Drem strained with all his might, veins bulging, feeling as if his head would burst, his eyes explode from his face.
But nothing happened.
The giant wyrm-thing with a woman’s face and upper body had wrapped him tight in her coils, pinning his arms to his sides. He still held his seax and axe but could not move them. The creature regarded Drem with cold, reptilian eyes.
“No point sssstruggling,” the thing said, and then its coils were rippling and it slithered sinuously across the glade, weaving through the combat that raged about them. Drem yelled, saw Fritha’s face smiling at him, growing closer.
“Well met, Drem ben Olin,” Fritha said with a delighted smile, as if the wyrm-woman was giving Fritha a gift on her name-day.
“I will… kill you,” Drem said.
“You need to let go of that obsession,” Fritha said, like someone giving their good friend the best of advice.
“You… killed him,” Drem wheezed. He felt a flood of emotion—frustration, rage, grief all mingled—blinked the angry tears from his eyes.
“Ah, to be loved as you loved your father,” Fritha murmured.
Drem strained again, the sight of Fritha talking about his da incensing him, wanting only to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze.
“Kill… you,” he grunted.
A ripple of wyrm-muscle and the breath was crushed from Drem’s chest, coils constricting tighter about his torso, the beast glaring at him.
“Not too tight, Elise,” Fritha said. “We don’t want a dead Drem, now, do we?”
The coils loosened a fraction, allowing Dem to gasp in a breath.
Elise! It has a name!
Drem stared at Fritha, saw her watching him with fascinated eyes.
All around them the fight was raging. Drem glimpsed Cullen fallen to one knee, blood sheeting from a wound on his scalp, Keld standing over the young warrior, fending off Morn’s stabbing spear with his shield as she hovered above them both.
And then a mountain of fur was crashing through the trees into the battle about them, Hammer the bear surging into Drem’s view, Alcyon the giant upon her back, swinging his two long-hafted axes.
Fritha jumped and rolled to the side, Elise the wyrm-woman swayed, an axe blade hissing past her face. She lashed out with the sword in her hand, a red line along Hammer’s flank, Drem jerked and heaved as Elise’s coils rippled, loosening a moment, then constricting, refusing to let him go.
Hammer turned, a swipe of her claws raking the wyrm’s coils, gouging red wounds. Elise hissed a scream, her upper body darting forwards impossibly fast, stabbing at the bear’s face, Alcyon’s axe clanging into her sword, sending it spinning through the air, his other axe whirling, chopping deep into the meat of her coils.
She did scream, then, a high, lilting shriek that set heads turning, her coils spasming, releasing Drem, hurling him through the air to crunch into a tree and drop to the ground. He raised himself on his elbows, saw heads all around the glade looking at the wyrm-woman and giant bear.
Drem climbed to one knee, head spinning, hands scrambling for his seax and axe, which he saw lying close by on the forest litter.
“WRATH,” Fritha yelled, her cry answered by a deafening roar that shook both the ground below and branches above them.
Alcyon tugged on his axe embedded in coils, and Elise’s head lunged forwards, jaws unnaturally wide, too-long teeth sinking into the flesh of Alcyon’s arm. The giant grunted a yell, let go of his axe and ripped his arm free of Elise’s jaws, a splatter of blood arcing through the air.
And then the draig was there, wings beating, lifting it into the air, and it was hurtling at Alcyon, the giant swaying in his saddle, swinging his other axe. The draig’s wings shifted, twisting it in the air, Alcyon’s axe hissing under a wing, the draig lashing out with long talons, raking Hammer’s flank and rump, tearing bloody strips, then it was crashing into the bear. Though smaller than Hammer, the draig’s weight and momentum sent the bear staggering, stumbling and toppling to the side, Alcyon hurled from his saddle as they rolled on the ground, crushing figures beneath them, friend or foe, Drem did not know.
Drem shook his head, trying to scatter the black dots that were clouding his vision, heard Hammer roar in agony as the draig ripped into her side with its powerful jaws, at the same time its claws digging, raking at her exposed belly.
There was an answering roar, elsewhere, echoing through the woodland, followed by a thunderous crashing, getting closer, the sound of trees being ripped from their roots, and then the white bear was bursting into the glade.
It cast its head from side to side, saw Hammer and the draig, and roared a challenge, broke into a lumbering run, scattering or crushing all in its way. Drem saw Fritha stand before its rush, wide-eyed and frozen for a moment, and then the wyrm-woman was standing before her, the wyrm’s tail wrapping around Fritha and hurling her out of the way. Elise slithered on her coils, trying to evade the white bear’s charge, but she was too slow and the bear crashed into her, sending her flying through the air, disappearing amongst the trees.
