Freya the Huntress (Europa #2: A Dark Fantasy) by Joseph Robert Lewis

trapped in the dark ravine. But it was he who trapped us. The demon climbed the walls, circled around us, and fell on us from the rear.”
    The youth hesitated and licked his lips. “He tore two of my men in half before we realized what was happening, and soon the ground was swamped with blood and flesh and piss. The screams echoed so loudly in that place that my ears rang with meaningless noise. We could barely stand on the slick rock, and every time the demon killed a man he would fling the body at us, knocking down two or three men at a time. But we stood our ground and cut the beast, made him bleed, made him howl, and after a few minutes, we made him run as well. We stood our ground and we taught that animal to fear us. We earned more than mere songs that day. It was an hour for greatness, for glory.”
    Freya watched the youth’s face as he spoke, his eyes wide and fixed on her though he seemed to be staring straight through her. His lips barely moved, and a strange smile lurked in the corners of his lips, twitching as though eager to blaze across his face with wild and furious joy at the memory of the battle.
    “Thirteen died,” Leif said. “All in a moment, a few terrible breaths, a few last heartbeats. Fenrir shreds and grinds men as a miller grinds grain, and he paints the earth in blood wherever he goes. He is a flesh eater and a blood drinker. And even the survivors are victims. Two of my men were bitten, and began to change on the march home. I killed them myself.”
    “The ring, Leif,” the queen said loudly.
    “Yes, the ring.” Leif blinked and the dark revelry faded from his eyes. “I saw it on his finger, as did my men. Fenrir wears scraps of clothing around his shoulders and waist, like most reavers, but his arms were bare and we could easily see the golden ring on his claw. It shone in the light against his dark fur. He must have taken it from the king, along with the silver torques he wears on his arms. The reavers seem to like silver. But the gold was unmistakable.”
    Freya found it all too easy to imagine the demon, a reaver larger than all the ones she had seen before, tearing grown men to pieces, the air sick with blood and piss and fear. She steadied her hands by gripping her knives. “Lady Skadi, is there really nothing you can do for my sister?”
    The woman on the throne shook her head. “I can ply her with herbs to keep her calm, to make her sleep, to dull her madness. But nothing more. I have tried everything I know to cure the plague and I have failed at every turn.”
    “But with the king’s ring, the rinegold of Rekavik?” Freya stepped forward again. “Do you believe there is some knowledge in that ring that can help my sister?”
    “It’s possible, but I can make no promises. The ring of Rekavik holds the souls of countless wise women, and if the reavers once roamed these lands in ancient times, then one of those dead valas may know how to cure them.”
    Freya nodded. “All right then. I’ll go. I’ll get the ring for you. I’ll do it.”
    Erik gently took her arm and began to sign, but she turned away to face the queen, already knowing that her husband wouldn’t want her to go, and would at the least insist on her staying behind while he went on alone.
    “It’s very hard to find Fenrir,” the queen said. “And almost impossible to face him and live. Leif’s hunters were all deadly swordsmen and they fell like children, helpless, before the demon. I will not send any more of my warriors to that end.”
    “I’m not asking you to send anyone else. But I’m no warrior, and I’m not going to fight this demon in some sort of glorious battle,” Freya said. “I’m just going to hunt it down like any other animal. Stalk it, snare it, and spear it.”
    “That’s not much of a plan,” said Halfdan.
    “I know.” Freya nodded. “But it usually works just fine.”

Chapter 9. Drill
    When their audience was over, the queen’s apprentice Thora led the three visitors