BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Dawn painted the peaks above Kvellholl in shades of gold and crimson as the den assault team gathered at the eastern gate. Twenty Vikings stood ready, weapons checked and rechecked, faces set with grim determination. Bartia and Stefi joined them, the two dwarves moving with the quiet confidence of experienced warriors.

Einar studied his team one final time. Thorodd was adjusting the straps on his axes, his face calm despite the battle ahead. Skardi stood near the back, his massive frame making even the tall dwarves look small. Avitue had gathered her shield maidens, going over their formation one last time in quiet voices.

"Remember the plan," Einar said, his voice carrying to the entire group. "Silent approach. Take out the sentry. Get inside before they know we're there. Then we hit them hard and fast."

He held up the vial of troll's bane. "We'll coat weapons once we're close. The effect only lasts an hour, so we can't waste time."

Nods all around. No one spoke. There was nothing left to say.

They moved out as the sun cleared the peaks, following the same path they'd taken during the scouting mission. The five-hour journey passed in tense silence, each warrior lost in their own thoughts about the battle ahead.

Einar's mind kept returning to Fotgror's warning. The Karg-kin leader was intelligent, organized, and fifteen feet of hybrid monster. Something had made it that way, given it abilities beyond what nature intended.

What else can it do that we don't know about?

They reached the entrance to the box canyon by mid-morning. Stefi took the lead, her movements silent despite her size and the rough terrain. The Vikings followed, trying to match her stealth and mostly succeeding. Years of pack hunting had taught them how to move quietly when needed.

The box canyon looked exactly as it had during the scouting trip. Massive boulders provided cover, and the den entrance was visible in the far wall, crude fortifications still in place. And there, on the ledge above the entrance, the sentry sat in the same position.

The Karg-kin was hunched over, its mottled grey-green skin blending with the stone. But Einar could see it was alert, eyes scanning the approach to the den with predatory focus.

Stefi gestured for everyone to take cover behind the boulders. Once they were hidden, she moved close to Einar and whispered, "The sentry rotates every few hours. We're lucky, this one just started its watch maybe thirty minutes ago. It'll be less tired, more alert."

"Can we take it silently?" Einar asked.

"If we're very good and very lucky," the dwarf replied. She looked at Hogni, who'd come with the den assault team specifically for this moment. "You're the best shot here. Can you do it?"

The Viking scout studied the target, calculating distance and wind. Finally, he nodded. "One shot. If I miss, it'll scream and wake the whole den."

"Then don't miss," Bartia said, her tone matter-of-fact.

They spent ten minutes getting into position. Hogni found a stable spot between two boulders, his bow already strung and ready. The rest of the team spread out, prepared to rush the entrance if the alarm was raised.

Einar watched the sentry, taking note of how it moved. Every few seconds, it would turn its head, scanning different sections of the approach. There was a pattern to it, a rhythm. And in that rhythm, there was a moment when it faced away from them, attention focused on the canyon entrance to the south.

Hogni saw it too. He drew his bow slowly, the wood creaking softly. The arrow was one of their best; the head was designed to punch through thick hide. He aimed, adjusted for distance and the slight breeze, and waited.

The Karg-kin turned its head away.

Hogni released.

The arrow flew true, crossing the hundred yards between them in seconds. It struck the Karg-kin in the base of the skull, right where the spine met the brain, punching through with brutal efficiency.

The creature jerked once, then slumped forward. Dead before it could make a sound.

"Move," Stefi hissed, already running toward the den entrance.

The team flowed forward, weapons drawn. They had minutes at most before someone inside noticed the sentry was gone, and every second counted.

They reached the entrance, and Einar got his first close look at the fortifications. Pieces of wagon, scavenged metal, dwarven shields, all lashed together with rope and instinct. It was crude, but it showed intelligence. The Karg-kin understood the concept of defense.

Stefi examined the barricade, then gestured to a gap on the left side. "There. Wide enough for us to slip through one at a time."

They filed through quickly and quietly, entering the den proper. The smell hit them immediately. Rot, old blood, and the distinctive musk of something large and predatory. It was worse than the goblin mines, thick enough to taste.

The entrance tunnel was short, maybe twenty feet, before opening into a larger chamber. Einar moved to the edge and peered around carefully.

