Then, something happened.
I caught a glimpse of the commotion.
A hundred spear-wielding svartalfs were swarming up the pyramid.
Dana, who feared many things, didn’t fear that.
I had seen her braid together that spell before. She concentrated, held her hands out, she put together the mightiest spell only she knew, and let go of it. The air shimmered with heat, her face glowed, her mail glinted, and that spell ripped down the side of the pyramid. The yellow and orange wave of fire was huge and terrifying. It was like a wave of the ocean during a fall storm, high, alive, merciless and it splashed down the steps. The svartalfs yelled warnings, scattered, ran and jumped out of the way, but Dana pushed more and more power into the spell, and the fire roared and ripped to the sandy floor and then to the wall across from the pyramid, leaving hundreds of charred bodies in its wake, the rancid stench immediate.
That changed everything.
Everyone turned to look at Dana.
They all charged her, knowing she would kill anyone who tried to take her with insufficient numbers.
She didn’t wait. She grimaced, and turned to the other side of the pyramid, where she apparently saw the greatest danger. She braided together three thinner streams of fire and let them loose. Someone was screaming, horrified, and a dozen were burning as fleshy fireballs hurled to the sand.
Then the fiery lines separated, and she threw her arms around, the fires were spiraling like streams of magma around the pyramid, killing a dozen or more of the fleetest svartalfs. Dana’s display of fiery lines was as breathtaking as it was deadly.
Groups of hundreds screamed orders and encouragements, preparing to rush up the stairs. There was a hint of ferocious desperation in their voices. Apparently the remaining mercenaries had all forgotten there was our side and the enemy side, as they banded with the others and thought only of taking Dana down.
“Wait!” a jotun said, bleeding. The few dverger held their shields out.
The sacrifices, some five hundred or more yelled, shouting encouragements. They screamed, shoved each other forward, and I noticed how Dana was shivering, preparing. Stheno and the royals were whispering to each other, and I knew the great gorgon was extremely pleased with the sacrifice.
Dana called for an odd weave I had not seen her call before, and a multicolored sphere surrounded her. She was preparing and expecting to see the eyeballs of her enemy.
“She’s learned a lot of new spells,” I muttered.
“She’s very powerful,” Thak muttered. “I’m lucky she only knows fire.”
Up on the dais, Stheno stepped up and leaned down over the railing next to the steward, thoroughly enjoying the battle. The queens and the kings of the city moved cautiously forward, anticipating the climax. “Come then, you whore’s sons!” Dana shrieked, fiery as she had always been.
She was also crying.
I saw it. And at that, I knew I could not see her die. Not like that.
“We must help her!” I hissed,
They turned to look at me as if I had lost my mind. Thak pushed me. “Help her? Let her fall!” he roared. “She takes many with her, and then, it is time—”
I pushed him aside, and rushed my way between two dverger, who yelled in surprise. “Wait!” one of them yelled gutturally. Thak was reaching for me, and I grabbed Itax’s ring and slipped it on my finger.
Things blurred and then I stood away on a corpse of a svartalf and looked at Thak reaching for me, and then he fell, confused, as the mirage disappeared. “Ulrich!” he screamed. “Don’t make a mess of this!”
“Shannon and you lot need a conscience!” I yelled, and regretted it, as he looked in my direction. I cursed, removed the ring, and put it back on. Thak saw a mirage of me, backing off, and I rushed on, unseen. He wasn’t fooled this time. He thinned, fell to his four feet, and changed into a gigantic wolf. He growled, sniffed, and feral eyes turned my way, my scent as clear as a nose on a face for him. I cursed and dodged around three svartalfs in a mortal fight. I felt and heard, more than saw the wolf make his way through the poor bastards. Blood was flying over me as I dashed for the pyramid. I gazed behind, and saw the wolf rushing and sniffling, his eyes boring my way. He loped forward, growled and jumped. I cursed, removed the ring and placed it on again, and as Thak jumped, I could hear his roar of frustration, as I was elsewhere.
Thak sniffed my direction again, and charged me doggedly.
He missed a danger.
Six svartalfs and some men attacked him from behind. One was a former champion of house Ban, and his sword struck down savagely, opening a huge gash on Thak’s shoulder. Had it been a magical blade, the jotun would have fallen. As it was, the wolf fell and rolled over a few of the enemy, snapping at their limbs and face. The dverger and the jotuns swarmed to the battle. The enemy turned to fight them, one fell, and the svartalf champion struck with his sword, deftly, killing a dverg, and then turned for the wounded Thak, smelling a great kill.
