49. Saving Souls

“Sibbe has told me again that she wishes to leave Horvorr. I tried to convince her that she could still be cured, but she will hear no word of it.

She speaks of living her last years on this world in joy and in peace, as if she is happy to accept the curse laid upon her. I told her that there will be no joy or peace for me if I have to watch her decay knowing that I could have saved her.

When she relented, I was not certain whether she had been convinced or simply given up on me.”

Engli hadn’t managed to convince anyone from the hunting village to accompany him, but he and Gunnar had wandered into two brothers, Ottar and Skorri, who were on their way to a gathering place in the stony hills near the forest, which is where the hunters would gather for seasonal meetings, to discuss whose grounds were whose, and air any grievances amongst the forest folk.

Engli had trouble telling the brothers apart.

Gunnar admitted he wasn’t going to bother trying. Ottar and Skorri both had two bows and several knives each. They both wore a mix of earth-hued clothing, wore necklaces of fabric and bone. They stood very tall and very lean, to the point that they appeared ungainly, but maneuvered through trees and brush soundlessly. They both had the same long, sharp-eyed and high-cheeked face.

Engli quickened his stride when he saw the distant glow of fire. “Easy,” Ottar said, grabbing his shoulder. “Traps about!”

Skorri snorted. “He says as if I’m blind.”

Engli squinted into the darkness of the forest. “I don’t see anything.”

“No?” Ottar asked. He threw a small stone. A trap snapped with a scrape of metal, rusty teeth shining dull in the darkness. “What about now?”

“I said stop, Gunnar!” Skorri shouted.

“I’m not blind either,” Gunnar replied. “Why don’t you all hurry up?”

He made a rustle of leaves now he led off into the forest. Engli and Ottar followed more slowly after the other two. Engli had to walk in his footsteps, then stand about while he waited for Ottar to disarm a trap.

A wooden frame of stakes lurched up from the cover of a bush.

Ottar dipped his finger on the sharpened wood, and smelled the dark liquid. “Goblin blood. They must be hiding out under the cover of the mountain. Setting the traps over when they can.” He crossed from loamy dirt onto stony ground. “They end here.”

He started into a run up the winding slope ahead. A mossy rock face walled the path on the left, while a crumbling ledge on the right gave way to the forest floor below. Gunnar and Skorri were sat waiting on boulders that sat at either side of the path.

“What took so long?” Skorri asked. “Thought you’d got yourself trapped.”

Ottar only shook his head, and strode past them in silence. Gunnar and Skorri followed, while Engli ran up behind them.

“Stop!” demanded a warning shout when they neared the end of the slope.

They slowed, listening to the scuff of stone and the creak of bowstrings.

Half a dozen archers crouched atop the shadowed rock face. Several more figures were on their knees behind another pair of twin boulders.

“Would have thought,” Skorri said, “that you’d be pleased to see men instead of goblins.”

“Say your names,” said a quieter, woman’s voice. “And state the reason for your visit.”

“Ottar,” he said. “I’ve come to speak with Eyjolf.”

“So your brother’s with you, then,” the woman said. “Who are the other two?”

“We’ve got Engli.” Skorri glanced down at the fancifully armoured man. “From Horvorr’s Guard. Come to see whoever is in charge.”

“And is this all Gudmund sends us?” an old man asked from the darkness. “One man from his guard.”

“Smallest one he could find by the look of it,” the woman added.

“I’m from Horvorr’s Guard as well,” Gunnar said.

Engli frowned. “I’ve come a long way… so has Gunnar. We have to speak to—”

“—whoever is in charge,” the woman finished. “I heard you the first time.”

“Then are we free to pass?” Engli asked. “Or are we going to stand around until the sun rises?”

Eyjolf approached from the distance, holding a torch in his hand. He was middling in height, lithe, pulling on a shirt over his hairy chest. He wasn’t bald but had shaved his head. Stubble bristled from his scalp and from his cheeks. He paused not far from the four men, illuminating Engli, Gunnar, and the twins, both of whom looked about at nothing as if bored or disinterested.

