Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Hrug

  • 14.37 – Arrangements

    14.37 – Arrangements

    Author’s Note: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa. This should have been posted months ago. Between March and June of this year, we moved twice – once halfway around the world – and when I wasn’t actively involved in packing/unpacking, I suddenly had the Young Master at home all the time, rather than at Montessori school. None of this was conducive to writing. So, today you will get this chapter, and every day this week you will get another until we reach the end of the story (it’s not far off). Then, sometime next week or perhaps in the first part of the new year, there will be a definitive announcement as to my next project. And, at some point in there, this website will be getting rebuilt, as recent changes appear to have broken my old design at some point in there.

    Eydri saw them coming. For a while she stood still, although she was as stiff as Einarr had ever seen. When they were most of the way over to the corner where she had been, however, she suddenly began to move – along the wall, toward the stairs they had just left. Einarr stopped and blinked, a little confused. Then he looked at Naudrek. “Is she mad at me for something?”

    Naudrek shook his head, his face unreadable. “No. Not angry. At least, not at you.”

    “You know something I don’t.”

    Naudrek smirked at him, one eyebrow rising up his forehead.

    “You also know what I meant.”

    “It’s not mine to tell. Are you going after her, or are you going to give her time to calm down?”

    “…I think that is no longer my decision to make.”

    Eydri had turned on her heel and now walked stiffly back toward the three of them. Einarr turned to face her and stood quietly. She stopped in front of them and met Einarr’s eyes with a challenging stare.

    Einarr sighed. “You are my Singer, but you are also my friend. What is wrong?”

    She shook her head violently and turned that same angry look back up at his face. Then she opened her mouth to talk, but all that came out was a croaking cough at first. When the cough died down, she tried again.

    “I am ruined.” Eydri’s voice, which had once been nearly as lovely as Runa’s, came out as a rasp. Einarr’s jaw dropped.

    “You mean, your voice?” Einarr asked stupidly. She nodded.

    “Won’t it heal, given time?”

    She shook her head violently once more. “It is gone. Hrug’s working just now proved it. I will never Sing again. What am I to do now?” Coughs racked her body again. Naudrek reached out as though to comfort her, but drew back.

    Einarr took a deep breath and nodded in understanding. “I swear to you, you will always have a place at my court, as a trusted advisor. I, of all people, know that a Singer’s worth is more than just her voice.”

    Strangely, this did not seem to be what she wanted to hear. “So I am to be an advisor only, left to pace the halls with your lady wife and only hear of your feats secondhand.” Eydri squeezed her eyes shut, and her knuckles turned white on her clenched fists. She turned her back on them. “That is not what I signed on for… but I knew the risk when I began that Song.”

    Einarr’s forehead wrinkled. What in the world had she wanted? He looked at Naudrek, about to ask what he advised, but stopped. The other man had a very peculiar look on his face – one Einarr remembered all too well. He smiled as the realization dawned. “Good luck,” he mouthed and clapped him on the shoulder with his good hand. But, when Einarr and Jorir turned to give them space, Naudrek stopped him.

    “It’s you she wants.”

    “And she knows I am always and only Runa’s. That’s why this is your chance. Good luck.”

    Naudrek turned back to face Eydri and straightened his tunic. Good man, Einarr thought, as he and Jorir left them alone as quickly as Einarr could manage.

    * * *

    While the ground team were setting up an impromptu camp within the fortress and tending to their wounded, a small fishing boat crewed by Troa and the other scouts led the fleet into the harbor.

    The damage was severe. About a third of the fleet was sunk. Of the surviving boats, most merely limped along and many took on water.

    The Vidofnir was no exception. Erik and Irding clasped elbows and clapped each other’s shoulders in greeting. Then Einarr saw Stigander and Bardr leaning on each other as they crossed the harbor and ran to join them.

    “Father! What news from the fleet?”

    Stigander lifted a haggard face to his son. The fighting had been fierce: the shoulder opposite Bardr was tied with bandages, and there were more than a few places blood had seeped through already. Bardr was in worse shape: one of his legs was just about shredded and tied off with a tourniquet.