Thak got up, the champion was roaring, and I cursed as he might actually kill Thak, who was turning with a limp. The other jotuns were busy, slaying left and right at a ragged band of men and svartalfs. I gazed at the pyramid, saw Dana was still relatively safe as hundreds of her would-be killers swarmed around the pyramid like circling sharks, seeking weakness. I rushed forward to save Thak. I hacked the sabre at the back of a human fighter who had not seen me, thanks to the ring, and I pushed him over, screaming. I ran forward, the ring’s blessing gone, and the champion, a fine fighter, sensed something was coming from behind. He slashed the blade around. It hit my shield, and I ran into him. We fell in a tangle of limbs. With great fortune, I stabbed him through the belly as we fell, and we ended up with me sitting on top of him. He slapped my face weakly, I was screaming, and I twisted the blade until he went still.
Thak was tottering with a huge bleeding wound, and changed and grew into his twelve feet. He fell over me and I cursed him, throwing my weapons before me. “I just saved—”
A crackling sound filled the air. Heat burned my ears and hair, as the jotun buried me under his body. He absorbed the heat, and no flame could touch him. I gasped with the horrible heat, and saw how the flames roared past us. Most of the dverger died with shrieks, as Dana’s terrible storm swept another hundred lives out, leaving burning husks in its wake. Thak rolled onto his back, smoking, gazing up at the pyramid. There, dozens of survivors were loping up the steps, and Dana, tottering with fatigue, her dark hair billowing, called out two whips of fire. She flailed about her, her eyes darting left and right, the chains holding her.
There were fifty, then a hundred remaining enemy, spears and weapons flashing, hoping to gain the deadly maa’dark, who they now understood would kill them all, if they didn’t take her out first. I tore myself up, a charred corpse next to me, making me trip.
Up on the pyramid, Dana was whipping around desperately. The flamed whips were cutting through weapons, shields, and flesh. She turned and turned, the multicolored shield absorbing sword strikes, spears and thrown projectiles. The svartalfs climbed up bravely, dozens of them left and I surged up after them. Thak was on his knees. “Ulrich! Do not help Dana!”
“She’ll help us! She’s—”
“Shannon will never forgive her!!” Thak screamed. “She is undead; they cannot change their minds!”
“I might forgive Dana!” I yelled, and surged forward. The spells braided in my head, and I climbed on the scorched, bloody steps. I felt sick as I navigated the heaps of crispy corpses. Dana’s whips and falling corpses were above me. The whips flew around like mad, but then, three savagely large enemy soldiers stabbed at her from three directions. One died from a whip that sliced his chest in two, his pumping heart exploding. I saw how Dana’s chains made her trip. She fell, screamed, whipped around as she did at the two warriors, who died, falling in many flaming pieces. Others took their place, and I knew she’d not survive much more.
An ax fell on her.
Her mag
ical guard blinked out.
Spears flashed at her, and Dana cursed with a sob. A svartalf stood above her, she kicked him in the nuts, keeling him over, but another lifted a glinting two-handed sword, and so I attacked.
I ran, and let go with the spell I had braided together. Fire sprung to the air in a thin line. It shot through the svartalf, and I moved it and burned three others. Smoke stung my eyes, obscuring my sight. I saw Stheno pointing at me, screaming. The royals were gawking down at me, and then, the kings and the queens were standing forth, weaving together spells of protection. Hundreds of guards stepped up to protect them.
Cosia and Ittisana didn’t move.
Ittisana’s face said it all. She was furious. Her face betrayed bottomless rage and I was sure it was aimed at me.
I ignored the look.
I screamed defiance and braided a new spell at Dana’s assailants. The fire burned through another attacker, a burly human, the instant stink of his burning flesh making me reel. My spell burned hot, and I forced it to circle the top of the pyramid and to surround Dana. She was on her knees, bleeding from her mouth. Fire was still leaving her hands despite being obviously exhausted. Svartalfs fell left and right, a burning man tumbled past me, his eyes melting down his cheeks. Dana stared at the flames in confusion, and turned to look at me. “Ulrich?”
I rushed for her. “Fight! Hang on! We’ll make it!”
