The ground shook with her coming, earth and snow kicked up such was the force of her landing. Bjorn was splattered with the entrails of a Bloodletter that had been crushed under one paw, but he took no notice, too busy slamming the skull of another into the ground. The daemons close were thrown back, hurled into disarray. The rest had a moment to absorb her presence, a ripple of glee passing through their ranks as they seemed to shift their attentions as one, but a moment was all they had. A contemptuous, guttural growl echoed out, and then blinding cold erupted from between rows of razor sharp fangs.
A beam of white carved through the ranks and towards the portal, an unearthly screech coming with it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t ice, as it sliced off limbs and split one unfortunate foe from groin to crown. When it hit the portal, the uncanny rippling froze, but only for a moment. The next it began to twist and churn as if boiling, and the coherence of its rim began to waver. The red tint to it wavered, paling and darkening in turn as it seemed to resist whatever sorcery was disrupting it, and by the grace of Thor, the flood of new daemons paused.
The Bloodletters already through had recovered, and they were not content to watch. They threw themselves at the dragon with abandon, bloodlust heavy in the air, each competing with the other to be the first to wet their swords with her blood. They seemed to have forgotten the mortal defenders entirely. They should have known better.
A boy appeared in their way, gap toothed grin seasoned with savagery. “Thor!” Lightning lanced out, coursing between those closest, setting them to tumbling.
Bjorn was already there to take advantage, whirling about to seize any daemon close enough, crushing skulls with his bare hands and adding to the gore already plastered up to his elbows. His scream was drowned out by the continuing screech of the white beam, but he did not seem to realise. The baresark was not content to plant himself between the foe and the dragon, however, rage driving him onwards, and he dove into a knot of approaching foes. Soon, he was not the only one screaming.
Harad and Helena were moving to the right, seeking to plant themselves before the dragon, but they found themselves bogged down, the daemons closest still driven towards them by something unseen. Wolfric, Eirik, and Halvar could not get past them, nor could they risk stepping back without leaving them vulnerable. The three men pushed forward instead, trying to take advantage of the shift in the current of the rush of enemies, but there were still too many, and for all their blessings, they were still daemons.
Wolfric blew a daemon back with a flick of his sword, turning its shoulder to paste, but then movement above caught his eye. For all the destruction, some of the row of houses still remained. At the end of them, in the half shattered remains of someone’s home, a daemon was preparing to jump from the upper level.
“LEIFNIR!” he bellowed. “Above!”
A white eye turned to him, but she did not cease her assault on the portal; if anything the screech seemed to intensify, setting a thrumming in their bones. The daemon leapt, black blade held down before it, aiming for Leifnir’s back, where neck met body. Its long tongue trailed out the side of its mouth, jagged teeth bared in grotesque joy.
A bolt of lightning took it through the chest, turning its falling strike into a graceless fall, and what could have been a mortal blow became an annoyance. The falling blade left a scuff mark down Leifnir’s side, and her tail lashed in anger, taking out another section of the building behind her, but that was little damage compared to what came next.
Kirsa and Trumpetter had been forced back by Leifnir’s arrival, but the bolt marked their return, and they were not content to remain behind the dragon’s bulk. The mammoth trampled forward on Leifnir’s right, lightning tusks clearing a path as he charged into the daemons, even as Kirsa readied another bolt. More daemons seemed ready to use the remainder of the structure to launch themselves at Leifnir, but then Trumpetter collided with it, powering through it without a hint of slowing. The sound of daemons being vaporised cracked through the air over the crumbling of timber, and above it all the screech of the white beam continued.
It was too much for the portal, whatever fell power that had opened swept away by the scouring light, and it collapsed upon itself. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, and a pressure that had come with it vanished. The beam of light ceased, Leifnir closing her jaw; heavy breaths misted the air. There was a sudden stutter in the flow of battle, as the Bloodletters felt the connection cut.
The last of the row of buildings fell as Trumpetter and Kirsa emerged from the end - behind the crowd of enemies. Caught between blessed warriors, blessed mammoth, and a frost dragon, the Khornate daemons only knew joy, ready to see blood spilt in the name of their God. That it would be theirs clearly did not matter, so long as the blood flowed. That they were cut off did not seem to matter, and they began to fight for the best position when the battle resumed.
