Odin closed his eye with a satisfied smile. When he opened it, he let his gaze sweep over his einherjar. “Victory! The holmganga is settled. The deceiver has yielded!” They roared in response. His face still completely bloody, leaning against the spear, Odin looked down at Halfdan again. “A worthwhile effort, but nobody defies me.” Finally, he straightened up to gaze at the J?tnar in the distance, along with Freydis clutching Sif. “And no oversight this time. Kill the rest of –”

  The words died in his throat, trapped by the blade stabbed through his windpipe. [Death’s Needle] had reaped gods before; in his battered state and wounded straight through his neck, Odin followed the same fate as the words he had tried to utter. An expression of shock could be be seen beneath his smashed up face before he fell forward, landing on top of Halfdan. Without further sounds or arguments, the Alfather met his death.

  The warriors of Asgard watched with stunned countenance, all as one. A thrall, one of their own, had blinked through the air to appear behind Odin and inflict a lethal wound. Still holding the dagger, Kark trembled, his body convulsing.

  While the einherjar might be in shock, Thor was not. The thunder god stepped forward, his hammer already in hand. “Treachery! Deceiver! I should have known better! Stay back,” he ordered with a sneer. “He is mine!”

  “Stay your anger,” Halfdan spoke out quickly, pushing Odin’s body away. His wounds had healed enough that he could stand, though nothing more. “There was no treachery. The holmganga had ended. I abided by the rules as we agreed.”

  Thor spat on the ground. “Spare me your tongue-wagging! Duel or not, you killed my father by cowardly means! He will be avenged, and you’ll join him in Hel!”

  “Stand down!” Kark commanded. His tremors had ceased, and he stood straight, taller than he had ever done during his days as a slave. “All of you!” he shouted, his gaze sweeping over the assembled host. “Heed my command and lay your weapons aside!”

  “You dare?” Thor growled, and he raised his hammer for a lethal blow. Already, lightning began to spark around the metal. “You, a thrall and murderous traitor, would command the gods and the host of Asgard?”

  “I am your king.” The declaration seemed ludicrous, yet Kark spoke with such authority, even the thunder god paused. “I am the ruler of Asgard. I am Odin.”

  “Impossible.” Thor narrowed his eyes, yet despite his misgivings, he stayed his weapon. “How could that be?”

  Halfdan spat out the last blood from his mouth. His powers were healing him as fast as they could, but he was in no condition to fight. Not that he had stood much chance against Thor even at his peak. “You keep what you kill.”

  The creed of the berserker came mumbled, but Thor heard him all the same. He stared at the self-declared Odin. “You’re a berserker?”

  Kark wore a knowing smile. “I was. Loki-blessed, my gift awakened but a day prior. But now, I am the raven god, the one-eyed wanderer, the Alfather, king of the Aesir. I am Odin.” He raised his voice, now full of indisputable authority. “Heed my words and lay down your weapons! Return to Valh?ll! Your task here is done.”

  Both gods and einherjar seemed confounded, but none spoke against. In the end, the host of Asgard began to trickle away from the battlefield, most of them appearing confused by the very power that dictated their departure.

  “So you have won, deceiver.” Thor’s tone of voice did not convey any admiration. “I thought you a man of honour, but you truly are Loki, vile and wily. Deceit is in your nature, through and through.”

  “Would your father have done any differently?” Halfdan questioned, feeling more and more at ease as his discomfort disappeared. “If I had won the duel, would he have honoured its spirit? Or spent all his time devising a method no less devious than mine to see me imprisoned again and my people dead?” The berserker shook his head. “I did what I had to, which is exactly what he would have argued.”

  Thor clenched the short haft of his hammer, and the anger on his face suggested a rising desire to unleash a lethal thunder bolt, but a hand fell on his shoulder from behind. “Your wife will be glad to see you home, Thor.” Hand and voice speaking belonged to Freya, who had joined them. She nodded at Halfdan or Kark, possibly both.

  Thor glanced at her over his shoulder, and though his anger did not seem lessened, he lowered his weapon. “So be it. I will not disobey the ruler of Asgard to his very face. But be warned, Halfdan-Loki. Never darken my presence again.” He stepped forward until he stood in front of the berserker, only to bend down and pick up the corpse of the old Odin. “Now I shall go to bury my father. Pray that we never meet again.” He turned around and strode away. Freya inclined her head once more and followed him, as did all the warriors and gods aligned with Asgard.

  *

  Although the einherjar walked away in casual, almost confused manner, and nothing about their demeanour suggested continued belligerence, Halfdan quickly picked up his hammer, feeling more comfortable when armed. He returned to Kark’s side. “Well done.”

  The thrall turned god gave him a pained smile. “I didn’t expect the transformation to be so sudden… or that it would even work in the first place.”

  Halfdan raised an eyebrow. “And yet you followed through?”

  “I was happy just with the chance to kill that old bastard.” He flinched as if beset by sudden pain. “Sorry. My head… The world feels so different, and all manner of strange knowledge imposes itself on me.”

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  “You’ll get used to it.” Halfdan patted his shoulder. “Most importantly, they obeyed you. They accepted your ascendency to the position.”

