I felt useless as the dead all turned to look at the Red Brother.
A dead man speared at the knight’s back, but the man toppled as he hit empty air. The now gigantic, blond gargoyle had shot up from the floor, its hand around struggling Balan, and the sword was flashing in the air. I felt Balan touching the powers, Stirring the Cauldron, as my Father had called it, and a fiery field of energy surrounded Balan.
The Red Knight shrieked as his armored hand was burned, and he tossed Balan across the room, where the former man crumbled at the base wall. Mir pointed at the Red Knight and Shaduril and Ann turned to face him while Mir stalked for Father with Taram. I stepped forward, holding the White’s whip. The Red Brother went into a berserk rage, and draugr corpses fell in heaps around him. Above, something exploded, and the dead shrieked in pain. I heard Jotun voices up there and prayed some would know what was taking place below them.
‘Come, Maskan,’ Taram laughed disdainfully from beyond some of his soldiers. ‘I have some payback to be done. You were flirting with my wife! And my mistress!’ he said and nodded at Shaduril. ‘I don’t forgive these insults, never will I.’ His eyes glowed, he pushed past his men as we squared off. In the meantime, Mir put on the mask and faced Father.
Magor called for power, he danced like a furious, two legged tree around the top of the grave mound, and a savage wind tore through the room. Three dead men were cursing as they climbed up the mound. Blade sharp ice formed at Father’s hands, his mouth growled, and the men flew away, stiff skin torn from their faces, flesh peeling. The ice statues Father had created of some of the undead toppled in the storm. Father was calling for more of the winds, but he was also harnessing a spell of guardianship. He had to. Mir was swaying, and a pillar of fire reached to lick at the Jotun’s king’s face, but to no avail as the ice around Father sizzled. Shaduril and Ann were surrounding the Red Brother, and there flashed a spell of icy spears, which the giant dodged as he crushed a group of draugr soldiers. More loped from the mirror. There would be hundreds, I thought and despaired, hoping there was some limit to the mirror’s capacity for moving the evil ones.
Then, Taram was before me.
‘Don’t know how to change your size. Only your nasty face, no?’ he said and moved fast as a shadow. ‘I’ll carve some of it. To the skull.’ I cursed, for he had cast a spell. He moved like a shadow and, in fact, he was a shadow, I decided. He had been standing before me, then he was behind me, and the blade cut the air as I barely managed to dodge his strike and turn to face him. ‘Always wanted to kill a king. A prince will be an excellent appetizer. But then, after he dies,’ Taram said and nodded at Morag, ‘you will be the king. And perhaps I shall get him as well?’
‘Alive!’ Mir yelled at him while calling for more fire pillars, which Magor’s protective spell absorbed. The storm wind faltered but still scourged some undead soldiers, who had tried to reach the king.
‘Alive, alive,’ Taram cursed. ‘If she was not here ...’ He stabbed his sword forward again, trying to impale my shoulder. I fell away to my back, felt the blade skitter on my chest armor. I rolled and flicked the whip around where he had been standing. He still was, and the deadly whip was tearing for the pale foe.
It passed through him as the shadow darted forward again.
I instinctively kicked up and hit his chest very hard just as he was coming back to our world, and he flew back, rolling into a ball of shadowy nothingness, only to appear at my side, grinning manically.
Mir’s golden mask glowed as she raised a true inferno around the gravesite. She put everything she had in it. She weaved a mighty amount of power into the spell. It sucked air and ripped ice out of Father’s spells, and Morag roared in anger as he staggered. Mir was laughing, drily and hollowly, her movements jerky as she kept the fire going, pushing ever increasingly into it. I was suffocating. The dead would not. I tried to catch a breath and spat drily. Taram rushed before me and rested the blade on my neck, eyeing the mound where Morag went to his knee, holding his throat, trying to concentrate amidst flames and his last protective spells.
Mir flew on her face as Shaduril was hurled on her back. Both rolled over Mother’s stone.
The Red Brother stood before the smoking grave mound, bleeding from many wounds, his blade high up in the air, growling. I saw Ann was holding her head in the corner, apparently having been kicked there, her arm useless, judging by the strange angle. A heap of dozens of the draugr twitched on the floor. Taram growled at me as he looked up. There, The Beast of the North still stood, his clothing was simmering and partly on fire, his armor was gleaming, and his massive chest heaving as he turned to Taram. ‘Shit,’ Taram whispered, and sharp particles of ice lanced from the Jotun’s finger, spearing Taram in the chest. The magic tore off meat and clothing, and Taram flew back to the dark, screaming. I got up and backed off for Father, and so did the Bjornag.