The white bear slammed into the draig, wrenching it from its attack on Hammer, the two beasts thundering across the glade, swiping and snapping at each other, clawing and gouging.
All was mayhem and madness. Ferals and giants, warriors of the Order and shaven-haired acolytes, Revenants, wyrms and draigs, all fighting for their lives around him.
Revenants spilt across the slope and, framed in sunlight bright across the ridge’s crest, Drem saw Gunil atop his great bear, Balur One-Eye finally reaching him. One-Eye swerved around the slash of the bear’s paws and then his war-hammer was swinging, high and down with all of Balur’s prodigious strength, smashing into the bear’s skull. Drem heard the crunch from where he was standing, saw the power of that impact ripple through the animal, from head to claws, and slowly the legs of Gunil’s bear crumpled beneath it, its great bulk crashing to the ground, an eruption of dust.
Gunil rose out of the dirt cloud.
“You killed my Claw,” he screamed, spittle flying, and then the two giants were swinging their great hammers at each other, dark iron clashing, huge sparks leaping.
A tide of battle and banks of tattered mist swept between Drem and the two giants, obscuring them from view.
A dozen paces in front of Drem he saw a rider of the Order swing his sword at a Revenant, saw the grey-skinned creature sway away from the blade and leap up at the rider, somehow finding purchase, scrambling up behind the warrior and grabbing onto his head, yanking it to the side and sinking its jaws into the man’s neck. The Revenant shook its head, blood erupting, the rider toppling from his saddle, the Revenant falling upon him, biting and tearing flesh in a frenzy. The sight of it turned the blood in Drem’s veins to ice.
What are these creatures we are fighting? How is there any defeating this?
All across the slope Drem saw the same kinds of acts, giants, warriors, bears, all trying to fend off the blood-frenzied storm of Revenants. Drem saw a bear engulfed by the creatures, a horde of them swarming over it like ants, dragging it to the ground. A moment of fear as he saw one hurl itself at Keld. The huntsman saw the Revenant flying towards him, instinctively slashed with his sword and cut into the creature’s neck. There was a flash of blue light, the Revenant crunching to the ground, rolling. Keld stabbed his sword down into its chest with all his strength, twisting. Blue veins rippled out from the wound, the Revenant spasming and then flopping still.
And then Fritha was standing before him.
She looked like something out of a tale, short-sword in her fist, fair hair stubbled, blood smeared on her face, her cuirass embossed with red wings.
“You’re coming with me,” she said.
“Over my dead body,” he said, raising his seax and axe.
“Well, that is the alternative,” Fritha said, looking around her. “I’d rather have you for my experiments, make you into something that will do my bidding for all eternity. I think I’ll leave you with your memory, so you will always remember that I killed Olin, even as you serve me.” She shrugged. “Or you can have a painful, terrifying death as food for a Revenant.”
He snarled and swung his axe at her.
She stepped back, gracefully, a twist of her wrist sweeping his axe away.
Drem followed, seax stabbing, axe swinging, a windmill of blows, and Fritha blocked and parried and swayed, feet shuffling away, to his sides, ever just out of reach.
“You’ve got better,” Fritha commented, her face fixed in concentration. “Your footwork has definitely improved.” She smiled at him, an encouraging sword master. “But a moon training with the Order of the Bright Star is not better than a lifetime raised as one of Drassil’s White-Wings.”
She stepped in, her sword suddenly a blur, sweeping Drem’s axe wide, his seax low, knocking him off balance, and then she was closer still, inside his guard, headbutting him across the nose, sending him reeling, staggering backwards, slamming into a tree, dropping to one knee.
“You are mine, Drem ben Olin,” Fritha said as she loomed over him, her sword raised.
A horse crashed into Fritha, sending her lurching away, spinning.
Horse and rider reined in between Drem and Fritha, and Drem looked up to see Byrne in the saddle. She was gore-spattered, a thing out of a nightmare, teeth bared in a rictus snarl, her curved sword blooded to the hilt.
“Get away from my sister’s son, you bitch,” Byrne spat at Fritha.
Something crossed Fritha’s face: worry, fear.
“I was hoping I’d bump into you,” Fritha said. She drew her sword across her palm, a red line, smeared the blood across her lips.
“IONSAI,” Fritha yelled, her blood spraying from her lips, “IAD A MHARU,” and all around the glade Ferals stopped their frenzied fighting and threw themselves at Byrne.
