(From The VIKINGS! Trilogy, which ended eight years before ...)

            Pretending to be an ambassador from the king of Norway, Eric Bjornson, an aging Norse warrior, arrived at Castle Bristlen intending to rob it, and bought his entrance with a golden heirloom stolen from his vengeful best friend, King Svenson Two-Sword. Knowing that he was being pursued, Eric deceived the baron of Castle Bristlen, and then robbed his treasury and fled out the castle's postern gate ... just as King Svenson Two-Sword arrived at the main gate ... leading seven thousand Viking warriors ... to reclaim his stolen heirloom.
            Behind Eric, and the four Saxons that fled with him when the Norse army arrived, Castle Bristlen was sieged and burned. As intended, the long siege delayed King Svenson, which allowed Eric to flee on horseback into a nearby forest, carrying with him the plundered wealth of the castle's treasury.
            Chased across England by King Svenson Two-Sword, Eric and his companions, Karl, Rafe, Roselyn, and Eloise, plowed a Blood Trail, leading Svenson's army on a merry chase deep into Northumbria. In their wake, the savage Norse warriors left a line of ruined and plundered towns, and in retaliation, the Saxons raised an army to destroy the Norse invaders ... and the companions found themselves hunted by two armies.
            After the war, while mourning their losses, the companions were forced to flee ... as half of them bore death sentences decreed by the Eorl of Northumbria. Forced to backtrack their own regretful path of destruction, where they witnessed the suffering that they'd caused, the companions were waylaid by a terrible curse, which repeatedly delayed their escape.
            Finally they embarked on a quest that led them through a 'crack in the world', bridging Midgard with the legendary realms of Yggdrasil, the home of the Norse Gods. Joined by Athelwynne the Seer, a small, arrogant, and dangerously-powerful Druid priest, and Seren, an elderly prostitute with uncanny street-smarts, the companions faced the myriad mythological horrors of Yggdrasil. Accompanying Eric through each dangerous realm, young Karl found himself torn between the tall, beautiful Countess Roselyn and the fiery, passionate Baroness Eloise, both of whom fell in love with Karl's handsome, muscular looks and honest, courageous nature.
            Not all of them made it home. Eric had never hoped to return to England, Athelwynne became the chief servant of the Lady of the Druids, and Roselyn had to choose between death and remaining in Valhalla. With no other choice, Roselyn surrendered Karl to Eloise, allowing her lover to marry her best friend, but with the commitment that, upon his death, Karl would return to her.
            Back in England, by marrying Baroness Eloise, Karl became a wealthy baron. Rafe and he were knighted, and soon afterwards Lord Sir Rafe and Seren also wed. Eloise bore Karl three beautiful children, and their lives together were mostly happy.
             Yet not all celebrated as eight years slowly passed. Sleeping alone in Valhalla every night, Roselyn grew tired of waiting for Karl to die ...and her patience reached its end.
            All that she needed was one excuse to seek him ...

            "Valkyrie never die!" Reginleif screamed, and she rose to charge up onto the blood-drenched knoll, her sword tight in her fist.
            "Get down!" Geirahöd shouted, and her strong right hand grabbed Reginleif's ankle and yanked her back; both clanged and crashed onto the muddy, gore-soaked dirt, and they slid down the short slope into the tiny ravine on their newly repaired armor, the plates of which were already scratched and dented, their mail rings clogged with muck.
            Reginleif glared at Geirahöd as death screams and the stench of war filled the air. The fighting was especially fierce today; the Black Bear clan had them surrounded.
            "There are seven of us ... and six hundred of them!" Reginleif snarled.
            Grim faces stared back at her; Geirahöd, Hrist, Mist, Skeggjöld, Skögul, and Hildr's expressions matched Reginleif's undaunted determination. Reginleif frowned: she hated dying.
            "If Róta were here, then we'd be charging already," Reginleif complained.
            "We charge when I say!" Skeggjöld shouted angrily. "They know we're here; Mist, blind them."
            Slender, lithe Mist slipped up the steep slope like a vapor. Despite the bright blue sky above them, Mist always walked surrounded by a thin aura of fog that suddenly, as Mist raised one hand, expanded, rose over the edge of the ravine, and poured toward their foes. Furious cries burst amid deafening shouts; their enemy had lost to this tactic before.
