Surrendered to the Berserkers by Lee Savino

Chapter 4

Rosalind

I wokewhen dawn’s light hit my face. Ragnar was already up and spreading leaves over the charred remains of last night’s fire, eliminating all traces of our presence. He was fully a man, though his hair seemed longer and his shoulders looked broader.

I stepped behind a tree to see to my needs and freshen up, doing the best I could with the thong still tying my hands together. I knelt by a stream to splash my face, and managed to loosely braid my hair. Ragnar held the waterskin for me to drink from, and gave me a hardtack biscuit to nibble.

We said nothing of what had happened the night before.

When it was time to go, he stopped and checked the bindings around my wrists, taking the end of one strap in his hand.

My irritation boiled over. There was no sign of Ragnar the beast. No fear to curb my tongue. “When will you untie me?”

“When you can be trusted.” He grasped the end and led me away on my short leash.

I ground my teeth. But what could I do? I marched behind him. It was time to test his patience.

“What a beautiful morning,” I murmured, honey dripping from my tone.

Ragnar snapped his head to face me, his brow furrowed. I gave him a small, serene smile, mimicking a statue I’d once seen of the Madonna. As I walked beside him, I swished my hips. “But I fear it will be a hot one. The sweat is trickling down my back. Would that I could shed this dress.”

“And walk nude?” He sounded intrigued.

I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It would be cooler, no?”

“Enough talk. We cannot dawdle.” He quickened the pace and I smiled at his back. I had found a way to annoy him.

“The bluebells are very fine in this place.” I spoke about whatever popped into my head. Mostly talk about the weather, the flowers, the bright sun, the state of my hair.

“I swear upon my father’s grave, I’ve never heard anybody chatter like you,” he grumbled.

“This is what you chose,” I said. “You, of all the Berserkers, chose to hunt me.”

“Oh, many were sent to hunt. I was simply the most successful. I traveled far with no food in my belly. No stopping. It was as if your scent was in my lungs.” He grasped a handful of my hair and brought it to his nose, inhaling. His eyes flashed gold.

My legs grew weak, my blood turning to simmering honey. “I hope it was worth it.” I made my voice tart.

He released my hair and tipped back his head to scent the air. The aroma of my wet sex was thick around us. His cheek curved into a grin. “It was.”

I glared daggers into his back. My nails dug into the bonds, but I couldn’t work my wrists free.

If I could not escape, I would make him pay. He would be as miserable as I, the whole way back.

“Do all Berserkers carry an axe and a sword?” I asked as we walked on.

“Warriors carry what they will.”

“Are you a lesser warrior, then, to carry two weapons?” I kept my voice light, my eyes wide and innocent. “I would think most would make do with one.”

Ragnar stopped short, tugging me to a halt. I ground my teeth at being so leashed. His face was impassive, not a hint of annoyance, but it was there, lurking under the surface.

“In truth, it takes double skill to carry double the weapons. Each one has a different weight and heft, and requires a different technique.” He pulled me onward. “Of course, Berserkers have no need of weapons when we have the beast. Teeth and claws.”

“Right.” I hid my shudder.

“Does the beast frighten you?”

“I am sane, so yes, it frightens me,” I snapped. “Only a fool or a madman would walk bravely into danger.”

“And yet you were walking toward the Corpse King’s lands,” Ragnar mused, taking the lead to guide me out of a field and into a thicker forest. “The greatest danger our world has known.”

I had no response to that. I was too busy trying to keep my skirts from catching on the raspberry briars that grew across our path. No matter how I twisted, with my wrists bound, I could do nothing but hiss at the thorns that tore my hem.

And then I was up in the air, feet swinging over the ground, scooped into Ragnar’s arms. He hoisted me effortlessly against him, as if I was naught but a bit of dandelion fluff, and strode into the thicket. He leapt and sailed over the brambles, jumping from tussock to tussock. His boots crunched the thorns underfoot without ever getting torn. I held my breath. Being so close, the scent of his sweat and leather rolled over me like a haze. His muscles flexed. I fought the urge to hold tight—and lost. Again, there was a hint of a smile hidden in the corner of his beard.