The interior was exactly as they'd seen from the ridge. Stolen goods were piled against the walls in rough categories. Weapons here, metal there, what looked like food stores in the far corner. And everywhere, the signs of habitation. Crude sleeping pallets made from stolen cloth and leather. Bones scattered across the floor. Dark stains that could only be blood.

And Karg-kin.

Einar counted quickly. Eight shapes were sleeping in various spots around the chamber. Two more were standing near the back, talking in low grunts. All of them were armed with weapons stolen from caravans.

The tunnel they were in continued past this chamber, leading deeper into the den. That's where the leader would be, in the deepest and most defensible position.

Einar pulled back and signaled the plan to his team. Simultaneous strikes on the sleeping Karg-kin. Fast, brutal, no mercy. The two awake ones would react, but by then the numbers would be in the Vikings' favor.

Now came the moment when preparation met reality. Einar pulled out the vial of troll's bane and began carefully coating his axes. The silvery liquid clung to the metal, absorbing into it somehow. All around him, other warriors did the same, treating their weapons with the precious substance.

Avitue caught his eye and nodded once. Her shield maidens were ready. Thorodd checked his axes and gave a thumbs up. Skardi was grinning, the giant Viking clearly eager to start the violence.

Stefi moved to Einar's shoulder. "On your signal," she whispered.

Einar took a deep breath, centered himself, and raised his hand. He pointed to each warrior, assigning them to specific targets. Eight sleeping Karg-kin. Sixteen warriors to handle them, two per target. The remaining four would deal with the two that were awake.

His hand dropped.

They poured into the chamber like a wave of death.

Einar went for the nearest sleeping Karg-kin, a creature that looked almost peaceful in its rest. His axes came down in a brutal arc, one blade taking it in the throat while the other punched through its skull. The troll's bane worked immediately. Where normally a Karg-kin might have started healing, started regenerating, this one just died. Blood pooled beneath it as Einar yanked his weapons free.

All around the chamber, similar scenes played out. Vikings struck with professional efficiency, killing sleeping targets before they could react. The sounds were terrible. Wet impacts of metal into flesh, the crack of breaking bones, the gurgling gasps of creatures dying too fast to scream.

Four Karg-kin died in the first ten seconds.

Then one of the sleeping ones woke up.

It rolled sideways, avoiding the spear thrust aimed at its heart. The weapon scored a deep gash along its ribs instead, and the creature bellowed in pain and rage. The sound echoed through the den like a blast of a horn.

The two Karg-kin at the back of the chamber spun toward the noise, saw the carnage, and roared their own challenges.

The battle became chaos.

The wounded Karg-kin lashed out with one massive fist, catching its attacker across the chest and sending the Viking flying into the wall with bone-breaking force. Another creature surged to its feet, grabbed a warhammer the size of a child, and swung it in a wide arc that forced three Vikings to dive for cover.

Einar engaged the nearest standing Karg-kin, a nine-foot monster with tusks like daggers and arms thick as tree trunks. It came at him with a salvaged axe, the weapon too small for its size but still deadly in its massive grip.

The Karg-kin swung overhead, a crushing blow that would have split Einar in half. He rolled left, came up inside its guard, and buried both axes into its side. The troll's bane-coated weapons bit deep, and he felt ribs crack under the assault.

The creature tried to grab him, to crush him in a bear hug, but Einar was already moving. He yanked his axes free and danced back, avoiding the grasping hands.

Thor, I could use some lightning right about now.

His wyrd began to warm in response, power building as Einar prepared to call upon the power of lightning. But before he could channel it, Thorodd appeared from the side and drove both his axes into the Karg-kin's knee. The joint buckled, and the creature dropped to its good knee with a roar of pain.

Einar didn't hesitate. He stepped in and took its head off with a crossing strike, both axes meeting in the middle of its neck. The body toppled, and black blood pooled across the stone floor.

"Thanks!" Einar shouted.

"Keep moving!" Thorodd replied, already engaging another target.

The chamber was a swirling melee. Vikings worked in pairs, using pack tactics to bring down creatures twice their size. The Karg-kin were strong and fast, but the narrow confines of the den limited their advantages. They couldn't utilize their reach effectively and couldn't leverage their size, as the ceiling was barely tall enough for them to stand upright.

Avitue and her shield maidens had formed a line near the entrance, cutting off any escape route. Two Karg-kin tried to break through, and the shield wall held firm. Spears thrust between the shields, finding gaps in the creatures' defenses. When one Karg-kin grabbed a shield and tried to yank it away, Avitue stepped forward and drove her axe into its wrist. The hand came off, and the creature stumbled back, screaming.

