In a way, Karl was grateful they had stumbled upon Nils, even if it had ended poorly for the creep. But why exactly had they? Was Nils going somewhere, or returning from someplace? They obviously couldn’t know now, but the thought lingered with him, making him feel anxious about what Nils had been up to.

  “Finished?” Karl asked, looking at the Trickster who was wiping his bloody paws in the snow.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’m no glutton.”

  He leapt back onto Karl’s shoulder—unfortunately bringing the stench of death with him.

  The Trickster laughed, sensing Karl’s discomfort. “I personally like my smell,” the squirrel said, placing his hands on his hips.

  Karl cut him off by shoving his magical soap into the Trickster’s mouth and activating it. The squirrel screamed, the sound muffled by the foaming suds.

  “That’s better,” Karl said, pulling the soap out as the Trickster coughed and hacked.

  “You monster!” the squirrel sputtered, staring at his now shiny, clean fur. “What have you done to me?”

  “Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” Karl said, which made Kara—and even Mýra—laugh.

  As the Trickster scowled and cursed far more than any Viking ever would, Karl looked ahead, scouting a massive tree rising from the forest. “Let’s go,” he said, leading the way. “I think I found our entrance.”

  34

  FALSE FACES

  Karl’s divine speed allowed him to scale the large, looming tree with ease. Unfortunately, his divine blessings left ice in his wake, making it difficult for Kara and Mýra to climb.

  “Can you turn it off?” Kara asked after slipping for the third time because of him.

  “Sorry. I don’t know how,” Karl said, pulling himself to the top.

  Mýra had better luck than Kara—she simply willed the tree to grow an extra branch for her, free of ice. Karl could tell Kara was getting frustrated from nearly slipping multiple times. He knew she would probably survive by turning into a werewolf or activating her Valkyrie rune before hitting the ground—but she still wouldn’t appreciate denting her armor.

  “Looks like they’re all still drunk,” Ratatoskr said, who had lazily sat on Karl’s shoulder the whole time they climbed.

  From their perch, they looked over Viktor’s town. It was still full of life, the glow of several large bonfires flickering through the clustered buildings. The largest fire burned in the town center near a massive hall.

  Karl’s enhanced senses caught the sounds of laughter and celebration spilling from the great hall—it looked a lot like his own back in Visby. Outside, Vikings, women, and children gathered around fires despite the snowstorm to feast on a bounty of food.

  At the center of it all stood Viktor. He held an ale horn in one hand, boasting loudly about his triumphs.

  “I smashed the serpent with my bare hands!” Viktor shouted, earning a roaring cheer from the crowd.

  A few young women wrapped themselves around his arms, cooing at every word. The sight made Karl’s stomach twist.

  “I don’t see Sten,” Kara said, joining him.

  “I don’t either,” Karl replied. That was a relief. If Sten had been beside Viktor, luring him away would’ve been impossible. He also didn’t see Håkan—strange, since Håkan usually hovered near Viktor, always trying to make him laugh.

  “We’ll have to search the town,” Karl said. The others nodded.

  He scanned for a good place to teleport. Most of the light clustered around the bonfires, leaving plenty of dark gaps between longhouses and empty shop stalls. He couldn’t see much activity beyond the central fire and hoped Håkan and Sten were near the smaller ones—not lurking in the woods like Nils had.

  “You guys ready?” Karl asked.

  “What could go wrong?” the Trickster said. Karl grimaced.

  He drew an arrow and aimed for a dark space between two longhouses. When it struck, the Elf Leap triggered, teleporting their group to the target point. They landed in a pile of crunchy snow.

  Karl inhaled—and immediately regretted it.

  “Mmm. Chamber pot waste,” the Trickster said, mockingly pleased.

  Karl frowned as he kicked the sludge away. “We need to blend in. Can you hide your tail?” he asked Mýra.

  Mýra nodded and folded her cow tail, tucking it inside her dress.

  “Okay,” Karl said, tension rising in his chest. “Let’s just walk around and act normal. Ratatoskr, you should get in my bag for now.”

