The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

55. Sigvid

55

SIGVID

February 1st, Year 1, 10th Era

The Holy Triangle, Treland

S igvid paces impatiently with their fighters, ready and waiting to take out Thrain’s forces. They are held up by the last two people he could imagine taking issue with each other.

Raised voices weave out from Healer Svanlaug’s tent. He struggles to discern the words, feeling more unnerved that she and Avina have reason to interact outside the war, much less argue.

At last, Avina storms out of the tent entrance, fire flashing in her eyes, while the elderly Healer follows, gesturing to Sigvid for a word.

“After the battle.” He responds while Avina mounts her dappled mare at his side.

The Healer purses her lips into a thin line and mutters a prayer to the Briny God. “You must not permit Her Majesty to engage in today’s fight.”

“I have granted her request to battle while under the protection of her invisibility. No harm will befall her, Svanlaug.” He reassures the matronly woman who delivered Sigvid and Thrain into this world.

However, his words hold little to no comfort. The Healer begins muttering more prayers to the Briny God for Avina’s protection.

Once they are away from the encampment, Sigvid turns a cocky grin on Avina, who angrily adjusts her saddle. “Care to share?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No.” Her firmness takes him so aback that the battalion is already trotting off into the mid-afternoon sunlight when he realizes she refuses to answer his question.

“What was the argument?”

She mumbles under her breath but still does not answer.

He drops the inquiry as their troops approach the cliffside overlooking the vast fjord. Between many dissenters in the Salt Army returning to Sigvid, the might of his Drengr, and the sheer numbers in Avina’s Timber force, Thrain’s force of ten thousand warriors faces its final battle.

He plans a grand victory celebration, followed by a trial for his brother’s misdeeds.

“Where are they?” Slode pipes up beside him as they confront an empty field.

“Calder!” Sigvid hollers, riding ahead of the calvary. “Plot east,” he lowers his voice, “keep your wits about.”

Tension fills the air as they restlessly await word on the position of their brothers in the Salt Army. The sun has hardly ascended further into the sky when the pounding of hooves jolts the group back to Calder’s return.

The young man is known for his coolness under pressure, so even Sigvid is shaken that Calder looks like he has seen a ghost.

“Briny God, boy, what did you see?” Kar barks atop his horse.

“Thrain’s Army.” Calder pants. “Twice the size of ours.” He shakes his head before addressing Sigvid directly. “Drauger.”

“What a load of horseshit! Think you’re funny?” Kar scolds.

Slode and Grim exchange an uncertain glance while Avina dismounts and places her hand on Sigvid’s shoulder.

“What does this mean?” She whispers.

Twenty winters ago, his father refused to comment after Thrain received his strange Sacred Stone ability. Only recently did Sigvid learn as to why. A coded section in his father’s journal revealed that the voice of the god who pronounced his brother’s power was not the Briny God. The voice was smooth, almost haughty. Then his brother summoned a fucking Ulv from the Abyss. An accomplishment one could only complete using seidr from the Abyss.

Guardians have extensive knowledge of Treland and the gods. Sigvid understood that only someone with abilities directly tied to the Abyss can summon a creature dwelling there. At one time, their country had three patron gods, and a whopping ten deities graced the continent.

The decline is quite drastic, considering the six gods ruling the pantheon now.

Why this occurred or why an ancient god resurfaced to help Thrain take the throne is unknown.

“This is not a good sign, my little one.” He squeezes her hand and addresses his most trusted Drengr–Kar, Slode, Grim, and Avina. “Calder’s report is accurate. I believe my dear brother summoned this force from the Abyss.”

“What in all that is holy?” Grim shouts, stroking his textured locks.

Kar lights his pipe. “When I thought I had seen it all. Thord owes me a damn horn of ale when we meet in the Depths.”

Slode and Avina remain speechless, each preferring quiet reflection before adding their voice to the bunch.

Sigvid strokes his beard in thought. “If we kill my ass of a brother, that should send his drauger army back to the Abyss.”

“We are still down to twenty-five thousand men, Sig. If this drauger army is twice that…,” Slode shakes his head, “shit, there is no way we come out victorious.”

“Drauger can be defeated,” Avina adds. “But we can bypass this war. Sigvid, you know he needs me. Let me go to Thrain. I can save your lives and negotiate the protection of our people. We risk too much entering this battle.”

Over my dead body.

“I will not allow you to see that fuck head by yourself, and my brother will not negotiate. Not anymore.” He lights his pipe as he paces. “We need him to engage me in single combat. That way, I can kill him without losing all of our army in a single swipe. ”

We do not know the strength of a fucking drauger.

“We have the Sacred Stones!” Avina offers. “Sigvid! You and I could share the power. If the sapphire stone increases my ability, can you imagine the might from the unified stones?

“That is still risky.” Slode’s arms are together over his bare chest. “What if you fell while invisible?”

“Riskier still if you fell and Beast could not control himself.” Grim raises a brow.

