Page 14

Summer in Vanaheim was beautiful. Hakon marveled at the rich green landscapes, the golden fields, and the prospering villages. After the night at the boatbuilder’s hall—the night Talvinen told him about his mothers—they traveled along the fjords and through the forests from farmstead to farmstead in the never fading light of the midnight sun. Riding out on patrol had always been Hakon’s favorite time of the year, for it gave him the opportunity to spend time away from the oppressive gloom of his father’s hall. Exploring Vanaheim with Talvinen by his side was even more exhilarating.

Only a small retinue accompanied them, and Hakon was relieved that Talvinen had ordered Frekegar to stay behind. However, Hakon hadn’t dared to ask if Gudrun could ride with them. After talking about his mothers’ fate so openly, Hakon thought maybe Talvinen would’ve granted his request. He liked to play the unassuming fool after all. But as Hakon had learned the hard way, Talvinen was cunning, way too perceptive for a man his age. He already must’ve figured that Gudrun was dear to Hakon and, shared secrets or not, Hakon wouldn’t dare put her in any more danger by reinforcing this suspicion. Breathing deeply, Hakon savored the smell of dry earth and wildflowers. Guiding his horse along the narrow path through a light forest of oak, ash, and beech, he followed their retinue of the dozen warriors and shieldmaidens that formed Talvinen’s lie for the journey. To his surprise, the Vanir warriors treated him with respect and even camaraderie, like Talvinen had promised. Even Thyra, the guard he had fought against on his first day in Saeborg, was almost friendly to him. Hakon couldn’t wrap his head around it. Catching up to the group at an easy gallop, Talvinen steered his gray steed next to Hakon.

“There’s a farm and small hamlet at the edge of this forest. How about we settle down early today? The land around is sacred, saturated with the seier connecting the worlds, and there are circles of standing stones and ancient burial mounds hidden nearby. Would you like to see them?”

In his entire life, Hakon had never been asked what he wanted. Talvinen asked all the time; where he wanted to go and what he wanted to see, if he was tired or hungry, or if he felt comfortable. What he thought about this or that, or what he preferred. It was overwhelming, probably a trap. But it felt so good.

“Are your ancient kings buried there?” Hakon asked, putting off having to answer Talvinen’s question for a moment longer.

“Maybe. Their true names aren’t remembered. The mounds date back eons, their inhabitants’ sagas lost to time. There are legends, though, saying the Ynglingar lie there, King Erling and his forefathers.”

Taking a deep breath, Hakon made up his mind. He’d thought about this ever since the morning he woke from his shameful dream, and his husband took care of his needs and desires without so much as batting an eye. They hadn’t talked about it afterward, but it seemed Talvinen hadn’t minded and merely respected Hakon’s decision to keep quiet about the whole affair. At some point, Hakon would have to test how far Talvinen’s self-proclaimed adoration of him went. Why not start right now? “I’d like to see them,” Hakon said, voice slightly strained with nerves. Gods, he wasn’t cut out for these games. “What do you think about leaving the warriors to rest at the farm? We could spend some time on our own.”

It wasn’t until he uttered the words that the outrageousness of his demand fully settled in. Too much. Too soon. He should’ve judged more wisely.

“Sure. I like the idea.”

“Huh?”

“I never got the chance to court you properly. I should make up for this shortcoming.” Talvinen winked at him.

He winked .

Struck speechless, Hakon felt dizzy, his gut churning with nerves as if he was about to ride into battle. He mirrored Talvinen’s smile as he tried to compose himself.

I don’t need to be courted , he wanted to say, but he swallowed the words down.

“Do the Vanir consider time spent together as courting?” he asked instead, suddenly frantically curious.

“Yeah, riding out together, sharing a meal outdoors, or spending a sunny afternoon in the warm hay of a barn like Erling and Magnus did.”

Hakon frowned. What kind of story would place the legendary king of old into a barn with the monstrous dragon that killed him? What was Talvinen talking about?