  “They did…” Kark blinked and held out his hand; [Gungnir] appeared in his grip. “For now.” He looked at the thunder god walking away from them. “Once his mourning has ended, he may rethink his allegiance.”

  “You would gain much favour by doing things different than your predecessor. You are not bound by fear or foretelling as he was,” Halfdan pointed out. “For instance, I imagine Thor would be more inclined to accept your rule if you found a way to see his brother returned from Hel.”

  “Now there’s an adversary to prove my worth, Hel herself.” Kark gave a thin smile. “Regardless, I should return to Valh?ll. There’s much I must learn about my new duties.” He held out his empty hand, which Halfdan grasped.

  “I bid you farewell in peace, Kark-Odin.”

  “Same to you, Halfdan-Loki.” And they parted ways.

  *

  The J?tnar did not hide their exuberance. As Halfdan returned to them, they hailed him as hero; unlike after the duel against Thor, there were no reservations. They had seen Odin slain and the warriors of Asgard abandon the field; although some were as confused as the einherjar, they understood nonetheless that victory was theirs. As Halfdan came up the rampart, they swarmed him from all sides in jubilee.

  Halfdan smiled and laughed, and relief hit him harder than a strike from [Mj?lnir]. It finally sank in. He had won. Their plan, however doubtful and fraught with danger, had succeeded. They were safe. Again and again, he laughed.

  Pushing his way through the crowd, he reached Freydis and Sif, embracing them both. They shared his mood; Halfdan could read the same emotions in their face that filled him. Freydis kissed him, Sif hugged him, and he looked up at the sun with nothing but joy.

  At length, the raucous mood faded, and Halfdan raised a hand to command silence. Their victory had not been cheap. The J?tnar had collected their dead from the battle, hundreds of them lying together inside the camp. The frozen earth meant that digging graves for all would take days, so instead, they had begun to build a cairn, but even that would take time.

  In addition, another J?tun had joined the slain, volunteering her heart for the ritual that turned Kark into a berserker. Helga, the first to heed Halfdan’s call and accept his gift, had not hesitated either to offer herself as sacrifice for his plans. Her heart had proven strong and brave to the end.

  So many had died to end this feud. But not in vain; the war between Aesir and J?tnar could end now, and they might return to J?tunheim safe from the gods’ wrath. Halfdan could not measure whether all this death was worth what they had purchased, but it was done. For his part, he would enjoy the spoils of peace if not victory, and remember those who could not do the same.

  Seeing Halfdan’s gaze sweep across the dead, emotions were further reined in, and the J?tnar fell quiet. Finally, his priests approached him. “What now, my lord? What are your commands?”

  “Only this. Bury our dead and show them final honour. After that, you’re free.” He turned his eyes from the fallen to the living. “Go home. Live in peace without fear. Never be thralls nor take any. Place no chains upon others.”

  They nodded in acquiescence, and the people went to work, resuming labours on the cairn.

  Amidst the activity, the three companions remained together. “What happened to Fenrir? Hard to miss something of his size, yet I don’t see him.” Halfdan placed his hammer on his back while glancing around for the wolf.

  “He ran off once Odin died as if he’d been whipped,” Freydis told him. “Couldn’t tell you why.”

  Halfdan had a guess; the tidal forces of foretelling had been broken. Fenrir had come to slay Odin, and with the interruption, he had followed his instincts as an animal instead. For the first time in ages, he would be free to roam and run. Halfdan wished him well. “He’ll be fine.”

  “He will, won’t he?” Sif looked up at him with questioning eyes, and he laughed, tussling her hair.

  “What now? Should we stay with them?” Freydis gestured towards the J?tnar around them. “They’d be glad of your company, I’m sure, and J?tunheim wouldn’t be the worst place to go. We certainly shouldn’t linger here.”

  Halfdan shook his head. “They’d end up following me rather than themselves. The collar might be invisible and placed by their own hand around their neck, but I’d be a master to them all the same. Perhaps later we can visit, but let them establish their own home and life first.”

  “We have the Dwarven gates,” Sif pointed out. “We can go anywhere we want.”

  He smiled at her. “And where would you like to go?”

  “I’m a skáld. Anywhere new or interesting is fine by me!”

  He looked at Freydis. She had been enslaved to prophecy longer than any of them, following the commands of Halfdan’s predecessor since childhood. Among all of them, she deserved to wander where she pleased. “Thoughts?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a return to Midgard. Our last sojourn was hurried and hunted. I imagine this winter will begin to lessen its grip – I should enjoy watching the arrival of spring.”

  Halfdan bowed his head. “Acceptable to me.” All his injuries from the battle against Odin were gone, and he felt at full strength. More than that, the desire to live up to his destiny; not as the bringer of Ragnar?k, but as the breaker of chains. He imagined that through all the nine realms, one could find plenty in need of having their shackles destroyed.

  “We’re returning to Myrkheim, then, right?” Sif asked with barely concealed motives. “For its Dwarven gate. So we can visit Rumble!” She gave a pleading look. “Just for a while before we continue!”

  The priestess shrugged. “I’m in no hurry.”

  The berserker laughed. “Fine by me.”

  The skáld clapped her hands, though her joy was short-lived. “Urgh. Mushrooms.”