“Well, Rosalind?” he asked. His eyes were a disconcerting blue in his weathered face. “Will you tell me why you were on the run? Heading towards the Corpse King, no less?”

I couldn’t tell him. Not with the thrice-damned silencing spell upon me.

“Perhaps I preferred the danger to being the captive of the Berserkers,” I said as snippily as I could. I turned my face away from his intense stare. Up close, Ragnar could see all my secrets. I had a feeling he was not fooled by my haughty veneer.

“You shun safety so easily?”

“I have known safety—in the orphanage,” I sneered. “Perhaps I prefer freedom to safety.”

He carried me a few more paces before murmuring, “I could build you a home. If you’d let me.”

I bit back a verbal attack. Ragnar held me easily, his arms locked around me. His face was too close, his eyes too blue.

Perhaps it was cowardice that made me hold my tongue. Perhaps fear of enraging the beast.

He strode from the forest into another field. There were buildings in the distance—a farm. But Ragnar kept to the edges of the fallow field, near the forest.

“Will you put me down?” I asked. He swung me down without comment. I tucked my cloak around me more closely, shivering not so much from the cool morning air, but the loss of Ragnar’s warmth.

He kept a hand on my elbow, continuing to steer me.

“What would you do, if you were not kept by the Berserkers?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Be free.”

“Would you want a man?”

“No.”

“None?” Ragnar’s blue eyes twinkled. “Not even a rich one?”

“None,” I repeated.

He guided me to walk along a rock wall, built to hem in cattle. “So you’d be a nun?”

“No,” I snapped and sucked in a breath. “No,” I said more calmly. Nuns were crones, shriveled and cruel, with no love in them. At least, that was my experience with them, back at the abbey.

“Then where would you live?”

“By the sea. Somewhere I could see for miles and miles.”

I watched closely to see if his expression held rancor, but he only looked thoughtful. “Would you have a house? A hut? A castle?”

A castle built of thick stone no army can penetrate. I bit back that first response which came, I feared, from a darker part of me. For a moment, I remembered my dream with the hooded man, the castle, and the army waiting for its commands. Then I pushed it away.

“Something like this would suffice.” I gestured to the farm in the distance, the buildings with stone walls and thatched roofs. Someone had planted a riot of flowers up against the fence. “I’d own my own land. I’d garden, and plant crops.” Or have servants to do so.

“And that is truly what you want?”

“Yes.” I looked down my nose at him, which took some talent, since he was a head taller than I. “I suppose you always wanted a mate? Some little woman to do your bidding?”

He was silent, guiding me back into the forest. “No,” he said finally, surprising me. “I never thought I’d have a mate.”

“Not even to appease the beast?” I was breaking the rules, speaking of the unspeakable. As if mentioning the beast would conjure it.

“I did not think I would survive long enough to find one.”

For some reason, this hurt my heart. I should not care about this big, brooding Berserker, but my emotions knew no reason.

“And if you did?” I asked. I wasn’t teasing him, not now. “If you found the one who could soothe the beast, would you want a mate?”

“It’s not to be.”

“How can you say that? Will the Alphas not grant you a mate?”

“Does it matter, Rosalind?” Under his beard, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Why should all the Berserkers get mates, and not you? It’s not fair. ”

He chuckled. “I didn’t realize it mattered so much to you.”

I wanted to insist it didn’t, but he would know I was lying. “Indulge me. If you were able to take a mate, where would you live?”

“Wherever she wanted.”

“You wouldn’t want a huge lodge to call home?”

He pushed aside a branch that was in my way. “I would not need a lodge to call home if I had a mate. Wherever she was, that would be my home.”