“You…consider fighting a dragon to the death a romantic gesture?” Hakon asked, only half joking. On the surface, the Vanir didn’t seem too different from the Jotnar , but who was Hakon to judge? Some of the Vanr sorcerers were said to command dragons after all, others—like Talvinen’s infamous uncle—were known for even riding such beasts. Maybe word of their weirdest traditions only hadn’t reached Hakon so far?

Talvinen laughed.

“Sorry!” he gasped when he noticed Hakon’s sour look. “I’d forgotten that their story is told differently in the halls of Jotunheim.”

“Differently?”

“It’s about a warrior fighting a monster, right?”

“Sure. Every child knows the tale.”

“In Vanaheim, it’s a story of forbidden love.”

“Forbidden love? Of a dragon ?”

Hearing Hakon’s incredulous tone, Talvinen laughed even harder.“Magnus was a dragon, yes. But also a sorcerer. Can you imagine the power of a man who was able to shed his skin and take flight as a beast of fire? A volcano’s living, breathing personification?”

Hakon shuddered. The idea was as terrifying as it was fascinating. Drawing strength from an animal to wield in battle wasn’t an unknown feat to the Jotnar , even shedding your skin and becoming one with the spirit of a wolf, bear, or wild boar. Berserkers did it, as did the ulfhednar , the wolf men. But a dragon-sorcerer?

“Just typical of you Vanir to make the dragon the hero of the story,” Hakon grumbled, although the idea secretly amused him. “Does your dragon marry Queen Signy then?”

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Talvinen steered his horse closer to Hakon’s.

“Not Queen Signy. Remember, he’s a depraved vala . In our version of the tale, he snatches Erling from the stake to keep as his own.”

Warmth spread through Hakon’s body, pooling treacherously in his groin. He could get the appeal of the tale. Erling, the fabled warrior king of old, taken by this insanely powerful dragon-sorcerer as his lover.

Hakon’s mind was flooded by unbidden images of a blond warrior held down by a vala . The dark-haired man on top looked suspiciously like Talvinen, and Hakon suddenly craved to know what it would feel like, Talvinen keeping him in place with his body and seier , his cock moving inside Hakon. Hel , Talvinen’s fingers alone had felt so good. What would his cock feel like?

“Are you with me, dróttning ?”

“Huh?” Feeling his face heat, Hakon snapped out of his depraved fantasy. Close to Talvinen, he just couldn’t keep the filthy thoughts at bay.

“A tempting idea, right? If I’d been in Magnus’ place, I would’ve snatched the prince too. At least if he’d been just a fraction like you.”

“Are you telling me you’d choose me over Erling the Great?”

Why did Talvinen have to derail any civil conversation, steering it into dangerous territory, ridiculously charged with emotion?

“Always,” Talvinen said. Without hesitation. Without a trace of sarcasm.

Hakon was doomed.

The forest was filled with birdsong and the bustling of wild bees, everything around them vibrant and alive. It reminded Hakon of the short summers in Jotunheim when everything exploded with color and life for a few short weeks, only increased tenfold. It was breathtaking.

Their retinue had settled down at the farmstead at the forest’s edge, and Talvinen led him over a narrow game trail into the wilderness beyond to visit the ancient gravesites as promised. Hakon could tell that the farmers didn’t wander these forests often, preferring the security of the fields and the lighter woodland leading down to the fjord, eventually. Hakon stumbled after his husband as if in a trance. How could Talvinen agree to such a foray? He led the way, offering Hakon his back unprotected. Hakon was his enemy, and Talvinen even allowed him to carry his weapons. This was madness. He couldn’t bear—

“What if I attacked you out here?”

Clutching the hilt of Isbani , Hakon came to an abrupt halt.

Talvinen turned around, his posture still relaxed. In the pale light of the midnight sun, he looked more god-like than ever.

“Do you want to?” His husband had the nerve to sound unconcerned about it.

“I’m here to kill you; didn’t you say so yourself?”

Talvinen shrugged.

“You don’t have to do as Bergelmir commands. You are now a prince of the Vanir , and if you ask me to win the Frostland Throne for you—as is your birthright—I’ll lay Jotunheim at your feet. But if you want to fight me, I’ll be only too happy to grant you that wish, too.”

