14.34 – Before Dawn

Posted on 2022-04-06 by allene

Einarr dove into a column of benches and kept low, counting on their shelter to at least keep himself from being squeezed to death. It could still crush him, right along with the benches, of course, but some cover was better than no cover here.

Naudrek was right behind him.

“So once we get to Arring, then what?”

Einarr hurried along, crouching low, and shook his head. “I don’t know. Yet.”

A tentacle slammed down into the benches just behind them, hard enough that the shockwave nearly sent them both flying.

The next one crashed down near enough to Einarr’s nose that he almost expected to feel blood trickling down the end of it. Einarr fought the urge to freeze in place: that would only lead to both he and Naudrek being crushed where they stood. Better, then, to run and hopefully shake its attention. He came to the end of a row and paused, taking his bearings, before he dashed across the aisle.

The demigod – so monstrous, even Hel herself would not claim its minions – was waiting for him. One of the giant octopus arms shot forward like a spear.

His shield broke clean in half. Had the blow come a half inch further up, his arm would have, too. He hit the ground at least twenty paces back from where he started and bounced. For a moment – but only a moment, he lay there, just trying to breathe again. Everything hurt, but he didn’t dare lay there and wallow in it.

As soon as he had a breath of wind back, he rolled to his feet and scrambled forward into the next column of benches. There he did pause for a moment: hunched over as he was, his ribs and back spasmed at the strain. When he could move again, he peeked over the top of the benches: Naudrek had nearly reached Arring – good. Kaldr and Jorir were still further out than he was, but not by much – and that only because they had circled wide to spread out the thing’s attention. Einarr grit his teeth and moved on.

A crash, very loud this time, caused Einarr to freeze once more and look up at the scene before him.

Arring was, he thought, out of the creature’s reach – for now. Which made it all the more impressive that Malùnion had bodily lifted Troa and flung him at the strong man – who caught him without so much as a grunt. Either it hit harder than it threw, or it got lucky when it sent Arring flying. Or, perhaps, unlucky, as the case may be.

He managed to avoid the monster’s attention as he dashed across the next aisle, but his ear told him his friends were not so lucky.

The squawk of Malùnion’s presence in his mind turned to a sort of chuckling sound, as though it knew it was winning. As though the time it spent bound in the vines had been worth it. And then, disturbingly, those chuckles turned to whispers in Einarr’s ear. The tone was cajoling, but the words – when there were words – were horrific. A quick glance around told him he was not the only one who heard the mental jabbering. Was that an effect of the corruption, or was it simply the way Malùnion communicated to people?

Did he really want to know?

What are we going to do? The question echoed in his mind. Always before he had managed to pull everyone through on the power of his wits and his sword, but here those were rapidly proving inadequate. The runes had failed, Eydri had all she could do keeping them all standing, and Malùnion’s wounds closed almost as fast as they could make them.

The crackling black octopus’ attacks seemed to have slackened. He once again looked around the room, this time trying to determine what had drawn its attention.

Movement, it seemed to be. Eydri was not presently Singing, but she strode across the floor with purpose. Their time to plan was over before it began. Bruised and without a shield, Einarr took Sinmora in both hands. “Don’t let it near the sorcerers!”

“Aye, sir!” Rang across the hallway from his comrades. With hardly a break in their step, lateral movement changed to forward, and all six of them raced inward, toward the foe that seemed likely to spell their doom.

Their best success against the monstrosity had come at the expense of Thjofgrir’s life. He didn’t want to accept it, but if their lifeblood could stop this thing from wreaking its havoc on the world above, Einarr thought that might be a trade worth making.

Still, the trouble remained. Thjofgrir’s death had bought them only a moment’s reprieve. How, then, did they ensure their own sacrifices would not be in vain?

Jorir, who had been closest to its main body, closed to within its guard and leapt for the main body. He planted his axe, almost at head-height for Einarr. Jorir’s momentum carried him up and over the axe handle once before he wrenched it free to land on his feet again. The blood on the axe head hissed and sizzled, as though it intended to consume the steel itself in its corruption. Einarr swore: even that small victory, gained through such hard fighting, had now disappeared. What did they have to do in order to destroy this thing?

The voice in his ear chittered at him again, whispering of how it would just be easier to accept their fate, and how Malùnion’s dominion would be a beneficent one, and there was no point in fighting a battle you knew you could not win.

That was where it was wrong, though. Einarr might have let himself be talked down that way, if not for that one idea. Even a futile battle could have merit: what else the meaning of the prophecies of Ragnarok?

A high, eerie note rose through the dark temple of the dark god before them. Einarr froze for a moment, and then his eyes sought Eydri.

She had withdrawn from where Hrug fell back towards the door, but now she stood openly in the middle of an aisle there. Einarr had never seen such an expression on her face: it was fierce like a hawk’s, and as angry as a mother bear’s. He had never heard this song before.

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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading!

This is what I expect to be the final book of The Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen. After four, almost five, years and fourteen books, I’m ready to move on to other projects – and I’m sure Einarr is ready for me to do so, as well – if only so I stop tormenting him! Fear not, however: my intention is to start a new serial, although not a purely free one. Look for a poll or an announcement from me in the next few weeks as I firm up my ideas.

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14.33 – Shattered

Posted on 2022-03-302022-03-31 by allene

As one, the six men rushed for the flesh puppet that had been the high priest of the demigod. In rapid succession their blades slashed through his body, and the flesh puppet fell to the vines beneath their feet, in enough pieces that it was hard to tell he had once been human. The energy form that hovered behind the body of the flesh puppet seemed to pulse, and Einarr had the mental impression of a bird of prey’s screech. He held his breath.

With a sound like breaking glass, the rune circle shattered. The vines disappeared from beneath their feet. Even as he tumbled to the ground, Einarr heard Hrug scream. The sorcerer clutched his head in his hands and fell to the floor bleeding.

Einarr rolled to his feet: he seemed to still be in one piece, anyway. The others in the melee had risen to their feet again, as well – all except Thjofgrir, whose face was as waxy and ashen as a draugr’s. A fresh wave of rage rolled across Kaldr’s face, but it was gone in a moment.