            "On three," Skeggjöld said. "One, two, ..."
            "Footsteps!" Hildr shouted.
            A dozen warriors of the Black Bear clan burst over the edge of the hill, jumping into the ravine, wielding wide-bladed pikes, bows, and arrows. The Valkyrie rose instinctually, shields high and swords slashing. Arrows pincushioned the dirt behind them, barely avoided by dexterous feminine dodges. Slashes, stabs, and decapitations followed; bear-cloaked bodies fell pierced, muscular limbs sliced, and necks severed. Bows and pikes rained, dropped from hands unclenching, as the bloodbath sprayed everyone.
            Their attack lasted only seconds. In the end, six gore-dripping Valkyrie stood, looking down upon their fallen foes.
            "Norn's doom!" Hrist cursed; Mist was laying on the ground, clutching the shaft of a black-fletched arrow sticking out of her throat, writhing in the death-agony.
            "Is she ...?" Skeggjöld asked.
            "Lost," Skögul declared with a glance. "Reginleif, spare her."
            "I don't need the practice ...!" Reginleif argued.
            "You're still the new girl," Skögul grinned nastily, "... Roselyn."
            Reginleif glared at Skögul; she didn't like being called by her human name; she wasn't Roselyn anymore. With a snarl, Reginleif straddled Mist, inverted her sword, and dropped to her knees. Mist's eyes widened with the shock of pain, and then her eyes glazed over. Thick mists covered her entirely, shone pure white, and then faded away, leaving only her corpse. Reginleif pulled out her bloody sword; later that night, in Elvidner, the grand feast hall of the einherjar, Mist would have to pour her an ale.
            Skögul chuckled.
            "Valkyrie never die!" Skeggjöld snarled. "Valkyrie avenge!"
            As one, they charged up the hill. Reginleif wished that Randgríðr was there; she had the biggest shield. The Black Bear clan weren't slouches, but Reginleif was a Valkyrie. Although the youngest of her sisters, she rose fearlessly; the ground trembled beneath Hrist, and Skeggjöld's axe could chop through any shield or helm. Skögul and Hildr drove into their foes with unequalled fury, and Geirahöd's spears were thrown with such force that they pierced whole shieldwalls. Reginleif charged in behind them and fell upon her foes with matchless ferocity; arrows rained upon her shield and ricocheted off her silver and gold-decorated armor and helm, but she kept attacking.
            The Black Bear clan charged forward, eager for the glory of slaying the Valkyries, even if it cost them every man that they had. Cries echoed across the battlefield.
            Suddenly an explosion of rolling thunder deafened them all, shaking the ground like Thor's dwarven hammer crashing upon the land, a deep 'Boom!' resounding across Valhalla. Lightning flashed ... and incinerated every man that it touched. The blue sky above them darkened to blood red, and the white clouds blackened like Niflhiem.
            "Valkyrie!" cried Odin's grim, resonating voice, louder than all of the sounds of battle. "Come, my shield-maids! Odin requires you!"
            All fighting instantly stopped. Angry complaints filled the air, but six warriors, the only women among millions of fierce combatants, proudly walked through the heart of their enemies, ignoring furious glares. The King of the Gods, the Master of Battles, wouldn't have called upon his chosen amid the frenzy of a sunny day's war without urgent need. The einherjar moved aside to let the women pass; they were the hand-picked warriors of Odin, and none defied his will.
            Approaching as if summoned, great winged horses flew over the battlefield to greet them, and the Valkyrie mounted with practiced ease. Smiling, Reginleif mounted her stallion along with her shield-sisters; she wouldn't die today!
            Hooves raced and mighty wings beat the air; the Valkyrie rose and soared over the wide fields of Valhalla, watched by tens of thousands of sweaty einherjar. Soon, the golden Gates of Valhalla quietly slipped beneath them as they winged toward Asgard, the fabled City of the Gods.
            Asgard, the stronghold of the Aesir, shone in the sunlight like a tall mosaic of gleaming gems. Vast halls and palaces glowed with the vibrancy of the Norse gods, and gems twinkled in the sunlight as brightly as stars at night. Green courtyards and gardens of colorful flowers peeked between polished walls of dark granite and gleaming marble. From the sky, Asgard was a jewel of beauty and elegance.
