“You don’t want to beat him up?” Soren asked me incredulously.

“Did I say that? Once we get out of here and are tracking Fjalar, we can do whatever we want. But I’d rather not stay in Hel longer than necessary.”

“The girl has a point,” Lydian said.

I kicked Lydian in the hip, causing him to gasp in pain. “Shut up. I said we shouldn’t beat you to a bloody pulp yet. Not that I was averse to it or disagreed with the idea as a whole.”

“All right, all right, kicks for everyone when we get out of here,” Lydian said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Soren shook his head in disgust as he bent down to look at Lydian’s restraints. They’d deeply burned and bruised his skin due to their tightness and the heat they absorbed, and Soren turned his head to the side to get a better view. “He’s stretched out pretty good on the driftwood,” he said. “Might be better if we turn him over.”

Before Lydian could protest, Soren started moving the log and continued even when Lydian made a pained sound, now being semi-crushed by his own prison.

He pulled at the chains keeping Lydian together and hissed in pain when they stung his hands. Iron, of course. Still, it was old and rusted, and Soren took out one of his many blades and began to pry the chain links open at their weak spots. His muscles strained from working at the chains, but if anyone else stepped in to help, he waved them away, saying it was his uncle and his problem.

I watched impassively as he did his work. It was nothing different than getting an animal out of a particularly tangled snare.

Finally, with a grunt, the chain that kept one of his arms in place came undone and Lydian stretched his arm, hissing in pain as the damaged muscle moved. He could only continue to lay there though as Soren worked on the other chain, having switched sides of the log to easier reach the restraints. The sand shifted as once again Soren finally managed to bend the metal links enough for Lydian’s other arm to come free.

Lydian sat up, pulling at the chains around his feet despite the burns they created on his fingers. “Come on,” he said, eyeing the shifting sand. “We need to hurry.”

Soren continued to try to pry the metal apart, but the process remained slow and painful for both of them. Now Diaval was looking around with darting eyes, same as Rosamund. Seppo and I casually reached for our weapons, knowing the tells of our friends when they showed them.

Soren had almost finished prying Lydian’s legs free when, from below the sand, the Nidhogg slowly raised his head, his tongue flicking in the air, his cold reptilian eyes watching us with displeasure.