His companions stared at the berserker, their mouths open. “You surely jest!” Freydis exclaimed. Sif seemed too taken aback for speech.

  Placing Grani’s hands behind his back, Halfdan tied them up with the rope made from the sinews of Loki’s son. “No.”

  “But how can you know?”

  “Lots of reasons. One time, he called his master Utgarda-Loki when I did. A name not used by his own people, I was told. He recoiled when this rope accidentally touched him.” Mentioning the bindings, Halfdan tied the strongest knots he knew. “He clearly knew far more than a simple sentinel should, and he was strangely invested in our quest to open the gate. He needed us to open it for him.” Finished, Halfdan got on his feet. “But I knew from the start, really.”

  “How?” Sif asked, her eyes wide.

  “When we found him, the wound on his temple was fresh, still bleeding. We would have seen or heard sign of the culprit if it had happened so soon before our arrival. Except he did it to himself.” Halfdan mimicked raising one hand to his head as if striking himself with an imaginary rock. “He was trying to gain our trust, to make use of us. I figured best to keep him close, maybe make use of him in turn, in case we needed him. But now we know the path home, there’s no reason for this charade.”

  As the berserker spoke, his bound captive began to change form, and Halfdan bent down to turn him on his back. His hair changed from blond to brown, a beard sprouted on his chin and cheeks, and his face visibly aged. A familiar rush of power came over Halfdan, and he smiled.

  [Task complete: Find Loki]

  [Task: Imprison Loki]

  “It’s really him,” Sif whispered.

  “Impressive,” Freydis admitted. “Few can see through the deceiver’s lies. You are more than the axe you wield, Halfdan Berserker.”

  “That’s good, considering I don’t have one anymore,” he replied dryly. “Though that reminds me, could I borrow your spear?”

  “What for?” The priestess eyed him with a frown.

  “You’ll see.” Halfdan reached out his hand. Hesitantly, Freydis placed her weapon in his grasp. “Thank you. Sif, you can open the gateway to Midgard, right?”

  “Sure, but isn’t it too early to go home?” She looked at their bound prisoner. “We’re not taking him with us, are we?”

  Halfdan laughed. “No, he’s going to his cave.” His smile disappeared. The moment had come. He could no longer delay, no longer assume the best. He lowered the spear in his hands, pointing it at Freydis. “Step onto the gate,” he commanded her.

  “What?” Her outburst came tingled with laughter.

  “Do as I say. Step onto the circle.”

  “You dare raise a weapon to me – my own weapon? Against your ally?” Her tone was harsh, but a flicker of fear crossed her face, staring at the grim berserker.

  He stabbed the spear at her, and she stepped back quickly, her feet touching the gate. “Sif, activate it. Send her to Midgard.”

  “Why?” Freydis exclaimed. “Explain yourself!”

  “Halfdan, what’s going on?” Sif’s voice betrayed a timid child, afraid of a situation she did not understand.

  “We can’t trust her, child. She’s a priestess of Loki.”

  *

  Halfdan’s claim left a stunned silence in the chamber. It was broken by nervous laughter from Freydis. “You can’t be serious! You know I serve Freya!”

  “It’s true.” Sif nodded eagerly. “I can read her gift even now.”

  “Except the true nature of a gift can be hidden,” Halfdan retorted, recalling how his own was disguised by Odin’s powers. “If I served Loki, I would take the utmost care to conceal it. I can only imagine that as his priestess, you’d have such a gift, and I bet it’s your strongest.”

  “I’ve fought at your side this whole time!”

  “You tried to kill me when we first met.”

  “I thought you were one of Loki’s servants! The irony that now you accuse me –”

  “You released him, I take it,” Halfdan interrupted her. “And then waited in the cave for the inevitable pursuers you knew Odin would send.”

  “I’ve had countless chances to betray you since then!”

  “And you did. The dead raven, that night at the farm with the draugar. You killed it and threw it in the well to hide the fact, hoping to send us off course.” Halfdan looked at her with eyes devoid of feeling. He had suspected it from time to time, taking note as the evidence slowly built and built. “You were so eager we should hurry here rather than seek Utgarda-Loki’s help.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Because he’ll kill us as servants of the gods!”

  “Because a sorcerer of his strength would see through your ruse.”

  “Halfdan, you must see reason. I fought side by side with you! If I wanted you dead as Odin’s servant, I’d simply have done it in the dark of night!” Freydis’ eyes conveyed the same pleading tone as her voice. She was convincing.

  As Halfdan would expect from someone so favoured by the deceiver. “Yes, and you fed me stories of the gods’ cruelty and their mistreatment of Loki.” He tilted his head, giving the priestess an examining look. “Did you think that you could turn me?”

  Her demeanour slowly changed, turning proud. “Did I say anything wrong? Didn’t Odin force this task upon you? Threaten you with dire punishment should you fail to obey? Are the Aesir worthy of your obedience when they think of you as a dog?”

  “Maybe not,” Halfdan conceded. He reached out to prod Loki’s body with his boot. “But I’m not going to let this one destroy the worlds simply because I dislike the way in which I was asked to save them.”

  “Aesir falsehoods,” came the hissing sounds from Loki, who had regained consciousness. “I’ve no such intentions!”

  “Quiet!” Halfdan commanded, placing one foot on Loki’s chest to keep him down. “Sif, open the gate and send Freydis away! Now!”

  “It’s not false,” Sif declared, speaking to Loki. “You were there. We met the seeress who foretold how the worlds will end because of you.”

