in high demand in Midgard, which meant they often had seen combat.

    Twelve thieves against four dvergr smiths, the smiths might have had a rough time. The bandit’s mistake, however, was in discounting the humans.

    Five minutes later, the gang of thieves had been given a sound drubbing and sent on their way – hopefully wiser for the experience. Brandir had given them instructions, but Einarr doubted very much if they would carry them out. Then, the group of eight set on its way again.

    Once they were out of the exposed field, Einarr chuckled. “Hey, Jorir. Remember the last time we gave a group of would-be thieves a lesson like that?”

    Jorir chuckled, too. “That I do. Wonder if these’ll be as helpful.”

    Myrkheimr’s moons were a trio of small, rough affairs, as though the real moon had been split into pieces and they were all that remained. Still, though, it provided some light in the night as they drew near the holy place of the cult in Nilthiad.

    A wide-open space had been cleared around the path to the Mount’s entrance, and the path was a broad, shallow staircase made of white marble. Glimmers of gold peeked out from the joins. Tall, fluted columns lined the staircase, and at its base – as well as every ten feet of its length – were stationed a pair of guards. Acolytes of the temple, Mornik said. In the distance, Einarr heard the sounds of battle coming from the city.

     

     

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  • 13.7 – Cleansing

    13.7 – Cleansing

    Grim-faced, Jorir drove the butt of his axe into the solar plexus of the man he had just disarmed. He fell to the ground and did not get up.

    From the corner of his eye, Einarr saw one of the black-blooded dvergr coming up on Gheldram from behind. He lunged and embedded Sinmora in its chest. That didn’t drop it, but it did give Gheldram the time he needed to face his new attacker.

    Meanwhile, Kaldr had slid in behind where Einarr had been, in order to deftly drop another. His blade flickered, and the corrupted dvergr fell neatly into three pieces.

    Einarr turned his attention back to the fight, only to discover that the pursuers had all been dealt with. He nodded to himself, watching as the others also took stock of their situation. Brandir holstered his axe. None of them were soaked in the blood, like the Vidofnings had been when they first fought the abominations, but at the same time they were all splattered with it.

    Einarr shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable – but not, thankfully, feeling sick to his stomach. “Is there anywhere we can bathe around here? The hotter, the better.”

    The leader of the dvergr nodded, his gaze locked on a dark patch of mud on the ground in front of him. “This way. I only hope it’s as empty as I expect.”

    Three hours later, they soaked in the near-scalding water of what (from the smell) must have been a volcanic hot spring. Einarr was shocked to learn that, during the day, this was actually a fairly popular bath – but, then again, these were dvergr lands.

    As a bonus, Mornik was on friendly terms with the proprietor, so the loft of the building would provide a convenient place to hide – at least while they decided what to do. That was where they had stowed their belongings while they took advantage of the sulfurous water. Einarr had already turned a remarkable shade of pink, and several of the others were in much the same state.

    “You’ll be pleased to know,” Mornik was saying. “That your Lady appears unharmed. Most displeased, and caged like an animal, but unharmed.”

    “So far,” Brandir muttered darkly. Einarr couldn’t help but agree.

    “But where is she?” Einarr tried not to snap. Now was not the time for rushing headlong into things, but it was still difficult. “And… was she alone?”

    Mornik cleared his throat. “Alone? Well, save for the acolytes. But, well, that’s the thing. And the reason I got caught.”

    “Well, go on,” Jorir grumbled.

    “She’s in the Mount.”

    Einarr shared a confused look with Kaldr and the other humans. The dvergr, though, went pale to a man.

    “What does that mean?” Thjofgrir ventured to ask.

    Jorir stared at the surface of the water, not evidently seeing it, and his voice was quiet. “That’s their stronghold.”

    “Who’s stronghold?” It was Naudrek pumping for information this time.

    “The thrice-damned cult’s,” Brandir said, his voice stronger that Jorir’s but just as troubled. “If she’s there, they must have plans for her. She might not even be human when she comes out.”

    Einarr dropped his head in his hands and groaned. The spring water was uncomfortably warm on his face, but it hardly registered. “It’s the svartalfr cave all over again.”

    Jorir sighed. “Looks like it.”

    Kaldr cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but as bad as I’ve heard that was, this may be worse. Didn’t you tell me yourself, Jorir, that their magic is a twisted thing? What about–”

    “The babe!” Einarr sat back up abruptly with a swish, wet red hair flinging droplets behind him.