Skardi was a force of nature. The giant Viking waded into the thick of the fight, his hammer rising and falling with devastating impact. Each strike crushed bone, pulped flesh, and sent Karg-kin reeling. One creature made the mistake of trying to grapple him, and Skardi simply headbutted it, his skull cracking against its face with the sound of a splitting log.

But the Karg-kin were giving as good as they got.

One of Thorodd's warriors went down, his leg nearly torn off by a Karg-kin's claws. Another took a backhand blow that caved in her shoulder, the arm hanging useless. A third tried to dodge a thrown weapon and wasn't quite fast enough. The salvaged dagger caught him in the chest, punching through leather armor and into his heart.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

"Hold the line!" Einar roared, channeling power from his runes. Lightning crackled along his axes, blue-white energy that made the weapons hum with barely contained force. He threw himself at the nearest Karg-kin, his lightning-wreathed blades cutting through its defenses like they weren't there.

The creature seemed befuddled as it tried to regenerate and heal the wounds Einar was inflicting, but the combination of troll's bane and lightning prevented it. The Karg-kin stumbled, confused by its body's failure to respond, and that moment of hesitation was all Einar needed. He drove both axes into its chest, released a pulse of lightning, and watched the creature convulse and die.

Slowly, the tide turned. The Karg-kin were powerful, but they were now outnumbered. Four dead before they woke, another four killed in the initial chaos, and now the last two were being systematically overwhelmed by coordinated Viking assault.

Bartia and Stefi worked together like they'd been fighting as a team for years. The two dwarves moved with brutal efficiency, Bartia's spear finding gaps while Stefi's axes exploited them. They brought down a Karg-kin together, the creature's death marked by a final, gurgling scream.

The last standing Karg-kin, wounded and bleeding from a dozen wounds that wouldn't heal properly thanks to the troll's bane, tried to retreat deeper into the den. Thorodd threw one of his axes, the weapon spinning end over end before burying itself in the creature's back. It stumbled, fell to its knees, and died as three Vikings descended on it with spears and swords.

Silence fell over the chamber, broken only by heavy breathing and the groans of wounded Vikings.

"Sound off!" Einar commanded, checking his own injuries. His ribs hurt from a glancing blow, and his left arm had a deep scratch that was bleeding freely, but he was functional.

The count came back quickly. Three were seriously wounded, being tended to by the others. One dead, swiftly wrapped in cloth for later resurrection. The rest were mobile, though everyone had taken some damage.

"Ten down," Avitue said, moving through the chamber and checking each Karg-kin corpse to ensure it was actually dead. "That leaves the leader and maybe one or two more."

As if summoned by her words, a voice echoed from the deeper tunnel. It spoke in broken dwarvish, the words harsh and mocking.

"Little warriors come to den. Think they strong. Think they win." The voice was deep, resonant, and filled with cruel intelligence. "But Throk still here. Throk always here. And Throk the Render going to break you."

A massive shape emerged from the darkness of the deeper tunnel.

Throk was everything the scouting report had suggested and worse. Fifteen feet tall, maybe more. Shoulders so broad he had to turn sideways to fit through the tunnel entrance. Arms like tree trunks, legs like stone pillars. His skin was thick hide, scarred and weathered, with what looked like metal plates embedded directly into it in places. 

Natural armor? Or something grafted on? 

Einar couldn't tell.

In one massive hand, Throk carried a dwarven warhammer that looked tiny in his grip but had to weigh at least eighty pounds. In the other, he held a broken chain that dragged behind him, the links thick enough to moor a ship.

But it was his face that truly terrified. Intelligent eyes, gleaming with malice and cunning, studied the Vikings with a clear understanding of what they were and what they'd done. This wasn't a beast. This was a thinking, planning, tactical mind in a body built for destruction.

"You kill my hunters," Throk said, gesturing with the hammer to the dead Karg-kin. "You come to my home. You think this make you strong?" He smiled, revealing teeth like daggers. "This make you stupid."

Bartia's breath hissed out. "That's him. They say he's killed thirty dwarven warriors."

"Let’s not let it be any more," Thorodd muttered, already moving into a defensive position.

Throk charged.