    “What of the Singers?”

    Stigander offered a wan smile. “Rejoice, my boy. We’ve won – a resounding victory. The Singers? Exhausted to a one. They’ll be down once they’ve gathered themselves somewhat.”

    Einarr nodded, swallowing the worry that had threatened to choke him when he saw the state these two were in.

    “I don’t know what it was you did, son,” Stigander said, and Einarr could hear what almost sounded like admiration in his voice. “But even after Bea showed up that fight was theirs to lose. Right up until that shockwave rolled out from the tower. We lost a couple ships to the wave, I’m afraid, but nothing like we would have lost if things had kept on as they were. And you still came back to me, so… well done.”

    “Thank you, father.”

    Movement from the ships caught his eye, and Einarr looked up to see Reki’s white figure coming slowly down the plank to the shore, followed by several other women. They walked slowly, and a few of them limped, but they held themselves erect. Probably, if Einarr’s guess was correct, trying to keep the men from worrying over them.

    “It looks like the Singers are on their way down.”

    Stigander nodded. “They’ll not be much use for healing, remember.”

    “I’m afraid Hrug and I are about spent in terms of magic, as well. Let’s leave the wounded to Jorir and the scouts, then.”

    Bardr nodded in agreement. “I’ll see to it.”

    Einarr held up a hand, trying not to look at the man’s ruined leg. “Allow me. You two should find a place to rest. All of our wounded are just back that way.” He pointed.

    “I’ll do that, then.”

    Einarr turned to walk slowly back the way he had come, towards where he had last seen Jorir. It was no coincidence that he kept pace with the other two. “We will need to speak to Reki and the other Singers, however, as regards funeral arrangements.”

    Einarr was surprised to see that Stigander’s face could still become a shade or two paler as he blanched. “At least there are no shortages of ships for a proper burial.”

    Previous
    Table of Contents
    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

  • 14.36 – Eydri

    14.36 – Eydri

    Author’s Note: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa. This should have been posted months ago. Between March and June of this year, we moved twice – once halfway around the world – and when I wasn’t actively involved in packing/unpacking, I suddenly had the Young Master at home all the time, rather than at Montessori school. None of this was conducive to writing. So, today you will get this chapter, and every day this week you will get another until we reach the end of the story (it’s not far off). Then, sometime next week or perhaps in the first part of the new year, there will be a definitive announcement as to my next project. And, at some point in there, this website will be getting rebuilt, as recent changes appear to have broken my old design at some point in there.

    The light behind his allies was blindingly white, and growing larger. It already engulfed the form of Malùnion, and as it grew brighter the sickly greenish-black form grew thinner and fainter. At last, as the bones of the figure appeared to disappear into the light, there was a soundless boom. The light compressed, and then a shockwave traveled out across the temple. His friends, not entirely caught unaware, still stumbled forward. Their torches flickered.

    Eydri’s song ended with a croak.

    When Einarr’s eyes adjusted, the other four stood over him looking worried. He wrinkled his eyebrows and smiled at them but did not move. He was well aware that something was broken, and in no hurry to find out what. “Why so serious? We won.”

    Kaldr glanced over behind them to where the body of Malùnion lay in pieces like so much broken stone. “Aye, we did.”

    His voice sounded hoarse – but then again, every one among them was exhausted. Eydri had tears in her eyes when she nodded her agreement.

    Troa cleared his throat. “My Lord… can you move?”

    “What’s the hurry?”

    “The others are waiting, Einarr. They’ll have heard that thunder, and even if everything down here is still stable we should let them know we’ve made it.”

    Einarr sighed and nodded. It wasn’t his neck, anyway. “How’s your voice, Eydri?”

    She shook her head without saying anything. He certainly couldn’t fault her for wanting to rest it for a time.

    “All right, then.” He sat up, and suddenly he knew exactly what was broken: his left shoulder. “Hey Jorir? I could use a sling.”

    A wry, if tired, smile cracked the dvergr’s face. “And this time, if my patient dies, it’s the Lady Runa who’ll have my head.” Jorir produced a long piece of cloth from somewhere and moved up to Einarr’s side.