    All four dvergr roared at once, “The what?”

    “Are ye insane?” Jorir added.

    “We didn’t know, when we left. We didn’t figure it out until after it was too late to turn back.”

    “I don’t know what their foul magics might do to a babe, but I’d rather not find out.” Mornik shuddered, his voice grim. “But the only way we’re getting anything out of there is if we take the whole place, and I don’t think we’re ready.”

    Einarr perked up his ears. “Ready?”

    “No. No, we’re not – quite.” Brandir agreed. “But… you are the Cursebreaker? You have proof of this?”

    “Aye,” Jorir and Kaldr answered together.

    “The Oracle herself named him,” Jorir answered. “Even without her signs, that would have been enough for me.”

    Kaldr continued. “He destroyed the black weaving laid upon our home for twenty years – and that is only the most recent of his exploits.”

    “Good enough. And he’s plainly fought against the cult before: all to the good. Give me two days and I can have the final pieces in place.”

    “Two days?” Einarr felt his spirits falling as quickly as they had risen. “Anything could happen in two days. I don’t even know how long we’ve been down here.”

    “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do. If we are to have any hope of escaping the Mount alive, there are friends to rouse. We will not take the Mount unless the dvergr reclaim the Hall.”

    “Einarr’s right, though,” Jorir rumbled. “We cannae just let the Lady Runa languish in one of Malúnion’s cages. Especially not if she’s with child.”

    “It’s the Mount. It’s only gotten more impregnable since you left, Jorir: I’m not sure there’s anything we can do until everything is in place.”

    “Messengers walk, rumors fly. But, fine. What if Lord Einarr and I went to investigate on our own?”

    “Are ye mad?” This was Mornik, as he decided he’d had enough and stepped out of the water and into a towel. “Just earlier, when we had to fight that posse of theirs? That’s because I wasn’ t light enough on my feet – and you’re twice as heavy. Not to mention you’d be hampering yourself with a human along”

    “I hardly think I’d be a hindrance in an investigation like this,” Einarr bristled.

    He shook his head. “You’re too tall. I don’t care how sneaky you are, when you stand a full chest higher than anyone else on the street you’re going to stand out.”

    “…Oh.”

    “ ‘Oh’ is right. Now stop talking nonsense and we can get down to business.”

     

     

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  • 13.6 – Kin No More

    13.6 – Kin No More

    There was, on the outskirts of Nilthiad as on the outskirts of most cities, a rough part of town, where most people weren’t going to ask too many questions so long as you didn’t go making a big deal out of yourself. It was to a small, apparently abandoned house in a neighborhood such as this that Brandir led them all. Not one of them breathed easily until the doors and window had been covered with furs and a single oil lamp lit.

    Once they were as secure as they could be, though, Einarr and Jorir both breathed a rather noisy sigh of relief. As the other dvergr dusted off seats and settled around the room a grin spread slowly over Jorir’s face, cutting a thick white gash of teeth through his black beard.

    “By the gods, it’s good to see you. …But what in Valhalla’s name possessed you to follow me here?”

    Einarr cleared his throat. “The way you vanished, we were all pretty sure you were in trouble. What else could we have done, then?”

    The other humans in the room nodded, and Jorir sighed. “So it always is: in trying to avoid a vision, I brought it about.”

    Einarr sat up straighter: everyone else just looked puzzled. “Wait, you saw –”

    “Everything that happened in the Hall, almost down to the word. That’s why we made that raid tonight.”

    “Let me tell you, it took some real convincing. That was more than a decade’s worth of planning we used tonight, not to mention exposing the three of us.” Brandir gestured to himself and the two other dvergr in the room.

    “If we hadn’t, though, we’d have left Nilthiad to the mercies of Malúnion and his priests. The next thing in the vision was at an altar where one of us – at least – was going to die.”

    “…Are you sure we’ve forestalled that?”

    Jorir shook his head ruefully and shrugged. “She said there was more time left than I thought, and they weren’t true visions, but…”

    “I understand. As for you three… you have my thanks. Our thanks. But now, I have one more thing I must ask of you.”

    Brandir nodded knowingly. “The lass you mentioned.”

    “My wife. They have her, and if women are set apart then I shudder to think might be happening to her.”