            Six magnificent winged horses flew over the formidable, giant-built wall and landed on the wide red flagstones before the largest building. The Valkyrie dismounted; ten minutes after the blood sky and black clouds had reverted to blue and white, six beautifully armored, blood splattered women warriors marched through the renowned doors of Vàlaskjàlf into the gold-roofed Hall of Odin.
            Upon his mighty throne, the Alfather sat waiting. His heavy beard covered his mail-armored chest, and on each of his thick, aged shoulders sat a sly, watchful raven. A worn leather eyepatch hung strapped across his rugged face. His shield-maids approached without ceremony, their footsteps echoing through the vast hall. The other gods of Asgard watched the Valkyrie cross the throne room in silence; only Thor, Loki, and Baulder dared to meet their eyes. Resentment filled the chamber; the Norse gods were doomed to die, and their only hope of winning Ragnarrock would come from the swords of the einherjar; those countless puny humans chosen by the Valkyrie.
            As the women approached, their weapons rose in salute, but Odin stopped them with a gesture.
            "Where are your sisters?" Odin demanded.
            "Mist lies dead in Valhalla, my lord," Hildr said. "Prudr, Göll, Herfjötur, Hlökk, Randgríðr, and Róta are fetching new einherjars."
            Odin nodded slowly, then frowned.
            "Reginleif, come forward," Odin said.
            Reginleif startled; she hadn't spoken to Odin for eight years, not since the day that he'd brought her back to life. Yet she was a Valkyrie; she stepped forward and bowed.
            "Reginleif, the Seer is missing," Odin said. "He left Niflhiem eight days ago to meet with me, and he never arrived. Know you where he is?"
            "The Seer ...?" Reginleif asked. "No, my lord; I haven't seen him for months."
            "He must be found," Odin said with unquestioned finality.
            "Your will commands," Reginleif said, and she bowed again.
            With curt salutes, the Valkyrie walked back toward the massive doors trimmed with gold. The Norse gods watched them depart with grim respect; the fate of their universe traveled with these few women. Yet Reginleif walked with clenched teeth and every muscle tensed.
            What could have happened to Athelwynne ...?

            "Seer?" Skögul scowled. "Isn't he that short, skinny ...?"
            "You know who he is!" Reginleif snapped.
            "No time for jokes," Skeggjöld said. "Odin has commanded; we must obey."
            "Few could delay a sorcerer as powerful as the Seer," Hildr said.
            "We can't search everywhere," Geirahöd said. "Someone should head for Niflhiem and learn what happened."
            "I'll go," Reginleif said. "Hel will tell me anything, and I won't rest until I know that he's safe."
            "I'll join you," Skeggjöld said. "Geirahöd, come with us. The rest of you; begin the search."
            "Where?" Skögul asked.
            "Odin wants him found," Skeggjöld shrugged. "Find him."
            "The Seer's greatest enemy is Loki," Hrist said. "I'll take Mist and talk to him."
            "Mist is dead," Hildr said, "and Loki will always lie."
            "We'll ambush him tonight, after Mist arises, when Loki leaves Vàlaskjàlf," Hrist said. "Mist helped the Seer defeat Loki; he's sure to lie to her, and it's easier to deduce the truth when you know that a liar is lying."
            "I'll join you," Hildr said. "Loki mocked the Valkyrie, and I never forget an insult."
            "Approach Loki cautiously," Skeggjöld said. "The Norns were surely commanding our actions that day; we mustn't become their pawns again."
            "Loki shall answer us ... or he'll smart for his silence," Skögul said.
            "We're decided," Skeggjöld said. "Farewell, sisters ... until Odin's will is realized."
