Up the familiar stairs to the front entrance of the castle were guards dressed in black and grey, the emblem of Hel on their chests. Gerrie thought she was prepared, but when they were marched to the throne room only to see Ragnvald seated upon the sacred seat, her rage knew no bounds.
Quick as lightning, she launched herself at her guards, knocking one of them into the two that held Noren’s and Viggo’s ropes. She spun her unbound feet around, relishing the sound of bone cracking as her foot connected with a face.
Viggo and Noren followed her lead, using her attack as a distraction to dislodge themselves from their guards and join her in the fight.
More guards came at them with all manner of weapons, but they were no match for her training.
As Solveig’s lead shieldmaiden, sworn to protect her at all costs, she had trained relentlessly to ensure she never failed. Letting Solveig get captured was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.
If anything, she was grateful Ragnvald was here and not in Hel so Solveig and Westley could complete their mission.
Gerrie gripped the sharp end of a sword and used it like a club, feeling the blade dig into her palms as the hilt connected with her attacker’s head. Ragnvald laughed and clapped, clearly enjoying the sight of his prized prisoners fighting a losing battle.
Soon there were too many even for Gerrie, especially without her magic. They were all lucky she didn’t have access to her special blend.
Soon, she would get her revenge.
She, Noren, and Viggo were eventually overpowered, all three of them breathing heavily, still resisting the hands that held their arms back. Her knees cracked on the ground as she was forced to kneel. When they would not stop struggling, they were pushed onto their stomachs.
“My, my.” Ragnvald’s drawling voice came from where he lounged on the stolen throne. “What passion we have today! What fun!”
Gerrie strained her neck to catch the cold gleam in his eyes. She spat through her gag. All the humour in Ragnvald’s face vanished faster than a blink.
“Careful, witch, or you will find yourself strung up beside your people!” he bellowed.
The room unanimously flinched at the unhinged sound of their pretender king. He straightened his cloak and sank gracefully onto his stolen throne.
“Now, what shall we do with you? A witch and two traitors.” His eyes gleamed again as he turned to Noren and Viggo. He pinned them with a stare so full of darkness, Gerrie was surprised shadows didn’t escape his person.
“You know,” he said, leaning back into the throne, releasing them from his venomous gaze, “you missed the best part when you ran away from Idavoll.” Noren and Viggo bristled at his choice of words. “Thatthrone is wonderfully more extravagant than this one. It welcomed me, and the people bowed to their new king.”
Noren and Viggo stopped struggling to exchange horrific looks. Even Gerrie couldn’t hide her surprise.
The Idavoll throne had been imbued with magic so only the rightful ruler may sit upon it and live. It was sacred—the gods had blessed it themselves, or so the legends told. If the throne did not acknowledge one upon it as the rightful ruler, that person would burn to ash where they sat. North had sat and lived right before the intrusion.
If Ragnvald was telling the truth and the throne did indeed accept him, Gerrie could think of only two reasons.
The first being he held magic so dark and powerful that he was able to override the blessing of the gods. The second, there was truth to his claim—he was the rightful ruler of this and the other realms.
Hel, Midgard, Jotunheim, Idavoll, and now Vanaheim.
Gerrie prayed that Solveig was succeeding in her mission. She would have to in order for Gerrie to complete her final assignment.
With half the world conquered, they needed a miracle to get themselves out of this mess. They needed magic.
Magic untainted by the darkness within Ragnvald.
“It is true what they say,” Ragnvald said, interrupting Gerrie’s thoughts. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and wearing five is getting quite heavy.”
Gerrie scoffed. Ragnvald signalled to her guards to remove her gag so she could speak, though he did not allow her to move from her prone position on the floor.
“If the crowns are too heavy, you could always give them back,” she suggested.
Ragnvald gave her a predatory grin. “Or I could enlist help in carrying them. A shieldmaiden, perhaps?”
“No thank you,” Gerrie said, trying not to gag.
“Of course not. I would never stoop so low. I have no need for a partner.”