“You’re mad,” Hakon said helplessly.

“No.” Talvinen’s amused grin softened into something tender. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. There’s a difference.”

“How’s there a difference?”

“A mad ruler is dangerous, especially to those around him. He could turn against the ones loyal and beloved to him for the most ridiculous reasons. You don’t have to fear that.”

“Well—”

Hakon hadn’t thought about it that way. Of course, he had no reason to trust Talvinen’s words, but he sounded so sincere that it was hard to simply dismiss them.

“What about Frekegar? He’s your sworn warrior, yet you humiliated him on my behalf.”

“He brought that upon himself when he disrespected you. Also, putting someone in their place and outright harming them are two different things, don’t you agree?”

“You’re not wrong… in a way—”

Humming contentedly, Talvinen took Hakon’s hand to kiss his knuckles. Hakon should have pushed him away, but instead, he reveled in the intimacy of the gesture.

“So, does my husband want to fight? I must say, I’m looking forward to testing my strength against Jotunheim’s best warrior.”

Talvinen must be out of his mind. Completely, adorably mad. Hakon couldn’t help but smile, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name.

“Another day? We’re here to see the kings’ graves after all.”

“As you wish.”

Thankfully, Talvinen didn’t comment on the fact that it was Hakon who brought the topic up, and now backed down from the challenge. Not that the prospect of dueling Talvinen wasn’t thrilling, but Hakon was too worried that their fight could turn serious when they were out here alone. What was he to do if he really managed to defeat Talvinen? Hakon wasn’t ready to face this decision.

Not letting go of his hand, Talvinen guided him uphill and deeper into the forest. They wandered in comfortable silence, and by Hakon’s estimate, a good part of an hour had passed when the forest thinned out. They reached a grassy plateau covered with summer flowers that reminded Hakon of the area around Thrymheim. Hakon’s breath caught in his throat as they stepped out of the forest and three high, grass-covered mounds came into view. The burial sites rose in front of a glittering mountain lake, the area framed by standing stones covered in runic inscriptions and withered pictures. The sight was hauntingly beautiful.

“This way. We can sit at the lakeside and have our nattmal .” Talvinen gently tugged him by the hand and led him around the mounds toward the lakeshore.

The shoreline was dotted with rocks that seemed as if a troll had thrown them there in a fit of rage. They sat down on a particularly large one, and Talvinen started unpacking the lavish food the mistress of the farm had prepared for them. Moving closer, Hakon tried to help him set up their meal—he was flustered enough that Talvinen had carried everything himself all the way up here—but his husband nudged his hands away.

“No. I’m attending to you tonight.”

“But—”

“No buts, dróttning . Why don’t you lie down and rest a little while I prepare the food?”

Talvinen pulled his coat out of the bag he had carried over his shoulder and spread it out for Hakon to lie on. Sending the bag a suspicious glare, Hakon got comfortable. On their way up here, the bag had looked full, sure, but how in Hel’s name had Talvinen managed to fit all this stuff in there?

“Did you enchant it?” Hakon asked, gesturing accusingly at the offending item.

“Only a little bit.” Talvinen grinned. “Now relax and enjoy the view.”

So Hakon did.

After sharing their meal, they just lay next to each other, looking out over the lake. A deep feeling of peace and contentment enveloped Hakon, and he reveled in the soft, innocent touches Talvinen showered him with; holding his hand, brushing through his hair, or just idly caressing Hakon’s chest. He couldn’t get enough of it.

It was past midnight by now and the sun had vanished behind the mountains, leaving the land shrouded in the bluish light of dusk. It wouldn’t get any darker, but this strange place between night and day, between light and darkness, had an almost magical quality to it.

“I love your hands,” Talvinen said, cradling one of Hakon’s hands reverently in his. “So strong, yet elegant. The way they curl around a sword’s hilt—”

Bringing his hand up to his lips, Talvinen kissed him again. His palm, the tips of his fingers, his knuckles.

“Wait a minute… What’s that?” Talvinen suddenly stopped his caresses and stared at Hakon’s hand.