“She will not fall,” Sigvid intercedes curtly. “Avina and I will certainly have favor in the fight. I can rip the undead to bits if she becomes a silent assassin.” He puffs his pipe, and the itch to settle in a direction grows.

“If I may,” Calder interrupts. “The cliffside grows narrow and steep with boulders the size of five grown men along the path, creating a pinch point. With their heavy numbers, we could push them into the fjord using the trees as cover.”

Even Kar remains silent as they consider the plan suggested by the youngest Drengr.

“I don’t suppose that would destroy the army,” Slode muses, “but it would annihilate a significant chunk.”

“A more even playing field.” A smoke ring encircles Sigvid’s head as he stares at the jagged cliff edge, a plan forming. “Excellent work, Calder.” He snuffs his pipe, stashing it in his pocket. “Avina, grab Tyo and Elsrith. We have undead to send back to the Abyss.”

A s Thrain’s army approaches the narrow path, Sigvid and his Drengr Army wait. Tall grass, trees, and boulders offer shielding from their position. They watch silently as the Salt Army marches directly at them, none the wiser of the ambush.

Along the steep forested hill to their right, with an impressive view of the fjord below, hide Tyo, Elsrith, and the massive Timber Army amongst the thick trees.

Sigvid, Calder, and Grim crouch behind a boulder. The Lord Commander peers around to see Salt warriors intermix with the undead drauger, forming an unimaginable horde. Their march is sluggish, as the boulders lined along the cliffside force the fighters to funnel into thinner lines as they tread carefully on the long edge of the path.

His warriors ready their weapons, preparing for the onslaught. Sigvid glances at Calder on his left. The young man holds out his massive great axe and strokes the curved steel and long shaft, allowing ice to crystalize. An enhancement that gives him a deadly advantage. He continues the icing process along his armor, too.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side, Avardsson.” Sigvid quips at the young man.

Calder smirks as he finishes coating his armor in jagged ice shards.

Yet another mystery ability to take up with the gods.

Thrain’s Army nears the end of the narrow stretch, and thunder rumbles down the hill, forcing Sigvid and his Drengr to brace. A rockslide five times the strength he and Avina encountered on Fjell Mountain careens through the forest toward the precipice. Tyo and a hulking battalion of brutes at the summit prepare another stone wave.

The sound of the rocks tumbling through the trees halts the troops’ progress. Some vainly attempt to retreat or scramble forward along the path toward the hidden Drengr. To their terror, the falling stones slam into the bodies of those along the cliff, tearing them off into the open air and the fjord below.

Oh, Briny God of strength, we revere these fearless spirits who venture to your halls in the Depths.

The Timber Army materializes, clutching bows and quivers like phantoms in the dark thicket. They release a hailstorm of arrows upon the surviving drauger and Salt warriors. More stone crashes upon the never-ending stream of fighters cresting the cliffside.

Thrain’s force navigates around the stone debris, ready to fire at the archers. Once they reach the end of the boulder aisle, where the path begins to widen, Sigvid shouts, “Shield Wall!”

All of his hardened warriors emerge in a roar from the grass and build an impenetrable barrier with their shields. Shouts from Thrain’s army are a hum so loud Sigvid can no longer hear himself think. The front of the drauger and Salt Army reconverge and slam into the Drengr force, shuddering their fortification yet not their resolve.

“Open low!” Sigvid shouts, and a lower section of shields is clear enough for spears to shoot through the line of Drengr, impaling the front line of soldiers. As fast as they maneuver, the wall closes before they can retaliate.

“No fucking mercy!” Sigvid’s voice booms through the shade of the shields.

“Open!” Slode and Kar bellow their commands on either side of the shield wall. All shields shove outward, forcing the nearby troops back as his Drengr leaps forward for another attack. They repeat until Thrain’s army confronts a blockage. Due to the Drengr, they cannot move forward, yet their sheer numbers prohibit them from retreating.

Avina awaits Sigvid's signal in the tall grass. Finally, he nods to Calder, who signals her from the rear of the wall. She unsheaths her axes and runs along the cliffside toward Thrain’s Army. In the blink of an eye, she is invisible to all but Sigvid. She becomes a silent fury through the enemy ranks, slicing throats and splitting skulls.

The blood bath continues in a glorious carnage until the sun passes the highest point in the sky.

Sigvid, Tyo, and Elsrith stand atop a layer of bodies as their warriors press along the remaining enemy troops.

“Did half the army take a nap on their way?” Tyo kicks a shield away. “Where is the rest of this horde your boy saw?”

They fought off a third of the soldiers they expected to confront.

“We push them until the line ends.” Sigvid claps Tyo on the shoulder before rejoining the fight.

Finally, the end of the march arrives, and they have successfully squeezed Thrain’s forces.

Whoops fill the air as Sigvid holds the last drauger by the neck over the cliff. He squeezes, relishing the unholy creature’s final breaths as he cracks every bone in his column. With a grunt, he hurls the undead into the fjord below.

Briny God, he offers, please accept who I have sent to the Depths today—fellow warriors for you to welcome.

He scans the crowd until he spots his little Queen. Blood splatters her front as she perches on a small rock , the most beautifully irresistible smile on her lips.