    “Heh.” It had been a long time since Einarr had thought of that. “I’m just glad it’s not my thigh – or my back.”

    “If I might make a suggestion, milord.” Jorir focused on arranging the arm as carefully as he could.

    “Mm?”

    “Even if this heals perfectly, you might find a two-handed blade serves you better than a shield in the future.”

    “Duly noted.”

    * * *

    Einarr’s team of seven were the last ones to rejoin the others on the upper floor. Kaldr carried the husk that had once been Thjofgrir, and Svarek and Troa had the grim, bloody task of bringing up the ruins of Arring’s body. Both men had died honorably and well: neither of them could be left to rot unburied in a place like this. Einarr leaned on Naudrek’s shoulder with his good arm, Jorir stumping along beside. No-one spoke: while they had won, it had been a hard-fought battle, and the costs had been high.

    As they passed through the upper basement, past the entrance to the underground port, the others in the underground force fell in behind them. They caught their leaders’ mood, however, and so when they all emerged from the stairway, blinking in the light of day, it was as though they were an honor guard – for both the living and the dead.

    Irding looked up from oiling his blade when the others staggered out, haggard and pale but proud in victory. He raised a fist into the air and gave a ragged cheer. This was picked up by the others who had gone upstairs to take the tower.

    Wounded lined the room, all given some measure of first aid, but all would plainly benefit from the attentions of a Singer. Eydri, though, made no offer of help. That strange Song had obviously been a strain, but this was unusual even so.

    Einarr directed Naudrek and Jorir over to where Irding rested, sitting on the stair, and he, too, sat. “How did it go up there?”

    “About as well as can be expected. We took our knocks… but the defenders didn’t know what to do with themselves. Looks like we should still have enough men to crew both boats, but it might be a little thin.”

    “Good. Could you see what was happening in the harbor?”

    Irding nodded, looking out across the room. Einarr followed his gaze, and saw Eydri standing very still while Hrug drew a rune circle around her. She was looking at her feet, and had her fists clenched: Einarr hoped Hrug would be able to undo whatever damage had been done.

    “They got pincered. Things were looking really grim until those Valkyrie ships showed up.”

    “So Beatrix did show up. Good.”

    “Beatrix, and something like half her order, it looked like. Their sea-fire was all that saved us.”

    Einarr nodded. He was glad, not only that they had won but also that he might get to see a friend again. On the other hand, ensuring that things stayed friendly might be tricky. The Clans and the Empire didn’t often get along, after all. So far as Einarr knew, this might be the first time. “I’m glad I sent for aid, then,” was all he said.

    Hrug was activating the circle. Einarr looked up to watch.

    There was a brief flash of light around the hem of her skirts. Eydri opened her mouth and said something – Einarr was too far away to hear what. Then her face screwed up as though she were trying not to cry. Her shoulders squared, although she looked at the ground again, and she nodded. Hrug set about crafting a rune circle that, if Einarr was any judge, would cover the entire floor. Meanwhile, Eydri took herself off to a corner, everything about her body language screaming ‘leave me alone.’

    Einarr glanced at Naudrek, who still stood by. “Did she say anything to you while I was out down there?”

    He shook his head. “I think that may be the problem.”

    Oh no. Einarr nodded. “All right. Help me over there.”

    Jorir cleared his throat. “Are you sure that’s wise, milord?”

    Einarr quirked his mouth in a wry smile. “Maybe not. But Eydri is my friend as much as my Singer. Let’s go see if there’s anything I can do for a friend, eh?”

    Naudrek muttered something mostly under his breath. Einarr thought he caught the words “more than you bargained for.”

    Previous
    Table of Contents
    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.34 – Before Dawn

    14.34 – Before Dawn

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

    Naudrek was right behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Did he really want to know?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.33 – Shattered

    14.33 – Shattered

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.31 – Incision

    14.31 – Incision

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Jorir merely grunted and chopped again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.29 – Alfenring

    14.29 – Alfenring

    Eydri, thank the gods, had seen at a glance the situation and kept herself within a few steps of the door. The acoustics in this room proved to be excellent, so while that would not help anyone who required healing it would take some of the pressure off the others.