A moment after that, they had no room to think about fallen comrades or even their next assault. The crackling black energy that had hovered behind the flesh-puppet like a massive octopus, freed of its binding, tossed Arring, Troa, and Naudrek across the hall in one sweep of one tentacle. A chittering sound echoed through the room: Einarr had the distinct sense that it was laughing at them.

Then another tentacle swept his side of the room, and it was all he could do to brace before he, too, was thrown halfway across the room. His shield boss rang as it struck the wall, and even over the bell-like noise he heard the wood of the shield begin to splinter. He had been wrong – utterly wrong, about everything it seemed. Had Thjofgrir truly perished for only a momentary advantage? Einarr’s lip curled in rage. He couldn’t let it end this way.

Even before the activation of the circle their blades had done something. Therefore, they just needed to hang on long enough for someone to figure out their next step.

That was going to be easier said than done. His ribs ached already, and he was pretty sure dodging one of those tentacles would be well nigh impossible. On the other hand, there was Jorir, clinging to the tentacle by his axes, currently embedded in the mass of energy they fought.

It’s not that we can’t hurt it – we have. So then…

Jorir’s axe head lost its purchase in the flailing arm and the dvergr joined Einarr against the wall. “That could have gone better.”

“Less complaining, more scheming, please!” Einarr resettled his shield and hefted Sinmora once again.

“Heh. Yes, sir!” Then the two of them were charging back towards the main body of the creature known as Malùnion.

Einarr heard Arring’s battle cry as he, too, rushed forward with his blade in hand, dashing with surprising nimbleness towards the central mass of the body.

He got a good way across the floor before one of the tentacle ends came down on his head. The blow stunned him for just a moment, and then the demigod flicked him away again. This time Arring crashed into the back of one of the pews in the temple hall. Arring had ridiculous strength, but Einarr wondered how many more times his back could take that.

Eydri’s song no longer carried through the Hall: Einarr risked a glance that direction as he hurried through a row of pews. She had crept forward and was checking on Hrug, bless her. Never mind that she was in the most danger from this thing now that it was free.

We’ll just have to keep it too busy to focus on her, then. Already, though, he felt his fatigue creeping back into his legs. No matter: this was no duel, to be halted on a whim. If they faltered, they died – and very likely the world with them.

Einarr and Jorir were still several yards distant when Naudrek and Troa reached the main body together. Naudrek’s sword found purchase and opened a gouge in the base of one of the legs, and then Troa plunged his blade deeper into the wound. It was a good idea, and they were well inside its guard.

Somehow, though, that mattered less now that it wasn’t restrained by its meat puppet or the vines. The end of the tentacle curled inward and bashed both men against its rubbery flesh. Naudrek was still blinking and half-dazed when Einarr and Jorir decided to try the same thing. Jorir chopped at the wound they had opened – and that was rapidly closing now that their blades had fallen free – and Einarr followed up by plunging Sinmora in as deeply as he could.

This seemed to annoy Malùnion, at least. The screech sounded in his head again.

Rather than try for another cut, Einarr threw Naudrek’s arm over his shoulder. Movement in his peripheral vision confirmed what he expected. He dove forward, and neither of them were caught up in the tentacle that grabbed at them.

Jorir and Troa, too, managed to evade being grabbed.

Naudrek had his feet again, so Einarr freed his arm. “Join up with Arring! We need a plan.”

His second after Jorir nodded mutely and began ducking and weaving toward where the strong man was still picking himself up off the floor. That last one must have winded him.Then Einarr gave Jorir the same instruction, and headed off himself. Dvergr and scout followed, not many paces behind. Not that they would have very long to plan: Eydri was quiet for the moment, but she was also working independently. If she determined she needed to Sing again, the rest of them would have to be ready to call its attention away again. Its acolytes actively hunted Singers, after all: why wouldn’t the thing itself?

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14.31 – Incision

Posted on 2022-03-232022-03-25 by allene

The sound of a great bell reverberated around the temple of Malùnion, loud enough that Einarr would have covered his ears if he hadn’t been holding on to Sinmora’s hilt for dear life.

Einarr had no idea what this was going to do, but he already knew Sinmora was not going to devour the working on the ground: the vines still bound Malùnion’s meat-puppet after all.

The vines beneath Einarr’s feet bucked wildly as their captive reeled. Sinmora had done something, anyway: the dark blood that slicked her blade as Einarr pulled it free no longer hissed and steamed, and the meat-puppet’s struggles had much of the wounded beast about them. Once more he fell to, hacking at the octopus arm in front of him, Sinmora’s power was unique, and it was powerful – powerful enough to destroy an artifact of Muspelheim, even – but he very much doubted that it was powerful enough to unravel a demigod.

Arring, too, had made it up to the body of their foe finally, and Kaldr. All three of them chopped at the body of their enemy as it flailed about. They were inside its guard – one of the most dangerous places for your enemy to be – and either it needed to protect the body of its meat puppet or it simply could not see them.

Jorir, however, was not yet inside its guard, nor was Naudrek or Troa, which meant those three received the brunt of its attack. Please let Hrug have fallen back from the edge of the circle. Between the vines and the writhing black presence of Malùnion, Einarr could not see the Rune Master. If Hrug fell, so did their working, and Einarr very much doubted there would be a chance to draw a second one.

Jorir approached from Einarr’s left, using that same slow, dogged advance that he had been before. The resonance had done what it could: Einarr side-stepped and plunged Sinmora towards the tentacle that was beating at his liege man. Once, long ago when they first discovered the existence of this cult, they had freed the Vidofnir from a cursed kraken by hacking off a tentacle, much as one would fell a large tree. Now he tried to do the same here. He chopped wildly at the tentacle, but it was so large, and its flesh so strange, it was hard to tell if he was actually making progress.

The next thing he was aware of, a second sword was swinging in rhythm with his own. Einarr glanced to the side, only to see Kaldr’s normally stoic face twisted in unaccustomed emotion as he, too, tried to spare Jorir Thjofgrir’s fate. There was nothing to be said: Einarr simply kept chopping.

The arm they chopped at raised high overhead, well out of reach. Einarr rolled to come up on the other side of it. In so doing, he got a better look at the battlefield.

Hrug stood well back of the circle that bound their foe. Naudrek, faster and nimbler than the dvergr, was chopping at an arm on the other side opposite the enraged Arring while Troa took advantage of the distraction to close the distance. Then the arm came crashing down again, and Jorir rolled to the right in order to avoid being crushed by its weight – if a mass of energy like Malùnion actually had weight. Two steps more and the dvergr was at Einarr’s side, his own axes digging into the arm that had been giving him so much trouble before.