“It’s a—it’s a ring,” Hakon stammered. After all these weeks, he had hoped that Talvinen wouldn’t recognize it. Hakon had grown fond of the gift Talvinen had given him as a child, and after years of wearing it on a chain around his neck, he had turned the little thing into a real piece of jewelry by an Utgardian blacksmith. After the Battle of Saeborg, after Talvinen had haunted his dreams for weeks, it had only seemed fitting to have the small ring with the delicate green stone set in a larger golden band. Wearing it had been a small gesture of defiance against his father, the only acknowledgment of his desires that Hakon had ever allowed himself. It had been safe because no one knew where the ring had even come from.

“You kept my ring,” Talvinen purred.

Hakon’s face grew hot. “I—”

“Thank you.” Beaming, Talvinen kissed his hand again. “Do you want to take a closer look at the mounds now?”

It took Hakon a second to follow Talvinen’s sudden change of topic, but he was only too willing to talk about anything else than Talvinen’s ring on his finger. Excitement and a sliver of fear made Hakon rise from his relaxed position. Disturbing the rest of the kings buried here seemed like a risky idea. His husband, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease.

“You want to go inside the stone ring? Isn’t it forbidden?”

“Forbidden? You’re adorable. The inhabitants of the mounds may have been kings or queens of old, but we’re their living rulers. If anything, they should greet us with reverence.”

We .

We’re their rulers, he said.

On a whim, Hakon leaned in for a kiss. Talvinen met him halfway, his hands coming up to cup Hakon’s face and his thumbs caressing Hakon’s cheekbones. Sighing, Hakon parted his lips to allow his husband entrance. To claim his mouth. To mark him as his, like the ring he’d been wearing for years.

When they parted, Hakon felt a little dazed, as if his world had shifted on its axis.

Tracing Hakon’s bottom lip with his thumb, Talvinen looked oh so pleased. He pressed another quick kiss to Hakon’s lips before getting up.

“Ready?”

He wasn’t ready for either another display of Talvinen’s recklessness or his affection. Wandering between the mounds in the ominous half-light was thrilling—and slightly creepy.

“Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” Hakon knew he sounded like a coward, but the draugr , the walking corpses of the mounds, weren’t to be trifled with.

Taking his hand again, Talvinen pulled him a little closer. Hakon didn’t mind.

“Uncle Njord used to take my brother and me here when we were younger. Jokull bathed in the lake, and we wandered around among the standing stones, pretending to decipher the inscriptions.”

“Your uncle and his dragon… Did he really ride a fire serpent?”

“She was more of an ice serpent, really. And an actual dragoness, by the way, no two-legged wyvern.” Talvinen paused, a look of deep sadness crossing his face. “She was a wise one and kind.”

Hakon had no idea how to console him. Again, he was stunned by Talvinen’s resilience in the face of loss.

“I am—sorry for your loss,” Hakon stammered.

In the blink of an eye, Talvinen had pushed him up against a rune stone, kissing him fervently. Hel , he could be fast if he wanted to. His husband sucked the breath right out of Hakon’s lungs, making him moan low in his throat.

“You’re so sweet. Such a good boy,” Talvinen mumbled when he finally pulled back a bit. “Bergelmir wanted to use you as a tool to kill me, but you came on your sister’s behalf. So honorable, brave, and kind. You’re way too good for that coward.”

The overwhelming urge to sink to his knees and pledge his sword to Talvinen made Hakon’s breath catch in his throat. He wanted to swear loyalty to his incredible husband, maybe offer his body as a token of sincerity, too. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t betray his people. “You’re giving me too much honor.”

“Hmm, and always so humble. Now, do you want to see the ships?”

“What kind of ships?”

“The stone ones.”

Talvinen was already moving again, gracefully climbing the side of the mound to get on top.

“Talvinen! Damn it!”

Cursing under his breath, Hakon followed. Why did Talvinen always have to be so careless?

“Surely offending the dead isn’t a good idea, even in Vanaheim,” Hakon grumbled as soon as he caught up with his husband.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they wanted us to see.”