“Great show, brother!”

Sigvid freezes a chill running up his spine. The celebration around him dies as he whips around to find Thrain and another fucking army standing along the slope to the ridge.

Fuck. “Here to face me?” Sigvid roars.

His Drengr form up, and the Timber Army resumes its tactical position along the lower wood line.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that.” Thrain examines his nails, picking at them. “I came here to send a message.”

Pounding hoof beats emerge from the rear, revealing Gunter commanding a small number of armed cavalry with a stupid fucking smirk.

Sigvid steps between his men and Gunter’s, spinning his axes as he watches Thrain’s Second.

“Thordsson!” Gunter hollers with a spear in his hand. “I will be heralded a god for killing you.”

Sigvid sneers, daring the bald man to toss that point at his chest. Instead, a Timber rider nearly unseats Gunter. Taking advantage of the distraction, Sigvid tosses one of his axes, sinking the edge into Gunter’s shiny head. Before he collapses off his steed, Sigvid rips the axe from his skull.

He retreats to his men, looking out for Avina, standing near the cliff with a furious expression.

Still safe.

He glances upward into the forested slope rising to the summit and realizes why Thrain’s troops have not moved up the hill to the top of the cliff. Sigvid’s stomach sinks to his toes as thousands of archers form a thick line along the top of the tree line above the Timber Army. The fucking woods creates a barrier to reaching them.

“Shields up!” His voice roars out and over the fjord. “Shields up!” He yells in time for a hail of arrows to descend upon the ranks of the Drengr and the Timber fighters stuck between the boulders and the tree line.

His quick thinking spares the warriors within hearing distance. However, those further along the path and the cliff edge are not fast enough and drop to the ground.

Sigvid revolves around, frantically taking a head count of those near him.

“Calder!” He growls at his younger Drengr. “Find Kar and Slode. Everyone, get the fuck out of here.”

As Calder disappears into the frenzy, Sigvid’s primary concern is locating Avina. He glances up again to see the archers on the steep ridge take aim.

“Shields up!” He bellows in time for all the men to respond. Only a few rogue arrow points take out those unfortunate to hold their shields at the wrong angle.

“Avina!” He recovers from the onslaught and resumes his desperate search for his Queen.

She was on the precipice without a shield.

His heart drops when he finally catches her. A buzzing fills his head, and each step is agonizing.

Avina lies beside a boulder she must have sought shelter behind. Even with her scale armor and invisibility, arrows riddle her body.

He collapses to his knees as his shaking hands shift from one arrow shaft to the next. She cries out in agony as her arms, bearing several arrows, wrap around her midsection.

“Sigvid!” She grabs his wrist with a strength he did not believe she possessed. “Berserk,” her lovely voice is weak. “Save them.” She slides the Sacred Stones from her neck with trembling hands and presses the nautilus shell into his palm.

“I forbid you from leaving me, my love. Not fucking now that I found you.”

She blinks away tears. “Fight for us.”

Thrain’s voice cuts across the field in time for a renewal of the Salt force to gallop toward them. “Grab the Queen. Kill the rest.”

Red twinges his fucking sight.

“Sigvid!” Slode barrels toward him and leaps from his horse.

He kisses her bloody and sweaty forehead.

As he stands, he growls at Slode. “Get her help now! Do not let her fucking die!” He helps Slode delicately support her body so her front lays over the neck of the gray mare. Once they ride off, there are no questions or second thoughts.

Sigvid berserks.

With the Stones, he feels as if an intense vigor infuses his body, pumping him with something more durable than mere blood.

Crimson spray and gore cross his sight as he rips through Thrain’s weak soldiers.

He rips an arm off a man and decapitates him with the force of his strike. As he barrels through the mass with his axes drawn, severing heads and limbs as he charges, he roars, frightening every warrior nearby to scramble away from his destruction. The more he guzzles from their flimsy necks, the less his mind recognizes friend from foe.

And the less he fucking cares.

One of Thrain’s foolish men, swinging his sword, jumps before his treacherous path. Sigvid catches the blade mid-air, yanks it from his grip, and throws it toward Thrain. The point is embedded in a tree trunk, missing his brother by a hair.

Thrain gives him a wicked smile. “You must do better than that.” His cowardly brother steals a horse from one of his men and gallops away, leaving Sigvid quivering in his wrath.

His attention slowly pivots back to the young soldier, and he shoves his fist into his stomach. The force punctures armor, skin, and muscle as he grabs the soldier’s spine and rips it out through his front. Sigvid frantically stabs the dead man with the few vertebrae he manages to withdraw.

One unlucky man manages to stab Sigvid in the side. Before he can withdraw the sword, he bites his neck, draining the blood from his body as if he is a bottle of the sweetest mead. The lifeblood instantly heals his wounds.

The surviving troops fall to his fury until he decimates those stupid enough to linger. At their retreat, he screams himself nearly hoarse. He runs up the hill to the tree line overlooking the battlefield cliff edge to find Thrain and his generals have fled.