“She’s waiting for you,” Ragnar said, looking pleased at Karl’s capture.

  He led the way inside the musky temple, and Karl followed. His muscles didn’t yet feel the strain of the bucking, wild horse he dragged behind him. Thordis was already there at the hall’s far right side, where a long wooden trough awaited. There were butcher tools, bloodstained straw from previous sacrifices, hooks for draining the animals, and vats of snow to cool the slaughtered meat.

  The priestess looked at Karl with an intense gaze. Before her mouth could move, her voice whispered into his ears. Bring him to me, her voice slithered into his mind.

  Even Fenrir, trapped in Karl’s mind, felt disturbed at the zealous priestess who reminded Karl of Skadi, the witch they had defeated long ago. Together, Karl and Kara yanked the nightmare horse by Hel’s Chain and pinned it onto the wooden trough.

  Thordis brandished a black, jagged knife that seemed to cut the air around it with dark energy. Her face spread into a smile as Karl and Kara forced the Night Mare’s head onto the trough. Behind them, hundreds of Vikings gathered in the temple to witness the sacrifice.

  “Odin will be most pleased,” Thordis said.

  The horse did not agree, and only grew wilder in response, though Karl and Kara were able to keep it pinned down with ease.

  Thordis stepped in, wrapped the wicked knife beneath the mare’s throat, and sliced. She almost decapitated the beast as its blood gushed from the wound. Karl ground his teeth trying to resist the urge to drink it like a vampire, as did Kara next to him.

  Mýra, standing nearby with Björn and the other sons of Ragnar, suddenly brought her hands to her temples in pain. Thordis was chanting some Viking ritual to Odin. Karl picked up Björn’s and Mýra’s conversation.

  “You okay?” Björn whispered.

  “I think so,” she said, her face troubled. “Just a weird, buzzing sensation.”

  “Could be the smoke,” Björn said, motioning with a wobbly hand toward the thick fumes in the air from the incense and hundreds of candles illuminating the dark temple.

  Karl turned his attention back to the nightmare corpse, where the blood—more midnight black than red—spewed like smoke into the bowl. Thordis picked it up and turned to Karl, Ragnar, and the other Viking leaders.

  “May you become England’s nightmare,” she said as she closed in on Karl and, with her two pale fingers, dipped them into the bowl before rubbing it on Karl’s forehead. She did the same to Kara, to Ragnar, and to the sons, and then to Guthrum, Halfdan, and Rollo.

  Karl wasn’t exactly sure how nightmare horse blood was supposed to unify the Jarls under his banner, but the System prompted him with a message saying it did.

  Capture the Nightmare alive for Thordis — 1/1

  Unifies the Jarls under your banner 1/1

  Optional Objective: Still available.

  Since Karl hadn’t finished the quest yet, he didn’t receive the bonus reward. As he looked back toward the now still nightmare creature, he felt encouraged to finish the last objective.

  A warm, metal tongue licked his forehead.

  “Sorry,” Ratatoskr said before scurrying away from Karl, licking his lips. Karl stared in horror as he still stood in werewolf form with seconds remaining.

  “Did you just lick the blood off my head?” he asked.

  The Trickster raised his hands in defense. “I just wanted to see if the legends were true.”

  “What legends?” Karl said—just as his Moonlight Meter ran out.

  Karl collapsed onto the floor, suddenly very naked again, but this time in front of every legendary Viking and their men. Kara collapsed beside him. He immediately went from alpha energy to the most embarrassed person in the world.

  Kara took it in stride. She stood up, uncaring of the hungry eyes of the men. None of them made any comment, seeing as she could literally turn into a werewolf and murder them. And surprisingly, none made any comment toward Karl either, seeing that he had just unified all the Jarls and was a ferocious beast himself.

  “I hope you reconsider joining us to invade England,” Ragnar said as he approached Karl and Kara and patted the corpse of the Nightmare on the back.

  The other Viking leaders looked at Karl with a deeper level of respect.

  “That’s not really my forte,” Karl said. “But there’s one thing I can do for you before I go to Rome; I can whip up a feast to keep everyone in a good mood to hold them over till we get back.”