    Hrug moved in an arc to the right, tracing the path of Einarr’s circle to meet him in the middle.

    The avatar on the dais chortled. “Not only more sacrifices, but Makers, too. How delicious.” It stretched out an arm, and one of the octopus arms behind it stretched as well, as though the body was no more than a puppet.

    Einarr traced the next rune in his pattern. Jorir and the others began a slow approach towards the being behind so much of the trouble they had faced over the last three years, weaving back and forth in a pattern meant to look as though they meandered forward. Meanwhile, Svarek prattled on about some nonsense. Anything they could do to keep it distracted. Even better if they could keep it occupied long enough to launch the first strike.

    Two steps on, and he knelt to trace again. The pounding of running feet once again echoed from the corridor behind Eydri: Einarr glanced over his shoulder as surreptitiously as possible: when Svarek arrived with only the sorcerers, Einarr had assumed the others would not be coming. But, such was not the case: Kaldr and Thjofgrir burst out from under the threshold. Thjofgrir gave one of his cocky grins as he saw the situation: Kaldr gave his second a nod and settled in to protect their Singer.

    “There are still more of you?” The double voice of the avatar almost seemed to purr. “Lovely. But I grow tired of this endless prating.”

    Einarr shuddered as he felt its eyes pass over him. He was in range. So was Hrug. If it realized what they were doing, Hrug would be the obvious first target… but so far, it had paid them no mind. Was Eydri actually out of range?

    “You, there. The late-come brute. You I claim first.” One of the octopus arms shot out towards Thjofgrir. He brought up his sword to block, but the questing tentacle of energy wrapped around his chest and hoisted him high into the air. He kicked, and tried to drive his blade into the tentacle, but the blade could not cut whatever stuff it was Malùnion was made of.

    “Thjofgrir!” Kaldr cried out at the same moment Troa’s bowstring twanged. Einarr could spare no attention, now that the battle was joined, to how it would go: he and Hrug had to finish their circle, otherwise they were all doomed.

    Tore of the Sterkenbjorn contorted his face into something approximating a grin. Even under the effects of the Song, his men grew weary, and while they had sunk some few of the demon ships with their unnatural cargo there were still far too many ahead. As he saw the last of the Squiddies on the Sterkenbjorn go overboard, he raised his sword high and growled a battle cry. “Forward!” They could not stop now – not if any of them wanted to return home alive.

    As Captain, ordinarily he would have stayed behind to guard their Singer. Ordinarily, though, they would have a Singer. Luta had fallen – indeed, she was the only one who had fallen – when the thrice-damned Squiddies set upon their ship before they’d even reached Breidelstein. And that was before they’d put in for water and found the town razed to the ground. The blood of the cultists had now painted his deck black, even under the onslaught of the storms they rode. Now it was time to paint their decks black. He hopped up on the boarding line and dashed across, glad of the chance to stretch his wings a little. He only hoped the cursed Squiddies ran out of men before the fleet did. Either way, he supposed, it would be an awesome story to tell over a horn of cider.

    “Put me down, you cowardly spawn of an outlaw!” Thjofgrir still hurled imprecations, as though by main force of will he could do what his sword could not and free himself from the grasp of the octopus. Once it had him in its grip, however, it ignored him in favor of attempting to capture others of the ‘sacrifices.’ Thankfully, Thjofgrir’s misfortune was instruction to the rest of them. Rather than trying to block, even Jorir simply dodged. Still, it was only a matter of time before its bloodthirst won out over its greed.

    Nearly there. He and Hrug each had only a handful of runes left to draw before they could activate their alfenring – and then they would learn whether it was good enough, or if they were, in fact, destined to be so much food for a dark god.

    Thjofgrir struggled mightily to break free, but every time Einarr looked up it seemed as though the spiritual octopus held him more tightly. It was a wonder he could still breathe.