Longing struck me like an arrow from a bow. I glided past him, turning my head to hide my expression.

“A simple dream,” I said with all the mocking I could muster—when I could speak again.

“So is yours.” Ragnar bent close to me. His whispered growl made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “But I feel you have not given me the full tale of what you truly want. Tell me, Rosalind… what do you dream of?”

“Power.” The word burst from me. “I want power, such that no one can stand against me.” So no one will hurt me again.

Ragnar tugged on my leash and I whirled to face him, my lungs working like bellows. He looked me slowly up and down. My fists clenched at my sides.

“I wanted power too. Once. Long ago.” He studied the leather end in his hand. “Be careful, Rosalind, what you wish for.”

Easy for you to say, I almost spat to the man who held my leash.

He turned to lead me on, and I followed, taking care to keep the leash slack. We made our way back into the forest, and when the hut and the flower garden disappeared from sight, I wasn’t sorry.

Each step we took sent me back to captivity. I’d been captive all my life, one way or another. There was no escape.

But at least I wasn’t headed to my death. I could tell the witches I had failed. The thought made me stumble. Ragnar caught me, and walked more slowly. My eyes stung as sweat rolled into them. I used my forearm to wipe it away.

As we followed the stream's path out of the forest, the sun was high in the sky. Ragnar halted, holding my leash fast. He raised his head to sniff the wind.

“What is it?” I kept my voice low.

“A stench on the wind.” His eyes flared bright as torches. Slowly, he swiveled his head. “Draugr.”

The undead warriors of the Corpse King.

“Come.” He broke into a trot. I tried to keep up, my pouch swinging heavily and hitting my thigh. Ragnar slowed his pace enough so I could slog along beside him the best I could, but impatience showed through the tight lines of his face.

He guided me across the stream and into a grove of pine. Barely any light trickled down to us as we made our way over a rust-colored carpet. The end of the grove was abrupt. Axes had chopped down trees—the stumps were worn with age. Ahead lay the farm of stone huts, just like the ones we’d passed before.

“Is this the way?” I asked. The farm looked so familiar. “Ragnar—”

“We’re going in circles. Something is wrong.” He shook his head as if flies were pestering him. “I thought…” He slowed, stepping in one direction, then another. “The Corpse King playing tricks,” he muttered.

He swiveled to me, dropping the leash.

“Here.” He undid the bindings around my wrists and pocketed the leather tie. His big hands checked over my wrists, his thumbs rubbing the red marks the thong had left on my skin.

Warmth grew in my belly at his touch—my body responding, even though now was not the time.

“Stay close,” Ragnar ordered, releasing me. I did as he asked. He trusted me enough to remain untied. I would obey—for now.

I squinted at him. “Do you know the way?”

“I do now. I just thought… never mind. First, we must escape the draugr.”

A chill swept over me, even though the day was warm. My guide, who seemed so sure, was confused. I could not forget the madness that gnawed at the Berserkers at all times. Ragnar seemed so big and solid, so powerful. I wanted power too, once. Long ago. A warrior at the height of his strength. He’d submitted himself to a witch’s spell with his pack, and become a Berserker. With his strength came rage. Rage and madness.

As we hurried on, I clutched at a leather strap crisscrossing Ragnar’s back. It was slick with sweat but warm and real under my fingers. If the Corpse King was playing tricks, my own mind was suspect. If it was simply the Berserker madness, and Ragnar chose to turn on me, I was lost anyway. Nothing would save me from this Berserker if his grip on reality snapped.

And yet, for some reason, being close to him gave me comfort. My feelings would pass, I was sure, as soon as we were out of danger. Or as soon as Ragnar said something to provoke me.

As soon as my fingers closed on the leather, Ragnar halted. I waited for him to chastise me, but he only reached back and transferred my hand to another strap at his left side, opposite his sword. For a moment, his fingers lingered, closing over mine. He squeezed, once.