  Ragnar let loose a triumphant roar. “That I’m going to miss,” he said, patting his belly. “If you were a woman, I would have married you long ago. Come, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  After about an hour of butchering the rest of the nightmare, skinning its hide, and cutting the meat into nice flakes, ribs, and tendons, Karl prepared a seemingly endless cauldron of the nightmare stew that bubbled inky black.

  The whole time he cooked—following the instructions in his Andhrímnir’s Cookbook—he didn’t think it would be enough for the several thousand hungry Vikings waiting impatiently outside. But Thordis repeatedly encouraged him that it would be. She said it was thanks to the high level of magic here at Uppsala, especially radiating from the statue of Freyr, which Karl refused to look at; the Trickster had no such restraint and kept making phallic jokes at every opportunity he could, earning plenty of laughs from Ragnar and his sons.

  Kara helped him prepare the meal by melting snow with her Baldr-blessed sword, crushing juniper, and cutting wild onions. While she did that, Karl made bone stock from sacrificial cattle that Thordis had on hand. Since they still had some ingredients from the Kraken, he decided to improvise the recipe from the Andhrímnir’s Cookbook by adding in careful amounts of ink sac, a couple of cubes of Leviathan blubber, a sprinkle of Kraken eye jelly, and a hefty dose of Kraken calamari. On the surface, it sounded disgusting, but given the intense magic in the food and the temple, they ended up making a stew infused with psychic and Kraken abilities.

  It was as awesome as it sounded.

  Item: Abyssal Night-Mare Stew (Dei) —Grants Nightmare Immunity, preventing all dream attacks or psychic intrusions for 24 hours. +40% Max HP, +30% Damage Resistance, +25% Movement Speed at night, +25% Stealth, +20% Group Damage, +20% Morale, and perfect night vision that pierces fog, darkness, and illusions. Kraken essence strengthens the body with +35% Grip Strength, +20% Knockback Resistance.

  As each Viking came to the large, early cauldron where the inky stew cooked, the meal never seemed to decrease in volume. Similar to Thor’s magical ale horn—forced on Viktor during their drinking competition—it was endless. There was enough stew for everyone.

  Karl, Kara, and the others feasted in the temple’s main room along with the other leaders. He could hear a few of the comments from the Vikings picking up the stew, checking out the peculiar effects they would be receiving after eating it. Many of them said the same thing: they would be having the first night of their lives without bad dreams. It was strange to hear that they all had repeated nightmares, almost sad; he was glad he could help.

  The Trickster absolutely annihilated the Abyssal Night-Mare Stew, splashing it everywhere on the table and inside Karl’s cup as he moved. It was a disturbing sight, but Karl let himself enjoy the meal.

  And it was one of his best yet.

  The flavor profile was impossibly layered. It was cold like the ocean trench, yet hot at the same time, with a smoky, grimy flavor that lingered with a sleepiness after effect. With each spoonful he brought to his mouth, it left a wispy scent in its path, almost like he was eating something infused with black liquid nitrogen.

  He and Kara both went for their fifth servings, their wolfish appetites knowing no bounds. Having had more food, he was a little less snappy.

  “Sorry I was rude earlier,” Karl muttered, wiping the black skiff from his beard. Kara smiled and kissed him on the cheek before returning to her meal.

  Although they didn’t really address anything, Karl was glad it wasn’t awkward anymore. They had never really fought before, and this had been their first big disagreement. Karl found himself pulled between asserting his dominance and respecting the concern he knew she felt.

  “We’ll definitely be visiting Visby after we invade England,” Ivar said as he put down the bowl he had drunk with both hands, grinning at Karl.

  “It’s not bad,” Sigrid said, before giving Kara a wink with his snake eye.

  Hvitserk thanked Karl for the meal while keeping an eye on Thordis, watching her every move as she helped deal out the black stew to the endless line of Vikings asking for more. He seemed rather enthralled by her. It was hard to get a read on the guy, but he definitely gave off fervent religious vibes.