    Einarr stooped again to draw his last rune. Next to him, Hrug was doing the same. Both of them had made it around behind the avatar, and if anything he looked even more horrific when you couldn’t see his meat-puppet. The head was as much squid as octopus, with shimmering scales like a sea serpent’s.

    “You slimy piece of filth,” Thjofgrir said. This was followed by an audible crack and a scream. “You will never so much as see Midgard: we will end you before you take so much as a step from this room.”

    Hrug and Einarr laid their hands on the edge of the circle, and the chalk lines began to grow white and green, traveling like the fire of life around their formation. When they met on the far side, tiny tendrils of vine began to grow up out of the light.

    Disconcertingly, Malùnion laughed. Was it not enough? In the near silence that followed, Einarr could pick out the sound of drops of liquid striking the stone floor.

    A moment later, a sword clattered to the ground inside the rune circle, and this was followed very swiftly by the dull thud of a body. Einarr stared in horror.

    “Thjof!” Kaldr cried again, despair in his voice, and charged forward in spite of his self-appointed duty to Eydri.

    Arring screamed a wordless rage. Einarr rose slowly to his feet and drew Sinmora.

    And the tendrils of vine came to life.

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.28 – Ancient One

    14.28 – Ancient One

    Physically speaking, the figure before them was still a man – or, perhaps, some sort of giant kin, for he seemed to have grown in size by several feet. Seemed, that is, for while Einarr undoubtedly now had to look further up to see his face, his presence now seemed to fill the room. The shadow of the black mass of energy was still visible behind the old priest, only instead of questing tendrils it now seemed like the arms of a massive octopus curling behind the man who had been the (presumably) High Priest of Malùnion.

    Einarr swallowed. He had no idea how to fight a god – even a demigod, as Jorir termed Malùnion. If they took out the body, would the spirit remain? He had a sinking feeling the answer was ‘yes.’ And, of his team, the only one with a prayer of affecting the spirit was him, with his already over-strained will and the runes. Presently, the god’s avatar seemed to be muttering to itself about the feeling of having a physical form.

    He glanced quickly around at his companions. Troa would have an advantage in this fight, so long as the rest of them could keep its attention. Arring sought death, which made him less reliable – but there was no reason to send the strong man that would not be taken as a horrific insult. Especially since, for all his strength, he was slow. Jorir might still know more about the creatures of Malùnion than he did, but he and Naudrek had closed that gap dramatically in Nilthiad. Which left… “Svarek.”

    “Aye, my lord!”

    “Run back as fast as you can. Take the torch. Bring Eydri and Hrug. Kaldr and Thjofgrir, and the Forgotten warriors too if you see them. Run until your lungs burst, if you have to, but get them here. We’ll keep it busy for as long as we can. Go!”

    “Sir!”

    Svarek took a moment to holster his axe, and then the sound of boots pounding against pavement stones rang out behind them. That seemed to get the creature’s attention. “Ah. How quaint,” it boomed, still with that odd duplicity of voice. “I see you’ve sent your vassal to bring more sacrifices. Have no fear: I shall accept them. I shall accept all.”

    Einarr could think of no circumstance in which that phrase would not be disturbing. His fingers tightened around Sinmora’s hilt. “Who – or what – are you?”

    It grinned, and the old man’s lips pulled back all the way to his ears, as though his flesh were made of tree gum. “I am the ancient one. The god of the deeps, and of all the old things which have been forgotten. You are wise, young ones, to pay me homage.”

    While it spoke, Einarr looked at his team and motioned to left and right. They would have a better chance against this thing if they weren’t all bunched together – and if the creature thought they had come to pay it homage, that just proved a limit on its power. Now. To keep it talking somehow.

    “You are indeed mighty, oh ancient one. Why, oh ancient one, do you destroy our craftsmen and our artists?” Jorir had told him the answer to this one once, long before, but the longer it talked the more time he bought to get Hrug and Eydri in – Hrug, to draw a proper formation while the demigod was otherwise occupied, and Eydri to keep them alive. Of course, he would have to protect the Singer once she opened her mouth: the creature’s answer was already long-winded, but it did seem to confirm that the magics of making were anathema to it.

