The Valkyrie's eyes opened slowly to reveal rotted wooden rafters, which looked as if they held the roof aloft by luck alone. Had she the energy, Brynhild might have leapt up from the bed, but in her condition, all she could manage was to gradually sit up straight. That blast of her Aurora, that brilliant dance of light, had been the extent of her seid and expelling that, her body fell into slumber. As she sat up and felt the strain and strife in her muscles, Brynhild nearly wept. This entire expedition had been one terrible failure after another. She was certain at this point, that if she were somehow to survive the coming melee and return to Asgard, she would have her command stripped from her due to general incompetence. Before she could linger too long on these depressing thoughts, Williwulf entered the room and gave a short bow.
"In any other circumstance, I would recommend that you rest," Wulf began wearily. "However, it is nearly night, and that Sigmare fellow insists that we must flee." Brynhild's eyes shot open as the memory of their circumstances returned. The shieldmaiden frantically looked about in all directions, hoping to her gods that Alarick had not succumbed to his wounds. Williwulf, sensing this was the case, wasted no time in addressing it. "Alarick is resting as well, though he is badly wounded." Brynhild's eyes dropped to the floor, and her chest heaved a heavy mixture of misery and relief. "Let's let him be for now. For the moment, let us go and see the men. It will do them well to see that you are now mobile again." On shaky legs, Brynhild the Valkyrie stood from her bed.
Once she was ready, Wulf led the shieldmaiden back onto the battlements. Most of the men including Gondul had gathered there, and presently the company kept a keen eye beyond the wall. When Brynhild looked down from the battlements, she was hard-pressed to find that untold legions of the dead had surrounded their position. Once more, the corpses were all in various stages of decay, from the recently deceased, heavy with bloat, or the long dead, who were all but skeletons now. On all sides, in every direction, there was naught to be seen, save for corpses and trees. As the Valkyrie looked back toward her men, she noticed Sigmare, the old mystic, stood silently observing them.
"Allow me to apologize, my lady," The greybeard said in a cautious tone. "I am afraid that this misery that befalls us now, is almost entirely my doing." Brynhild glared at Sigmare unable to believe that a mere mortal could achieve this level of mastery in the dark arts. Before her misunderstanding could grow any further, Sigmare elaborated. "When the draugr came for our caravan, they tore our guards to pieces within minutes. Gondul is my Queen, I am sworn to keep her safe, so I did what had to keep her safe." Brynhild was now more confused than ever. "I delved into old magic, evil magic, and I used it to set those wicked spirits to attacking one another. All save for one draugr is dead, but I fear he's taken in the essence of the others. So much so that he is no longer draugr, but lich. That would explain the abundance of reanimated dead."
"You fool," The Valkyrie spat with disgust crawling in her words. "You can use the gifts you stole from the gods to turn undead monster against undead monster, but you cannot use it to heal your Queen?" Her eyes shifted upward toward Gondul, and she gruffed. "And you, did it ever occur to you to ask him to heal you? You were still alive when I found you. If I hadn't had to raise your foolish spirit, I could have handled those beasts single-handedly!" Gondul was unaccustomed at being spoken to in such a manner and thus turned her eyes away. "The sun hangs low in the sky, and my power is far from recovered. When night comes, the lich comes with it, and believe me; these rotten walls will not keep him at bay!" Gondul lurched forward and snarled.
"I did not ask for your help!" Gondul snapped as she decided not to endure the Valkyrie's dire mood. "Alarick and Wulf convinced you to spare me!" Brynhild glared over at her newest charge with such scorn in her eyes that the Queen wilted back. "Tis not to say that I am ungrateful, but had I been able to speak, I would have protested, to let you manage the dead." Gondul's gaze met with Brynhild's for a moment or two before she turned her attention upon Sigmare. "As for the Wizard, for all the stock my husband puts in him, he was unable to do much of anything. Sigmare kept me clinging to life, but he could not save the Huskarls, or attack our foes. Though I suppose Alarick lives by his grace."
Brynhild was suddenly reminded of Alarick, and all at once the color fled her face. The shieldmaiden staggered backward, where Thorvald helped her steady herself. In her mind, she saw Alarick being stabbed repeatedly by those wretched monsters.
"Where is your son? Where have you put him?" She muttered the question with delusional franticness. "You saw to his health? Please tell me you were not so cruel as to let him die. The large man shook his head negatively. He cared for Alarick's condition so little that he had not even bothered to ask himself.
"My captain, Alarick is in a perilous place now," Sigmare informed her, and so she spun wildly around to face him.
