Thori walked over to the corner of the house as if he wanted to inspect something, holding himself like a lord despite the collar around his neck.
“Stay close,” Njord said, fighting down a growing uneasiness.
This place felt wrong, and he couldn’t allow his unarmed thrall to walk around unattended. Thori gave him a dirty look, but resumed his place at Njord’s side. Better.
Stepping inside the house, Njord was immediately hit by a horrible stench. What had once been the simple dwelling of a farmer had turned into something dreadful.
In the center of the single room, where the hearth once had been, stood a crude altar made of stacked blocks of peat. Its dark surface was carved with strange symbols that weren’t any runes Njord recognized. And the walls…
Thori made a choked sound next to him.
Njord could relate. The stench in the confined space was sickening.
It hailed from the dozens and dozens of bog creatures nailed to the walls. Toads and vipers and swamp birds, their crushed bodies forming symbols of their own.
“These runes,” Thori mumbled as he leaned closer despite his obvious revulsion. “They’re of no tradition I recognize. The style is ancient, but I can only guess at their meaning.” He frowned adorably, trying to decipher the twisted marks even as his face paled. “Binding. Summoning. Something about… awakening?”
Admittedly amused despite the circumstances, Njord wanted to ask where Thori, of all people, might have acquired such knowledge of the art ofseiðr, but Skalmöld’s sharp intake of breath interrupted him.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“They’re coming back,” she hissed, already unsheathing her sword.
The ground beneath their feet trembled as if shaken by an earthquake. Outside, they could hear dogs howling in the distance, and somewhere a cow bleated in terror.
“The bog,” Ingibjörg gasped, pointing through the open doorway toward the marshland that pressed close against the farmhouse. “There’s movement out there!”
Even as she spoke, the swamp began to bubble and churn. Dark water rose from hidden depths, and from that foul morass, shapes emerged.
They’d been human once, but centuries of bog-sleep had changed them. Their flesh was black as the peat they’d risenfrom, their skin preserved but leathery and twisted. Unlike anydraugrNjord had previously encountered, these were the remains of people drowned in the mire, either accidentally or intentionally. Their movements were jerky, but they possessed an unnatural speed that hinted at just how dangerous they were.
“Bog dwellers,” Skalmöld said. “The ancient dead, risen from their slumber.”
“Get back to the village, Ingibjörg,” Njord commanded, pulling his battle ax from his belt. “Warn the others. Skalmöld, escort her.”
“But—”
“Go.Now.”
The creatures were already closing in on the farmhouse as Njord and the others hastily stepped outside. The bog dwellers moved with a disturbing, shambling gait, cutting off the most direct path back to the village.
“Behind you!”
Thori’s warning came just in time. Njord spun, his ax deflecting clawed fingers that would’ve opened his throat. The bog creature hissed, its ancient features twisting with malevolent intelligence. By the waves, this thing had sneaked up on them.
“Stay behind me,” Njord growled, annoyed at being surprised by these creatures and that Thori wasn’t retreating with the others.
His reckless godling was unarmed, still weak from his illness, and no match for these ancient horrors.
But Thori had already positioned himself behind Njord to watch his blind spots.
“Two more from the left, another circling the house,” he said, moving with sinuous grace to avoid Njord’s sweeping ax.
Njord beheaded the creature that had first attacked him with a clean strike. It crumbled to the ground, whatever magic hadawakened it, leaving with an audible whoosh. But more bodies hauled themselves from the depths, their hollow eyes fixed on the house and the corrupted shrine inside.
“There!” Thori pointed toward a massive shadow rising from the deepest part of the bog. It wore the remnants of bronze armor, marking it as a warrior from the ancient days before iron came to the north.
Njord could sense its malevolent presence like icy fingers against his neck. The bog warrior seemed to be the center of the evil magic surrounding them, power radiating from it to the other creatures like the threads of a spider’s web.