Then the moment passed and we moved on, deeper into the dark forest. I stuck close to my captor. My would-be protector. I moved with him, clinging like a shadow to his side. We breathed as one.

How quickly I’d aligned myself to him. It would be enough to marvel at, if I were not so busy trying to stay alive. Stay alive—and then escape.

We passed another thicket, but before we could break free of it to the relatively easy way of the road, Ragnar grabbed my arm. “Get down.” We tucked ourselves behind the boulders, listening to the trudging sound of many wooden limbs striking the earth in tandem.

He peered over the boulder. I peeked around mine as well. The sight sent chills to my bones.

The draugr marched forward, lines upon lines filling the road. Rows and rows of the undead. The scent of clove and grave clothes hung over them all in a seething fog.

“So many. Where do they come from?” My voice shook a little.

“You don’t want to know.” His head wove back and forth, searching for a good route.

“An army,” I whispered. “He's building an army.”

“He has been for some time,” Ragnar agreed. He squinted at me as if he was wondering how I knew. I hoped he would not ask me. I knew the Corpse King was building an army because I had seen it. The dreams I had were visions he had planted in my mind.

I shuddered, drawing my cloak around me, pressing a hand to the dagger between my breast. “How will we pass them?”

“We cannot. We cannot attract attention. We will go around.”

“Ragnar. The farm. The families.” I clutched his shoulder. “We must help them.”

“No, little runaway. There is no help for them.”

I put a hand to my stomach.

He tucked a finger under my chin, raising it until I met his stormy blue eyes. “Courage now. You will need it.” He took my hand, threading his huge fingers through mine. “Head down,” he ordered. “Run.”

I did his bidding, staring at the tips of my boots as we went, letting Ragnar lead the way.

We broke out of the forest and ran alongside another rock wall, then crossed a stream—he scooped me up in his arms to leap over it. I knotted my hands behind his neck and didn’t ask to be let down.

“That should help,” he muttered to himself. But we followed the stream to another road, and there, trampling the worn grass, were more undead.

“Ragnar,” I whispered and pointed up the road. The draugr moved with animated jerks, as if controlled by a distant puppet master. The ones I’d seen in the forest before were skeletal, their skin hanging off their bones. These were fresh. They looked like men with unusually grey skin. They bore shining weapons—swords and shields. And they marched in formation up the road. In lines, like a true army.

Ragnar cursed. “Hang on.” And the world blurred.

I dug my fingernails into his neck, ducking my face close to his skin so I could surround myself with his sweaty scent. This was Berserker speed—faster than any man could run. If anyone could free us from the Corpse King’s lands, Ragnar could.

But again and again, every route he tried, we were met with more draugr. Marching in rows up the roads. Staggering in unruly lines at the base of a hill. Ranging through the forest, leaving a greasy stench in their wake.

Finally, Ragnar put me down behind a pile of boulders and pulled me to crouch beside him. “We’re hemmed in.”

Even though he’d run at Berserker speed for hours in the noonday sun, he wasn’t even panting hard.

“They are following us. Somehow.” His brow furrowed and he swiveled to me. “They must scent you. Or…” He raised his hand and clutched at the front of my gown. I gasped but he tugged out the dagger before I could stop him.

The moonstone did not glow as it sometimes did. As it had last night. It was a mere milky stone, dull in his hand.

“The dagger, it’s calling to them,” he said suddenly. And before I could stop him, he wrenched it forward, breaking the leather thong around my neck and tossing it, cord and all, into the mud.

“No,” I cried, but he was already dragging me along. I couldn’t fight. If I tried to tug my hand away, I’d wrench my arm from its socket, and Ragnar would only carry me again.

I kept looking back but the moonstone was gone from view.

“You don’t understand,” I said in a broken voice. “I needed that.”

“Why?”

I shook my head. Whatever spell was upon my lips wouldn’t let me speak of my quest. At least, not to Ragnar.