“You?” she breathed. “You damned fool. You will ruin this!” she shrieked, mad with fear, and yet scared as well, as she had nearly died. She raised her hands. She looked around, saw but wounded and terrified svartalfs and turned towards me.
Stheno shrieked. “Kill him! Kill him and receive your freedom, Dana!”
I ran forward, pulled the ring out, and put it back on, and Dana released a long, thin lick of fire at me.
She hesitated and the flame missed my mirage. “Go away, Ulrich!” she sobbed.
“There is nowhere to go!” I screamed, and she looked at where I was standing. I pulled off the ring, appeared, the mirage disappeared. She was surprised, she hesitated, and then, everything changed.
Shannon’s plan came together.
Cosia stepped forward.
Her face changed as she let go of her masking spell.
Her face turned into a twisted, dead one. The snakes on her head moved lazily. There were unhealed wounds all around her body and face, and I knew she had died a hard death at Shannon’s hands, probably only days after she was captured. I felt sick with realization as to why she had obeyed Shannon, even after gaining the throne.
She had been raised as a draugr.
Ittisana whispered something to her ear, smiling maliciously. She offered Cosia the blue bag, the one I had seen Itax give Shannon, and Cosia grabbed it.
Cosia looked back at Ittisana, who was mouthing an order. Cosia, her face terrified, nodded, and surged forward. She ran with fleet feet. She pounded past the guards, the lesser lords and ladies. She opened the bag as she ran, and Kiera tumbled out of the magical thing. She disappeared as she fell, and appeared behind Stheno. The gorgon was turning, surprised, and Kiera savagely grabbed the Scepter of Night and rolled over the railing to the sand below. Darkness enveloped the Pit’s edge as Kiera tumbled down, releasing a spell. Stheno roared and turned to look down after Kiera into the fog, the royals and their guards hesitated in shock.
And Cosia, the draugr, rushed behind their backs, crashed into the back of the Queen of Scardark, grabbed the mighty Stheno, and toppled her down to the arena in a ball of flailing limbs and snakes. They crashed to the darkness and chaos reigned on the balcony.
Dana hesitated as she looked at the unfolding chaos. The svartalf nobles were in uproar, rushing back and forth. Then even more, as one turned to look behind.
Up on the throne, Ittisana stood with her legs spread. She had been my friend in Himingborg. Then, she had changed when we travelled. She changed even more now. Cosia’s near unique spell of transformation melted away, and Shannon was standing before the surprised royalty of the Vastness.
She was there, and not in Aldheim defending Himingborg, and for a moment I didn’t understand what was happening.
Dana whimpered as I dismissed the flames on top of the pyramid and stepped next to her. She whispered. “Ruugatha. She’s here to take the Throne of Scars. And the army.” She shook her head. “And me.”
CHAPTER 18
Dana’s face was bone-white. Her eyes flickered from the dark mist at the bottom of the wall to the gallery above. She tore at her bonds, and her eyes were unreadable with shock.
The kings and the queens backed off from the Throne of Scars and stared at Shannon as if they had seen a ghost. In a way, they had. The lich was wearing her black robes, her red hair was lustrous and billowing around her shoulders, the dead hand was holding Famine, and her eyes burned red. The ancient svartalf steward took steps back, horrified, and fell from the balcony. Kallista alone acted. She ran away, rushing for an exit, but the kings and queens began braiding together spells. Hundreds of guards converged on Shannon. One king unleashed a spell, perhaps not out of loyalty to Stheno, but because she was there to make trouble. There was a bright stab of light as lightning cracked and forked for Shannon. She stood on the Throne of Scars and the spell dissipated in the air. She had broken the spell. It was her skill, and she had it, even in her dead state.
“What do you want?” yelled another king in white armor.
“Your bows and oaths to your new Queen,” she laughed. “But worry not. I’ll take them after you are dead and resurrected.”
Guards charged her. Hundreds were running for her.
