The Beast of the North

by Alaric Longward

  They thrummed with the power of the impact, and I grinned, for my blade had sunk to the side of the shield, tearing it, and the end of the sword was on her side, sunk deep. She looked at the blade incredulously and then she was struggling with her own, stuck blade, and I grunted as I leaned forward, pushing the sword with my remaining power. We struggled thus; she was sweating, a demi-goddess. ‘Perhaps,’ I lisped, for my face was badly hurt, ‘you are out of practice?’ I asked and laughed, spat blood and bit of teeth and knew I was severely wounded. I felt my armor was broken in places, and I bled profusely. But I refused to give up.

  She cursed softly, my blade cut deeper as she stopped pushing back, but her blade came off the rock. My sword dug deeper into her, but she endured the pain with a grimace, held the spear towards my face, and whispered.

  White flames shot out, and I was burned in my arms and under my helmet’s rim. My face was terribly blistered.

  I flew to the side, ripped off the helmet, rolled to the water to douse the flames, and spied her running to the side, her hands glowing with energies of the First Born as she tried to heal herself. I could not see anything with my left eye and sobbed for I was beyond repair. She was gagging, in terrible pain, her clothes burned off. Despite her wound and pain, she looked magnificent, like a queen of war, a battle maiden of no regrets, a goddess of bravery and ancient grudges.

  I had nearly slain her. That was something.

  I tried to get up, to stop her, but I was too weak and could only crawl for her, dragging my sword with me. She turned to look at me, her high breasts heaving with incredulity as she regarded her shield, her side still bleeding from a deep cut that looked like it was scarring over. She walked around me, and I tried to follow her movements. I managed to fall on my back, my face a mass of pain, my back a mound of blood. She stepped on the sword, and I could not move it.

  ‘You fought very well, Maskan,’ she said surprisingly gently. ‘I underestimated you, of course, but very well indeed. Jotun’s blade is excellent and occasionally, even a god can die of it. You nearly became a legend.’

  And then I saw Taram.

  I looked at a shadow shooting from the side, a spell tingling in the air and saw a blade in the air, thrusting for the back of the goddess. It was one of the blades of the jotuns who had fallen in the island so long ago. He had killed a king. Now the undead thing was after a goddess. He hawked a small laugh as Baduhanna looked up, surprised, the blade coming for her unprotected back.

  I grabbed her and pulled her to me. The blade followed her, Taram’s one hand brought it down with deadly intent. I pushed her off with savage strength.

  The blade split my chest, the armor and I fell back, mortally wounded.

  I dimly saw Baduhanna’s weapon flash. I saw a shadow escaping; then flames dance with dark and orange flames around it, and Taram screamed. He fell to the side, not far, a miserable thing. I spat blood as I saw the nude goddess step on his face, smashing it to a pulp.

  Then I remember feeling her very close, and I remember I kissed her lips. ‘Ann was right,’ I said weakly. ‘Just kiss the girl.’

  Darkness. Warmth. I am not sure how much time had passed, and then I felt a caress of a warm hand on my face. I opened my eyes and felt invigorated, and I could see with both my eyes.

  Her face was grave. ‘You are right. Undead walk the land. That one? He was out to slay me. Incredible. It was a draugr. A bright, nasty creature.’

  ‘He killed my father,’ I said, feeling strangely invigorated. ‘They all have goals. And they cannot let go of them. They awaken to death, and they have to obey their lords, but they are always rebelling against their wishes. They want something for themselves. He wanted to kill a king. Then, a goddess. He almost killed his second king, though.’ I groped weakly at the excellent plate armor and found it was shattered in the chest. ‘How—’

  She put a finger over my mouth, silencing me. ‘I find you very strange, Maskan Danegell,’ the goddess said huskily. She sat over me, clad in a tunic again, a creation of magic.

  ‘They plan for many things,’ I said. ‘Mir, the queen of the draugr, has led the armies north to war against our allies. And the High King is waiting for them. And the city above? It has likely fallen to the Hammer Legions.’

