“Is that a law?” He did not want to provoke the man, but Erik was growing tired of being told what his actions were meant to mean.
“There is no such law. Only the word of a warchief.”
The man wanted to continue but Erik was tired of listening. “And if I told you how to run your warband, what would you say to me?”
Flosi stopped, any politeness fading from his face for a moment before it returned. “You’ve made your point well. I have not respected you. But why call yourself a warchief and those who follow you a warband?”
“I have a war.” Erik’s eyes turned reflexively to the sky, scanning it.
Flosi followed his eyes up and realization grabbed the warchief. “I cannot argue with that. I find myself wishing that it were mine after the battle I saw.”
“Agree to disagree,” Erik said, shaking his head at what sounded to him like a madman’s wish.
The meat was brought and Flosi asked Erik about his time in Helheim. He recounted the story, Flosi insisting on details of every minute of his time in Lofgrund and jealous that he’d met with Völundr.
“I have looked for his place in—”
Göll stood as Tove finished her meal. “You will train, Tove.”
Tove leapt to her feet, not wasting a moment. “Good.”
Erik called after her, “What about sleep?”
“I’ll sleep when I can no longer move!” Tove didn’t bother looking back. A few cheers rang from the far side of the camp.
“She is another thing I’m jealous of.”
“Tove?”
Flosi laughed. “Yes. There are few I’ve seen who would defend their warchief so readily. Twice no less. A death is not something that passes so easily as in Midgard.”
Erik looked off at Tove as Göll began showing her how she ought to hold her sword. He hadn’t given much thought to her act when the valkyries had attacked. He hadn’t thought much of death at all, even as her pained screams from the night before tore at him. Flosi had put a different view of it in his head.
“Flosi, would you go to Valhalla if you were chosen?”
He seemed caught off guard by the question. “Would I…” Flosi’s brow furrowed under the weight of the question and he looked into the flames of the fire. “Of course… An honor like that, you could not hope to ask for more in life.”
“Even if it meant leaving your warband? Or seeing them destroyed for being unworthy?”
Flosi’s eyes did not look away from the fire, his voice was soft, unsure. “You ask strange and difficult questions, Erik.”
That was all he said. They finished their meat in silence, Flosi leaving when the meal was done. Asfrid came to collect the flat plates and mugs and returned to check his wounds.
“I’ve not seen Flosi so talkative in many, many years.” She smiled up at him. “We are all thankful for you for that, even those who do not show it well.” She poked at the wound and Erik jumped. She giggled, standing. “Sleep will do you good. There is only so much sun here.” She bowed her head and walked away.
Erik stood, rubbing his hand over the still aching place Asfrid had touched. He walked to the edge of the area where Göll was practicing with Tove. The valkyrie was pulling her punches, but only barely. Tove was soaked with sweat and had stripped off her overcoat even though it had only been a few minutes. He wanted to smile, but found himself, instead, worried. Tove had died for him, suffered willingly, and she would be destroyed if she was not found worthy. Göll helping was a step toward saving her, but there was only so much time before they would find themselves at Valhalla. The valkyries would not allow them the time Tove might need.
He returned to his bedroll, lost for what to do, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it then and there. He would sleep. It was all he could do in the valley. He would have to leave the rest to Göll for now.
chapter|27
Erik lay half-asleep in his bedroll when a sudden wave of freezing cold water came rushing over him. He shot up, looking around, ready for a fight but found only Jari standing with a bucket, laughing.
“Ha! Warm in your bed, berserker?”
Erik rushed over to the fire, pulling off the wet overcoat as he went and counting himself lucky that the clothes beneath were still more or less dry. The cold of the mountain pass had forced him to wear as much as he could to get a decent sleep, even as tired as he’d been. It was night again and the world beyond the fires was pitch black the way the forest had been.
Jari followed him over to the fire, satisfied with having ruined Erik’s morning. He tossed the bucket onto the ground casually, taking a seat well out of arm’s reach from Erik.
“You been real comfortable since you got to Helheim, ain’t ya?” He talked entirely different than he had during his stint pretending to be a lost traveler. “How’d one soft as you end up so blessed?”
Erik scoffed, rubbing his arms, trying to will the fire to warm him more quickly. “Blessed? That what we’re calling it?”
“How’d you count it, berserker? Such a terrible life being chosen, folk who’d die for you, able to stand alone against a valkyrie? The things of legend and you’d even question it?”
“Not everyone wants to be a legend. I’d trade your jealousy for not having a burning spear jammed through my chest.”
Jari stood up, disgusted at the suggestion. “Might as well you spit in the mouth ah the gods!” He took a step toward Erik. “And