Plant the moonstone in the heart of the Corpse King’s power,the crone told me as she handed me the dagger with the moonstone affixed to the pommel. To do so, you must plunge the dagger into the enemy’s heart.

Now all was lost, and I couldn’t even explain. “You made me lose it.”

“That weapon drew the cursed ones, the undead. It called to them.”

“No matter. I am cursed myself. The witches told me.” Apparently, I could speak of this part.

Ragnar stopped so quickly, I bumped into him. “What do you mean?” His blue eyes searched my face.

“I don’t…” How could I explain? “I bear a mark upon me.” I brushed my forehead where the crone had touched me. “It links me to… him.” I lowered my voice. I did not want to invoke the Corpse King’s name so close to his army.

Now Ragnar’s eyes were flaring bright. “What is the best way to break it?” His voice was rough.

I squeezed his forearm. Please, don’t turn into the beast. “I don’t know.” I was suddenly so tired. Fog rose in my mind. My thoughts were sluggish, cobwebbed. My skin turned clammy and peppered with goosebumps, even though I’d been sweating in the humidity before.

…toys with the weather, with life and death of every creature. But by far his favorite target is the mind.

“Something’s wrong.” My voice was slurred.

“Rosalind?”

“You must leave me. There is no hope for me. I will never be free.”

“No,” he growled. “I will never leave you.” Wind gusted around us, and Ragnar pulled me close. A rough thumb brushed my cheek. His eyes no longer gleamed the bright color of the beast. But they were still brilliant, blue as a summer sky. “The mage is in your mind. Don't let him win.”

I gripped Ragnar’s arm, fighting the swooning sensation. The firm muscle bunched under my palm was the only thing solid. “How can I stop him?”

“You are strong enough to defeat him.” His large hand clamped on my neck, squeezing. He pressed his forehead against mine. “Come back to me, Rosalind.”

I opened my mouth, gasping like a fish on a riverbank. The air was too thick to breathe, filled with a scent of grave spices. “He's here. The Corpse King is here.”

Ragnar wrenched away. Light flashed on his upraised blades.

“No,” I choked out. “You cannot fight him that way.”

Beyond Ragnar, a thick mist crept forward. Then a wall of rotting limbs broke from the grey fog. The undead had found us.

The trap had closed. We were going to die.

“I can fight them,” Ragnar called over his shoulder, still brandishing his axe and long knife, “but you must stay alive. Promise me you'll fight.” He took his eyes from the enemy’s front line long enough to bend down and growl in my ear. “Promise.”

His voice seemed far away. I raised my arms as if I could swim back to him. “I promise.”

“Good.” His beard scratched my cheek.

More wind blew up, cutting through the thick fog. Suddenly, I could breathe again.

“Storm coming.” I pointed to the dark clouds boiling overhead. The wind picked up, tearing at my gown. I clutched at the dagger around my neck, only to remember it was gone.

“The mage likes his tricks.” Ragnar maneuvered me backwards until we were both crouched behind a tree. “Hide here,” he said. “Wait for me. But when you see a way through, run. I will clear a path for you.”

“But…” I tugged on the straps crisscrossing his back, pulling him back.

“Yes?”

I licked my lips, staring into his fierce eyes.

One Berserker can best a few corpses. But an army of them? Eventually, they would cut him down. I had a few bespelled weapons in my pouch, but too few to do any good. Not enough to destroy even a third of this force.

Behind Ragnar, the mist and forces advanced. “They’re coming.”

“Rosalind,” Ragnar said softly, as if we were alone. “Do you fear for me?”

I bit my lip and ducked my head, but he caught my chin.

“Rosalind,” he purred. “Do you care for me?” His sapphire eyes flashed.

“I care that you return safely.” I pushed him away. “I don’t want to die.”

“If we are separated, you needn’t fear. I will come for you. I will find you.” He bowed his head over me and kissed my forehead.

Then he rose up with a roar.