“Glad you could make it,” Einarr managed to say.

Jorir merely grunted and chopped again.

An idea occurred to Einarr. “Buy me some time.”

With his shield hand he drew forth his chalk once more and sat to carefully draw a ᚷ on the sole of each boot – Gār, the spear rune. Then he willed the runes to life, and a tiny blade extended from the center of each rune. Einarr got unsteadily back to his feet and resettled his shield and his grip on Sinmora. “Jorir – sidestep!”

Jorir threw himself two steps closer to the body of the beast, and Einarr charged straight at the tentacle that still lay on the vines that held them all up to battle it. When he reached the arm, he did not stop. Instead, he raised one foot and plunged the blade on its sole into the flesh before him like a piton. A heartbeat later, he slammed Sinmora’s blade into the arm and brought his other bladed shoe up.

His momentum was not so great that it was akin to running – more like climbing a cliff with no good handholds. Still, he kept on, dragging Sinmora through the flesh as he went and carving a line through the massive arm that went all the way across the top.

They were making decent progress and cutting the damn thing off, but not fast enough. They were all exhausted: the only reason they could fight so well was that Eydri’s magic masked their fatigue.

As he neared the top of the arm, Malùnion jerked it back up into the air. Even with his blades it was all Einarr could do not to be thrown the way Arring and Kaldr had been earlier.

Something else caught his eye, though. Just as they had before, the vines were trailing the line of blood all the way up, and into the deeper cuts that Kaldr and Jorir were working at. In fact, the area around Malùnion’s wounds seemed to be stiffening.

As the shaking stopped, Einarr rose to his feet again. “Hrug! The vines can end this!”
Then he continued on down the other side, raking Sinmora down into the wound he and Kaldr had been working on before.

Einarr once again could not see to know if it was Hrug’s doing, but a thick tendril of vine could be seen crawling along the deepest part of the incision.

Kaldr still hacked away, and his face was still raw. Einarr watched as the vines began to tighten in the wound he had cut and nodded. “We’re all inside. Make for the body of the priest,” he ordered.

Kaldr spared him a glance and a nod. “As you wish.”

Einarr didn’t wait to see what he would do: Kaldr knew his job, just as all the rest of them did. They would see to Thjofgrir once Malùnion had fallen.

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14.30 – Bloodroot

Posted on 2022-03-18 by allene

Einarr set his mouth as he watched the vines twine over Thjofgrir’s still form. How long had he been Kaldr’s Mate? Likely not as long as Bardr had served Father, but certainly many years more than Jorir had served Einarr. That would be a hard blow for Kaldr and for their ship. He had no room to hesitate, though, and even in the man’s death Thjofgrir had spat in their foe’s eye: until his blood watered them, the vines had not grown.

His sacrifice will not be in vain. Sinmora practically leapt out of her sheath as Einarr, too, rushed to join the fray now. As the vines grew, changing in the blink of an eye from tiny sprouts into creeping tendrils and then to prize beans and on, until they were as thick as rigging ropes, and still they grew. They quested inwards, towards the thing which should not be in their midst, and plucked at the meat-puppet’s robes and twined about its feet. Malùnion pulled it’s feet away in a strange sort of dance, trying to keep from being entwined. Einarr was abruptly reminded of the leshy, whom they had fought on the Isle of the Forgotten.

The working seemed to be taking on a life of its own, but with Hrug’s look of intense concentration Einarr was sure they would not have to worry about the vines deciding they, too, were a threat. He rushed in, and the vines he stepped on actually seemed to speed him towards the dark vortex at the center of the circle.

To his right, he saw Jorir also riding the wave of plants, looking as fiercely determined as when they’d fought back on Svartlauf, and across from him was Arring, his face contorted with the battle fury. Well, such was life.

A moment later, Kaldr leapt over the edge of the formation, his own sword held low and back to slash upwards at the beast that had just killed his best friend.

Malùnion, in spite of his best efforts, struggled against the binding of the vines now, and the face of the flesh puppet twisted even as the vines gripped his limbs more tightly.

An arrow flew past Kaldr, and this time one of the energy tendrils grew a spine. Thick black energy began dripping from the wound like blood, and the vines reached for it hungrily.

This was working, but Einarr hoped never to have to use this formation again. But his surmise had been right: evil cannot create, but it can be destroyed by creation. Now I just hope Hrug can keep control of our working. Especially since, while they still bent their wills to it, it was feeding on the blood that was shed within.

Then followed a time where everything was flailing tentacles and chopping blades. Jorir hacked the sucker off one arm. Arring nearly cleaved a second in twain. When the blood spattered on his skin, it hissed and smoked like an ember – and the vines reached for that, as well, so that Arring’s flesh underneath was pink and new. For a wonder, even then they did not try to capture Arring. Einarr could no longer see Hrug’s face to know if that was his doing.

Whether it was or not, it needed to keep happening or none of them were going to come out of this uncorrupted. Einarr, too, felt the burn of the black blood’s source – such a difference from what flowed in the veins of the cursed. This, though, was what they had gathered their fleet to do, and if they could not end the scourge here it would be a thousand years of torment on Midgardr.

Troa had rushed up to join the fray as well, his bow slung over his shoulder and his quiver empty.

Einarr felt a sudden drawing in, as though all the air had abruptly been sucked towards Malùnion. He froze. So did everyone else.

A soundless boom hit Einarr like a yardarm swinging in a storm. It knocked him off his feet and sent him flying backwards into the wall of the temple. The others, too, all went flying.

It took Einarr a moment to be able to see straight again, and when he finally blinked away the swimming picture before him he saw that the octopus arms all stood straight out from the body, as though forming some sort of perverse halo around the meat-puppet.

It had thrown them off, and it had snapped countless vines, but it had not extricated itself from the circle. Indeed, the vines that remained were growing more aggressive. I sure hope we don’t have to fight the formation in order to destroy it.

Arring loosed another battle yell and charged forward into the fray once more. One by one, the others all followed. It was visibly weakened, but not enough. Arring was batted aside once more when he came within reach. His back curled around the edge of one of the stone benches, but again the man rose to his feet.

