Chapter 26 The Battle of the Misty Sea #3
Njord’s breath caught as he watched Thori plunge his ax deep into the giant’s chest, following it with a bolt of lightning that he pushed through the handle, through the blade, deep into the creature’s core.
Svanhild’s rotten seier pushed back, but Njord lent him more power, determined to protect Thori.
The blasted giant swiped at Thori, but Njord brought the creature off balance, letting fierce waves pull at its feet. The giant missed, and Thori ripped his ax free to strike again, deeper this time.
Good boy, Njord thought, sending Thori not only his power but also all the warmth and protectiveness he was feeling. I’m with you.
“Down with you!” Thori roared, calling down more lightning and shrouding the creature in brightness and heat.
Bolt after bolt hammered into the giant’s chest, and the creature shrieked.
Mesmerized, Njord watched Egil’s corpse be peeled from its muddy tomb and shattered under Thori’s relentless attack.
Norns, Thori was a force of nature. Strong. Brave. Perfect.
Njord only had to keep him from getting himself killed.
Finally, the giant’s screams cut off, and for a moment it froze. Then it collapsed. Mud and peat disintegrated, the seier animating it, torn apart. Thori tried to leap clear, but the collapsing body moved too fast, dragging him down into the foul mass.
“Thori!”
Njord jumped after him, diving right into the horrible mud, to wrap his arms around Thori. They fell together, but Njord let the sea meet them, and suddenly they were surrounded by clear water that guided them gently down to the foot of the fortress while the giant fell apart around them.
“You reckless fool,” Njord snarled as soon as they reached the ground safely. “You absolute—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence because the ocean itself rose with rage to answer his distress.
No slow gathering of power, no whispered words of seier, just Njord’s sea bending to his will.
He allowed his rage to pour from him in a torrent, and his domain answered.
The waves turned black and towering, blocking out what little light the fog-shrouded sun provided.
“Back,” he snarled at Thori, pushing him bodily to stand behind Njord. “Get back behind the wall.”
But Thori only grinned at him. Even smeared with mud, he was still the most beautiful being in the Nine Worlds.
“Not a chance, Shipbreaker. Let’s send Sveinn to the bottom of your precious sea.”
There was no time to argue. Sveinn’s fleet was already scattering, but the fog that had hidden them now worked against them. They couldn’t see where they were going, and Njord knew every current, every depth, every treacherous rock hidden beneath the surface.
He raised both hands, and the waves obeyed.
A wall of water rose between the fortress and the attacking fleet, higher than the tallest mast, dark as storm clouds. Njord let it hover there for one breath, giving the warriors and volur on those doomed ships a moment to understand what was coming. To know who had killed them.
And maybe to show off a little in front of Thori.
He brought it down.
The wave crashed over the nearest longships with devastating force. Wood splintered, and warriors screamed before their voices were swallowed by the roar of water. The ships capsized; the figureheads with their glowing eyes pulled down beneath the churning foam.
But Njord wasn’t finished.
He called to the creatures of the deep, and the whales answered, great gray shapes surging up from the depths. They breached beneath the ships, their massive bodies damaging the hulls and making the longships rock dangerously.
Svanhild’s volur tried to counter his wrath, but they were powerless against the unleashed ocean. Desperately, they tried to guide the remaining ships to Nóatún’s rocky shore to escape the carnage. Most of them shattered on the cliffs, but a few made it to a rocky outcrop.
“They are trying to reach the caves.”
Skalmold landed light-footedly next to them, carried down the battlements by sea winds and salty foam. Thori was already trying to run after them, but this time Njord was faster, catching him around the waist and pulling him back against his chest.
“You’re not going alone this time.”
“Didn’t I handle the giant just fine?”
Foolish, proud little god.
“You fought brilliantly,” Njord said, kissing Thori’s temple. “I’ll commission a skald to sing about your deeds myself. But we’ll face Svanhild and Sveinn together, understood?”
