“How many?”
“Four, at least!”
The blonde was rounding for another charge when the fourth swooped above them. She was far faster than the other three. “Göll, your chosen outfights you! How much shame can you bring upon yourself? I’ve dirtied myself with the air in Helheim, and this is all you have for me?” She flew off, cackling.
Göll was in something of a stalemate with the other valkyrie, but she was keeping one of their number busy, at least. As Erik turned his eyes to the fourth, the brown-haired valkyrie charged him. Erik shifted toward Tove, not having his balance quickly enough to do anything more than dodge.
“Hlökk, you are as embarrassing as Göll! At least put a cut to the boy.”
A thundering crack sounded from behind and Göll slid back toward them, her feet dragging snow as she barely kept upright.
“Why have you come, Róta?! This is not your place!” Göll barked the words up, but did not wait for an answer, readying her spear and flying toward the valkyrie she’d been in combat with.
The valkyrie above was no longer talkative, as Hlökk and the blonde came again for Erik, this time stopping short to drive their blades at him from the ground. Erik slapped the spear tip away from his stomach and charged. As he ran up the length of it, the blade followed him back, forming into a short sword. He was forced to reverse course. Behind he heard another thundering blow. He could not turn to see it as the blonde slid in to his side. He had barely dodged the blades aimed at his gut when he saw Tove move out of the corner of his eye. She ran behind him. He heard a hissing at his back as soon as she’d started toward him and spun to see Göll on the ground and the third valkyrie charging. Tove planted herself in front of his body and before the space of a blink, a glowing white blade punched through her chest. It was ripped away again, pulling Tove forward onto the ground, where she fell, motionless.
Erik let out a vicious scream, turning back to the valkyries who were readying their blades against him. His eyes met Hlökk’s and he saw panic flush over her. She moved to flee but he grabbed the neck of her leather armor. He could feel it trying to shift its shape underneath his hands, but he refused to let it and the armor obeyed him. Hlökk screamed in terror and Erik swung, his knuckles crashing against her face, pressure blowing her hair aside before the impact. She crashed across the ground, tumbling away into the fog, her body limp and still. He screamed again, hearing Tove’s screams as she reincorporated, and rushed at the blonde who fled outright.
He’d almost caught her when Róta dropped between them, jabbing a sword into his side before he could change course to avoid it. Without thinking, he swung, catching Róta’s shoulder. She was pulled back by the blow and the sword was pulled free, leaving a gushing wound.
From the fog, he heard shouting and a loud crack split the air around them. At least a dozen human men and women pounded into the camp, swords pointed toward the valkyries. He fell to his knees as Róta called for a retreat. The fog faded away entirely and Erik rolled forward, bleeding freely from his stomach. He put a hand over the wound, desperate to hold in whatever he could. They would find him alone in the woods. He rolled over onto the ground, staring up at the moon at the far edge of the dark sky. A man with long, wild hair and a full, braided beard came over to him, crouching down and smiling.
“We won’t let you die, einherjar.” He laughed. “The walk would be too long to find you again.”
Erik’s strength faded and the world went black around him. When his mind returned to him the first time, he realized it felt like far too much time had passed for him to have died. The pain came shortly after, but he swore he saw a woman pressing the area with something and an awful smell.
He woke again, the cold wind blistering against his face as the light of day had started to fade in. He heard Tove’s screams from somewhere not far off and, though the sound made him wish to rise and do whatever he could for her, his body would not listen and sleep took him again.
The sun was on his face when he felt a dried crust get pulled away from his skin. His eyes shot open, but an attempt to move failed him almost immediately. A woman with high cheeks and pale, freckled skin leaned over him, putting a cool hand on his head.
“You’re wounded, einherjar. You should sleep.”
Her soft voice was kind and convincing. Erik closed his eyes again as another warm, terrible smelling paste was applied to his wound. It was calming, aside from the smell.
It was dusk when he finally woke with enough strength in his body to fight sleep back. He was lying on top of his bedroll, covered with sheepskin blankets. There was a large fire burning and at least a half dozen men sitting around it. There were two women as well, one cooking and the other tending to Tove. Her screams had turned to pained moans, at least.
Erik stood himself up, groaning through the hurt as he did. Behind him, he heard the shifting of familiar leather. He turned to see Göll standing quietly behind him. The wound had closed, but not enough to allow him easy movement. The noise had drawn the attention of everyone in the camp. As surprising as it might have been, Erik’s grips were still on his wrists and he began to ball his fists when the men reached for the hilts of their swords. The wild-haired man from before