Kaldr and Jorir dashed in at the same moment, now, and both of them nearly made it back into the fight. Kaldr dodged the flailing arms quite nimbly until he had nearly reached the circle that held their nemesis. He jumped to the side when one of the arms was coming down from over his head, however, and sprang right into the path of a second arm that knocked him, too, into one of the numerous benches scattered about the room.

Jorir was somewhat more staid in his approach. He tramped forward several steps and then stopped, bracing himself for the inevitable strike. When it came, if it did not look like he could take it and keep his feet, he would sidestep and take a swing at the flailing demigod. That looked to be working, except Einarr was afraid the dvergr would be next to feel the squeeze. That meant it was his turn.

He exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes, just for a moment, focusing on Sinmora’s rhythm. When he could not just hear it, but feel it, he opened his eyes and dashed forward.

He could never afterwards say how he did it, but as he ducked and dodged and whirled and ran, somehow his feet once again found purchase on the swell of vines created by the runes. He leapt.

Einarr plunged Sinmora deep into one of the octopus’ arms and released the resonance. It rang, and for a moment Einarr’s ears rang with it, so loud was the sound of its resonance here.

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14.27 – Ascension

Posted on 2022-03-092022-03-10 by allene

Their pool of yellow light soon came to feel like an oasis in the darkening corridor they followed. At first, Einarr wondered if it was merely an illusion, but after a while it became plain that the blue flames on the ensconced torches were actually growing smaller. Was there something about the magic of Malùnion which could not stand the light of day, then? Einarr supposed it would fit. He wasn’t certain he’d ever encountered one under a clear sky.

Eventually, after long enough the inky darkness beyond their torchlight was beginning to unnerve even Einarr, a doorway shone out in front of them. There was light inside – a cold, blue-white light that was a little like looking into the sun. When the light resolved itself into an open doorway, it felt as though they all released their breath together. The moment’s relief, however, was short-lived. “Brace yourselves,” Einarr muttered. “There could be anything in there.”

Then they were moving forward again, weapons not drawn but ready. Einarr led the way through the threshold and stepped, blinking, into the chamber.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw row upon row of benches to either side, stretching forward far enough that he questioned how anyone seated at the back could make out what was going on in the front of the room. This setup was beginning to look familiar, though. “This look like a temple to you, Jorir?”

“Too much so,” he agreed.

“Svarek, Arring, Troa – you remember those beasties under the decks of the svartalfr ships?”

“Unfortunately,” Arring grunted.

“Whatever we meet here is probably going to be worse.”

Svarek groaned. Arring gave a feral-sounding growl. Troa stretched his bowstring.

“Let’s go.” Einarr drew Sinmora and picked up his pace. He had no idea what they were going to meet, but he felt far more comfortable with his blade in his hand.

The chamber was as painfully long as it first appeared, and as they moved forward it spread out from side to side, as well, so that there were multiple columns of the benches on either side, as well. And, now they could see what awaited them on the dais at the far side of the room: an altar, and a man, and a black mass that Einarr could not quite understand at this moment. The man was doing something at the altar, and the mass seemed to be reacting to it – thus, whatever was happening could be nothing good.

He started running. The last time he had been witness to a Squiddie rite, they had summoned that crab-fisted abomination. The others were hot on his heels.

An arrow whizzed past Einarr’s face. He glanced behind to see Troa lowering his bow and sprinting to catch up with the rest of them. Ahead, the priest’s chanting faltered momentarily as he clutched at his shoulder. The arrow must have struck shallowly: it was no longer affixed to the priest, although black blood now seeped into the back of his robes.

The black mass on the altar pulsed and throbbed to the priest’s chanting. Now that they were closer, it looked like nothing so much as the gathered curse energy that had bound the Isle of the Forgotten. For a moment, he wished he had Arkja, but only for a moment.

The mass was beginning to grow. Einarr heard another arrow fly: this one stuck fast in his other shoulder, but the priest hardly seemed to feel it. Rather than stumbling or crying out, he straitened his shoulders and turned around to face them. A maniacal laugh escaped his mouth, and his gaze seemed fixed somewhere above.

“Welcome, welcome!” The priest called out. The mad laughter filled his voice. “I see that our pawn led you straight to us. I am most pleased.”

Einarr slowed, his shield raised and his sword lowered. “Who are you?”

The priest’s voice became solemn suddenly. “I am Búrak, High Priest of Malúnion, and this is His temple. You are just in time.”

That really didn’t sound good. “In time for what?”

A grin split the man’s face nearly from ear to ear without touching his wide eyes. “Ascension.”

The black mass of energy began pulsing more, as though something were trying to punch through its membrane from the inside. The priest held his arms out to either side. Even as Einarr ordered his men to back off, two of the tentacle-like pods reached out and wrapped around the priest’s arms. Slowly – and yet, with alarming speed – the mass grew until it enveloped the mad priest. Purple lightning crackled around the spikes and feelers of the energy mass. Then it seemed to twist in on itself, like wringing water from a cloth.

Troa tried another shot, but it was worse than useless: the arrow burned up, head and all, in a burst of blue flames as it touched the writhing, coiling mass of corruption.

It pulsed upward once, twice, and on the third time it constricted itself down so far the energy seemed to be sucked up by the remnants of the creature inside.

It was no longer accurate to call what emerged from the energy a man, or even a human. It still had the same basic form, but the whites of its eyes had been subsumed into the swirling blue-purple marble of the iris, and its pupils glowed like a cat’s. The skin took on an obvious ash color, as though the last of the life in its veins had been traded for the corruption of Malúnion, and at the end of each finger grew a wicked-looking claw.

Power crackled around those hands now, and as he threw back his hands to laugh two things happened. First, Einarr got a look at his teeth: the needle-sharp teeth of predators everywhere. Second, he began to raise up off the ground.

The laugh had taken on an odd, echo-like sound. When he laughed, it sent chills down Einarr’s spine. When he spoke, it was as though two people spoke at once. “Rejoice, mortals,” it said. “For you have borne witness to my rebirth.”

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14.25 – Retrenchment

Posted on 2022-03-022022-03-04 by allene

Einarr surveyed the landing below and frowned. That would have been a brutal fight even without everything that came before. They had, in the end, put the cursed warriors down and their knights to rout, but the toll had been heavy. “Jorir.”

