Chapter 4

4: On the Road to Hel

Twenty yards into the mound and the space ahead of us began to widen out. Inghen called a halt.

'Right. We still have enough light from the entrance, but with everyone crowding around it's hard to make anything out. If everyone moves to either side of the passage, we'll have a more continuous beam of light.'

Grumbling, we shuffled closer to the dank stone walls, and the last light of day filtered sluggishly into the chamber before us. Someone nearby gasped at a gleam of gold from a pile of objects heaped between a circle of slabs at the centre of the vast dark space.

'We've found it!' Thorir hissed from up ahead of me. 'The treasure!'

'What are those things lying on the slabs?' muttered Brodir. But before I could take a closer look, we heard the crunch of gravel from down the passage.

I turned, followed by some of the Vikings, to see a dark shape silhouetted against the entrance; a man in armour with a flowing black beard. Behind him, similar shapes were standing.

'Inghen!' the figure called.

The Red Daughter whirled round at the voice.

'Thrond?' she shouted. 'Is that you?'

'Of course it's me,' came the boastful, sneering voice. 'I've outwitted you for the last time, sister. Your greed has led you to your doom.'

'What are you talking about?' Inghen began, but then her brother turned to his henchmen and gave some orders. A grinding noise came from outside the tunnel, and the beam of light began to contract as two of Thrond's strongest men began to slide the door-like monolith across the gap.

I gasped. Surely he wouldn't leave me in here? I ran desperately forward.

'Thrond!' I shouted. 'Don't shut it yet! What about my reward?'

As they heaved the stone block further across the mouth of the tunnel, and the light narrowed even more, I heard Thrond's voice faintly.

'I don't reward traitors!' he shouted. 'Stay and die with those you betrayed!'

I reached the stone. The gap was down to its last inch. I scrabbled at the block, but to no avail. With one final grind of rock on rock, the stone door closed, and all was dark within the burial mound.

'Treachery!' shouted the Red Daughter from the darkness of the chamber, in the silence that followed.

'It was Thrond,' muttered Bjorn in a dazed voice. 'We're trapped,' he added, never one to avoid stating the obvious.

'Never mind him,' Thorir said blackly. 'He's beyond our grasp. But we've still got the traitor with us.'

'Somewhere,' I heard Inghen murmur.

'He ran towards the entrance,' Gunnholm called. 'He's down here, somewhere.'

I crouched down, shaking with fear as they advanced. There was no way of wriggling my way out of this. They knew everything! And I had no means of escape. Damn Thrond!

'I always knew he was too good to be true,' Thorir snarled from the blackness in front of me. I could hear the jingle of mail and the clank of arms as the vengeful Vikings paced towards me. How could I escape? I could dodge past them and run down to the chamber, but...

A scream rang out from the distance.

'What was that?' Inghen shouted. The sound of a struggle broke out from behind them.

'It came from the chamber!' Thorir yelled. 'Let's get back!' He added in a sour undertone; 'Plenty of time to deal with the traitor later.'

I heard them hurry away. My heart beating like a kettle-drum, I tiptoed after them.

As I did so, the struggle in the chamber seemed to die down. One last scream gurgled away into a death-rattle, and the Vikings ahead of me burst into the open space. I hurried to the archway, and peered into the blackness.

Silence reigned.

'Who's there?' Inghen called, her voice barely trembling.

'There's something in here with us,' a nervous voice choked from the floor. 'It's got Thorgrim. I don't know what... ahhhh!' A rush of noise, and the man cried out.

'It's the Fomorians!' Inghen shouted. 'It must be! Get out of there.'

'Your sword,' Thorir murmured. 'Draw it! It's our only hope.'

A cold green light burst out from the chamber, and I blinked painfully, dazzled. When my vision returned, it was to see Inghen standing near the centre of the chamber, her sword drawn and blazing with light. Around her stood her Vikings in postures of terror. Before them towered five tall, manlike creatures with fish-scales and soft grey skin, bulging eyes and wide mouths. The central monster stood over the corpses of two Vikings.

But as the Fomorians caught sight of Inghen's sword, they shuffled backwards, their glassy eyes rolling with panic. Their leader - presumably Conaing MacBalor - attempted to rally them, but to no avail. Then he stooped down, and grabbed an ancient sword from the treasure that was piled in the centre of the chamber.

He turned to face Inghen.

'Come on then, fish-breath!' she shrieked. Clumsily, Conaing attacked. Inghen's blade shot up to meet a downwards slash, and she forced the Fomorian's sword back. She lunged at his pale underbelly, but Conaing parried the blow, then made a wild swing at Inghen's head. At that she ducked, and rolled backwards.

Around the walls of the chamber stood the Vikings and Fomorians, silently watching the duel with fascinated eyes. It was a battle that might have broken the stillness of the dawn of time; a prehistoric beast in mortal combat with a human; quick wits and a puny body pitted against the lumbering, brutish strength of a hideous monster. I watched fearfully from the arch, and awaited the outcome.

Inghen was on the defensive now, and the Fomorian chieftain seemed to have become accustomed to the monotonous round of cut, thrust and parry. Blood seeped from a score of cuts on the Red Daughter, and her mail was hacked and battered, but her sword was a whirl of steel as she countered the monster's attack. Still, it was clear that she was tiring. Then, with an echoing, alien scream, Conaing leapt up high and lunged...

And Inghen twisted away, grinning painfully, and caught the Fomorian in the guts with a back-thrust. Conaing screamed again, but this time with pain as the magical blade ripped open his body and his liver and lights tumbled out onto the earthen floor. He sank to the ground, wheezing in his death agony.

But the battle was not over. As his leader collapsed to the floor, one of the hitherto motionless Fomorians grabbed another sword from the treasure pile, and came at Inghen. She was trying to get her breath back, and Bjorn clearly saw that she was unable to defend herself. He rushed forward with his axe, and brought it swinging down.

It bounced off the creature's scales and sent Bjorn spinning.

The Fomorian was about to despatch the valiant Norseman, when Inghen, recovered, came at him, whirling the Sword of Mannanan around her head. The Fomorian dodged her attack and hacked at her head. She evaded this and lunged for his chest. He leapt back with a squawk, but Inghen pressed the attack. As she brought her glowing sword swinging down, the Fomorian roared with pain. The blade had sheared through his wrist, and a webbed paw fell to the ground, spurting ichor. The Fomorian scrambled backward, and shouted something over his scaly shoulder to the other monsters.

At that, they came to life, scooping up weapons and rushing towards the Viking leader. Inghen found herself attacked by three scaly monsters.

'Help me!' she shouted to her crew. Bjorn ran forward again, followed by Gunnholm, Brodir and the rest, Thorir tagging along at the back. They belaboured the Fomorians with sword-cuts and axe-blows, but to no avail. The only blade that could damage them was Inghen's.