Tangled Threads Publishing

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  • 4.16 – Hammer & Anvil

    4.16 – Hammer & Anvil

    Trapped. Five of them to fight of dozens of the local guards and protect Runa, when the wall of men ahead of them appeared nearly as solid as stone. If they could just reach the Vidofnir they could escape, but it would take a miracle for them to get that far. A miracle, or…

    “Runa?”

    “I Sing, and before you know it we’re buried. They will fixate on my voice.”

    Einarr growled and drew Sinmora. “Fine. Wait till we’re already bogged down, then, but we’re going to need you.”

    Then he lowered his shoulder behind his shield and raised Sinmora overhead. His feet dug in to the stone pier, and then he was off, the others forming a kite behind him with Runa in the middle. Einarr’s shield struck the waiting shield wall of the defenders with a tremendous crash.

    His aim was true: he drove into the space between two guard’s shoulders and their shields turned with him – not much, but enough to open a breach. Einarr slashed down with his blade and cut deep into the defender’s shoulder. Black blood welled around the steel.

    Einarr yanked his sword free just moments before Jorir barreled into the guard’s knees and buried his axe in its hamstring. Momentum carried Einarr over the hole just opened even as Bollinn took down the guard on his other side.

    As though they had trained for exactly this moment, the defenders curled around to come at the flying wedge from the sides and rear. Einarr hacked at them as they came within reach, but he could not care if they lived or died so long as he was able to continue driving forward.

    Inch by inch, the six outsiders fought their way toward the Vidofnir and the Skudbrun and relative safety. With every inch, Einarr thought certain the next one would be their last. Finally, about halfway down the pier, they stalled. The crowd ahead seemed twice as thick as the one they had just fought through, and the grunts of exertion from Sivid and Barri on the rearguard sounded fatigued.

    A long, thin blade swept over Jorir’s head and slashed across Einarr’s bicep. He roared – not in pain, although the fire of a fresh wound definitely made itself known – but in anger totally unrelated to the battle-fury.

    That was the moment when the bright, clear tones of Runa’s voice sounded over the din of melee. It was only a few moments, but fatigue and pain fled from his body even as the rearguard roared their defiance and Einarr made another step forward.

    If the press of enemies had been close ahead, however, now they were pressed on all sides. Einarr would swear that he could feel Runa’s breath on the back of his neck. At the very least, the sounds of battle from the end of the pier were also nearer. He cut at the legs of the monstrous guard ahead of him and followed it up with a vicious kick to the groin. His foe doubled over even as he lost balance and tumbled over: at least some things could be relied on.

    Einarr cut to the side as he stepped forward and felt his blade once again bite flesh. His stomach roiled at the smell of the black blood that now splattered his face, but there was nothing to be done. One thing alone mattered, and that was reaching the ships.

    Though they wore armor, nothing about these guards now appeared human in Einarr’s sight. The last time this had happened, it had been under the effects of Astrid’s battle chant. So, why now? He roared again, allowing the little voice in the corner of his mind to go about its business. Man or monster – on this field, all were one.

    Ahead of them a blaze of light flared – real, yellow fire, so bright it was almost blinding. Their freedom was scant feet ahead: near enough he wanted to laugh, but still too far.

    Now Runa’s voice sounded again, this time in the all-too-familiar rhythm of the Battle Chant. Even before it had begun to take hold of his mind, however, it was joined by the familiar, sultry voice of Reki, and a third voice Einarr did not know. With all three Singers in agreement, Einarr surrendered to the red haze of the battle fury.

    What before had looked like a twisted dark elf in armor now appeared truly monstrous, all teeth and blood-red eyes, with gaping maws in places where no mouth should ever be – sometimes showing through the armor without compromising it. Einarr hacked about himself, twin desires warring in his breast even now. He knew he must reach the blaze of light, or he would perish. He knew with just as much conviction, however, that to leave the abominations alive would be the death of many others.

    He chopped down with Sinmora. An arm that was not an arm, still gripping its sword, fell in his path and he stepped forward. Somehow their circle of six remained intact as they cut their path through the putrid wall of their enemies.

    Arrows fell around them but not among them, fletched in the colors of Kjell and Breidelstein. One struck a creature’s shoulder and knocked him forward, off-balance. Einarr cut up and across and took the creature’s head.

    Runa’s voice dropped out of the trio even as Reki’s song shifted. The haze began to clear from Einarr’s eyes. On the other side of the new-fallen creature was three feet of empty space and the blaze of light that was every torch aboard the Vidofnir and, beyond it, the Skudbrun.

    As the vision ahead of him resolved into sense, Einarr let out a whoop. The light was not just to encourage them. It would also allow them to board. Erik and Irding slid a plank down towards the pier with a mighty shove. It hit the stone pier with a mighty thunk even as Runa slipped between Einarr and Bollinn. The ache of fatigue in Einarr’s shield arm subsided as Runa took that opportunity to squeeze it.

    “Thank you,” she mouthed. Then she scrambled up the plank, and Einarr was left with the memory of that touch imprinted beneath maille and tunic alike.

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  • 4.15 – Breaking Out

    4.15 – Breaking Out

    To their credit, Einarr’s companions did not caution him about noise. Likely they knew it would be fruitless. Still, his improved vantage did little to aid his search. Reckless abandon seized him, though, and rather than climb back down Einarr hurried from cage-top to cage-top, searching for any sign of flaxen hair while the others searched on the ground. The frantic energy of his search found release through his feet as he ran softly across the bars of the cages – although perhaps not as softly as he might have.

    “Is someone there?” A sweetly feminine voice called, a few rows down from where Einarr searched. His heart jumped into his throat at the sound.

    “Runa?” He almost didn’t dare ask it, although there was no mistaking the voice. Einarr dropped down from the top of the cage to the floor with a soft thud. “Runa, we’re coming.”

    A long moment of silence followed, punctuated by “Einarr?”

