Surrendered to the Berserkers by Lee Savino

Chapter 6

Rosalind

When I awoke,the sun was already slanting through the trees.

I pushed myself up, feeling stiff. Ragnar crouched near me, loosening the bindings around my wrists.

I found my tongue. “You let me sleep.”

His eyes crinkled as he touched my hair. “You needed it.”

I licked my lips, enjoying his touch. We were newfound allies, but Ragnar was still dangerous. And distraction from my quest was dangerous.

“Where is Loki?”

The warmth in Ragnar’s face faded. “Gone to scout ahead.” He reached behind him and lifted a dark bundle of fabric. He shook it out, and I gasped. The bundle unfurled in a rich waterfall of shimmering purple, so dark it was almost black. It was a gown such as I’d never seen. A gown fit for a queen.

“Loki left you this.” Ragnar pushed the bundle into my hands as if he resented it.

I touched the shining brocade. “Magic made this.”

He grunted.

“Ragnar, who is Loki? Do you know him?”

“I thought I did. I remember him as a warrior. But he claims he’s a god.”

Loki’s perfect face flashed in my mind. “Could it be true?”

“If it is, let us hope he’s really on our side.” He started to rise, and I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Do you trust him?”

“Not a bit,” he answered, and sighed. “Rosalind,” he took my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over my wrists to smooth the marks the bindings had left, “if it is true what you both say about the witches choosing you for this quest, then I wronged you by trying to bring you back.”

“It's all right. I understand.” I bowed my head, hoping to hide the flush his touch brought to my cheeks.

His eyes flashed gold. “What I cannot make out is why they would send you, so young and untested, to face this monster.”

I tugged my hands away, burying them in the folds of my new gown. I didn’t like to speak of this. I wished for a moment that the geis was on me again. “I told you. I have the Corpse King’s mark on me.” My fingers twitched, wanting to scrub at my own forehead. It wouldn’t help. The mark wasn’t something that could be washed away. Back on Berserker Mountain, I’d tried all manner of soap and scrubbing. All winter, I’d tried. And the Corpse King’s whispers had stolen into my sleep. It was enough to drive a woman mad. No wonder I had agreed to the quest. It was the only way to free my mind.

A deep growl burst from Ragnar’s chest, startling us both. “Is there no way to remove it?” His voice dripped with the guttural tones of the beast.

“The witches said they would send helpers to guide me.” I tucked my knees under my chin. Should I tell him the next part? “You kissed my forehead back when we were beset by the army, and my head cleared.”

Ragnar remained silent, but his whole body was rigid with the stillness of a predator. I laid a hand on his taut forearm, my thumb stroking over the veins roping the hard muscle. “Long has the Corpse King been linked to my mind. But I think your kiss… did something.” There, I’d said it. Now Ragnar knew everything about me.

He dropped his head close enough for his braids to brush mine. “Do you think that did it?” he purred. His arm came around me, drawing me close.

“I don't know.” I leaned into him. “Something happened. It… helped.”

“Perhaps we should do it again.” His breath tickled my ear. He ducked his head, nuzzling my cheek. “Just to be sure.”

“Ragnar—” Any protest I had, died. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up to his, offering my mouth.

This time, his kiss was gentle. His lips played over mine, brushing, teasing. Seducing. Rough fingers caught my chin, holding me still for a deeper kiss. His tongue slipped into my mouth. The gentle probing turned to plunder.

Heat flooded my body like I’d sipped fine mead, honey simmering in my veins. I turned in Ragnar’s embrace, facing him more fully. The gown slipped off my lap. I didn’t care. My body buzzed, my bare skin wanting to press against his.

Someone in the distance cleared their throat. I was too far away to care.

“As much as I love this,” Loki’s mocking voice cut into the haze, “it's time to go.”

A shadow cut across us. Loki stood over us, his arms folded across his chest, an assessing look on his narrow face. I jerked in Ragnar’s arms, but he did not let me go.