“Unworthy,” Kirsa said, glaring down at them from her perch. Her voice was layered with a tone not her own, crackling. “None of you are worthy.”
A ball of lightning zipped around Wolfric’s shoulders, as if caught in the pull of the lightning around his mantle. A breath later it turned into a young boy, glee and enthusiasm no longer there, replaced by a look of seriousness beyond his years. His head tilted, as if listening to something. “You’re all cowards. You used to be fighters, but you got used to not dying.” He scowled at them, lip jutting out. “You’re lucky Thor isn’t here.”
The words took a moment to settle. A heartbeat later, the Bloodletters erupted in a clamour of shrieks and rage, charging in a frenzy. Some went for Kirsa and Trumpetter. Some went for Leifnir. Some went for Ragnar. Some for Harad and Helena. They all died, leaving behind corpses that were already starting to slough into muck, and rage that was already starting to be carried away by the wind.
In the aftermath, those that had fought stopped to catch their breath. Some had faced and killed greater foes in the past, but a swarm of Bloodletters was still nothing to be dismissed out of hand, and they found themselves grateful for Thor’s blessings that day, whether they had been granted them or not. There were injuries here and there, but they were small things, easily ignored by warriors such as they, although Ragnar sulked over the toe he had hurt kicking a decapitated head away. Bjorn was slumped to his knees, slowly coming back to himself, new wounds bleeding sluggishly as old wounds pulsed an angry red.
“What now?” Wolfric asked, leaning on his sword. He could feel the shroud around his mantle fading, and aches and soreness that had been held back by borrowed strength began to set in. He jolted as rational thought returned. His sisters, he had to get to the grove to make sure they were safe, to make sure-
“They are not of Decay,” Harad said, his voice rumbling over the field of battle. “They will leave no sickness behind.” He let his axe fall to the side, unthinkable for most, but more important to him was taking his wife in his arms. The shieldmaiden let herself be gathered up in them, each taking solace in the other.
It would not be right to push them now. “Eirik, see to Bjorn,” Wolfric told the big man at his back. The Aesling had gotten his sisters out of the house, and seeing the shattered state of it now, it had clearly saved their lives. Aesling or not, he owed the baresark.
Halvar followed his friend, and between the two of them they soon had Bjorn on his feet, slowly, very slowly, helping him away from the carnage, even as they tried to move around the dragon.
Trumpetter’s feet squelched in the muck as he walked across the field. His extra size seemed to have faded away, as had the tusks of power, but he still bore Kirsa easily on his back. She was glaring at Leifnir, even as the last motes of Thor’s power faded from her eyes. “You are the dragon that took Lord Thor’s eye?”
Leifnir had been inspecting the scuff mark left by the daemon blade on her scales, but now she looked up, her frill splaying outwards. “I am not ‘the dragon’, I am Leifnir, daughter of Ymirdrak, and I was paid with his eye,” she said.
Kirsa’s glare only deepened, not flinching a jot as Leifnir met her glare with her own.
Wolfric found himself glad to have the reassurance of his sword in hand, even as Eirik and Halvar shared a glance and switched from helping Bjorn to walk to taking his weight upon themselves, hurrying past the confrontation.
“It’s true, Kirsa,” Wolfric said, stepping up to them. Neither took their eyes off the other. “My sisters, they are near, you can heal them now?” He closed his mouth before more words could tumble from his lips unbidden.
“I can. However…fighting the corrupted was not part of our deal,” Leifnir said, white glare pinning him in place. Queasily, one eye remained on Kirsa, continuing their staredown. “I presume you have a way of making this up to me?”
Wolfirc set himself grimly. He knew what he had to do.
X
Thor landed heavily before the longhouse, and his stride did not slow as he reached the doors. His worry for his peo- for those under his protection saw him barge through them without care, and they swung open with enough force to crash loudly against the walls, announcing his presence as much as the sparking of Stormbreaker.
