A river roared somewhere ahead. And birds pinwheeled through the chasm in front of them. She could feel the last hints of civilization dropping away behind them with every step and practically sense Sýr’s elation as the merlin soared through the gap.
“He followed this track,” Bryn said, pointing to the left. “A plump blonde said she’d tried to tell him not to go this way, but he insisted. He wanted answers, he told her.”
“Answers to what?”
“Hopefully, we’ll find out.”
Bryn peered up the narrow track that diverged from the one she stood upon. It had been built for goats by the look of it, and thick weeds overgrew it.
Tormund paused at her side, full of suspicion. “People don’t use this track very often.”
“People don’t come here at all.” She pointed to a skull someone had hung on a cross stave. A pair of ram’s horns had been drilled into it, but that was very clearly a human skull.
“Just where are you taking us, woman?”
She called over her shoulder, “I’m taking you to meet the völva of Grøa. Watch your step. And keep your tongue quiet. She’s guarded by draugar, they tell me.”
The undead were difficult to slay at the best of times.
“Oh, finding Marduk will be no trouble,” he muttered under his breath, pitching his voice to match a female’s tone. “It will be an excellent adventure.”
“What?” Bryn called.
“Nothing,” he grunted, as he scrambled along at her heels. “Just noting how typical this adventure is proving to be. Missing princes. Völva who practice dark magic. Undead. If my luck holds its usual pattern, we’ll probably find ourselves battling some monstrous beast from the Underworld. Or betrayed to an ancient god.”
Bryn shot him a sharp look, but his head was down.
She couldn’t promise any gods.
But did a dreki princess count?
“What took you so long?” Sirius demanded, standing at the top of the mountain track as he swiftly buttoned himself into his breeches.
“Some of us don’t have wings,” Tormund told him, bending over and resting his hands on his hips. Mother of God. His lungs were about to explode and a twinge of pain ached in his right ankle. He didn’t want to admit it but Bryn had set a punishing pace. The only consolation had been watching the tight leather breeches she wore flex over those powerful thighs. “If you wanted speed, you could have carried us.”
“Do I look like a pack mule?”
“No,” Bryn purred. “You look like a powerful dreki prince who rules the skies.”
Tormund’s eyes narrowed on the dreki prince. Losing an eye had done the bastard little damage. Indeed, now Sirius looked even more dangerous, with a leather eyepatch to match the sneering smile he frequently wore.
And clearly Bryn had noticed, as she watched Sirius haul a shirt over the broad expanse of his shoulders with undisguised appreciation.
Trust me, giant. He was dreki…
What did that mean?
“He’s mated,” Tormund told her curtly, after a frustrating morning of having his attempts at conversation rebuffed. “And his wee pretty wife would rip your throat out with her teeth if she saw the way you were looking at him.”
“I’m only looking, giant. Where is the harm in that?” Shrewd eyes turned back to the Blackfrost. “Besides, I know who he is. I know what he’s capable of. It would take a woman braver than I to even think of dabbling with such a creature. His mate must be a powerful warrior.”
Tormund considered Malin. Short. Pretty. Nose buried in a book most of the time. “Honestly, she’s the nicest dreki I’ve ever met. She baked me a cake to thank me for helping her save him.”
Bryn blinked.
“I don’t think she even knows how to hold a sword,” he told her with a little enjoyment. “But then she doesn’t have to. She’s got this great big overgrown lout wrapped around her little finger. He’d eat anyone who tried to harm her.”
“I can hear you,” Sirius called.
“I’m aware of that,” Tormund called back, without taking his eyes off Bryn. “So where do we go now?”
She lifted her face to the skies, watching the merlin who soared above them with a distant look on her face. “Left,” she finally said.
“Of course.” Tormund sighed as he looked to the left. And up. More fucking steps. “Why did I even bother asking?”
“Is there any chance you can cease your complaints for at least ten minutes? I’m starting to forget what silence sounds like.”
Then she stalked to the left, brushing past Sirius as if he wasn’t standing there looking like an ancient god brought to life.
Tormund blew out a breath. The good ones were never easy. Bryn had spent all morning gracing him with an icy shoulder, though her laugh whenever Haakon spoke was warm and hearty—and his cousin wasn’t a funny man.
Though Haakon was clearly amused now, snickering under his breath as Tormund followed their “guide.”
“Enjoying yourself?” he muttered, as he shoved past his cousin, his shoulder slamming into Haakon’s “accidentally.”
Haakon caught himself on a tree. “Immensely. How’s destiny treating you?”
“Coldly. Very, very coldly.”
“Perhaps you should use that endless charm that has never failed before.” Haakon could no longer contain his laughter.
“Do you remember when the lovely Árdís had such doubts about you? And I reminded her that you were worth fighting for?” Tormund shook his head. “I was wrong. I hope one of the draugar eats you.”
Three
Three enormous burial mounds guarded the entrance to the valley. Mist clung to the sweeping slopes, and a pair of enormous lintel stones were carved with ancient runes.
“Looks welcoming,” Tormund muttered under his breath as he drew his axe.
“They’re warnings.” Bryn’s eyes roved the shadows ahead. Gone was any sign of flippancy. Now she moved with the prowling grace of a wolf. “Enter here at your own risk. May the gods be with you.”
“I thought völva practiced natural magics?” Tormund eyed the burial mounds. Sweat dripped down his spine. He’d fought many monsters—dragons, kraken, and wyrms—but draugar were in a category of their own.
“This one foretold a future once that the local villagers did not like. She lives apart from the world, and many men have tried to ruin her. They say she is nearly two hundred years old.”
“Not human then?”
“Human once, perhaps. Though they say she turned her face from blessed Freyja to grim Hel and made a dark bargain in order to preserve her life.”
“You know a great deal about the workings of these people,” Haakon commented, and Tormund knew his cousin’s instincts were roused.
Bryn shrugged as she strode between the rune stones. “I make it my business to know, Dragonsbane. There is good coin in it. And you’re less likely to earn an unexpected knife in the back. Come. Follow my footsteps exactly. And don’t listen to the voices.”
Voices. Jesus.