“You are interrupting,” Ragnar muttered, still nuzzling along my neck. I snatched the violet gown from where it had spilled to the ground, and used it to shield my naked form.

Loki smirked at me. “It can’t be helped. The way is clear. We should be off. There are more undead coming.”

Ragnar released me, and I scrambled to my feet. “Give me a moment to get dressed.”

As the sun rose, we trekked along, heading deeper into the Corpse King’s lands.

Loki went ahead, scouting, his black-clad form slipping through the trees. Ragnar stuck to my side, a walking monolith shielding my back. His presence calmed me, just as it had before when we were among the draugr, and the Corpse King tried to seize my mind.

I mopped my brow. My boots and dress were too heavy for the heat. My hair was a wretched mess, soaked with sweat, dirty from my nights sleeping on the ground. I used to be such a vain girl but now I would do whatever it took to go where I must and complete the quest.

“All clear ahead.” Loki rejoined us, sounding cheerful. He swung into step on my right side. His dark hair was neat and shining like a raven’s wing, his black clothes immaculate. I envied and hated him at the same time. Maybe it was his rich, well-fitting garb, or maybe it was his two-toned eyes, but something about Loki unsettled me. There was a touch of unworldliness about him, as if he really was a familiar the witches had summoned to help me. A familiar who happened to be in the shape of a man.

Loki certainly was beautiful. A more perfectly formed face I’d never seen. Ragnar was brutally handsome, with rough-hewn features and a broken nose. He looked exactly as he was—a warrior, a marauder sent to kill and plunder his way through the Earth. Loki looked like a prince, or a proud member of the elven race who was only visiting human lands. There was an elegance to his walk, as if the air around him smoothed his way. I found myself walking close to him, as if he were a lodestone and I was a nail. His long, elegant fingers kept drawing my eye, bringing back the memory of the magic they’d wrought on my flesh, even though it would do me no good to lust after such a man.

My stupid body didn’t heed the warning. Stuck walking between the two, my skin prickled with awareness. Was it only last night they strung me up between them and had a contest over who could first bring me to climax?

My boot caught a stone and I pitched forward.

“Careful,” Loki said, putting out a hand, but Ragnar actually caught me with a hand on my elbow. I regained my footing but Ragnar kept hold of me.

“We need to rest,” the blond warrior grunted.

“No,” I said. “I’m fine.” I tucked a sweaty tendril of my hair behind my ear. “We need to keep going.”

“So eager she is to rush to our doom.” Loki's voice was mocking but his eyes held a certain knowledge. I shook my head at him when Ragnar wasn't looking at me.

“Why do you say that?” Ragnar demanded. Now his hand was on my shoulder, tucking me into his side.

Loki shrugged. “This mission is madness. No one knows that more than Rosalind. But I am here to assist in any way.” He bowed at the waist.

“Madman,” Ragnar muttered, and swung me to face him. “Rosalind, we do not have to go on.”

“No,” I said. “I must.”

After a pause, Ragnar nodded as if it was his choice and not mine. His protectiveness annoyed and thrilled me.

I was so perverse. Of all the men in the world, I desired one who was always at odds with me, and another who had strange magic and thought he was a god. Both were dangerous monsters in their own way.

The further into the forest we went, the more oppressive the humidity grew. The silence.

“Strange,” I said, more to break the silence than anything.

“What is strange?” Loki asked. Ragnar held a branch aside for me to scuttle past.

“I was thinking.” I said. “When I was a child at the orphanage, I was told never to wander into the forest. The nuns scared us with stories of beasts and frightening things that would carry us off.”

“How right they were,” Loki said, raising a brow in Ragnar’s direction.

I shook my head. “Then I grew older and learned the real monsters are not beasts lurking in the forest, but men. It's a wonder I’d not braved the forest before.” It would have been preferable to my life in the abbey. Maybe I could have escaped before I’d become broken.