All around the room’s dark corners, the Blacktowers crept up, relentless. The golden mask of Mir gleamed dimly; Ann climbed up unsteadily, Balan as well, and Taram was leaning on a sword in the deep shadows of the room. The others were dead, torn.
‘Can we do anything?’ I breathed as the Blacktowers flickered in the shadows. They were chattering inhumanly, their movements jerky.
Morag wiped the sweat off his face; it came off with soot from the flames. ‘We can only fight. Or I can. I wish I had the gauntlet. It would make all the difference.’
‘Matters not,’ the Red Brother breathed, grimacing from his wounds. ‘They block the doorway. I can try to fetch help, but—’
I sobbed, holding the whip tight. ‘This is my fault. I brought that weapon here.’
Father scoffed. ‘This is all they wanted. You and I near alone. They hoped you might poison me or kill me, that would have worked well for them, but they wagered I’d see through you. That I would want to make you love me. That I would forget to be careful with someone who has been lied to so much about his father. I could see through you. But not through his craft. Lies upon lies. It worked. Get him out of here,’ he told the Red Brother.
‘We must get out,’ the Red Brother said calmly, his sword at a ready. He eyed the hulking lord behind him. ‘Come with us. Charge together.’
‘I’ll not let them defile my house,’ he spat. ‘No Danegell would let them crawl over our home, our bones. I’ll damn them back to Hel. Take him. Run!’ I had no chance to protest. The Red Brother cursed and grabbed me. He pulled me along and he loped for the door lightning fast. The dead ones moved, and he had expected them to. He threw me high, rolled on the ground, his sword coming up and down, and that strike tore an arm off Balan, who had moved to block him. The dead thing shrieked. His eyes were burning in his head as it held the dry stump. Balan flopped to the ground as the Red Brother caught me. Flames licked at the Red Brother from Balan’s remaining hand, but we were past the bastard and stepped to the doorway.
Ann laughed with a hateful voice. I felt her calling for strange powers, and the floor glowed.
The Red Brother stepped on it. There was an explosion that rocked the house. The hallway before us fell apart, and then we flew in the air. My guardian was torn into bits and pieces. His armor rained around the chamber in rattling and clanking wreckage. I struck the ceiling and fell to Balan’s feet. He grasped my throat and grinned without humor or emotion. He ripped my head up to look at Father.
A swarm of men rushed from the mirror. ‘Mir’s Bones, that’s the mirror,’ he whispered. ‘I renamed it. I don’t like my wife. Don’t tell her. But at least she lets me sit on the throne.’
‘You have no soul,’ I whispered. ‘There is nothing real about you.’
‘As long as I get to sit on the throne, even once, I am fulfilled. Damn your souls,’ the draugr panted. Their goals, they all had them. I struggled, but two undead came to hold me down, and no matter the rage I felt, I could not move. ‘The mirror can bring some dozens at a time, and then it must rest for a moment, but they will suffice.’
A dozen,
then two dozen armed dead came from the mirror. They moved like animals, slithering, loping, running, and they surrounded Father, who was casting spells, his sword in his hand. He summoned more whirling ice to cover him and a whip of ice. Mir was also casting spells, so was Ann, and Shaduril, and gouts of flame tore at the shields of Father, roasting him in places, leaving his armor smoking. He roared so loudly some undead fell on their knees, but then they all charged him. The whip went up, then down, slaying ten of the enemy, then more as Father held his place and tore the stream of dead into shreds. He cursed and spat and laughed like a dying king would, proud and noble amidst vermin. Mir danced strangely and summoned fiery arms from the ground to grasp at his ankles, which tore off armor and skin and meat. Shaduril and Ann summoned scorching energies, and thin whips of fire grew from their hands. They pushed after the remaining soldiers, and all of them began whipping and stabbing at the huge Jotun. Ice and fire whips went up, smoke and fumes filled our nostrils, the dead fell into pieces and Father roared in agony. Ann hissed and moved to the side; her whip came up and down and tore a wound in Father’s face. Shaduril stopped her attack, concentrated, and raised a flame wall across Father, and his ice barrier collapsed. Mir came forward, and from her hands grew a tall molten spear. She hovered at the edges of the fight, and I struggled wildly, but Balan held me tight. ‘Watch! At least his time you get to witness the death of your father.’