    “Lady Runa always was headstrong. Still, I’m surprised you let her come along.”

    “Tell me, Jorir, when was the last time she couldn’t talk her way into anything she wanted? Besides, she said she’s also in your debt.”

    “She… did? Whatever for?”

    Einarr only shrugged. Brandir, over by the door, chuckled.

    “Never thought I’d see the day. You didn’t just swear to this human, Jorir. But. The lass in question is your wife.”

    “Yes. Runa…” He had to clear his throat to stop himself waxing poetic about her: that was unlikely to be appreciated or helpful. “Long golden hair, fair skin, brilliant eyes. Has a rather… impish disposition, I would say.”

    Thjofgrir snorted. “I believe the word you’re looking for is tart.”

    Einarr gave him a sour look. “And she’s a Singer. That’s what really has me worried, honestly, given what I know about the cult.”

    Brandir frowned and shared a look with Gheldram and Mornik. “And that’s something any Acolyte would be able to tell. Mornik, do you still…?”

    “I know someone who can get in, yeah. I’ll be back.” Without another word, the stealthy dwarf slipped out through the furs.

    “Now.” Einarr crossed his arms and turned his attention to Brandir – who really did look like he could be Jorir’s cousin, the more he looked. “A couple of Seasons ago, we fought against a stronghold of Malúnion’s cult. What can you tell me about its hold here?”

    The six men stayed holed up in that rathole – as Brandir called it – for the rest of that night and all the next day. Late in the evening there was a commotion outside and Gheldram, as the least recognizable of their number, poked his head out to see what was the matter.

    A moment later he came back in. “It’s Mornik! He’s being chased – by the Thane’s men!”

    There was no longer any way around it: they were going to have to set themselves against the Thane by fighting his men. Einarr already had his maille halfway on, as did the other humans. Jorir and Brandir were not far behind.

    Einarr grabbed Sinmora and dashed out into the street, just as Mornik’s momentum carried him by the door. The street was oddly deserted, other than the two of them and their enemies. Mornik skidded to a halt behind him.

    “You found them?” Einarr barked.

    “Yes,” Mornik panted, turning to face his pursuers as well.

    The men of the hall didn’t seem to know or care that Einarr was there: he charged past after his quarry and took a slash across the arm for his trouble. Black blood welled up from the wound.

    Einarr’s eyes fixed on the sight and he swore, loudly.

    Jorir was next out the door, and he, too, swore at the sight of the black blood. There was only one thing black blood could mean.

    Einarr barked an order over his shoulder. “Don’t let them bleed on you! We haven’t the means to cure the corruption here.”

    Jorir and Kaldr took up positions to either side of Einarr. Kaldr cuffed one on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword – to no effect. “And how,” he asked, “Are we supposed to do that?”

    “Just do your best!” Jorir roared, embedding his axe in the belly of one of the corrupted. “We’ll figure something out.”

    Mornik vanished briefly into their rathole even as Brandir and Gheldram exited to join the fray.

    Einarr wished he had his shield: it, at least, could have been used to block some of the gore. Nothing for it. He swung Sinmora again and decapitated one of the corrupted warriors. “You knew about this?”

    “No,” Jorir answered, his voice grim, as he deprived another of its sword-arm. He cut his axe sideways, then, and into its side. “But these are no longer kin.”

     

     

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    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon. Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

     

  • 13.3 – The Court of Iron and Brass

    13.3 – The Court of Iron and Brass

    Jorir took a little of his remaining coin, small though it was, to visit the bathhouse that night. He would give Thane Soggvar no excuse to abuse him that he could avoid. The next morning he put formal braids in his beard and – for the first time in many a year – wore the chain of his Guild. There would be some, he was sure, who questioned his right to it. They were welcome to do so. One of the things these two months had allowed him to do was learn just how many in Nilthiad agreed with him – quietly or otherwise. The number was significant. He tromped out through Brandir’s smithy.

    “You’re sure I can’t persuade you to just leave town?”

    “Quite. Or are you anxious to join me in the human world?”

    “Not especially.”

    “Then I really can’t. You already know if I disappear they’ll take it out on you. I’ll return.”

    “I hope you’re right.”

    On those doubtful words, Jorir stepped out into the daylit – if dim – streets of Nilthiad and started on his way for Thane Soggvar’s hall.

