Freyas Saga Ch. 11

There was a groan of woe from the crowd. The knight thrashed. The worm lifted its other foreclaw and delicately picked the armour off the man, until he was in his leather jerkin and breeches. It knocked the sword out of his hand. He struggled and yelled for help.

The worm's golden eyes narrowed, and it stared at the man and grinned horribly. He tried to tear himself free of its grip.

The worm lifted a claw and, with immense delicacy and power, ripped the man's jerkin and breeches until they fell off him, and he was squirming naked in the worm's grip, fighting desperately and uselessly to get away from it.

The worm lifted the knight to its mouth and, ignoring his terrified screams, it fastened its jaws over the front of his head. His screams, although muffled, became frantic as the worm squeezed with its jaws, and blood started to run down the man's neck. He thrashed and grabbed the worm's muzzle and thrust backwards, trying to tear his head out of the worm's grip, but he couldn't. He was kicking frantically and Five suddenly noticed the liquid spraying from between his legs, and also, from behind, he was ...

Oh god. The man was pissing and shitting himself with terror.

The worm's eyes gleamed and the man's muffled screams grew louder and more agonised as its teeth began to crush the front of his head, and then it bit off the front half of it.

Five felt Freya clasp his shoulder with instinctive sympathy. The crowd groaned.

The man's body twitched. The worm gleefully munched on its mouthful and then stuffed the rest of the man's head into its mouth down to his shoulder, and had another bite. The pale, ragged body hung limply in the worm's claw as it feasted, biting off more of him until there wasn't much left of him above the waist, then it just threw the rest aside and belched fire at the onlookers, as if to say, Fuck you and your stupid knight, and it scampered off and started to set fire to another building.

Five felt ill.

More than that, he felt disgusted. It was like the worm wasn't a real animal; it wasn't like it was preying on people, it wasn't even hungry. It was just doing evil because it could.

He glanced at Freya. She looked grim and sad.

"Poor bastard," Five muttered. Freya nodded, squeezed his shoulder and looked at him.

"We're going up against that?" Five said.

Freya nodded.

"You're not gonna go in there and wave your sword at it and tell it to roll over and die, are you?" said Five.

Freya shook her head.

"If it goes for you, you'll run?"

Freya looked at him levelly.

"All right," he said, "all right, you do the fighting, I do the talking. But, please, lady, don't die here. Please, don't."

Freya looked annoyed and gave his face a mild slap, but he didn't take it personally. It was part of training. It had to be.

On the other hand, that worm had just tortured and eaten a man the size of Freya and half of her again.

They walked up to the sorrowful-looking group of men with long beards, who were viewing the worm with consternation. One of them turned and saw them approach, and gestured to a soldier.

The soldier intercepted them.

"No city folk allowed," he said. "Only challengers."

"We're a challenger," said Five.

The soldier looked at them, and took a second look at Freya, who was taller than him and with broader shoulders. He was a youth, clearly scared, but proud of his position.

"Who can vouch for you?" said the youth.

Five looked to Freya, who looked momentarily taken aback.

"We're not from round here," said Five. "We've been slaying worms down south."

"They have worms down south?" said the soldier.

"Aye," said Five, "vicious bastards, too. My lady has form at worm-slaying."

The soldier looked at them. He looked tired and hopeless.

"Go on," he said. "Speak to the elders. They will make you sign a contract."

Freya nodded her head respectfully, and Five followed her as she strode up to the greybeards.

They turned and watched as she approached, and as she reached them she dramatically lowered her hood and bowed low. Five had to hand it to her for the pageantry. With her height, cropped hair and handsome face, she was the most impressive-looking person in the square.

"What is this?" said an elder.

"My lady has come to slay your worm for you," said Five.

"I know of no woman who has slain a worm," said the man.

"It's a wide world indeed," said Five, "and there's room for all manner of surprises."

"I would not see a woman taken by this thing," said one of the men. "It has already shown a taste for defiling and disgracing men."

"The lady would kill herself, sooner than let herself be taken by a worm," said Five, in a gamble.

"What use is that to us?" said one of the men, and Freya turned and looked at Five with an expression of, What were you trying with that, exactly?