“See what?” The uneasy feeling the burial site evoked wouldn’t quite leave Hakon.

Talvinen made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the surrounding land, and Hakon finally took the time to look down properly. At first, he didn’t notice anything he hadn’t expected. The mound allowed a beautiful view over the lake and the forest beyond. From here, you could overlook the entire area: the two other burial mounds and the standing stones scattered on the ground.

The standing stones! You could see them clearly from the mound, but Hakon imagined that the view from an eagle’s perspective—or from the vantage point of a warrior sitting comfortably on the back of a dragon—must be absolutely breathtaking. The standing stones formed the perfect shape of a mighty longship, with considerably larger stones forming the bow and the stern. An otherworldly ship carrying the souls of long-dead rulers to the halls of their ancestors among the stars.

“It’s beautiful,” Hakon breathed.

“I hoped you’d like it.”

“Did you plan all of this?” Hakon asked carefully. The idea that Talvinen might have put some thought into this courting gesture instead of deciding to take him out here on a whim made Hakon feel dizzy.

“Yes,” Talvinen said simply.

“But why?”

Taking a step backward and away from Hakon, Talvinen ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. He looked endearing, the boyish vala who made the maidens giggle all the time and made the warriors forget how powerful he truly was. This man was the perfect trap.

“Because I think about you all the time. I have a long list of places I want to show you, gifts I want to give you, and things I want you to try because you might enjoy them.”

Hakon couldn’t help but laugh. This was just ridiculous.

“You don’t believe me.” A statement, not a question, spoken very gently. As always, Talvinen did a good job of pretending he was neither angry nor annoyed with him.

On some level, Hakon knew he should let the subject go. He shouldn’t anger the man his and Gudrun’s survival depended on. Even if he managed to kill Talvinen now, there was no way of ensuring Gudrun’s safe escape from the citadel. But something about the sheer outrageousness of Talvinen’s claims angered Hakon. How could the Vanr expect Hakon to believe such nonsense?

“Name just one,” Hakon gritted out.

It took Talvinen only a second to get Hakon’s drift.

“Magnus’ Needle. It’s a white tower high in the mountains, said to be magicked into existence by Magnus himself.”

Stunned into silence, Hakon could only gape at his husband.

“And then there’s Nóatún, my uncle’s fortress, in the middle of the sea. I want to explore its dark alleyways with you when the autumn mist creeps up from the water, and when we get cold enough and hungry, I want to show you this little bakery in the lower town. Theymake the best pastries I’ve tasted in all of Vanaheim.”

Hakon felt lightheaded.

“I want you to taste the best food and drink my realm has to offer. And if you allow me, I’ll bring you flowers, jewelry, the best swords, and the fastest horses. I want to dress you in the most precious fabrics and—”

Talvinen shifted his weight while he spoke and gesticulated animatedly.

Hakon sensed the surface of the mound move a split second before a gaping hole opened up beneath his husband. Yelping in surprise, Talvinen vanished into the darkness beneath him.

“Talvi!”

Before he could think about his actions, Hakon was on his knees. He scrambled on his belly to the edge of the hole, peeking down into the darkness anxiously. For a second, he couldn’t see a thing besides dust and darkness, but then a flickering light came into existence and he found Talvinen sitting in a pile of rubble several meters below and grinning up at him.

“Didn’t see that coming.”

Talvinen was way too cheerful for a man who had just fallen down a hole into a tomb.

“Hurry. Get out of there.” Hakon’s heart was racing. What if Talvinen’s inadvertent fall had woken the inhabitants of the mound?

“Yeah, just a second. I need a rope or something.” Talvinen looked around searchingly.

“Can’t you just weave a seier ?”

Laughing, Talvinen took a step deeper into the burial chamber. “First of all, this place is saturated with the magic of the burial rites. It makes it much harder to cast a spell. And second, flying is more difficult than it might seem.”

“I don’t want you to fly, you idiot!” Hakon tried to hide his concern with anger. “Can’t you just conjure up a rope?”

A deep rumble echoed through the burial chamber. Turning around, Talvinen tilted his head.