    She had been expecting rescue, he thought, but not him. That stung, although logically there was no reason she should have expected him to come. What sort of coincidence was it, after all, that led them into contact with the Skudbrun while they resupplied?

    He skidded around a corner and saw, down the row, a pale hand gripping a bar and a flash of golden hair. The Brunnings arrived just moments after he had, at the other end of the row – and just in time to see a grin of relief split his features. Then his feet were in motion again, sprinting down the line until he stood before her, his breath still coming heavily.

    Even in the subterranean light of the cage room, light came back into her eyes. As the others fell in around Einarr, she smiled. “I knew someone would come. I never dared dream, though…”

    “We ran into Trabbi in port after you were taken… are you all right? They haven’t done anything to you?”

    Even as she shook her head she looked pleased. “No, I’m fine. I got a little bruised when they took me, but nothing serious. …Is one of you going to open the door, though?”

    Einarr blinked, surprised, and stepped to the side. “O-oh, of course.”

    Sivid now stepped up to the door, moving almost as hastily as Einarr had been. “Don’t you worry, milady-”

    “We’ll have you out of here right quick,” Barri interrupted. For the best that he did not try to claim she was now safe. Not one of them could be called safe until they were out of this blasted cavern – a passage to Hel’s domain, as any skald would call it.

    Not long after, the lock creaked open and they opened the door to the cage that held Runa with only a little rattling.

    Runa didn’t waste a moment. No sooner was the door swinging open than she took three quick steps to stand on the open ground of the stone passageway. Even as dirty as she was after her weeks in captivity, she was lovely. “Follow me.”

    “What? Why?”

    “Because they brought me in the back way. Unless you want to go back out through the temple with me?”

    That sounded like a solid reason to Einarr. The men exchanged a shrug even as she headed for the two closed doors in the back of the cage room. No sooner had Jorir closed the door behind them than they heard the shouts of guards from the prison they had just vacated.

    ***

    The series of passages Runa led them down at a full run made their path to reach the prison seem straightforward in comparison. Finally, though, they came to what appeared to be a servant’s entrance, the sound of pursuit still far too close for comfort.

    “What’s through here?” Bollinn asked.

    “The courtyard… I think. This is around where I woke up when they were transferring me.”

    “Good enough. We can manage something from here.” Einarr had finally managed to wipe the grin off his face, but now that she was here in front of him it was still difficult to look away. He made himself, now, his attention turning to the door ahead of them and the likely fight on their hands once they went through it. One more deep breath, and then he put his shoulder down to burst through the door.

    The door opened out from one of the low buildings scattered about the yard and into chaos. Soldiers swarmed, but Einarr could see neither rhyme nor reason to their movements. Surely they weren’t still in confusion over the remnants of the fight at the dungeon door? He shook his head: that was impossible, and they had little time. Einarr cut to the right along the edge of the building.

    An arrow sailed over his shoulder, catching one of the monstrous soldiers in the mouth as he opened it to call an alarm, and then Barri dashed out after him.

    “Good shooting,” he called over his shoulder but did not slow. Barri grunted back.

    Barri’s arrow only bought them a moment, however. Even as Einarr rounded the corner into one of the innumerable side streets that led inward toward the keep more shouts went up. Their prize was in hand, though, if they could only make it back to the ship.

    A pair of hastily chosen turns down even narrower alleyways brought Einarr to a stop in a small courtyard. Dammit. The others skidded to a halt behind him.

    “My lady,” he ventured. “How has your voice held up?”

    “For the best if I don’t need to Sing.”

    Well that was a non-committal answer. He looked her straight in the eyes. “But if it comes to a fight, you can?”

    “I believe so.”

    “Good. Let’s go, then.”

    The six of them raced for the docks, hoping all the while that Einarr and Sivid’s earlier scouting would be enough of an advantage to get them there ahead of the monstrous soldiers.

    When they tore through the gate and found the gate guards still standing placidly, as though nothing had happened – and could still hear the sounds of pursuit through the streets behind – they thought they might have made it. Einarr began to pay more attention to the ebullience of the run than to why they ran.

    When the road opened out into the docks, however, his hopes crashed like a wave against the rocks. Soldiers formed a barricade across the pier. Further on, in the darkness at the end of the quay, the sound of battle carried to Einarr’s ears, even as the thunder of pursuit grew louder with the howls of their pursuers.

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  • 4.14 – Temple Guards

    4.14 – Temple Guards

    The hallway that Einarr crept down, following the sound of the voices, was not long. What struck him as strange, though, was how empty it was. The guards who had passed earlier never returned – assuming they were, in fact, guards and not priests or thralls on some errand. They knew they were under assault, though – and could guess at what the attackers were after. So then, why?

    A large double door stood closed ahead of them, and the light from around its edges was bright like an aurora. The chanting came from inside.

    The five stole up to the door and listened, but could hear nothing save the same chanting that had drawn them here in the first place. If the layout inside were typical of surface temples, the odds were good they could slip in unnoticed… but based on what Jorir had said of this cult, Einarr was not impressed with the chances of anything about them being normal.

    Still, he wasn’t certain how much choice he had. There was no cross-corridor here, to look for another entrance. He scowled at the door, as though that would change anything, and stepped up to push it a shoulder’s width open.

    Despite the loudness of the echoing chants, when Einarr pressed his eye to the opening he could tell it was only sparsely filled. He furrowed his brow, but still saw no better chance. Einarr sidled through the door, stepping as swiftly and as softly as he could manage on the still-carpeted flagstone.

    There were guards in the room, it seemed, although they were stationed about the altar at the far side. Even as brightly lit as this place was, however, it did not reach all corners, and he did not think they could see him.

    The focus of all in the room was the white-haired svartaflr at the altar, leading the other monks in their chant. That Einarr could make out no fresh blood at the front, nor any signs of struggle, gave him hope. Slowly, Einarr crept around the outskirts of the temple, keeping his back to the wall.