She let go with her own spell. The whole balcony was shaking, water flowed from the sides of the walls and pillars, then the cracks of the stone walls around us, and the whole room seemed to tilt. Stones rained down, killing some survivors of the Pit fight. I pushed Dana under me, and she coughed, and there was a scream of terror from hundreds of throats, as much of the balcony crashed to the Pit. The twinkling spears of the guards tilted, shields rattled, high nobles and kings and queens yelled and rolled down amidst tons of stone, rubble, and dust. The darkness Kiera, Cosia, and Stheno had fallen into was heaped with mortar and bits of pillars and corpses. Parts of the balcony survived to the sides, and there, many survivors rushed to escape, while others cowered in shock and fear. We stared around at the chaos. The dust was settling and the black and gold throne came to sight, and Shannon still stood on it, at the edge of the fallen balcony.
Her eyes were looking down at where Stheno had fallen.
All around us, hurt svartalfs were crawling up, the defensive spells glimmering in the settling dust as the highest of the survivors tried to get to their feet.
Shannon’s eyes turned my way.
She didn’t look like a friend then. Not at all. She pointed a bony finger at me, then at Dana. “Kill her. Then use the mask, and help kill Stheno!”
“Dana doesn’t need to die!” I roared. “You came here to take Scardark? What for?”
“What for?” she screamed back. “Why, as you said, I don’t have an army! I’ll take Aldheim for Hel. Svartalfheim as well. That’s what she wants!”
“And the Horn?” I yelled and eyed some of the jotuns taking careful steps up to us. “What of that? And what I suggested?”
She shook her head. “The Horn will wait. Hel’s revenge will come first. I’m sorry, Ulrich, but I cannot refuse her.” She was clutching Famine, and I knew there was no arguing with her. She spoke to the mercenaries. “Kill her. Him, if he tries to stop you.” The jotuns took steps up. Kiera appeared out of a dark cloud steps away from us, holding the Scepter, and Thak, limping was climbing for us.
Kiera hissed. “Step away, love.” She held the Scepter and pointed it at me. I didn’t budge. “Move, Ulrich.”
Dana whimpered and struggled with her chains. “Oh gods, no,” she was saying.
And then, they all had something else to think about.
I pushed before
Dana, and looked below. There, a horrible mess of stone had moved. Five kings and queens were backing off, dozens of battered guards with them as the heaps of stone moved. Two of the royals couldn’t be seen, and Kallista had escaped but the rest spread out, anticipating Stheno.
And there, in the midst of the horrible mess, stood the First Born.
She held a struggling, battered Cosia in one of her bleeding left hands, tangling the draugr from the snakes. She lifted Cosia high, and placed another hand on her throat. She tore her hand into Cosia’s skull, and the draugr gorgon fell truly dead, shivering as her skull was emptied by the claws of the Queen of Svartalfheim. Stheno spoke, while looking at the husk of a gorgon. “Hel’s filth.” She let go of the corpse, gazing up at Shannon. She turned to the queens and the kings and raised her voice. “Fight and be rewarded! Show your true allegiance! Fight, or you shall perish!”
She gazed at Kiera and the Scepter, and at Shannon. She looked up at her, straddling the Throne. “That’s not yours,” she hissed. “You are making it filthy with your dirty, Hel-stained feet. I’ll rip them off.”
Shannon eyed her terrible enemy. “It will be mine, when you join Euryale in your weeping life in Helheim. And you will. She is expecting you.”
Stheno called for mighty powers. Her spell tore from her hands, a mist of burning fumes that billowed for the Throne of Scars. The spell crumbled stone, it burned the broken pillars and turned the dust to fiery sparks that rained down.
Shannon saw the spell coming. “You saw what happened to your sister, Stheno,” Shannon laughed. “Remember that sight. She wept.”
“You cannot weep,” Stheno spat, and pushed the spell up. “But you will scream,” she finished. The fog was eating into stone, burrowing into the fine marble and melting skulls and bones, and then it hit the throne, which darkened. Shannon changed. She was glowing with protective energies.
A swarm of crows left the throne, fluttering around as she leapt into the air and landed on a pillar of rock in the Pit. Thak was growling orders, and twenty or so surviving svartalf mercenaries that had hung back from Dana’s power, the one dverg and the jotuns, forgot about us and silently rushed down the pyramid for the throng below. There, some fifty battered svartalf guards were ringing their royals, who were removing robes in favor of freedom of movement. Several of them threw spells at Shannon. There was a thick, fierce fire and icy stabs of cold, but Shannon waved her hands around, and the spells either went fantastically wrong, disappeared, or hit the pillar and dissipated around her. She held Famine, the dagger of Hel, and it gave her great power over the enemy spells.
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