The voice of the Thunder God boomed out within the longhall. “Who dares-!?! Oh.”
A full hall stared back at him, many with cutlery half raised. Someone’s drink spilled onto their table as they overfilled their cup.
Thor lowered his axe, allowing his power to fade. Well, it still wasn’t the most embarrassing entrance he’d made to a feast. “Carry on,” he told those closest.
A snort drew his attention, and he looked to the head of the hall. The dragon lounging behind the main table drew his eye first, and it was she who had snorted at his words, sending a flurry of snow into the rafters, but there were others there that he recognised too. Kirsa and Wolfric were there of course, as were the local veterans Halvar and Eirik, but he did not spy Harad and Helena, he did not spy Bjorn, and he did not spy the twins. Hours had passed, somehow, between his departure and return, and he worried what he had missed. For all that he had given of his power to those who had faith, there were many powers in the world, and he was but one of them.
“Lord Thor,” Wolfric called, rising from his seat with relief in his single eye. “You have returned.”
“Helka may have been a foul foe, hiding her nature as she did, but once revealed her strength of arm was weak,” Thor called back, beginning to make his way to the main table. It seemed to signal those in the hall to return to their feasting, for all that he was still the centre of their attention.
“Yet she still took you the day to vanquish?” Leifnir asked, a lazy lilt to her voice. Without even trying, her words filled the hall. Her tongue snaked out into a nearby barrel, and whatever liquid it contained seemed to flow up it into her mouth.
“Hardly,” Thor said, scoffing. “She did not survive more than scant moments, once I removed her from this place.” He frowned. “No, my return was…delayed. I chose haste over prudence, and in doing so made myself vulnerable to another power.”
“It is to my gain,” Leifnir said, not quite shrugging. “Your quaint little fiefdom has been hosting me for some hours, now.”
“It is not my village,” Thor corrected her, something that saw her frill ripple and Kirsa smirk at her. He had reached the head of the hall now, but there was only one seat available at the main table, but it belonged to Tyra, and he would not take it. The rest had been removed to make room for Leifnir. He sat instead at the end of the firepit, facing the main table, and used its flames to clean his hands. “Its chief has ventured out in service to its people, and I watch over it until she returns.” He turned his gaze to his two followers before she could respond. “What has happened in my absence? I heard your prayers.”
Wolfric had returned to his seat, and he and Kirsa shared a look. Whatever unspoken words passed saw him leaning forward to answer. “After you took Helka, a portal came, opening the way for Bloodletters. With your blessing, we slew them, and the townspeople that Grigori rallied did not need to join the fight.”
There was a heavy sigh from deeper in the hall, audible only to Thor’s godly perception, and he glanced back to see Stephan, the skald holding a hand to his brow in almost physical pain.
“Leifnir arrived to aid us, and she closed the portal. In return, we have hosted a feast in her honour,” Wolfric continued.
“Most generous,” Thor said, withdrawing his hands from the fire. Such a thing was not easily done when their supplies were as they were, but it was a cheap way to repay a dragon as such things went. “And how are Astrid and Elsa recovering?”
“They have not yet been healed,” Wolfric said, glaring out the corner of his remaining eye at the dragon beside him.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Thor paused. As best he could reckon, it had been hours since they attack. Slowly, his gaze shifted to Leifnir. “Is that so?” There was a rumble to his voice, one that did not come from within the hall but from the skies above.
“The sick rest in your grove,” Leifnir said, piercing a roasted haunch on the table with a single talon, raising it to her mouth to daintily pull it off with her tongue. “They will not sicken further in the time it takes me to enjoy the payment for my aid.”
Her words suggested a lack of care, but Thor’s eyes saw the very tip of her tail flick and lash, before she stilled it. He crossed his arms, giving her a flat stare as his foot tapped on the stone floor. “Leifnir.”
Behind him, the feasters seemed to hold their breath.
The dragon met his stare for a moment, but then she blinked, making a sound of disgust. “Closing the portal was…taxing,” she said, acting as if the admittance had been drawn from her with hot irons.