“You think you can best me? Come, take me.” Lightning flashed as he raced towards the enemy.

I fell back behind the tree, touching my forehead where he had kissed me. His lips had covered the mark where the witch had touched my forehead. And then I remembered what else she’d said.

We will send help,the crone told me. Do not allow yourself to be separated.

“Wait—” I whispered. The mark of Ragnar’s kiss burned on my skin as if it was a tangible thing. But Ragnar was gone. I could not be separated from him. Even if I wasn’t sure whether the witches had sent him to help, I could not fail again.

And if we fell, we’d fall together.

Out in the glade, there was a roar, and the clanging of axe against blade. I cringed then stopped. If this was to be my end, I would not grovel in the dirt. I would face it on two feet.

Ragnar was a blur of motion. He’d charged forward until the mist reached to his knees, and used his axe and knife to cut through the draugr. The bodies fell like scarecrows before a scythe.

But there were too many, and as he rushed forward, the lurching corpses filled in the gap behind him.

“Ragnar!” I screamed, and he whirled, slicing through more bodies. The beast had taken over now, turning his fingers to claws. His weapons spun, ripping through corpse after corpse. He tossed his axe, and it tore through several foes. They fell into the mist, and he grabbed a few more bodies and tossed them on the pile.

But more draugr rushed in to replace the fallen.

I clenched my fists, waiting for my chance to run. I’d make Ragnar escape with me. The wind picked up, stirring the mist, pushing it away.

And then I saw it clearly—behind me, emerging from the forest. More draugr. I pushed away from the tree I’d been hiding behind and raced to another, stumbling over the broken corpses Ragnar had left in his wake.

I reached a second tree right as lightning struck, flooding the glade with light.

“Rosalind,” Ragnar bellowed. Smoke billowed from the ground as if the very earth were on fire. He leapt across the pile of corpses to my side. I pressed my face to his chest and gasped for air.

“What is happening?” I was coughing on the scent of magic in one moment, and finding relief in the next, as the wind blew fresh on my face.

“Come on.” Ragnar helped me stagger forward. We had to leave the glade. But the flames were licking along our path—draugr bursting into flame.

“Look out!” I shrieked. Overhead was a roaring darkness, a swirling, black tunnel of wind-whipped clouds. “What is that thing?”

“I’ve seen such things upon the water,” Ragnar muttered. “A spout of water connecting the sea and sky. But never on land. It is the Corpse King’s doing.”

“What do we do?” The darkness was almost upon us. The black clouds blotted out the sun.

“Hang onto me.” His voice was muffled by my hair. His broad arms secured me against him.

The roaring sound was almost upon us. But the closer it got, the more it sounded like a man’s shout.

I stretched to my tiptoes. Over Ragnar’s shoulder, lightning struck the ground again and again. The flashes cleared from my eyes and left a shadowy shape. I blinked, and realized the shape was a dark-cloaked man with his hands outstretched as if he could float on the wind. His long fingers caressed the mist, and it billowed away. His dark hair floated around his clean-shaven face.

Above our heads, the black tunnel of roaring sound was gone. The air crackled with energy. Like the lightning was living and breathing among us, licking along my skin.

The man looked over… and winked at me.

Behind him, a line of draugr appeared, creeping forward as one, with swords outstretched.

“Look out,” I screamed to the newcomer. He turned slowly towards the enemy, his cloak rippling in the wind.

Lightning shot from the sky, hitting one of the corpses and setting it afire. The fire spread along the front line of the draugrs’ ranks.

“Thank you, brother!” the newcomer called. He took a step forward, and lightning struck the ground before him. “Thor’s balls,” he swore. He held his cloak closed with one hand as he shook his opposite fist at the sky. “Are very tiny,” he muttered under his breath. Then his head snapped up and he looked at me. “Behind you!”

Ragnar thrust me aside. While we’d waited, draugr had advanced on all sides. Ragnar whirled, grabbed up his long knife and dipped, cutting the corpses’ legs from under them.