    Wait – the magics of making? Einarr had never thought of it in precisely those terms before. If Malùnion was a creature that could only consume and destroy, was that perhaps the key to its own undoing? He needed more time, and the creature seemed to be winding down.

    Jorir had caught on, and plied its attention with another question none of them actually cared about the answer to – except that it gave them time to think. They hunt Singers, but they produce nothing tangible. Therefore, it must be something about creativity itself, or about newness… think!

    Then, as Naudrek posed a quandary to the creature – which, judging by its tone, was beginning to find their endless prattle tiresome, it hit him. Quietly, he slipped his chalk once more from his pouch and knelt to draw a rune on the stone floor.

    Jorir saw the movement and looked over at Einarr: with Sinmora’s tip held upright, he made a circular motion and started slowly moving to his left.

    Unfortunately, Malùnion was not quite so oblivious as that, and since he had begun to tire of the conversation his attention, too, snapped round to where Einarr was drawing a second rune. “You, insect. What do you think you’re doing?”

    “When the sacrifices arrive, we must do you proper honor, mustn’t we?”

    “Naturally. All must honor me and turn.”

    “I was merely preparing the ground for the sacrifice.” With what he had in mind, it could well become a sacrifice, although he didn’t intend it to. And, he thought he heard the pounding of footsteps coming back up the hall behind him. He took the next few paces a little faster: once Hrug and Eydri showed up it would rapidly become obvious that something was afoot.

    Then Eydri’s voice carried forward into the temple.

    The creature growled and stared up at the entrance from which the sound came. “What?”

    Then Svarek rushed in, with Hrug right on his heels.

    “Alfenring!” Einarr shouted towards the back of the room at the one-armed mute. He hoped he understood: the man stopped in his tracks and dropped to a knee, evidently drawing runes of his own. Good. Now to defend Eydri, and inscribe the circle all the way around the creature, all while keeping everyone alive. Well, such was the life of a Cursebreaker, he supposed. He shuddered to think that he had somehow grown used to it.

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.26 – The Tunnels

    14.26 – The Tunnels

    Einarr had to believe that the group who ventured up the tower was having an easier time of it. At the very least they hadn’t requested backup before he judged his team ready to press on.

    Similarly, he could not spare a thought for the pincered fleet out past the harbor. That there had been no word would have to be taken as hard fighting, no more. So, when Eydri and Hrug had seen to their healing and purification, and Einarr’s head had stopped throbbing quite so badly, he surveyed his men.

    Some handful who had been healed needed more time to recuperate – they had been gravely injured, mostly, and the Song Magic could only speed the process so much. Those, and some other handful who were less worn down, were detailed to hold this floor and keep a watchful eye on the harbor. If anyone, friend or foe, came into the harbor they were to send a runner down after Einarr’s team. The fact that he intended to press on did not please Eydri, but even had she not healed his leg quite expertly, Einarr was their war leader. He could not lead from the back – that was not his way.

    Einarr, Jorir, and Kaldr stood at the head of the expedition further into the depths. Naudrek, Thjofgrir, and Troa followed close behind. All told, they took a team of perhaps twenty down the broad ramp leading deeper into the earth.

    Jorir grumbled as they rounded the first corner of the ramp. “I mislike this passage.”

    Kaldr glanced down at the svartdvergr, and there was an edge of humor when he spoke. “It rather reminds me of the Paths of Stone, though. Right before we started falling into pits.”

    “My point exactly.” Jorir harrumphed. “And the parts used by dvergr were cut smooth to allow for carts. What do they keep down here that can’t handle stairs?”

    “I’m sure we’ll find out, probably sooner than we’d like. Be on the lookout for traps, everyone.”

    A chorus of ‘aye’s echoed from behind, but it was really no louder than the tramp of twenty pairs of boots and the clink of twenty sets of maille. Still they went on. Neither Einarr nor Kaldr were happy about giving up the initiative before, so by unspoken agreement they made as much haste as they dared. Einarr strained his eyes trying to peer beyond the watery blue torchlight.