“There is nothing to fear,” Ragnar said after a pause. “We will protect you.”

“Rosalind speaks of horrors long ago endured,” Loki said. I didn’t like how he seemed to read my mind.

I squinted at him. “Perhaps you should scout ahead.”

“Perhaps.” There was an amused tilt to his eyes. He was mocking me.

“Shall we take turns?” he said to Ragnar. “You stay by her side, and I’ll scout. Then we switch. I’ll go first.” Loki strode ahead before Ragnar could disagree or agree.

Ragnar grimaced and shook his head. “I do not trust him.”

“Let me know if he tries to kiss you again. I’ll protect you.” I patted his arm.

We marched in silence. Ragnar hovered by my side, his large hands gripping the handle of his axe, his head constantly swiveling back and forth to search for danger. Every once in a while, he sniffed the wind. He would scent the Corpse King's armies before we saw them.

My foot caught the edge of a log, and Ragnar caught my elbow and steadied me before I stumbled. “How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine.” I gave him a nod.

He rubbed a hand over his face and swept a hand out, indicating I should lead the way. I felt the heat of his stare on my back. If I were to look into his mind, I would see his singlemost desire: to carry me back to safety. I pushed my way through a thick maze of branches, waiting for his frustration to break and his questions to come.

Finally, they did. “Rosalind, why did the witches choose you?”

“I don't know,” I said, although I did. I hated to speak of my secret shame, the affinity I had for the Corpse King. I'd already told Ragnar of the mark I bore. Did I have to explain again?

“And what's the plan? How are you meant to end this quest?”

I grimaced and looked to Loki. Help me.

“The witches warned her not to speak of the plan,” Loki told Ragnar. “They were afraid it would attract the mage’s attention. They put a geis upon her, a spell to block her voice. But here, we are safe. Try, Rosalind.”

I opened my mouth and waited for the witch's spell to block my answer but nothing happened. So I could tell him. “There's a weapon—the dagger. I am supposed to use it on him. The moonstone is his weakness. The witches will be able to destroy him through it. My part is small. But I am the witch's best chance of getting close.”

“Because you bear his mark,” Ragnar muttered and I nodded, my cheeks burning. I was ashamed. Of all the spaewives, I was the one marked by the Corpse King. It must have been my fault. I had drawn him to me somehow, without meaning to. And then I had been too weak to resist his hold. All winter, I’d lived with the guilt.

Perhaps it would be a good thing if I did not survive this quest.

“Once you have attacked him, then what?” Ragnar asked as if he could sense the thread of my thoughts.

I shrugged.

A growl tore through him. He grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. “Show me, then,” he said. “Show me how you use this weapon.”

I clutched at the front of my gown, pressing the dagger into my chest. “What?”

“Let us practice.” Ragnar gestured impatiently. I half-turned from him to draw the dagger out from its hidden place between my breasts. A milky blue light flooded my face.

“No,” he said before I could lift the thong over my head. “Best keep that hidden.”

I agreed and hid the dagger again.

“Here,” he handed me one of his daggers, “let us practice. That is the Corpse King.” He pointed to a tree. “Let me see your grip.”

I showed him how I held the dagger. He rearranged my fingers so the hilt lay more easily in my palm. “Yes.” His big hand closed over mine.

“Now, thrust. Underhand, like this.” He drew my entire arm forward in a smooth, sudden motion. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the dagger sliding between a man's ribs.

“Again.” He repeated the movement several times until I was faster. “Now…” He turned me so I was facing the tree. His hands on my shoulders steadied me. “Drive it into the trunk.”

I tried, but my unsteady movement barely drove the blade’s tip into the bark.

“Lower,” he said. “You need all your weight behind it.” He had me hold the dagger right at my hip so I could snap my arm forward and lean into the strike. My first attempt chipped away a chunk of bark. He helped me tug the dagger free and try again with his big body at my back. Together, we practiced a smoother strike.