A middle-aged woman with tied-back hair walked over to Eyjolf, whispering to him. He nodded as she spoke, then walked forward. “You can all follow me.”

He turned back the way he had come, and the four men followed after. As they approached the height of the plateau, they got sight of the outline of hide tents, some well-made, others crude and leaning on the stone. Hundreds of folk were gathered about, sat or sleeping on the hard ground, some with blankets or furs. They were all illuminated by the weak and ruddy light leaking out from the mouth of a small cavern.

“Good to see that so many made it here,” Ottar said.

Eyjolf grunted. “We thought you and your brother were dead.”

“Hunting snow leopards,” Skorri said. “I knew something was off when I lost the trail, and then decided to head back when we found a pack of half-eaten wolves.”

“I went to your house with a few others,” Eyjolf unhappy mentioned. “Wouldn’t have thought a man would bother to lay that many traps.”

Skorri upturned his palms. “Don’t want people to steal my things.”

“You have anything worth stealing?” Eyjolf asked.

“I might one day.”

Eyjolf stopped at the largest tent, candlelight glowing through the stretched hides. “Wait here.” He ducked under the flap, and the four men watched his shadow while he walked by candles and bent down to wake folk from sleeping.

They got up, making the silhouettes of young children. Eyjolf woke his wife, and whispered quietly to his family, then a tall blond woman left the tent with two black-haired children ahead of her, both boy and girl holding blankets.

Eyjolf poked his head out the flap. “Come in, and take a seat.”

The air inside was overly warm, thick with the scent of sweet mead and cooked meat. There were no chairs, so each man took a seat amongst the layered furs, facing a low table. “You’ll have to sit together,” Eyjolf said. “To leave room for the others.”

“Who else is coming?” Skorri asked, as the other men shifted to sit along the right side of the table.

“All that need to hear it. You wanted to speak to who is in charge, but I don’t make my decisions alone.” Eyjolf, one dead eye now clear in the candlelight, turned his gaze on Engli. “Did Gudmund send you?”

Engli shook his head.

Eyjolf frowned. “So you’ve turned your back on your brothers?”

“No,” Engli answered. “I accompanied a Salt Sage into the mountains, with Gudmund’s permission. I came here to gather men to fight the goblin army.”

“More of a horde.” Eyjolf sighed. “I’ll wait for the others to come, but you might want to think hard about why it is good men should risk their lives to save your town… when all know it’s Gudmund and his Guard who swore to protect these lands from goblins.”

Eyjolf pushed up from the furs, and went to wait outside the tent.

“Engli.” Ottar craned his neck so he could see past his brother and Gunnar. “You do have something to say?”

Engli nodded as if uncertain. “I think so.”

“Tell us then,” Skorri said. “We’ll let you—”

A hulking, black-bearded man pushed his way through the tent flap. Ragi lumbered onto the furs with a great sigh, discontent plain about his big face. He rubbed hairy hands against tired eyes, grumbled another sigh, then stood opposite the four men.

“Brothers thin.” Ragi lifted his head in greeting. “Thought you two were dead.” He swept a disinterested gaze past Gunnar, and paused to study Engli. “I was told there was a man in hear waiting to speak to me. Have you seen him, boy?”

“Often,” Engli said. “In clear water, or a looking glass. Now, in your own eyes.”

Ragi sighed out a laugh. He settled onto his knees, grumbling all the while.

“Tired, Ragi?” Ottar asked.

Ragi bit down on his teeth, and his visage turned violent. “Haven’t slept since those monsters took my daughter… and my wife. Since I had to open my boy’s own throat when a small cut gave him a deathly fever.”

“Oh.” Ottar met the sentiment with solemnity. “I had no idea.”

Ragi shook his head, anger fading away from him. “Things are as they are. I wanted to go and find my death, but they told me they had need of me. So here I am. Tired. Tired of it all.” He turned to stare at the lithe fur-clad man. “I know you.”

