In Due Course

[Sören]

Damn the man! Sören could not tear his gaze from the scores of bloody threads circling the rune uruz lest the whole thing tangle uncontrollably. But his outstretched hand found no purchase. One job! "Declan!"
The impatient command ripped free of his throat, sharper than the skin-shredding ice. In his arrogance, he had not considered Declan's fear. He walked the ancient world, made a living from it, yet saw only dead things. Confronted thus, the man crumbled. And damn him for it!

They stood this far up the hill for a reason. Sören had not deemed it necessary to share the details with Declan but regretted it now, as in his squinted peripheral he saw the man tumble down into the snow, away from a chunk of ice that would never have hit him. Sören's teeth bared; half grimace, half snarl. The vortex of power that raged within was more violent and consuming than the storm around them. Ahead the rune completed, and abruptly a chunk of flung ice burst into a thousand glittering pieces. The ground sizzled briefly under the boiling rain.

He blazed, oh he blazed, brighter than the weak winter sun.

"Du kommer att böja sig för mig!*"


Shots rang out in the storm. Sören saw the beast flinch but not the shadow where Declan crouched. Robbed of every advantage, smarting from the betrayal, he stalked down the hill. Bloody runes rent the ice. The wind howled and tore, a screaming fiend, and still he came. Fire gouted and splintered the ice into dazzling shards. His fist clenched so tight his fingers might dig trenches into the flesh of his palm.

The creature canted its head like a charmed snake. Despite Declan's assault, its attention was focused on Sören. No, he abruptly realised; on the runes he wove. The knowledge did him little good. Not did he have the time to dissect it on his fearless descent. Beneath his winter gear sweat soaked his skin. The strain of the runes burst veins against his head, his neck, his arms. The guardian loomed larger as he drew closer, and the chords of power sliced not ice but the beast's blubbery flesh.

Blood sprayed in a bright arc.

Abruptly something burned like fire in one of his eyes. A tentacle rose unseen, smashed into him, and he hit the ground hard, face first. His hands clenched convulsively, fist fulls of snow against the furious pain. He roared, forcing himself up onto all fours, shoving snow against the burning socket of his eye. The world shadowed dark without the power, and for a moment even the shriek of the wind began to hush. Ice crunched as the beast began its descent. No. Sören tightened his aching fist, scrambling to find purchase with his other hand to haul himself up. And met something cool and smooth instead.

A gruesome, bloody smile hiked his lips as he dragged the amulet over his head. He rose on trembling knees.

Above the great beast wavered uncertainly, as though blind. Then uruz tore chunks from its flesh. It screamed, more shrill than the wind. Its blood hissed as it met the snow. Until it finally fell.

Panting, Sören thudded to his knees, the pure thrill of victory tainted by the poker-hot pain of his eye. Teeth grit hard, he scooped another handful of snow to his face.

[[*You will bow to me]]