“Or leap. You have to come up here!”

“Wait a second. What’s that?”

The rumbling was louder now, a sound that made the tiny hairs on Hakon’s forearms stand up.

“Talvi!”

Hakon jumped into the hole beside Talvi. He landed in a crouch amidst broken grave goods. The strange dry odor of decay clogged his nose, making it hard to breathe. Rising to his feet, Hakon drew Isbani in the same motion. The floor beneath him was made of wooden tiles, like a long ship’s deck, and slightly sloped. Peculiar.

“Stay behind me.” Talvinen drew his sword, too.

There was something moving around in the darkness. Its growl reminded Hakon of an angry bear woken from hibernation by a lost wanderer.

“Is there another way out?” Hakon hissed.

“Usually, all entrances are sealed when the burial is completed. But I guess we could reopen one of them if we must.”

“Who dares to disturb my rest?” The voice was like grating stones; as if its owner hadn’t uttered a word in centuries. A draugr . A damned mound dweller. Hakon knew it.

“I’m Talvinen, the son of the Queens Ahti and Vellamo.” Talvinen still sounded so unconcerned.

“And I’m Hakon Bloodaxe, his husband.” No way would Hakon allow Talvinen to become the sole focus of the mound’s undead inhabitant and thus invite its wrath alone.

Talvinen made a sharp gesture with his hand, and the small light he had conjured up suddenly shone brighter. It illuminated the expanse of the enormous mound. Hakon had seen wealthy men being laid to rest with gifts to carry into their next life. Weaponry and armor. Clothes and food. Bulls and horses. Sometimes even their thralls were killed and buried with them, to serve their masters even in death. But the splendor of this monarch’s burial was beyond Hakon’s wildest imagination.

They were indeed standing on a longship’s deck. A whole war ship, hidden under a mound as big as a royal longhouse. The space was cramped with goods, bags, and chests, the walls lined with spears. On the far end of the chamber the white bones of horses and other hapless creatures shone in Talvinen’s magical light, and overlooking all these offerings, sitting on a high chair, was a bulky figure. It regarded them with eyes glowing an ominous blue, like shards of broken ice.

“And who might you be, shadow dweller?” Talvinen asked. He seemed totally unimpressed by the undead warrior looming over them, and Hakon adored him for his bravery.

“Liar,” the draugr growled. “I’m King Gorm, and my son Harald rules over these lands.”

Talvinen laughed, and Hakon wanted to give him a good smack over the head for provoking such a dangerous creature like the undead.

“So the rumors are true. This is indeed the burial place of the Ynglingar. How peculiar,” Talvinen said. “Then your son Harald is buried in the mound beside you, and the third mound belongs to his son, Erling, although I’m not sure he was ever put to rest there.”

“Lies!”

Rising from the throne on which he had been laid to rest, the draugr pointed an accusing finger at Talvinen. But of course the blasted Vanr wasn’t impressed.

“Eons have passed since you reigned over this land,” Talvinen said as if he were talking to an unruly child. “Your line is extinct, your dominion crumbled. I rule over Vanaheim.”

To the living, Talvinen always made a point of emphasizing that Hakon ruled by his side, ridiculous as this notion may be. The fact he didn’t point it out to an undead king who might hold a grudge was unexpected and endearing.

The draugr’s gaunt hand closed around the hilt of an ancient sword that protruded from the jumble of treasures and trinkets around its throne. A strange, rattling sound left the dead king’s lips, and it took Hakon a moment to realize that he was laughing.

“Bold words. But death sharpened my senses. I know who you are.”

“And who am I?”

While Talvinen was chattering with the corpse, Hakon looked around for an escape route. Somehow, the dead and his belongings must have gotten into the grave before it was sealed.

“You’re a vala ,” the draugr growled, and Hakon froze. How could he know that? “An occupation unfitting for a man, and disgraceful for a king. And your whore is a frost giant. Maybe I should test if you’re really fitting to rule—”

Hissing a spell, Talvinen cut the draugr’s ramblings short. A rain of ice splinters, glittering viciously in the magical light as they surged through the air, pierced the undead’s chest. King Gorm was said to have fallen in battle, and his corpse had the gaping wounds to prove it. Now he stumbled under Talvinen’s attack, his body littered with deep cuts, but it didn’t seem to matter to the draugr .