  “I’m good,” the Trickster said, leaping onto the rooftops. “I’ll give you aerial support,” he whispered before snickering and darting away.

  “He’s going to eat some of the food, isn’t he?” Kara asked.

  Karl sighed. “Probably.”

  The three of them kept close as they stepped from the alley into a snow-covered street. A few families wandered about, but this side of town was quieter—closer to the port, while Viktor’s main bonfire blazed further inland.

  “You two look stiff,” Mýra said as they walked. “Don’t you know how to act like you’re in love?”

  Karl blushed and relaxed his posture, looping his arm through Kara’s like a nervous teenager—or, in this world, like Mýra and Björn, who could never keep their hands off each other.

  He nodded awkwardly at a passing shield-maiden, who didn’t spare them a second glance.

  “Let’s check this first fire,” Karl said. They moved toward a bonfire near the beach.

  As they approached, Karl’s heart nearly stopped as he picked up on the conversation.

  “Do you think Jarl Karl will save us?” one of the Vikings asked.

  A crowd of men, women, and children—maybe a couple dozen in total—sat huddled around the fire. Some picked at their food, but most barely ate. They looked like the least enthusiastic group Karl had seen in the whole town.

  “He’s more likely to eat you, lad,” a scruffy older Viking said. His face was gaunt beneath a thick gray beard.

  “It’s true,” a shield-maiden added. “He’s known for eating his enemies. I’ve seen it myself. He spares no one. Even the children. He devours them all. And he’ll do the same to us if we lose.”

  Some of the children began to cry.

  Karl shifted uneasily on his feet, unsure what to make of it. Save them? he thought. Aren’t these Viktor’s people?

  “Looks like you’ve got some fans,” Mýra said mockingly.

  “They’re just rumors,” Kara said, defending him.

  “They don’t seem to like Viktor,” Karl noted.

  “If you haven’t noticed,” Mýra said, “Viktor takes what he wants by force—like most men.”

  “It is the way of the world,” Kara said calmly. “Only the strongest will lead.”

  “He likely coerced them,” Mýra said, glancing at the children who still looked hungry despite the food before them.

  “You’ll need to be careful,” Mýra warned. “If you lose control, you could kill them all as a werewolf.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Karl muttered, checking his Moonlight Meter. It hovered in the low tens—spiking only from the anxiety of walking through this place. But that lowly number suddenly skyrocketed when he noticed the Trickster was crouched behind a large Viking, trying to pickpocket him.

  Karl spotted a sweet roll sticking from the man’s pocket.

  He wanted to shout the Alpha Command to stop the squirrel, but held back. Ratatoskr, undeterred, slipped the roll free and devoured it in one bite.

  Karl cursed silently and scanned the group around the fire. About a dozen Vikings sat there—most of them drunk, feasting, and laughing. It surprised Karl how plentiful the food still was.

  But when the Trickster jumped back onto Karl’s shoulder, he didn’t smell like sweet rolls at all.

  “That was the weirdest dessert I’ve ever had,” the Trickster said.

  The group continued walking past the bonfire, still seeing no sign of the other bullies.

  “Is it because you didn’t chew it?” Karl asked impatiently.

  “There was nothing to chew,” the Trickster said, looking dejected. “It just went into my mouth, and then—it disappeared. It was almost like eating a cloud.”

  “Huh,” Karl said, but he paid little attention, keeping his eyes peeled for Viktor and the others.

  They passed another bonfire closer to the sea, where several Vikings were gathered, warming their hands and eating.

  Almost every man held a massive turkey leg, devouring it as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Yet the smell was off. Karl expected the rich aroma of roasted meat and spice, but instead it smelled faintly of charcoal and smoke. He could smell meat—but not the kind that matched the sight before them.

  “Something seems off,” Kara said.

  Karl nodded in agreement. Again, they saw none of the remaining bullies.

  As they approached the third bonfire—this one only a few houses away from Viktor’s—Ratatoskr tried another experiment. He had swiped one of the turkey legs from the last fire and brought it along.

