JALNA AUDSDAUGHTER sat upon a cold stone bench, knees together, hands tightly clasped in her lap, fighting to control her fear. Beside her, an older woman fidgeted nervously.
Jalna glanced at the guards, both clad in the black leather uniforms of Nidhug’s soldiers. She caught the younger one watching her again and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. The air was chill, but the young guard’s gaze was not, and she was naked beneath the cloak.
They had awakened her in the dead of night, stripped her, given her the dirty cloak, taken her to the dungeons then further down. The deeper they went, the colder grew the air and the more uneven the stone stairs. In places, narrow, rough-hewn wooden ramps substituted for crumbled stairways.
A single torch illuminated the small, dank room they eventually reached. A spider-web shrouded the rusted torch-bracket. A large spider hung motionless in the web.
The older guard had wanted to gag and bind the two prisoners. The younger had insisted they be left unfettered. Jalna had thought for a moment the men would come to blows over the argument, and she’d considered trying to escape if they had, but to where?
There were two exits, the locked, wooden door through which they had come and a dark opening in the opposite wall through which, she assumed, they eventually meant to take her.
Jalna shivered. They had not even allowed her sandals, and the dirty stone floor was icy beneath her bare feet.
There were persistent rumors amongst the slaves that King Nidhug sacrificed victims to monstrous Gods worse than Hel and Her brothers. Was it true? Was that to be her fate?
She fought panic. She prayed. Skadi! Enemy of Hel and Great Goddess of the Hunt! Give me strength and clear thoughts!
A memory came to her. As a child, before being taken to Nastrond, she often won games by doing the unexpected. The same impulse came to her now as she stared at the dark opening. Attempting escape, however, might mean punishment worse than the reason she was in the chamber, maybe even death. But if she was to be sacrificed and killed anyway—
The woman beside her sobbed. “We’re going to die. I’ve had dreams, this chamber, death—”
“Silence!”
It was the older guard, Jalna saw, who had spoken. “I’ll bind and gag you yet.”
“We’re going to die!” the woman repeated.
Both men came forward. The younger of the two, Jalna’s watcher, leaned down. “Be silent, woman. It’s our necks if we don’t keep you silent.”
“I must not die! I have children. There’s been a mistake. I—”
“You must get hold of yourself.”
“Please check with someone? My children need me!”
He turned to the other guard. “If Nidhug has allowed her to have children, Axel, maybe she’s right about a mistake.”
“She’s lying, Tyrulf.”
“No!” the woman insisted.
Axel shoved Tyrulf aside. He gathered a fistful of the woman’s blond hair and jerked back her head. “Shut up, slave, or I’ll shut you up.”
She whimpered.
“Don’t hurt her, Axel.”
Jalna slowly rose to her feet.
“You shut up, too, Tyrulf.”
Jalna took a step toward the dark opening.
“I’m just saying that you don’t need to hurt her.”
Jalna took another step.
The weeping woman screamed. “Frigga help me!”
Axel struck the woman.
She slumped sideways.
“You didn’t have to hit her so hard.”
“She’ll be awake again before Nidhug wants her.” Axel ripped away a strip of her cloak and used it to gag her, then he ripped off another strip and tied her hands behind her back. “You see now why I like to gag and tie them? I should not have listened to you.”
“You like gagging and tying them. But you’re not touching the other one.”
“I noticed you eyeing her. If you’re so cursed interested, tie her and have some fun!”
“No.” He glanced around to steal another look at the dark haired young slave. “She’s gone!”
“Curse her! Go get her!”
“No.”
“No?”
“She can only have gone into the tunnel, Axel. There’s no escape there.”
“But Nidhug—“
“I’ve no intention of further angering the king. A slave who can’t get away is one thing, but breaking his rule about not entering the tunnel unless he accompanies us is another.”
Axel calmed. “Aye.”
“I almost wish she could escape.”
“You’re a fool, then. He’d punish us. She’s not worth it.”
Tyrulf shrugged. “I’ve noticed her before. I watched her working in the stables that time I helped the blacksmith. She has a way with horses. And—”
“Fool. Idiot. You’re not even allowed to talk to slaves!”
“Thor’s Blood, Axel, I know. But no one deserves what happens to them on that Skull.”
* * *
As soon as Jalna entered the tunnel, darkness swallowed the flickering torchlight from the chamber. She kept her hands in front of her, groped her way forward, moved as fast as she dared in the blackness.
Something tickled the back of her neck. She frantically brushed at whatever it was. Cursed spiders! she thought. She was not afraid of spiders but had no love for them, either. She quickly combed her fingers through her hair several times, in case any spiders lingered there, then continued on.
The narrow passageway twisted and turned, sloping ever downward. The air grew steadily colder, moist and musty, reminding her of her grandmother’s root cellar when she was a child, except that underneath this earthy smell she caught a disturbing hint of death and decay.
She had expected the soldiers to come after her by now. That they had not seemed ominous. Furtive scuttlings brought thoughts of rats.