“That's the way,” he murmured right into my ear. “Try again.”

I thrust the dagger forward using the strength of my hips.

“Good,” Ragnar murmured. His body leaned into mine. I jerked the dagger out of the tree and slammed into his hard chest. His hands came to my hips, holding me close. A weapon prodded my bottom—not his axe or dagger, but his cock.

“Is this a two-person game?” Loki’s mocking voice rang out behind us. “Or can I play?” The dark haired warrior ambled into view.

“Go away,” Ragnar said.

Loki ignored him and came to slouch against the tree we were attacking. “What did this tree do that you would stab it so?”

“Are you volunteering to take its place?” Ragnar pivoted me so Loki was in reach. “Hold still. It’s for a good cause.”

“Ragnar,” I protested.

“Oh no.” Loki stepped forward, pulling down the collar of his jerkin to bare the smooth skin over his heart. “Strike true, dear Rosalind.”

“It’s no use.” I dropped my arm, letting the dagger point to the ground. “I cannot strike the Corpse King’s heart.”

“I would not be so sure of that.” Loki came forward and took up my arm. “The moonstone has a mind of its own.” He drew my arm forward so the dagger touched his chest. My eyes met his, and my insides shifted. For a moment, it seemed as if I could hear his heartbeat and match mine to his.

“Do you feel it, dear Rosalind?” Loki murmured.

“Enough.” Ragnar pulled me back and the spell was broken.

I shook my head to clear it. Ragnar glared at Loki. Any moment, the two warriors would have weapons at each other’s throats.

“Let’s walk on.” I cleared my throat.

“What a lovely idea,” Loki said. “Brother, it’s your turn to scout ahead.”

“Not your brother,” Ragnar grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Loki purred. “I will take good care of Rosalind.” His look made me bite my lip. Was it wise to be alone with him? Something about the strange warrior drew me, almost as if there was some magic to him. It made me wary. I already had a connection to one mage, I didn’t need another.

Ragnar stood, gripping his axe, looking at Loki like he’d need no reason to cleave the dark hair from his neck.

“Go,” I told Ragnar. “I will be all right.”

With a frown, the blond Berserker stomped into the wood.

Loki rubbed his hands together. “Now that he’s gone, shall we have a practice session of our own?”

“Should we not keep walking?” I lifted my skirts and strode ahead, following Ragnar’s trail.

Loki strolled along behind me. I felt his gaze on my back.

“Are you coming?” I snapped.

He cocked his head to the side. “I prefer the view from here.”

“Oh, you foolish man.” I marched back and took his arm.

“Ah now, this is nice.” He settled his hand on top of mine as if we were lovers ambling to a trysting spot. I hid the thrill his touch gave me. “A fine day for a stroll through the forest.”

“Until we encounter the draugr,” I countered.

“I doubt we will see them any time soon.”

“Because we have passed them?”

Loki shrugged. “Or the Corpse King feels you are coming closer, and he desires to draw you near. He will only send his servants if you turn and run the opposite way.”

“How do you know this?”

His mouth curved in a mirthless smile. “I know things.”

I dropped his arm and put some distance between us. “Ragnar says you think you are a god.”

He spread his hands wide. “Aren’t I god-like?”

I rubbed my forehead. “You make me want to throw things.”

“Freya says the same thing.” He bowed and extended his hand. “Especially when I do this.” The moonstone shone in his palm.

I clutched the leather noose around my neck. The dagger was there but the moonstone was gone. “Loki!”

“Calm yourself.” The moonstone danced over his fingers like it had last time, disappearing between each knuckle only to pop up between the next.

Despite myself, I took a step forward. It was mesmerizing. After a minute watching, I finally murmured, “You need to give it back.”

“Mmm, perhaps I will. Perhaps I won’t.”

I sighed. “What do you want for it?”

“How well you know me. Yes, let us bargain.” Loki threw the moonstone in the air and caught it, then showed me his empty palm. He’d made the stone disappear.

