They got out of there fast.

Glámr led the way, rushing further up the mountainside in the hopes that the linnorm would naturally move down the slopes instead, and then they ran at a fast jog for an hour, wending their way along barren rock-strewn expanses, through gulleys and leaping the occasional ravine. It was treacherous going, but Glámr seemed to have a preternatural instinct as to how best to navigate the terrain, and after a while Skadi ceased to worry about the ground falling out beneath her and simply made sure to follow the half-troll’s trail exactly.

The thin air and the biting cold took its toll, and by the time they stopped at the base of a couloir that rose steeply between two peaks, the ground at its foot a mess of boulders, rocks, scree, and sand that was covered in a thin layer of snow and ice.

Everybody was blowing hard, and Skadi had to fight the urge to strip down in order to cool off. People kept studying the treeline below them even as they sipped from their waterskins, and Glámr pulled out a hunk of cured meat to gnaw as he scrambled atop a rough boulder to crouch at its peak.

“All right,” said Damian, leaning back with a wince, hands on his hips. “Marbjörn. What by the dark side of the moon is a linnorm?”

“It’s a great reptile,” said Marbjörn, wiping at his face with a cloth. “Like I said, they used to be more common in my grandfather’s time, or perhaps his grandfather’s time. You heard the tale of Sigurd the Linnorm Slayer?”

“No,” said Skadi, though Líføy and the Stórhǫggvi both nodded.

“They’re cousins to dragons, or so it’s said, though those are clearly mythical. Massive body like that of a snake, but with two legs that prop it up. No wings. They’re said to grow bigger with the passage of the years, and the tales tell of true monsters locked away in eons-long sleep deep in the heart of glaciers or the greatest caverns. They can breathe a blue fire that covers you in frostbite, and are said to be as smart as men.”

“And Afastr just woke one up?” asked Geirr. “Isn’t that wildly dangerous for him? His is the closest settlement.”

Skadi tucked her waterskin away. “Afastr knows what he’s doing. He’s either got a means to control it, keep it away, or knows Kaldrborg is far enough away from its cave to be safe. He’d not make a mistake like that.”

Marbjörn nodded. “Instead, he must have calculated that moving a warband through the area would draw its attention. Nothing would put a dent in several hundred warriors like a raging linnorm.”

For a moment they each tried to envision it.

“Well, we evaded it. And this run has brought us even closer to Kaldrborg,” said Skadi. “Any guesses how close we are?”

Marbjörn and Líføy stared out over the distant White Sea below.

“Close,” said Marbjörn. “It’s been over a decade since I’ve been this far north, but the way the land is sweeping west up there looks familiar. I think Afastr’s fjord is hidden around that knee of a mountain just there.”

Glámr studied the coast. “So a couple more hours if we move fast.”

“Then let’s move fast,” said Skadi. “Glámr, take us a little lower. The air is too thin up here. I feel like I’ve covered twice the distance.”

The half-troll nodded and hopped down off the rock.

“One last push,” said Damian, mostly to himself. “One last push.”

They ran. Glámr as always took the lead, indefatigable, and the rest followed in single file. Across moraines and down icy stretches of raw stone, leaping over ice-covered streams and carefully navigating the denser forests. Always they stayed above the mountain road, occasionally startling small groups of reindeer who snorted and bounded away.

The evening was beginning to fall and Skadi’s alarm mounted; had they somehow missed the settlement? Run to high above it, lost track of the fjord in some hidden fold of the land?

But finally, as the sweat ran down her back and plastered her hair to her brow, Glámr raised a fist and slowed. Damian muttered a prayer of thanks and immediately bent over, hands on his knees, and even Marbjörn seemed worn out, his cheeks above his beard mottled red and white, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to capture his breath. Only Líføy was still at ease, recapturing her breath quickly and moving up alongside Glámr to gaze down at the valley below.

A steep-walled valley which descended precipitously to the head of a fjord, its length choked with ice, a jagged path having been smashed down its center through which ships could navigate. Smoke rose from scores of chimneys, and Skadi’s heart pounded with relief, exhilaration, and alarm: Kaldrborg.