“Here, my lord.”

“We hold the fortress town and the first floor, and the men are exhausted. Detail a team, as energetic as you can manage, to fetch Kaldr and the others. Meanwhile, the rest of us who can move will see to the wounded and secure this level.”

“As you wish, milord!”

Einarr nodded, already seeking out the next face he needed – Troa. They would have to divide up the work yet further, and roughly half the men down here underground were out of action.

The scout had a bloody rag tied around his arm when Einarr found him, and he looked pale. Still, though, he was both upright and active. “Troa!”

“Yes, sir!” It was a credit to the man that he was still sharp.

“I’ve sent Jorir and a few others out to bring Kaldr’s team. You take some men and gather up the wounded… over there, I think.” Einarr pointed to what looked like a defensible spot. “We’re fortifying here, for now.”

Troa’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Aye, sir!”

Truth be told, Einarr didn’t like giving up the initiative this way – but if he didn’t give his men at least a little time to rest here none of them were going to make it out alive. Now that that was dealt with, Einarr began grabbing people more or less at random. Two men he posted on the stairs up, and another two at the door to a ramp leading down – and Einarr was certain he didn’t like the look of that. Then, he took Svarek, Arkja, Naudrek and Hakon down a wide, level passage.

Before long, he heard the lapping of the sea, and the smell of brine was in the air. “I’ll lay odds that we find a harbor at the end of this,” he muttered.

Arkja chuckled. “No bet.”

“Let’s just hope its already empty?” Hakon said. “I don’t fancy taking on a whole harbor with just the five of us.”

That earned him a sharp look from Arkja, but Einarr held up his hand for peace. “There’s no cowardice in accepting your limits. That’s why we’re retrenching in the first place.”

“As you say, my lord.” Arkja’s voice was tight, but Einarr decided to let it pass. Up ahead, the watery light from the blue torches grew more intense, if not exactly brighter, and the sea-smell was definitely stronger. Einarr pressed himself against a wall and crept forward. The others followed his lead.

They needn’t have bothered creeping. What they saw would have looked very like an ordinary harbor, save for two things. First, there was no sign of daylight out over the water. Even on the svartalfr island there had been a lighter blackness marking the harbor mouth. Second, there was nothing larger than a two-man skiff still docked, and not a soul in sight.

Naudrek whistled, and in the emptiness the sound was far louder than he could have intended. “Lord Stigander must be having a rough time of it,” he said.

“You’re probably right,” Einarr agreed. “Only, where are all the dock workers?”

“I imagine that’s who we fought on the landing. Some of them, anyway,” Arkja suggested.

“You think they’d waste their knights on the docks?” Naudrek asked, surprised but sincere.

“They wouldn’t have had to, unless the cursed needed to be closely watched. “ Einarr pressed his lips in thought. “They saw us coming, and they had plenty of time to station those knights on the landing. Probably the knights brought the cursed from the harbor once they launched their fleet… I don’t think we need to worry about enemies from the harbor unless Father fails.”

That was a line of thought he didn’t care to pursue under the circumstances. No-one else seemed interested, either, and silence fell for a heavy moment. “Split up,” he ordered eventually. “I’ll take Naudrek right. The rest of you go left. We’ll meet back here.”

Jorir’s team arrived only moments before Einarr’s returned from their investigation of the harbor – which had been just as empty, and just as ordinary, as it first appeared. Experience told him they would have something terrible, and they would keep it underground.

Eydri and Hrug looked tired, but as well as could be expected. Kaldr and Naudrek looked like they had seen better days, and Thjofgrir as well, but slung across Thjofgrir’s back was the unconscious Arring. He still breathed, at least: Einarr could see that much as he hurried up to greet them.

“What happened?”

“Those blasted cats is what happened,” Kaldr grumbled. “Two of them this time – two real ones, so it felt like four. Right as we were about to signal the fleet. Hrug got it off while we were fighting them, but…”

Einarr nodded understanding. “I’m glad you all made it in one piece, at least. Arring… Arring seeks to be reunited with his family.”

Kaldr raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was a bachelor.”

“Widower, I’m afraid. When the Usurper was taking over Breidelstein, his family was killed.”

Kaldr looked pained, but Einarr shook his head. “You’re not so much older than me that you had any hand in it, and it’s not really relevant just this moment. How was the situation at sea?”

“Difficult to say for sure, except that they were laying in wait for the fleet, too. I’m afraid our plan led them right onto the cultist’s anvil. The storms from the demon ships made it hard to tell what was happening, but I know they managed to clear out the ships inside the harbor.”

Einarr groaned. Fortune favor you, Father. He had no more energy he could afford to spend on that, however. He shook his head and turned to Eydri. “How is your voice? Think you can handle some healing? Hrug and I can see to purifying everyone.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” She looked at him, and wrinkled her brows as she studied his face. “You look pale. What has happened?”

“It’s nothing. Just an arrow in the leg and too much rune working.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s not nothing. Sit down on the step and I can at least do something about that leg.”

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14.22 – Rune Work

Posted on 2022-02-182022-02-22 by allene

The one upside to being in the killing field, as far as Einarr could tell, was that the flaming arrows were also pelting the cultists they fought. Such a consolation was cold, however, with he and his men being beset in three different ways. The abomination, though weakened, still fought viciously, and the late-arrived team on the edge of the field was pressed hard by the cursed warriors and the knights who directed them.

Making matters worse, that did not seem to be ordinary fire the arrows were lit with – although it had the ordinary color, thank the gods. Patches of the ground itself seemed to burn.

Jorir drove his axe head once more into the deep wound they had opened into the side of the abomination. “Fall back! We need your sorcery more than we need your sword right now!”

Einarr hopped backwards twice, a scowl etched on his face. Jorir was right: they had not enough men on the field to deal with everything that they faced, and much like at the harbor at Breidelstein they needed to do something to knock the enemy off balance. So, as much as he hated it, Einarr once again withdrew from the melee. He did not make for where he had drawn the ward that currently slowed the abominable bird. Instead, he dashed erratically towards the walls of the fortress. If I can just rattle the defenders, he thought, perhaps we can turn this around… Rattle. I say, I wonder just how well-built this tower is.