    Barri and Bollinn, seeing the same two side-doors Einarr did, each with a guard stationed in front of it, split off the other direction. One of them, they hoped, must hide Runa. The challenge was going to be getting past the guards without inciting a melee.

    The guard at attention ahead of them may as well have been a statue for all the life they could see in him, and the helm that covered his head effectively obscured whether he was man or monster. Not that it mattered, where Runa was involved.

    Sivid slipped past Einarr, followed only moments later by Jorir. The dwarf could be wickedly cunning, Einarr knew from experience, and Sivid was sometimes too clever by half. Einarr nodded to himself and let them take the lead.

    When they drew near enough that it seemed inevitable the man would notice them, Jorir dashed forward on his toes, right in front of the guard.

    “Wh-!” The guard started to cry out, not so oblivious that he could miss a dwarf nearly treading on his toes. That was when Sivid moved in, his hand slipping under the helmet to cover where a man’s mouth would be even as his knife sunk between the guard’s ribs under his arm.

    Muffled protests came from under the helmet as Sivid grimaced but did not remove his hand. Then the guard began to slump, and Einarr slid in to help lower him against the wall. Sivid shook his hand as though it were in pain. The guard’s knees locked of their own volition, and so he appeared mostly upright as the three Vidofnings slipped through the door behind him.

    The passageway they entered was in many ways akin to the secret passage they had left not long before: the floor was bare flagstone, the walls were rough-cut stone, and every ten paces or so they passed a lantern. The passage seemed to curve around the outside of the large temple room they had just left, moving inexorably towards the back. If this didn’t lead to a short-term prison cell, it would lead to priestly quarters. Either of which could hold Runa. Einarr walked faster.

    Finally they came to a small, unassuming wooden door – the first change of any sort they had run across since entering the passage. Einarr reached for the handle, anxiety clawing at his stomach, and more frantically as time went on. Let this be it.

    He saw Sivid’s hand raised for him to wait even as he undid the latch. A corner of his mind shrugged: nothing for it now. He practically tossed the door to the side and dashed through.

    The room on the other side was not the one he expected to see. The passageway opened into a broad room lined with not cells but cages, and those each easily big enough for a large bear… or a troll. Einarr’s lips curled in distaste. A pair of larger doors sat in the back wall, and across from them stood an open doorway, much like the one they had just exited. Barri’s brassy head was just emerging from the passage and into the twilight of the larger area.

    He looked again. There was a fifth door, one he had somehow almost missed, opposite the closed back doors. That one had to lead out into the temple, where they would present the sacrifice.

    “She’s in here.” Einarr barked the words as though he were on deck and not deep in enemy territory. He found he could not care at this moment. “She has to be.”

    Einarr set off, looking in every cage he passed until he came to an intersection. A low growl rose in his throat: this was going to take forever. …But that stack of crates off to his left might help. His boots thudded against the wood as he leapt up towards the top. He was so close now: he would never forgive himself if the cult got to her before he did. Runa…

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  • 4.13 – Secret Passage

    4.13 – Secret Passage

    For a long moment, all five men stared in shock at the figure on the floor. Finally, though, Einarr was able to focus on her face.

    “That’s not Runa.”

    Barri and Bollinn blinked, looking harder. Sivid shrugged, as though trying to rid himself of a weight.

    “…Are ye sure?” Jorir ventured to ask, even his voice hesitant.

    Einarr didn’t answer, merely stepped forward to take the poor woman by her shoulders and roll her over on her back. With the hem of one of her sleeves he wiped the blood from her face. The unfortunate woman would have been thirty if she were a day, and her face would have been long even if her ordeal had not rendered it haggard.

    “Yes, I’m sure.”

    Moisture glistened on Barri’s cheeks. “Thank the gods.”

    Einarr started to nod, then noticed the pendant that showed through a rent in her bodice. Carefully, trying to touch the rapidly cooling flesh no more than he had to, he lifted it for all to see. It was the emblem of the Singers. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I think we might know what’s in store for her if we don’t hurry.”

    With a series of nods the five rose and started for the stair they had descended. Only, at some point during their battle, the door had been closed behind them – nearly as seamlessly as the dungeon door above had been. Bollinn cursed. Einarr merely sighed.

    “Sivid?”

    “Worth a shot. Gotta do something about the good light, though.”

    Einarr nodded in agreement. “Let’s go check the room the gaoler vanished into.”

    The others exchanged some strange looks, but Einarr ignored them until they were inside the guardroom.

    “What did he mean?” Bollinn asked, crossing his arms as they stepped into the apparently empty room.

    “Nearly got ourselves trapped in the stairwell before. Can’t see the mechanism if you’ve got a real flame. And that gaoler has to have gone somewhere.”

    They marked time by the staccato spurts of cursing that drifted across the dungeon from Sivid’s progress – or lack thereof – on the door. All of them were aware of two things while they searched, however. First: the gaoler clearly had an escape route from this room, as he was nowhere to be found. Second, and more importantly, too much time was passing.

    Finally, after a fourth spate of cursing reached their ears, Barri kicked at the wall and the sound came back hollow. All four men in the room exchanged a silent look.

    “Someone go get Sivid, will you? Barri, let’s see if we can’t get through there.”

    ***

    The hollow spot opened up on a passage not much wider than a broad man’s shoulders, lit sporadically with the same blue lanterns they had seen throughout the circle fort. Einarr led the way, Sinmora once again in hand, as they hurried down the narrow passage in the pool of normal light provided by Barri’s torch. The sound of their boots on the stone was loud in Einarr’s ears, but better that than to arrive too late.

    At one point, not too far back from the gaoler’s cell, the passage split. One path curved back the way they had come, more or less. A scrap of cloth that could have been from the gaoler’s tunic was caught on a hook in the wall going that way.

    “So that’s how he locked us in there with that beast.” Jorir grumbled.

    Einarr grunted. “But he’s not the one we’re after, and I’ll bet good ivory that we can get into the keep proper on this other path.”