Her mount screamed as Ferals’ claws raked it in their frenzied rush to reach Byrne, the animal rearing, Byrne leaping to the ground, rolling. She regained her feet, snatched a hand inside her jerkin and pulled out a fistful of what looked like vials, threw them at a knot of Ferals that were swarming towards her, the vials smashing, some kind of liquid bursting across the creatures, soaking into their fur.
“Fuil agus tine, salann agus lathair,” Drem heard Byrne hiss, and then blue fire was rippling to life across the Ferals’ fur, spreading, engulfing them in flames. The Ferals howled and screamed, limbs windmilling, slapping and clawing at their bodies as they were ravaged by the flames. The acrid stench of seared flesh filled the glade.
Fritha looked at her Ferals, screamed and ran at Byrne. Their swords clashed, the two of them moving through the glade. A Revenant leaped at Byrne and she sidestepped Fritha, slashed at the Revenant with her sword. A wound opened across its chest, a blue light throbbing, and the Revenant screamed, falling away.
Burning Ferals crashed between Drem and the two women, flames sparking on the woodland litter, leaping into hungry, crackling life. Drem scrambled away, into the trees.
All about him the Revenant horde was swarming, ripping and tearing flesh.
We cannot win against them, too many, Drem thought. It’s just a matter of time. Something nagged at Drem’s mind. I have seen them stabbed scores of times and not fall, and yet Ethlinn and Keld killed them with a blow or two, Byrne’s sword hurt it…
Bodies crashed and fell about him, scattering his thoughts.
If I can help Byrne, and kill Fritha…
He rose to his feet, looking for a way around the flames to Fritha and Byrne, but the woodland was becoming a fiery maelstrom. He cast about wildly and saw something behind him, in the shadows. A figure, a Revenant, hunched over a woman, a warrior of the Bright Star. Drem took a step towards them and the Revenant looked up, blood slick on its mouth and jaws.
Drem faltered. Even though transformed, only one eye left in its gaunt, too-pale face, Drem still recognized this creature.
It was Ulf.
Drem remembered watching from a rooftop of the mine as Ulf had offered himself to Gulla, giving himself over to Gulla’s fangs, remembered Ulf collapsing, twitching, convulsing as he had been changed, turned into… this.
Ulf had been a friend to him and his father, or so Drem had thought. But all along Ulf had been a servant of Gulla, spying, scheming. He had betrayed Olin and Drem.
Drem hefted his seax and axe, strode towards Ulf.
The Revenant rose to his feet, a gliding, elegant motion. He cocked his head to one side, regarding Drem with the dark well of his one eye.
“Drem,” he hissed.
“Remember me, do you?” Drem snarled. “Well, remember this as I send you to the Otherworld.” He struck at Ulf, seax and axe swinging and stabbing, Ulf swaying away, parrying with long-taloned hands that seemed as hard as iron, Drem’s blows glancing away. Then Ulf was twisting, suddenly lunging forwards.
Drem’s axe chopped into Ulf’s neck, a diagonal cut, into the clavicle. He heard the distinctive sound of the bone cracking, but it did not seem to faze Ulf, who shrugged off the blow and reached out grasping hands to grab Drem, claws raking his face, closing tight, raking his cheeks and pulling him close, towards Ulf’s distended-wide jaws, razored teeth still dripping with the blood of Ulf’s last victim.
Drem screamed as Ulf’s foul, bloodied breath washed over him and he stabbed frantically into the creature’s belly with his seax, the blade plunging deep into flesh.
Drem felt something in his fist as it was wrapped around the bone hilt of his seax: a hot pulse of heat, and again, and again, like a beating heart.
A blue light burst from the wound.
Ulf screamed, a feral agony, and lashed out, striking Drem across the chest and hurling him through the air, crashing to the ground, rolling through flames. Drem climbed to one knee, still had his seax in his hand, saw that it was pulsing with a fading blue glow, like a fresh-forged blade cooling from the flames. Runes along the blade glowed white-bright, and Drem remembered Keld telling him of Olin’s runes, what they said.
Dilis cosantoir. Faithful Protector.
Keld’s sword is rune-marked, as is Byrne’s, and Ethlinn’s spear must be, too.
Ulf was staring at him in rage and pain, opened his mouth and hissed a shriek at Drem, and then ran at him.
Drem staggered to his feet, hefted his seax, and threw it.
It flew through the air, the heavy blade and handle spinning, glittering in the fire-flames, and punched into Ulf’s chest, hurling the Revenant backwards, against the trunk of an ancient oak, Drem’s blade piercing flesh, bark and wood, sinking deep and pinning Ulf to the tree.