Down and down she went. Her bare feet were almost numb from the cold, stone floor. Mounting fear turned her breathing into panting. The scent of death grew stronger with each step. Then, faintly, a new sound, a rumbling, pulsing moan, and ahead, a purple glow that came and went in time with the moaning.
She wanted to turn back. She could not. So she moved slowly forward, pressed her back against the damp, rocky wall, felt her way along—
Gods! She jerked back her hand and almost screamed. She had touched something cold on the wall that moved! She heard a scuttling sound. In a brightening of the purple light she glimpsed a centipede the size of a small snake racing upward upon the wall.
She moved forward again. The glowing outlined an opening. She moved even slower. She reached the opening. It was taller than a man and oddly shaped, the end of the tunnel. The only exit.
Jalna cautiously peered through into a vast, vaulted cavern. Torches in brackets shrouded by spider-webs flickered around the walls. The pulsing purple light came from a monstrous thing in the center. It was made of either ice or crystal and looked like a human skull.
Heart racing, she squinted to sharpen her vision. Something was hanging from the towering horror. Chains!
A flash of sizzling blue energy streaked across the Skull’s surface.
She fought panic.
There was a man, dwarfed by the looming Skull, standing with his back to her at its base. Near him was a table strewn with scrolls, one of which he was reading.
The king! His dark, gold-trimmed robes were a dreaded sight, to slaves.
Jalna looked left and right, searched for other openings in the cavern by which she could leave the chamber. She saw none. Neither did she see any other guards.
Blinding pain suddenly tore through her.
A scream of surprised agony burst from her lips.
Her legs felt afire!
She staggered and fell to the rocky floor.
The pain vanished as quickly as it had come.
She tried to get back to her feet.
She could not.
With horror, she realized that her legs were now paralyzed and, from the knees down, numb.
She heard footsteps and looked up.
King Nidhug, a black hood covering his face, walked slowly toward her. A strong stench as of something long dead accompanied him. He leaned down. His black-gloved hands reached for her.
Using her arms, Jalna tried to crawl away.
Nidhug spoke an incantation.
The paralysis spread over the rest of her body. She lay helpless, face down.
“Fool!” Nidhug jerked Jalna onto her back.
Her cloak fell open, leaving her exposed. She fought to move, to cover herself. Her vision blurred with tears but she could not wipe at her eyes nor even close them.
“You have gone against my will, slave. I could still use you for the intended spell, but I am going to save you for other uses. Your disobedience deserves a more severe reward than a quick death on the Skull. You are very pretty, for a slave, but do not worry, I can fix that.”
Jalna tried to speak but could not. She lay helpless, eyes wild with panic, staring up at Nidhug.
“But I am being an inconsiderate host. Wretched girl, you don’t understand what happened. The paralysis of your legs is permanent, unless I choose to heal them, which I do not. I have forgotten the needed spell and can think of no reason to waste time looking for it.” He laughed down at her. “Do you remember something tickling the back of your neck after you entered the passageway? Perhaps you thought of spiders. It was actually two, or more, of my little guardians. Anyone who enters the tunnel without my permission is their prey. Once upon your flesh, they burrowed painlessly into your body. When they reached the nerves controlling your legs, you felt their bite. Your lower legs can no longer feel pain, but the rest of you can, and will, before I finally allow you to die, if I do. Even dead, my sorcery can continue your punishment, make you a death-slave. Enjoy thinking about that while I am gone.” He stepped over her and walked into the tunnel.
Jalna heard his footsteps recede. She tried again to move.
When Nidhug returned, she was where he had left her, staring up at the shadowy ceiling of the cavern. From the corner of her eye, she saw the king, two women, and the two guards.
Nidhug said to the guards, “Take them to the Skull.”
The women begged and struggled.
The king reached down and turned Jalna’s head to the side. “So that you can watch.”
Unable to close her eyes, she saw the guards chain the women to the Skull so that each hung before one of the gaping eye sockets, well above the floor.
Nidhug motioned to the guards then pointed at Jalna. “Chain her to the wall. Use plain iron.”
As the guards obeyed, Jalna noticed that there were many sets of paired manacles and chains hanging from the wall. Most looked to be forged of normal iron. Two sets, however, had chains that were black and glistened as if wet and their attached manacles were engraved with Runes.
The older guard unlocked a set of plain manacles with a key he took from a pouch on his belt while the younger man, who had earlier watched her, held her up. Soon, she was hanging by her wrists, unable to use her paralyzed legs to relieve the strain. She thought she saw concern in the eyes of the young guard. Then both men went to the cavern’s entrance and stood at attention on each side of the opening.
Nidhug spoke an incantation.
Jalna discovered she could again speak and move all but her legs. She strained against her chains.
Nidhug tore away her cloak and tossed it aside. He glanced at the guards. “You are permitted to look.” He gestured at Jalna. “She has her good points, I suppose.”
She noticed that her watcher averted his gaze.
Nidhug spoke an incantation. “Should I forgive you, slave?”
Jalna could not believe he might forgive her, but a desperate hope flared. “Please, heal my legs? I will serve you faithfully. Let me walk again, and I will—” She stiffened with sudden pain.
