“Release him,” Freydis demanded with a cold voice.

  Halfdan growled, and he stopped squeezing the life out of Loki, but he kept his grip around his throat. “You wouldn’t dare.” He stared at the knife pressed against Sif.

  “He’s my master. I owe him my life, my powers, everything. Now release him.”

  “It’s going to be alright,” Halfdan said, speaking to Sif. The girl, looking terrified, had water in her eyes as she met his gaze. “Trust me, child. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s not a promise you can make under the circumstances,” Freydis declared. She made sure to hold the edge straight against Sif’s skin. “Unless you let my master go, and we leave through the gate. That’s the only way she gets out of this unharmed.”

  Anger boiled inside Halfdan at seeing his skáld threatened. Sounds escaped from Loki as he stirred, and Halfdan renewed his grip, keeping the flow of air reduced. But he restrained himself and his anger; rather than crush Loki’s windpipe, he kept him captive. And instead of going berserk to tear Freydis limb from limb, he focused on the change, the quiver in her voice and the vulnerability in her eyes. “No. You swore an oath not to harm us, and I don’t believe you’re willing to break it.”

  “Any punishment from breaking it would pale in comparison to how the gods will punish me for serving Loki. Or what he will do to me if I fail.”

  All of them prisoners, the berserker understood in this moment. Loki was bound by Halfdan and the fist that choked the life out of him. Halfdan was bound by Odin’s command to capture Loki, and Sif was bound by the knife against her throat. As for Freydis, she, like Halfdan, was bound by her master’s command.

  “That may be. But still, I doubt. You are excellent at deception, Freydis, and I believe that is because you poured so much truth into your lies. You fought with us, you braved dangers with us, and you promised to protect that child, same as me.” Halfdan stared directly into her green eyes, trusting that he had not misread the signs of companionship and even affection displayed by the priestess. “I don’t believe you could ever hurt her.”

  Freydis’ hand around the knife trembled, and she blinked in a vain attempt to prevent tears from forming. “You’re right,” she finally admitted. “My deceit has failed. I’m a poor priestess of Loki.” She swallowed, and her next words came hesitantly, aimed either at her companion or her master. “Forgive me.” Slowly, her hand descended, removing the blade from Sif’s throat.

  Distracted, Halfdan did not see the attack coming before it was too late. Wielding the gnarled finger from the dead hag with its nail, Loki stabbed the berserker in the neck, and as he pulled it out, a spray of blood followed.

  Wounded and weakened, still troubled by his injuries from the fight, Halfdan released a yell and his grip on Loki. Sinking to the floor, he pressed one hand against his neck to stem the bleeding.

  Sif ran towards him, but Loki intercepted her with a grip too strong for a twelve-year-old child to escape. “Not so fast, my little skáld,” he sneered. “You’re going to open the gate to Myrkheim now, or I’ll make sure he suffers far worse than a bleeding death.” He pulled Sif to the gate. “Get on here,” he commanded Freydis. “Don’t disappoint me again.” Grabbing Sif by the wrist, he held out her hand. “Myrkheim. Now!” Resisting, Sif squirmed under his grip, and she looked to Halfdan instead where he lay bleeding. “Now, you little Hel-spawn, open the gate or I swear, I’ll drag the berserker’s guts out inch by inch while he screams in pain!”

  With tears, Sif did as told, whispering a word, and the gate glowed with light. A moment later, as it disappeared, so did the skáld, priestess, and deceiver standing on it. Halfdan was alone.

  *

  With the Seed gained from dispatching Utgarda-Loki’s men, Halfdan increased [Mend Your Wound] to the fourth rank. He was rapidly losing blood, and in his already weakened state, he felt the chill of death upon him. But the norn had been right when she carved Halfdan’s fate. His powers kept him alive, the blood fleeing his body congealed, and J?tunheim would not be his last destination before the halls of Hel. One more place awaited him. Sindri’s forge in Myrkheim. As he waited for his body to mend, Halfdan’s resolve crystallised into absolute determination. He would find his way to Myrkheim, he would see the child safe, and he would return Loki to an eternity of torment and captivity.

  [Task: Imprison Loki]

  The words hung in the air above his inner sight as a reproach. “I know,” the berserker growled, fully aware of the message from his so-called patron. He still had the Seeds given to him as reward for finding Loki in the first place, at least. And the magical rope used to bind him still lay on the floor. Getting on his feet, Halfdan caught his breath after the mild exertion and looked around. Besides returning the rope to his waist, he picked up the hammer he had taken from a fallen J?tun. He added a seax to his belt, allowing him to wield a weapon in either hand.

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  Now came the question of how far his benefactor’s power could aid him. Placing his remaining Seeds in [Know the Runes], he unlocked it to the second rank. He already knew the alphabet, of course, but he assumed this skill would let him wield their magical powers. After all, was Odin not the god who had devised the runes in the first place? Halfdan believed he had been told that once. Sif would know; he should have asked her – the realisation that she was gone struck him like a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Shaking such morose thoughts from his mind, Halfdan returned his attention to the task at hand. A life depended on him, and unless Odin had other tricks up his sleeve, so did the nine realms.