            In thoughtful silence, Reginleif watched her sisters slip back into Vàlaskjàlf. She liked Skögul the most, although she'd never admit it. Skögul was the shortest of her shield-sisters, and she kept her brown hair equally short, but she was also the most fun, and the most reckless Valkyrie, always boasting, regardless of truth, with a mouth so eager to spew insults that she practically spat venom. Hrist was Skögul's best friend, the giant of the Valkyrie, a head taller than Reginleif, and Hrist's bulk matched her height, as if her body struggled to find new places to add muscle. Only a few men excelled Hrist in size, or could vie with her in wrestling, and when she stomped, the ground trembled. Hildr, whose hair vied with roses for being the reddest, was their surest killer; Hildr could walk across grass without leaving a bent blade, and dispatched her foes so quietly that they often died before they realized that they'd been slain.
            "We must go," Skeggjöld said.
            "Supplies first," Geirahöd said.
            Turning their backs upon their sisters, Skeggjöld, Reginleif, and Geirahöd flew back to Valhalla, winging their mounts to the rear doors of Elvidner, the great hall of feasting, where kitchen helpers loaded their mounts with packs kept ready for long journeys; smoked meats, hard breads, and skins of mead and ale, along with bedding rolls, torches, ropes, and large bags of oats for their horses. Then they flew off, for hours flying across the wide skies over green fields, forests, rolling hills, and deep valleys. Heading for a distant, far corner of Asgard, their mounts winged them to an unkempt road that ran through the trackless wastes behind Alfhiem, out to the very border of Yggdrasil. There, ages before, on a great limb, Odin had once hung himself in a deadly noose. He died, his own spear stabbed through him, but so strong was the King of the Gods that Odin fought his way back from death, stealing with him the fabled Nine Secrets of the Dead; Odin prized wisdom above all things, and would risk everything to know all. Reginleif eyed the famous limb, trying to hide her concern, but like Odin, she'd give all she possessed to know what had happened to the Seer.
            With wide, circling glides, they descended their horses to land before the ominous mouth of a dark cave, into which ran their worn, rutted path. Reginleif and Geirahöd paused and stared at the bleak aperture, rank and overgrown with twisted, hanging vines. Skeggjöld never hesitated; Skeggjöld was fearless, a natural leader, and a natural beauty, with the thickest blonde hair that Reginleif had ever seen, a slender, muscled frame, and smooth, taut, unscarred skin. She cantered right through the opening, into deep shadow, without slowing down or a backward glance.
            Reginleif and Geirahöd glanced at each other; they couldn't allow Skeggjöld to appear braver than they, although they drew out torches and pulled off their covers before they followed Skeggjöld. Like those of Nidavellir, the halls of the dwarves, these torches instantly burst aflame, illuminating the entrance to the long tunnel. Reginleif knew this legendary, cursed aperture; they rode upon the main passage to the Norse underworld, and at its end lay Niflhiem.
            Geirahöd wasn't as muscular as Hrist, but she was almost as tall, and she wore a long harness down her back that held ten spears, which would refill itself whenever it emptied. Geirahöd was a redhead with golden highlights, such that she sparkled in the sunlight. She was also trim and muscled, but not as slender as Skeggjöld; Geirahöd was the best spear-thrower in Yggdrasil, and not even Odin vied against her skill. Few shields could deflect her spears, and her muscular right arm threw so hard that many einherjars were usually impaled on each cast; when a path needed to be plowed, Geirahöd was always the first to be called upon. Yet Geirahöd was also quiet, wise, and usually soft spoken; she didn't brag unless encouraged by Skögul.
            Reginleif had ridden this dark tunnel once each year; during the week before the anniversary of her rebirth, when Odin had made her a Valkyrie. Reginleif rode to visit Hel, her closest friend in Yggdrasil. Hel was the Goddess of Death, eons old. From the waist up, Hel was divinely beautiful, such that all mortal women envied her. But Hel was Loki's daughter: from the waist down, Hel was a rotting corpse. In her realm, the subterranean Land of the Dead, Hel leeched, from her mindless subjects, the fresh blood that she had to bathe in to keep her dead legs supple. Everyone in Yggdrasil hated Hel, and many thought her friendship with a Valkyrie was obscene, but Hel and Reginleif were more than friends; the Nine Secrets of the Dead were the only mysteries that Hel refused to surrender, and Reginleif supported Hel's resolution to keep those hidden. In every other aspect, they were confidants, the only one whom either would entrust with their deepest, darkest thoughts.