    “How much good will that do us?” Bollinn called up from behind, blowing out his moustache.

    Einarr was moving again before he answered, his strides devouring the ground under him. “You see any sign of a temple or an altar outside? No? Me, neither. So it’s probably inside, somewhere protected. Especially since the lord of the keep seems to be this high priest we’ve heard about.”

    No-one else voiced any complaints, unless one wished to count the loud breathing of the dwarf as he half-jogged to keep up. Eventually their pool of natural light met the end of the occasional pools of blue. Shortly thereafter, Barri’s torch illuminated the inside of a door.

    Einarr held up a hand for silence, slowing his own steps to tiptoe the remaining few feet. Not that caution at this point was likely to aid them much, but it was also unlikely to hurt. He pressed his ear to the crack at the edge of the door.

    Outside, a pair of boots tramped past, but no voices accompanied them. Einarr pressed his lips together, hardly daring to breathe, until he could hear them no longer. When they had not returned after a long count of ten, he unhooked the latch.

    The door slid to the side on ingeniously tiny, nearly silent runners. Einarr wasted a few breaths ensuring he would remember the design: he had never seen its like, but perhaps someday he could make use of the trick. Then he stepped out of the recessed panel that hid their passageway and into a broad flagstone hallway. Rugs were laid to run along its length, and while the local lights seemed to wash everything in the gray of twilight, Einarr was reasonably certain those rugs were predominately crimson.

    Moments later the rest of the team had emerged from the passage and Sivid was very carefully closing – but not latching – it behind them. They spread along the wall they had emerged from, placing themselves in shadow as they sought a clue as to where to go.

    The sound of chanting from down the hall raised the hairs on the back of Einarr’s neck. Without waiting, he stole down the hallway towards the sound. It was, at the very least, a place to start. Now if only I’m not too late…

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  • Release Day

    Release Day

    In case you haven’t already seen, Book 1 of The Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen is now available for purchase more or less wherever you want to buy. In addition to the story chapters, which are still available here and at Royal Road Legends, any of you wonderful people who decide you’d like to support the story this way get access to some bonus content available nowhere else – a glossary, of course, and some maps, but also a telling of the actual Legend of the Isinntog.

    Many thanks to Paraenesis, who did an awesome job on the front cover for me, and to my friend Jill for proofreading. I’ve tried to make sure the chapters up here are relatively clean, but it’s always good to have a second set of eyes.

    Also, if you haven’t already picked up a copy, for the next week Advent of Ruin is on a Kindle Countdown Deal. For another day and a half yet, you can get the ebook for just 99 cents.

    Einarr Stigandersen and the Jotünhall

    Paranaesis_Jotunhall_Wolf_mockupOnce upon a time, Stigander Raenson had been heir to a thanedom. Then a curse drove him and his family and crew out of their home. Dispossessed, the crew of the Vidofnir wanders the cold seas in search of treasure, glory, and a way to end the curse.

    Einarr, son of Stigander, lives a vagabond’s life on the Vidofnir, never giving much thought to the home he barely remembers. That is, until an unexpected squall and the attack of a demon-headed ship send them to winter at the Hall of his father’s childhood friend.

    Now Einarr has just a single season to convince the Jarl that he would be a worthy match for the Lady Runa, the Jarl’s only child. Will he return in one piece, or will the Jarl’s impossible quest be Einarr’s undoing?

  • 4.12 – Dungeon’s Depths

    4.12 – Dungeon’s Depths

    Their vigil over Sivid’s work seemed to last for ages, even though the fact that no other guards arrived suggested he made fast work of the lock. A grinding of stone on stone signalled the opening of the door.

    “We’re in,” Sivid confirmed.

    All five men vanished through the doorway, with Einarr in the lead and Sivid bringing up the rear. The door closed behind them with the sound of stone on stone and a muffled click.

    The narrow stair was ablaze with the blue-burning lanterns that illuminated the streets, but no guards waited inside to greet them. Einarr frowned, but did not hesitate: haste was their ally right now, and he was most of the way to the first corner when Sivid closed the door behind them.

    Down they went, blades still drawn as they rushed for the bottom and the cell where Runa was held. Barri raced at his shoulder just a half-pace behind, aiming to strike at anyone who managed to dodge Einarr’s shield.

    No guards rushed up to meet them.

    Surely that couldn’t have been all of them, could it? Einarr scowled, now, and held up his shield to warn those behind him he intended to slow his descent. A handful of steps later the five came to a stop in the now eerily silent stairwell.

    Einarr sheathed his sword and started looking about at the walls. “Something’s not right. There should be more of them.”

    Sivid, too, was scowling. “You’re right. I don’t like this.”

    The next lantern was two steps farther down from Einarr. He stepped down and reached for it. “Grab a light. Let’s not get stranded in the dark down there, at least.”

    Then he was moving again, not running this time but still at a decent clip, the lantern held in place of his sword. If he was wrong he would have to do some quick juggling, but a certainty in his gut suggested he was not.

    The silence continued all the way to the bottom of the stair. Einarr was beginning to feel as though he were in a pit rather than a castle dungeon, and the impression was not helped by the cold blue-purple lights they carried.

    The bottom of the stair was a small antechamber carved from the living rock, much as the stairs themselves had been, with a single small door leading into a larger chamber. Einarr raised his lantern high as he stepped through, the feeling of wrongness from before slowing his steps.

    The chamber walls curved off to either side, broken up now and then by a barred door, for as far as the light of their lanterns stretched. Einarr pursed his lips before moving off to the right, Jorir and Sivid in his wake, to begin peering into the cells. The Brunnings took the left-hand wall.

    I’m missing something, Einarr thought after peering into yet another empty cell. Surely by now Runa should have realized they were there? Unless… A stone dropped in Einarr’s belly. What if they’d moved her after he and Sivid had retreated earlier?

