It was cold like a jötunn was breeding down Gry’s shirt. Not just her but every hasting man and shieldmaiden shivered like a blizzard raged within this hall.

How could it be so cold while surrounded by thick walls? Sorcery of course, as if this conjuration would do ought to forestall the coming battle. Nipples hurt something furious though.

Already, two lines had been burned into Gry's forearm for warmth. Should probably stop doing that with so many scars forming. Or maybe she’d make it a design. Gry, the Branded Fire Witch didn't sound too bad. Better than her predecessor. People just opted to call Aslaug a hag.

As for the other warriors, they held torches for warmth, most of them anyway. Some hadn’t heeded Gry’s words like she wasn't the tribes fucking Völva. Now they huddled close, trying their best to ward off death-chill.

Gry turned as an elbow prodded her in the side, finding Hadding. There was a wrathful look about him, like the berserker wanted to beat her with the torch he'd taken from another. Fool hadn't wanted to listen, like a Völva could be questioned on matters of mist. Or perhaps he knew how to smell a lie.

Truth was Gry hadn't known a god's damned thing about the mist filling this place, but Halvar did. Man's sight already seemed stronger than her's or at least different. Either way, his eyes darted about staring at ghosts and passed time itself. She'd been much the same many moons back choosing to ignore what she saw.

Hadding edged his chin towards his father. “What is wrong with him?”

Gry couldn't help but hear the accusation in the words. "He is fine."

“You call that fine,” Hadding said, pointing at the Jarl who patted his chest as if searching for a wound. “If Syn laid a curse-”

“Do not speak on you do not know,” Gry hissed, sounding too much like Aslaug for her liking.

“I know you bedded him for a reason,” Hadding said, leaning in close to whisper. “I am a shifter, Witch. I could feel father's humanity slipping away and how it returned after spreading your legs. It's why I didn't object and silenced others that did.”

Slowly, Gry nodded at that. Berserker had the right of it for the most part. Clever for one of his kind who seemed to only live for war and women.

“But,” he continued. “Syn. I know how an ash wife can drive a man to madness.”

“I can ward off whatever curse lingers with time,” Gry said, the lie almost true as she could help the Jarl control some of what he saw.

“And I know you are no Aslaug.”

Gry had half a mind to catch Hadding’s hair aflame. She might as well be Aslaug for all the magic the woman could cast. But the Völva's web of lies and half-truths made her seem fearsome, far more than Gry who could actually have a man dead with her flame.

Gry's reply caught in her throat as Halvar’s eyes focused on one of the runes carved into the wall. Was he reading it? He was, and far too openly like ought to do with reading was manly. A deep growl of disapproval escaped Hadding but Halvar still moved like in a trance, tapping a finger against that rune.

A ripple escaped the Jarl, spreading from one rune to the next, empowering each with magin. A breath later, ice covering the ceiling shined with white light. Better yet, the chill waned the slightest bit.

It seemed bedding Syn came with a boom as unmanly as it was. Gry had little understanding of such writings. Wouldn't stop her from killing the bitch for what she'd done though, her and her whole family.

A terrible whale came from Hadding just behind Gry. She turned, flaming dagger in one hand and hatchet in the other, ready for battle. The Wodanar must think attacking the rear advantageous, but the Hastings would hold, or so she thought.

Only Hadding stood behind Gry, frozen in fear, as he, a berserk, lost his courage. His fellows, dozens of men, most of which were shifters holding the rear, were in pools of their own frozen blood, skulls split and limbs severed. And standing with a frost-covered sword over them was Arvid.

The Jarl frowned and spat whatever foul wetness pervaded his lungs. "Was hoping to end more of you lot without being noticed before talking peace."

How had she not seen this? Better yet how the fuck did an old man kill so many without being heard and shifters at that, each as strong as two men combined? And he must have been seconds away from planting a sword in Gry's own back.

“Arvid!” Halvar shouted, forcing his way past his men, Gry and Hadding. “Hiding in the mist like a craven and talking piece when found! Is there truly no honor left in your old bones?”

Arvid frowned but seemed unworried as Halvar closed on him. “You speak too harshly.” He spread his arms wide casting his presence on all. “Do you think any of this is my choice? Did my daughter's trench not show you the truth of the world?”