  Focusing on the rune for Myrkheim, Halfdan held out a hand to point at it. “Fé,” he spoke, and it glowed. The light spread across the branches to illuminate every fruit, every line, filling out the circle – except it faltered before it came far enough to complete the tree.

  Scowling, Halfdan tried again. And again. Each time, the same thing happened. His power was insufficient. It made him wonder how powerful Sif had become as a skáld. Another idle speculation best left for another time; it did not help Halfdan at present. He needed more power or another method of travelling through the realms. One way or the other, he knew where to go. Looking at the bodies of the slain J?tnar, the berserker readied himself for what lay ahead. He had no choice; he needed to seek aid from Utgarda-Loki. And if the J?tun refused, Halfdan would slay him and all his people until he had the power to unlock the gate.

  *

  The trail of dead J?tnar showed Halfdan where to find the entrance that Utgarda-Loki’s men had used. He followed it, entering a narrow tunnel that led above ground. Breathing the fresh air, he took a moment. He had not eaten in a while and had no provisions. He had not slept properly either in a long time. As much as Sif’s absence gnawed at him, Halfdan knew he could not help her if dead. And weariness was one road to mistakes. Finding a tree to lean up against, Halfdan closed his eyes and allowed himself an hour of rest.

  Once he opened his eyes, he saw a raven seated in the branch above. It croaked at him and began its flight. Seeing it move northwards, Halfdan guessed where it would lead him. Whether the bird knew his purpose or simply understood he had no other options, it showed him the way to Utgarda-Loki’s home. Without wasting further time, the berserker began a fast-paced march, leaving the barrows behind.

  *

  Halfdan had emerged from the underground complex at night; as he walked, the sun rose to join him. He barely noticed, deep in his own thoughts. Loki’s escape frustrated him; Halfdan had been this close to completing his task, allowing him to return to Midgard and prove the norn’s prediction wrong. Now he had to travel to Myrkheim after all, and Halfdan knew what awaited him in Sindri’s forge, considering his next destination would be Hel’s halls.

  Freydis’ betrayal filled him with bitterness. Ever since learning that the nature of gifts could be hidden, he had feared deception. In battle, she had proven true, which had assuaged his fears for a time; yet every now and then, her behaviour had aroused his suspicion. The dead raven at Thrym’s farm, or her eagerness to leave Hymir’s homestead; the undertone of sympathy in her voice when she spoke of Loki, and the hostility she nourished against the Aesir, if not all gods.

  Halfdan had followed the old adage of keeping one’s enemies closer rather than confront her, especially as part of him had always held out hope that he was wrong. He knew why, of course; her green eyes had inspired naivety on his behalf. He should have let her die in Loki’s cave. But even now, despite the sting of her deception, a voice in his mind protested against the thought that she should die.

  But among his erstwhile companions, thoughts of Sif made him feel the worst. The child was his responsibility, no different than if he had been her master or father. Part of him tried to absolve himself; she had gone against his wishes and instructions when joining him as he left Midgard. She had, literally, jumped into danger, and thus any consequences were her own fault.

  Perhaps that was true, but Halfdan guessed that she had gone through the gate back in Odinsvi as much for his sake as any sense of adventure. He had given her reason to trust him; although unspoken, he had made himself her protector, and he could not blame her that she looked to him for protection. Which he had failed in providing.

  For half a day, these thoughts plagued Halfdan. As the sun passed the noon mark and continued its journey approaching rather than leaving the horizon, he pushed them from his mind. Neither pity nor flagellation aimed at his own self would be of any use. He was a berserker, with the heart and spirit of a bear, and the king of the forest did not feel sorry for itself. When its cubs were threatened, none could match it in fury.

  And Halfdan held out hope that Sif was unharmed. She had wisely made herself useful. Her knowledge of lore and runes had proven its value to Halfdan; no doubt Loki had taken her along based on similar thinking. Though if the bastard aimed to hurt her for one reason or another – would Freydis step in front? Halfdan would not place his trust in that. He increased his pace.

  The shadows had grown long by the time a homestead came into sight, surrounded by fields in bloom. It was prosperous, clearly the property of a jarl or whatever the equivalent existed among J?tnar. A great longhouse stood raised on a small hill, big enough to serve as a mead hall. Stables and barns spoke of food aplenty, whether grain or animal. Farmhands were busy with the endless chores required for agriculture, and even the sounds of a smith’s hammer against anvil could be heard.

  The raven had disappeared. Perhaps it had another task, or maybe it knew to stay away. From what little Halfdan remembered, this Utgarda-Loki was no friend to the gods or their messengers. But the berserker had no choice. He needed power, one way or the other, and he knew of no other option. Trying to dismiss the feeling that he was entering the bear’s den, Halfdan walked straight towards the homestead.