“Forgive and heal you?” He laughed.
She gasped, gritted her teeth, clenched her fists. The pain grew worse.
“I wonder why the pain-spell took so long to begin. Is your pain threshold unusually high?”
She sobbed. “Make it stop!” All through her body, the pain increased. “Please!” The muscles in her arms and neck bunched with strain.
Nidhug leaned close, smiled, gazed into her eyes, gently smoothed back her dark hair.
She gagged at the death stench that clung to him. “Oh Gods! The pain!”
“Still awake? I’ll make the spell stronger.”
“No!” She sobbed. She tasted blood from biting her tongue. Sweat streamed from her pores. “Mercy!”
He spoke another incantation.
Jalna gasped as the pain doubled. Her body spasmed and jerked against her chains. She wailed a long and ragged scream. As the sound died, her consciousness fled.
Standing at attention on one side of the entrance, Tyrulf almost screamed himself, in sympathy and frustration. He wanted to hurl his spear into the king’s back, but he knew he would not.
* * *
When Jalna awoke, Nidhug stood before her once more. His black hooded concealing hood was gone, revealing the face of a man in his prime. His features were rugged and battle-scarred. The stench of death no longer clung to him. His lips were a thin line as he studied her. His blue eyes were bright beneath shadowy brows. Dark hair hung past his shoulders. Both hair and beard were streaked with gray.
She looked at the Skull. Two withered corpses, little more than skeletons, hung in chains before each gaping eye socket.
The king stared thoughtfully at her then turned to the guards at the entrance. “Take the others down and replace them with this one.”
“No!” Jalna shook her head. “Not me!”
“You’ll have to carry her. Her legs aren’t good for anything but looking at, now.” Nidhug walked to the table at the base of the Skull and picked up a scroll.
Jalna watched the soldiers unchain the two corpses from the Skull. Then they came for her.
Tyrulf held her to prevent her falling as his companion unchained her wrists. He lifted her into his arms. He began carrying her toward the Skull.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
Distracted by her terror, a moment passed before she reacted. She looked at him. “Please, help me!” she whispered back. “You’re my only hope!”
“What is your name?” he asked, leaning close.
“Jalna.”
“I am Tyrulf. I truly wish I could help you, but—”
“There must be something you can do!”
“This wretched duty is punishment for an infraction. I cannot afford another demerit.”
“Then I will die!”
“Keep your voice down,” he urged. “Not all who ride the Skull die.”
“But—”
“Have courage,” he whispered. “We are there.”
She craned her neck around and glanced up at the terrifying Skull. An energy discharge sizzled across its surface. “Don’t put me up there! Kill me first! For Skadi’s sake, don’t put me on that thing!”
“Silence!” Nidhug roared. “Chain her in the center.”
Tyrulf carried her up the stairs of the platform to reach the chains.
She struggled to get free.
He held her tighter. “Stop fighting. Don’t make me drop you.”
She wept.
“Please,” Tyrulf whispered, “don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it!” she sobbed.
“Stretch her dead legs to the corners of the teeth,” Nidhug ordered. “Make an X of her.”
With his hands around her slender waist, Tyrulf gently lifted Jalna so that her wrists would reach the waiting chains. He held her firmly against him while Axel clamped her wrists in manacles.
She saw that the manacles, engraved with Runes, were attached to the inner edges of the eye sockets by glistening black chains.
When Axel had finished clamping her wrists, Tyrulf whispered, “Be prepared. The manacles will hurt your wrists.” He slowly lowered her until the chains were stretched tight. “Ready?” He released her.
She gasped. Her wrists hurt. But that was not all that discomforted her. With her arms and upper back pressed against the ice-cold Skull, she shuddered with an instant chill. She groaned.
From the center of her back to below her hips, the gaping hole where a nose would have been yawned open. Icy air wafted from within the Skull, stinking of death. She heard a faint rustling sound and into her mind flashed an image of snakes. She tried to turn her head to see behind her but, held as she was, she could not.
Her numb feet hung above the Skull’s grinning teeth for a moment, then the men clamped her ankles in manacles attached to more of the black and glistening chains.
Axel climbed down. Tyrulf joined him.
As the men pushed the platform they had used away, Jalna discovered she could move a little, left and right and, if she strained her arms, she could pull herself a short distance up, but that made her wrists hurt worse. She saw Tyrulf looking up at her. A flash of blue energy snaked sizzling across the top of the Skull.
“Throw those things in the pit,” Nidhug ordered.
Tyrulf and Axel gathered into their arms the remains of the women.
“That was a foolish thing to do, Tyrulf,” Axel said as they walked back through the tunnel carrying their grisly burdens. “You endangered me, too, curse you! Whispering to a prisoner?”
Tyrulf said nothing. The only way to help Jalna would be to kill the king. Even though he found her attractive and wished her no harm, he was not about to throw away his life by attempting an assassination. And even with the king dead, would it truly help? A different tyrant, probably General Kovna, would take over, while Jalna would still be a slave and he a dead soldier.