For something so massive, he moved with terrifying speed. The stone floor cracked beneath his feet as he crossed the chamber in three enormous strides. The warhammer came down in an overhead strike aimed at the clustered Vikings.

They scattered, diving in all directions. The hammer hit the spot where they'd been standing, and the impact was like a small earthquake. Stone shattered, sending shards flying like shrapnel. One piece caught a Viking across the face, opening a gash that immediately began bleeding.

Throk didn't pause. He swung the chain in a wide arc, the metal links whistling through the air. Two Vikings weren't fast enough. The chain caught them across the legs, sweeping them off their feet and sending them tumbling.

"Spread out!" Einar shouted. "Don't bunch up! Pairs and trios, use pack tactics!"

The Vikings responded immediately, years of training kicking in. They split into smaller groups, each one looking for an opening to attack while staying mobile enough to avoid Throk's devastating swings.

Einar called on his wyrd, feeling Thor's power respond. Lightning crackled along his arms, and he charged in from Throk's left side. His axes, still wreathed in blue-white energy, bit into the creature's thigh.

The troll's bane worked, preventing regeneration, but the wound was shallow. Throk's hide was incredibly thick, and the embedded metal plates had deflected some of the blow's force.

Throk pivoted faster than something his size should be able to, the chain coming around at head height. Einar dropped flat, feeling the metal whistle over him. He rolled, came up on Throk's other side, and struck again.

I was just another shallow wound. Yet more blood began flowing. It wasn’t enough damage to slow the massive creature down.

Skardi came in from the opposite side, his hammer swinging with all the giant Viking's considerable strength behind it. The blow connected with Throk's ribs, and everyone heard the crack of breaking bone.

Throk bellowed, a sound of pain and rage that shook dust from the ceiling. He swung the warhammer at Skardi, and the Viking barely managed to block with his own weapon. The impact drove Skardi to his knees, his arms trembling from the force.

"His ribs!" Einar shouted. "Skardi cracked them! Focus there!"

But Throk wasn't giving them another opening. He reached down, grabbed one of the dead Karg-kin corpses, and threw it at the approaching shield maidens. The body, easily four hundred pounds of dead weight, knocked three Vikings down like they were nothing.

Then he did something that made Einar's blood run cold.

Throk grabbed another corpse, one that was smaller and more manageable, and used it as a weapon. He swung the dead Karg-kin like a club, the body's bulk creating a weapon with devastating reach and impact.

A Viking tried to close in and took the corpse-club across his chest. The impact sent him flying into the wall, his armor crumpled and his body limp.

"Stay back!" Thorodd commanded, but it was too late. Throk pressed his advantage, using the terrain and his improvised weapon to keep the Vikings at bay. Every time someone tried to get close, the corpse-club forced them back.

Avitue tried a different approach. She and two of her shield maidens moved to flank Throk from behind, hoping to attack from his blind spot.

Throk spun, faster than they expected, and kicked out with one massive leg. The kick caught the first shield maiden in the chest, sending her flying. She hit the wall and didn't move.

"Enough of this," Einar growled. He focused his will, channeling more power from his runes. The lightning along his axes intensified, becoming almost too bright to look at. He felt the strain, the cost of pulling this much power, but he didn't care.

"Skardi! With me! Now!"

The giant Viking understood immediately. He moved to Einar's left, both of them charging Throk from different angles. The massive Karg-kin tried to track both threats, his intelligent eyes calculating which was more dangerous.

He chose wrong.

Throk swung the corpse-club at Skardi, putting all his strength behind it. The giant Viking set his feet and braced, taking the impact on his hammer, which he held horizontally. The force drove him back three feet, his boots leaving gouges in the stone, but he had.

Which left Throk's right side completely open.

Einar didn't waste the opportunity. He leaped, driving both lightning-wreathed axes into the spot where Skardi had cracked Throk's ribs. The weapons punched through hide and embedded metal, sinking deep into the creature's torso.

Then Einar released all the power he'd been building.

Lightning exploded outward from the impact point, coursing through Throk's body. The massive Karg-kin convulsed, his muscles spasming as electricity raced along his nervous system. He dropped the corpse-club and staggered backward, smoke rising from the wound.

"Again!" Thorodd shouted, and suddenly he was there, his axes biting into Throk's wounded side. Avitue followed, her axe finding the same spot. Bartia's spear drove in, then Stefi's axes, and suddenly six weapons were all targeting the same injury, widening it, deepening it, refusing to let it close.

