Gard Intellectus

I bent over and climbed into the structure and turned to face the improvised bier.
It was empty.
She was gone.
Where she had lain, there was a symbol scorched into the crates as if by a white-hot stylus. Three triangles, interlocking. The valknut. The knot of the fallen warriors. Symbol of Odin.
I stared at the empty crates. Her blood was still on them, drying black.
Something dark began to stir, down deep. Something angry.
“Nothing has changed,” said a soft, slightly slurred voice behind me. “She’s gone. She isn’t coming back.”
I turned and found Miss Gard sitting on a pile of crates. There was a bottle of whiskey in her hand. There were four empties at her feet. She looked like she’d been through almost as much as I had.
I closed my eyes for a second. I was bone tired. I felt the rage down there.
But this wasn’t the time.
Let the deep things stay deep.
“Hey, Siggy,” I said in a gentle voice.
“It’s the same,” Gard slurred. “Where Nathan died.” Her red eyes welled. “The damned knot. It’s part of our inventory system. A check mark. One Einherjar, picked up and in transit.”
“Nathan . . .” I said. Then it clicked. “Hendricks. Huh. He never looked like a Nathan.”
I slumped down onto the crate next to her.
She passed me the bottle. I probably should have been drinking water. It’s a far more adult drink than whiskey. But I took a solid pull and let it burn down.
“He hated that name,” she said. “His mother . . .” She shook her head. “Well. That doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“Einherjar,” I said. “Murph didn’t ‘die well.’”
Gard’s eyes flashed. “She died slaying a Jotun,” she said roughly. “She did it to protect you. And she got results. She died a warrior’s death. One without personal glory. The one that happened because she was doing what was necessary.”
I tilted my head at her.
She waved a hand vaguely at her temple. “It’s a limited intellectus, of the honored dead, of their deeds. I know who she was now, Dresden. Don’t you dare cheapen her death by suggesting it was less than the culmination of a life of habitual valor.”
Well.
There wasn’t much I could say to that.

Battle Ground Chapter 36, Page 364-365