  ‘Hammer Legion. A ridiculous name. Unimaginative,’ she murmured.

  ‘So I need that army to save my last sister and people who have called the Danegells kings for thousands of years.’

  ‘And now they failed,’ she said, eyeing my father’s long sword appraisingly. ‘Dverg-made, like most great weapons. Your two-hander nearly killed a goddess. You have good swords, Jotun.’ She kicked the blade Taram had used, frowning. Even a demi-goddess can be shocked by a near death. She shook her head and rubbed her face. She was drained. ‘I wonder why they make the blades so long, being short.’

  ‘Being short, you need a longer reach,’ I told her. She laughed brilliantly.

  ‘True,’ she agreed and left the sword on my side. ‘You feel alive?’

  ‘Barely,’ I told her thinly, touching my face.

  ‘A few scars. That’s all you get, my vain little Jotun. Nearly as cute as it was, Jotun,’ she said with a groan. ‘Shape changers have this problem. They usually take an animal form, and such a form so often gets stabbed and slashed in the face. But you are fine now. If nothing else, I can renew skin. Replacing flesh was harder. And I spent a lot of my powers in saving you and healing myself. None else can heal, boy. Only an Aesir. That is our skill. But it is exhausting. So you owe me.’

  ‘Didn’t you want the fight?’ I sulked. ‘I only denied you an oath.’

  ‘I cannot recall.’ She giggled. ‘Perhaps so. But you owe me. Restoring spells are far from easy. You are rarely blessed like you just were.’

  ‘I do owe you, lady. But not a kingdom,’ I groaned.

  She nodded, sulking. ‘So. You are saying Red Midgard has a king.’

  ‘I said that once, and I am the damned lord of the land,’ I told her.

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully, clearly amused. She poked my chest so hard I was sure there was a dent in the metal. ‘And the High King? Another enemy?’ she asked, and I nodded, suspicious. She leaned closer and batted her long eyelashes at me. ‘Would you allow me to carry that crown?’

  ‘That would mean I serve you,’ I told her glumly.

  ‘You will,’ she said thinly. ‘I won, didn’t I?’

  ‘I think it was a tie,’ I told her stubbornly.

  She shook her head dejectedly. ‘You might have lived like a man, but there is something very Jotun about you. Noble and idiotic at the same time. You kissed me?’

  ‘You kissed me, no?’ I asked.

  ‘No, you grabbed my hair as I healed you and kissed me,’ she insisted. ‘Are you saying it did not happen?’

  ‘I remember it did,’ I told her and shrugged as she tilted her head at me. ‘Not sure why. Perhaps it is because you are a goddess and I was dying, and I am sorry,’ I sighed. ‘I don’t care who sits on the throne of the High King in Malingborg, but Red Midgard is free now. I just told the enemy army that as well. Take any land, and leave us to ours.’

  She giggled. ‘I think you are very brave. Here is the deal, you sorry fool. I will give you this Red Midgard you keep talking about. And the dverger as a guard,’ she told me frankly. ‘And you will kneel before me, under their eyes. You will uphold your father’s broken oath to me.’

  I sighed, eyed the ceiling, and saw the host of the dverger looking down at me. I thought of Red Midgard, of the suffering of men, the dead Jotuns, and the dverger lingering there, dying out slowly. I decided there was nothing to decide. I climbed to my feet, shuddered to my twelve feet, and sheathed the Red Brother’s two-hander. Then I grabbed my father’s sword. She eyed me bravely, seemingly unarmed, and got up as well, barely reaching my waist. I laid the sword before her, kneeled, and bowed before her. ‘I, Maskan Danegell, of the Clan Danegells, people of the Ymritoe,’ I bellowed so hard the cavern
shook, ‘pledge I keep my father’s oath to Aesir Baduhanna of Asgard and break our family’s pact with Hel. I shall be called the Beast of the North, the Cursed, the Traitor, but this I shall endure until Hel claims me.’