Gunnar shook his capped head. “We’ve never met.”

“Son of Jorund,” Ragi spoke the name like a curse, his dark eyes sparked alight with madness. “What is he doing here?”

“He’s with me,” Engli said.

“You keep company with heathens?” Ragi snapped. “A goblin lover.”

Gunnar met the words with a roguish smile. “I’m no lover of goblins, friend.”

“I’m no friends of yours,” Ragi growled. “Nor are you of any man here. It doesn’t take Broknar’s Wit to know you’re a spy. I’ll speak no word of worth in your hearing, and I’ll have no words with any of you until you cast him out into the cold.”

“Then you’re free to leave,” Engli replied.

“Leave?” Ragi rose to his feet, looming over the blond man. “He’s with you, or are you with him?”

“Leave.” Engli stayed seated, holding the man’s murderous gaze. “Gunnar killed a goblin Chief, and others beyond that. He saved my life. You draw your weapon on him, or you cast him out, then you’ll do the same to me. Grief can—”

“What do you know of grief?” Ragi snarled.

“Little,” Engli kept his voice low, “and I hope to keep it that way. I do know that the man next to me is no spy. I know him well, and know him true. I will die for him, if it comes to that. And I have no doubts that he would do the same for me.”

“To think I crawled out of bed for this.” Ragi shook his head. “Good luck with your war, boy. You might find there’s more blood and death than you imagined.”

Ragi strode out through the curtains, near upsetting the tent.

“Ragi?” Eyjolf’s silhouette followed him into the darkness. “Where are you going?”

“Well,” Ottar said, “that went well.” He frowned at Engli and Gunnar. “Didn’t you two tell us that you only met a week ago?”

Engli nodded. “And I’ve only known you for four days, but I trust you and your brother all the same.”

Gunnar stared down at his gloved hands, shaking in his lap. “I think I should leave.”

“No,” three men answered.

“You leave now,” Skorri said, “and Ragi has all the more reason to doubt you, and every other man has all the more reason to doubt Engli. Not to mention that Ragi has a fool’s temper to begin with, and acts out like a child when he doesn’t get his way. He is a big man, but he would be more harm than help, even if we could get him to go with us.”

Ottar narrowed his keen eyes. “So we’re with them now?”

Skorri shot his brother an irritated look. “What else are we going to do? Sit here on coward’s mountain, and wait for the goblins to become civilized and start selling wares?”

“Coward’s mountain?” Eyjolf stood ahead of the tent flap, holding it open. “That what you think of us, Skorri? Having a family to care for doesn’t make a man weak, you know. It makes him practical.”

A feather-cloaked old man crept in, baring semblance to a vulture with his wrinkled neck and hooked nose.

Skorri upturned his palms. “You want an honest answer to that?”

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“If we’re speaking honestly,” the feathered old man rasped, “then here we are, on our mountain. Here we are, who led the people here. Who gathered folk—women and children—who bled and died to protect them. And standing on the other side, you, and you. Those that went about their own business, with no mind for anyone but themselves. So… speaking honestly,” he venomously concluded, “if this mountain has cowards on it then it began with your arrival, and will… hopefully, end with your departure.” He scowled back at Eyjolf. “No chairs?”

“I’ll fetch one for you.” Eyjolf ducked under the tent.

“So,” the old man hissed, his withered hands clasping around a crooked staff. “Which one of you is here for war?”

“I’m not here for war,” Engli spoke in a careful voice. “I could find this war anywhere in Southwestern Tymir. I’ve come here for help, to bring an end to it. So that you and yours—”

“And you and yours,” the old man put in.

“—can live in peace.”

The old man scowled down with sunken eyes. “Where are the other members of your guard?”

“Horvorr.”

“Ah,” he rasped. “And there it is. Horvorr’s Guard in Horvorr, behind Horvorr’s walls, with Horvorr’s women and children. While the rest of us fend for ourselves, and do what we have to do to survive.”

