An Epic Fantasy Series Inspired By Norse Mythology

Marauder by D.W. Roach

Series Excerpt

The open boundless sea, a Norsemen’s second home. We ventured north by northeast for Bjorgvin, our sacred homeland. Men tended carefully to their bloodied and cleaved bodies, cleansing their wounds with the sting of sea water, they drank heartily of golden mead to dull the pain. Those not injured sat grinding stone against their weapon’s edge, staying ready for what dangers lurked around the bend. Orbrecht the healer tended to Halldis, who had been wounded by a knife to the leg. His lesion was small but badly infected by the rusty blade. The Healer leaned closely over the wound and breathed deep into his chest. The awfulness of the smell made Orbrecht gag and cough. “Cheese…damn,” he said under his breath.

“What the hell does that mean? Is he going to be alright?” Jareth asked. Orbrecht looked at Jareth with a heavy heart and dull unflinching eyes.

“It means disease has set in to his wound flowing into his veins, and he is in the hands of the gods now.” Halldis was now with a dreadful fever and death was moving ever closer.

With no way to help his brother, Halldis, Jareth sat with his knife angrily whittling a small piece of drift wood. “If he dies now, he’ll never ascend to the glory of Valhalla. It is not a warrior’s death. There is no honor in it.” Looking down and shaking his head, I saw that Jareth felt nothing but pity for Halldis, pity that he would be forsaken a life in Valhalla with the gods from mere disease.

“Hold your tongue, young man. His fate is not determined yet; he can still pull through this if the gods will it to be so. Perhaps the Valkyrie Eir will show her mercy upon our brother and descend from the heavens to cure his ailment.” The healer took a damp rag and wiped down Halldis’ forehead, keeping the beads of sweat from his eyes, trying to knock the fever down. Orbrecht looked across the deck of the ship and pointed at me. “Audan, fetch me that blanket, his body needs to stay warm if he’s going to fight this off.” I stood quickly grabbing a woven blanket and gave it to Orbrecht. He draped the cloth over Halldis’ body and tucked it in tightly to keep the cold at bay.

Staring out into the infinite ocean, I drifted away into my own thoughts for a moment. By now Obrecht's Valkyries were long gone, battle had not been seen for nearly a day and Halldis had been wounded in a most dishonorable fashion for a warrior. A woman! What a terrible way to go, I thought to myself. I’d rather take my own life than die at the hands of a woman. Halldis had seen many epic battles in his lifetime, killed many formidable foes, and now he stared blankly into the abyss. Halldis was an intimidating figure, taller than most men, long hair as dark as ravens feathers. His voice was deep and commanded the attention of all men in his presence. Halldis carried no shield with which to defend himself, only a giant bearded axe with the stains of blood from fallen enemies.

We called the axe Crusher because of the way it killed men. It wasn’t the cut of the blade that killed them, as the axe was too dull, it had not been sharpened in many years. It was the great force that Halldis placed behind it. Halldis would literally crush a man’s head until it entered his chest cavity and smile while he did it too. We all looked up to Halldis and wanted to see him die a brave warrior’s death so he could feast in the golden halls. Even the look in his eyes was frightening to me now. His once dark brown eyes had turned to a deep black. What was he staring at? Could he see Helheim perhaps? Did he know his coming terrible fate? Perhaps he was already absent of our company, leaving his mortal self behind.

I thought back to my early battles as a younger man. Long ago, I saw a Valkyrie amidst a battlefield. A neighboring war clan was challenging ours over possession of a local lake and the right to all wealth that inhabited it. The dispute caused one man to stab another in the back. The coward aggressor tried to run and was killed himself by a flying spear that pierced his chest. A pitched battle ensued between the war clans. A silly thing it is to die over fresh water and fish, but the laws and honor of our people must be maintained at all costs. We were unprepared for this battle and I was terribly inexperienced as a youth.

I recall the horde charging towards me at great speed, dark figures in loud clanking lamellar armor, screaming and yelling, wildly swinging their swords and axes in the air. They banged their shields simultaneously, over and over, howling and yelling. Several warriors even bit and chewed at the edge of their shields spitting chunks of wood from their mouths trying to intimidate us, trying to break our spirits. Spears and arrows flew from all directions filling the sky, cutting men down like crops before the plow. The full might of a flying spear would not merely send a man to the ground, but would fling his body backward, plummeting into his brother’s swords behind him. I froze, staring straight ahead, staring at nothing, not at the enemy but through them. I leaned back and looked away; suddenly, I felt weight pulling down on the end of my spear.