    A high-pitched, almost wheezing laughter rose from the edge of the darkness at the far side of the chamber. Einarr whirled around, lifting the lantern for a better look, but he needn’t have bothered. Another had flared to life, revealing a sallow-faced man with stringy hair and the armor of a guardsman. The ring of keys at his belt said he was a gaoler.

    “Wheee heee hee,” he half-wheezed again. “Thought you’d come back, we did. Decided to show you our hospitality, we did.”

    “What have you done with the Lady? Not six hours ago I heard her down here.”

    “The lady, you say?” The ill-looking gaoler laughed again and nearly choked on the sound. “The lady is well taken-care of, sirs, and I’m afraid you’ve more important problems to concern yerselves with.”

    A crooked grin, filled with crooked yellow teeth, spread across the gaoler’s face and he gave a strong tug on a rope that hung behind him. “Farewell, me hearties. Lord Urkúm sends his regards.”

    The gaoler slid to the side and out of sight even as a much larger door behind him swung open. A primal scream rang out from beyond that door as out stumbled a hideous she-troll, a massive club clutched in her equally massive fist.

    The she-troll screamed again, her eyes red with madness, and charged straight for Einarr, her bare dun breasts swinging pendulously with every step as she brought the club up in a two-handed grip over hair the color of dirty straw.

    Einarr tossed his lantern at her head, not caring if it hit, and Sinmora rasped from its sheath. He bought himself just enough time to fling himself out of the way of her first strike with the tree-sized weapon.

    Where did they find a troll? Einarr was quite certain he did not want to know the answer to that. No wonder, though, that there was no proper firelight to be had here. Trolls wouldn’t tolerate it, and neither would a good number of other monsters.

    The troll bellowed again and swung the club over her head. She seemed to be staring at Jorir’s shield. Einarr swallowed against a dry throat as she swung and the hollow clang of wood on gold rang out in the chamber. The force of her swing knocked the dwarf back a good three feet, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

    If only we could have brought Reki with us… Einarr charged in at the troll’s back, knowing even as he did so that it was futile, hoping to buy the Brunnings time enough to do something about her. He hacked across her back with Sinmora. A thin line of dark blood appeared, and was just as quickly reabsorbed into her body. He spat a curse.

    Sivid moved in now, slashing with blade and hand axe at once even as Jorir cut viciously at her knee. If the she-troll hadn’t been enraged before, she certainly was now.

    The chamber grew brighter – not a lot, and not enough to change the quality of the light, but brighter – as the Vidofnings continued their futile sword dance about the she-troll. Yes. More. Come on. More fire.

    Fire – real, yellow fire – was the only hope they had against the creature without access to certain forged magics they lacked unless Jorir could figure out how to make his shield become flame again. Still they danced about the troll, distracting her, because to do otherwise was to leave their allies undefended while they prepared the means of her defeat.

    Sivid dropped hastily to a crouch – maybe not hastily enough, as when he stood his axe hand hung limp.

    Einarr cut at the beast’s hamstrings. That’s right. Leave him alone for a bit, pay attention to me.

    A bowstring sang, and a star of brilliant warm light shot towards the she-troll’s ribs.

    In the same moment, the light grew near as bright as day and as warm as a campfire. Jorir wasted only a moment staring at the shield in surprise. Whatever he had done, it had worked, and now he charged at the troll shield first.

    She roared again, this time in pain, as the flaming arrow embedded itself in her side. That was a wound that wouldn’t just heal immediately: she charged at Barri, who held another fire arrow already nocked, ignoring Jorir as though she had forgotten him.

    That was her fatal mistake. Barri loosed once more, striking her knee this time. That stumble provided Jorir all the time he needed. He leapt for the she-trolls shoulders, raising the now-burning shield above his head. As the svartdverger landed, he brought the edge of the shield down like an axe on the back of her neck. The metal bit deep, and the troll collapsed to the ground, dark blood oozing from the wound that had nearly decapitated her.

    The others approached, Einarr and Sivid still catching their breath, as Jorir stepped down from the she-troll’s back.

    “Nicely done.” Einarr patted his liege-man on the shoulder. “How’d you get it to work?”

    “Desperation’s all I can figure. We should be getting on, now that the beast…”

    The beast was no longer a beast. Where just moments before had lain a slain she-troll was now a flaxen-haired woman in soiled velvets.

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  • 4.11 – Blitz

    4.11 – Blitz

    The area of the yard in front of the dungeon entrance was, if anything, more heavily guarded than the front had been. As Einarr had feared, their hasty disposal of the torch before had given them away and made getting back in much harder. He glared at Sivid, despite knowing why: should Runa be lost, Jarl Hroaldr would need to name a new heir and Einarr would need to find a new bride. Should Einarr fall, the Cursebreaker fell, and with him all hope of reclaiming their home. It was not a fact he liked to dwell on. Thankfully, the situation ahead of them demanded too much attention to allow room for such things.

    Ahead of the dungeon door stood twenty warriors, who for all their helms revealed could as easily have been monsters as men. Einarr was abruptly reminded of the Grendelings appearance under the effect of Astrid’s battle-chant. He frowned. “Looks like it’s four apiece. Think we can kill them quick enough not to draw more from around front?”

    “Dicey,” Bollinn muttered. “Wish our distraction had drawn a few more men away from the keep.”

    Jorir grunted, scowling at the group blocking their way. “Always like that, isn’t it? Anyone a quick shot with their bow?”

    Barri nodded. “Maybe even fast enough.”

    Sivid agreed. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can cover you.”

    “Good,” Einarr breathed. “I think we’re gonna need it. …Jorir, you come in from the left and I’ll take the right if you’ve got center, Bollinn.”

    The hook-nosed man nodded.

    “Fast and quiet. Give us to a slow count of ten to get in place, would you?” Einarr directed the question at the two archers, who also indicated agreement. He breathed out, suddenly nervous. “All right. Fast and quiet.”