“Abi.” Eyjolf stood behind him, holding a square-cushioned stool. “Where do you want it?”

“Near the door is fine,” Abi rasped. “The sooner I can get back to sleep the better.”

Eyjolf set it down, and went to sit outside the tent. Abi struggled over to the chair, his staff thudding into the furs with each stride. He reached the stool, and managed to seat himself, pulling his feathered cloak around so he appeared an alighted vulture.

He scowled down at each of the seated men, picking at his nails while they grew less and less comfortable under his gaze.

A huntress swept into the tent, clad in a hardy leather jacket. She had her blond hair tied back in a tail, her bow slung over her shoulder, her knifes and daggers ready at her belt. “You’ve all a funeral spirit,” she remarked in a cheery voice. She took a seat on the other side of the low table, and smiled kindly at all four men. “They didn’t say that two of you were handsome.”

Ottar frowned. “Which two?”

“Ingrid,” Skorri said as greeting. “Is Gamal sleeping?”

“Dead.” Ingrid’s smile fell. “A good death, as you might expect, but I’d have rather he’d have settled for a bad life.” She raised her blond brows. “Though I suppose that’s the way of things. And I meant the other two, Ottar. You and your brother have too much of a predator look about you, whereas these two.” She studied the men. “Both handsome. But I think one’s harmless and the other’s more dangerous than he lets on.” She glanced over to Abi. “What do you think, old bird?”

Abi snorted. “I could be blind and still see four bastards sat across that table.”

“Sorry to hear about Gamal,” Skorri mentioned.

Ingrid met the sentiment with a curious gaze, then shook her head. “No you’re not.”

“Not as another man might be.” Skorri dipped his head in deference. “But I am sorry for your loss.”

Ragi shouldered back through the tent, grumbling to himself. He took heavier breaths and had a redder face than the last time he entered. He glared at the four men sat by the low table, then forced a smile when he met eyes with Ingrid.

“Ragi.” Ingrid patted the furs beside her. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Gunnar gripped the floral-wrought sword at his belt, waiting and watching while the huge, black-bearded man lumbered over beside the lithe huntress to take his seat. Gunnar offered a smile that didn’t reach his wary eyes.

“Surprised to see you back,” Ottar said. “Never known you for short-lived tantrums.”

Skorri nudged his twin brother. “Leave him be.”

Eyjolf ducked under the flap, dipped his head in respect to Abi, then walked over to sit beside Ragi. “Now that we’re all here—”

“Is the crone dead, too?” Ottar asked.

“Forgive him for his bluntness.” Skorri upturned his palms. “Is Gudrid no longer with the living?”

“At this hour, I expect she’s dead enough to the world.” Eyjolf rubbed at his shaved head. “Did you need to speak with her?”

“I suppose not,” Skorri said, “but she’s as much, if not more, a leader than the lot of you. So it seems a little odd that she’s not here… doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Ottar agreed.

“She wanted not to be here,” Abi rasped, leaning forward on his stool. “Is it a problem?”

“So you could convince him to come?” Engli dipped his head towards Ragi. “But not an old woman?”

“You know none of us,” Ingrid spoke bluntly. “What matter is it to you who attends, or who avoids your company?”

“Who is this old woman?” Gunnar asked, softly, glancing all around the table, at the twins, even at the old man. “A seer?”

“Speak less,” Ragi growled, “Son of Jorund.”

“Who is she?” Engli echoed, looking to the brothers.

“She is a spiritual leader,” Eyjolf dismissed. “She has no say in matters of war. Now tell us why you’re here, Engli of Horvorr’s Guard. What do you want from us?”

“I need your men, and your women, and your bows, and your lives,” Engli swiftly began as if he’d rehearsed the words. “I need your loyalty, and your will. And I would ask that you trust me, and entrust to me your revenge.” He swallowed. “Goblins have blighted this forest. They have took hold of the plains of Horvorr, and those forests as well. If Fenkirk is not under siege then it is already destroyed, and I expect that Horvorr is under siege as well. I was sent here by a Sage of Tomlok, to rally men to my side so that we might break the siege of Fenkirk, and in turn break the siege of Horvorr, to drive out the goblin horde that is ravaging our lands.”