My adversary, so enraged had charged forward and impaled himself upon my spear point. I opened my eyes and looked into the emptiness that was a dying warrior’s face. His body slid down my spear shaft swiftly. I could feel his warm blood running between my fingers and soaking my clothes. I stared at him intently, waiting for him to say or do something. The light vanished from his eyes as they rolled into the back of his skull. Stepping back, I allowed his body fall to the ground, lifeless, glorious, worthy of Odin’s open arms in his Great Halls. I felt like such a coward for killing such a worthy opponent. It was at that moment that my courage was further robbed from me: I looked up, and there she was, a winged vision sent from Valhalla itself, chooser of the fallen, a corpse goddess, a Valkyrie.

A hand reached out and gripped me firmly by the shoulder. I turned with my bloodied spear raised up, ready to make my first honorable kill, to make up for the one I did not earn. Yelling at the top of my lungs I focused on my opponent and stopped just short of plunging my spear point into his throat. It was my father. “Audan, are you okay son?” My expression quickly turned from fury to gratefulness that I did not kill him. I nodded repeatedly. “Good! Then fight boy, fight!” I charged forward, with my newfound courage and never looked back.

Axes fell, bones shattered, spears found their mark. I stumbled forward and barely deflected a sword thrust. Finding my way to my feet, I drove my spear through my enemy’ belly and into his chest. A short shriek exited his throat followed by a river of blood that shot out like a river, flowing down his chest. Watching this man die, he stared at me with great hatred, gripping the spear in his body, slowly falling to his right knee, then his left. He was trying to say something but could not get his words past the blood, then, he smiled at me, turned his head, and said “Thank you child, thank you.” It was as though he saw something that I could not: perhaps he gazed upon the rainbow that we all longed to one day cross.

That battle was many seasons ago, and now as a man I still think back on that day. You see, many men claim to have witnessed a Valkyrie on the battlefield, always described as the most beautiful and kindest of creatures to exist, but I know better. Valkyries are vain, deceitful, conjurers of tricks and sorcery. They sneak about in the shadows to carry out their own bidding, to treat us mortals like mere play things, often fornicating with mortal men and killing those who dare to cross them. They lure living warriors to their death by briefly appearing in battles as cloaked creatures, distracting a warrior for a brief moment when they could have stopped the fatal blow.

Those who fall for their trickery do not die a warrior’s death and are denied entrance into Valhalla. At the end of a battle, the Valkyries remove their cloaks, red like the blood of fallen warriors, trimmed with gold stitching, and reveal their god-like nature to the dead. Adorned with glorious lamellar armor that shines like Sol’s summers sun, magnificent chainmail, and silken padded cloth, just the finest armor ever in existence. Their swords, shine like Mani’s reflection on the water’s edge during a clear evening sky. No weapon forged by man can come close. Not even the mythical sword of King Dainsleif himself whose blade by merely unsheathing it would wet the ground with his enemies’ blood.

It was slowly becoming light outside but the sun was nowhere to be seen. Fog crept in and surrounded the longship, engulfing us in its dark, cold shadow. The salt water soaked our blood-stained clothes. “Audan, get over here!” Jareth called to me. “You’re on watch until sun down. Try not to screw anything up,” he said jokingly.

“Thanks for your vote of confidence. Fucking sheep shagger,” I said under my breath with a smile. I hadn’t slept since before the raids and now I was about to stand a twelve-hour watch. The air was so cold, always so cold. Looking up at the sky I called to every god I could think of to make the sun break through the clouds but the sun light never came.

Ships watch was an important but agonizingly boring task for a warrior. With my callused hands I held the rudder in place to reach home, sometimes fighting against the wind and waves, looking out for other war clans that may have set off on early morning raids. The wind was with us this time, and the seas favorable. The currents guided us home effortlessly. The sails were tight and pulled our ship steadily forward along the coast line; overall a good day for sailing. Our tired and wounded rested while Orbrecht the Healer continued to tend to their injuries. I grabbed my coat and placed it over my head to keep out the cold. It was a shiny and smooth brown fur coat of a bear I had hunted when I was very young. It always kept me warm and made me feel at ease and at home when out to sea.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark figure, Kormak, crouched down next to me, smoking a pipe he covered carefully with his hand to keep out the sea spray. The smoke billowed through his fiery red beard and slowly rose to the sky long after he was done smoking.

“You did well today, boy, but next time, try to kill a few more of those bastards. My mother could slay a man faster than you,” Kormak said with a smirk.

“I was too busy protecting Jareth’s backside. And where were you? I never saw you beyond the beach head,” I jested trying to bait Kormak into an angry frenzy.

“Hmmph,” he scoffed. “Your shield sees more battle than your spear point and your tongue moves faster than your axe. You would do well to speak more often to Brother Thor. Then maybe he would grant you the power of big balls like mine!” Kormak laughed long and hard, slapping me on the back to reassure me that he was only making light hearted discussion.