  Baduhanna smiled at me and touched my face. ‘And I shall give you your crown. You will serve me and together, love, we shall make war and build law across this land of ours.’

  ‘Why would I serve you?’ I asked her. ‘I just said we should fight together but rule separately.’

  She laughed. ‘You swore an oath to keep your father’s, boy. He swore to marry me and serve me, his queen. Jotuns and gods, Maskan, often marry. And now you agreed to this. Husband. We will settle the matter of the rulership later. You shall have the crown, but I am not sure you will rule alone. It depends on my mood and how honest you turn out to be.’

  I gawked. She ignored me and turned to look up at the dverger. ‘Will you honor the lord of your people? His word is your law, and long have you served without praise, with no hope, no reward. Shall you go out to the light and be free of this misery? Or shall you stay here and rot? He broke your vows, and no punishment will come to you for that.’

  There was silence for a long time. They stood there, some two thousand strong. They were all armed and armored now, to the teeth, and I saw many had packed, in the hope of a fool Jotun finding their freedom. I had, but not the way they had hoped. Thrun stepped up, reluctantly. ‘If he faces the wrath of the goddess for us, we shall obey him. And you, Aesir. But we will one day wish to go back home. If the ways open, we shall leave. This pact binds us until such time.’

  ‘So be it. He shall endure Hel’s rage,’ she grinned. She spoke to me gently. ‘But not alone. Take your grandfather’s armor. I’ll find something from some of your other relatives.’

  ‘I am happy I made an ally,’ I told her as I approached the Jotun’s bones and the magnificent suit of dark armor that was inlaid with gold. ‘But you tricked me. And a marriage—’

  ‘Is a fine thing, boy,’ she said. ‘As long as you obey your woman. I’ll show you how. And I am happy we are allied as well. Not all couples are.’ She grinned as she tapped her foot, looking for a suit of armor that might fit her.

  I stared at her. Married to a demi-goddess. Sand will laugh.

  Or not. Much depended on Sand. And … Illastria.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Tower had not fallen. Not totally.

  There was a guard of Hammer Legionnaires on the steps, all eyeing the open doorway carefully. There were many more inside the tower that was fast turning into a charnel house. The legionnaires stood in a rank of five hundred and occasionally, I could hear Balissa scream a challenge on the top of the tower. That was followed by screams and then booms and the gauntlet gave me a vision of her. I called out to her, and she stiffened briefly, then I spoke to her, and she was relieved. I let go of her mind, and I knew she was holding off the enemy at the very top of the stairs with whatever remained of the Mad Watch, but now more ferociously.

  We stepped out into the open, wearing the dark armor. She had taken some from the dead Jotuns, which fit her magnificently. I held my father’s sword, Bjornag’s two-hander strapped to my back. Baduhanna had her dangerous spear and the strange shield. We stepped closer and finally, one man in the legion pulled at another, and they turned to stare at us. An officer in a golden helmet stepped closer, uncertain of our allegiance. He pulled at an under-officer, a sergeant with a transverse crest of white hair on his golden helmet. The man shook his head and spoke with a burly standard bearer.

  ‘By Frigg’s hem,’ Baduhanna breathed and shouted. ‘Yes! We are with the enemy. The king!’

  The officer took another step forward. ‘High King?’

  ‘High Queen,’ she corrected him. ‘With the High Queen!’

  The officer looked stunned. ‘You are calling the High King a woman?’

  ‘I am a woman, you egg-headed traitor,’ she hissed. ‘And you should bow down before me.’

  ‘What do you think—’

  From behind, we heard the slap of feet, and guttural voices were chanting eerily. A priest of the dverger stepped into the light, wearing a chain mail as long as he was. In fact, it was partially dragging behind him. He cast spells, pulling weaves from the fiery fires of Muspelheim, called out darkness to cover the tower, the walls, and he shuddered with glee as he looked up at me.