“That is understandable,” Thor said, nodding as he uncrossed his arms. “To attempt the healing while lacking in strength would be to do poorly by the girls. I hope you have been able to eat your -” he froze as something occurred to him. “You remember that I told you the mammoth is not for eating, yes?”
Leifnir was staring down at him, slit pupils narrowed, but in bemusement, not anger.
“Trumpetter is in your grove,” Kirsa hastened to reassure him. “He was tired after the battle, and wanted to stay with the twins.”
“The battle?” Thor asked, alarmed. “He fought?
“You granted him your power?” Kirsa asked more than said.
“I granted my power to those of my believers whose need was true,” Thor said. “I didn’t know who was asking for it!”
“You give your power so freely?” Leifnir asked, bringing her head down to their level, looking at him closely. She had fallen silent after his easy acceptance of her words, but now her attention had been drawn anew.
“Why would I not?” Thor asked. “They needed my aid.”
“Yet you bartered with me for my aid in healing this one’s sisters like a human merchant,” Leifnir said.
“You wanted my axe, the final creation of the Dwarf King Eitri,” Thor argued. “My eye is a fine consolation prize.”
Leifnir gave a draconic shrug. “It is a fine enough thing, true,” she said, regaining some of her regal air.
Considering he took it from the loot drawer of a group of vagabonds, he felt he was getting good value out of it, but he wasn’t about to admit that aloud. “Trumpetter is fine then? He’s alright?”
“We slew many, even before Leifnir arrived,” Kirsa said, a hint of a boast in her tone.
“Oh?” Thor asked, a smile stealing across his face. It was good to see her coming into her own. “You must tell me more. Actually - Stephan!” he called over his shoulder “Come, so that you might hear better. This is a tale that deserves a skald’s retelling, I am sure!”
Kirsa seemed to already be regretting her words, but at Thor’s enthusiastic look, she gave in. Stephan was only the first to approach the main table, hunger for the story clear in his eyes. Many followed, crowding around the ends of the eating tables, while a small crowd of children grew around Thor’s feet, joining him in looking at her expectantly.
Wolfric gave her a look of commiseration, angling himself to face her, something mirrored even by Leifnir from her other side, but then a thought seemed to cross Kirsa’s mind, followed by a smile.
“Wolfric,” she said, “you were part of the fight from the beginning. Perhaps you would like to start?” Her expression was cherubic.
Expectant gazes swung to the one eyed warrior. He swallowed, and some of the tension that had eased after learning that Leifnir was unable to see his sisters just then rather than unwilling, crept back in. “Well…”
Thor listened as the tale began, keeping a level expression as he learned how close the town had come to ruin. Had he not granted those who believed his power, little Ragnar would be dead, as would dozens of townspeople that Grigori had rallied in defence of their home. But he had, and they didn’t, so he would only harm himself to linger on it.
Hearing that all had survived the fight eased his soul, and he could remonstrate with himself for his impatience rather than curse his lack of learning. For all that he had come far, he still had much to learn and more to experience before he was worthy to be a King.
Such thoughts were pushed away as Thor focused on the story, beaming as he heard of how Kirsa had thrown a bolt through the Bloodletter aiming to interrupt Leifnir’s disruption of the portal. If he had to pretend not to see the smug look she sent the dragon as she told the tale, well, rivalries could be good to encourage growth.
“...the corpses were already falling apart, so we did not need to gather them for burning, and Harad tells us they do not spread disease as the bodies of Rot do,” Wolfric finished. “We brought Leifnir here to feast in thanks, and now we only need to wait until she can heal my sisters.” Now that it was as good as settled, a calmness had returned to him, one that had been missing since he had first gotten the news of their sickness.
“That is a grand tale indeed,” Thor said. He glanced at Stephan. The dark haired man was not quite muttering to himself, mouth moving silently. “I feel we will have a tale to pass down by the time Tyra returns.”
“All we did, we did in your name, Lord Thor,” Kirsa said.
“But you were the ones to do it,” Thor said. “Do not discount your deeds. Today, you were all worthy. All of you.”
Kirsa flushed with happiness, Wolfric only slightly more stoic, and even Leifnir’s tail gave a small wiggle.
