Harald Vikings: Valhalla Novels & Stories

I squeeze his back and receive a small smile from him. “The decision is not mine to make. The weavers choose. Do you come to me? Or do the Valkyries collect you?” Björn remains silent. Although I know that just like any other warrior, he would prefer to go to Valhalla and live with the other Einherjar. They both would prefer to spend their afterlife with the immortal warriors who fall in combat. There is no greater honor than to go fight with the Einherjar for Óðinn. To wound and kill while being wounded and killed, only to heal and feast every night on the boar Sæhrímnir and drink the mead that the goat Heiðrún provides.

Which means this was the man who’d killed Tristan ’s mother. “I’m surprised to see you here.” Tristan ’s casual tone belied the strain flowing from him. “It’s a long journey from the Northern region to Vanda. And a hazardous one. “I felt the urge to prove my devotion to the gods,” Harold said. “I don’t want Thor to look upon me with disfavor when I take to the seas this summer.” The tall woman accompanying him gave a gentle snort of amusement, and the mead in my stomach soured.

Whoever it was, he was speaking their language. "Døkkálfar! Hata að Døkkálfar," one of the other Vikings shouted back. I was about to point my weapon in the direction of the closer voice when the intruder beside us finally stepped into my line of sight. I was just as floored as I was relieved to see Dimitri standing next to Lissa and me. He stepped into the water between us and the Vikings with his hands raised in the air. "Nei, né Døkkálfar," his deep voice had a calming note as he spoke to them. "Hægr þjóð. Skap-góðr"

“Calm down; it’s the middle passage. It's a little boring and empty, but there's nothing to worry about. Everything passing here is only heading one way and is not used much nowadays. This is where warriors are separated from the weak and Cowardly. Those who died an honorable death were separated from those who died of sickness and old age. This passage connects three realms: the human realm, Valhalla, and the Hall of Hel. He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing, but I still could not look away as I scrambled to my feet again! “What about those who stay behind?” I heard my own voice echo off the walls, like a low whisper growing with each time it hit the wall. Confused, I looked aroun

She gingerly rubbed my thumb: "Here is a tale of what the gods become, in an age when iron eagles pierce the clouds like swords, lightning is how we shall, trapped infantile and wasted, no might of Thur but bound like ragged Loki in a box, shall be enslaved by human chattel, to plough fields and suck the soul of the world: this is what happens when the spirits are forgot, and in Eric the Red's land, our children's children's bones shall remember Hela, Jotun Queen of the Dead." Captured, by my Valkyrie's wit, by this horsewoman Tuniska's skaldic arts, I surmounted her chest like a kitten, her breasts like stone fruit for a rabbit squll to nibble on, tender to the touch, and I plucked her chee

“It happened during the battle of Maldon. I was a Viking, one of the few black Vikings. My lineage went back through the Viking god, Odin, and so I was very respected. A warrior in those days fought till the death, and I was no different. We were not fighting a holy war, looking for vengeance, or any other noble means. We were out to claim land for the Olaf. Plain and simple, we were bloodthirsty warriors. “We had been weaned on talk of Valhalla, the Hall of the Slain. To die in battle was the ultimate goal of a warrior. Few chosen would be allowed to enter into this warrior’s heaven, but those deemed worthy would reside for eternity there reaping their rewards. You went into every

Ketil could not take his eyes off his ‘slave’ as they shared a communal feast later in the empty hut which had once been occupied by Ulf. It had become something of a tradition to toast the absent warrior, who must be drinking with the gods in Valhalla now. He doubted he would be waited on by as lovely a Valkyrie as this one.

I corrected myself. “Angry ghosts?” he asked. “People I killed,” I explained. “So Ylva can exorcise ghosts?” “No. But Valkyries delve half in the realm of the living and half in the realm of the dead.” “Kinda like reapers for warriors?” he thought aloud. “In a way,” I conceded. He froze for a second thinking frantically. I turned to him inquisitively. “Ylva can sense death right?” he asked me finally.

Thrud struck her chest and said. “May they rest in the halls of Valhalla,” the other Valkyries imitated her actions in a dignified and united manner. “Have the others search the battlefield for the souls of the warriors worthy to join the ranks of Asgard. You know what to do with those that are not.” Thrud ordered.