  ‘See them,’ I told them. ‘The men who would take the land? They will eat all the food in this city and leave you with mushrooms. Kill them before they do. Form up.’

  And they did.

  Thrun came out. He was armored head to toe, his beard plaited and adorned with silvery skulls. An endless stream of short warriors followed him, and their chanting took on a ferocious edge. They formed a neat, compact column. Tall spears were hefted, thick shields banged together. Lighter armored priests and mages spread to left and right, hiding under cowls and every single one held wands and talismans. Baduhanna saw me staring at the artifacts and chuckled. ‘They are useless,’ she said. ‘Likely good for scratching their asses. But it’s some silly ritual of theirs to hold twigs as symbols of power. Svartalfheim is a strange world.’

  Useless or not, there were soon a hundred dverger in the ranks. The Hammer Legion recovered quickly from their shock of seeing the strange, non-human enemy forming on their side. Being professional soldiers of high repute and veterans of a hundred campaigns in the south, they were brave and did not falter. They banged their shields together and formed into a column that grew in size as men inside understood there was an enemy outside as well as inside the Tower. Others ran from the gate, an officer was yelling at a man to ride to the city, and I knew they were fetching more men.

  The officer shouted a howl-like command at his men. They shuffled forward into the dverg-made darkness, matching the dverg chant with their own. ‘Kill them,’ I said as more and more of the dverg poured out. ‘Get them.’

  The enemy charged instead. Their officer shouted, and they ran at us, hundreds of them.

  The dverg casters released their spells, holding their strange talismans high. I felt fire being called, and so the legion screamed, for there was a wall of flames that split the legion in half and another spell, an enormous hand of fire that slapped down in the middle of the ranks, scattering burning men left and right. And that is when the dverger charged. They were but two hundred now, more joining them all the time from the hole, but they were deadly. The enemy was confused, split and terrified, and the long-suffering dverger army looked like a fist of darkened steel, their spears thrusting forward with strange unity, a near mechanical deadliness. The legionnaires thrust and slashed back, men, and dverger died, but the short men grunted, pushed, stabbed, killed, and crushed those who got past the spears. They were faster, shrugged off wounds that would put down a bear and defended each other like they were connected. Perhaps they were. Legionaries were strong men, used to fighting in a shield wall, charging in a column, but never had they met a wall like they did that day. It was like fighting a hill of rock. Shields hit together, hammers rained down on the dverger, but the short men were powerful, strong beyond any human, and with a terrible grinding sound, they stomped forward, crushing the first ranks of the legion together, unable to fight. Then they killed them. At the same time, the mages cast fiery walls on either side of the legion, a whirling field of fire that hemmed the enemy together, and the butchery was terrible for the poor bastards on the sides of the column. I gagged at the smell of dead men burning, blanched at the horrid sound of roasting fighters. I saw the officer gesturing with a sword at the mages, and javelins were readied by the troops in the rear of the enemy column. ‘Look out!’ I yelled as dozens went up, whirring in the air. I saw most aimed at the first of the dverger casters and two hit, felling the casters, and giving the rest a reason to stop casting and to retreat away. Some javelins whirled in the air, aimed at us. I conjured the spell of warding, and a stone shield guarded me, and I stepped before the goddess, who sno
rted at my protection as a javelin snapped on my chest. ‘I have my own, boy. Husband.’

  ‘I know, but am I not supposed to guard my wife?’ I said with a grin, for I was happy, superbly happy, ferocious and alive and screamed for the dverger to attack. ‘Kill the southern bastards! And then into the tower!’ Thrun grinned back at me, as they heaved against a wall of legionnaires. A dverg fell on his side; his head caved in.

  Thrun yelled back at me. ‘They die, King Maskan! And they will tell Hel of your betrayal!’

  I laughed at that, not sure, I should, but I was not thinking about dying.