  “Okay, why don’t you take a bite of this one?” the Trickster said, holding it out to Karl.

  Karl frowned but accepted the meat stick. His mouth watered from his werewolf hunger anyway. He bit down, expecting warm, juicy meat—but his teeth clicked against air.

  “What the heck,” Karl said, pulling the leg back. There was a large bite mark where he’d bitten, but nothing filled his mouth.

  “We should find your friends—and fast,” Mýra said, her voice tight with concern.

  Karl threw the drumstick down, and it turned to smoke as it hit the ground.

  A mystery, Fenrir murmured in his mind.

  “Hey, I think that’s one of them,” Kara said as they neared the third bonfire.

  This group was smaller than the others, seated around a blazing fire and eating a spread of illusory food. Sten sat among them, his eyes wide and unfocused as though he were drugged, staring blankly into the flames, which made his bronze skin appear like a seared steak. His shield and war horn rested beside him.

  It would be best to lure him away. That horn would have to be silenced if they didn’t want Viktor coming with lightning in hand.

  “You’ve got this,” Kara said, squeezing Karl’s hand as they crouched behind a longhouse, watching the fire.

  Karl took a deep, shaky breath and raised the Mirror of Many Faces. Viktor’s image filled his mind.

  System Message: “Would you like to transform into Viktor for ten minutes?”

  “Yes,” Karl said.

  System Message: “Accepted.”

  Viktor’s reflection in the mirror shimmered—then became Karl’s own. His face, hands, and body morphed entirely. Seeing his bully’s likeness on himself made his stomach sick.

  “Is everything different?” the Trickster asked, tugging Karl’s shirt open.“Oh gods—it is!”

  “Hey, get out of there,” Karl snapped, flicking him away. They had less than ten minutes. He couldn’t waste it on the squirrel’s nonsense.

  “Wait here,” Karl said.

  Kara and Mýra moved into position, hidden in the alley—a perfect spot to ambush the Heimdall-blessed bully.

  Karl stepped out toward the bonfire. His stride was stiff at first, but he forced himself to loosen up, puffing his chest and walking tall like Viktor.

  Sten’s eyes flicked up instantly, locking on him. For a second, Karl thought he saw suspicion there—but he pushed through it.

  “Sten,” Karl said, sounding every bit like Viktor. “I need to talk to you.”

  Sten narrowed his eyes but rose to his feet. “What about?”

  “I’ll brief you in private,” Karl said, turning his back as if expecting Sten to follow. That was how Viktor treated his so-called friends.

  “Is it Nils?” Sten asked as he naturally followed Karl. “What did he report about Visby?”

  Karl’s heart hammered in his throat. He had no idea what Sten was referring to. Swallowing hard, he thought quickly while leading Sten toward the alley where Kara and Mýra waited.

  “Their defenses… aren’t as strong as we thought,” Karl said, forcing confidence into his voice.

  He half expected Sten to be right on his heels, but when he turned, the tall, stoic bully stood with arms crossed and eyes sharp as blades.

  “That’s not what we sent him there for,” Sten said, frowning.

  Oh, shoot, Karl thought, feeling Fenrir stir within him at the promise of a fight.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it in public,” Karl said, forgetting to mimic Viktor’s tone as he tried to usher Sten toward the alley.

  Kara tensed in the shadows, ready to strike. Her anxiety was clear even from where Karl stood. Even Mýra looked worried, her eyes glinting with concern in the shadows.

  “You are not my better to boss me around like that,” Sten said, unmoving as stone.

  Karl stepped back, flustered and confused. This is not how he’s supposed to be talking to me, he thought. Something felt very wrong.

  “Sten, this way. Now,” Karl said, putting force into his voice.

  “I’m going to go have some more Loki food,” Sten said, abruptly turning away and storming back to the bonfire.

  Karl cocked his head, completely bewildered.

  Sten’s behavior made absolutely no sense.

  For all of Karl’s life, every one of Viktor’s goons had followed their leader like hounds obeying a master. This was completely unlike him. Karl was so stunned that he almost missed what Sten had said about Loki food.