  Now that Karl had cooked an entire feast for the Vikings, he was rewarded with the completion update of the quest.

  Quest Completed: Night-Mare on Elm Street

  “Uhh, that was a bit… intense. Turning the remains of a demon horse into a stew so good it convinced half of Scandinavia to follow you is impressive, though. Truly, the gods work in mysterious—and mildly concerning—ways.”

  Primary Objective:

  Capture the Night-Mare alive for Thordis (1/1)

  Rewards:

  Unifies the Jarls under your banner

  Health (+10): lvl 11 (10/120)

  Glory (+220): 1,620

  Level (+1): 38 (140/390)

  Skill Points (+1): 5

  Optional Objective:

  Cook the Night-Mare’s remains into a magical feast that nourishes the Great Heathen Horde (1/1)

  Bonus Reward:

  Item: Rune of the Night-Mare (Legendary) — Allows you to summon the shadowy Night-Mare as a steed at any time. But each time the Night-Mare is summoned, you will suffer one fun “Night-Mare” that night.

  In his hand appeared an obsidian-like stone rune that had a Viking symbol resembling an M. It had a shadowy essence to it. As awesome as it was, Karl wasn’t so sure that he was excited about receiving nightmares from the beast he had just eaten. The Night Mare was probably thrilled to get revenge on Karl for ending and eating his life.

  It was probably best to remain on foot as much as possible, or ride literally anything else.

  “So… is that thing going to come out of your belly since you’re summoning him back from the dead?” the Trickster asked.

  Karl frowned. “Why would it do that?”

  But Mýra looked at Karl with curiosity, as if the squirrel somehow asked a really good question. “Then what about those black lines stretching from it to your stomach?” she asked.

  Karl looked at the rune again, but didn’t see any black lines. “What are you talking about?”

  Mýra’s brow furrowed as she examined it, then she shook her head. “I don’t know. Sorry. I thought I saw something.”

  “You will need more than a horse to get to Rome if you are to get there in time for the games,” Ragnar said after finishing his bowl, though some of the stew dribbled into his blonde beard. “Seeing as it’s in two days, you won’t be able to travel by conventional means. It would take you well over a month by sea.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Kara asked, a bit too eagerly.

  Ragnar looked at Thordis, who had just finished serving the last of the Vikings, with plenty of stew left over. “She’s your ride.”

  Karl did not like the way that sounded, nor the lewd comment the Trickster made as a follow-up.

  “Does it involve sacrifice?” Karl asked, praying that it didn’t.

  Hvitserk spoke for his father, though his eyes lingered on Thordis. “Of course it does. How else will you curry favor with the gods?”

  Karl took another generous sip of the stew, dreading the details and tomorrow’s travel to Rome.

  PART II

  ROME

  9

  THE ETERNAL, INDUSTRIAL CITY

  Somehow, Karl got an amazing night of sleep. After gorging themselves on the stew, he and Kara slept next to each other in a tent surrounding the temple, bundled tightly in furs on the floor. Both of them had insane body heat thanks to their werewolf curses, and lying together, they kept out any negative effects from the freezing night.

  And neither of them had any bad dreams thanks to the Night Mare stew.

  Even when they awoke early the next morning, Karl—seeing through Kara’s mind via Pack Link—did not see the usual lingering image of Baldr’s prophetic doom that showed Kara being decapitated by Emperor Maximus.

  The thought of soon seeing the dreaded executioner whom Kara was begrudgingly unafraid of kept Karl on edge as they got ready that morning. He kept glancing at Kara as she got dressed, even though she could see through his eyes.

  “Are you going to command me to stay?” she asked, batting her eyes innocently at him as they stepped out of their tent.

  Karl shook his head, though he yearned to do just that. “Just stay close to me, okay?”

  Kara smiled, wrapping her hand in his. “As long as you can keep up.”

  Exiting their tent, they were surrounded by thousands of Vikings groggily rising from their peaceful rest. Almost everyone was muttering about their soothing dreams. A few mentioned not seeing the faces of the dead that their nights had made them so familiar with.