  “No!” Loki exclaimed. “It’s the end of his world! The gods and their power! I have no strife with Men or J?tnar, Elves or Dwarves. Only Odin and his ilk. A thousand years of captivity and torment!” He struggled against his bindings. “My blameless son, slain that I could be bound with his remains! All because of that old fool and his fears!”

  “Sif, open the gate to Midgard,” Halfdan commanded. “Do it now!”

  “Wait!” Loki shouted. “Before you condemn me, at least give me a chance to plead my case! You only know the lies spread by the Aesir!”

  “No. Sif, do it.”

  “Wait, wait, wait! What do you want?” The captive stared up at Halfdan. “Power? In a new world without gods, a warrior of your skill would be king!”

  “Not interested. Sif, send her away.”

  “Sif, don’t do this,” Freydis begged. “Please, hear us out.”

  Their endless whining was stirring Halfdan’s anger. He could see how it confused Sif; the child had grown to trust Freydis, and she did not know what to do. She was impressionable, unlike the berserker, whose will could not so easily be bent. It would not work. But before Halfdan could compel Sif to do as he told her, an arrow came flying through the air.

  *

  Struck in his shoulder, Halfdan roared in pain and surprise. Turning, he saw a band of J?tnar spilling into the chamber. Utgarda-Loki’s men, sent to investigate the ruins, with orders to attack any trespassers.

  Already they came at him, weapons ready, a dozen or more. Halfdan knew he had only one chance. “Sif,” he yelled with all the air in his lungs, “Hide!” Pulling the arrow from his wound, he let it channel [Pain into Power] accompanied by [Berserker's Rage]. With a sense of relief, he let the fury consume his mind.

  The spear in his hands pierced a J?tun clean through, tearing their guts apart before jutting out of their back. Using their body as the head on a hammer, Halfdan smashed it against another attacker to slam them against the wall.

  Arrows and bladed weapons made of bronze struck him, meaning [Scorn the Steel] did not help, but the injuries only fuelled the berserker further. He grabbed a swordsman by the wrist and pulled his arm from the socket of his shoulder, flesh and sinew breaking apart. Using it as a club, he struck another on the head, sending him down, which allowed a follow-up with Halfdan’s knee against his face.

  The J?tnar were strong, many times that of a Man, but in the berserker, they had met their match. Empowered by the spirit of a bear and the blessing of a god, Halfdan tore through their ranks. Any wound received, he ignored, and anything he wielded became a weapon; when the latter inevitably broke, he simply used his hands.

  One by one, they fell to his furious onslaught. Perhaps their gift lay in war, same as Halfdan’s, but a berserker to a warrior was like a bear to a hound; it simply could not compare.

  Once inside the tunnel, the fight was decided. The J?tnar could only come at him one at a time, and they blocked any shots from the archer in the back. Covered in their blood, still disdaining any injury they might cause, Halfdan advanced. He struck a blow with such ferocious strength, the seax in his hand cut through the J?tun’s neck, and as it continued, it broke into pieces hitting the wall. Picking up the slain enemy’s hammer, he crushed the kneecap of his next foe, and when the J?tun fell screaming to the ground, the next blow caved his skull in.

  The archer stood last. He aimed an arrow that hit Halfdan nearly in the heart; another inch, and it might have been enough. On this day, it proved insufficient. Tearing the bow from the J?tun’s hands, Halfdan sneered and broke the staff apart. The archer drew a dagger; Halfdan grabbed it by the blade, ignoring how it cut into his fist, and tore it away. His other hand landed a blow that crushed every bone in the J?tun’s face.

  As the archer sank to the ground, Halfdan gasped for breath. No enemy in sight; none to draw his anger. The fury abandoned him, and the full force of his many injuries slammed into him. He followed the dead by letting himself fall down, trying simply to breathe through the pain. [Mend Your Wounds] had begun, and none of his wounds were life-threatening. He would live, even if for the moment he might prefer the embrace of death.

  Ideally, he would have waited a while, but he knew he could not afford the time. He needed to find Sif, ensuring she was safe, and his prisoners, before they could escape. Struggling his way back to his feet, he picked up a hammer from a fallen enemy as well. Armed and able to walk, his strength and health returning with each passing moment, Halfdan stumbled back towards the Midgard chamber.

  At first, he saw only the corpses of those slain by his own hand. Sif was gone, hiding somewhere, undoubtedly. She would return once she knew danger had passed. But the other two? Looking at the gate, Halfdan saw the rope he had used to bind Loki, but nothing more. Freydis must have freed him, again, and they were most likely in flight towards the other exit through the Niflheim chamber.

  “Sif?” he called out, his voice weak. “It’s done. You can come out.”

  [Keen of Sense] alerted the berserker to movement behind him, and he turned in time to receive the dagger into his shoulder rather than his neck. He yelled out in pain before grabbing the wrist that had wielded the blade.

  From the shadows, Loki appeared. “Accursed dog of Odin!” he spat, trying to wrest himself free. But for all his powers, the deceiver was not a warrior. His strength could not contend with that of a berserker, not even one so wounded.

  With an iron grip, Halfdan held Loki in place, and his other hand shot out to seize him by the throat. Raising him into the air, he began to squeeze. To Hel with Odin’s tasks and commands! The berserker would finish this right here and now. And the realms would rejoice when Halfdan had squeezed the last breath from the deceiver threatening them all.

  “Halfdan, stop!” The command came from Freydis. Slowly turning his head, Halfdan saw her. In her hand, she held a dagger, and the blade was pressed against Sif’s throat.