The smell in the air had Nyarn’s mouth watering. Blood, its scent flooded the wood mixing with the mist until they were one, drawing vaettir and stirring the moon spirit within.

It wanted to run wild, tear out throats and feast on the hearts of men. The thought had the Jarl feeling famished, but he would sate himself on snow-rabbit. Man’s flesh brought a shifter closer to the mist, like a wind pressing on one’s back, urging that one step into turning feral.

Nyarn couldn't lose himself despite the strength of his wolf or the Vargar Tribe would turn to true beast. Some already were, losing their words and only taking the shape of men when forced into the sun. But the sun was nowhere to be found, letting hundreds of berserkers and vargr wolves run free while draugr were about, and more soon to join them.

“How long?” Nyarn asked, eying the mound of corpses.

He’d killed them all himself. 20 men or so, not one shifter among them. Pathetic. Might as well have sent children into the mist to face him.

The sound of cracking bone echoed through the wood as a wolf shed its form becoming a woman. Blood and bits of flesh coated her face and blonde black hair. A deep gash trailed across her ribs and similar wounds across her body. But what didn't kill a shifter in the moment wouldn't with time and already Elba was healing, if not from her own wolf spirit, then by her Völva magics.

“Within the hour, Lord,” Elba said, her voice still half a growl. “But.” She paused, words growing softer and what remained of her claws melting away.

“But what?” Nyarn demanded. “What have we to fear from draugr?”

The dead were as strong as shifters but not nearly as agile. More than a hundred draugr were already wandering this wood and not one had claimed a shifter’s life. Bringing true death to the unthinking vaettir was more a chore than a battle.

“Our kin have plenty to fear,” Elba said.

Nyarn didn't bother answering. Their kin, those born from the tribe without moon spirits, were not his concern. The lot of them couldn’t hunt, fight, and hid from the mist as to not be possessed by something foul. Already half of those brave enough to join the raids had been lost, if not to the cold then to trolls and other vaettir.

The Jarl’s waiting finally came to an end as the mound of dead shifted. Almost too late, Nyarn saw it, the fel green burning in the newborn draugr’s empty eyes before it leaped.

The vaettir hit the ground with a roll, taking hold of a sword in the ground as it sprinted. Its blade went high then shifted at the last second reaching low, looking to take Nyarn’s feet out from under him.

A faint. An actual fucking faint from a dead man. Brought a chuckle to the Jarl’s face as he leaped back. Mist cursed thing must have been a fine warrior in life despite not being a shifter.

Nyarn caught the draugr’s arm on its second swing, his own limb shuddering with force of the attack. The dead creature held far more strength than most men but the Vargr Tribe were not just men, they were shifters.

Bones popped and shifted with a wave of pain and so much more pleasure as Nyarn transformed into a werewolf, throwing the draugr back. It rolled again coming to its feet without hesitation, joined by dozens more of the dead now woken by the mist.

As one, the draugr charged with swords and shields held with the skill of their previous life. The Jarl could feel their hatred for all that lived but most was directed at him, their killer. They’d chase him for an eternity if not for the sun. Good.

“Now we run,” Nyarn growled and took off on all fours with Elba at his side already shifted into gray wolf.

Nyarn burst from the wood onto an open field with raging bound fires and trenches dug into icy ground. He bounded over them with ease and so did the draugr as they closed, never growing tired, never taking pause as arrows fell upon them.

Nyarn took one in the arm and shoulder howling through the pain, growing louder still as he neared the Vandali Tribe's battlements. And soon, more howls rang out from the wood and more draugr led by his Thanes. A hundred, then more than Nyarn cared to put a number to. A true army of the dead, too slow and mindless to challenge his tribe but a fine spear to run through at his enemies.

Leaping over the last trench, Nyarn crashed his shoulder into the gate baring his path. Wood splintered but held under his assault. Fine then, let the dead be his battering ram.

He reached up, claws boring into the gate as he climbed. Soon, the draugr found him, bursting through the gate with an explosion of wood and bodies falling from the battlements. All the while Nyarn still climbed, running across buildings, reaching higher until he could see the whole village.

Shield walls formed and broke as draugr fell upon them, shattering bones and tearing flesh, devouring the living. It was no battle. Thousands of fighting men against hundreds draugr and more joining with each death.

Hours later with the sun now cutting through the mist, Nyarn walked the battlefield. The Vandali were no more, killed to the last man, woman, and child. The draugr were gone too, most having fled into the wood. Those that hadn’t lay motionless, waiting for another Vaettir to slip inside.

Nyarn sighed, casting a glance toward Elba. “This was too easy.”

The Völva chortled as she resilled a coat of furs off a dead man. “The best complaint a Jarl can have on the battlefield.”

Nyarn found his own clothing, trousers and a pair of boots just a bit too small. “So where to next, the Wodanar, Dudini, or Hastiny?”

Elba's eyes went vacant, falling into the sight before answering a moment later. “I don’t know.”

“What!”

“The future, it changes too quickly, faster than I can see.”

And again the witch was talking in riddles like Völva always did. Curse their foul magic but also his need of it. To wage war without a Völva when one lay with the enemy was madness. Might as well whisper every secret you had to your foes. If only Elba was so useful now.

“Speak plainly,” Nyarn demanded.

Elba pressed a finger to her lip, thinking hard and humming to herself, then she snapped her fingers and smiled. “Say I told you where Jarl Halvar will be, defenseless without his Thanes or fighters. So, you go to kill him but his own Völva through her sight sees you kill him so she gives warning.”

Nyarn groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose. She was going on about the sight again. Made him want to claw the annoying woman but he also wanted to keep his hand.

“Now that the Hastingy's Völva warned her Jarl, my vision is false because he won’t be where I see him.” Elba waited like Nyarn was apt to nod along with whatever the fuck she was on about. “So,” she said as if coaxing an answer.

“So, What?” Nyarn asked, understanding none of what she said.

“So I won’t see anything!” Elba exclaimed. “I can’t see what will be false upon seeing it. As long as the other tribes have Völva, I can’t see what becomes of this war.”

“But you saw us win this battle.”

Elba shrugged. “I saw because there was no outcome possible but our victory despite this tribe'sVölva.”

Nyarn bared his teeth in a growl. “So we could lose this war.”

“If I can’t see it, anything is possible.”