  Karl was about to make a comment to Kara when Thordis unnaturally appeared from the crowd. Even though Karl felt no fear, his adrenaline still surged at her strange appearance.

  “Are you ready, Future One?” she asked, holding a bowl of the Night Mare’s midnight blood in her hands.

  “Now he is,” the Trickster said, ripping through Karl’s tent and jumping onto his shoulder.

  Karl’s blood drained from his face. “Were you in our tent last night?”

  The Trickster giggled. “Oh yeah. Weirdest night I have ever experienced. And what I totally expected.”

  Kara turned around in horror, and for the first time, her face was blushing. That was truly saying something, given how desensitized she was to Viking culture. “You little rat,” she hissed, almost bursting into her werewolf form and devouring him, which Karl could see through their Pack Link.

  “I thought that there was something weird in the corner of our tent.” Karl’s eyes narrowed at the Trickster, who hid behind Karl’s helmet to avoid Kara’s rage.

  “That’s impossible,” Karl said. Björn and Mýra were just now joining them, while Ragnar and his other three sons approached from behind.

  “Have you seen my Hel’s Mantle?” Mýra asked Björn, who reeked of alcohol and whose troubled face looked like he was hungover.

  “Oh, you mean this?” Ratatoskr said, whipping out the cape that had, as Karl now realized, made him invisible the entire night. “Here you go,” he said, tossing it to Mýra, who caught it in the air.

  Karl’s rage equaled that of Kara’s now, and he snapped his teeth toward Ratatoskr, but the little metal Trickster was already in the air, leaping onto Mýra’s shoulders this time.

  “What?” Ratatoskr said, as Karl had to physically hold back Kara from unleashing herself onto him. “Did you think I was just going to sleep outside like some animal?”

  “Yes,” Karl and Kara both exclaimed. But the Trickster only found that even more humorous.

  Ivar, who was being pushed forward in a wheelchair by Sigurd, cracked a yellow smile at the Trickster. “I like this one,” he said.

  “Here, you need this letter,” Ragnar said as Thordis turned and went to the Sacred Grove, handing Karl the paper that had come from Emperor Maximus, inviting him to the Games.

  “Why do I need this?” Karl said as he took it and followed after Thordis with the others.

  “It’s the only way the Well of Urðr connects to Rome’s Well of Lupercal.”

  Karl frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Hvitserk spoke up. “Everyone, from America to… what they call… Japan… has received the letter. And the way they are instantly transported to the Roman temple is by sending the letter to your national shrine, to satisfy your local gods.”

  Karl felt the weight of those words. Every culture from all over the planet meant Egyptians, Greeks, Native Americans, and samurai.

  Everyone.

  Karl took a deep and steadying breath. They really were coming to a spectacle of an event.

  Kara seemed to have a different reaction. Her gate grew quicker as they walked, as if she wanted to get there faster. She remained ever a mystery to Karl.

  “The nightmare’s blood will suffice to activate this letter,” Thordis said. She brought them to an impressive well, made of stone that sat surrounded by hundreds of roots from the tree above it. It looked similar to Mímir’s Well, but there was no face on this well that could talk.

  Still, the waters had that faint magical glow, as did Mímir’s. Karl was relieved that Thordis wasn’t requiring any more sacrifices of his mind to activate the well.

  She placed the nightmare’s black blood into the waters, which made the well just as black as the horse’s blood. She then tossed in the letter, which began to glow red with power.

  Karl turned to Sigurd, Hvitserk, and Ivar. “Will you be joining us?” he asked.

  Ragnar spoke for them. “I need them here,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “You have brought peace to us and unity. But King Arthur still seeks to destroy us. We have had countless assassination attempts from his Templars. More are sure to come, and I will need them here to defend our men. Their ability to remove our divine blessings is a formidable thorn.”

  “We don’t want to steal from your thunder anyway,” Sigurd said with a wink.

  “Do not fail us, Jarl Karl,” Hvitserk said before grasping Karl’s arm in a farewell gesture, “or else the Christian God will conquer us.”