"I mean," said Five hastily, "if, in extremis, having already lost beyond a shadow of doubt, she knows arcane ways to end her own life, sooner than have a worm defile her."

Freya's unimpressed stare flickered, with a certain degree of: Well, better than nothing.

"I like this not," said another of the men, younger-looking than the rest. "This worm is too powerful for us. We have already let too many brave men sacrifice themselves for its pleasure. It is naught but waste and spoil and we must face the fact that it is come to our city."

"What do you say, Bertrand?" said another of the men.

"I say that this worm is a sign that the city is doomed," said Bertrand. "I see no healing from this thing. It is an abomination. Its coming is a sign that our city is abominated by god."

"Sir," said Five, "may I speak?"

"Say what you would, adventurer," said the councilman.

Several pairs of eyes turned on him. Not Freya's. She kept her back to him, watching the faces of the others.

He stared at them, and realised that he had spoken too soon. He had nothing.

He could think of no clever argument. He thought that the councilman was full of shit, but to say so would cost them ... what?

"Speak," said the councilman impatiently. "What terms do you demand. How much gold do you want. Tell us how you would cost us less than the beast that despoils us."

That was it. That was the way in. Thank you.

"We'll do it for nothing," Five said.

They stared at him, baffled.

"We don't want your money," he said.

The younger councilman, the one who had talked about god, laughed bitterly.

"There is some catch to this," he said. "You say so now, but you will want your gold soon enough."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Five, "but no."

"I have seen your kind before," said the councilman. "You always want your money. Do not lie to us."

"We fight for honour," said Five, "not for gold."

"You are mercenaries like any others," said the councilman.

"You want your fucking worm killed or don't you," said Five in a level voice.

There was a shocked pause. Five took a few steps forward so that he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Freya. As if they did this all the time, a thousand times before. He didn't need to look to her for reassurance. From the fact that she wasn't looking at him, he knew this was the right tack.

"Do you realise who you are speaking to," said the councilman.

"Yes, sir, I do," said Five. "You're standing there saying nothing will work and it's all god's will and meantime that thing is killing people and wrecking your homes and livings. With all due respect, you are wasting words. Leave the city to ruin, or shut the fuck up and let us do our job."

Freya did not move. Five saw the looks on the other councilmen's faces as they looked at them; when they looked at him it was with outrage at his insolence, but when they looked at her, something stopped them from ordering him to be whipped out of town.

"You would do this for nothing," said the councilman. "Let yourself get killed for nothing."

"Nobody's going to get killed," said Five. "This ends now."

"Stop lying to us," said the young councilman. "You will demand gold sooner or later."

"I'm not talking to you," said Five. "You've given up."

"Be silent, Bertrand," said an older man. "We have nothing to lose. Let them try."

"Aye," said another man. "If you truly want nothing then we can only ask you to try, if you would."

"Wait," said yet another man, older, white-haired, not so easily fooled. "We cannot ask you to do this deed and receive no recompense."

"Why not?" said Five.

"It would set a dangerous precedent," said the man. "The city might start to ask all men to do deeds for nothing but glory, and where might that end?"

It sounded wonderful to Five, but as he opened his mouth to say so, he felt a nudge from Freya and she was nodding seriously. She glanced down at him and he caught her eye, and he saw her glance pointedly towards a small group of people huddled at the side zone.

The knight's squires.

"All right," said Five. "If you must pay, don't give it to us. Give it to them."

The councilmen were silent.

"Their man lost," said Bertrand.

"Exactly," said Five. "So being out of a job, they need the money."

"Does this satisfy you, Bertrand?" said one of the men. They could hear the crackle of burning thatch and a rumble as another building collapsed.

"Very well," said Bertrand.

"Thank you," said Five. Freya looked at the men in turn and nodded to them, then turned and strode rapidly across the square to the three young squires. Five didn't follow. He knew the sort of thing she would be saying to them, and he saw their sad faces grow serious and then grateful.

Then Freya returned to where they stood and murmured "Sword." He took out her sword, which she hadn't wielded since that day in the village, and she buckled it on and concealed it under her coat.