Father went to his knees; the fiery claws were tearing at his legs.
The enemy howled victoriously and charged.
And Morag changed.
He twisted into a ball, sprung up as a bleeding, enormous white bear and wiped his claws across Ann’s head, which flew to the dark corner. Then Father jumped for Mir. His mass buried the draugr queen from sight; the claws raked at the woman’s body, and she shrieked in surprise and pain.
The fiery spear appeared from Father’s back. Taram’s shadow slithered across the bear’s back, he appeared and a sword thrust through Father’s head. Taram hollered incoherently, his goal achieved.
Morag slumped, and he died.
It was over.
He changed as he died, his sword nearly man-sized as was his body. Taram grabbed the weapon and stared at it feverishly. The draugr pried Mir from under Morag’s still formidable physique. She was alive.
I hissed in rage and struggled but could not move. I tore at the ring on my finger, but it did not budge but burrowed under my skin instead. I howled in pain as Balan looked down at me. ‘All hail the Beast of the North!’ he laughed with a mocking voice, and the dead turned to look at me.
‘Bring him up,’ Mir said dryly from the side. She was twisted to her side, eyeing the damage to her chest. Half was missing, her throat ragged. Not enough to kill her, though.
‘What shall we do with him?’ Balan asked his wife. ‘As planned?’
She twisted her head to the side. Shaduril was ignoring me until Mir pulled at her and spoke with her. ‘Get up and kill the rest. Then tell Crec he is the Beast of the North. Tell him he must lead the Hawk’s Talon to Hollow Stone pass as soon as possible and then north for Ygrin. He won’t like it, but persuade him. There is trouble from the northerners. And tell everyone, the Brothers work for Ygrin and must be captured and killed, should any survive. Then go and resume your duty.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ she said softly and nodded at me with a small smile that changed into sorrow. She waved farewell. She had wanted to see me die, perhaps? She would not, and that made her sad? Or did she regret what was happening?
‘Balan,’ Mir said, and the lord nodded at her. ‘Sit in the Rose Throne. Govern the city while we are gone.’
‘My pleasure, wife,’ he told her though in truth there was no love between the dead things. She was leaving?
‘Taram?’ she said.
‘Mother-in-law?’ he said and grinned.
‘You are the new Lord Commander of the Mad Watch. Gag and hang the King Killer. Then hunt down the remaining Jotuns,’ she said. She glanced at Ann’s body as if she had worth. ‘Bury her. And Lith if she is dead instead of a rebel. It was a heavy price, but Red Midgard is ours.’
‘Yes, I shall,’ Taram said, smiling wickedly. More dead entered the room, many dozen poured in. They turned to rush upstairs and when they did, the battle was soon over.
CHAPTER 16
The Harlot was unhappy.
I could not see her fuming at me, for they had placed a sack over my face so people would not see me changing my looks. There was a tight noose that was tight around my neck so no hair would spill out, should I play a fool and try to make life hard for them. Life, I chuckled in panic. They were living dead.
‘You have silver, gold? Gold will get you gone really fast. Silver will do it pretty fast,’ the fat executioner whispered to me. ‘Or you can just hang there. Lord?’
‘Yes,’ I heard Taram say languidly.
‘The armor, it is heavy. Might break his neck too quickly if he does not pray for mercy,’ she whined.
‘Ah, do not worry about it. The rope is extra thick. And you Lord Gal, you will not be needed,’ Taram called out.
Gal. He was there. Dead as well.
‘My Lord Captain, it is the rule of the land I oversee executions and take his possessions for the treasure—’
‘For your treasury,’ Taram laughed. ‘But this is irrelevant. At least in this case. He hangs in his armor.’
‘You have a new sword, my lord,’ Gal said morosely.
‘Yes, I do!’ he laughed. ‘Tear Drinker!’ He had taken Father’s magnificent sword. In his hands, it would be deadly. ‘And stop delving too deep into my business, my lord, or you shall find yourself explaining your greed to my mother-in-law.’
A resentful grunt told me he was about to launch into a further argument, despite Taram’s threat. The undead had a hard time letting go of their desires. But then, here was a high-pitched female voice. ‘He is mulish. Won’t say anything. But my silver—’ the Harlot intervened in the discussion, but only for a moment.