  Now, as Karl stood watching Sten rejoin the others with a solemn expression, ignoring the feast before him, he noticed the rest of the Vikings were only pretending to eat—biting into illusions of food.

  Something is very, very wrong, Karl realized.

  He glanced back toward Kara and Mýra, visible through shadow and wall by his lunar sight.

  We should make this quick, Kara said through their Pack Link.

  Karl’s anxiety pounded in his chest. He took a deep breath, puffing his chest before marching forward, anger flowing naturally through him.

  “I was going to talk to you about Signe,” Karl said to Sten.

  That got his attention.

  Sten whipped around, desperation and anger in his eyes. Karl tried not to smile—it felt like hooking a fish. Sten had always had a thing for Signe. Even though she had been with nearly every other boy at school except him, she’d always teased him for the way he stared. Creepy or not, Sten had still been hopelessly drawn to her, gods know why.

  “What is it?” Sten asked, looking like a helpless puppy.

  Karl turned away, walking toward the alley where he knew Sten would follow. Sure enough, Sten cursed and rushed to his feet, abandoning his horn and shield—a small blessing.

  “Håkan, wait!” Sten shouted, chasing after him.

  Karl froze as he reached the edge of the alley, just meters away. He turned on his heel, confused.

  Håkan? Karl thought.

  “Wait a minute,” Sten said. “Did she write any notes or anything?” His harsh, bully-like tone was gone—replaced with pleading. He looked desperate for even the smallest sign that Signe had loved him.

  Through the Pack Link, Karl saw Kara rising with her sword, ready to strike from the shadows. She was eager—too eager—to finish the fight and claim her glory.

  Karl’s mind spun with questions as Sten pressed him for answers.

  “Come on, man,” Sten said, shoving him. “Stop this with your funny games. This better not be one of your games.”

  “It’s not a game,” Karl said.

  Karl, Kara whispered through the link.

  Karl started to answer, but froze when his eyes flicked to the bonfire behind them.

  “My dear friend Sten, where art thou hiding?” Viktor called out—a strange, mocking tone that sounded nothing like him.

  Karl turned to see Viktor striding through the firelight, greeting the other Vikings as he searched for Sten. It only made more sense when Karl noticed the bright pink scarf now draped along Viktor’s neck.

  Sten, standing before Karl, stopped questioning him about Signe and looked back at the other Viktor with confusion—then turned to Karl with betrayal.

  “You’re not Håkan,” Sten whispered, his weary eyes blazing with fury.

  “Sten?” Håkan said, spotting them by the alley. “And Viktor! I didn’t realize you were back from your ninth quest. Wow. I guess you really knocked it out of the park this time. Again. You’re on a roll, my friend.”

  Cold dread swept through Karl as Sten snarled.

  “So much for stealth,” Karl said in defeat—then drove his head forward, smashing his forehead into Sten’s nose.

  35

  SMARTER THAN HE LOOKS

  Karl almost used his Rune of Overpressure Leap MK II right then to send himself and Sten into the sky and let Sten fall to his death. But he held back, knowing he might need it to escape now that their cover was blown.

  Sten cursed, clutching his nose as blood gushed down his face. Karl wasted no time. He leapt backward, drawing his bow and firing in the same motion. His Glacial Arrow, primed with Dual Shot, struck Sten in the chest, freezing him solid for two seconds—just long enough for Kara and Mýra to jump in and finish him off.

  “Sten!” Håkan shouted, his disguise collapsing as his flesh morphed back into his flamboyant form.

  Eliminate Sten Vakt (1/1)

  Glory (+20): 1,860

  Level: 34 (160/350)

  As Kara and Mýra hacked Sten to pieces, Håkan grabbed Sten’s war horn and blew it. The deafening blast echoed through the town and far up into the sky above, rippling through the snowstorm. Though Håkan wasn’t blessed by Heimdall, it was loud enough to alert everyone nearby.

  And although Karl was distracted trying to figure out how to survive, he heard the faintest lightning bolt crackle in the distance.