Page 1 of Seared Fates

Prologue

Norðvegr, 793

It’s on a battlefield, sword plunged into my chest, where I begin to think my time is up.

Across the muddied field littered with corpses, between heavy snowfall, it’s hard to work out who were my warriors and shieldmaidens, and who were our enemy. Not that it matters any more. At the edges of my vision, shadowy arms reach for me.

Valkyries.

I’m certain of it. Waiting for my last breath to take me toValhalla.

The crunch of footsteps draws my attention.

‘Good,’ I think, stabbing the sword clutched in my battered hand into the well-fed earth. Gritting my teeth and with a pained grunt, I heave myself up to face death head-on.

“Come to try and finish me off, eh?” I spit at the too-clean boots that have stopped before me. Certainly no warrior. Maybe a whelp looking to wet his blade on an easy kill. Too bad for him. “Well, I won’t go down without a fight to a piss-stainedeldhús-fífl.”

My battle-worn body complains, and the frozen breeze cuts just as deeply as the blade sticking out of my chest, but I stand tall before this Saxon man in simple garb. Dizziness makes his features swim, so all I can make out is dark hair against pale skin.

No matter. I don’t need to know a face to kill the man who wears it.

“You Norsemen have a colourful tongue, I’ll give you that.” The boy is shorter than me, thin. But he speaks with the weight of a chieftain—I should know.

I let loose a hacking laugh, my blood-stained spittle dirting his clean shirt, and it’ll be the only blood of mine he’ll be getting without a good fight. Only a weak man begs.

“And I’ll fuck your wife with it over your corpse.”

This stranger may look like one of the monks we raided, but there’s a strength about him. I hope this fight, my last no matter who wins, is a good one. TheValkyriesare watching after all.

He chuckles as if I’ve told him a joke. “I’m in need of a fighter. The world is changing, and to walk in it without a good sword arm is unwise.”

“So you’ve come to the end of a battle to find your warrior?” I grin, my blood pooling at my feet. “You are an odd little man.”

“Not a man at all.” In his smirk, half-hidden in the falling snow, I catch a flash of something, but my blurring vision obscures it. “I can grant you forever, friend. You can fight, drink, and fuck as much as you like. You won’t age, or die, or fall sick.”

“Or we can duel, and theValkyrieswill take me toValhalla.” I shrug, painful as it is. “Sounds the same to me.”

He steps forward, arms wide. “But think of the adventures we could have.”

Flagging, I lean heavily on my blade impaled in the earth. It sinks deeper, soon it’ll match the one buried in my chest.

“What are you, some kind ofSeiðskratti?”

“No magic-man, friend. Just someone offering adventure without the dying part—well…” He flashes that sharp, half-crazed twist of his lips I’m becoming familiar with. “Not for too long, anyway. Besides, a man like you…surely you’re not ready to leave this world? Think of all it has to offer.”

I won’t admit it, but this man speaks the truth. I didn’t become a raider to sit idly in my dull corner of the world, and since the day I stood before the ocean, gazing out at the horizon, a spark flared to life.

I cravemore.

I clear the blood filling my lungs with a spit, considering. Trust this man? It’d be stupid.

But…would it be fun?

“Fight, drink, and fuck, you say?”

“Until you tire of women.” Dark hair sown with snowflakes covers his gaze, and in my doubling vision, I make out the startling whites of his teeth.

A deep laugh barrels up, but it comes out in chunks as it passes through the blade. “Not possible.”