Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
RAGNAR
Ragnar bided his time. Every single troll tried to figure out if there was a way out of this prison, but there wasn’t. Even those who had stone magic, the ones who could sing to the very mountain, were unable to move the stones in this place. They were uniquely trapped. Perhaps there were even spells to prevent them from getting out.
He and his brother could wait for hours until it was the right time. Soon enough, he would find his bride again. Soon enough, he would destroy all who stood between him and Maia.
Time had no meaning in this place. Therefore, Ragnar had no idea how long it took for the door with no window to open. All he knew was that they had not been given any food or water. Perhaps they weren’t expected to live long enough to need such things.
The door opened and revealed bars on the other side— a barrier between them and three guards, who stood there looking rather bored. There was no way for the trolls to get them, but it was very easy for them to corral his people wherever they wanted them to go. Unless the trolls refused to move, that was.
One of the guards snickered. “If you want to eat, you’ll come out of that room. There’s food at the end of the hall. If you don’t want to eat, that’s fine. We don’t care if you starve.”
So there wasn’t a choice after all. He looked around at the trolls with him, then at his brother. Gunnar was already looking rather pale. They had to eat. They had to stay healthy if they were going to get through this.
Ragnar was the first to stand. He cracked his back, taking his time so the humans didn’t think they could just order him around. Because they couldn’t. He made this choice for himself and for his people. No other reason.
He was the first to exit the room and start walking down the long stone hallway. Unfortunately, that also meant he was the first to see the mess that awaited them.
The floor was stained with old blood that made the air metallic. He could almost taste it on his tongue. No one had cleaned in ages, so he wasn’t sure if the floor was dirt or if it was just months on end of people bleeding as they walked this same path. But then he stepped through a door into what appeared to be a well lit room.
Bars still stood between him and a crowd of people who were all drinking wine out of goblets, eating from plates that filled the air with delicious notes of meat and cheese. Humans, all of them in clothing that was far too fine for them to be anyone other than nobility. Each of them wore masks, but they stared at him with hungry gazes.
“Look at that one!” a woman said, stepping dangerously close to the bars. The mask on her face was of a raven, with feathers sweeping out over her cheeks and hiding her features. “I’d like to place a bet on him. He’s so big.”
“You think he’ll defeat the Bull?” The man beside her snorted, before taking a bite from the overflowing plate he held. He had a mask that looked like a pig. Hilariously, it seemed to fit, considering his figure.
“I think he could fight the Bull.”
“I don’t think anyone can win against the Bull. That’s what I’m saying, darling.”
She reached for his plate and grabbed the massive turkey leg balanced on top. She dangled the food close enough to the bars that he could grab it if he reached quickly enough. “You’ll win for me. Won’t you, beast? I have a lot of money on you.”
He bet she did. Growling low in his chest, he was about to lunge for her when he felt Gunnar step up behind him.
“Leave it,” Gunnar said in the black tongue. “They’re not worth it, brother.”
The woman flinched away from them, pressing her hand against her chest. “By the gods. Did you hear that one? He speaks like a wizard!”
“Warlock, darling.”
“Either! Do you think he was trying to cast a spell on us?”
Gunnar snorted. “Ridiculous humans.”
“We’ll speak in the black tongue from now on,” Ragnar said. “And we’ll get out of here as soon as we can.”
He continued walking down the halls, heading toward the end without knowing what he would get to see. The Bull? He wasn’t sure who that could be, but he was certain it was one of the missing trolls.
Gunnar muttered behind him a quickly laid plan. “We aren’t likely to get out of here soon. They won’t let us fight together. That wouldn’t be much of a show for them to watch. Win your battle, brother. And quickly. Once we figure out what to do, we’ll stop killing our own. But you have to know that is the direction we’re heading. They aren’t giving us a choice.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve killed another troll.”
It was a rarity. Sometimes there were trolls who left the mountain. Ones that went rogue and decided to take whatever they wanted. Their king would send them out to hunt down the deviant troll who needed to be ended. Ragnar had only gone on one of those war bands. It was infinitely harder to kill his own kind than it was to kill humans.
“I feel the same,” Gunnar muttered. “But we have no choice.”