It was a surprisingly large settlement, easily larger than Kráka, home perhaps to a couple of thousand men, women, and who knew what else. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the town where four temples built in a style similar to Ásfríðr’s were grouped, their timber darkened nearly to black by age, each towering high above the rest of the buildings. Their architecture was distinctive: tiered, overhanging roofs rose four stories and were topped by a small tower. Four carved dragon heads emerged from the gables, swooping outward from the carved roof ridge crests, recalling the figureheads at the prow of dragon ships.

“Four temples?” murmured Glámr uneasily. “In the center of town?”

“Afastr never lets visitors leave the docks,” said Marbjörn gravely as he stepped up beside them. “I’ve never spoken with anyone who has penetrated into the town.”

The rest of Kaldrborg was almost predictable; tannery on the far edge where the stink wouldn’t bother the locals, smithy close to their Raven’s Gate so as to mitigate the chance of fires breaking out. Skadi searched for the longhouse. One building caught her eye, hugely built, but its layout was all wrong.

Glámr pointed it out. “Must be where the giants live.”

Líføy popped a piece of jerky into her mouth. “Look at the docks.”

Skadi looked over the mass of roofs to where a palisade of raw, fresh wood had been erected before the docks, cutting them off from the rest of the town.

“A wall?” asked Geirr, shielding his eyes.

Glámr, whose eyesight was preternaturally acute, frowned. “No. It’s not a simple line. Looks like two walls, one with a narrow gate at the front. Then a corridor that opens into a yard of some sort, surrounded on all sides by more walls. Like a courtyard at the end of a very short alley.”

Even the Stórhǫggvi was sobered by the sight. “A courtyard? I’ve seen the like. Remember Beorhstede in Isern, Marbjörn?”

“Aye.” The massive man spat. “That’s what they call a killing ground. Our forces would break down the gate, unable to see what lay beyond, and pour into the courtyard. There are other gates or way out of it?”

“Not that I can see from here,” said Glámr soberly.

Marbjörn nodded. “In the castle that Stórhǫggvi and I helped take—the Beorhstede, it was called—they had something like that. We broke down the castle gate and poured inside, only to find ourselves trapped with high walls all around. Archers above us rained arrows upon our heads while bastards poured boiling oil right after.”

“How did you escape?” asked Geirr, wide-eyed.

The Stórhǫggvi laughed. “Marbjörn and I broke down the second gate with our axes.”

“No second gate here,” said Glámr softly. “Course, I can’t be sure.”

“That castle was built of stone.” Marbjörn grimaced. “The Isernians had to live there, year in, year out. They needed the second gate. Afastr merely needs to survive this assault. He can go a week without a means to reach the water.”

“No ships in the dock,” said Geirr. “He must have hidden them somewhere further up the coast.”

“Prevent us from venting our rage on them.” Skadi bit her lower lip. “We’d not have expected a killing ground. We’d have assaulted the only gate, broken through, and then been slaughtered.”

“Well,” said the Stórhǫggvi. “You lot would have been slaughtered, assuredly.”

“And anybody who broke through would then face his fresh forces.” Marbjörn shook his head in admiration. “It’s a lethal setup, I’ll give the canny bastard that much.”

Skadi focused on the Raven’s Gate. “Glámr. Is that back wall strangely big, or is that just me?”

“It’s weirdly big,” confirmed Glámr. “And the trunks used to build it are massive. They must have hauled old trees down one at a time.”

“Old construction.” Geirr was clearly trying to sound as calm and disinterested as the older men. “Must be their usual defense.”

The Stórhǫggvi rolled his eyes.

Damian took a swig of his water. “With that many half-giants, it must have been easy to build.”

“And the gate looks massively reinforced.” Glámr squinted. “Can’t make out any warding runes. We’re too far away.”

“I’m sure they’re there.” Skadi sighed and sat on a large rock. “So where does this leave us?”

“A blind assault would have been our doom.” Marbjörn sat heavily on another rock with a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods and goddesses you thought to scout, Skadi.”

“You would have suggested the same.”

“Aye, but your uncle wouldn’t have listened to me. He’d have been happy to sacrifice every man and woman in a brute force attack if it got him past the walls.”

“An attack on the rear, then?” asked Geirr, dropping into a crouch. “We could have everybody here in—what—four days?”

