Page 37 of Valkyrie Song

Gods, I hope it's just the varulv. If it's the Forsaken too…

No. I can't think it. I won't.

The Fae, the wolves, and I race the last miles through the forest, leaping over fallen logs and dodging around trees. Myside twinges, my lungs burning with exertion, but I don't stop or slow. I can't. Kara needs me.

We're still half a mile out when the sounds of battle reach us, a dull roar of noise and inhuman screams that set my teeth on edge. Good Gods. The varulv never die quietly. They fall screaming their rage into the wind.

Not even a full minute later, we find the first of them lurking beneath the trees as if lying in wait for us.

"Varulv," Malachi snarls, launching himself at a massive gray wolf.

It turns in his direction, snarling.

He plows into it like a meteor striking dirt, flinging the animal off its feet.

Four more slip out of the shadows.

Ing snarls a warning, his fur standing on end.

"Don't engage!" I shout to him, praying he relays the message to the rest of the wolves. They've been good about not attacking directly while we've been hunting, allowing us to do the killing to spare their own lives. But they've never been tested like this, in the fog of war. "Their blood will turn you."

Ing snarls as if telling me that he hears me. I pray he does, that they all do. We cannot afford to lose them, when doing so means thirteen more varulv nipping at our heels.

I leap over one of thevargúlfr, myímun-laukrspinning in my hands as I advance on one of the varulv. One of the Fae steps up beside me, hislyststålblazing in his hands.

"Want to play, you mangy mutt?" I growl. "Come play."

The varulv slams into me like a brick wall, the impact jarring. I grit my teeth, slamming the hilt of myímun-laukrdown against the side of his head as he tries to pin me beneath him.

"Get off of him," the Fae, Krandriel, snarls, dragging him off me by the scruff of his neck.

The varulv immediately turns on him, giving me time to bound back to my feet. All around us, the Fae are locked in battle, fending off the varulv. Malachi has his pinned to the ground, hislyststålshoved through the thing's throat. Damrion and Dax are wrestling another a few feet away. The fourth has Rhistel backed up against a tree, snarling and snapping at him. Garrison and two Fae are fending off the last.

Ing and the wolves hang back, snarling in impotent fury that they're left out of the fight yet again. They hunt beside us, help us track them down, but the killing is too risky. That may not be the case much longer. If the Forsaken are coming through the Portal, we may need them their claws and fangs as much as we need their ability to scent out the varulv.

Ravens scream overhead, but the trees are too thick for them to be much use here. I don't think that'll be a problem for long. Judging by the sounds raging around us, there are plenty more where these five came from.

Too many.

I whip myímun-laukrdown hard against the back of the varulv who knocked me to the ground, momentarily distracting him. It's just long enough for Krandriel to slice hislyststålacross the thing's throat. The sickly-sweet smell of infection spills out, immediately burned away by Light.

The varulv stumbles as the hole in his throat bursts into flame, spreading rapidly. He doesn't go down, though. He continues lumbering forward, snapping at the air. Unlike the varulv we fought in Eitr, these don't die easily. We've fought like hell for every death, every inch of Valhalla we've reclaimed.

"Faen!" Krandriel shouts, slashing at him again.

It takes three more strikes before the soulless beast finally crashes to the ground, most of his body on fire. Furious, dying screams sound around us as the Fae dispatch the other four in a similar fashion, fighting like hell to bring them down.

By the time the last falls, we're all breathing hard. But we don't stop. We simply jolt into movement again, rushing forward.

"Stick to the edge of the forest," Damrion commands. "Stay out of sight until we're at the Portal. We'll attack from behind."

No one says a word as we advance, the screams of dying varulv sending tension humming through our group. But we don't come across another group of varulv until we see the flickering glow of the Bifröst and the blazing Light that is the Valkyrie.

"Gods," Dax breathes then. "They're magnificent."

He isn't wrong. The Valkyrie burn like a supernova, their Light rippling out to bring down one varulv after another. But the warriors are falling. They're failing.

And more varulv still advance.

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