    Jorir dashed off to the left, both faster and quieter than a man would expect of any dwarf, while Einarr hurried a distance to the right, ducking down an alley to put a building or two between himself and the Skudbrun’s Mate. Even a slow count of ten didn’t give them very long to get in position before –

    The first arrow whizzed through the air, lodging itself underneath the helmet of one of the guards near the edge of the group. He crumpled.

    Time’s up. Einarr pressed his lips together in a grim line as he charged out of the byway toward the stone door they had found earlier.

    Another arrow sailed through the air, and another guard crumpled. The guard Einarr charged at looked about himself in a frantic way. Einarr did not give him a chance to figure out what was going on: he cut upwards with Sinmora and the guard’s head snapped backwards unnaturally with a spray of dark blood. Ein.

    A few paces ahead of him, a flash of gold caught Einarr’s attention as one of the warriors toppled like a tree, taken out at the knee. A second flash of Jorir’s axe took the enemy’s head before silent shock could transform into a scream. A third man fell to an arrow even as Bollinn impaled another on his blade through his maille.

    Now their enemies were reacting, however. The next arrow clanged loudly off of one of their enemies’ helmets even as Sinmora struck another in the throat. Tveir. Jorir tackled the one who tried to run, his ears probably still ringing from the arrow. They were running out of time.

    Sivid was charging into the yard now even as another pair of arrows found their targets. Barri’s boast had been no idle one, with shooting like that.

    “Cover me!” Sivid made a beeline for the dungeon door. Between him and it were six of the remaining ten guards. Bollinn was locked down. Jorir was still getting back to his feet after dispatching the tackled guard.

    Einarr growled and the man who would have been his next target dashed away. All yours, Barri. If they wanted to succeed, they had to get Sivid to the door.

    One of the two guards on Bollinn had put his back to Einarr: that was a mistake. Einarr dashed forward and kicked hard at the back of the man’s knee. He staggered forward and then Einarr was moving again, running hard for the cluster blocking Sivid’s path. Bollinn joined him four paces later.

    “My thanks,” the other man breathed, his pace not slacking.

    Einarr only grunted, his attention on the fight ahead.

    Sivid got there first, his own sword flashing like a silver fish at the first of the guards in his path. He knocked the helmet from his opponent’s head.

    The face that was revealed there belonged to neither man nor beast, nor any strange hybrid of the two. Einarr pulled up short, but only for a heartbeat. Long enough for Sivid’s blade to flash again and the monstrous head to be parted from its body.

    Einarr shook his head. He couldn’t afford to waste time gawking. Sivid was no slouch, but it would be the worst sort of cowardice not to assist with a mob like that. He surged forward, hacking at the nearest guardsman.

    Bollinn surged ahead even as another pair of arrows whistled past Einarr’s ears, embedding themselves in the eyes of two more helmets.

    Moments later, Bollinn, Einarr and Sivid all stood in front of the dungeon door, catching their breath. Moments later they were joined by the other two.

    “We get everyone?” Barri asked as he jogged up, the last to join them.

    “Seems so.” Einarr had been watching their little battlefield for signs of life and finding none. “Sivid? Whenever you’re ready.”

    Sivid took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s get to it, then.”

    Einarr moved to stand behind the man, his arms folded in a defiant gesture. “We’ve got your back.”

    The mousey little man turned his attention to the stone door, now ignoring the world around him. The others joined Einarr, forming a ring to shield the man who worked at the hidden lock.

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  • 4.10 – Strike Team

    4.10 – Strike Team

    “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” Einarr said when the crews were assembled on the deck of the Vidofnir. “The bad news, some of you already know. This is definitely a stronghold for some sort of cult, and it seems like a well-established one.”

    He and Sivid had managed to slip back past the gate guards by causing a minor commotion on the far side of the market and disappearing back into the crowd. It had only bought them a moment, but a moment was all they needed. They had been the last pair to arrive: most of the other pairs had remained outside the walls, and those that had not ventured nowhere near the center of the circle.

    “The good news is, I’m afraid, qualified. You see, we found her…”

    The assembled Vidofnings and Brunnings were subdued as they waited for the promised qualifier. Sivid sat on the railing behind him, having graciously allowed Einarr to make the announcement.

    “…In the dungeon of the keep. Healthy, by the sound of things, at least so far, but locked in the dungeon in the center of the hold. …And in slipping out, we were nearly discovered. At the very least they will know that outsiders have broken in to the dungeon stair.”

    A grumbling rose among the gathered crews. The expressions of many of the men of the Skudbrun matched Einarr’s mood. Among the Vidofnings, only Stigander’s came close. These were the men who agreed both that the rescue must happen and that there were no good options.

    Stigander stepped forward into the area cleared around Einarr and Sivid. “So this is where we stand. The Grendel doesn’t seem to be in port now, so we can focus our attention on the young Lady. Two ships hardly seems sufficient to take on the hold in a straight-up fight, so let’s not waste our time thinking about it. When dinner rolls around, I want ideas.”

    Captain Kragnir snorted and shook his head but said nothing. Stigander may not run an orthodox ship, but he did run an effective one.

    “We won’t be able to hide back here forever, people. Move!”

    That sounded more like a captain to the Brunnings. The men scattered in groups of two and three.

    ***

    Dark thoughts of cowardice floated through Einarr’s mind as he stood once more on the dock, his hood pulled up over his face. Had Sivid not stopped him, they could have had Runa aboard with this island behind them already. What good had reporting in done them? It meant there were now five warriors instead of two who would have to sneak into the dungeon, and three besides who would try to sabotage the walls. Two would have been sufficient that afternoon.

    He shook his head. That’s not fair to Sivid, and you know it.

    Jorir stood beside him on the deck this time. Sivid was going, too, of course – he knew how to operate the lock. From the Skudbrun, Barri was along while Trabbi awaited, sour-faced, on deck. The skills of a fisherman were not what would be needed tonight. Rounding out their party was Bollinn, Captain Kragnir’s first mate. Hair as blond as Stigander’s glinted out from under the hood which could not quite hide his hooked nose no matter how far forward he pulled it. Einarr had met the man only a few times, but he always came across as a capable sort.