“You will not offend my husband,” Talvinen said, voice as cold as his seier , and didn’t he have a knack for ice magic?

“We need to get out of here,” Hakon hissed. Finally, he spotted a place where the grave goods were laid out in a different pattern, the ground less crowded. This might have been the entrance. “Now.”

The draugr uttered a hoarse cry and charged. He was fast. Faster than any living man should be, and Hakon barely had time to ready Isbani and step forward to shield his husband. The dead king’s ancient blade clashed against Hakon’s, the force of the blow reverberating all the way to his shoulder.

Talvinen growled angrily. He moved with Hakon, exploiting the draugr’s distraction by dealing a vicious cut to his side. King Gorm grunted, but the cut that would’ve killed a mortal merely slowed him down. The draugr swung his free arm, hitting Talvinen in the chest and sending him crashing into a pile of round shields.

Hakon readied his stance. He dove under the draugr’s next blow, picking up a shield as he went. King Gorm hissed in frustration. His undead state undoubtedly lent him strength and speed beyond mortal limits, and his body seemed to have risen almost to the size of a troll, towering over Hakon. But the confines of the burial chamber restricted his movements.

Dancing around his opponent, Hakon dealt a deep cut to the draugr’s leg. He dodged the undead’s flailing arms, using his shield to shove Gorm off balance. Another turn. Another cut. The draugr grunted as Hakon sidestepped his next blow and buried his blade into his shoulder. Isbani hissed as it cut through the rotting flesh, and the grunt turned into a howl.

Hakon didn’t stop to inspect the damage he’d done. He turned again, always trying to get into Gorm’s back, to make his larger opponent stumble around in graceless circles like a dancing bear. If it kept Talvinen safe, he was going to cut up this walking corpse bit by bit until nothing was left but a neat pile of limbs.

The draugr snarled and flailed, hacking at him with his sword, but he couldn’t land a hit. Anticipating Hakon’s next move, Gorm changed his tactics. As Hakon spun around once more, the draugr threw his entire heavy body at him, trying to crush him under his weight.

Hakon stumbled and barely managed to avoid being caught between Gorm and the ship’s railing. He slipped past the draugr by a breath, and for a second they found themselves back-to-back. Hakon spun Isbani and stabbed blindly into the draugr’s back. He felt the blade slide through rotting flesh and brittle bone, and the draugr froze. Hakon gave his sword a final thrust and whirled around to face Gorm.

The draugr had fallen to his knees, motionless again, but Hakon could tell that whatever sinister magic had possessed the corpse, it hadn’t left yet.

“When you pull Isbani out, behead him quickly. Only this way will he be truly gone.”

Hakon’s gaze snapped up to find Talvinen sitting on a barrel, watching him. A shard of ice the size of a wooden flake hovered over his hand, ready to strike.

“I couldn’t resist watching you fight,” Talvinen said with a sheepish grin. “And I didn’t want to deny you your honorable victory.”

But he’d obviously been ready to intervene if things had turned ugly. Hakon felt a lump forming in his throat. Hurriedly, he shifted his focus back on the matter at hand. He pulled Isbani from where it sat buried in the undead’s back and beheaded the draugr with a quick blow. And if he made sure to swing Isbani in a most graceful arc and let the draugr’s head roll at Talvinen’s feet, who was to judge? As a good king, Talvinen deserved to be gifted with fallen enemies, after all.

Jumping from the barrel, Talvinen twirled the shard like a knife before sending it crashing into the mound, ripping its side open.

“You fought brilliantly,” Talvinen said as he casually picked up the dead king’s head and placed it between the corpse’s legs.

“Thanks, but—what are you doing?”

“Making sure King Gorm doesn’t rise again.”

“By shoving his head between his balls?”

Talvinen shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t make the rules, dróttning .”