An explosion of blue light and sparks as Ulf thrashed and screamed, gnashing his jaws, shredding his own lips in his agony and fury, Drem’s seax glowing white-hot within Ulf, the hiss of burning flesh wafting.
Drem stumbled forwards, saw Alcyon’s axe lying on the ground, snatched it up and ran at Ulf, swinging the axe over his head, screaming his father’s name.
“OLIN!” And he chopped the axe blade into Ulf’s neck. There was another burst of blue light as the axe severed the Revenant’s head and buried itself in the tree. Drem was hurled away, crashing onto his back.
Ulf’s head spun through the air and hit the ground with a thud, rolling into the flames, where it hissed, flesh melting.
All about the glade and slope beyond, something happened.
Revenants froze in their slaughter and feasting, a jerking paroxysm, and then, with a collective sigh, all around Drem, they collapsed.
Drem stared open-mouthed, saw a Revenant almost at his feet change colour, its skin shifting from grey to normal skin-tones as in death the creature reverted to the person it had been in life.
A wind blew across the slope, the sun blazing bright, and the remaining giants and warriors of the Bright Star roared.
Two figures on the slope, Balur and Gunil, were still exchanging blows, battering at each other with feverish fury.
As Drem looked, Balur ducked under a hammer-swing, stepped in and struck Gunil on the knee with the iron butt of his staff. Gunil tottered, his knee bending, and Balur struck him in the mouth with his hammer-shaft, Gunil tumbling over, crashing to the ground, teeth spraying.
Balur raised his hammer high, Gunil’s hand reaching out, a pleading scream cut short as Balur’s hammer crunched into Gunil’s head, shards of bone and brain-matter exploding.
“WRATH,” a voice screamed behind Drem. He spun on his feet to see Fritha standing on open ground, trading blows with Byrne. Fritha was bleeding from fresh wounds, breathing heavily. She ducked and stepped away, rubbed blood over her lips.
“Sruthán,” Fritha screeched at Byrne, the droplets of blood sizzling in the air as they sped towards Byrne’s face.
“Cumhacht an uisce, an tine seo a dhúnadh,” Byrne said contemptuously, waving her hand and the blood-fire sizzled and hissed into steam, evaporating before it came close to touching her.
Fritha shrieked and swung a wild overhead strike, Byrne parrying, sweeping the blow wide and kicking Fritha in the chest, sending her sprawling on her back. Byrne reached inside her surcoat and pulled out another vial, threw it hard on the ground, smashing it, dark liquid soaking into the earth.
“Fréamhacha an domhain, gabháil agus ceangail,” Byrne called out.
The ground shifted, moving, as if something stirred deep down. Then roots were bursting from the ground, snaking out, seeking Fritha like a blind man’s fingers.
Fritha screamed, crawled away, one of the roots snaring her ankle, wrapping around it while more tendrils sought her other limbs. Frenziedly Fritha hacked and chopped at the root, cutting through it. She rolled away, scrambling to her feet.
Byrne pursued Fritha, stabbing and sweeping, Fritha stumbling away, eyes wide.
“WRATH,” Fritha screamed again, louder, and the draig sprinted towards her. It was ripped bloody from its fight with the white bear, but still full of power. Its wings spread wide, beating, rising into the air, and Fritha was running away from Byrne, leaping, arms wrapping around the draig’s neck, and she was swinging onto its back, the draig climbing higher into the air.
A spear whistled past Fritha, and then another winged figure was flying beside her, the half-breed.
Drem watched in frustration as the two winged shapes climbed higher and higher, soon out of range of any spear or arrow, and then they were dwindling quickly to black specks in the sky.
All about them Fritha’s warband broke and scattered. Ferals lifted their heads to the sky, howling, and then they were scattering into the woodland, loping away.
Drem blew out a sigh.
An arm wrapped around Drem’s shoulder—Cullen, grinning at him through a blood-drenched face.
“Well, that was a fight to write a song about, and no denying,” Cullen said.
Keld snorted a laugh on Drem’s other side.
“She got away,” Drem said.
“Aye, well, we’ve got to leave some fights for the morrow,” Cullen answered, “or else we’d have nothing left to look forward to.”
Drem looked at Cullen and shook his head, while Keld threw his head back and laughed. Byrne joined them, watching Fritha and Morn fading into the distance.
“Where’s Gulla?” Byrne said.
Keld’s laughter turned to a frown.
“Not here,” Drem said.
“Aye.” Byrne nodded. “But if he’s not here, then where, and why?”
Drem didn’t like where that thought led him.