            The road to Hel's domain was dark, and deadly to any who traveled it lightly. Terrors older than time filled the Norse underworld, and when Reginleif traveled alone, she practiced every skill of caution and concealment taught to her by Hildr. Some new threat always haunted the lightless tunnels beneath Asgard, and surprise was the surest path to death on any battlefield. But this time, Reginleif wasn't alone; Skeggjöld and Geirahöd rode with her, and in their company, Reginleif rode confidently.
            The tunnel was rocky, rough, and in some places opened into large caverns, never the two alike. They often halted, guessing which route would be wisest. The gloom seemed ever threatening, despite their bright torches, and shadows constantly wavered, mimicking movement upon the uneven stone walls. In many places, footprints in the dirt, or arrows chiseled into stone walls, marked their path, but many signs had been scratched out, or marked as misleading. In some of the bigger caverns, large growths blocked their way, strange trees and thorny bushes planted to create obstacles; one Valkyrie always watched behind them while the others cleared their path. In dangerous places, their passage grew narrow, such that the Valkyrie had to dismount and lead their magical steeds afoot, often squeezing them through doorways not designed for winged horses. There they watched most ... and kept their weapons ready. Countless evils dwelt down here, ever hungry, hoping to lure the unwary into deadly traps.
            Two days and nights they traveled by the light of their torches, and they glimpsed few other sets of eyes. A contingent of dark elves welcomed them at the entrance to their realm, but Reginleif was the only Valkyrie allowed to enter Svartalfhiem; her friendship with Ruthedhel made her a guest. No other Valkyrie would be admitted through their forbidding gates, and dark elves were fighters as fierce as the einherjar.
            A few cowardly dwarves fled from them on sight; Reginleif wouldn't enter Nidavellir, certain that she'd murder Radsvid, if she ever crossed paths with the greedy, lecherous dwarf who'd fouled Seren and betrayed them. The rest of the eyes that spied upon the three sisters stared silently from shadowy alcoves, and those eyes looked increasingly fearful; none dared attack three watchful Valkyrie. The sisters rode unaccosted, and the few foolish animals brave enough to hunt them were butchered and roasted.
            All the while, Reginleif thought about Athelwynne. In Castle Bristlen, they'd briefly become lovers, but that was long ago; Reginleif tried to think of her days as Countess Roselyn as a previous life, totally separate from the life of the Valkyrie Reginleif, yet she knew better. Reginleif still held a deep fondness for the Seer, and he was more than mildly attractive; Göll had once claimed him as her lover, but Reginleif doubted her wild tale; the Seer had a different immortal paramour.
            For the Seer to go missing was absurd. The Seer worshipped the Lady of the Druids, a goddess who existed in another universe, but who had many dealings with the gods of Asgard. The Seer was Her ambassador, sometimes in Yggdrasil, but mostly in Her universe, which the Seer described as a vast land of the most beautiful gardens anywhere, and dark, forbidding forests which only fools entered. By will of Odin and the Lady, the Seer could traverse between their universes at will, and he bore incredible power, such that the Seer was almost a god himself. Few deities could delay him, yet the Seer and Reginleif shared a powerful enemy: Loki. Reginleif felt certain that, if anything had harmed the Seer, Loki was to blame.
            In a remote corner of a large wooded cavern, the Valkyries found a small cave, slew the trolls inhabiting it, and settled down for their last night before arriving at Niflhiem. They had only a little mead left; they'd conserved their mead by drinking all of their ale first.
            Skeggjöld rekindled the troll's dying fire while Reginleif scavenged for more wood, and Geirahöd cared for their horses, giving them the last of their water and plenty of oats. They threw dice for guard duty; Reginleif lost: she'd take the midwatch, between the watches of the others. Skeggjöld and Reginleif untied and spread their thick bed rolls while Geirahöd stared at the flames and kept one hand upon a spear.
            When Geirahöd awoke Reginleif, the two exchanged places. The hours wore on, and Reginleif struggled to stay awake, often coaxing their sleepy horses to flap their powerful wings to expel the excess smoke in their cave. Eager to awaken Skeggjöld and return to sleep, she kept poking their small fire just for something to do. Twice she thought that she'd heard something, but it was only an echo of a distant rock falling, or a creak of the thin woods outside their cave, but Reginleif grew suspicious. Leaves outside their cave occasionally seemed to move, as if blown by a gentle wind, but there was no wind in these deep caverns. Finally Reginleif uncapped a torch and moved closer to their cave's mouth, only to be surprised by what she saw.
