By Rich Wulf

Twenty Years Ago…

With a final savage blow, the battering ram struck home. The thick wooden doors that had once protected Queen Hildegard’s throne room fell in splintered ruin. A dozen screaming men charged through in a cloud of swirling snow and acrid smoke. These were reavers, dressed in bloodied furs and black iron, wielding wicked axes, outcast raiders deemed too violent and bloodthirsty for even the Viking nations.
Yet what they saw waiting in the throne room caused even these men to fall silent.
Hildegard’s massive chambers were nearly empty. Atop a tiered stone dais sat a wooden throne, bearing the wolf and raven that symbolized the queendom. A solitary woman stood before the throne. She wore light armor, silver and leather. She held a short spear in one hand; in the other she held a simple shield. Her hair hung in a long, white braid. Her pale blue eyes fixed the reavers with unmasked contempt.
“Where is everyone?” one whispered.
“I don’t like this,” added another, glancing around the room with unease.
“Don’t be a child, Aerik, it’s just one girl,” said another. “They left her behind to delay us while the queen flees.” He gave a dark chuckle and stepped toward the dais.
With an almost casual motion, the woman let her spear fly. It struck the man who spoke with such force that it threw him backwards, piercing his chest and impaling a man behind him as well. Both reavers fell dead. The woman sneered and plucked another spear from the floor beside her.
“A Valkyrja,” one man whispered, taking a step back.
“Where is he?” the valkyrja demanded, voice seething with barely restrained rage. “Where is Ragnar?”
“Kill her!” another reaver shrieked.
The reavers charged her in a mass, axes raised. The valkyrja threw her spear, striking one in the throat. As they reached her, she drew a short iron blade and leaped. The woman hurtled over the startled mob’s heads, landing gracefully behind them. She darted in before they could turn, stabbing a man in the small of the back and twisting, causing him to tumble down the stairs and take several of his fellows with him. An axe slashed down at her only to be knocked aside by her shield. She darted in again, slicing at the knees of her unbalanced opponent even as she circled around and above them again.
In a matter of moments, it was over. The reavers lay in a groaning heap at the foot of the queen’s dais. The valkyrja returned to her post before the throne. Her blade and armor were now stained with blood.
“Where… is… Ragnar?” she repeated coldly.
“Right here, little valkyrie,” rumbled a voice from the door. A hulking shadow resolved itself amid the smoky blizzard.
The leader of the reavers stepped into Queen Hildegard’s throne room. Ragnar Giant’s-Fist was huge, larger than any man had a right to be. He was easily eight feet tall and half as wide. His beard and hair hung in a beastly mane of shaggy red. He wore no armor, only a wolf’s pelt over one shoulder, heavy boots, and worn leather pants. He slung an enormous axe lazily over one shoulder as he stared up at the valkyrja. At his feet, a reaver groaned in pain. Ragnar purposefully placed one heavy boot on the man’s throat and kept his gaze fixed on her.
“You must be Astrid,” Ragnar said, beard splitting in a wide leer. “They warned me about you.”
The valkyrja’s eyes narrowed as she readied her blade.

*

Earlier That Day...

