HULD WANTED to use her healing spell to heal all of Bloodsong’s wounds. Bloodsong agreed only to let her heal the serious ones that would hamper her battle skills.
When she was done, Huld’s vision swam, her energies drained by the spell. Bloodsong helped her to stretch out on her cloak on the snowy ground. Huld saw the concern in Bloodsong’s eyes.
“I’ll be all right,” the Witch said.
“You need food, as do I,” Bloodsong replied.
“As do we,” Thorfinn added, eyeing the discarded food the soldiers had been eating. “I’ll bring some to you.”
“I will help,” Valgerth said, and went with him.
“Huld,” Bloodsong said, sitting on the snow beside her, “thank you for helping and for using your energy to heal some of my wounds.”
“You were right.”
“About?”
“Good thing there weren’t nine.” She smiled. “You’ve known those two for a long time?” She was already feeling slightly better, her depleted energies returning.
“Valgerth was a slave with me in Nastrond. She was chosen to be an arena warrior to punish her, just as I had been. I trained her to use sword and ax. She already knew how to wield a bow and taught me something of its use. When I led our escape, Valgerth was one of the few to survive. After the escape, everyone scattered so that no one would know where another had gone, in case of capture and questioning. But Valgerth and I broke that rule and visited each other from time to time.”
“And Thorfinn?”
“She met him later, just as I met a man called Eirik in the village that accepted me. Thorfinn knew the basics of weapons handling, but Valgerth taught him the techniques of an arena warrior. They fell in love and evidently still feel that way. I am glad she has found the years of happiness that—” Her voice trailed away.
“That what?” Huld prompted. “That you did not?” she asked gently.
Bloodsong looked at her angrily, then her expression softened. She looked down at the snow, then back at Huld.
“I knew happiness, Huld, for a year or two, in that village, with Eirik. And then, briefly, with my son. But Nidhug’s sorcery led him to me.” Her face became a grim mask. Her fists were clenched, eyes suddenly brimming. “That monster killed them all. And, as you already guessed, me.”
Huld was silent, but she reached out and squeezed Bloodsong’s hand.
Bloodsong rose to her feet. “Can you stand?” She extended an arm for Huld to grasp.
Huld accepted the offered arm, got to her feet.
Bloodsong turned to go help Valgerth and Thorfinn, but then saw that they stood not three paces away, holding wineskins and food in their arms.
“How much did you hear?” Bloodsong asked, holding Valgerth’s gaze.
“Everything,” Valgerth answered.
“And now you will turn from me in disgust? So be it. You are free and owe me no debts.”
“Freyadis,” Valgerth quietly said, stepping forward and touching her friend’s arm. “We already knew, or guessed, that you had, well, died. We came to the village after it had happened. We saw what Nidhug had done, found empty ropes tied around that tree. We buried Eirik and your son with honor, for you.”
New tears stung Bloodsong’s eyes. “My thanks, for that.”
“And while we were there, I had one of my cursed visions,” Thorfinn told her. “I saw what had happened to you and told Valgerth that you were dead. She refused to accept it, though, until years had gone by.”
“Then, yesterday morning,” Valgerth continued, “Odin gave Thorfinn another vision, but in this one he saw you alive, clad in black, riding from the north. So,” Valgerth smiled, “we set out to find you.”
“But why?” Bloodsong asked, watching both their faces. “You were safe and, I assume, happy. So why—”
“Why!” Valgerth laughed. “You haven’t changed, Freyadis. Why? Because, other than Thorfinn, you have been my only true friend. That’s why, of course!”
“You’re wrong, Valgerth. Not about me being your friend. I am honored to still be that. But I have changed.”
“We all change, perhaps,” Valgerth admitted, “but not in the ways that matter between friends, even if you did die ... Hel-praying?”
“Aye. A woman’s voice in my mind promised to resurrect me after my death so that I could seek revenge upon Nidhug, if only I would die Hel-praying. The whisperer claimed to be Hel Herself. I thought it sounded more like my dead mother and thought I was having a dying hallucination. So, I refused to play along. But then the voice in my head sweetened the bargain.” She looked at Huld. “Huld knows some of the rest, but not all. I was carrying my second child, you see, and I could feel it dying within me as I died. But the voice claiming to be Hel promised that She would allow the child to live and be born in Helheim after life had been restored to my flesh, if only I would die Hel-praying and serve Her.
“Still I refused. I never again intended to be anyone’s slave, whether Nidhug’s or Hel’s. So, She went even further. She promised that I could raise my child for six years in Helheim before embarking upon a task She would set me. And once that task was finished, She promised She would free me from all obligations to Her and return my child to live with me on the green Earth. I thought still I had gone mad, but at last I accepted. And I was not mad! I awoke in the ice-shrouded halls of Helheim, bore a daughter, and named her Guthrun.”
“A daughter,” Valgerth said, squeezing Bloodsong’s hand. “And with your mother’s name.”
“I’m proud of her, Val. I wish you could see her.”
“I can hardly wait, Freyadis! And as soon as we help you do this task Hel set you—”
“You are not going to ride with me. I won’t allow it.”
“Skadi’s Bow!” Valgerth exclaimed. “Of course we are going to help you.”
“You owe me no debts.”
“Except that if not for you, I would have ended my life as a slave.”
“You owe me no debts,” Bloodsong repeated, looking down.
No one spoke for a moment, then Thorfinn touched Valgerth’s shoulder. “Let’s deal with this food that we’ve found,” he suggested.
“An excellent idea,” Huld agreed.
Valgerth nodded. “Freyadis?”
Bloodsong looked up, eyes streaming. “Garm’s Bottom! Do you need my permission to eat?”
Valgerth and the others laughed. ”You swear by the fearsome Hound of Hel’s bottom, now, Freyadis?” Valgerth asked, still laughing.
Huld rolled her eyes. “And she has the nerve to chide me for swearing by Freya’s Teats!”
They all laughed again, and this time Bloodsong, too.
* * *
A stream of curses poured from Nidhug’s lips. He had sensed more soldiers dying by Bloodsong’s hand.
He still sat near the window in his sleeping chamber, scrolls spread before him on the table. He glanced at them, selected one, rolled it up.
The king stood. A wave of weakness suddenly rushed through him, nearly making him fail. The stench of something dead arose around him. His heart fluttered irregularly. In the afternoon sunlight filtering through his window, he saw that his hands had begun to revert to those of a withered corpse, and without looking, he knew his face was again taking on the aspect of a skull.
So soon? he thought as he slumped back into the chair. Why so soon this time? He’d only just performed the youth spell that dawn.
Fear and panic gripped him. It shouldn’t have happened so soon. Perhaps it was because of the Hel-warrior. Yes, that had to be it. He had expended extra energy using his sorcery because of Bloodsong, and that had made the age-sickness return unusually rapidly. His fear receded slightly, now that he thought he understood. He sat a moment longer, thinking, then pulled his black silk hood from a pocket in his robe and slipped it over his head to hide the skullish horror of his face. Another pocket yielded his black leather gloves. He pulled them onto his skeletal hands.
He slowly rose, unsteadily, from the chair, walked from the room, and carefully, his legs trembling from the strain, made his way down the tower stairs.