    A little further down, with still no sign of a side passage – or even a room – mutters began to carry forward to his ears. The long, gloomy passage was starting to unnerve the men.

    “Keep your wits about you, men. Whatever is waiting for us down below, it’s nothing we can’t deal with.” He hoped. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really do much more to lift their spirits than that.

    Finally, after what felt like hours, the ramp leveled off into a broad, open cave. The floor was smooth like planed wood, but the walls and ceiling were rough like a natural cave. Three passages branched off from here – right, left, and center. “All right men, take a break. Someone mark the door we just came from. You three–” he pointed at random. “How would you like sentry duty here?”

    The three shared an uneasy look, but nodded their agreement.

    “Excellent, because someone needs to. Everyone else, split into teams of six. I’ll take center…” Glancing over the men stretching their shoulders and swigging water, he realized something. With a smile, he turned to Arkja. “Looks to me like your whole crew from the Island is here. Why don’t you take the right, while Kaldr and Thjofgrir take the left… Assuming, of course, that Jorir and Naudrek prefer to stick with me?”

    The dvergr harrumphed as though that were obvious. Naudrek also agreed. “Indeed, I’d have insisted,” he added.

    “Right. That means three more can come with me, and four go with Kaldr. When everyone’s formed up, we’ll continue.

    Troa, Svarek, and Arring rounded out Einarr’s team, and he was reasonably sure as they started down the central path the only way their team could be more stalwart was if he’d taken Kaldr and Thjofgrir. Their passage wound about, and Einarr was reasonably certain they were headed generally downwards. When they were a little ways away from the central room, Jorir glanced up at him as they walked. “So, why center?”

    “A hunch? Mostly based on the temple in Nilthiad, honestly.”

    He grunted. “Thought so. Let’s see how this pans out, then.”

    Not much further on, they came to a long gallery of carved and planed pillars. The inner path through the gallery was lit, but nothing past it, so that as you walked through the pillars all you could see was the road ahead of you. To either side, all that was visible beyond the pillars was inky blackness.

    “Begging your pardon, sir,” Svarek started. “But, do you think your head could handle giving us one of your glowing runes? This blue flame has me on my last nerve.”

    Einarr frowned. Using ᛊ to create light took very little concentration. By the same token, however, he knew he was near his limits already. Would a beacon of proper light be worth the risk that he would be forced to call on the runes again? Hesitantly, he nodded. “Yes, I can manage that much, at least. I’m not sure how much more we’ll be able to see, mind you.”

    “That’s fine, milord. Just so it looks a little more natural.”

    Einarr drew out his piece of chalk, but Arring held up a hand. “I think we might be better off just lighting one of our ordinary torches. That way we get something to counteract the cold look of the cultists’ flames.”

    Einarr nodded his assent, and Troa drew a torch from the pack he carried everywhere. Arring lit it with practiced ease, and as it flared to life the light did, somehow, start to look less watery and cold and more natural to a surface dweller.

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.25 – Retrenchment

    14.25 – Retrenchment

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

    “Here, my lord.”

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

    “As you wish, milord!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Arkja chuckled. “No bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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

     

  • 14.21 – Fire and Ice

    14.21 – Fire and Ice

    The monstrosity croaked, loud enough to make Einarr’s ears ring. It had been the right call to leave Hrug above – indeed, it had been by far the best way to signal the fleet – but Einarr was not half the sorcerer the mute was. His men leapt at the winged blob again. He heard a whumpf, followed by the crack of stone and a thud. Another man down.

    The formation before him, he thought, would work. Or, he hoped it would buy them enough time to destroy the abomination, anyway. He placed his fingers on the edge of the circle and willed it to capture the creature before them.

    He could see, although he didn’t think anyone else could, the threads of energy racing along the ground, pooling under the creature’s feet that currently hovered about five inches off the ground. Einarr bit his lip, intent on the goal. If the abomination touched the ground with so much as a toe or a wingtip, they had it.

    The pool of magic grew larger, and as it did Einarr noticed a pillar of ice beginning to form in its center. Unusual, but I’ll take it.