A blazing limb came flying through the air. Ragnar barely dodged it. “You fool,” he shouted to the warrior who’d thrown it. But the makeshift torch landed on the fallen draugr and flared up into a shining wall of fire.

I covered my mouth against the stench, but the new warrior was grinning. “What fun,” he cackled. “Come, let us make a pyre!”

Ragnar ran his hand down his beard. I stepped closer to him.

“Is he a Berserker?” I asked in a low voice. We both watched the newcomer dance from corpse to corpse, tossing them into a giant pile.

“I think so.” Ragnar’s forehead creased. “I think I recognize him.”

Flames shot up from the growing bonfire. The dark-cloaked warrior was frowning at the ground. He skipped sideways and thrust his hand between two fallen corpses, then held up Ragnar’s axe. “Did you lose this?”

Ragnar held out his hand. The newcomer grinned—and threw the axe. The weapon spun slowly, end over end, the broad head flashing as it cut through the air. Straight towards Ragnar’s chest.

At the last second, Ragnar jerked aside, half staggering, half falling backwards. The axe whistled past him and hit one of the undead who’d snuck up behind us. The blade cracked the creature’s chest. A vile smell burst out of the putrid flesh, and the body fell in a clanking pile of bones, the dry, rotted corpse animated no more.

Ragnar caught his balance and touched his hair. One of his braids fell into the dirt. “Well thrown,” he grunted, reaching down to retrieve his axe.

“You’re welcome, brother.” The second warrior grinned.

“What’s your name?” Ragnar called.

“Loki,” the man called back. “And you are Ragnar. I’m here to help.”

Movement in the trees caught my eye. “Ragnar, there are more of them.” I picked up my skirts, scuttling to the side of the glade where I might be out of the way of the fight. Behind me, the pyre of corpses burned.

Ragnar gestured with his axe towards the advancing corpses. “Shall we fight?”

“Oh yes.” Loki shrugged off his cloak, letting the dark shape flutter to the ground. Without it, the warrior was totally naked. Dark markings swirled over his broad chest—tattoos, and bits of mud. He tilted his head back and sniffed the burning air. “It’s a good day for a fight!”

Shaking his head, Ragnar tossed his long knife to Loki. The weapon spun end over end but somehow the Berserker snatched it out of the air. “Let us harvest this crop of bones.”

The two warriors stood back to back. Loki was almost as tall as Ragnar, but leaner. His powerful body was lithe and tanned, and while Ragnar bore the weals and marks of many scars, Loki’s skin was smooth.

I gripped my skirts and prayed to no one. Please, please, let them make it out. If they fell, I would be captured. I would not be able to escape without them.

The Corpse King’s forces advanced with jerky movements, closing in from all sides. The mist was rising again, blending with the stinking smoke from the burning fallen. I clapped a hand to my face, swaying on my feet.

The line of animated corpses rippled like the body of a snake. The draugr at the head lunged—and Ragnar cut it down. Metal flashed in the fog, their weapons rising and falling in rhythm. The warriors’ movements became a blur.

They fought like a whirlwind. The bodies of the enemy fell aside, writhing.

One severed limb fell near me, still moving. I kicked it into the fire, and dragged my cloak over the lower half of my face to repel the stench. I’d lost sight of the warriors, but Ragnar’s roars and Loki’s singsong laugh told me where they were.

The air all around was grey, like the day had dropped a cloak over this glade. Smoke and mist melded into an opaque wall. The sounds grew distant. I staggered, my eyes stinging.

A firm hand caught my arm. “Rosalind.” Ragnar drew me close. “Are you all right?”

“Still standing,” I choked out. “Is it over?”

“Almost.” The sounds of the battle had quieted. The Berserker guided me to the forest edge and handed me the waterskin. I drank some, and splashed a bit on my face to clear my eyes.

“We survived,” Ragnar murmured. His big body blocked me from the battle site.

