“But, have I not earned it?” Varg said, with surprise, a flicker of fear and anger.
“That is not for me to say,” Vol said, wrapping the bandage back around him. A draught blew through the chamber, making the torches flicker. The door creaked and Skalk walked in, Olvir and Yrsa behind him. He was smiling, limping and leaning on his knotted oaken staff.
“Here you are,” he said to Vol. “I have been looking for you. I have injured my leg and hoped you would be able to help.”
“Injured?” Vol said.
“How can you be injured when you did not fight?” Torvik muttered under his breath.
“Yes, here,” Skalk said, stopping and pointing down at his leg.
“Where?” Vol said, shifting her weight to turn and look at Skalk.
He swung his staff into Vol’s head, a short, hard blow, a crack and she collapsed, her eyes rolling back into her head.
Torvik grunted and rose, reaching for his seax.
Yrsa stepped forward and punched her spear into his throat, ripped it free, arterial blood jetting. Torvik clutched at the wound, blood spurting through his fingers, gurgled and flopped back against the wall, slid down to sit beside Varg, who was staring, frozen. He moved, grunted with pain, and then Olvir’s sword was hovering over his chest. He stared wildly at Torvik, who looked back at him. His friend’s hand grasped for him, and Varg held it, looking into Torvik’s eyes.
“Brother,” Torvik choked through his own blood.
“He needs a weapon in his fist, to walk the soul road,” Varg cried.
“I am not putting a weapon anywhere near you,” Skalk said. “I saw you fight a dragon-born.”
“I will do nothing, I swear it,” Varg pleaded. “Please,” he said, his eyes still locked with Torvik. He could see the life draining from him. Then there was a gurgled hiss and Torvik was gone.
“Can you walk?” Skalk asked him as Yrsa strode to the door on the far side of the chamber, opened it and went in.
“You are a murderer,” Varg breathed, shock, fear, anger swirling through him.
“Enough of that,” Skalk said with a wave of his hand. “We do what we have to do.”
Varg glowered up at Skalk. “Why am I still alive?”
“You have a choice, Varg. I watched you slay one of the Tainted. A dragon-born.”
“I attacked him from behind,” Varg muttered. “Took him by surprise.”
“The dragon-born have been widely thought to be a saga-story,” Skalk continued, ignoring Varg. “Extinct, if they ever existed, until I saw that one walk out into broad daylight with a talon of dead Orna in his hands. And you slew him. That is a rare deed. Glornir with all of his battle-fame could not do that. So…” He sucked in a deep breath, staring at Varg intently. “I know that you wish an akáll performed, which I can do for you, and I would like you at my side, as one of my oathsworn. That is my offer: come with me, swear your oath to me, and I will give you what you want.”
Varg just stared back at Skalk. The pain in his side, the murder of Torvik, the stink of blood and voided bowels filling the room: it was like some fevered nightmare.
Yrsa emerged from the far room carrying a chest. She placed it at Skalk’s feet, and he squatted, slid the bolt and opened the lid. Waves of power leaked from the chest like heat from an opened oven. Varg saw the pale gleam of the bone sword, a sheaf of rolled parchments, and other things as well. He grimaced and looked away.
“What is wrong?” Skalk asked him. Frowned. “Can you feel this?”
“You cannot?” Varg muttered.
“Hhmmm,” Skalk murmured, a glitter in his eyes. He closed the lid with a snap and the throbbing power receded. The Galdurman stood and hefted the chest.
Varg looked at Torvik’s hand in his, already growing cold.
Torvik is dead. He was my… friend. It felt strange to think that, when Varg had been friendless his whole life. He felt the surprise and fear becoming overwhelmed by the anger rising in his belly. Looked to Vol, who lay unconscious on the rock floor.
“Take her,” Skalk said to Yrsa, who squatted and pulled Vol up over her shoulder, stood and walked to the chamber’s exit. She looked out.
“Clear,” she said to Skalk.
“Take her to the horses,” Skalk said and Yrsa disappeared from view, her footsteps echoing, fading. He was watching Varg and saw his eyes following Vol.
“She is coming with me,” Skalk said, “I have never seen a Seier-witch so powerful. She is wasted on the Bloodsworn, will make a fine thrall to me.” He smiled. “So, back to my offer. Swear your oath to me, and you will have your akáll. Yes?”