            "Danger!" Reginleif hissed softly.
            Instantly Skeggjöld and Geirahöd awoke. Weapons raised, both glanced in all directions, and then focused on Reginleif.
            "What ...?" Skeggjöld whispered.
            "The leaves outside ... are coming in," Reginleif whispered back.
            "Leaves ...?" Skeggjöld scowled. "You woke us for ..."
            "There were no leaves against the mouth of the cave," Reginleif whispered. "Now the entrance is choked with them."
            "Perhaps a tree fell," Geirahöd whispered.
            "During your watch?" Reginleif asked. "I would've heard a tree fall."
            Geirahöd inched closer, sliding up behind Reginleif.
            "Either the forest has grown much larger in a few hours ... or it has shifted to block our exit," Geirahöd whispered.
            "Either way, we're trapped," Reginleif said.
            "Trapped by leaves?" Skeggjöld scowled.
            "We don't know what we're up against," Geirahöd said.
            Geirahöd placed a hand on Reginleif and raised one of her spears. Reginleif froze to help steady her aim, and braced; Geirahöd cast hard enough to impale a stone wall. Yet her spear crashed through the growth, tore through the foremost leaves with ease, and vanished into them. No impact sounded, no thud into a tree truck or scream of a hidden enemy.
            "Just bushes!" Skeggjöld laughed.
            "That cavern isn't infinite," Reginleif said. "Geirahöd's spear didn't thunk into a tree or the far wall; what stopped it?"
            Nervous glances exchanged.
            "I won't rest until we're far from ... whatever this is," Geirahöd said.
            "I'll test it," Skeggjöld said.
            Reginleif hated magic; better an invasion of giants than a mysterious enemy wielding powers unknown. Skeggjöld drew her sword and inched forward, ready for anything. Reginleif and Geirahöd stayed only a few feet behind her, ready to help; better to die than to sacrifice a shield-sister ... unless by her death ultimate victory could be achieved.
            As Róta had taught her, Reginleif surveyed the setting; the mouth of their cave was roughly six feet tall and four feet wide, barely big enough for their horses to enter. The leaves pressing into its entrance were dark green, heart shaped, and identical to any bush that they might walk past without noticing. According to Róta, the key to wrecking the plan of any enemy was understanding their plan, but how could a bush have a plan?
            Skeggjöld held out her gleaming sword, slid it closer, and touched a leaf. Instantly little vines sprouted and wrapped around the tip of her blade, pulling hard at it. Yet Skeggjöld was a Valkyrie; she ripped back her keen blade, slicing off several wriggling tendrils, which clung to her blade as she retreated. The severed tendrils spouted new, tiny shoots, miniature tendrils, like wiggly green hairs, each trying to reach around her sword and increase their hold upon it. Skeggjöld shook her blade to try and flick them off, and finally banged its flat against the stone floor, forcibly dislodging the wriggling growths; Geirahöd stamped on them as they tried to take root. Each tendril took several stomps before it finally stopped moving.
            "A formidable trap," Skeggjöld said.
             "Is it just a cannibal plant ... or did someone enchant it to trap us?" Reginleif asked.
            "We've no way to tell," Geirahöd said. "Regardless, we can't let it keep growing; it'll consume us once our supplies run out."
            "Resources ...?" Skeggjöld asked.
            "Our weapons, horses, saddles, bridles, the torches, a little mead, bread ...," Geirahöd said.
            "Fire," Reginleif continued. "A limited supply of wood, a few rocks, some rope, bedding, our armor, our hair ..."
            "Let's try fire," Skeggjöld said.
            Reginleif laid her sturdy shield beside the fire, and with her sword, she scraped some flaming wood and coals onto its edge. Carrying it carefully, she approached the cave's mouth and cast the flames upon the greenery; the leaves were unaffected, but the tiny tendrils upon them recoiled violently.
            "It doesn't like fire," Geirahöd said.