Then she looked up at him, one quick searching glance, and he nodded to her, and she nodded back, and he turned and she started to walk towards the worm.

***

So.

So. What do you want, worm.

Are you like your cousin.

I think not. That one had but one purpose and they kept it for that. You are free and have your own mind.

The closer Freya grew to the worm, as it dance and thrashed amid the smoke and flame of the burning buildings, the slower she walked. The worm did not seem to notice her at first, and then as she drew nearer and nearer, it flicked its head in her direction and presently it turned its full attention to her, walking out on its four legs to meet her, its rudimentary wings twitching, its golden eyes gleaming, its fanged mouth parted in a huge, delighted grin.

Freya walked slower and slower and finally stopped, letting the worm come and meet her. It walked with a high-stepping gait, smoke coming out of its nostrils, and it occasionally snorted a little puff of fire.

Freya did not move.

The worm stared at her. Its inner eyelid blinked.

Freya smiled at it.

Hello. What are you doing? What do you want from me?

You are a beautiful thing, worm.

It gave her the most human of looks, a kind of Well, well, what have we here?, and it circled her.

She didn't turn around, let it inspect her from all angles, tall and hooded in her coat, apparently unarmed.

What are you doing? Are you ...

Then she felt it. A familiar sort of tug, like an itch that insisted on being scratched. When had she had it before? Not since a long time, not since she had been small and she'd fought bigger boys and she had sensed something about the way some of them had wanted to win. A subtle and devilish sense of mastery. An impulse to tell her: no, little girl, you lose, and you do not walk away feeling that you will have your revenge; you will lose, and you will understand that this is how it has to be. That you never had any chance. That it is sweet to lose to one such as I.

Ah. Yes. There had been one another time. With your cousin, in the village.

She eyed the worm, as it tugged at her courage.

You can read my mind, can't you, my beautiful thing. Or, not quite. You do not read my thoughts the way a wise man reads a book. You see them the way a child sees a picture, or one who is starving sees things that might be edible.

Oh, you are subtle as well as handsome.

When it got around in front of her, it leaned down and sniffed the air before her. Having done so it withdrew back a pace, apparently less certain of itself, and it looked at her with interest.

Freya bowed to it.

Mmmmm. You want me so very, very much, don't you. You wish to feed, but you do not starve. What is that you long for.

It grinned at her, and leaned down to sniff her again.

She flinched backwards, and felt a sudden clammy grip on her heart, and she stepped back and it faded.

So that is it, is it? That explains so much. Thank you.

She had been carrying a mouthful of bloody phlegm in her mouth since she had spoken to the squires. She spat it at the worm's muzzle. It landed there, and the worm reared back and looked disgusted, and gave a shriek, and then it blasted fire at her.

The onlookers saw Freya dodge even before the worm breathed fire at her, but the flames caught the tail of her coat and it ignited. Freya quickly pulled the burning coat off and threw it on the ground, and stood there in her shirt and breeches, her head uncovered, staring at the worm, her eyes gleaming.

The worm glared at her, and Freya looked up at it, and then she raised her hands to waist level and slowly beckoned to it.

Come on.

Come on, then.

"What is she doing?" exclaimed one of the counselors, astonished by Freya's insolence.

The worm breathed fire again, and Freya knew which way to jump. Then it followed her, she backing away in a circle, always seeming to anticipate the way the worm was going to spit fire, and then the worm's eyes were blazing and it belched fire after fire, scorching the dust, and every time Freya dodged it and grinned at it and teased it, and it seemed to glow hotter and hotter with each burst of fire. Once or twice she only just twisted away in time and would make a gasp as the fire brushed her but after several minutes of this, the worm was steaming and Freya was sweating and her clothing was scorched, but save for a redness on one arm and a small patch of burnt hair she was still unhurt, and she leaned forward and grinned at the worm.

The worm recoiled from her, and then it coiled forward, shrieking, and made to grab her with one claw, but Freya leaped back. Not quite soon enough to stop the worm's claw from raking across her face.