I swallowed my scream of frustration.

“Tell me this, Rosalind,” Loki’s half grin mocked me, “you are young, with no skills and no magic. Yet the witches chose you of all people to carry out this quest.”

“Yes. I know.” My voice was curt. What was he asking?

He tilted his head, less mocking, more curious. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” I shot back.

He shrugged. “Once I finish this favor, the witches will petition Odinn for my powers back. Your turn. And no lies.”

I swallowed. “For my sister. So she can have a good life.”

Loki stepped close. Shadows slanted across his high cheekbones. The whole of his attention was on me, and I felt he could see down to my bones. “What about you?” He tucked a sweat-soaked strand of my hair behind my ear. “Do you not desire to have a good life?”

“It’s too late for me. But not for her.”

“Hmmm.” Loki tapped his mouth with his long, elegant fingers as he studied me. “I simply don’t understand what you have to gain. You know as well as I do that you won’t—”

I cut him off before he could say more. “Have you ever done something for anyone other than yourself?”

He pursed his lips as if thinking carefully. “No.”

I scoffed. “At least you're honest.”

“I don’t want to be a hero. I would settle for not being a villain.” He opened his hand and the moonstone was back in his palm. As I watched, he threaded it nimbly though his fingers again.

I went to grab it and he held it aloft.

The frustration boiling in my breast bubbled over. “Is this a game to you? Because it isn't to me.”

He held up his hands. “For the first time in my long existence, I am mortal. I am used to playing games, passing the time with tricks. But now life is no game. Excuse me while I adjust to that.”

“Well, you're going to have to adjust faster,” I snapped. “This quest means life and death for me. If you are too selfish to understand that, then leave. Your help isn't wanted.”

I whirled and marched through the trees.

“Rosalind,” Loki called, and when I didn’t turn, he strode after me. I ducked away, pushing through a cluster of towering pine. Their needled branches whipped my face. I didn’t care.

“Odinn’s beard, Rosalind, stop.”

Long as his legs were, Loki caught up with me. He pulled me from the snarl of branches. I held still, my face frozen in stubborn hurt as he pulled pine needles from my hair.

“Little runaway, I’m sorry.”

“You’re supposed to help me.”

“I am. Here.” He took my hand and put the moonstone in my palm.

“It’s useless like this. It’s supposed to stay on the dagger—”

“No. Indulge me a moment.” He lifted my hand. “Can you slip it through your fingers, as I did?”

I closed my hand around the gem and clutched it to my chest. “Why?” I wrinkled my nose at him.

“I want to test something. Just try, Rosalind. For me.”

Sullenly, I held out my hand. My fingers and thumb moved of their own volition, rolling the moonstone over my knuckles.

He rocked back on his heels, looking smug. “As I thought.”

“What?” I demanded.

“You have an… affinity.”

“An affinity,” I repeated flatly.

“Magic, Rosalind. You have magic.”

I sputtered, and he held up a hand.

“Your power is untrained, untested. The witches didn’t have time to teach you. Don’t worry. When the time comes, you will know what to do.”

I gripped the moonstone again in my palm. Was it my mind, or did the gem pulse with a faint magical energy? “I don’t understand.”

“Show me the trick again.” He waited patiently as I regarded him.

This time, I thought too hard. I fumbled the stone a few times, but was still able to maneuver it properly over my knuckles once or twice.

“You’re a natural,” Loki murmured at my shoulder. He stood with his head bowed over mine, close enough to make my skin prickle.

I drew back from him, heading to a log to sit. “The stone should be on the dagger.” I pulled out the dagger and fitted the moonstone onto the pommel, fixing the silver strands of wire so they held the stone in place.

I did not ask how Loki had conjured it to his hand, but he read my questioning look.

“It has a mind of its own.” Loki shrugged, which was not a real answer. “Like it’s owner.”