Walking along the base of the wall, his back pressed against the stone as he moved, every few steps Einarr stooped to draw a single rune: ár, the rune of earth. If he could collapse the tower, he might end this battle here and now. If he could not collapse the tower, he should at least put a stop to the fiery arrows. Some of the archers at the top of the tower may have realized what he was up to, but it hardly mattered. He was too close, and they did not have the angle to fire at him.

When the circle was nearly complete he heard the sound of two sets of feet pounding across the open courtyard towards him. A glance up in the direction of the battle showed one of the knights headed straight for him, and Irding crossing the space to cut off the knight. Einarr could not afford to worry about Irding: the man was reckless, but a fight such as that should not be beyond him, and Einarr had a task to complete.

Steel rang against steel and the cries of battle echoed across the courtyard, but at last the circle was finished. Einarr stooped one more time and laid his hands on the flagstone at the base of the tower. He willed the circle to life and momentarily felt dizzy. He could not tell if this was from overuse of runes or from the tremor that wracked the ground beneath his feet. Either way, it was time to withdraw.

He was halfway across the courtyard, passing Irding’s duel with the lone knight on his way to the beleaguered team on the edge, when a lucky arrow pierced his calf. He sprawled face-first on the ground and looked over his shoulder. Somehow, his trousers had not yet caught in spite of the flame flickering on the arrow shaft. He reached back and tugged the arrow free, and the blood from the wound was still the proper color.

Einarr could see at a glance that the wound itself was not that bad – except that it would slow him down, and if he rejoined the melee now his men would feel obliged to protect him. Jorir was more right now than he had been before: Einarr would have to rely on the runes for this battle.

The tower still rumbled as the ground beneath it continued to quake. The hail of arrows had not – yet – ceased, although it had slowed dramatically, and those that did still fly went wild.

Irding had gotten inside the talon knight’s guard and was making life difficult for him, although the fact that they still fought meant the knight was no slouch. They were, however, far too close to where Einarr had fallen for comfort: Einarr sat up and tore a strip of cloth from his hem. He wrapped the torn fabric about his leg and tied it then drew a hasty mathr rune to keep it from bleeding any more.

The rumbling around the tower grew louder, and men from the ramparts began to cry out in alarm. Einarr glanced over at his handiwork to see that the tower was now visibly swaying. Just a little bit more should bring it down. Unfortunately, Einarr could not spare the attention to feed more power into the earthquake.

The talon knight got the haft of his spear around behind Irding’s legs and dropped him to his back on the ground. For a moment, Irding lay panting on his back – he must have had the wind knocked out of him, or he’d have been back on his feet immediately. The knight raised the butt of his spear: in another moment, he was going to plunge it down into Irding’s throat.

Einarr brought his chalk up, intending to trip up the knight in turn with some icy ground. Irding, though, was not out yet: he brought both feet up into the air and did a spin-kick worthy of a Hallingdanse. Now he was standing and the knight was on his back. Less than a heartbeat later, an axe was buried in the knight’s throat.

Einarr stood, a little more slowly than usual thanks to his wounded leg, and faced a panting Irding. “Well fought.”

The Son of Erik answered with a cocky grin. “You, too. Not over yet.”

That was very true. While he’d been occupied, a fifth team had made it to the killing field, but the boost to their numbers was more than undone by the two squads of talon knights that had appeared elsewhere on the field. Furthermore, Troa, Arkja, and Jorir still hadn’t managed to destroy the abomination. All of this, and they hadn’t even managed to get inside yet. Einarr frowned, then tore another strip of cloth from his tunic. This one he inscribed with kaun and wrapped about the head of an arrow plucked from the ground. The talon knight supplied a bow.

“Watch my back.”

“Aye, sir.”

Now Einarr drew back a bow, taking aim on the abomination his friends still battled. The ᚲ roared to life, and he sighted along its length at the struggling monstrosity. His arrow flew straight and true, and moments later the creature began to shriek and flap about in an obvious panic as its feathers, and even its flesh, began to burn.

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14.20 – On Land and Sea

Posted on 2022-02-112022-02-16 by allene

Stigander lowered his glass and sighed. The fortress was burning, and he hadn’t seen a signal yet. That was very shortly going to become moot, however, judging by the commotion on the docks. At least the blockade was already set up. He didn’t even look over his shoulder before he gave the order, certain that Bardr was where Stigander expected. “We can’t wait any longer. Something must have happened to the lookout. Signal the others.”

“Aye, sir.”

Before long the crack of sails could be heard over the fleet once more as the longships closed their circle, trapping the squiddies in their own jar. Or, at least, that was the idea. They hadn’t seen any of the black storm clouds that had marked the monsters in the svartlalfr ships’ holds – not yet, anyway. That might change when they actually put out to sea.

He raised his glass again. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

A wide open field was all that stood between Einarr’s team and the keep at the center of the fortress. It looked empty, but when Troa rose to begin their dash across the open space Einarr put a hand on his shoulder. “Something’s wrong.”

Movement caught his eye from partway around the killing field. It was another team – and Einarr had no way to stop them. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out. That would not help them, and it would give away their position. Then, he let out a long breath. “Be prepared to move on my mark,” he whispered.

“But you just said -” Irding protested. That earned him a sharp look.

“I know what I said. Situation changed.”

The other team stopped and threw up their arms, as though they were suddenly being buffeted by wind – a wind which Einarr soon felt, too. An unearthly screech filled the air, like the unholy fusion of a raven and a whale. He looked up.

A chill ran down his spine. It was like a hundred birds all sharing one body, with eyes and beaks and wings and legs jutting out at impossible angles and improbable locations. There was no earthly reason it should have been able to fly. And Einarr had seen it before.

It was the beast whose crew had willingly sacrificed themselves to its appetite when it became clear they had lost. It had crawled forth from the wreckage of their hold, a writhing and bubbling blob, and taken on the shape Einarr still could not fully grasp now that it was before him again.

“Oh. Hel.”

Stigander frowned as he stared at the ships now running across the waves toward the blockade, bristling with oars and, he was certain, both blades and arrows to match. This all looked as he expected it to, but there was an insistent tug on his heart whispering that something was about to go very wrong.

A black shadow passed overhead. He looked up to see a massive, multi-winged bird tearing through the sky toward the fortress. Alarm rose in his belly, but not enough to drown out the nagging anxiety. What am I missing?