‘He is gagged,’ Taram told her impatiently. ‘He cannot answer you. And he has nothing. Never did. Only in his dreams did he have something. Get on with it. You get paid extra if you do it slowly.’
‘Oh!’ the Harlot said, and I could imagine her licking her fat lips. ‘You should have said so, my lord. Sorry, Brother.’
‘You knew you would be paid,’ Taram growled. ‘You wanted to see if you could rob him before the hanging. On to the Sun Court. He will meet the tree.’
Shit skulled bastard. I resisted the urge to struggle as hands pushed me. They were taking me to the First Ring, to the Singing Garden and the Sun Court that was the heart of the city, filled with the most influential houses and people. They were showing me off to the old houses, and there I would die. There was a constant drone of yells and screams around me. I was pelted with vegetables; people were crying, and I realized they could not comprehend the king was gone. Then I was hit in the chest by something that smelled like excrement and likely it was. I stumbled on, my feet dragged along. I felt someone was casting spells far, far away and felt the ring in my hand, resisting my giant’s senses, and it drifted off, the brief glimpse of magic. Had they killed all the Brothers? They took the Tower. And the Tenginell house. Yes, possibly. Gone. My kindred. My father?
Dead.
They marched us through the gates, our steps were echoing, and I heard the Mad Watch curse me. The stupid bastards didn’t know what they were allied with. Then, I heard cliff birds shrieking and knew we were before the very walls of the Tower of the Temple, the top of the hill. They marched us to the right, for the Sun Court and the final gate to the Temple, no doubt held by Blacktower and Crec.
‘Behold,’ Taram said, ‘but you cannot! Your Brothers,’ he yelled to the benefit of the crowds, ‘failed. There they hang, and you, king killer, shall hang with them!’
‘Rip his entrails out!’ someone yelled.
‘Hang him from his balls!’ another echoed the murderous
sentiment.
‘Law and justice shall be served,’ Taram yelled. ‘We are no animals. Like they are, the traitors to the land!’
I had had no justice at all; no formal court of law had heard my case. But that was moot, apparently, as the people around me either agreed or disagreed with Taram, the new Lord Commander of the City.
I cursed as I struggled with my binds. They were of thick steel, and I could not bend them. ‘Tell him to be quiet,’ the Harlot said. ‘I hate noisy customers. Makes me look like a butcher. Dignity, self-constraint, and modesty will set a good example. Don’t be a screamer,’ she whispered in my ear helpfully and even playfully.
‘I said he is gagged,’ Taram sighed. ‘Here, get it over with.’ I felt the cobblestones give way to marble, and I heard a hundred bells clinking magically. The tree was very near. And so was my demise.
‘Sure, let me do this my own way, my lord,’ she said. ‘There are rules to this art, you know. They will talk about this at their dinner tables all across Dagnar this evening. They will whisper about it in the taverns. And if they find this was done improperly?’
I heard Gal snicker. ‘They will hang the Lord Commander instead.’
‘Or the Lord of the Harbor,’ Taram said with a clear warning.
‘The king slayer,’ Taram spat, ‘has to die. Do your best? Hang him, step back, and let the folks enjoy it. None must see his face.
‘Who is the king?’ she asked.
‘King Crec Helstrom,’ Taram told her, his voice utterly bored. ‘He is watching from the wall of the Temple with my mother-and father-in-law. Make it good enough.’
I struggled. I did not want to, but I did. I tore free of the Mad Watch escorting me, ran and fell heavily and hit my face. They grabbed me up—very roughly—to the amusement and jeers of the crowds around me. They threw me around, guiding me in the right direction, pushed me on, and I kicked desperately. The familiar rage was gnawing at the edges of my mind, but it was not enough to break the shackles. I was too afraid, and I felt the cursed ring resisting all my attempts to escape, to do what a Jotun should be doing. Fight. Jotun? I laughed. I was nothing of the sort. I was going to die a human. I kicked around again and connected with a leg that broke in two, at least judging by the crack of the bone and the howling of the man. Then I was lifted. They carried me on; the jingling of the bells mixed strangely with the cacophony of the crowds. The feet of the men who were carrying me thrummed on planks now, and I felt I was lifted higher. The wind was not only rustling the bells hung on the skulls, but also I could now hear the bony clank of skulls brushing each other and the rustling of the leaves. Then, I felt a rope on my face. They slid it over my head, and I could not help it from happening. I sobbed, cursed, and spat and then—amidst shouts, jests and the clanging bells—they hoisted me up to my toes.
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