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“Yes, all my fault. As if you couldn’t have blasted me halfway across the room if you so chose. As if you couldn’t have scampered away when we were attacked by Sigrun and his pack. Yet you stayed with me. You wanted to save what was left of the town as much as I do, even if you won’t admit it.”
Fyrcat rolled her eyes and turned away with him, unable to come up with an eloquent response. Her eyes landed on me and she paused, lips quirking with amusement.
“My, my. Someone looks cold. Does the winter not agree with you after so long in Muspelheim?”
“S-shut up,” I managed through chattering teeth. “Why the h-hell are we in the s-snow?”
Fyrcat’s eyes rolled up to fix on Skarde’s face, full lips pursed in distaste. “Ask the berserker. He’s the one who forced me to embark on this fool’s errand.”
I followed her gaze and found Skarde trying and failing not to look at my bare body. It made Torsten tense beside me. I could practically feel testosterone boiling in the air between them. If they fought over something as stupid as Skarde getting an eyeful, I’d have to kick both of their asses. I laid a gentle hand on Torsten’s bicep, ready to hold him back if necessary.
“Well?” I asked.
“The Second Winter began while you were in Muspelheim,” Skarde muttered, not quite meeting my eyes. “The humans were going to freeze in their beds. You care about them, so I thought it was worth trying to get as many to safety as possible. But the dead rose, and it’s made the situation next to impossible.”
That was oddly… touching, especially from a man as laconic and practical as Skarde. He’d thought of me, even while I was gone. He’d done what I would have wanted to do if I’d been present and I couldn’t understand why. What did the inhabitants of one small, human town mean to a man like Skarde?
“Thank you,” I said quietly. Then the rest of what he’d said registered. “Wait a second. The dead? What do you mean, the dead?”
“Draugrs,” Torsten answered. He let out a vicious sounding word in a language I couldn’t understand. I imagined it was the Norse equivalent of ‘fuck.’
“What’s a draugr?”
“A zombie, for all intents and purposes,” Ogun said brightly, altogether too chipper for the topic at hand. “They’re the spirits of Odin’s chosen and they’ll rise from the deaths of anyone in the area.”
“That’s bad,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Ogun said, his smile fading around the edges. “Do you happen to know how many people might be buried in this town? Or who might have died from cold?”
Oh, God. The cemetery in Marshall Heights was old. There had to be hundreds of bodies in there. And if the cold was half as bad as it felt, the same number could have frozen to death in their homes.
“Too many,” Skarde responded, scowling at Ogun. His hand fell to the hilt of his weapon, an unspoken threat. “Who in Hel’s name are you?”
“Ogun,” the dwarf replied, clearly not catching the menace emanating from the man. “My uncle saved your friends, and he asked they bring me back to Midgard to repay him.”
“We wouldn’t have gotten out if not for Brisingr,” I added.
“He looks more elf than dwarf,” Skarde said, still eyeing Ogun with suspicion.
Ogun wasn’t the sort to avoid confrontation, even though he wasn’t much of a fighter. It was a little funny to see the young dwarf glare up at a Viking who towered over him by a few feet. His backside was smoking, and parts of his beard were gone, lost to the flaming shack. None of that seemed to bother him though. He just stood there, hands on his hips, giving Skarde every bit the threatening expression Skarde was giving him. I bit back the desire to laugh. I was probably going nuts. This wasn’t the time to laugh. There were zombies after us. Literal zombies. My life just couldn’t get any stranger.
“I’m half-and-half, if you must know,” Ogun said finally, probably to break the ice. “I have an uncle in Svartalfheim who can give us shelter. You know, if we make it out of here alive. I think the first step would be to get us some clothes. This cold is going to make my nuts drop off.”
That last comment drew a short, nervous laugh from me. I just couldn’t help it.
“We need to get a move on,” Fyrcat said. “The dead will spot the smoke and they will come. We need to be elsewhere when they arrive.”
She was right. We’d stepped out of the forge and into the fire now.
“Did you have somewhere in mind?” I asked.
“I do,” she answered with a slight nod. “We need to go to Freya. But first, we carry out the fool’s wish. We save these tiresome humans.”
“I can get on board with that. Where are we going?” I asked.
Fyrcat gave me a sidelong glance. Was it just my imagination, or was she doing some ogling herself? The look she gave me wasn’t sexual but more… adversarial, like she was sizing up the competition.
“I instructed our sister witch to move toward the tunnels. I can transport the humans from there to safety. Then we find Freya. She has much to discuss with you.”