“It’s not mine. The witches gave it to me.” I bit my lip, afraid to ask more. “You said I have an affinity… what did you mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know for certain, but it seems you quickly attune to the magic around you. Absorb it. An interesting skill that may be useful on this quest—but why do you look like that? Rosalind, what is wrong?”

Despair had risen up and clogged my throat. “You were right. The witches were foolish to choose me for this quest.”

He seated himself on the log next to me, his face sober. “Why do you say that?”

“The Corpse King knows I am susceptible to magic. He has used me as his pawn.” I rubbed my eyes. “My affinity is not a skill. It is a weakness. I am not an ally. I am one of the enemy. If I am to be the world’s salvation, I fear the quest was over before it began. I am sentencing everyone to doom.”

Loki gathered me into his lap before I could protest. “Rosalind,’ he said gently. “It is said the Corpse King can reach into minds and make them despair. He can make men fear him and drive them mad. That is how he amasses his armies of undead. But he can affect the living too.” He threaded a hand into my hair. “You have been under this melancholy for some time. Since before the Corpse King sought you out.”

There was an invisible fist around my throat, squeezing. But still I got the answer out. “Yes.”

A slow nod. The look in Loki’s eye was almost tender. “How long has it plagued you?”

“Since I was left at the orphanage.” I pressed my lips together because I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I pushed myself from his lap and straightened my gown. By the time I was done, Loki’s mask was back in place. A cynical smile was slanted over his strangely beautiful face.

“An orphan who holds the fate of the world in her hands. It will be a marvelous story.”

“Will you tell it?” I kept my voice brisk.

“I will. If I live.” He stood and rubbed his hand against his breeches. “Now, remember the trick. It is a better skill than learning to use a dagger.”

“Trickery?” Of course he would say that.

Loki pointed to the front of my gown, right at the moonstone hidden under the layers of fabric and the leather sheath. “That stone is our salvation. Not the dagger. The stone is how you will beat the Corpse King.” He saw my expression and touched my cheek. “Cheer up. He will not suspect you.”

“I fear I am bound to fail,” I whispered.

His thumb stroked down my jaw. “Don’t say that. If you die, I die with you.”

I pushed at his hand. “We will all die if I fail.”

“Then I will use all my tricks to help you succeed.” He faced me full on, cupping my face in his hands. I gazed up at him—he was taller than Ragnar, taller than anyone I’d ever met. And so beautiful.

“I will teach you.” He stared at my mouth. My lips prickled with readiness. “You have many weapons, Rosalind, not just the dagger.” His face was so close, our breath mingled. “Bedazzle your enemy.” His green eye glinted.

A surge of arousal pushed me to my tiptoes. I brushed my lips against his. Energy shot between us, crackling like lightning. My skin buzzed.

I gripped the front of his jerkin, dragging him closer. I pressed my mouth to his, harder, soothing the frantic need in my breast.

Loki laughed even as his mouth met mine. “That’s it, that’s the way.”

“This is fighting?” I murmured against his lips.

“Yes. You fight so well.” His chest was heaving under my palm, and I knew he felt what I felt. A warm touch moved up my back, a hot, liquid hand. Loki’s real hands were gripping my arms so this touch could only be magic.

It felt so good. I leaned into it a little, letting the sensation spread across my skin. Soon, my entire back was covered with the soothing warmth, and I silently begged the fluid feeling to move downward.

“You want power, Rosalind?”

I jerked back because I had told Ragnar I wanted power. But not Loki. Was this more evidence that Loki could read minds?

“You have power. Great power.” His hand slipped down my bodice to cup my sex. “You need only to own it.” The magical warmth spread downwards, gliding over my buttocks, dripping down my thighs.

Fire fizzed in my bloodstream. I lifted my leg and Loki caught it, hooking it around his hip so I could grind my cunny against him. He bent over me, his lips and tongue hungry on mine, plundering. My breasts swelled until my gown was too tight. I clawed at Loki’s jerkin as if I could tear the leather like parchment. I was a beast. I was hungry for his skin, for his lips and tongue, for his heavy weight pinning my body to the forest floor and his cock pumping his cum into me.