A crack of thunder from out at sea made him jump. When he turned around, suddenly he understood.

The open sea behind them roiled with the heavy winds stirred up by the black clouds overhead – black as the clouds that bore the Grendel, what felt like ages ago, and her sister ships on the svartalfr island. And there, between storm clouds and churning sea, were twice as many ships as sailed from the harbor. Now he understood what his instincts had been trying to tell him.

They had sailed the entire fleet into a trap, and now they were caught between the hammer and the anvil. Part of him wished he had Kaldr to hand, but the man’s genius was more suited for the laying of traps like these, rather than escaping them. Indeed, that is almost exactly what they had been trying to do.

“Bardr, do you see what I see?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“Good. Sound the horns: battle is joined.” This was not the day he intended to die, but if it came it would be an acceptable one.

Irding cursed a blue streak. It seemed he recognized the monster, too. Troa, grim-faced, limbered his bow.

“I’m down to about ten arrows.”

Einarr nodded. “Irding, Arkja, Jorir, do what you can to divide its attention. Troa, take your shots, but don’t waste them. I’ll see if I can’t pin it down somehow.” Damned if I know how, though.

Jorir cleared his throat. “With all due respect, milord, if you will be doing a working, I will be covering you.”

Einarr nodded at the dvergr. “Thank you. Now let’s go. That’s going to be too much for five men alone.”

The other team had the bright idea to scatter: Einarr approved. No matter how big it was, it only had one body and it was blessedly free of tentacles. He was dimly aware of an arrow flying towards the monstrosity, and of one eye closing, but Einarr’s attention was focused inward. As he ran, he drew his chalk from his pouch.

Someone from the other team charged forward and grabbed hold of one of its taloned legs. That… could be brilliant, or it could be his end, or both.

When he was about halfway across the field, Einarr stopped. This should be close enough without making Jorir’s job any harder. Movement caught his eye: a third team had reached the field and was running in to assist. Good. It took a whole ship just to drive one of these things off last time… I wish I could leave this to Hrug.

He started to draw his rune circle on the paving stones. He would need Isa, he was certain, but he very much doubted he had the will to turn the monster into a block of ice, even with the binding circle. An upside-down Yr would turn a ward inward, to keep whatever was inside from getting out, although if he wasn’t careful he would keep his men from dealing with it that way. Wynn could be used to calm it – that would definitely be useful.

Someone from one of the other teams screamed, and when the sound abruptly cut off Einarr knew it had been his death scream. He nearly activated the circle right then, but bit his lip. He had to think carefully, even now: there would only be one chance at this, so he had to do it right.

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14.19 – Ambush

Posted on 2022-02-092022-02-11 by allene

The five men hurried through the fortress town at Troa’s lead, keeping to small side streets and alleys as much as they could. Still, they could not avoid all combat, and they were not the only team that ran into trouble, based on the sound of things.

The clang of battle could be distantly heard in every direction save one – the coast – and at any given intersection it could jump out at them from any direction. I’m not sure what you’re waiting on, Kaldr, but I think they’re distracted.

They cut down another pair of men in leather jerkins carrying spears and hurried on their way. It seemed as though they might cut through everyone in the fortress in their race to the center.

Kaldr, Arring, and Thjofgrir encircled Eydri and Hrug as best they could. Kaldr had moved past cursing himself for underestimating their enemy and on to the serious work of keeping the sorcerers from being eaten by the pair of doubled cats toying with them.

Eydri sang, of course – that was her function, and in another circumstance her voice might have even been pleasant. Arring and Thjofgrir accepted her aid, and Kaldr could admit he was sorely tempted. Still, he was just as glad to be accustomed to shrugging it off. Someone other than Hrug needed a clear head, after all.

One of the two cats tried to pounce on him. Kaldr scrambled out of the way even as Arring, a feral snarl fixed on his face, launched himself at its paws. The cat and its double shrieked as the strong man buried his axe in its toe up to the haft. A smaller creature would have lost the toe, or even the paw, to a blow like that, but not this one.

Arring had, however, caught its full attention, and Kaldr was grateful. He stepped up between the cat and its double.

Maybe Arring didn’t quite have its full attention. One of the tentacles lashed out toward him – which was fine. Actually, it simplified things. Kaldr sidestepped again, pivoting on one foot and wrapping his arms around the tentacle, just below the wider paw at its tip.

The tentacle thrashed about in the air, and for a moment it was all Kaldr could do to hang on. He needed to get down to the cat’s back, but if he loosened his grip now he would just go flying – probably into a tree. For just a moment the tentacle stopped more or less upright, and Kaldr got a look at the city below: smoke rose from multiple locations. Their land raiders had encountered resistance earlier than they’d hoped… and substantial resistance, at that. He loosened his grip just enough to start sliding down the tentacle. “Hrug! Light it up!”

The cat thrashed its tentacle madly and Kaldr nearly lost his hold before he could stop his slide. This isn’t working. He pressed himself against the clammy flesh and risked letting go with one hand. So far, so good, although momentum was not his ally at the moment.

Somehow, Kaldr managed to get his free hand to the knife they all carried at their belts – usually used for eating. He suspected this one would need a good long time in a fire before he’d be willing to trust it with food again. When his hand closed on the hilt, he jerked it free of its sheath and plunged it into the tentacle. Greasy black blood welled up around the blade — the cat yowled and thrashed harder. Abruptly it brought its other tentacle into play, scraping the injured one along the bottom of the other tentacle. Trying to scrape Kaldr off.

That slowed the thrashing enough, however. Glancing down, Kaldr confirmed that he was dangling above its shoulders. He pulled his knife free and sheathed it, allowing the black blood to flow faster, and hung on for dear life with only his legs. Only for a moment, however. As soon as his sword was free of its scabbard, he let go.

Kaldr fell, sword-first, ten feet down to land on the creature’s back, between its shoulder blades. A third time it screamed as the longsword plunged deep into its vitals. It reeled, and Kaldr was now faced with the problem of staying on. The signal still hadn’t gone up: he risked a glance toward the others.