Ingrid smiled sadly. “And what gain is that for us, Engli? Our people die to save Fenkirk. Their people die to save Horvorr.”

Abi cleared his throat. “Perhaps your Salt Sage should have come here before this war was already lost?”

“If this war is lost, then you are all already dead.” Engli held their scrutiny with a steadfast gaze. “Would it not be better for you all to die doing something worthwhile? Rather than waiting for winter to take you on this hill?”

“We can survive a winter, boy,” Abi rasped.

“Ragi might.” Engli bowed his head in assent. “But old men, old women? Newborn babes and sickly children? How will they fare when all the prey is taken? When there’s no wood for the fire? And how do they fare the winter next, or the others after that? Because there will be no men in these lands if Horvorr falls. Wymount won’t come down from their mountain to make trade with goblins… which leaves you all here, on this mountain, in this tent. Cold and hungry and alone… lamenting the day that Engli of Horvorr’s Guard offered you a chance at an honourable death, only for you to turn it away so you can shiver and starve instead.”

“If we wanted to go to war,” Ragi muttered, “why would you even need you?”

“The easy answer would be that you don’t.” Engli clasped his hands atop the table. “Yet here you all are. Waiting. Sitting. I am here because I need all of you. If you have a plan. If you want to fight, then fight and I will follow. But she tells me there is no gain in fighting,” he said of Ingrid. “He tells me that he can weather the weather, when he looks as if he can barely stomach a month. Eyjolf sits in silence, waiting, no doubt, to tell me no. You are all waiting… but for what? For the gods to come down and help you? For Joyto to wake you in the night and let you know that this was all some grand jest of his. For Brikorhaan to clear the field?

“There are no other men in Southwestern Tymir to find courage for you. There is no one coming to save you. Your days are numbered. Eluna sits, needle in hand, to weave your deaths, and Muradoon waits, one eye open, to reach for your souls. I am asking you to fight, and you want not the risk. But you are already at risk, and you are already fighting. You have simply chosen enemies that can never be bested, and that is time and cold, sickness and weakness, and a certain death.”

Eyjolf let out a loud sigh. “So what, Engli? Better to fight an enemy we can see? To be scratched to pieces and eaten. To be sent straight to the Lady’s Shadow. And what of our women and children? Should we keep them here in the hopes that we win, or send them off on their own?” He shook his head. “I would rather hold out, and wait for Jarl Thrand to—”

“Is that who you wait for?” Engli asked in disbelief. “Jarl Thrand will not come. He didn’t want to conquer this region to begin with. It was men of Horvorr’s Guard that murdered his son less than a season ago. And the only reason Jarl Thrand ever wanted this land was to take coin from Fenkirk.”

Eyjolf held to solemnity. “We have heard what you have said. I would now ask that you wait here while we discuss your request.”

Engli nodded in reply, his throat dry. He could feel heat in his tired cheeks, unease roiling in his aching stomach.

***

Silence had a hold on the candlelit tent, shadowed by the four somber men seated at the low table.

“We have to run,” Gunnar said quietly. “They’ve made dealings with the goblins.”

The three men turned to frowned at him. “What?” they asked, Engli in confusion, both brothers in anger.

“Was it obvious to no one but me?” Gunnar stared at them in disbelief. “Why else would they let Engli go on as he did? Why would they claim that they are waiting for Jarl Thrand? Why would Ragi come back, angry as he was, unless he was told that he might have to fight with us… with me? The old man blocking the way out wore a belt of fighting daggers under his cloak.”

“You speak from ignorance,” Skorri said. “We know these folk, and they would never… never, think to make peace with goblins.”

