Vikings: Valhalla Harald Novels & Stories

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."

Chapter 4: Legacy of the North The longships cut through the icy waters with determined purpose as the Northshield forces launched their decisive raid against the rival jarl’s stronghold. The wind whipped my braids, carrying the salt of the sea and the promise of battle. I stood at the prow alongside Gunnar, Leif, and Erik, my newly forged axe gripped firmly in my hands and a shield strapped to my arm. The full figure that had once marked me as vulnerable now felt like a source of grounded strength, my body honed by weeks of training and the unyielding support of my three kings. No longer a captive, I sailed as their companion, their advisor, and a warrior in my own right.

“… hann matti fá júngírúna ef ha: sigldi Haraldr norr Ellipalta!!!” “Ahhhh!” I screamed and felt something crack in my grip. It was two of Cayden’s fingers since it was his hand I was holding. He didn’t remove his fingers from my grip and I didn’t let him go even though I knew he was going through pain. I couldn’t let him go. Artuhla’s voice started rising to a piercing pitch now. “Sigldi Haraldr norr ö Ellipalta. allt um Austriki. f pessum f’aldr gamanvisur.” She bawled.

“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

Her father was beyond redemption. “Any loses?” Thrud turned to ask the Valkyrie who had only just arrived at her side. All around them were several giant corpses. Frozen soil and blood populated the battlefield, and a disgusting smell of rot and decay was starting to assault the senses of those who had lived past the violence of the battle. “Yes,” the Valkyrie nodded her head and proceeded to inform Thrud of their loses. “We lost 15 Valkyries. Only 35 remain.” “I see. May they rest in the halls of Valhalla,” Thrud struck her chest and said.

She explained. “We thought you two were torturing him or something.” I said. Val, shook her head as hard as she could. The women in the Helvegr dressed, acted, and were referred to as men, but didn’t speak while in costume to keep their secret. It was a condition we’d given for them to join. Val and Chris had felt it was acceptable in return for being part of the resistance and trying to find and free their families and people. “Except Hati, he kept trying to tell us Fenrir was probably just getting laid. But we had good reason to believe otherwise.” I insisted.

Zane’s head snapped toward the sound. “So you finally decided to show yourselves.” A soft laugh echoed through the trees. Then… She stepped out. Valkyra. She wore an entirely black cloak, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders as though the darkness itself had wrapped around her. A cruel smile spread across her lips. “I was beginning to think you’d disappoint me.” Zane’s grip tightened around his sword. “Where’s my son?” “No greeting?” She pouted dramatically. “That’s rather rude.” “I asked where my son is.”

And then there was young Bjorn Ironfist, the jarl’s closest shield-brother, with sharp features, dark hair, and a body honed like a weapon, his gaze burning with a mix of conquest and something deeper. They had taken me not just as a slave, but as a prize—the woman who had slain three of their warriors before being overwhelmed. Now, as the ship neared their fjord homeland, they approached me. “You fight like a valkyrie,” Ragnar rumbled, his voice deep and resonant as he crouched before me, calloused fingers tilting my chin up. His touch sent an unwelcome spark through my body, heat pooling low despite the cold and my fury. “Such fire belongs in our hall, not wasted in chains.”

"The Ravager Wolves are not the only team we play against." "So you prefer to lose to the Ravagers?" Jax demanded, turning sharply to follow me. "No," I said, spinning around to face him. "All I am saying is that I do not care about those fans, whether they leave or not. And Val will be mine soon. I’ve already taken care of that." Jax froze, his stick resting flat on the ice. "What do you mean by that, Harold?" "I mean to say that Horace and Val’s relationship is fake," I said, a confident smirk finally returning to my face. "And you of all people should see it."

“I want them dead. All of them.” “We all do. But we need a plan. Need information. Need…” I trailed off as movement caught my eye. A raven landed on the pyre’s edge. Large. Black. With eyes that glowed red. Everyone went silent. The raven opened its beak. A woman’s voice came out. Ancient. Powerful. Amused. “Hello, young alpha. My name is Octavia. I speak for the Old Blood Council. And I have a proposition for you.”