Finally, they reached the end of the room, and it opened up into a massive arena. There were countless doors, all of them leading into more hallways, it seemed. Movement at the top of all those walls caught his attention.
There were seats up there. Stands that were now filling up with humans. The same people he had seen in that room, all of them still carrying food and wine as they meandered to their seats, still talking and gesturing as though a bloodbath wasn’t about to unfold before them.
The king himself walked out into the stands and every single troll around him started to growl. The sound of their anger filled the room, and the human king seemed to only revel in the power that he had over their emotions.
“Trolls!” the king shouted. “Welcome to my labyrinth. There are no rules here, only that you are to try to live. Fight until the end, and I will reward you.”
A band of women walked out onto the stands beside him. All of them were dirty, trembling, terrified creatures. But from somewhere deeper in that labyrinth, he heard the thrilled shouts of human men. Men who likely knew that these women were to be their prize if they managed to beat a troll.
“Now, I know the humans in this labyrinth have been fighting hard,” the king continued. “Today, you may hunt in packs! I have many new trolls in this arena, and I want to see who fights the best. If you wish to share your prize among five men... well, that is up to you.”
More shouts.
More pleased cries that were so dastardly, so wrong, it made Ragnar’s head spin.
Gunnar hissed beside him, “They use women as prizes here? What for?”
“You know what for,” he murmured.
Ragnar kept his gaze on the women, moving down the line of them even though they were so far away it was hard to see them. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. But some part of his soul screamed that he was so close.
And there, at the end of the line, a woman stood with her chin raised. She looked proud standing there, unbroken. Her fire red hair blew in the wind and he knew, he just knew, that was his bride.
“Maia,” he said, his voice cracking around the word. “She’s alive.”
Gunnar’s head whipped up, looking for his troll wife and finding her just as quickly. “Would you look at that?”
“I knew he wouldn’t kill her.”
“No, but he’s going to give her away as a prize.” Gunnar hissed out another angry sound. “Now you really have to win.”
He did. And that meant hunting humans through the entire labyrinth and killing as many as he could.
A feral grin split across his mouth. “Happy hunting, brother. Tear through flesh and bone if you have to, but destroy them all.”
“Hunt well.” Gunnar cracked his neck. “Let’s see how many we can kill together. Just like the old times.”
Well, not entirely like the old times. They had hunted through a forest, free and wild, as the mountain sang beneath their feet. Here, they killed for the enjoyment of the humans in the stands above them, their cries for blood thirst rankling and harsh.
Still. He would do it. If that was what it took for him to get a few moments with Maia? He would do anything. Anything at all.
“Let the battle begin!” the king’s shout echoed above the labyrinth.
Ragnar bolted down one of the tunnels. He didn’t care where he started. He’d studied labyrinths like this before. As long as he continued turning in the same direction, he would make it to the center. Whether that was the goal or not, he didn’t care. He’d kill anyone who stood in his way.
He came upon the first group of three human men in mere moments. They had weapons; he did not. But he’d never needed weapons to kill a human.
Ragnar tore through the three of them with all the pent up rage that burned in his chest. He wanted them to die. He wanted to hear their screams as he plunged his hand into their hearts and ripped them out of their chests. Bloody and still beating, they heated his hands with fresh blood as he turned to the next. They never stood a chance.
The three of them had no idea what they were getting into when they were fighting a troll. Though they had swords, those were inefficient unless someone knew where the weakest part of his flesh was hidden. They didn’t know anything about trolls.
The next two men were more cunning. They were slower in their approach, far more deliberate. At least one of them knew Ragnar was more sensitive underneath his arms, and that the skin was thinner there. The man kept trying to shove his blade in that direction, but had no luck as Ragnar continued to turn. They died screaming, and he left them on the ground, barely breathing. One of them was missing an arm, the other with a broken neck that would leave him to die slowly.
Perhaps tragically. Ragnar didn’t care.
He fought through more and more people, all of them blurring together until he had a moment of reprieve. There was a lull in humans who wished to take a chance on fighting him. A fact he was grateful for. Ragnar was covered in sweat and blood—some of it his, he was certain. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wall of the labyrinth and tried to gain his bearings. He was closer to the center now. He was certain of it.