“But tell me,” Thor said, and here his good cheer faded, “how does Bjorn fare? He was exposed to Decay’s touch as he rescued the twins.”
“He lives,” Eirik said, nursing a mug of ale at one of the side tables. “Halvar and I took him to your grove, and his pain eased, but…” he shook his head. “No healer.”
“Better no healer than what we had,” someone grumbled lowly.
Dark mutterings spread around the hall, as townsfolk thought back to this or that malady she had had a hand in healing, and what the truth of her actions might have been.
“What of her apprentices?” Thor asked, cutting through the building discussion. “Selinda and Sunniva.”
There was a pause, and none could answer.
“I saw them when I spoke to Bjorn, earlier,” Kirsa said. One hand went to chestnut hair, worrying at a strand. “But since the battle…”
“I spoke briefly with Selinda, before I confronted Helka,” Thor said. “Has no one seen her since?”
None had.
“We found no bodies when we dug through the rubble,” someone called from further down the hall.
“What if they learned from their hag grandmother? They could be brewing something as we feast,” a woman worried.
“Maybe they fled?”
“What if-”
“We should-”
“Let us not be over quick to judge them,” Thor said, raising a hand. He remembered the poorly hidden wariness they had for the false wise woman, but he did not speak on it. “We will deal with what is, not what might be. Do not let fear colour your actions.”
The crowd settled, but the worry had revealed to Thor the true state of the town in the wake of the day’s events. It was not an easy thing to be without a healer, as the raiders had well known when they had butchered the woman who had held the role before Helka returned.
“We will find another who can help Vinteerholm, in time,” Thor reassured them. He rose to his feet, turning to face the room at large. “For now, let us eat and be merry, for a boil has been lanced from your home!”
Ignoring grim realities was something that all Norscans were practised at, and at Thor’s direction they were more than happy to do so. While only a small portion of the town’s population could be hosted in the longhall at a time, there were still more than enough to enjoy the moment. Those who had the bravery to come in spite of the presence of a dragon were well rewarded. For all that the day’s struggle was one that only few had stood in, they still knew what a danger had been lifted from them, the nature of the threat that had been purged, and they were glad.
Thor moved from group to group, sharing words and reassurances, moving on before his presence became too much. It made it easy to slip from the hall as the evening wore on, leaving with but a nod to the three at the main table.
Outside, the night was cool, and the stars bright. Morrslieb had shied away, but Mannslieb still shone, and a fresh dusting of snow had fallen upon the ground. Spring approached, but for now Thor would enjoy the crunch of it beneath his boots, and he took his time as he walked back towards what remained of the street the house of healing had once stood upon.
As he had seen before, one row of houses were reduced to naught but splinters and rubble. It was fortunate that all who lived within had been out working in the wake of his decision to confront Helka. All except her apprentices.
Thor regarded the destruction, glancing over to where the leavings of the Bifrost and the Chaos portal intermingled. Chunks of what looked like obsidian marred woven lines, but that was not what Thor had come to see. Using it as a point of reference, Thor came to the spot where the healer’s house had once stood. It looked much like the remains of the rest of the row of houses, but he remembered the interior, and he remembered where the basement stairs had been. With a thought, his armour was dismissed, leaving him in roughspun cloth that did not flatter his figure nearly as well. He knelt down and began to dig, his bare hands more than enough for the task.
As he dug, he allowed his mind to roam, contemplating his actions and what he could have done better. He could not think of a better way to deal with Helka, nor even a better way to confront her, not with the lack of surety he had had. When he considered his actions after leaving Asgard, Old and New and all at once, however, he found himself wanting. Haste could be a virtue, was necessary at times, but he had known that there was a danger lurking unseen, known that something about using the Bifrost in this new realm that worried at his instinct, but still he had allowed himself to dismiss that worry in favour of haste. He still lacked the wisdom required of a King. He could even guess where the beacon of safety would have led him, so close he could have-
A muffled sound pulled him from his thoughts, breaking the spiral, and he stopped digging. His ears strained; had he heard someone moving in a nearby house, or had he - ? It came again, and this time he was sure. He began digging again, shovelling dirt and debris to the side, building a pile half as tall as himself already. The hole grew with it, and he did not meet plain dirt or clay; he was on the right track. More muffled sounds came to his ear, and this time it was clear that they were voices.
