Harald Vikings: Valhalla Novels & Stories

Oh, wait, I know who—this red-haired bitch over here would. I could taste iron at every corner of my mouth, my back aching from the slightest movement but I swallowed hard on the pain. “You…” she said, pointing at me while trying to catch her breath. " You're Mia, right? The daughter of Ray Valisteen, AKA the Valisteen Princess?” “Who's asking?" I said, trying to keep my voice struggling to sound calm and mocking but cracked a little while biting back the pain.

Tengu ran rooftop dojos and taught air the art of being stepped on. Valkyries kept to high places—the bones of old volcanoes and the ends of ridgelines where clouds hooked themselves to the earth. Their halls were no-nonsense spaces full of banners that told you who’d died and why and whether they’d done it well. They had little patience for mirrors, good ale, and a lot of opinions about cowards. They also had, if you stayed long enough to see it, an excellent sense of humor that was mostly practical jokes played on giants, and once—only once—on a dragon who took it well enough to leave the mountain unmolested for a year.

I asked with a smile. “You are evil.” Thana pouted. “No, I am prepared, and that is what keeps us alive on the battlefield.” “Valkyries were created to help Odin with his army. What good would it do if we were killed in the process?” I scolded them. After Odin sacrificed his eye to see the future, he saw the final battle, Ragnarök, and decided he needed help to build his army. There had been a huge war between the Germanic tribes and many shield maidens had died in battle. He decided female warriors with their beautiful faces were the best ones to guide his new warriors to Valhalla because they would be better able to convince the fallen soldiers to come with them.

Which happened to be jeans and Ghost’s t-shirt. “How is it fair, my Duchess, that you look this good when you’ve just rolled out of bed?” I could see the tent in his pants even through the duvet still around his waist. “Could say the same thing to you,” I smirked. “Right! Get up, shit to do. Runs to plan. If the Henchmen are going to back me up, I’ll need you and Rogue in Ragnarök in a couple hours.” “Oooh, I’m honoured that I get to be in a Valkyrie meet,” he winked.

“One for the Goddess’s Realm. One for the distraction. One for Ios—to finish the Riding Hoods.” “But where do we send the distraction?” Meredith asks. “Valhalla,” Michael says. “It was part of Hermes’ message to JoJo. The entry to the Realm is through Valhalla. He left a doorway partially open.” “Will the Valkyries help us?” the Selkie King asks. “They’ve always been… flighty.” He winces. “No pun intended.” I can’t help but laugh. “Unlikely,” says the Pixie Queen. “They only appear for a warrior’s death. I’m sure they’re searching for Odin on their own.”

Every legend has its hidden face and every myth is polished by the language of the poets who tell it. Ragnar Lodbrok's epic is therefore no exception. Contrary to what is known from the story of the illustrious and legendary king and warrior; Ragnar Lodbrok did not come into the world with the common physical characteristics of the Vikings whom we know as strong, tall and combative. He was born a hunchback: the bitter fruit of a second trick and a challenge that Loki gave to Hoder, the "blind god" of Asgard.

Leif looked over her head, catching my attention briefly before turning to the corner, staring at the air. "Seven days of standing on a barrel, waiting to die," Leif announced, still staring into the shadows. "Your mate, she's an entirely different breed of woman. You got yourself a fucking Valkyrie, lucky prick. Brenna, a pleasure see- ing you again. I'm sure you'll be waiting with a blade at the ready when I enter Valhalla. I look forward to it, shield-maiden. You raised a rare one, with silent courage and one hell of a pain tolerance." "Who the fuck are you talking to, asshole? Brenna Haralson has been dead and gone for fifteen years," I grounded out, watching as Leif pointed his thumb to

Brand had forgotten what it felt like – the all-consuming need for the blood of his enemies to be spilled on the ground at his feet. Brand shook his head another scream was silenced as he ripped out another throat. The blood dripped from his long snout as he took a breath and looked around him. Leather-clad warriors lay around him, some with eyes open staring at the sky as if looking for the Valkyries coming to take them to Valhalla. Brand snorted. Good luck. He couldn't believe the gods would want any of these followers of a deranged leader in their feasting halls.

“There’s more to the story though, much more. I would encourage you to visit my bookstore soon so we can discuss in detail.” “You see,” Mr. Pendergast added, “I need your assistance, Mr. Haraldsson. My daughter’s life may depend on it.” Bjorn, befuddled, swung his eyes from one man to the other. Mr. Rosewood then added, “Mr. Haraldsson, you come from a long line of Vikings, famous Nordic warriors of old. They lived at a time when people believed in magic, powerful gods, and dangerous monsters. Nearly every Viking was a fierce warrior. The question before us is, are you a warrior as well?”

Xander took a seat at the table, nodded to let Kord know he was listening. Taryk and I took our seats as well. "Recording," Atlas said. Lukas' eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched my brother. A goofy looking smile flirted with his mouth. "Valkyrie began as death maidens in service to an ancient Earth religion system's god. They were the ones to travel a battlefield and select which ones got to go to Valhalla. Essentially a party palace where they get to fight, drink, and gorge themselves until the god's doomsday appears. Then they're expected to help fight with the god to destroy the bad guys."