Astrid threw the door closed with a resounding thud. She tugged angrily at her braid as she stalked down the hallway.
“The Queen’s war council did not go well?” said a voice beside her.
Astrid jumped. She hadn’t noticed Zi Ren; he had a way of sneaking up on people. The Chinese scholar was not a large man even by his own people’s standards. Among a nation of Vikings he was smaller still. He regarded Astrid with a sympathetic smile.
“They’re all fools, Ren,” Astrid replied. She scowled back at the door. “None of them will listen. Every year, the Giant’s-Fist reavers grow more bold. They need to be dealt with, and quickly. The ambassadors of the other kingdoms are too wrapped up in their petty squabbles and self interests to help us.”
“I confess, I have heard only rumors of the atrocities in the northern kingdoms,” Zi Ren replied. Though he spoke her language fluently, his accent was pronounced, almost musical. “Presumably, they have heard the same stories. Most of what I hear is so outlandish I can scarcely believe it is true. You know how men exaggerate.” He gestured to one side. “Let us walk together. It might help ease your temper.”
Astrid shook her head as she fell into step beside the smaller man. “Men might exaggerate, but valkyrja do not. I spoke to one that escaped the sack of Ingvar, just before she died. Ragnar Giant’s-Fist is a vicious monster.”
Zi Ren chuckled. “I think perhaps you need a monster in your life,” he said.
She shot him an irritated scowl. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are bored!” he said, holding up one finger to emphasize his point. “Remember how we met? Dodging through dungeons, fleeing the Pharaoh’s guards, battling the Covenant of Twilight’s pawns. A life of constant uncertainty, and constant danger. To merely rise each morning was to meet a new challenge. You thrived on that. I think a part of you, here serving as the Queen’s watchdog, misses that life. You know I say this as your friend – but perhaps your desire for this war is not as selfless as you believe.”
Astrid looked straight ahead as she walked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ren.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “I remember a girl who fought off six of the Pharaoh’s elite guardsmen using nothing more than a broken table leg, laughing all the while. Wasn’t that you?”
The corner of Astrid’s mouth turned in a faint grin.
“I’m not saying that what you feel is wrong,” Ren admitted. “Or perhaps I miss our days of adventure as well. You wouldn’t consider taking off after this Ragnar without your favorite scholar, would you?”
Astrid gave him a cool look. “Sigrun would not approve of me placing you in danger.” Astrid grimaced. “She doesn’t believe any is worthy to face Ragnar except for the valkyrja. She may be right.”
“Your sister need never know,” Zi Ren said with a sly grin. “Between the two of us, I can’t imagine a rogue tribe of raiders requiring more than a few minutes of our attention. We’ll be there and back before she even notices!”
Astrid laughed. Zi Ren was brave and clever but she had a hard time picturing him fighting Ragnar’s mercenaries. “You’re insane, Ren,” she replied. “Besides, I think little Zi Mei needs your attention more than any reaver lord.”
Zi Ren’s eyes lit up at the mention of his daughter’s name. “Such a beautiful child,” he said. “So much like her mother.” He paused. “So much like her aunt.”
Astrid flushed at the compliment. “Ren…” she said, looking at him plaintively.
“I know,” he said, holding up one hand. “I am too bold. Times have changed. We both have our commitments. You, to your Queen. I, to Sigrun and Zi Mei. The past must remain the past. I shall be content with my memries.”
Astrid opened her mouth to answer again, but the door opened behind them. A young servant coughed politely.
“Yes?” Astrid said, glaring at the boy.
“The Queen has dismissed the council,” he reported. “She wishes to speak to you again, Lady Astrid.”
Astrid nodded. She turned to say her good-byes to Zi Ren, but the little man was already gone.

*

Astrid returned to the throne room to find it empty. The chilling draft from the east told her where the Queen would be found. She pushed aside the tapestry, entered the hidden corridor, followed the narrow hallway, and climbed the stairs leading to the top of a squat tower. The Queen was there, oblivious to the snow drifting lightly down around her. She stood at the edge of the low wall that surrounded the top of the tower, gazing down at the sea. Beneath them, steep cliffs descended to a rocky beach. To the west, the thick clouds were lit with a red haze as the snow set over the ocean.
Astrid stood at attention, waiting for the queen to notice her presence. After a moment, Hildegard looked back over one shoulder. She smiled a sad smile. Astrid was struck once again by the Queen’s youth. At seventeen years old, most considered her too inexperienced to rule the mightiest of the Viking nations. Were it not for Astrid and the others who supported Hildegard, the other nations might have taken Castle Heorot and the surrounding kingdom long ago.
“Astrid,” she said. “It is good to see you.”
“My Queen, I must apologize,” she said. “I had no right to make such an outburst.”
“Nay, you had every right,” the Queen said, turning her eyes back to the village below. “I realized the truth, once you left. The other kings and nobles want nothing more than security. They do not consider the world. They do not consider the future. Peace has made us weak. Prosperity has made us selfish. But it was not always so.”
Astrid looked at her Queen, puzzled.
Hildegard met Astrid’s gaze squarely. “When my mother was alive, I mean,” she said. “When the Order was still welcome in our lands.”
“The Order?” Astrid asked, surprised.
“You aided them once, did you not?” she asked. “Were they not our allies when my mother ruled?”
Astrid nodded. “Then they abandoned me in Rashotep’s dungeons,” she said. “That was when I learned that noble philosophies will not always win the day. I would not be too quick to trust the Order of the Celestial Dawn. They are too driven by their ideals.”
“Is that wrong?” Hildegard asked. “To do what is just merely because it is just, and have faith that the rest will resolve itself?”
Astrid frowned. “I will not deny that they are good people, my Queen,” she said, “but they do not understand us.”
Hildegard sighed. “They understand necessity,” she said. “The other kings won’t help us end Ragnar’s evil. Half of my own guard – including your own sister – do not respect me. Perhaps the Order might listen?”
“They might,” Astrid said, unconvinced. “We may have no other choice.”
Hildegard looked out at the sea again. “It’s nothing we need decide right away,” she said. “Even Ragnar would not be bold enough to launch an attack during the winter.” The young queen turned, heading back down the stairs into the castle.
Astrid moved to follow her, but something stopped her. She glanced out at the horizon. Someone with eyes less sharp than Astrid’s might not have noticed. There, just visible through the drifting snow and sunset glare, she sighted a line of blood red sails headed toward Castle Heorot.