Halvar answered with his sword slashing at Arvid's neck. The old man remained still as if welcoming death but just as the strike was about to land he burst into a cloud of mist, like. . . By the God's, man was bound to a fucking snow maiden!

Icy vapors flowed over Halvar, alive and with purpose. Halvar swung at the mist as rime spread over him. Some drew arrows and Gry readied to throw a hatchet or fire but there was naught to even aim at.

All at once, Arvid repaired, catching Halvar’s sword hand at an awkward angle. With a single twist, the weapon fell to the ground, its owner followed as Arvid's fist lashed out, cracking Halvar across the face.

Arvid circled Halvar as he spoke. “Think me a woman for using powers of the other worlds? I've bedded a sorceress for decades boy, how could magic not be in me, my mind, my very soul.”

An arrow loosed passing through Arvid as he misted for just an instant, continuing as if naught happened. “Haven't made a choice in years and neither will you when Saxa has her way.”

Halvar grunted. “And yet you speak of peace.”

“More like surrender.”

Hadding and several warriers charges in to join their Jarl. That had been a mistake, and Gry didn't need the sight to know that.

Arvid didn't turn to mist. He simply sidestepped as the first spear came his way, taking the man's head with speed no man so aged should possess. He cut men down as if they were bogged in snow while he was weightless.

Hadding still charged in like most berserkers, eyes wild and without skill. His moon spirit fought now, stealing his fear.

Gry threw her hatchet just as Hadding swung his blade. Arvid leaned back, the axe nipping at his bear then darted forward with a thrust. It would have pierced Hadding’s neck, kill the Hastingy heir but the attack misted away as Gry’s hatch passed through Arvid.

He was back in an instant, fist crunching Hadding’s nose. The blow took the berserker off his feet and sent him flying.

Halvar found his footing then, cracked his neck and lunged, swinging his sword in an ark only for Arvid to mist once again. The man reformed instantly behind Halvar, about to run him through. Just in time Halvar spun forcing Arvid to mist or lose a leg.

Again and again, Halvar came near to ending his foe. He moved faster, striking more sharply, matching Arvid move for move. More than a few times Arvid landed blows. His sword sliced across Halvar's back. A fist landed on the side of his head, blade pierced his side and shoulder, but he didn't slow while soon enough, Arvid did.

Gry thought it fatigue at first. Arvid was old with hair whiter than any she'd seen and creases marking his features but the ice coating him was telling.

Each breath frosted over with cold. Rime spread over his beard, back and arms breaking off in great flurries as he moved. Only, the ice came back when he vanished and a shudder held him now.

All magic came with a price Aslaug had taught, and this one seemed clear.

Gry reached with her flaming dagger calling a jet of flame only for Arvid to mist out of the way. More arrows followed, forcing the man to use his art and grow the chill around him.

Arvid finally took Halvar’s strike blocking with his own sword. That was a mistake as his grip failed under the cold his sorcery brought.

Sword clattering on the floor, the Jarl was without a weapon nor shield to fend off the next blow. And by his pale skin, the man looked moments from death-chill.

Arvid took the slash on his arm, the sound like crunching ice. Indeed that's what it had been, ice formed into bracers.

Seeing victory so close, Halvar attacked like a berserker, again and again forcing Arvid to a wall and drawing blood from his arms. But like a coiled snake he was, Arvid sprang out with a blade of ice, a stalagmite really, grown over his fist.

The stalagmite came for Halvar’s chest but it burst through the palm of his hand and went no further.

The battle was over. Halvar’s blade was poised to take Arvid's head but then both men stopped, drawing in a breath, and eyes going wide.

“What the fuck is that?” Halvar said with his voice trembling, hands shaking worse than Arvid's had been. His weapon lowered, the battle frenzy chased away.

“I… I don't know,” Arvid said after falling on his arse.

Gry followed suit as prescience came to her. Something old lived within this place. Feeling just how old left her head spinning and stomach apt to wretch. Even describing its power seemed an insult. It was simply death. No glory, no honor, no resistance, just death stealing the strength from her legs to run. What would be the point of even trying? There was no escape from what she felt.

Death and laughter had come for them, and a name older than the very words she spoke.

Thr Destroyer