deadly einherjaren

We proceeded into the main interior hallway. The castle was as I had remembered it: walls of grim stone, uncovered by plaster or paint, all rough-hewn blocks the size of a big man’s torso. Candles burned in sconces every few steps, lighting the way, making the air smell of beeswax and something faintly floral. There was nothing like decoration on the walls, and the defensive power of the enchantments around the place was so strong that I could feel it through the soles of my shoes.
Ramirez glanced over his shoulder at me and said, “No guards.”
“Don’t count on it,” I said. “Marcone keeps a platoon of Einherjaren on standby. Remember?”
“Yeah,” Ramirez said grimly. “Those guys.”
“What guys?” Wild Bill asked.
“Viking revenants with centuries of experience in every kind of warfare known to man,” I clarified. “The guys doing the fighting and feasting in Valhalla. They don’t mind dying. They’ve had practice.”
“Consider them to be the most dangerous mortal warriors on the planet,” Ebenezar growled from the front. “They are. Don’t interact any more than you must. Many are berserkers, and safest left alone.”


Peace Talks Chapter 19, Page 187