"Perilous?" Her voice cracked, which surprised the entire party. Many of these men had served in Brynhild's unit for decades, and at no point had she ever sounded so worried. "What do you mean perilous? Has he fallen? Where is he? I demand you take me to him!" Her hands shook with sorrow, and it was all the shieldmaiden could do to keep a straight face. Williwulf bade her to follow him into the interior of the fort, where alone in a dark room, Alarick laid asleep. His skin was pale, His wounds were many, but it appeared at least that his armor deflected most of the blows. His knee was freshly bandaged, though from the gory wrappings beside the bed it was clear that he had bled a great deal.
"We have to get him back to Valhalla if there is to be any hope for recovery," Wulf stated in a much more solemn tone than was his custom. "The wizard, or mystic, whatever the fool calls himself, did all he could to set him right, but the bleeding was so heavy it was all he could do to just keep the man from dying." Brynhild's eyes were watery, and her hands trembled much more noticeably now. Williwulf was a bit perplexed by her manner, as the Captain of the Valkyrie was never so easily overcome. "Captain, I must see to the defenses. I will let you alone with him." Truthfully Williwulf thought it ought to be him shedding tears, as old Alarick had always been something of a second father to him, but all the same, he crept off in his awkwardness.
The Valkyrie sat beside the wounded norseman and let her hand trace his cheekbone. Her tears fell freely now, and more than this, her teeth ground in frustration. Brynhild admired Alarick's bravery and cursed his foolishness all in the same breath. Brynhild's heart felt heavy and muddy, and there was very little to be done about it. She took in a long, painful breath in a vain effort to calm herself. When her emotions were a bit more stable, Brynhild began to speak.
"It is a wonder that someone so old as I can still behave like a maiden who fawns over some dashing hero." She kissed his cheek, and the tears returned. "I knew you were different from the moment I first saw you. Alarick, you were noble, and truthful, even when to be so risked your life. At some point, I began to think that I was just so in love with you, that your flaws became invisible to me." She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Can you imagine such foolishness? To love someone so deeply, who you've never met? I thought I was insane," She paused and took a deep breath. "Perhaps I am insane. The point is, you became a god in my mind, an unstoppable hero. The fact that you sacrificed your life to save me is proof that I was right about you and shatters me into infinitely more pieces." She leaned down and kissed his lips. They were still warm, and Alarick continued to breathe even if it was slow and weak.
To her surprise, Alarick returned the kiss and raised a single hand to touch her face. His eyes were weak as clearly, the blood loss had withered his baser functions. Brynhild lifted her head away, almost ashamed of how she had made this confession. The look of happiness upon his face made this shame a bit easier to bear.
"A second death so soon after my first?" Alarick labored to chuckle. "I think not. I've felt a great deal worse than this I'm sure you know." His eyes glanced down at the thigh that was pierced and bandaged. "I am not sure how I can offer my services to Valhalla now, I am certain I'll lose the leg." He winced at the thought, but Brynhild felt rather relieved. He was speaking, and if he was speaking he was breathing, and so long as he was breathing, her heart felt safe again. When the norseman noticed that she would no longer meet his gaze, he addressed it. "When we were in the armory, the way you described me, that is not love, dear." The shieldmaiden was now extremely cross. "It is a passing infatuation that will die the longer you see me for what I truly am." She felt a rage burning, but at the same time felt pulled to pity him. The legions of the dead were assembling to sally the walls, and yet this Valkyrie could think of nothing, save for this wounded man.
"I demand that you stop this self-loathing at once." Her voice regained its commanding essence. "I have seen your many deeds, I have witnessed your bravery, and I have seen you risk your life to protect others." Brynhild slowly took his hand in hers and prayed that he could find the strength to be positive again. "I would be dead now if you had not protected me." Something in the Valkyrie's warm praise caused Alarick to snap.
"I can protect no one!" He spat, as his body began to feel a bit more alive. Brynhild was stunned into silence. "Whenever I need my strength the most, it fails me! I thought I had mastered my own mind, but every time I set to fight I see every horror, every sadness I've endured, and it cripples me. I see Skoldi's eyes, and that blood." For a minute or two, the pair were silent, afraid, and distant. Then Alarick, feeling sorry for his sour mood squeezed Brynhild's hand. "Forgive me; I am much more bitter than I have reason to be. I thought that death might bring reconciliation and peace. If I had been a smith of a farmer that could have been so. I should like to have grown old and had many children, but that will never be." Somewhere in his delirious rambling Alarick noticed the terrible state of the shieldmaiden. All her effort was now consumed with not falling into tears again. Her dream, like his dream, were equally ruined.