            "If we had a bigger fire, maybe we could burn our way out," Skeggjöld said.
            "The smoke in here is pretty thick already," Reginleif said. "Fire consumes air, which we need to breathe."
            "How strong are those tendrils?" Geirahöd asked.
            "Too strong to break through," Skeggjöld said. "Prudr might make it, but it almost kept my sword."
            "There's a key to every puzzle," Reginleif said. "Our wits are our best weapon."
            "Let's put the rest of the fire against it," Geirahöd suggested.
            Slowly they slid their fire, careful to keep from extinguishing it, and transferred it to the mouth of their cave. They added half of their reserve of firewood; the smoke grew thicker, but the flames only shriveled a few leaves, making their tendrils writhe. Overtop the flames, new leaves grew.
            "They're growing closer," Reginleif said.
            "Suggestions ...?" Skeggjöld asked.
            "Build the fire as much as we dare, and then try to fight our way out," Geirahöd said.
            "We can't abandon our horses," Skeggjöld said. "They can barely squeeze out, and if those tendrils wrap into their feathers ..."
            "Magic," Reginleif said.
            "What ...?" Skeggjöld asked.
            "The only way to fight magic is with more magic," Reginleif said.
            "We have no magic," Skeggjöld said.
            "Yes, we do," Reginleif said. "We have Geirahöd's spear case."
            "What're you suggesting?" Geirahöd asked.
            "We have an endless supply of spears," Reginleif said. "The spearheads are metal ... and the hafts are wood."
            "We can burn the hafts," Geirahöd said.
            "We can do better than that," Reginleif said.
            An hour later, they lifted a large section of wall, four feet wide, formed entirely of seven foot spears, crossbraced by spearhafts, and tied with all of the rope that they had. Every spearhead was carefully aligned to form one great serrated blade. Then they threw all of their spare wood onto the fire, and amid thick smoke, they used their swords and shields to hurriedly pile many red hot coals onto the spears' wooden hafts. While their horses stood saddled and ready, they braced, with Skeggjöld and Reginleif on the sides, and Geirahöd on the end; this would be her mightiest cast.
            As one, they ran at the greenery. With Skeggjöld and Reginleif helping, Geirahöd cast her flaming wall of spears forward, striking low and crashing through the foliage. Green leaves were ripped apart, stalks severed, and tendrils writhed away from the scattered coals that fell upon them in its wake; a four foot wide path appeared as if a large scythe had mown their exit, and paved it with red glowing coals. Skeggjöld kicked the remains of their fire through the cave door, scattering more burning wood over their escape.
            The Valkyrie grabbed their reins and, kicking the flaming sticks before them, they hurried through the momentary gap, leading their faithful mounts, before the tiny vines could regrow. The thickest growths had congregated before the mouth of their cave, and soon as they pushed past them, Skeggjöld and Reginleif slashed with their swords at all remaining creepers, and as fast as they could, they mounted, and their horses leaped into the air, flying over the remaining carnivorous plants, winging across the wide cavern. Geirahöd came last, jabbing with another spear at several clinging tendrils clutching at her boots, wrapped around her spurs. They glided to land near the mouth of a tunnel leading out of the tall cavern, but they didn't proceed until every tendril was scraped off and stomped to death.
            "Well, that was unpleasant," Geirahöd said.
            "We'll be safe inside Niflhiem soon," Reginleif said. "Yet this is an ill omen; whatever was powerful enough to overcome the Seer may have other threats to hurl at us."
            "I won't feel safe anywhere near Niflhiem," Skeggjöld said. "I go because Odin commands us, but Hel is a sworn enemy of the Valkyrie; her countless minions shall battle against us in Ragnarrock."
            "Led by Loki, not by Hel," Reginleif reminded her. "Hel's my friend."
            "I'll speak no evil of your friend," Geirahöd said to Reginleif. "But Hel's no friend of mine. They say that she's beloved by the Seer, but also that he betrayed her. She's Loki's daughter, and the Seer was last reported in her realm; until she's proven innocent, Hel's my chief suspect."
            Reginleif glared at her shield-sisters, but they stared back undaunted. Together they mounted, raised their torches, and rode off into darkness.