“Rosalind.” Loki caught my frantic wrists. “Easy. Rosalind.”

I was growling like a Berserker. I was mad.

“Rosalind…” A voice echoed through the trees, bringing me back to myself. Calling my attention back to somber reality and the nature of my quest. Must I be simply a vessel for the Corpse King’s doom? Couldn’t I take one moment to be myself?

“Rosalind.” It was Ragnar, calling my name.

I pushed Loki away and stepped back to straighten my gown before Ragnar came through the trees. I didn’t want him to see me pressing against Loki. It felt like a betrayal.

How had my heart gotten so entangled? I had never wanted any man, now I craved two. Two who hated each other. And it didn’t matter, anyway. Everything I had, all my love and devotion, must be sacrificed to the quest.

Ragnar appeared and made his way to me.

Loki stepped in front of me, stopping him short. The move both annoyed Ragnar, and gave me a moment to collect myself. Knowing Loki, he meant his actions to have two results.

“What have you found?” Loki asked.

“Nothing for miles ahead. But the wind carries the thick stench of draugr. We may be walking into a trap.”

“No.” Loki sounded bored. “We’re walking into the heart of the Corpse King’s power. We are very near it, if not in it. We must be wary. We will stumble upon his lair soon.” He looked straight at me with his mismatched eyes. “If not today, then tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I had nothing to say. What could I do? Wishing for more time with these warriors would not give it to me. “Let’s be off then.” I strode into the forest with my head held high.

One more night. I had one more night with the Berserkers. Then I would confront the Corpse King in his lair.

One way or another, my quest would end.

* * *

A low levelof clouds blanketed the sky. I trudged with my head down. Each step seemed to be uphill. Ragnar led the way, threading through boulders and sharp rocks that threatened to slice through our boots.

“Here,” he said and I raised my head. We were on a hill, overlooking a long plain covered in a grey mist that matched the low-lying clouds above. In the distance, there was some movement.

“Draugr,” Ragnar snarled. He pointed to the teeming mass. “There. And there.”

“So many.”

It was just like the dream I’d had, except instead of the Corpse King, I had Ragnar and Loki at my side.

The Corpse King’s army was a silvery sea.

I should recoil and run the opposite way but I felt nothing. My heart was empty. I had felt everything there was to feel, and now that my quest was almost done, there was nothing more for me but to go on.

“Another few miles of walking, and we will be upon them,” Ragnar grunted.

“We can sneak around them,” Loki said.

“And then what?” Ragnar ran a hand over his braids. “What is the plan?”

“We walk in together,” I said. “The witches said I must not be separated from my helpers.” I looked into Loki's eyes as I spoke. He nodded slowly. He knew what I was saying. Only he had been sent to help me. Ragnar must be left behind. He would not thank me, but it would save his life.

The air had an opaque quality to it.

“What is this strange fog?” Ragnar croaked.

“It’s smoke,” I choked out. “They are burning funeral pyres.”

“The Corpse King gains power from sacrifice,” Loki said, and we fell silent after that.

I kept my head down. My steps grew slow, as if I were dragging my boots through mud.

Tomorrow, I would walk into the Corpse King’s lair. Alone. All alone.

There would never be any hope for me again.

The mist rose around me, thicker than smoke. My limbs moved slowly, as if I was in water.

Too late, the mist cleared and revealed the briars tearing at my gown. Thorns wide as my fingers pierced my skirts and scratched my skin. I felt nothing, but when I thrashed, I couldn’t move. I was trapped.

“Rosalind.” I heard Ragnar’s voice, frantic. “Rosalind, come back to me!”

He touched me, and I was able to breathe again. His scent was clean, a relief after the burning mouthfuls of foul air. His palm patted my face.

“Gentle,” Loki cautioned.