“And what choice would they have?” Gunnar asked. “Did Engli not lay it out for you? Believe me or don’t believe me, I don’t care. But we have to go, Engli,” he warned. “At best, these people will kill us both.”

“He’s wrong, Engli,” Skorri insisted. “If he wants to go, I’ll get him safe passage. But you’ve no need to go with him.” He glared at the fur-capped man. “As to you, Gunnar, you’ve lost your wits. Not all men are like your father. Not all men will sell their souls for a house of stone.”

Gunnar smiled at the sentiment. “Well, I’m going to cut a hole in this tent, and I’m going to crawl out of here. If they’ve made peace, then there’s a Great Chief here. So why don’t you come with me, and I’ll show the lot of you what soulless folk look like. I’ll show you that they look no different sat across from you at a table.”

“I can’t let you go sneaking off in the night,” Skorri said. “Not with your sword and dagger. How do I know what you’ve planned? How do I know it isn’t you whose got betrayal in mind?”

“So cut my throat.” Gunnar plucked the black feather from his hat, laying it on table. “I swore my sword to Engli, and to live by that oath is to seek out his enemies.” He paused. “You asked about that old woman because you expected her to be here, and you thought her not being here meant they had no mind to hear us out. Is that not the truth?”

“It is,” Ottar conceded.

“And I can tell you now that if anyone is arranging peace with goblins for your people, then it is a woods witch, who knows the old ways before Gudmund took these lands from goblin hands.” Gunnar shook his head. “You’re either with them, or you’re blind. Same goes for you, Engli. We find this Chief, we butcher it, then there’s no peace for these people. They’ll have to fight. They’ll have no choice.” He stared in pleading. “You said that you trusted me. Were those just words?”

“He has a point,” Engli said.

“He has—” Ottar began.

Skorri grabbed him by the shoulder.

“He does have a point, brother,” Ottar repeated. “They were all acting odd enough, but for Ragi and Abi to sit in silence is too odd for me to stomach. I’m with them, now. Like you said we were. And if you’re right, then what’s the worry? Eyjolf will just be a little mad that we cut his tent. But if you’re wrong, then—” He shrugged. “I’m going.”

“Fine,” Skorri said. “Cut a hole, Ottar. We’ll sit still until you’re ready to go.”

***

“He’ll be in a cave,” Gunnar insisted, for the fifth time. “We should have gone—”

“They would not keep children with a goblin,” Skorri argued. “There is another cave this way.”

“And how can we trust you?” Gunnar asked. “These are your people.”

“Gunnar,” Skorri spoke coldly into the darkness, “if my brother wanted you dead, you would be dead. We don’t play with prey. We bring it to a clean end. If he says there is another cavern on this rise, then that should be more than good enough for you.”

“Is is,” Engli assured. “Gunnar won’t mention it again.”

Gunnar smiled at shadows. “Engli tells it true.”

Skorri called a halt up ahead and they all stuck close to the rock face. He waved them forward, and crept towards a faint line of firelight. They each followed after him, reaching a curtain of rags and bones.

“Stupid witch,” Ottar hissed.

Skorri stepped forward, plucking stringed bones with both hands, then spread his arms to make a cross of a man. “Come on, then.”

Engli ducked under and led the way. He had a floral-wrought dagger drawn, his ornate shield slung across his back. He could see more clearly ahead, to the end of a rugged tunnel that looked hewn wide enough to allow the passing of two carts.

Gunnar slowed to a stop behind him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Going to apologize?” Ottar asked from further back.

“I may have been wrong,” Gunnar admitted.

“Let’s not dwell on it.” Skorri swept ahead. “I think we’re about to see you be wrong again, and then we’ll have to explain to Eyjolf why it is we crawled out of a hole in his tent, and went sneaking about his camp at night with weapons drawn.”

Gunnar sniffed the air. “You smell that?”

“It’s bat droppings,” Ottar said. “What of it?”

“It’s goblins,” Gunnar whispered. “We should stop speaking.”