    The dull placidity of the streets of Nilthiad struck Jorir as even more wrong today than they had yesterday. Even knowing that for most of these people this was just an ordinary day did not change that. As he neared the Thane’s hall, a snippet of conversation drifted across the street to his ears – idle gossip, really. If he were anyone else, he might have dismissed it as both preposterous and unimportant: humans had been captured in the Paths of Stone. Dread tied itself about his legs like lead weights. He remembered all too well the vision the Oracle had given him.

    Too soon he stood before the gates of Iron and Brass. They seemed taller than he remembered, somehow – or perhaps it was just the enormity of the quest he followed. With a deep breath, he stepped to the threshold and announced himself to the guards.

    “Jorir the Cursed. You are expected.” The dvergr at the gate, the butt of his halberd still pressed against the ground, gestured behind him and another dvergr stepped forward out of the shadows. “You will be escorted to the Hall of the King, where you will humble yourself before our Lord.”

    The guard plainly had nothing more to say to the outlaw who stood before him: he returned his hand to grip his halberd and stood in stoic silence, staring out at the road.

    Jorir harrumphed but followed the other dvergr without further protest.

    The Hall was torchlit and nearly choked with smoke. In spite of that, it was as full as any alehouse at supper – a crude mockery of merriment. Some of the faces he recognized: others were new. Jorir wondered if he had become too accustomed to the manners of the surface folk in his century-plus in Midgard: he could not understand how Lord Soggvar tolerated it. He kept his face neutral as his guard led him towards the Seat of the Thane.

    Thane Soggvar slumped in his throne, bored or ill or both, looking ill-tempered. Jorir had a sinking feeling he knew exactly how this was going to go. He cleared his throat and bowed.

    “My Lord, I have returned, as requested.”

    Soggvar glared down at him from his Seat. He looked unnaturally pale for a svartdvergr, and his skin had taken on a bluish tone. “Welcome home, son of the mountains. We have expected you.” The voice was filled with scorn.

    Jorir shifted his shoulders, unable to fully control the reaction. If anything, he looked worse than he had in the vision. “I pray you forgive my tardiness, milord.”

    Soggvar snorted. “We have endured. What have you discovered during your long exile?”

    The sneering tone was impossible to miss. I am too late. This is too similar. “I have discovered the Cursebreaker. The Oracle tells me he will be able to free this land.”

    “Well! Cause for celebration indeed! Bring out the mead! …Pah! Oracles. Alfen soothsayers. What need have we of such nonsense?” Soggvar bared his teeth in what Jorir thought was supposed to be a grin. It looked more than slightly predatory. “In the morning, we will make sacrifices, and all will be right in Nilthiad.”

    Jorir thought his heart was about to leap from his chest. This was following the vision-test far too closely for Jorir’s liking. He had to wet his lips before he could speak. “My lord?”

    Movement from the shadows behind Thane Soggvar’s throne drew his attention. In spite of himself, knowing what he was about to see, Jorir looked.

    Another dvergr, dressed in the furs of a shaman, stepped forward out of the shadows. The engraved golden medallion of one of the Thane’s top advisors glittered in the torchlight. If Thane Soggvar looked half-dead, this shaman looked positively cadaverous. He whispered something in Soggvar’s ear, and the Thane nodded.

    No. I know what comes next. Please, by the justice of Tyr and the honor of Thor, let this next bit be wrong!

    A commotion stirred in the back of the hall, from the same doors that Jorir had just been escorted through. Reluctantly, he turned to look, just in time to see someone throw ale in the face of the human who now stood in the back of the hall, chained as a prisoner. Another quickly followed, but not quickly enough to keep Jorir from seeing a shock of red whiskers on the man’s chin. Resolved, Jorir looked slowly up at the human’s face, knowing quite well who he would see.

    Prince Einarr watched Jorir levelly, his proud gaze never faltering.

    Jorir’s breath caught. All his worst fears were, in this moment, confirmed.

    The random gossip was true. Lord Einarr had, indeed, done something stupid. And he had arrived far too quickly to have been brought all the way from the dungeons, which meant that somehow, they knew.

    Thane Soggvar knows I’m tied to this man. Which means the cult knows.

    Which meant that everything he’d worked for just got that much harder.

    The dvergr standing to either side of Einarr began walking toward the head of the hall. Einarr, chained as Jorir knew he would be, moved with them, ignoring the jeers of the other dvergr in the Hall.

     

     

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.