Rubble was no barrier to a god, and soon he was scraping against a stone wall, and finding the broken remains of a wooden staircase. The collapse of the building had seen debris spill into the basement, leaving him with more to dig out. Had he not heard the voices, he would have worried that those he sought had been crushed in the very place they had sought sanctuary.
When he broke through, it was sudden, and the debris he was standing on began to slide out from under him. He waited for it to settle, peering into the darkness that had been revealed.
“Hello?” he called softly. There was no answer, and he grew concerned. It was pitch black within the basement; if his excavations had come as a surprise to those within he may very well have buried them.
A spark rose from his hand, slowly tracing a meandering path into the black. It gave off a faint light, only enough to softly illuminate a few feet, but that was enough. In the corner of the basement, dirtied by sweat and rubble, Helka’s two apprentices huddled together, eyes wide with fear as they looked up at him.
“The daemons are gone,” Thor told them, making no move to enter the basement proper. For all that they were among some of the first people he had ever met in this world, that they had cared for Tyra after he had taken her from the longship he found her on, he had shared scant few words with them.
They did not budge at his words, save to hold each other tighter.
“Helka is dead,” Thor said. He watched their reactions closely, but he could not tell if the short breaths they let out were due to relief or fear. Looking back on their bearing with the knowledge of what Helka truly was painted their behaviours in a new light, but was that the truth, or just another layer of deception by foulness masquerading as healing? He could not say for sure. “You need not fear her.”
The sisters - and they had to be, next to each other the resemblance was clear - shared a glance, but only for a moment, as if they feared what he would do if they looked away.
“You killed grandmother?” the one with the braid, Sunniva, asked. Her voice was as hoarse as ever.
“I did,” Thor said plainly. “She brought pain and suffering where she should have brought relief, and for that I cut her down.”
This time, the relief that crept into them was clear, and they eased their apparent attempts to become one with the corner. But was it truth, or more deception? He wanted to do right, to make the just choice, but the memory of Helena’s expression when she arrived to hear Helka’s words made him slow to trust.
“But, the twins?” Selinda said, barely more than a whisper. “Did she heal them?”
“She was the one who sickened them in the first place,” Thor said, and he could not help but let a sliver of his feelings into his voice.
Selinda froze, and Sunniva pulled her into her side.
Thor sighed. “I am sorry. Astrid and Elsa are dear to me, and my fury is for those who meant them ill.”
Selinda shook her head in short, shallow jerks, almost trembling, but it was Sunniva who spoke. “We didn’t, we wouldn’t, we just brewed what grandmother told us to.”
He wanted to believe them. They were barely more than girls, younger than Kirsa even. “Even if you did do something, something that led to harm, you can choose another path,” Thor said. “If you worshipped Decay-”
“We will never worship the Grandfather!” Selinda burst out, going from cowering to snarling in an instant.
Thor was taken aback, almost unbalanced on his precarious footing by the sudden shift, but a moment later it was gone, and the fear was back threefold as she realised what she had done. He saw that fear, and hated that he was the cause of it. To dither in his decision was unworthy of him, and he opened his missing right eye to look with sight beyond sight.
The oily sheen that was Decay’s touch dripped from them, and his spirits fell as he saw it - but then he saw that for all it clung to them, shared between them with every reassuring touch, it did not come from them. They were infected with it, but they did not generate it. Not as Helka had with every breath. Thor closed his missing eye, and he let out a breath.
Carefully, he sat where he stood, wary of shifting debris. He still looked down on the girls, but now it was not so much, and he couldn’t suddenly lunge towards them as they seemed to fear. He sent the spark that gave them light off to the far end of the basement, fixing it against the wall. The shadows were longer, but no more was there a reminder of his power between them, a silent threat. He should have thought of how they would see it sooner. Again, he sighed.
“Tell me about Helka.” It was no demand, but an invitation.
Sunniva swallowed, and after a moment, she began to speak.