She felt the claw tearing her flesh before she felt the pain, but even before it had begun to hurt she had dropped and rolled, quicker than the worm could respond, and she got to a crouch, her hand to her face. She saw her blood dripping on the scorched earth, and then the pain hit, and it forced a cry out of her.

She took her hand away from her face. It was covered in blood and her face was hot and throbbing.

She looked up at the worm.

Oh.

You.

Dare.

***

Freya took away her hand and looked at the blood and looked up at the worm, and Five felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck because her face went dark, and she opened her mouth and Five thought she'd been sick, or something, because of the noise that came from her, but then he realised it was speech in some tongue he had never heard before, some lethal curse, vile-sounding and guttural, and the worm grinned down at her and then Freya barked it again, louder.

The worm blinked and stopped grinning, and took a step backwards. Looking down at her.

She stepped forward and, astonishingly, the worm backed away from her.

Then, almost without pause, it happened before anyone seemed to realise that it was happening; she had drawn in one stroke her sword, and with a raw, tearing scream she ran at the worm and leaped at it, swinging her sword around as she passed through the air so that it half-severed the worm's neck, and the force of her jump carried her past the worm and landed her on the worm's back, and she pulled the sword out of the worm's neck and jumped off from there to the ground.

The worm shrieked, and it was terrible. It was a high-pitched thing like water boiling in the biggest vessel and the steam escaping through the smallest hole you could think of. It made you feel ill. Five didn't tear his eyes away from the fight, but he thought he could hear a couple of the councilmen actually getting sick.

The worm tottered then, on its hind legs, its neck half-severed, purple blood spraying from the wound, and Freya was walking away and around it, backwards, glaring up at it, avoiding the spray, and Five could see her working herself up, talking to herself, and she seemed to grow taller and darker, and then she took her hand away from her face and grasped her sword in both hands, and gave another harsh cry and went into her true rage, and charged the worm.

Five felt his nose starting to bleed from the worm's terrified screaming, but he made himself watch.

He hated the worm, he loved his mistress, but even so, what she was doing was terrible to see. He had once been in a howling gale and had seen a great tree being whipped by the wind. You had thought that such a tree could stand against anything, but it was not so. The wind tore at it and worried it and grabbed it and shook it and the tree could not get out of the wind, could not take shelter, but had to stand there and be torn, bit by bit, to pieces.

So it was with Freya and the worm. Her sword slashed again and again, and the worm's supposedly invulnerable hide gave under the assault, and it kept rising up and trying to master itself but she kept slashing at it in her fury, and it slowly swayed and sank to the ground, and Freya kept hacking at it until its entire skull and the end of its neck were just bloody shreds. Five begged her with his mind to stop, it was over, the worm was dead, but Freya's rage took its course, and she did not stop until the worm's head and neck were a gory smear in the dust.

Then she looked up, her face masked with her own blood, and she breathed deeply, and looked at

the worm for a long moment. Its corpse did not move.

She walked around to the worm's belly and drove her sword into it, tip-first, and sliced, eviscerating the worm. Its guts spilled outwards into the dust, including the chewed-up top half of the knight, and she stepped back and picked up her discarded, still-smouldering jacket, and carefully wiped her sword with it, then walked back to the councilmen, her hand at her face.

They stared at her in horror.

Five thought, fucking hell. Freya's face was badly slashed, but she came straight up to him, avoiding the eyes of the councilmen. She looked, Five thought, oddly ashamed.

When she was close enough, she took her hand away and whispered in a thick voice "Is it bad?"

He looked at it, and saw that the damage all came from a single gash from the bridge of her nose down her left cheek, through her left upper lip and down through her lower lip to her jaw. Close up, it wasn't as deep as he'd feared. It was just very nasty-looking. And there was no way it was going to disappear.

"Lady," he said, "I'm not gonna lie. You move like a fly under a swat. I dunno 'ow you did it, that thing should've had your face off, but it don't. Mistress Sophy gave me some ointment and we can pack it with that before I bandage you. But you will 'ave a scar. No question."

Freya nodded, and to his astonishment, she smiled to herself before turning to the council.

"Burn that," she said, pointing to the corpse of the worm. "Now."

The young councilman, the one called Bertrand, nodded hastily and scurried off to organise people.