    The monster-bird bobbed down just a hair farther than it usually did. The ice brushed its claw, and the freezing threads of the magic began climbing up its body.

    Hastily, the abomination rose, but the cold that had a hold of its foot continued to spread over its body. It was caught now, no matter how much it struggled. Sinmora practically leaped into Einarr’s hand as he rushed to join the fray.

    The creature fought mightily against the forces trying to pin it to the earth. It might have managed to break free, too, if not for the twelve men it also had to fend off if it wanted to survive this. The soothing rune didn’t seem to be having much of an effect: perhaps calm was contrary to its nature? Or, perhaps, the fact that it was under attack prevented the rune from fully taking hold.

    A fourth team was running into the killing field, now, in a fighting retreat from a squad of cursed warriors and their knightly commander. Godsdammit.

    He still had control of his formation, but if he divided his mind that way he risked loosing the abomination. On the other hand, it was already weakened. If they brought it down, they could turn their full attention to other matters. The challenge was in finding its actual vitals.

    He plunged Sinmora deep into the body of the beast, between a wing and an eye. It shrieked – a sound just as hideous as its croak – and stabbed back at him with a beak.

    Einarr dodged, using the momentum of a turn to extract his blade. A gout of black blood spurted forth, hissing where it came in contact with the pool of magic.

    He felt that like a buzzing in his brain. Oops. Einarr put a stop in the flow. It was either that, cutting off the amount of will he could feed into the seal, or risk exposing his mind directly to the corruption.

    Jorir planted an axe behind the wing he had just chopped at, and it fell twitching to the ground. Now Einarr found himself faced with a deep wound, and while it bled profusely it was not spurting at either of them. Once more he plunged Sinmora into the beast’s side, and once more it shrieked and writhed.

    Someone on its other side drove home his own mighty blow, and the abomination flapped harder. The ward still held, however, and its struggles seemed to be faltering.

    That was when flaming arrows began raining down into the killing field from the arrow slits in the fortress tower.

    War drums beat in time from every ship in the fleet, now, and the water below rippled in time with the rhythm calling the sailors to fight. Erik knew even a seasoned warrior should be anxious about a battle like this, with enemies both before and behind and each one of them a match for any ship of the fleet, but it was not fear that made his heart pump and his blood race. The defiled would attempt to swarm them under, and the defiled would be destroyed, he was sure. Any who fell today earned their place in Valhalla.

    Not that he intended to fall. And he truly hoped that between the Singers and their two Rune masters they could avoid losing anyone to the corruption. But today – today would be a battle the skalds would sing of for ages upon ages.

    Sivid’s boat floated next to the Vidofnir. Erik looked in that direction and grinned, certain that his friend would be too busy to see and not caring. His shield was set, and the weight of his axe in his hand felt good, and that was what mattered.

    “Archers! Ready!” Bardr’s voice rang over the deck, echoed by the Mates up and down their line.

    The fwoosh of fire went up in a line behind Erik as one of the deckhands lit the arrowheads. This, too, was done all up and down the line.

    “Aim!”

    From the corner of his eye, Erik could see the line of archers amidships on the other boats, all raise their bows in a wave.

    “Fire!”

    The archers loosed, and a wave of flaming arrows flew forward into the black storm approaching from the open sea. Perhaps a third as many flew towards the harbor – the surer shot, but also the less critical one. The black storm ships were the more fearsome by far. Erik remembered well what they kept belowdecks in those ships. Of the arrows that flew into the storm, perhaps half found their target. He was gratified to see more than one sail go up in flames: that would ease their load somewhat.

    He found himself bouncing on his toes, waiting for the toss of boarding lines. Well, fine: he hadn’t been in a proper sea battle since they re-took Breidelstein. Fighting on land didn’t have quite the same thrill to it.

    Then he looked up and abruptly realized the enemy was returning fire. The answering wave of flame was hard to look away from.

    Bardr noticed at the same moment he did. “Shields!”

    Almost as one, they raised their shields into a wall, protecting not only themselves but the archers behind as well. Getting close, now.

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

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

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

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

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