More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The Vackna rang loud, Waking-horn bold and blaring, In the hills ringing as red sun was rising, Filling all Vigrið, This Battle-Plain, This land of ash, This land of ruin. Gods stirred from slumber deep, Fell Snaka, the slitherer shed his skin, that slayer of souls. Wolf-waking, hard-howling Ulfrir, the breaker of chains ran roaring, Racing to the Guðfalla, The gods-fall. Orna, eagle-winged came shrieking, wings beating, talons rending, beak biting, flesh tearing. Deep-cunning dragon, Lik-Rifa,
Corpse-tearer from Dark-of-Moon Hills, tail lashing as she swept low. Berser raging, jaws frothing, claws ripping. Gods in their war glory, Brave Svin, mischievous Tosk, deceitful Rotta, Gods and kin, their warriors willing, Blood-tainted offspring, waging their war, all came to the Battle-Plain. Death was dealt, Red ran the rivers, Land laden with slaughter’s reek. There they fought, There they fell, Berser pierced, Orna torn, Ulfrir slain. Cunning Lik-Rifa laid low, chained in chamber deep, Beneath boughs of Oskutreð, the great Ash Tree. And Snaka fell, serpent ruin, venom burning,
...more
The images went on and on, telling the tale of the gods at war: Berser the bear, Orna the eagle, Hundur the hound, Rotta the rat, many, many more; and Snaka, father, maker, coiling about them all, glowing venom dripping from his fangs as he entered the blood-fray and consumed his children.
“Accepting help is not a weakness,” Svik said as he grabbed Varg’s arm and heaved him upright. Varg shrugged. “Where I come from, help would not be given, even if I asked for it.” “You are not there any more,” Svik said, for a moment his smile gone, his eyes serious.
