It took three men to hold Harbard down as Dagmar gagged and bound him. She took far more pleasure in this than she should, twisting his arms cruelly behind him. "Now he can speak no enchantments or curses," she said, sneering at Harbard. The fight had gone out of him, except for his eyes, cold fire that made Dagmar want to cringe.
"You are here because you sat watching as my sister Siggy died, and you did nothing," Dagmar spat. "All so you could gain further favor from the whore Aslaug. Ah, you heard her call, then, drawing you hear on the pretense of her son's pain? Ivar is most persuasive. He was well rewarded for bringing you to me. However, he is still owed something." Dagmar bent, tearing open Harbard's tunic. "Yes, there it is. The talisman Ivar craves." She wrenched the cord the jewel hung from until it snapped and slid from his neck. The jewel was a dull red, veined with gold, like a dying heart. She pocketed it, clucking with mock sympathy.
"I imagine the story of how you acquired the jewel is most interesting. Too bad you can't tell it just now. It gives me great satisfaction to know Siggy watches now from the Halls of the Aesir, just as you watched while she sank beneath the ice, never reaching out a hand to pull her out, likely with a smile on your face." Dagmar stood back and studied Harbard for a moment.
"You must have slithered into Aslaug's bed on charm alone. You are certainly nothing to look at. I have heard Ragnar is quite a specimen, though. Half the women of Kattegat would give much for a night with him, or so I have heard." She paused, scrutinizing his eyes, which had not dulled.
"I had hoped to build a pyre, and watch you burn, but that is not enough, and could be seen from Kattegat. Siggy had no funeral pyre, nor will you. Instead I shall put out your eyes, then take your hands and watch as you bleed out. The blood and hands of a sorcerer will fetch a kingly sum in many places."
Harbard moaned softly, and Dagmar kicked him viciously in the head. When his eyes opened again, searching for her face, she drew the seax she had sheathed in her boot and drove it into his left eye, which burst with a sickening sound like overripe fruit. Harbard arched in pain, his other eye looking for mercy from one of her crew which was not forthcoming. She struck again swiftly, and blinded him; it was best not to linger in case he had other ways of working magic, wordless ways known only to his kind.
Dagmar signalled Hrothgar, who tossed her his ax. With her eyes she chose who to honor with the taking of the hand on Harbard's other side. Bodil stood ready with a wineskin to catch some of the blood in. Dagmar's gaze fell upon Rolf, who happily stepped up, ax already in hand. In tandem they swung, and Dagmar had her rewards and Siggy her revenge, partly. Dagmar collected the blood herself, unwilling to risk anyone in her crew to the wizard's blood tainting their skin.
Dagmar heard when Harbard breathed his last, a whistling sound soft as a sigh that came from his nose. She moved to bag the hands and the wineskin of blood.
"Augh, he shat himself," groaned Hrothgar, grimacing and stepping back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"He has had a rather tough day," replied Dagmar.
"What shall we do with the body?" asked Bodil.
"Drag it down the fjord and we will toss it into the bay. He can sink and feed the fish and crabs as he left Siggy to do."
As if on cue, Magne burst from the brush near them, dragging a small but plump deer. Dagmar beamed at him, then turned to savor a moment over the body of Harbard. A length of sinew hung from the severed stump of one arm, like a worm exiting the corpse.
"And so the grifter is dead, and will nevermore watch others die for his own ends. Skål, beloved sister. Drink a horn with the Gods for vengeance, and for me, for I am not done yet." When the men dragged the body off, Dagmar kicked dirt over the black bloodstains and surveyed the site. It looked as if two animals had struggled briefly here, but no more. Aslaug must be growing anxious, waiting for Harbard, anticipating a passionate reunion that would never happen now. All that remained to be done in Kattegat was to hide the amulet for Ivar in the agreed-upon place, sup with Aslaug, and spirit little Siggy away. Tomorrow they would sail in search of Rollo.
Dagmar was infused with an unbridled sense of well-being as she strolled back into Kattegat. She headed to the harbor to stow the booty she had taken from Harbard aboard Barden and nearly ran over young Hvitserk, who was idling forlornly near the boats. The long shadows of afternoon slanted in.
"What is it, lad? What troubles you?" Dagmar asked the boy. Cold dread crept over her.
"Siggy is dead. We found her body. We found her lying in the mud beneath the bridge. She had gone off looking for you." Hvitserk's eyes flashed at her.
Dagmar sank to her knees. "Ah, Gods," she wheezed, grief filling her lungs, driving out all air. She bent, holding onto herself, her arms crossed tightly around her middle. "How?" She finally rasped. Hvitserk was transfixed by her glare, held in place as if his feet were nailed to the ground.
"We think she drowned," the boy stuttered.
Harbard did this. Somehow, he did this, even as he lay dying, he struck one last blow, and now it is as if Siggy has died twice, and now I cannot even avenge the little one…
"Where is Siggy now?"
"Some men came and took her away."
Dagmar rose on trembling legs, scanning the harbor. Hvitserk no longer seemed to exist, nor did Kattegat. Dagmar sped off, hopping into the first two-man craft she came upon, and she began to row and did not stop until the gibbous moon rode high overhead and the stars wheeled toward morning.