Blushing a lovely shade of pink under the mud stains on his face, Thori stopped his attempts to twist away, leaning against Njord instead. So starved for praise, for genuine affection.
“Understood.”
The survivors of Sveinn’s fleet scrambled onto the rocks like drowned rats clawing their way from the sinking ships. Njord counted perhaps two dozen warriors, less than he’d expected. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile; his sea was hungry, and it rose against Nóatún’s foes.
“Stay close to me,” Njord said, earning unanimous eye rolls from Thori and Skalmold.
But they followed him across the slippery rocks to where Sveinn’s remaining warriors started forming a defensive line at the mouth of the cave.
They looked haggard, soaked through, but they clutched their weapons with grim determination.
Behind them, Njord could just make out Svanhild’s pale hair and the shadows of her volur melting into the darkness, retreating further into the cave.
“Shipbreaker!” Sveinn stepped forward from the shield wall.
His expensive armor looked ridiculous, dripping muddy seawater and covered in algae.
“You think drowning my fleet makes you victorious? Svanhild will wake the Goddess of the Bog, and your precious fortress and every living soul on this rock will be swallowed by the march!”
“Then she’ll have to wake her quickly,” Njord said. “Because you won’t slow me down.”
Sveinn drew his sword. “Come on then, sea witch. Let’s—”
“No.”
Thori stepped forward, thunder rumbling above them and Elm’s fire dancing across his armor and along the blade of his ax.
“I promised I’d be the one to kill you, remember?”
Sveinn paled. “You’d let your thrall fight for you, Njord?”
“He’s not a thrall.” Njord relished the look of wide-eyed surprise on Thori’s face and backed up his claim by letting Thori feel that he had full access to his thunder, his lightning, to the power of Njord’s storms if he wanted to.
“He’s a noble hostage. And if he asks me for your head, who am I to deny him? ”
The sweetness of Thori’s smile was in stark contrast to his deadly bearing, and Njord realized with certain clarity that he always wanted Thori like this: satisfied, getting everything he wanted, happy.
“May I?” Thori asked, only for Njord’s ears.
“Make it quick.”
Thori was already running.
Njord shared a look with Skalmold, and she winked at him, already chanting to keep Sveinn’s warriors at bay and allow Thori to focus on his fight.
A thunder crack split the air, and Thori let himself be carried by his lightning. Sveinn stumbled, momentarily blinded, and Thori crashed into him, his ax buried into Sveinn’s shoulder, tearing through the protective runes etched into his armor like they were nothing.
Sveinn screamed.
“Did you really think you could get away with treating me like a thrall?” Thori snarled.
He ripped the ax free and struck again, this time catching Sveinn’s sword arm. Njord heard the satisfying sound of bone splintering under the assault.
“Did you think you could raid Njareby and never answer for it?”
Sveinn twisted, maybe trying to run, but Thori struck him down with a lightning blast so powerful that it took out several of Sveinn’s warriors with him.
Sveinn fell, his corpse charred and smoking, his remaining men staring in shocked silence.
“Anyone else?” Thori asked, lightning still crackling around him. “Anyone who doesn’t surrender to Gylfa over there can taste my lightning.”
Njord felt a warm surge of pride and affection, almost like—no, he wouldn’t call it love. That would be stupid. And Thori was still his prisoner.
“Well done,” Njord said, putting a gentle hand on Thori’s shoulder.
Sveinn’s warriors scattered, some surrendering to Gylfa and her guard, others turning to the sea to be swallowed by the waves. The path to the cave was clear.
Njord turned toward the darkness. He could feel the hot springs deep in Nóatún’s belly, could sense the maze of tunnels that wound through the mountain’s roots. He’d explored some of them over the centuries, but never all. There were places even he had been reluctant to disturb.
Now he had no choice.
“Stay close,” he said to Thori and Skalmold. “The caves beneath Nóatún are old.”