*

“What’s going on?” Astrid demanded, striding into the snowy courtyard. After making sure the queen and her guard were secure, she had expected to find the rest of the castle girded for the coming siege. She marched up to a young soldier and stabbed her finger at the gates. “Why are the gates open?”
“Zi Ren said it was Lady Sigrun’s orders,” the guard said firmly. “She believes that to close the gates would show weakness.”
Astrid glared at the boy.
“That’s just what she said, milady,” he added with a nervous shudder. His previous confidence in his orders crumbled quickly under Astrid’s glare.
She turned away. A cold fear washed over Astrid as she realized there were far too few soldiers standing guard in the courtyard.
“Where is my sister now?” Astrid demanded.
The young soldier swallowed hard. “Master Zi Ren said that she took the rest of the soldiers to meet with the longships.”
Astrid snapped. “Against Ragnar?”
Her sister could be a right fool at times, but even she wouldn't be this foolish. What could have possessed her to do something so stupid? Perhaps there was still time to save her…
A startled cry went up from atop the castle walls. Astrid shouted an order to close the gates. A band of reavers charged out of the darkness, wielding swords and torches and shouting in battle-lust. The warriors of Heorot scrambled to mount what resistance they could. In the center of the group loomed an enormous man with a riotous shock of red hair – Ragnar.
If he was here, then there was only one fate possible for Sigrun. Rage and sorrow warred within Astrid. She wanted to march out and challenge Ragnar, to end his evil here and now. Her duty, however, was stronger. It would not be long before the castle fell. The Queen must escape. Ragnar must wait.
“Hold the courtyard,” she commanded the young soldier, knowing even as she said it that she was ordering the boy to his death. “Hold it as long as you can!”
The soldier nodded uneasily.
“We will share tales of this battle Valhalla,” she said, clasping his shoulder. The boy gave a brave smile.
Once the Queen was safe, there would be a reckoning.