“She’s rousing.” Ragnar held me as I coughed. Ash burned in my lungs.

Loki’s long fingers stroked my face. “Let’s get to shelter.”

“Can you clear the air of this wretched smoke?” Ragnar snapped.

“I can try.” For once, Loki was grim, not joking.

I pressed my face against Ragnar’s shoulder, breathing in his dry cedar scent. It cut through the mist in my head. “I’m fine.”

“Hush now.” Loki pressed three fingers to my forehead, right at the spot where the Corpse King had marked me. Where Ragnar had kissed me, and I still felt the brush of his lips. “Close your eyes and rest.”

* * *

Maybe it wasthe weight of the mage’s magic. Maybe it was Loki’s touch. But when I closed my eyes, I dreamed of them both.

First, the memory of the Corpse King, his eyes burning like moonstones. I was lost, and blundered through the forest, dragging my sister along behind me. I thought I saw a light ahead, through the black tree trunks. I thought perhaps it was a fire, some sort of rescue. But when I drew near, it was only a cloaked figure clad in mist. The flicker of light was gone.

And then the mage turned and fixed me with his burning eyes.

“Aspen, run,” I tried to tell her, but she shook her small head and would not go. I wouldn’t want us to be separated, either. We’d been together since the villagers had left us outside the orphanage.

So I tucked her behind me as best I could. She would not let go of my hand.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Close… closer,” he said.

I struggled. His voice trapped me. It was deep and seemed to echo, like it came from the bottom of a well. I took one step and another, my sister’s small hand in mine. She came along, trusting me to keep her safe.

Somehow, I forced my legs to stop a few feet away from the specter. In the forest behind us there were shouts and roars, sounds of battle. The Berserkers fighting. Some of them dying. As powerful as they were, they could not fight mist and magic. I learned later some of them had gone mad, and forced their brothers to cut them down.

Who was I to stand against the Corpse King? I never had a chance.

“Come to me, my bride.”

“No,” I said, but it was too late. He’d trapped me. He reached out his hand, and his arm was long enough. His bony finger brushed my forehead.

His image dissolved like mist, but it was too late. From miles away, the Corpse King had sent his apparition to hunt the world for one who would do his bidding. And he had marked me.

“He’s in your head, you know,” Loki said.

I turned around and the dark forest, the Corpse King, and my sister, all disappeared.

In the second part of my dream, day had returned. But the light was shrouded with mist and clouds. A clean mist that smelled like wintergreen, and not the stench of the draugr.

Loki sat cross legged, eyes closed. His dark hair floated as if in the wind, but if there was a breeze I could not feel it. A moonstone hung from a silver earring in his right ear. His eyes were closed but as I approached, he opened one. The black one.

“I know.” I touched my head. “I would kick him out if I could.”

“I could try to pry him out of you, but my powers are not what they once were.”

I smiled at that. Loki, still going on about being a god. “Perhaps you will regain them.”

“Perhaps.”

The mist grew thicker now, four white walls closing us in.

“A spell,” Loki answered my unasked question. “Keeping us safe.”

A roaring sound shook the forest. The mist swirled but whatever monster prowled just outside the glade, it could not get in.

“He wants you.” Whether he meant Ragnar or the Corpse King, I did not know. Perhaps he meant both.

I touched the wall of mist. It was sturdy as a rock.

“It’s not to be,” I whispered to the monster beyond the mist.

“A shame,” Loki called. Now he was using a stick to write on the ground, his head bent so I couldn’t see his eyes. I had the feeling they were both black.

I settled on the ground near Loki. The mist swirled around his hips, so it looked like he was sitting on a cushion of clouds. “You know the truth then,” I said.

“The witches told me.” His jaw was taut. Runes appeared in the soil, glittering blue before burning away. The smoke joined the wall of mist. “I can’t stop it.”

“It’s all right,” I said, and for the first time since I’d accepted my quest, it was. I felt at peace.