"Only Odin knows what will be and what must be," Brynhild stated quietly, much calmer than she usually behaved. "You are wounded, and you have lost a great deal of blood, and that is what I am attributing to this cowardice." Alarick's sorrow had been tugging at him, yet when Brynhild shamed him for it, the old Viking recovered his senses and tried to the best of his ability to stifle himself. "You may be content to lay here and expire, but there are good men out there who would like to return home. Good men that have been forced to face their end on account of your ignorance and my arrogance in equal measure." The Valkyrie wiped what remained of her tears away. "If you cannot fight, the least you could do is put on a brave face for the sake of those who can."
Before the situation could degenerate any farther, Brynhild stood and removed herself from the room. The Valkyrie was barely aware of her surroundings as she made her way back up to the battlements. By her count, it had been at least fifteen years since Alarick's first wife died in that bloody birthing bed, and yet the loss of her still seemed so fresh in his heart. The shieldmaiden's soul threatened to crack as it was becoming increasingly clear that Skoldi's shadow was not something she would ever be able to crawl out from. Brynhild knew that she ought not to fault a man for holding such devotion to his wife, she knew this to be an admirable quality, but his devotion was meaningless now, impossible even. Given a chance, she would love him even more than Skoldi ever did, though this was just her thinking.
All thoughts of the wounded warrior fluttered madly away as Brynhild joined her party upon the walls. The forest and hills beyond the wall were now teeming with the army of the dead. Same as before, they were as silent as death itself. Their numbers were so unreasonable that Brynhild could scarcely believe that death had undone so many. The Krieger barrow to the east at most held the bodies of fifty men and women, this was an army. Sigmare, correctly sensing the Valkyrie's bewilderment approached her.
"This is most certainly the workings of a lich." The old man croaked nervously. "Gondul suggested that perhaps he drew these thralls from the nearby marshes." Sigmare pointed southward to indicate a fresh band of corpses, slowly making their way up from that direction. "A fortnight past, King Diedrich and his army met the last remnants of some great army from the east. It was a slaughter by all accounts." Brynhild took note that these new thralls appeared to be wearing a very different set of armor than Alarick and his people had been when she found them. "If you can reestablish your link to the Bifrost, I urge you to do so. We are eleven against perhaps eleven-thousand. Not counting the lich, of course." The Valkyrie growled and fought her inclination to strike the old man.
"Flee across the Bifrost?" She asked loudly, which drew the attention of her men. "How exactly do you think we will be received if we return to Asgard having plagued the world of men with a mob of undead monsters? We'd be lucky if they chose to behead us." Brynhild motioned for Wulf to collect her armor, and the ginger went swiftly to first fetch and then dress his commander. "Scour the grounds and get some torches lit! The only thing worse than a brawl with the dead is a brawl with the dead in the dark." The Einherjar did as they were told, save for Thorvald and Sigurd who remained fiercely vigilant on the walls. The two were usually quite talkative and rowdy, but since Alarick's inclusion, they had grown oddly silent. "Thorvald," Brynhild addressed the hulking man. "It is likely we may die, and that being the case I demand you entertain my curiosity." The warrior glanced back toward his captain with all the expression of a man who had accepted death. "I have chronicled Alarick's life, and by all accounts, he was a brave and noble man. Why do you forsake him?"
"What difference will that make now?" Thorvald gruffed low and spat. "He will be dead within an hour, and we an hour after that." His answer drew a hateful stare from the Valkyrie which made him rethink his answer. "Svensons are kings; we are not slaves. He pledged his service to the Krieger line." The warrior indicated Gondul who was busily arming herself. "We are not vassals, we do not marry commoners, and we don't take in foreign bastards." This time Thorvald motioned toward Williwulf, who could only grin, as he finished fastening Brynhild's armor. "I handed Alarick the reigns to a kingdom and bent his knee to a foreign king. He's a puppet, a thrall, no different than those creatures out there."
"You were only a king because none of Midgard's Jarls felt like conquering that worthless tundra you call a kingdom." Williwulf chuckled and began to size up the former king. "Had you one worthwhile resource in all your lands, the greater houses of Midgard would have swallowed you whole." Thorvald cracked his knuckles, as he loomed over Wulf. The little man refused this intimidation. "Go on and strike me if you wish. You'll discover that I am a little more difficult to beat than the women and children you're accustomed to facing. "That was all the provocation that Thorvald required, as he raised his sword.
"Silence!" Brynhild parted the men and refocused their attention on the frightful mob at the walls. "That is our enemy. If we fall to bickering and fighting amongst ourselves, those monsters will eat us alive!" Sigmare gave a shallow nod and clutched tightly to his staff. "Old man, if you possess any manner of destructive seid, we will need it at the forefront. I could easily manage this horde single-handedly, but my power must be reserved for when the lich arrives." Many doubted her words, but none were brave enough to disagree.
