Tro by S.T. Bende

Author:S.T. Bende [Bende, S.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BA
Published: 2014-08-25T23:00:00+00:00

It was cold; a thick fog settled around my legs, obscuring my view of everything from waist-level down. Not far away, I could see ten gods moving slowly through the darkness. They wore black, and carried weapons of varying sizes—Gunnar held his cross-bow at eye level, Ull carried a broad sword. Another held two daggers, while one had a mace. They crept on silent feet, shifting their attention with each tree they passed. They kept glancing up, though nothing in the forest moved.

“This quadrant’s clear,” Gunnar called.

Ull nodded. “They must have gone underground. Regroup and head for the south fork. We will sweep the riverbank, then report back to Odin in—”

Before he could finish, something dropped out of a tree. It lunged as it fell, impaling Ull’s stomach with a branch.

“Faen,” Ull swore. He doubled over, clutching his arms across his torso as a dozen other figures fell from the trees. They were gnarled; flesh and bandages hung off exposed bone as if they’d been decaying for decades. But any resemblance to the dead stopped there. These creatures moved fast, struck faster and looked like they were designed for destruction. They were disgusting, deadly, and absolutely terrifying.

Ull pulled the branch out of his stomach with a deep groan. “Elite Team, strike…now!”

The warriors jumped to action. Blades swung as metal clashed with exposed bone. Some the ikkedød dropped into the fog, cut in half by the enraged assassins. But the others swirled in a mist that blended with the fog, disappearing completely.

“Regroup,” Ull commanded. The warriors formed a tight circle at his side.

“You okay, mate?” Gunnar nudged Ull with his elbow. He never lowered his crossbow as his eyes scanned the trees for another attack.

“Fit as a fiddle,” Ull grunted, shifting his sword in his hand.

“Kristia’s little idioms rubbing off on you?” Gunnar’s game face disappeared as he broke into a smirk.

“Shove it,” Ull retorted. “My two o’clock.”

The warriors turned as a unit, and charged at the figures emerging from the fog. The ikkedød came in the form of bushes but when Gunnar fired a series of arrows the foliage exploded, leaving behind nothing more than the stench of decay.

“Was that all of them?” Gunnar turned a full circle, never lowering his crossbow.

“Anders is on stats. What was the projection?” Ull turned to the ginger-haired god next to him.

“An attack unit should have held a dozen.”

“And how many went down?”

“By my count? Eleven.”

“Dritt,” Ull swore.

Gunnar stalked toward the nearest boulder. He leaped into the air and came down, crushing it with his bow. The rock dissipated, and shards of granite flew in all directions.

“Was that it?” one of the warriors called.

“Naw. No stench.” Gunnar threw his fist at a tree. The impact left a deep hole, but the tree remained standing. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he warbled.

“That should send it running. Is that your plan? Flush it out with bad singing?” Ull swung his sword at a shrub, chopping off seven inches.

“Maybe.” Gunnar grinned. “You got a better plan?”

“Get down!” Ull yelled.

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