Skorri nodded his assent. He waved them all forward, and drew two daggers from his belt. They followed him around a bend and the air grew thick with the smell of sour smoke. A snarling voice rolled through the passageway now they crept forward.

Skorri and Ottar exchanged wary glances.

“Big bat,” Gunnar whispered.

The stone walls opened out into a domed cavern that glowed with the smoky light of a dozen campfires. Wretched creatures were sprawled all about the moist and uneven floors, though most huddled near the crackling flames.

The men had view of another tunnel opposite, a murky pool to their left, and a small wooden hut on a rise to their right.

The hut stood bathed in the orange light of a small brazier, which lent warmth to the mismatched pair that faced it. A diminutive old woman sat garbed in a dark cloak. She had unfinished needlework laid in her lap, but kept her aged gaze towards the huge hunched goblin sat opposite, watching as it smashed marrow from bones with a stone.

Gunnar stepped out from the tunnel, nocked an arrow, and drew back his bow.

Skorri and Ottar did the same before all three loosed. Twin arrows struck Krakann Bonesipper’s ugly head, while Gunnar’s own skewered the old crone.

***

Skorri waited atop the hut on the right, stood beside a dead goblin and an old woman. Both had been posed so that the crone had been thrown and broken against the stone, while the goblin had been skewered through its eyes with a pair of knitting needles.

Gunnar sat at the edge of the pool opposite, sword across his knees, bow leaned against his leg. Engli stood on the central stone rise, waiting with a smile now Eyjolf, Ragi, and Ingrid strode into the domed cavern with a dozen picked men.

The ruddy light of a dozen dying fires lit the damp stone with a smoky glow.

“Glad that you’re here!” Engli swept out his hands. “Though it wounds me deeply for you to meet with the news I have for you.”

Eyjolf scowled up at him. “What you have done?”

Ingrid drew her bow, aiming it towards Skorri, who had her in his own sight.

“We heard a struggle,” Engli answered. “But by the time we reached Gudrid she was grievous wounded. Skorri and Ottar had been tracking this goblin for over a season, and they are glad to have found it, but Gudrid had already brought an end to the monster. We tried to save her… to carry her, but she only shook her head and spoke the words of the gods… that they love us and wish nothing more than for us to go to war.”

“And where is Ottar?” Ingrid demanded.

“By now?” Engli upturned his palms. “I would expect that he’s telling the same story to your people in the main cave.”

Eyjolf drew his sword as he strode towards the stone rise. “You have doomed us all.”

“You have disgraced yourself, Eyjolf!” Skorri shouted down at him. “As have all of you for following godless cowards who would sell your futures to a mad old woman, and a huge, malformed goblin.” He shook his head. “Muradoon take you all! Lay down your weapons or this will end in a slaughter!”

“Eyjolf.” Ragi walked forwards, wielding a cruel two-handed axe. “It’s over.”

Eyjolf shook his shaved head. “We’ll explain it to them, arrange another—” He barely managed to raise his sword before Ragi’s axe crashed down, breaking his guard and arm. Eyjolf staggered back, flopping onto the stone to avoid a second swing. He had only a short-lived scream to offer in defense of the third strike.

“Ingrid,” Ragi growled, wrenching his axe from flesh. “I warned you this would end in blood, woman.” He shook his head in disappointment. “And as to you, Engli, I hope you have a damn good and godly plan. I have no love at all for heathens.”

Engli, surprised enough by the swift changing fates, had no mind to question the fact that the man had only recently meant to betray godly folk. He was apparently in charge as well, which could only be a good thing. So long as he didn’t end his days like Eyjolf.

Ragi turned to face Ingrid and the dozen other men. “Unless any of you want to avenge, Eyjolf?”

“The goblins killed him,” Engli reminded. “We’ll only have our revenge when we’ve brought slaughter to The Blackwood.”

“Of course.” Ingrid, regarding the newcomers with open disgust, could only shake her head. “You’ve left us with no other choice.”

“Thank Broknar for that!” Gunnar declared, unmindful of the answering glares.