Closer to her.
With every battle, every time someone charged him, he kept his eyes on Maia. She stood strong where he had last seen her, her fiery hair blowing in front of her face as she watched him. He fought for her. She must’ve known that.
The human audience members were chanting, as they had been for much of his battles. Some of them shouting for him, others for more of the trolls he’d seen around. But now he could pick out a particular word they were chanting.
“Bull! Bull! Bull!”
Wasn’t that what the woman had said? She’d wanted to see him fight the Bull?
Hairs raised on the back of his neck, and he knew there was someone standing on the other side of the hallway looking at him. Part of him hoped that the Bull was a massive human. Perhaps someone who could actually give him a fight, considering the others really hadn’t yet. He was so angry, so frustrated, that throwing fists seemed the only way to get through. But another part of him already knew that when he lifted his head, he would be looking at someone who was not human.
Ragnar let his gaze go to the end of the hall, picking out the silhouette of a massive troll who stood at the end. He wore little more than threadbare trousers that barely clung to his massive thighs. A scarred chest was shaped like a barrel, flexing with every breath. His shoulders lifted up and down in rage, likely already blinded by the need to destroy everyone and everything that he could. Especially if this troll had been here for a long time. He would fight until his last breath for whatever it took to stay alive.
But there was something familiar about this silhouette. Yes, the troll had the same massive shoulders and broad form as the rest of them. But this one had horns. Curled ram horns that stuck out from the crown of his head. There were few trolls who still had horns. Most of such animalistic qualities had already been bred out of their lines.
Ragnar only had a second to prepare before the massive beast lunged at him. The horned troll sprinted down the hallway exactly like what the people called him. A bull. If he struck Ragnar, then he had no wonder if the beast would harm him. But there was something familiar about his shape, and even more familiar about the lumbering, awkward gait that propelled him forward.
Ragnar darted to the side, twisting so the new troll couldn’t grab onto him, and then hooked a hand around the troll’s horn. Holding onto it, he forced the troll to spin around and look at him.
“Bjorn?” he asked, his voice low with terror at what he had found.
Because it was Bjorn. It was his oldest friend, the young man he had fought and trained with. The same person he had looked up to, the one who had helped him learn how to use his magic by breaking his own arm, was here.
But this wasn’t the Bjorn he knew. This troll in front of him had lost his mind. Drool dripped from his tusks. His eyes were wide with rage and blinded by all that stood in front of him. He didn’t even react to his own name.
“Bjorn!” Ragnar shouted, then threw him by the horns into the wall. “Don’t you see who’s in front of you? It’s Ragnar, damn it!”
The troll lunged at him again, grappling with him the moment their arms locked. And damn, he was strong. Much stronger than anyone Ragnar had ever fought, but he supposed that made sense.
Bjorn had been fighting a lot longer than he had.
Ragnar wrestled with him, fighting to get the other man in a headlock so he would at least look at him. With a quick twist of his body, he used his old move, hooking his knee behind Bjorn’s and bringing his friend to the ground. In the old days, Bjorn would have laughed and heaved him off of him, but this version of his friend did not.
With another twist of his body, Ragnar planted himself on top of Bjorn, pinning his friend to the ground. But he just remained there, frozen, staring down into Bjorn’s face, which almost seemed... accepting. Like Bjorn wanted to die.
“It’s me,” Ragnar tried again. “It’s me, brother.”
And for the barest moment, his friend was back. Bjorn seemed to recognize him. The fog of rage cleared, and it was like looking at his old friend once more.
“Ragnar?” he asked.
“Listen to me. My troll wife is here. She’s one of the prizes for the fight today. I need to get out of here with her, and I need your help to do it.”
“You can’t get out.”
“I can, Bjorn. I can and I will.” Ragnar wasn’t sure how yet, but he would. “Will you help me?”
Bjorn shook his head, once, twice, and then seemed to relent. “If she’s given to me, I’ll keep her alive. That’s the best I can do.”
“It’s all I can ask.”
Ragnar got off of him, helping his friend to his feet. They stared at each other for a long moment before taking off in opposite directions. They both knew they had the same enemy to fight. Unfortunately, there was no way to win that battle together.