Bjorn cursed, barely managing to block another blow with the shield. Then another and another, the wood cracking and splintering under the onslaught.
Lifting my sword, I shouted, “Bjorn, take mine!” and held it out, hilt first.
He reacted instantly, blocking a blow, and then twisting away. He snatched my weapon from my grip, rotating in time to block another blow.
It went on, Bjorn defending but never going on the offensive because there was no point. My sword would pass right through the draug’s body without doing any harm. The jarl could not be killed except with the power of a god, which Bjorn was stubbornly resisting despite his axe being right there.
All for fucking honor.
My breath came in painful little gasps as I envisioned him dying, yet another to fall because of me and everything I supposedly represented. Tears flowed down my cheeks, because instead of going to Valhalla as he deserved, Bjorn would rise as one of the draug. And I’d have to leave him here. Would have to figure out a way to fight past these creatures so that I might survive, for dying seemed the greatest insult I could possibly give to Bjorn’s sacrifice.
Which meant I needed to find a way to get out.
Bjorn’s shield shattered under one of the jarl’s blows, broken pieces flying everywhere. My eyes skipped over the chunks of wood, all too small to be the slightest bit effective. Nothing within reach was large enough to use, which meant I’d need to try to wrest a shield from one of the draug.
“Fuck,” I breathed, seeing that Bjorn’s strength was fading and I’d found no solution. He’d said to trust Hlin, but what did that mean?
Bjorn stumbled beneath a heavy blow, the reopened cut on his brow splattering the ground with blood, droplets sizzling as they struck his axe where it still rested near my feet.
The axe.
I stared at the weapon, understanding of what I needed to do sending beads of sweat running down my back.
Could I do it again? Could I pick it up? And if I did, what would I be able to do, given my hand would be incinerated in a matter of moments? What had Bjorn believed I could accomplish?
Think, Freya, I silently screamed.
What had been his original plan? What had he hoped to achieve by drawing them here and challenging the jarl, because I didn’t believe for a heartbeat that these vermin would honor the terms agreed to by their vanquished leader.
Unless they had to?
Made to bear the burden of their master’s curse. Bjorn’s voice filled my head, and I abruptly understood what I needed to do.
Pick it up, I ordered myself. End this.
Sweat rolled down my cheeks to mix with my tears, my fear of the pain battling with my fear of watching Bjorn die. Of dying myself.
Do it.
My heart throbbed with terror as I edged closer to the axe. Already the heat of it made me sick, my head spinning.
A sharp hiss of pain caught my attention, my eyes jerking back to the fight to see Bjorn stumble, a gash just above his elbow spilling crimson across the ground. The jarl pushed the advantage, swinging hard.
Steel clashed against steel, my sword flipping out of Bjorn’s hands, the jarl’s mouth gaping wide as he laughed.
There was no more time.
I reached for the axe, clenching my teeth against the pain that would come. Just before I took hold of the weapon, Bjorn’s words filled my ears: Trust Hlin’s power.
“Hlin,” I gasped out. “Protect me.”
Magic surged into my body right as Bjorn fell, landing hard on his back. Tears of terror dripped into my mouth, but I forced myself to focus. Not to push the magic outward, but to draw it over my fingers. My palm. My wrist, until it all glowed with the goddess’s light.
Please let this work. I closed my hand over the handle of the axe, and braced for the burn.
But the smell of charring flesh did not fill my nose.
Rising to my feet, I hefted the weapon as the draug pressed a bony foot down on Bjorn’s chest.
“You are defeated,” the jarl whispered, not seeming to notice that I held the axe as he said to his followers, “You may have the woman after he’s dead, but only I will feast on the flesh of the Firehand.”
The jarl lifted his weapon, and Bjorn grinned. “I forfeit the challenge.”
The draug hesitated, seemingly surprised, and in that heartbeat, I let the axe fly.
It flipped end-over-end, embedding with a thunk in the jarl’s chest. Slowly, he looked down, vacant eye sockets latching onto the burning weapon.
My heart skipped with the fear that I’d erred. That Tyr disapproved of my actions and would deny me his power.
The jarl took one step toward me, reaching—