Arring still divided this one’s attention, although unless Kaldr missed his guess the strong man was wounded now. Thjofgrir was also fighting hard, trying to keep the other beast from getting past him and to the sorcerers. He, too, looked as though he had seen better days. The real trouble was, Thjofgrir by himself was not enough to keep the other cat away from Eydri and Hrug. It was damnably intelligent, too. It had noticed that they were defending the woman and the one-handed man, and had begun more or less ignoring Thjofgrir.

Hrug, bless the man, had become a sorcerer because it was the option least offensive to his pride. He remained a warrior at heart, even if his weapons now were symbols traced on the ground. The signal had not gone up because all his attention was focused on the barrier he had erected around the two of them – hastily, Kaldr expected, as they had been taken completely unawares by the beasts. That was why the signal had not yet gone up. Well. Let’s see if I can do something about that.

Kaldr wrenched his blade free of the cat’s back and plunged it deep once more at the same moment Arring buried his axe in its jaw.

It swayed again, and lifted its head as though to yowl to the heavens. Then all the strength seemed to go out of its mighty legs and it collapsed to the ground. It didn’t even twitch. I must have pierced its heart.

He was covered in the black blood, but for the moment that didn’t matter. He pulled his sword free and ran down the head toward the sorcerers. “Arring! Help Thjofgrir! I’ll cover them.”

The man’s answering growl was more animal than human. Once Eydri had sung them down out of the rage, he would have to have a talk with the man.

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14.18 – Spear and Shield

Posted on 2022-02-042022-02-10 by allene

The knight drew back his spear and lowered himself into a guard mirroring Einarr’s. “How dare you!”

“What, don’t believe me? I’ll prove it with steel.”

Einarr could see the madness in his opponent’s eyes now. If he pushed any harder, he might go over the edge – and really, who would want that? He shut his mouth, and he and the knight circled, each looking for a weakness in the other’s guard.

Arkja was proving himself more than capable. It may have been two against one, but it was rather akin to a rat playing two cats off against each other.

Irding, too, seemed to be holding up well, keeping his opponents on their back feet by ferocity rivaling that of an actual berserker.

With Troa’s help, and the narrow passage, it was plain Einarr didn’t need to worry about Jorir, either. Einarr’s mouth curled up in a wolf’s grin.

Before the knight could take advantage of his wandering attention, Einarr shifted up out of his guard and onto the offense. He dashed forward, and even as he raised Sinmora for an overhand blow the enemy took the bait. As his shoulders tensed and twitched forward, Einarr slammed his shield down and its rim clashed loudly against the hilt of the spear. The weapon itself plowed into the ground at Einarr’s feet, and as the knight stumbled forward Einarr brought his knee up into his opponent’s nose at the same moment he brought Sinmora’s hilt down on the back of his neck. There was a dull crack and the knight fell limply to the ground.

Arkja glanced over as he saw the leader of the knights fall. Unless Einarr was mistaken, this was beginning to wear on him – and he was well aware of Irding’s endurance. He took one step more and pivoted so that he was aimed at one of the two Arkja toyed with before thrusting himself forward once more. Here, Einarr was lucky: the man had his spear arm upraised – likely trying to pin Arkja’s foot to the ground. Sinmora’s tip found the hollow under the knight’s shoulder and nearly severed the arm.

The knight screamed, but it was cut abruptly off by a slice of Arkja’s blade. Interestingly, the knights’ blood was still vibrantly red. Corrupted or not, they have affirmed themselves servants of Malúnion.

Now Einarr pointed himself in Irding’s direction: the other one Arkja fought wouldn’t last long. He charged forward once more, and just as his shield was knocking one of Irding’s two off-balance Irding buried his axe in the other’s throat. Now there was only one left, and just as he could see madness in their leader’s eye before, now Einarr could see fear. The question was if he feared their assault more than accusations of cowardice.

Apparently, the word “knight” meant something to this one: the set of his jaw changed, and he took a firmer grip on his weapon as he stared down Irding, who very deliberately did not look at Einarr.

“Be quick about it, then,” Einarr said. They had nearly won their way free of the fortress walls. The last thing they wanted to do was get bogged down here. He sheathed Sinmora and then moved to stand behind Jorir and next to Troa. “What can I do?”

“Can ye seal what we just blasted open?” Jorir asked, taking another chop at the cursed warrior currently trying to force its way through.

“Give me just a moment.” Einarr was certain that he could, at least well enough to stop their enemies. Just as he was about to begin with ᛁ again, it struck him Ice wouldn’t really add anything. What he needed here was Ár, to shape the earth under the wall, and Yr to harden it into a shield. Then the only real question was how long he could maintain it, especially given how often they were calling on the runes for this assault. Just do what you can, he reminded himself, and he drew ᛃᛉ in the ground at Jorir’s feet.

“On my mark, move away from the hole. Ready? Now!”

Jorir jumped back. Einarr activated his inscription.

Immediately there was a sound like a falling boulder and the earth beneath the wall burst up to fill the hole – and froze there. Einarr released his breath and the runes, and they stayed where they were supposed to be. He nodded. “Simple inscriptions are the best.”

Jorir chuckled and looked about to speak, but then a groaning sound came from behind them.

Einarr turned and saw, from the middle of a road strewn with the bodies of the knights, that one of them wasn’t quite dead yet.

“You… worthless… infidel,” it growled. The voice was lower and raspier than before, Einarr thought. “Did you really think one such as I would fall to such trickery?”

“I had hoped as much, yes.” Einarr’s hand moved once again to Sinmora’s hilt, but he did not yet draw. Something was off. “You’ve lost – you, and all your men, and your pets.”

“We have lost, yes. These frail bodies could not stand before your treachery. But we are merely tools of the great god of the deeps, and he will never fall before the likes of you.”

Einarr knew with sudden, sick certainty where this was going, and if the half-dead (or, perhaps, all dead?) body before them stopped talking it would be because it no longer needed to stall. “Take it down, now!”

Already the flesh was beginning to turn gray as a draugr’s, and the shoulders began to twitch unnaturally. His team never hesitated, thank the gods, and almost as one all five of them descended on the transforming body. Not long thereafter, it lay in bloody pieces strewn across the wall road.

“Let’s go. We don’t have any time to lose.” Einarr wiped his sword on the pant leg of one of the fallen knights and trotted off, deeper into the city. The others were not far behind. None of them knew which would last longer, after all: the plug in the wall, or the attention span of the monsters outside.

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