“I see that.” Ignoring my slowing heartbeat and the heat rising between us, I pushed at him so I could see what had become of the enemy.

The mist had blown away, and the fire died to bitter ash.

There were barely any more draugr left standing. A few twitched on the ground, still animated and trying to rise. The naked warrior Loki skipped over to them and cut them down.

The wind picked up and I drew my cloak around me. I had been so worried about Ragnar and the outcome of the battle, then relieved by Loki’s arrival. But now, there were two warriors I had to escape from.

Ragnar’s shadow fell over me. Now that we were safe, he would not leave my side.

Ah well. A small part of me wanted to give up, curl into the giant warrior, and let him carry me away.

Ragnar was smiling, as if he could sense my weakness.

“Fortunate that Loki was here to help you,” I said tartly. Even if some part of me wanted Ragnar, he’d not find me easy prey.

But Ragnar only shook his head, grinning as if nothing I said could prick him. “It was a fine fight.”

“Aye,” Loki agreed. He bore a lazy half smile, his eyes heavy-lidded, as if he’d been dreaming. “A fine fight,” he repeated drunkenly.

“Well done, brother,” Ragnar called. “Did the Alphas send you?”

“Not them,” Loki murmured. He found his cloak and used it to clean his blade. In the fight, he’d somehow ended up with Ragnar’s axe.

“No?” Ragnar frowned.

“But I do have a message for Rosalind.” Loki swiveled his head to me. Run, he mouthed clearly, and jerked his chin towards the forest—the opposite direction to the way Ragnar was taking me.

I gaped at Loki, and he winked at me. Then he swiveled, snapped his arm back, and threw the axe straight at Ragnar.

This time, the weapon spun end over end, and Ragnar twisted out of the way too late.

The axe struck him full in the chest. Blood spurted and I screamed. Ragnar staggered back.

Before I could rush to Ragnar’s side, Loki grabbed my arm, his long, pale fingers like a vise.

I yelped, and swatted at him.

“Be still.” He shook me, his face grim. One eye was brown, so dark it was almost black like a raven’s, and the other was green as a laurel leaf. His head dipped so his lips touched my ear. A wintergreen scent washed over me, so strong, it was like a cool breath on my cheek. I tasted magic. Strong magic. “The witches sent me.”

The ground shifted under my feet. I stumbled. “What?”

But Loki had turned back to Ragnar.

“Traitor,” Ragnar snarled. He lay on the ground, blood flowing from his chest. With a grunt, he grabbed the axe head and yanked it out. Fresh blood poured from the gash, soaking the ground until he lay in a pool of red.

But he was a Berserker. Soon, the wound would heal.

Loki released me and approached Ragnar with his hands outstretched. “Come now, brother.”

Ragnar’s eyes flashed gold. His shoulders were changing, bulking up, sprouting black fur. “You are no brother.”

Loki shrugged. His head swung back to me, his smile dropping away. “What are you waiting for? Run!” He shooed me with a long hand. “I’ll keep him from following.”

Mouth hanging open, I picked up my skirts, and took a few steps towards the forest.

“Rosalind,” Ragnar bellowed. Blood flowed between his fingers, but he seemed not to care.

Loki stepped between me and the warrior on the ground. “It will be all right.”

He reached down, stole Ragnar’s long knife out of his leg sheath, and started tossing it up and down.

“Let’s play a new game,” Loki said. “You with your axe, me with your knife.”

“I’ll kill you.” Ragnar sat up. The gash on his chest was smaller, his flesh knitting together before our very eyes.

“Sounds fun,” Loki said to Ragnar. He turned and shooed me again. Go on, he mouthed. I took a few more steps, but stopped between two birch trees.

“Don't hurt him,” I whispered.

“I won’t,” Loki said, and turned away, shaking his head, still wearing a wild grin.

I fled into the forest, Ragnar’s roars chasing me through the trees.