Halfdan had heard the numbers, but he had never seen so many people in one place. A sea of helmets and mails, reflecting the light in the waning sun. The host of Valh?ll, the bravest warriors of Midgard chosen by the valkyries to defend Asgard. Each day, they fought and trained for this purpose, and now, the hour had come. They had already died and did not fear death. They had suffered a thousand injuries and cared little for pain. In those regards, they were as fearsome as berserkers in battle. But while such warriors were rare in Midgard, Halfdan stared at a horde counted at more than ten thousand, at least.

  And he saw other foes besides. Since becoming immortal, [Keen of Sense] seemed unnaturally strong, and Halfdan saw the Aesir among their warriors. One gestured with his arms, revealing a missing hand. Tyr. Another, Halfdan recognised. Freyr. A third had to be Heimdall, guessing by his bright clothing.

  More of the Aesir and their allies were assembled, no doubt, though Halfdan could not readily see them in the sea of steel. Some things were kept in reserve, just as he did; neither side was eager to reveal their hand. Halfdan looked up at the sky; winter days were short, and the sun would set within an hour or two. If they could last until nightfall, he believed in victory.

  Leaving the rampart, Halfdan found Freydis and Sif. The former sharpened her spear – unnecessary for a Dwarven weapon, but perhaps it served a more meditative rather than practical purpose. The latter was inscribing pebbles with runes, filling her pouch with food for her sling. Seeing him approach, they both got on their feet.

  “Any moment now. This will be the test.” He looked at them both, unsure what more to say. A year ago, he had never imagined having a family; now, he could not imagine losing them. He knelt down on one knee to be at the same height as Sif. “You know the path to the tunnel, yeah?”

  She smiled with a closed mouth. “Skáld’s memory. I remember every step.”

  He nodded. “If the fight moves beyond our defences, stay in the camp. If the fight moves into the camp, you make a run for it. No argument.”

  “Got it.”

  He got back on his feet and turned to Freydis. “Stay close to her. I can’t imagine it’ll be safe near me.”

  “We should all stay close,” she argued. “I dislike this notion of separating.”

  “I’m who they want. If the battle goes against us, all powers will move against me. And I need both of you to escape that you may help me as you did before.” Halfdan knew this would never be allowed; there would be no second chance for him, no miraculous flight from bonds. If they failed now, it would be the end. But he needed Freydis to believe it, or at least give her the opportunity to pretend to believe it, so she would not choose to stay and die, but take Sif and run.

  “As you wish.”

  Halfdan hid his relief at her acceptance. He touched her cheek, and she leaned her head against his hand. He did not imagine words could express everything he felt in this moment – he was no skáld – but a touch and a look might. It was all they had time for. The sound of a horn being blown reverberated across the camp. The enemy had begun their attack.

  *

  The snow fell from a heavy cover of clouds. The einherjar attacked nearly half the ringed ramparts surrounding the camp while their brethren moved to threaten the rest. They crossed the frost-touched open ground and advanced through the moat, dragged their feet through the layers of snow, and passed between the embedded spikes to run up the earthworks, where the defenders awaited them.

  The J?tnar fought back with anything at their disposal. Some had brought weapons from J?tunheim, others wielded clubs made in haste. Many turned into enormous bears, swinging paws and crunching limbs between jaws. Those chosen by Halfdan as his priesthood used their abilities, blinking up close to kill an enemy and blinking back to safety, taking advantage of the setting sun to use their shadowy powers.

  Freydis stayed in the second row, only advancing to stab with her spear when an enemy tried to pass the first defensive line. Sif, further back, used her sling to the same purpose, each stone striking true with enough force to crush a helmet and the skull behind.

  Fenrir did not fight. Despite the instincts of a wolf, the creature obeyed Halfdan’s commands. He had been told to wait, and so he did, walking behind the ramparts yet to be assaulted. Thanks to his size, he could easily be seen despite the height of the defences, and while the einherjar did fear death or pain, they seemed to pause at the thought of engaging the monstrous wolf. Or perhaps their commander thought the situation beneficial; as long as the great beast stayed out of the fight, there was no need to attack in this place and force a change.

  Halfdan prowled the lines. The fighting was fierce and his hammer needed everywhere, but more than that, he made sure his people saw him fighting, to know that he did not shirk from danger. He did not remain in one place, nor did he throw himself fully into the fight; he moved constantly, occasionally engaging to swing his weapon and kill an attacker. With a swift kick, he would push them back down the rampart, sometimes striking their allies coming that way or landing on the spikes as a gruesome warning. Not that it deterred the einherjar, who continued to assault, wave after wave.

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  And with them came the gods. The J?tnar might prove a match for Odin’s warriors, and with their defensive positions, one J?tun could defeat many; but the Aesir had powers few could match. His garments shining bright, Heimdall walked with measured steps. The snow melted before him, and he moved up the rampart to engage the defenders. A new god, his powers inherited after Freydis and Sif killed his predecessor, he seemed to relish it all. With one swing, his sword cut through a wooden stake as he stalked forward. Before he reached the top of the rampart, it was clear that he was taller than any defender, and though armed only with a blade, his confidence gave him a threatening presence.