Throk roared and grabbed Thorodd, his massive hand closing around the Viking's torso. He lifted Thorodd off the ground and threw him. The warrior flew twenty feet before hitting the wall with a sickening crunch.

But the damage was done. Blood poured from Throk's side, the wound too severe even for a Karg-kin's regeneration to handle, especially with troll's bane preventing proper healing.

The massive creature realized he was dying. And instead of fighting to the end in the main chamber, he turned and retreated deeper into the den.

"After him!" Einar commanded, already running. They couldn't let him escape, couldn't let him recover. Wounded or not, Throk was too dangerous to leave alive.

The tunnel led deeper into the mountain, twisting and turning. Blood marked Throk's passage, dark stains on stone that showed how badly he was hurt.

The tunnel opened into a final chamber, larger than the first. And here was Throk's personal space. Stolen goods filled the room. Gems, metals, weapons, armor, and all other valuable items were taken from the caravans. This was the hoard of an intelligent predator who understood the value of wealth and power.

Throk stood in the center, his back to the far wall. Cornered and dying, but still dangerous. His eyes had changed, the intelligence fading, replaced by pure animal rage.

"You take everything!" he bellowed in broken dwarvish. "You take my hunters! You take my home! You take my life!" He beat his chest with one massive fist. "But Throk take some of you first!"

He charged one last time, and this time there was nothing tactical about it. This was a dying creature making a final stand, throwing everything into one last attack.

The Vikings met him with everything they had.

Einar led the assault, his axes finding gaps in Throk's defense. Skardi's hammer crushed bone. Avitue's blade opened arteries. Thorodd, battered but mobile, struck from behind. Bartia and Stefi worked in perfect synchronization, their weapons targeting vital areas.

It took everything they had. Throk's claws opened a Viking's throat. His teeth tore into another warrior's shoulder. His fists shattered ribs and broke bones. Even dying, even surrounded, he collected his pound of flesh.

But numbers and skill eventually won. Throk took a spear through his lung, an axe through his kidney, and finally, Einar's lightning-wreathed blade through his heart.

The massive Karg-kin staggered, looked down at the weapon protruding from his chest, and then looked at Einar. For just a moment, the intelligence returned to his eyes.

"Good fight," he said in surprisingly clear dwarvish. Then he fell, and the mountain seemed to shake with his passing.

Silence descended on the chamber. Warriors stood in various states of exhaustion and injury, breathing hard, bleeding freely, but alive.

"Count off," Einar said wearily.

The tally was sobering. One more dead during the fight with Throk. Four seriously wounded, being kept alive by field medicine but needing real healing soon. Everyone else was functional but hurt.

"Check the room," Einar commanded. "Make sure there's nothing else here."

Warriors spread out, searching the hoard chamber. And that's when someone called out from the back.

"There's another tunnel here! A back entrance!"

Einar moved to look. Sure enough, a narrow passage led away from the hoard chamber, angling upward toward what was probably another exit in the canyon walls above.

"Check for tracks," he ordered.

Stefi examined the passage, then looked up with a grim expression. "Two sets. Fresh. Made within the last twenty minutes."

Everyone understood what that meant. In the chaos of battle, two Karg-kin had escaped through the back entrance. They'd fled while Throk kept the Vikings occupied.

And there was only one place they'd be heading.

The Shadowpath. The caravan.

"Thorodd!" Einar barked. "The communication rune! Now!"

The warrior pulled out the stone, and Einar pressed it to his mouth. "Jepi! Two Karg-kin escaped the den. They're heading your way. Repeat, two hostiles inbound to your position. Be ready!"

Static crackled from the rune. Then Jepi's voice came through, tinny but clear. "Understood. We're entering the canyon now. Will prepare defensive positions."

Einar looked at his battered team. "Can anyone still fight?"

Despite their injuries, despite their exhaustion, every Viking who could still stand raised their weapon.

"Then we move," Einar said. "Double-time to the canyon. Those escapees know the terrain, but we know they're coming. Maybe we can still arrive in time to help."

They left the den at a run, leaving behind the bodies of Karg-kin and two fallen Vikings who would need resurrection. The mission had been a success, as they'd cleared the den and killed Throk the Render.

But two enemies had escaped, and now the caravan team was facing a threat they might not be ready for.

The Shadowpath awaited, and the battle wasn't over yet.