Death Blow Read Online Free PDF Page A

his axe.
    “I would die for her.” He had not known a lion could shrug, far less while prowling as if on the hunt for a kill.
    “’Tis an easier fate to face Valhalla than to lose my manhood.”
    “Rán would ne’er have chosen you had she not believed you could break Nyssa’s curse. Know you this, the wording of the curse is all. Think you carefully on what I have said this aft and ’twill become clear to you.”
    “You speak in riddles, cat.” Konáll wanted to howl his frustration.
    “I speak the little the gods allow me to know. ’Tis vital none know I am Nyssa’s kin or that I am a man. Treat me the way Nyssa does—as her pet. I am doomed to become the beast whose form contains me. Each day my hunger for mortal blood grows. The time fast approaches when I will be cast first into Niflheim and then to Hel . I can no longer guard Nyssa.”
    Konáll staggered. “Think you to slaughter your own half sister?”
    “I cannot risk it. Her fate is in your hands, Viking. Thrimilci dawns on the morrow. Nyssa sleeps now. Let her rest. She is bone weary.” The feline flicked its tale and vanished in a swirling fog of sand.
    Only when one of the three multifaceted rubies on his axe’s handle sliced the skin on his thumb did Konáll realize he stood alone on the beach. He sucked the droplets of blood from the stinging wound and then shook his head. ’Twas an unbelievable tale Mús told.
    Yet the cat had spoken to him.
    And Nyssa had healed his broken skull.
    Had so much time elapsed? That the nine nights of the feast of Walpurgis ended on the morrow with the All Father’s self-sacrifice on the world tree, Yggdrasil? He clenched his fists and tried to dredge up his last memory.
    A vague recollection of a violent, sudden storm niggled at the corners of his mind. Mayhap a swim would jostle the memories buried by the blow to his head. Mús had said Nyssa slept, so he had no need to hasten back to the cave. He set his axe, sword, and belt on the flat rock Mús had vacated and tugged off his tunic. After removing his boots and breeches, he picked his way through the throngs of narrow, pointed stones.
    The multitudes of seagulls perched on the tips of the boulders screeched their displeasure at his intrusion and soared into the wind amidst the thundering of dozens of flapping wings. The yammering birds formed a thick white blanket against the blue sky.
    Konáll sighed when the lapping warm water cascaded over his bare feet. The lure of the balmy ocean proved irresistible, and he dove into the belly of a wave about to crash against the shore.
    For some time he forged his way from one end of the bay to the other, and the rhythmic strokes focused his wandering thoughts, but he could recall naught after leaving Thōrfin’s holding. Konáll treaded water and frowned. One moment he had been standing on the deck of his langskip, the next he had awoken in the cave.
    A flock of mud-colored birds flew overhead, their discordant shrieks lost in a sudden howling wind. He sniffed. The salt in the breeze had deepened and a thick moistness weighted the air.
    In the distance, a line of smoky clouds galloped from the horizon, their advance so swift as to trample on the winged heels of Hermod, the gods’ messenger. One of the swift, violent gales peculiar to the seas of the Scottish isles approached. Already the sun’s light had faded to the haze of portending dusk even though ’twas not much past midafternoon.
    Swearing, he drove his arms into the white-crested, whipping waves and swam to shore. The second his feet found purchase on the sandy ocean floor, the skies erupted. A jagged bolt of lightning sizzled atop a rock close to the one where he’d laid his weapons. He cursed and sprinted forward.
    ’Twixt the dense curtain of rain and the strained shadows caused by the arrival of the black carpet of clouds, he could see no more than an arm’s length ahead. Thunder boomed and echoed around him, he hurdled a boulder blocking his way,