    The three men of the distraction should be off the pier and climbing towards the wall, now. It was time to go. Einarr strode down the pier as though he belonged there, impatience hastening his steps. Sivid was right behind him, followed in short order by the rest of their team. All was quiet until they approached the gateless face of the wall nearest the port.

    From the top of the wall, warm yellow light sprang into existence as someone lit one of the spear throwers on fire. Cries of alarm drifted down towards them, but Einarr was already running up the road toward the gate. Their window wouldn’t last long.

    The market gate stood ajar and unguarded, evidently forgotten for the moment because of the chaos within. Get in and get out – don’t get stuck fighting on the walls, men. Erik and Arring were both up there, and neither was a man the Vidofnir could afford to lose. Of course, he had insisted on being the head of the spear for the infiltration, so did he really have room to complain about the Brunnings not pulling their weight?

    The market inside was not alight, but it was thoroughly overturned. Einarr and his entourage – bodyguards? A snide corner of his mind supplied idly – barely slowed as they hurdled overturned barrels and crates to get past the market and into the back streets of the circle fortress.

    Once they were away from the commotion at the walls the city felt oddly quiet. Einarr shrugged; the feeling pricked between his shoulders, but if it meant less fighting to do then so much the better. Bollinn’s hood had fallen back as they raced through the market – unfortunate, that. He reached up to tug his back into place and realized that it, too, no longer covered his head. Well.

    With a sigh of annoyance he gave it up and picked up his pace. Five men loped through the nearly deserted streets under the eerie purple glow of the local lanterns. Einarr did not slow until they neared the wide open area about the keep itself. This time, rather than being an apparent class of some sort, the field was filled with the armored figures of warriors.

    Einarr cursed under his breath. “Looks like the distraction only half worked.”

    “Let’s see how things look by the dungeon entrance before we do something desperate, eh?” Sivid answered, his voice low but somehow amused. At what, Einarr could not guess.

    He looked at the gambler for a long moment before shaking it off. “Right. Back we go.”

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  • 4.9 – Descent

    4.9 – Descent

    For a moment all was blackness in the stairwell where Einarr and Sivid stood, hearing only the sounds of their breathing to know they still existed. Then their eyes adjusted to the tiny bit of light that snuck past the edges of the door – just enough that Sivid was able to strike a torch with his firestarter. Yellow light flared into life and Einarr blinked against its sudden brilliance.

    He raised an eyebrow at his partner, but the smaller man only shook his head. That they carried yellow flame would hardly be the only thing to betray them now that they were inside… and better to be able to see, if their very presence here would mark them as interlopers.

    Below them, the staircase spiralled around the edges of the shaft, evidently cut from living rock. The glint of wet stone caught Einarr’s attention from the first bend, although where the water came from he could not be sure. Down they went, step by careful step around the edges of the shaft, until Einarr wondered just how deeply they would be buried if they were caught.

    He banished the thought, but nearly missed that Sivid had stopped on the step ahead. “What is it?”

    Sivid shook his head and gestured down into the center of the shaft with their torch. Voices wafted up, their taunting tone unmistakable even though their words were nonsense. Then came another voice, one that rang clear as a bell and was both very feminine and achingly familiar.

    “Laugh all you want, you pantywaisted scum.”

    Einarr strained his ears, listening for her to go on.

    “Once Father hears of this, you’ll have not one but two kingdoms after your heads. And that’s if there’s anything left once I’m done with you.”

    She didn’t realize. The warmth of knowing his love was alive and in good health chilled: how could she know that she was destined for an altar? That, in all likelihood, if her rescuers had gone for help she would be dead before it arrived? There might still be one or two clans that practiced human sacrifice, somewhere in the archipelagos south of the Empire or locked away on remote islands, but Einarr had never encountered them. Could Runa have, with as little as she had traveled?

    Sivid moved to block his path down the stairs, and that was when Einarr realized he was poised to run. He growled softly, deep in his throat, and stepped back up.

    Einarr turned on his heel, his shoulders unnaturally straight. “Let’s go.”

    When they returned to the top of the stair and the door they had come in by, neither Einarr nor Sivid could find how to open the door again. Wide-eyed, Einarr exchanged looks with his companion even as Sivid cursed under his breath. That would get them nowhere, though. Einarr drew his brow down: he couldn’t even see the crack that indicated where the door was right now.

    With a frown, Einarr took off his helmet and gestured for Sivid to hand him the torch.

    With a shrug, Sivid thrust the torch into Einarr’s outstretched hand and began to twist back around to examine the door, his hands now free. Before he could complete the movement, though, Einarr had hidden the torch under his doffed helm.

    It did not, quite, plunge them back into blackness, but the light dimmed enough that Sivid stopped short, turning his full attention back to his Prince.

    “We could see light from around the door before, right?” Einarr spoke quietly, well aware that if the guards’ voices echoed up, theirs would echo down.

    Canny Sivid nodded and shrugged out of his cloak. “Set it down,” he whispered. “Too much light for that, yet.”

    Einarr grunted and bent to lay the torch and helmet on a corner of the landing near the wall. He could hear those same unintelligible voices again. Sivid would have to hurry: Einarr was certain he could fend off a pair of guards. Maybe more. But a fight in here would echo enough to bring the garrison down on their heads. That, Einarr felt certain, would leave Runa worse off than before.

    The flame threatened to gutter, but did not go out as it rested on the stone. Then Sivid carefully lay his cloak over the helmet guarding the flame. The world became black.

    From down below, Einarr could hear the sound of footsteps. Please hurry, Sivid. Equally disastrous to a fight with the guards would be if the cloak caught fire despite their precautions.

    Einarr could now see the lump of cloak against the less-black stone of the wall, though. His eyes were beginning to adjust, although after those few minutes with regular flame the blue-purple light from outside seemed even more alien.