"My lady, it pains me to inform you, that I possess nothing that would help us destroy our enemies," The Valkyrie snarled and looked away, which left the mystic pawing at his grey beard in a panic. "My seid is mastered only in the arts of protection, healing, and influence. I cannot influence revenants, my protection is not near enough to stop the coming storm, and I've done my best for Alarick." Brynhild seized the old man by the neck. His bare throat was soft beneath her hand and had the consistency of rubber when the Valkyrie squeezed it. Sigmare gripped the shieldmaiden's wrist in sheer panic but was powerless to stop her.
"You will go back to Alarick and find a way to make him mobile again." The wizard tried to nod in feverish agreement, but Brynhild was not done. "If you cannot do this, then I suggest you pick up his sword because I will not tolerate the useless. Our foes were given life by way of your foolishness." She shoved the mystic down, who proceeded to slink off as quickly as he could. When the Valkyrie turned back to face her party, she found that Gondul now busied herself by sharpening the end long wooden chutes. The Einherjar, at her behest apparently, were aligning them at the front gate. A forest of spears would welcome anyone who managed to force their way in.
"This will not slow them for long," Gondul said as she drove one chute deep into the mud. "Though, with any luck, the ones that are felled just might create a wall of bodies, impassable to all others." Brynhild was quite impressed by Gondul's initiative. It was highly unorthodox to involve living men in the matters of Asgard, but if there was any moment for it, the time was now. "My husband may be the King, but I was raised in no such luxury. Daddy was a hired thug, and my mother was a fur trapper." Gondul personally drove another stake in the ground, almost to punctuate her sentence. "Though I can't speak much to beating or swordplay, I've found that the same traps that kill wolves and rabbits, kill men just the same." Brynhild gave a little chuckle and thought to herself that reviving this woman was certainly well worth the effort.
Before the two had any chance to explore that any further, their bonding was interrupted by a sudden loud precession of thumps from beyond the wall. Somewhere in the deep dark abyss, the malevolent puppeteer reanimated his army of the dead. To the fortune of the defenders, their foes possessed nothing in the way of rams or siege equipment, but it was only a matter of time before they managed to breach the gates.
Thorvald and Sigurd rushed up the wooden ramparts just above the gate to observe the legions. The father and son worked in earnest to toss a collection of large stones down. The boulders easily shattered the more skeletal foes, and simply crushed those ghouls with some rotten tissue still intact. Though effective, the stones were all gone in a matter of minutes, which left the pair nothing but improvised debris to rain down upon their foes. Soon, the entryway and area around it were covered in bones, stones, large wooden beams and even an old wagon wheel. Gondul seized three of the men and led them to another portion of the wall where they loosed arrows at will. While the bowmen were deadly accurate, the fact that their enemy was already deceased. Made these arrows largely ineffective. Against men who did not bleed, or feel pain, nothing short of crushing or dismembering would hinder them.
Williwulf, ever the creative mind, decided at one point to gather all the furniture he could find, then set fire to it. With all the guile of a madman, Wulf cast the flaming debris into the ranks of his foes. When Brynhild caught sight of the ginger firebug, she flew as fast as her feet could take her to stop him. The fool was panicking, and in this reckless move, he threatened to set the already ruined wooden walls to flame. Brynhild ordered the lad to climb back down the wall, and take up post by the gate. Williwulf reluctantly, yet swiftly, obeyed.
As expected, the army of the dead punched a hole through the front gate and began to trickle manically into the breach. Gondul's spear trap kept the fiends at bay, however, and the Einherjar were able to easily cut down their foes. It appeared as if this defensive position was possibly the best outcome they could have hoped for. They might have been outnumbered one-thousand to one, but in this crowded narrow pass, the enemy numbers counted for nothing. That was at least until the creatures began to scale the wall. Mighty though he was, Thorvald nearly fled in terror when he saw those rotten things climbing the bare walls with naught but their bony hands. The warrior shook off this momentary fright and continued to man the wall.
Before this misfortune could become too dire, the flaming debris that Wulf had carelessly flung into the horde had begun to spread fire deep into the ranks of the dead, and even managed to set a pair of trees alight. As Brynhild watched the growing inferno, she nearly laughed to consider the battle might be won entirely by accident. Before her celebration could be thrown, however, the first of the dead that had begun their ascent reached the summit. The flames, while incinerating the hordes and the forest in total, had blinded the defenders to the position of those attackers that pushed past the fire. Thorvald failed to notice the attackers as they closed in on him, and before he had a chance to defend himself, three corpses seized upon him and tackled him from the wall. Thankfully he fell within the walls, but the fall had undoubtedly broken his back.