  The bravest of them, a J?tun in the shape of a bear, leapt forward with a roar. Heimdall caught its paw with his empty hand; an eerie sight to see the slender figure so easily hold back the strength of a bear. His sword, fortified by runes, pierced the bear’s fur and hide to slice the throat open, and the creature fell to the ground, transforming back into its original shape. The god advanced once more, and behind him, the einherjar trudged forward to exploit any break in the defensive line.

  When the seeress foresaw Ragnar?k, she foretold that Heimdall and Loki would meet in battle and slay each other. Halfdan knew this; if he fulfilled his destiny and broke the bindings to unleash the end, he would soon after face the god, and they would both die.

  But it was not this day, and it did not have to be this Heimdall. Hammer held ready, Halfdan ran along the rampart. His first blow was aimed not at the god’s body, but his blade. Reacting on instinct, Heimdall parried the blow, and while he had the requisite strength to hold fast, Halfdan got his wish. Struck by [Heart of Yggdrasil], Heimdall’s sword crumbled to pieces.

  The god sneered and stepped back while sweeping down to pick up an axe from a fallen warrior. “Die now, deceiver!” A hefty strike came, but Halfdan met the edge with the haft of his weapon, which held true. Stepping close, he pushed out, forcing Heimdall to tumble down the rampart.

  Other attackers came, shouting their battle cries. [Swifter Than Them], Halfdan gave each a blow that silenced them forever before they had the chance to strike. Standing atop the earthworks, he glared down at Heimdall, taunting him to try again while Halfdan had the advantage of terrain.

  The bright god moved back, into the sea of warriors, and Halfdan chose not to pursue. He had to stay within the defences; it was not yet time. He turned his attention towards the next wave of einherjar, slaying several more; and yet it felt like emptying the sea using a bucket. More and more came.

  The snowfall had ended, but the hour grew ever colder. The sun approached the horizon. Halfdan no longer had time to roam the ramparts; he was stuck in one spot as his fellow defenders had all perished, and he alone held this place. His [Seier] still protected him, dulling blades and arrows that came against him, and he was untouched by weariness; but his powers could not do the same for his people. It did not matter that he fought on if all others were dead.

  And each time one of his priests or priestesses fell, Halfdan felt it like a blow to his stomach. He was not conscious of the connection to them until it was severed; each time, he sensed their death as if he cradled their head in his arms. Their powers were for deception, stealth, and infiltration, along with Halfdan-Loki’s personal touch of breaking bonds. But this was battle, fierce and unrelenting, a fight for the fate of the worlds. Little by little, the einherjar gained ground, reaching the ramparts and removing any advantages that the defences afforded Halfdan’s people.

  Sif’s galdr proved its worth, confusing or arresting pockets of attackers, which gave Freydis the chance to blink in among them and slash [Death’s Needle]. Fenrir howled, holding part of the wall by his sheer presence, his jaws still clean, but soon, the enemy would spill into the camp itself.

  With a spray of blood caused by his hammer splitting a skull open, Halfdan felt the warm liquid splash onto his face. He could barely see the red as it fell on the fresh snow; the world was losing its colour, becoming black and white. The sun had set.

  At last. Halfdan sent an order mentally to a follower, who immediately relayed it. Across the battlefield, holes appeared in the ground, and the einherjar fell screaming down. Their cries were quickly silenced. From each tunnel, trolls appeared, no longer threatened by the sun’s rays.

  With his own battle cry, an indiscernible scream, Halfdan abandoned defence and went on the attack. Across the camp, Fenrir heard and understood.

  The einherjar knew no fear, but they became acquainted with confusion. Their weapons availed little against the stone skin of a troll or the thick fur of Fenrir, and Halfdan’s [Seier] still protected him. Across the battlefield, the trolls tore the warriors limb from limb, impervious to all attacks. To complete the shock to the ranks of the einherjar, Fenrir leapt into the throng, and with one swipe of its paw, his enemies were ripped apart. As for Halfdan, he swiftly advanced, cutting a path through the einherjar.

  On the ramparts, the J?tnar cheered. Sif employed her galdr, Freydis threw javelin after javelin, and their fellow defenders surged down the hills to take advantage of their enemy’s confusion. Attacked from all sides, fighting foes they could not harm, the host of Asgard began to disintegrate.

  Their commander yelled his orders, seeking to maintain discipline and cohesion. He soon found cause to regret raising his voice; Fenrir heard and saw. Once, the wolf had eaten Tyr’s one hand; licking its bloodied jaw, the creature ran through a horde of enemies to take the rest.

  The captain of Asgard’s army chose a defensive manoeuvre; he turned and ran, leaving the task of slowing down Fenrir to his warriors while he made his escape.

  Halfdan laughed, seeing the host of einherjar overwhelmed and falling apart. Victory was theirs. Against the odds, they had defeated everything Odin could throw at them.

  His glee lasted briefly. Lightning struck the battlefield; surrounded by enemies, the berserker could not see where. Thunder followed, immediately. Behind him, Halfdan’s people looked to the sky. They knew what this meant, and at once, they began to retreat back to the camp.

  As the last, Halfdan looked up to understand what they had already grasped. Across the sky, a chariot flew, and from it, thunderbolts were unleashed. Thor.