“Sure,” said the Stórhǫggvi, who chose to remain standing, hands on his hips. “I wouldn’t mind hunting down this linnorm. Would be much more exciting than just burning down another city.”

Skadi rested her chin on the base of her palm and tapped her fingertips against her lips. “The bonfire was lit last night. Afastr must have hoped we’d attack today or at the very latest by tomorrow. Any delay past that would indicate we’ve been cautious, sent scouts. He’d hoped to surprise us, but come tomorrow evening we’ll have lost the chance to surprise him in turn.”

Líføy smirked. “Might turn out to be an honest battle after all.”

“The linnorm is a serious problem.” Marbjörn took out his handkerchief to wipe at the nape of his neck. “If we try to march nearly five hundred men along the mountain road we’ll draw its attention. Who knows how many it’d kill before we killed it in turn.”

“Then the answer’s easy,” said the Stórhǫggvi, lying back in the snow and draping an arm over his eyes. “We find the linnorm first and kill it ourselves.”

His words were met with silence.

“Ha, indeed,” said Damian. “So. What’s the real plan?”

“We can’t assault the front,” said Skadi. “Not a true assault. Kvedulf is having everyone make ladders, but that will only take care of the second wall. Once our men drop to the ground between the two, they’ll be without a way to climb the second and exposed to archers.”

“Not to mention how tall the walls are,” said Glámr softly. “Dropping from that height won’t be easy.”

“And if it was me,” said the Stórhǫggvi, “I’d put stakes just below as well.”

Skadi winced. “So we have to deal with the linnorm. The main assault has to be on the Raven’s Gate.”

“You’re not serious,” said Damian. Geirr’s eyes had widened.

The Stórhǫggvi sat up, eyes shining. “My advice was sound. I didn’t jest. We need to hunt this beast ourselves. With it dead, our forces can sweep down the mountain road and crash into Afastr’s rear.”

Skadi nodded slowly. “Marbjörn?”

The huge man glowered. “Are you asking me if I like the idea? Because I don’t. But this is a formidable group of the Draugr Coast’s best. If any group can kill such a beast, it’s us.”

“Líføy?”

“Why not?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Afastr has planned this out well. If it’s a choice between a killing ground and hunting a linnorm, I’d rather die fighting a beast out of legend than being slaughtered like pigs.”

The Stórhǫggvi grunted his approval.

“Glámr?”

The half-troll sighed. “We don’t have spears or bows. Hunting such a creature should be done carefully and from a distance. At the very least we should return to camp, tell the jarls what we have seen, and equip ourselves appropriately.”

“Pah,” said the Stórhǫggvi.

“Geirr?”

The young man was pale. “If you deem it best, I shall stand by your side, Skadi Giantslayer.”

“I think the boy’s in love,” grinned the Stórhǫggvi. “How pathetic.”

Geirr flushed and his hand dropped to the hilt of his blade.

“Damian?”

The priest sighed disconsolately. “Why ask me? I’ve been by your side long enough to know which way this goes. Yes, yes, let’s go kill this linnorm beast. Why not?”

All turned to Skadi, awaiting her decision. Of course she wanted to hunt it; the chance to slay such a rare and legendary menace was thrilling. But Glámr was right; they weren’t equipped for such a battle. Then again, between the Stórhǫggvi, Marbjörn, and herself they had almost seventy strands of fate. Add in Líføy, Glámr, and Damian, and the beast was probably no match for them.

Probably.

“We’ll hunt it down,” said Skadi, but raised her hand to cut off the Stórhǫggvi before he could rejoice. “But I want to see it before we attack. I’ll gauge then whether we have a chance of killing it.”

“Fantastic,” grinned the Stórhǫggvi, leaping to his feet. “Let’s get hunting.”

“What, now?” asked Damian, his expression turning plaintive.

Glámr shook his head in resignation. “Let us hope your wyrd proves as potent as always, Skadi, for all our sakes.”

Skadi considered her friends. Glámr with his six threads, Damian with his five, Geirr with his three. They would be the most vulnerable and likely to die.

“We won’t fight it if I’m not sure of the odds,” she promised. “But that’s exactly what I intend to figure out first.”

Glámr held her gaze then nodded once, slowly. “I trust you,” he said, then stepped past her to lead the way back.