“Fuck!”
“Abandon it until the battle’s end!” Arne called to him. “Their armor is designed to trap penetrating weapons!”
As Sigurd struggled to remove the greatsword, another approaching berserker closed in. Desperately, he pulled at his blade. His biceps strained, burning from the effort.
The berserker’s steps practically quaked the ground.
“My lord!” Sten called in panic. Five berserkers locked the two housecarls in battle, preventing them from reaching Sigurd. The men appeared impervious to weapons, their armor all but impossible to penetrate.
A cruel grin spread over the enemy’s bearded face, red lips barely visible amidst his frizzy orange beard. The berserker no doubt thought he had Sigurd at the disadvantage.
He did not. Instead, Sigurd abandoned the weapon and claimed the adjacent hammer of his fallen enemy. With strength he hadn’t known he possessed, Sigurd swung the massive weapon upwards and caught the berserker in the face, rocking him backward off his feet. His helmet flew as the blow reduced his cheek and jaw into a fine red mist.
Roars swept up and down the battlefield, a combination of hoots and hollers screaming his name. Fearlessly, he waded through the bloodshed to join his housecarls.
“That may have won us a moment, but we’ll soon be overrun,” Arne said, his hammer also dripping blood.
“We can’t let that happen.”
Horns blew, sounding from both the west and the north. Dread rose at the sight of horses on the ridge. If Gunnar had sent a second wave, there was no way they could stand against them. Before he had a chance to call a retreat, the horsemen charged—straight into Gunnar’s lines.
“They fly Jarl Finessa’s standard!” someone cried.
“And I see Ulfgar’s bear!” Arne said, following with a victorious whoop.
With reinforcements from the drottin, the battle came to a swift end. Sigurd gazed over the field of bodies, his relief at their victory bittersweet. They had lost people, good men and women.
“You fight like a berserker,” Arne said, clapping Sigurd on the shoulder. “My brother and I had to work to keep up with you.”
“I had a good teacher.”
The twins shared a look, wearing matching sly grins. “The queen is a formidable warrior. She and her shield maidens are responsible for much of this.” Sten nodded toward the carnage.
“She has spirit. The jarls will not be able to deny her,” Arne agreed.
“Let us hope.”
The arrival of the drottin could mean hope for their rebellion, but if they didn’t accept Brynhildr, they could also spell their doom.
The jarls who came to their rescue waited in the great hall. With the rush of battle still singing in her veins, Bryn could think of much better activities she’d rather be doing than greeting stuffy nobles. Activities that involved finishing what she and Sigurd had started before the fight began.
The sacrifices she had to make.
Sigurd and her father met her at the doors, both wearing equally grim expressions. She glanced between them both and folded her arms over her chest.
“They wish to examine me?”
“Did you expect anything less, daughter? They must see with their own eyes, as I did, so they can accept the truth.”
“Did they not see enough on the battlefield? Would a draugar fight alongside them?”
“A wise one?” her father asked. “Yes. Do this for me, Brynhildr. Please.”
Bryn unclenched her jaw. She had always been her father’s daughter, rarely able to deny him. “So be it,” she relented.
She strode past them, infusing every step with confidence as she entered the hall. She would not go meekly to her doubters.
“Thank you for coming to our aid,” she announced, coming to a halt before the group of shocked jarls. She removed her helm and set it aside on the table, allowing them a good look at her living skin, her flushed face, and the emotion in her eyes that no draugar could present. “Your loyalty to my father will not be forgotten.”
“By Odin’s eye, it really is her,” Jarl Finessa said. “I expected this to be a mischief worthy of Loki; a shield maiden at play.”
“No pranks. No deceptions. I am exactly as you see, and that army you fought was sent by the husband who tried to kill me. The former husband.”
“If I had not seen the king’s men with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it possible,” Jarl Folke said, stroking his enormous white beard. “The girl is clearly not dead. She has a flush in her cheeks. She breathes, she lives.”
“So it seems she does, but for what reason would our king lie?” another asked.
“To push our kingdom into war,” Bryn replied. “How many of you stood against him? How many of you then raised war banners to avenge my ‘death’ at the hands of those Gunnar calls our enemies?”
More than a few drottin hung their heads.
Jarl Finessa smiled thinly. “Brynhildr, allow me to explain. It is only fair that we share in the blame equally.”
“You have no need to apologize,” Bryn said, waving her off. “You had no reason to suspect Gunnar would try and do away with me. He played all of us, and by doing so he has put into action his plans to storm Jotunheim, and from there, the other kingdoms.”
Brynjar sighed. “We all wanted to avenge you. Even I promised my best swordsmen when the time comes. A promise I will no longer keep.”
“There is still the matter of what is to be done,” Jarl Ulfgar insisted. “The king has attacked you, Brynjar, for harboring a draugar. While it is clear Queen Brynhildr is very much alive, you’ve given us no proof that he is behind what happened to her. Should we not deliver Brynhildr to him and let him see with his own eyes that she lives?”
Her father slammed his fist on the table. “I gave him that opportunity. His reply was an attack. Are we to stand for this?”
“We’re too few on our own,” Jarl Ivar said, the voice of reason. “At the moment, his eye is set on Jotunheim. We risk defending them only for the giants to mop up our forces afterward. There has been no peace between our kind for generations.”
The answer stood out as bright as day in her mind, and as the jarls argued amongst themselves, she wondered how they couldn’t see it.
“I will go to Jotunheim and seek their aid. I will broker a truce between us.”
They all stared, but at least they all fell silent. Their arguing had been driving her mad.
“You cannot be serious, my queen,” Ivar began, but she held up a hand, cutting him off.
“I am going, and that’s final. While I am gone, I task you all with winning over the other drottin to our cause. When I return, I will need all the allies we can muster.”
It was a big step—possibly a huge mistake—but a necessary one. She couldn’t fix the past, but she could damn well try to forge a new future.
Chapter 15
For the second time in a decade, Bryn said goodbye to Staerkvaeg Keep. Unlike the day she left her father’s hold to fulfill her role as High Queen Brynhildr, she prayed to Meili that she safely returned. That they safely returned.
Covertly, she stole a glance at her companion. Sigurd had never looked more handsome, outfitted in a lush white bear fur. Tough brown leather guards covered his powerful legs, paired with matching gloves. But those weren’t the best part of his new wardrobe. To top it all, her father had ordered his personal armorer to outfit Sigurd in a gleaming metal breastplate reserved for his captains.