    He definitely heard footsteps now, the sound of boots against the stone steps. Einarr held his breath, but all that did was allow him to hear the scrape of Sivid’s tools against the door and the incomprehensible mutterings of the unlucky fellows coming to investigate.

    Gently Einarr released the air again. He closed his eyes and focused on listening to the rhythmic sound of the men coming up – and they were definitely coming up. When he had the rhythm, he moved down one step in the beat where a guard’s foot struck the floor. Einarr opened his eyes and waited there, his hand poised to draw Sinmora if and when the need arose. And when that time came, he would fight his way down and bring Runa out with him. You didn’t always get to choose the field you died on, after all.

    Click.

    “Finally,” Sivid breathed. The cold light was marginally brighter now. The rustle of heavy cloth and the sudden brightening of the chamber told Einarr that his partner had reclaimed his cloak.

    Einarr needed no more signal. He did not so much as turn as lunge on his heel, scooping up his rather warm helmet under his arm and tugging his hood forward. Sivid kicked their still-smoldering torch off the edge of the steps.

    A noise of confusion sounded from the landing below, but Einarr and Sivid were already through the door, pulling it closed behind them.

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  • 4.8 – Temple

    4.8 – Temple

    Sivid hopped down from the crate he had perched himself on, oddly buoyant now that they were past the guards. He jerked his head toward one of the many streets leading away from this little market and turned to go.

    “You’ve heard something?” Einarr spoke quietly as they left the crowded square.

    “I have an idea, certainly.” Sivid’s voice was equally low, and light as though they were sharing a private joke. “Only, this place is going to be even worse than we thought.”

    “Oh? You mean it gets worse than fifty-foot sheer walls lined with throwing strings?”

    “Mm-hmm.” Sivid peered down a cross-alley before continuing on at his rapid clip.

    “So, what, is this high priest we think we’re looking for the chieftain here?”

    “You got it.”

    Einarr groaned. It had been the worst thing he could think of: why did it have to be right? With only two ships of men, one of which was still under strength, their chances of taking a hold like this one approached zero. Einarr frowned, now. “If assault wasn’t off the table before, it certainly is now. Which means what we really need is a good way to sneak in.”

    “And determine whether or not that’s where your lady is really being held. But I suspect that to be the case.”

    Einarr grunted, then grimaced. “Let’s hope the bastard doesn’t have a thing for human women.”

    “Or that this god of his prefers his sacrifices unsullied.”

    “Either way. If he lays a finger on her…” Einarr clenched his fists.

    Sivid nodded. “Easy, though. No sense worrying about that until we’ve found her.”

    ***

    They kept to the quiet passages as much as they could – paths that ran behind buildings and other spaces less frequently used – but this was still a hold, and any good hold would have a broad yard surrounding the central fortress area where the soldiers could train or the children could play.

    Here, when Einarr and Sivid inevitably reached the end of their secluded paths, Einarr was not certain what he was seeing. It almost looked like glíma practice, for the men in the yard were practicing hand-to-hand maneuvers… except their maneuvers had more in common with brawling than wrestling. The keep that sat at the center of the yard beyond them seemed to tower above them, its top lost in shadow.

    “Let’s see if there’s anything more interesting on the other side, shall we?” Sivid murmured, and Einarr nodded his agreement. Surely the entire keep could not be surrounded by brawlers.

    Another street lay just to their left, cutting back into the longhouses that surrounded the keep. Rather than turn around in their tracks, the two Vidofnings continued around the outside of the yard until they reached it.

    They did not seem to have drawn undue suspicion as they slipped down this secondary path. As they moved through these surrounding streets, though, Einarr began to feel as though there were eyes all about, following their furtive movements.

    They emerged again a quarter circle around the keep, ahead of another gate but still within sight of the edge of the training group. If this was a proper circle fort, it would be better to check the next exit for signs of life. Sivid barely paused before continuing on to the next side-street.

    Around they walked through the empty streets this close to the temple keep of Malúnion, and with every step the sensation of being watched – of being followed – grew between Einarr’s shoulder blades. He cleared his throat.

    “Perhaps we should go back, let Father know what we’ve found.”

    “Don’t let them spook you, boy.” Sivid did not look back at Einarr this time, simply continued to watch ahead as they moved. “If they had anything on us, they’d have moved already. We committed to this gamble, we need to see it through.”

    “R-right.” Einarr cleared his throat a little. Something about the keep here had him even more on edge than he’d thought. …But if Runa was in there, and if they had the right island she must be, how could he turn back now?

    The gate on the far side of the keep was smaller than either of the other two they had seen thus far and made of the same stone as everything else. They might have missed it were it not for the way its archway was formed in the surrounding wall and the iron bars that reinforced it. Einarr hummed in consternation. Sivid merely sighed.

    “Odds that’s the door we want anyway?” Einarr murmured.

    “High. If a door like that doesn’t lead to a dungeon…”

    Einarr grunted his agreement and slipped out into the broad, empty stone yard of the temple keep, Sivid only a pace behind. That the yard was empty save for them on this side of the keep did nothing to soothe Einarr’s nerves.

    He paused a moment to examine the door and scowled: there was no apparent latch. Sivid brushed past him, though, and quickly found the mechanism Einarr had missed.

    “Once we’re in there we’re as good as trapped, you realize,” the smaller man murmured, the door still closed under his palm.

    “Didn’t you just tell me we had to see this plan through?”

    “Oh, aye. Just making sure your guts hadn’t turned to water all of a sudden.” The words were harsh. From any other man, it would have demanded a duel. But, because it was Sivid and because the weird light still allowed Einarr to see the teasing glint in his crewmate’s eye, the taunt earned Sivid little more than a scowl and a gesture to continue.

    The door scraped open slowly under Sivid’s palm to reveal a cut-stone stairway headed down. The two men exchanged a look of uneasy surprise and slipped through the arch. When Sivid was three steps down, Einarr pressed his back against the heavy door, pressing it closed with a muffled click.

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