Without his father, Sigurd was forced to abandon the section he guarded, and in doing so left those defenders at the gate dreadfully open to a flank. Brynhild was dangerously close to entering the fight herself. When all hope seemed lost, she spied Alarick of all people, battling his way over to Sigurd. This was impossible, for she had seen the state of his leg, and no man, Einherjar or otherwise could stand on it, let alone fight. The shieldmaiden's heart came to life in wild fear, for though he fought, and fought well, in this condition, it surely meant his death.
Before she could come to him, a dark shadow suddenly began to manifest itself in the center of the courtyard. The encroaching horde paused as if even death itself feared the lich. At first, it appeared as if the beast held no discernable form and simply changed at will, but the longer the Einherjar looked upon it, the more humanoid the void became.
It was not as mindless as its legions of undead soldiers, but this by no means meant it was wise. Like Sigmare, the lich seemed to see Brynhild for what she was, determined her to be the only threat, and launched into a heavy assault. The fiend did not scream but hissed as it flailed a cruel looking blade at the shieldmaiden. Brynhild parried the blow swiftly but found the strike to have fallen much heavier than she anticipated. The force staggered the Valkyrie and sent her stumbling in the mud. She raised her blade, and in the nick of time deflected a second blow, though this one threw her from her feet. The shieldmaiden knew that she had underestimated the monster's strength and speed, and for this stupidity, her life was forfeit.
"Get up!" Alarick's voice carried up into the night. Brynhild regained her focus just quick enough to dodge the next attack. "You need to get up!" The Valkyrie scrambled to her feet, but as she did so, she saw Alarick foolishly throw himself at the beast. If the lich had faced her on an even level, then, of course, Alarick would not stand a chance. However, what the norseman lacked in skill and power, he more than made up for in force of will. He attacked like a madman, hacking, and slashing with no style or grace. The creature easily defended itself from the attack, but the distraction was just enough to allow Brynhild to steady herself.
Alarick stumbled back from his attack and spun around to face the beast. He was poised to lash out when the lich's eyes met with his. Alarick found himself quite suddenly struck by those eyes. The flesh surrounding them was rotten and corrupted, and yet those eyes were more beautiful and pure than they had any right to be. The beast's glance had frozen him in place, and for what felt like an eternity, the old viking gazed into the dying embers that were the creature's eyes. As he stared into them, he not only saw the hate within it but felt it pouring into his being. Skoldi appeared once again, except this time, instead of being drenched in blood, she was clean, healthy, and smiling. Alarick knew that this could not be so, that this monstrous beast was using some form of trickery to wound him, even still the old viking could not react. He wished to embrace her, and hold her close to him, to apologize for all his failings, but again, he was powerless to move.
"You're not real!" Alarick cried out. Before he could hesitate a moment longer, the Norseman gripped tight to the hilt of his blade and lunged forward. He had intended to cleave the false Skoldi's head from her body, yet as he swung, his blade hit naught but open air. The illusion broken, Alarick felt a sharp stabbing pain in his gullet. The lich's blade had pierced his stomach and run him through. The old Viking could hear the voices of his comrades as they cried out to him, although he could focus only on the monster before him. Its breath was hot, ragged, hard, upon Alarick's face, as the thick scent of the grave filled his nostrils. He was weak and slow but not altogether defeated. The Norseman let out a fearsome cry, and with the last ounce of strength in his body, he slashed at the lich. However, the strike just wasn't fast enough, and the beast merely sneered in victory. For all his skill and rage, he just wasn't powerful enough.
Suddenly there came a flash of light and a tremendous force. Alarick sailed away from his foe and splashed down hard in the mud. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he no longer saw the lich, but a plume of thick black smoke where it once stood. There in the center of the yard was Brynhild, mighty, strong, and clutching tightly to her broadsword. An aura of rainbow lights flickered around her being. Atop her head sat a great winged helmet that Alarick had never seen before.
A sudden pain seized the wounded man, and it was then he realized that he could see a bit of bone piercing out from his thigh. Whatever spell Sigmare had cast on him now faded, and the agony of a thousand wounds consumed him. He looked for help, as found his mates all standing about calmly, as the legion of corpses appeared to have simply fallen at the death of their leader. Brynhild was above him now, and though the pain was leaving him, and a gentle numbness overtook his body, the shieldmaiden's eyes were filled with sadness. She kissed his cheek and wept softly as all things became dark.