Gry willed another burst of flame from her dagger, but it was too late. Syn, that traitorous bitch had already escaped. Oh, she'd find her, gut the sorcerers with the burning dagger this very night, but Halvar came first.

Last Gry saw of the man, he waded into battle like a mad berserker taken by the beast within. The Jarl hadn't said a word after hearing of Aslaug’s murder. He just ran off, sword in hand, charging for Skorradalr’s great hall.

Unfortunately for the Wodanar, many stood within that path forming an ocean of corpses Halvar now stood upon.

No one ventured closer, not on either side of the blood-drenched clearing. Such death, with whole bodies sliced in half, it was a thing of vaettir. And the look in the Jarl’s eyes, the quickness of his breath and veracity, the man might well cut down his own in that state.

Halvar charged again and stumbled as an arrow pierced his thigh. Before another could follow, Gry's fist lashed out with her dagger in hand. A sweltering heat took her as unseen magin flew, catching the bowman aflame. Gry managed to put two more to flame before Halvar was on them.

Every heartbeat another man fell, a few scoring blows but always paying dearly as the Jarl’s sword cut body's in twine. Apparently, the Wodanar knew not how to battle a troll. Best to get the fuck out of its way and build a pire for the dead because there would be many.

A shield finally broke the weapon, only adding to the carnage. Halvar leapt at the Wodanar, pulling half a dozen men to the ground with him. Some found their courage trying to wade into the brawl, so many in fact Gry lost sight of it all, until torn limbs flew through the air.

A head, an arm, the form of a man, his chest ripped open, and the Wodanar broke. Gry couldn't even call them craven. Her Jarl was a monster, one that had stolen the eyes of every warrior present, bringing a holt to all other battles. And still he grew stronger as the vaettir inside brought the man closer to his feral nature.

Gry hesitated but the sight urged her forward, pressing a sense of foreboding if she did naught. The corpses were many, too many, causing her to fall. Gry wretched as she landed, her hands mired in a woman's innered. Still she moved, soon crawling over her Jarl's victims until spotting him.

He shifted from side to side searching for more to kill, unsure as to which crowd to lay waste to. In his right hand a man was gripped by his throat, crushed and oozing blood, long dead but held like some kind of weapon.

Gry frozen as Halvar's red eyes landed on her's.

“Lord,” she said, only for him to throw the dead man at her.

She spun out of the way just in time only to witness her head erupt in a spray of blood, shattered by a gray-skinned fist. The sight had revealed it but too late. Halvar was already too close too, too fast for any hope of survival. But the moment had been stretched in Gry's mind just long enough to act.

Halvar stumbled as if struck, Gry's will bursting at him like a storm. Immediately she felt something fight back, not her Jarl but the troll within, fighting to run free.

For a long moment, they stood, staring into each other faces, the vaettir so clear Gry could hardly see Halvar in its gaze. With a final push, the troll faltered its red glow reseeding.

Just like vargr wolves and baserkers, its nature was intertwined with that of its host, no one of the two in complete control. If he'd been truly possessed, well, there would be naught Gry could do but die.

Halvar fell to a knee as Gry spoke, choking as if the power coursing through him was suffocating.

“Lord?” dhe said, stepping closer.

Thenm an didn't even look her way, reaching down for an abandoned sword and again charging for the Wodenar's great hall.

Well, troll shit. Gry could already feel him slipping into madness again, and she'd have let him, forcing him back to sanity when the killing was done but the tribe needed him now.

“The Jarl and his Thanes won't know. They don’t know anything. Just little men, every one of them.”

Aslaug’s words echoed in Gry's mind, ringing truer than ever before. Halvar was sword and shield but she was the mind of the tribe, its Völva. Gods help them all, Gry was their Völva.

Gry ran, dashing like death was on her heels until she overtook Halvar rounding on him with arm outstretched to bar his path. "Look around you. Skorradalr is burning!"

“Good!” He barked and tried to shove her away but Gry ducked under his arm.

“You don't set a town to flame while standing in it!” Halvar caught hold of Gry’s tunic, tried to throw her to the ground but she dug her feet into the mud and bore her will into his soul. “Food will burn. Our people too and this grand fortress can't shelter us without homes to ward off the cold. We need to quell the fire!”

“What I need is vengeance!” Halvar roared.

His sword hand was shaking now. He was going to run her through. Fuck, Gry pulled away but his grip was like an iron shackle. She tried forcing calmness over him but it burned away like kindling.

Closing her eyes she waited for pain and then the shadow fold world of the afterlife when she felt something shift. It was not within herself but in Halvar, churning his magin along with what power she left within him.

The red of his eyes dulled but the anger painting his face was all the more terrible. He released Gry and roared, the sound leaving her ears ringing.

“No, no, no!” he screamed and began pacing, stomping his feet as if to punish the bloody ground.

“Lord?” Gry whispered not too sure if she wanted his notice. Whatever had happened, if it did not he would have run her through.

He came to a stop, body still, held tight for violence. “There is a pit in my stomach. It…”

“Prescience,” Gry said.

Of course, he had the sight or at least would for some time.

“No,” the Jarl hissed but in his eyes, Gry could see he knew the truth of it. But what could be of such horror to quell his rage?

“You gained prescience of our destruction if you hold your anger so tightly,” Gry said.

“But… they killed Aslaug,” Halvar said but still holding back because the Wodanar had done more than murder his Völva; Syn had done more.

They had taken his mind, used him as a woman on a raid. He couldn't even speak the words for the shame of it. All he could do was feed the troll his rage and lash out at the world.

Still, the sight had warned him. Even now Halvar's eyes flickered but as his grip tightened he stumbled, washed over by prescience insight.

Soon he fell to his knees. The battle fever had left him leaving what Syn had done at the forefront. Gry could not even imagine the shame of it nor the anger it would engender so she embraced him as he shook, able to do naught.