*

Back To the Fight…

Astrid dodged aside just as Ragnar’s heavy axe came down, shattering a granite stair. She darted in with her sword, striking at his left knee – even the strongest of men couldn’t stand without knees. The blade turned, merely slicing the skin. It felt as if she had stabbed the trunk of a tree.
Ragnar’s eyes widened and he released a bloodcurdling roar. His other hand lashed out, holding a heavy hammer, striking with incredible speed. The weapon only grazed Astrid’s shoulder but still sent the valkyrja flying backwards. Even lying on the upper tier of the dais, she was still on eye level with the enormous man.
“What in Hel are you?” She whispered, rising again.
“I am Ragnar Giant’s-Fist,” he said, leering proudly as he wrenched his axe free of the stairs. “The blood of the Jötunn flows within me! No one is stronger than Ragnar!”
He stepped up the dais with a single heavy stride. Astrid leaped aside as Ragnar’s axe lashed out in a vertical arc. A crash of splintering wood followed as his blow split Queen Hildegard’s throne. Astrid rolled to her feet, glancing back at the demolished throne and then at the looming reaver. How could one man be so powerful? She felt a chill draft wash over her.
Ragnar hefted his weapons again, laying one over each shoulder as he sidled toward her. “You are quick, little one,” he said, a mad gleam in his eye.
Perhaps his strength and size could be used against him.
“Think you can catch me?” She replied, darting into the hidden corridor.
Rangar’s thundering footsteps followed her. He tore away the tapestry and followed her, grimacing as he squeezed into the narrow hallway. Astrid smiled; his bulk would only be an impediment here. He threw out a clumsy swing with his hammer. She ducked beneath it and slashed at his fingers, drawing blood again. She snatched a torch from the wall and threw it at his face. Ragnar screamed as his hair and beard erupted in flame. Covering his face, he slashed blindly with his axe, denting the stone walls and floor but never connecting with the nimble valkyrja warrior.
Bye the time Ragnar had extinguished his beard, Astrid had already retreated up the stairs. The monstrous reaver followed, howling in rage and clutching his injured hand to his chest.
Astrid waited for him on top of the tower, her back to the wall. Moonlight gleamed upon the winter sea on the horizon. Tiny puffs of pure white snow swirled around them, through the smoke of the burning village. Ragnar rose slowly from the stairwell, looming over her.
“You will not find Queen Hildegard,” Astrid promised, readying her sword and shield. “She is safe.”
Ragnar chuckled as he began to circle the tower wall opposite her, appraising her speed and strength. “A queen’s ransom would have been a pretty prize, but I do not care about Hildegard,” he said. “I came here for you.”
“What?” Astrid replied, shocked.
“The Covenant warned me you were strong,” the reaver replied. “But no one is stronger than Ragnar.”
“So you are the Covenant’s monster now?” she asked.
“I am my own monster,” he answered with a savage grin. “I do what I please, and today your death pleases me.”
“Then before I die, tell me something, Ragnar,” she asked.
“What then, little valkyrie?” the reaver laughed. “Let me guess – you wish to beg for the safety of your people?”
“No,” Astrid said. “I want to know who your father was – because if he was really a Jötunn, he must have been the puniest Jötunn who ever fell to Midgard. No wonder he needed to take a human woman. If he was ugly as you, I fear none of the other giant women would have wanted him!”
Ragnar roared and charged at her, weapons raised. Astrid moved instantly, dropping her sword and shield, darting into the charge and turning to one side - but only just. She wrapped her arms tightly around the huge reaver’s body and pushed with all her strength, extending his charge, carrying them both over the tower’s edge. As they fell, she let go, twisted deftly in midair, and grabbed the lip of a passing window. Ragnar, not nearly as light or agile as she, was not quite so fortunate.
For a long, satisfying moment Astrid hung over the darkened beach and watched the Giant’s-Fist plummet into the darkness.

*

Slouched in his throne, Ragnar said nothing. His beard was still burnt and uneven. His chest and back were covered with bloody scars, reminders of his graceless fall to the beach beneath Heorot. He ignored the pain. Ragnar would heal. Ragnar always healed. Ragnar always survived.
“An excellent performance,” said a musical voice from the shadows of the reaver’s hall. “Heorot in flames. The queen in hiding. The northern kingdoms wracked with even greater fear and division than ever. And, of course, there were other benefits. The Covenant are quite pleased.”
Ragnar’s burnt face twisted in a scowl. “The valkyrja lived,” he growled. Admitting defeat did not come easily, but even Ragnar knew there was no sense in lying to a Covenant agent.
“For now,” the man said. The Covenant agent was a puny little man, almost smaller than one of Ragnar’s legs.
“I want to find her,” Ragnar replied. “I need to kill her.”
“In time, my friend,” the man replied. “This is all a part of the Covenant’s greater plan. Your strength, Ragnar, is the most important part of that plan. You are strong enough to be patient, aren’t you?”
Ragnar scowled. No one was as strong as Ragnar. “Yes,” he replied.
“As I thought,” the man replied.
The sudden cry of a babe drew the little man’s attention. He turned away from Ragnar and looked to the precious bundle beneath his arm, making quiet shushing sounds. The giant ignored him, brooding silently on his defeat.
“There there, little Zi Mei,” Zi Ren said to his daughter. “We will both be home soon…”