CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Róttækir let out his breath slowly, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before his eyes. He dared not say anything, out of respect for the dead girl and the poor father sobbing over her.

Fury was not so serene.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Balder turned around slowly, his pale eyes empty and humorless.

"Yes, you!" Fury approached Balder until they were nearly nose to nose. "What part of 'non-lethal force' do you not understand?! I ordered you—"

"Your orders," Balder sneered, grabbing Fury by the collar, "are no longer relevant. You are a weak general. My patience for your incompetence has run out." He let out an almost inaudible chuckle. "Farewell, Nick Fury."

With a roar, he threw the director. A flurry of dust and breaking rock showered out from a newly-formed crater in the ground. Balder panted. He bared his teeth triumphantly, oblivious to the rising murmurs of the jotun army surrounding him.

Róttækir interrupted his gloating. "What have you done?!"

Balder's eyes gleamed. "I did what any general with half his wits about him would do," he snarled. "Fury was in my way. I eliminated him." He clasped his hands behind his back and his voice settled back into an eerie calm. "Consider this your warning, jotun," he said as he walked away. "Follow my orders, or you can join your precious general in the dust."

"No."

Balder stiffened. "What did you say to me?"

"I said," Róttækir repeated, enunciating his words precisely, "no."

Balder laughed. "Very well." His hands began to glow. "Join the human."

In the split second it took Balder to draw his arm back and hurl the curse at his foe, Róttækir put up his hand and barked out something in a strange tongue.

"Skorrnachth."

The curse struck Róttækir's palm in a flash of blinding white light. Before Balder had time to flinch, his spell rebounded and pounded him in the chest.

He staggered back. "Are you a fool, jotun?" he growled. He feigned his usual smirk; it came out a strained grimace. "Or are you merely suicidal?"

"It is you who are the fool if you think that you can openly betray your betters and get away with it." Róttækir's expression hardened. "My men may be uncivilized to your eyes," he continued coolly, "but they are not without honor. And in the world I come from, there is no greater dishonor than to slay one to whom your allegiance should lie. I joined this fight to protect my people." His lip curled. "Now I see that it is not the human child that threatens us," he said, "it is you."

"Do you have any idea what you're up against?" Balder panted, struggling to straighten up.

"I fight against evil," Róttækir said evenly. "That is all I need to know."

"Suppose half of the jotun join you," continued Balder. "Do you really think that it will be enough to stand against the rest of us? Do you really think that you stand a chance against the power that I possess?"

"My chances are irrelevant so long as I do what is right." He turned to his men. "Get General Fury off the ground. See that he receives a healer's attention. The rest of you, with me."

"Sir!"

"Where are we going, sir?"

Róttækir surveyed his men, taking his helmet under his arm. "We join our allies at Aelwyd," he declared in a loud voice. "At dawn, we make our stand."

Balder grinned wickedly, but Róttækir took no notice. Surrounded by a mob of cheering jotun, he put on his helmet and began to cross the battlefield, making his way to Aelwyd.

Relygyr continued to gasp out choking, rasping sobs though he had nothing left with which to cry. The pain would come in waves. Every so often, the pain would seem to subside, and he was able to sit up again. But then he saw Ealyse's lifeless body, sprawled at an unnatural angle, and the wracking fits of grief overcame him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "My lord…"

"No!"

"Sir…"

"No! I can't leave her here!"

Rogers stepped forward from the throng of soldiers gathered behind their king. "Sir, the jotun army is on the move and approaching fast. We can take care of the body. You need to get out of here."

"Hold up there, Cap." Stark pushed a button to peel back his facemask. "I don't think we need to worry about these guys."

Rogers stared at the approaching army curiously. "It's strange that they're only bringing half the army," he admitted. "And they're being led by one of the friendlier generals." His brow furrowed. "But why don't they have Balder?" he muttered.

He expected a snarky quip in reply, but was met with silence. He turned to look at Stark…or rather, where Stark had been.

"Oh brother."

Stark lowered himself slowly, dust flying everywhere as his rockets drew nearer to the ground.

Róttækir nodded his approval as Stark approached. "That's quite a machine."

"I try," Stark said dryly. "Now let's cut to the chase. Why are you bringing half your army over here like you're coming over for afternoon tea, why isn't General Homicide with you—and where did you get that armor? I'm loving the whole lion-skin-fur thing you have going on, might copy it on the next round of my suit." He rolled his eyes. "Mostly, you know, because it would really piss off Pepper, and I think it's funny when she gets mad at me. But…"

Róttækir smiled patiently. "I'm here to assist you. I lend your cause my support and, more importantly, my army."

"Wait, so you're just going to drop everything and help us? And your army is cool with this?"

Róttækir frowned. "I don't know if you've met General Balder."

Fair point. Stark jerked his head towards Aelwyd. "Welcome to the club. Come on."

The mood inside Aelwyd had changed dramatically. As if a switch had been pulled, everyone suddenly bustled about with renewed hope and energy.

"The jotun army is broken!"

"The prophecy came true! The maiden saved us!"

"They've divided in two!"

"We're saved!"

One of the soldiers jumped up on a table.

"Three cheers for Ealyse!" he bellowed, raising a flagon. "Hip hip!"

"HUZZAH!"

"Hip hip!"

"HUZZAH!"

"Hip—"

An uncanny wail pierced the air.

The soldier on the table froze. "What was that noise?"

The wail repeated itself. Hollow and haunting, it rang out. It was a shrill, high noise like a child or an old soprano singing off in the distance.

Everyone in the room went silent, listening to the noise. As it went on, the sound changed. The wailing note was joined by another, then another. Slowly, a dark, rumbling sound rose up from underneath the wail.

The soldier leapt off the table and ran to the nearest sentry tower. He looked out upon the battlefield…and paled.

"Valhalla save us all," he muttered.

Thor came to the door of the tower. "What's happening?"

The soldier pointed outside, his finger shaking. "Re—reinforcements, sir. It's the army of the dead. They've come for us. That's why they escaped. They've come here."

Thor squinted at the horizon. There, at the head of the ghostly army, he could see two figures ahead of the rest.

One was Balder, his mouth quirked in a triumphant smirk.

The other was a woman with fair skin and dark, shining hair that rippled in the breeze.

Titania.

Thor turned to the soldier. "Summon everyone."

"Yes, sir."

"Sentry!"

The man stopped.

Thor swallowed heavily. "Tell them to prepare for the worst."