The Queen of the Draugr: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Thief of Midgard - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  The door opened.

  Three Hammer soldiers emerged.

  They looked tough, bearded, and scruffy. They were also paranoid. They had heard the noise, and inexorably, they came out to check. They were tall men, with hammers and axes, their shields out as they exited. One was their sergeant, identified by a tassel on his belt. He pointed a finger left, and one man walked that way. He led another towards where we were, down the street. It could possibly be a routine patrol, or perhaps I had alerted them.

  I prepared to kill them, and knew Thrum would charge soon after.

  The men approached. Their chain-mailed bodies turned from one side to another, peeking at the shadows. They had lost many of their soldiers below those past days, and now were nervous as maidens before their wedding night. They walked very near now. I tensed, and claws grew out of my paws. I also let my teeth grow longer.

  One stopped the other. He pointed a finger at me, a large blot along the base of the wall.

  I prepared to pounce.

  Darkness billowed around the men.

  Something moved past me, a stealthy and impossibly swift shadow, and then disappeared inside the foggy smoke. I heard a surprised yell, then something falling hard. A man staggered out of the shadows, holding his throat. Sand’s magic. He had been a man, and no men could see the magical strings of Nifleheim’s frozen rivers, forever pouring to the Filling Void, mixing with the fiery rivers of Muspelheim. But, the dead had access to magic. They called it, ‘Kissing the Night.’

  The man was coughing; the poisonous darkness billowed across the street, and then a sword’s edge exited form the helmet’s eye-hole. Sand appeared behind him, and lay him down on his face. He was grinning happily, deadly as a Hel’s minion could be. I heard Thrum’s unhappy grumble from behind.

  The last man came running back, having heard the scuffle and the scream. His sword was out. He froze at the sight of the billowing darkness, and decided to run. “Alarm!” he shrieked, as he turned for the tower. Sand cursed, and I bounded out. I was fast, so fast. The man was rushing for the door, and I slithered after him. He stumbled, turned to look behind, and screamed with horror as he saw my black form coming for him, and the size of the jaws, which sought his life.

  I jumped, and buried my claws and teeth into him. Together, we rolled across the ground and slammed to the doorway.

  Which, just then, opened.

  A tough captain of Palan’s Bull Legion looked out, having heard the commotion.

  We rolled over him, and down a short set of stairs to the bottom floor of the tower.

  Twenty Hammer Legionnaires got up, in various states of dress. There was a shocked silence. Nobody moved an inch, and we stared at each other. I could hear Thrum’s voice bellowing something, probably telling Sand to dispel the poisonous murk, but right then, I was alone.

  I opened my mouth.

  The corpse in my jaws fell to the stones.

  “Kill it!” the captain with broken legs moaned from under me.

  They all roared, charging.

  Spears and hammers came for me. I hissed, clawed at them, and limbs fell off. I took hits, some small wounds in my tough skin, and went into a berserker rage. I thickened my skin, which made me slower, and roared my wrath at them. A man fell, holding his ears. The claws slashed off a head, I bit down on two young soldiers, losing teeth to their hard helmets, and slithered over a few of the enemy, ripping into them.

  The enemy swarmed me bravely. I bellowed, as a spear sunk to my foot. An axe slammed into my neck, opening a gash. I couldn’t see behind me, and knew I’d have to do something.

  Die young, Thrum’s voice echoed in my mind.

  I refused to.

  I changed.

  I grew into a jotun, twelve foot of armored killer, and the two-hander swished as the men charged me. The blade cut at a thick mass of enemy. Blood flew in spatters, limbs rolled on the floor, and one man fell in two pieces. I hacked, kicked, and fought, cursing as archers and dozens of men rushed down from above. I stopped for a moment to weave together a spell of icy winds, braided together with frozen river of Gjöll, and I released it sloppily. Instead of icy spikes, watery, slippery ice grew in the stairway, but it worked, as the enemy fell and slid its way down with foul curses, some hitting the ground hard.

  It was costly spell for me.

  Ten of the Hammer Legionnaires swarmed me, as I was distracted. Like ants attacking a hill, their weapons struck at my armor, some found joints, and while I crushed one’s head inside my armored fist, few managed to pull me down. I fell on my face, lost my sword, and covered my head, as dozen enraged enemies, smelling a great victory, attacked me.

  Lighting boomed, and light flashed through the mass of foes.

  I howled with the noise, and the pain the close-passing lighting inflicted.

  A dverg mage, braiding together ice and water and chilling vapors, stood in the doorway and called another spell. Lighting struck an officer of the Hammer’s. The man hurtled to the wall and fell down, broken. The mage stepped aside, and Thrum charged in. His boys joined him.

  A mad melee ensued.

  I dragged two legionnaires to me, and rammed their heads to the floor. I witnessed a mad fight in the icy stairway, where three dverger were struck dead by a roaring, tall champion of the Hammer’s. He was a huge man with a mace, and then Thrum cut his legs off with his ax. Arrows rained down, killing two more dverger, but the rest swarmed up the stairs in their dark mails, scrambling on the crackling icy steps. There, the enemy was put down in a brutal, efficient way. Some wounded begged for mercy, but the dverger had none to spare, and broke skulls and necks with their armored gauntlets.

  I got up, picked up my sword, and grasped the Captain, who was still alive, his legs broken. I changed to my man-sized form, dragging the man after me as I left the tower, before Thrum and Narag would mock me for nearly dying. Thrum gazed at me and nodded. He’d stay to finish the job.

  Sand appeared and walked with me. “Not going to ask him anything?”

  I spat and cursed the pain on my shoulder. There would be a shallow wound, courtesy of the ax, which had hit the lizard. “They know nothing. We have questioned them before,” I said darkly. The man hissed with the pain, but also what I took to be a cursing agreement. It bothered me. I thrust him against the wall, and he swooned. “Or do you have something to say? Might be a good time for squeaking out a secret or two. The gallows await otherwise.”

  “Death comes for all,” he laughed with a terrified grimace. “For you as well, jotun. But, we shall be raised back to life when the One Man arrives.”

  “I was hung once,” I laughed, “and survived it. And I piss on your Balic.”

  “The One Man will strike down your kind. All of you,” he whispered, delirious with pain. “Heretics and bastards who do not see his glory shall not be blessed.”

  “Fanatic, bloody fanatic,” Sand said. “I thought you had to be intelligent to be a captain.” His sword shivered in the air before the Captain, who looked at the blade with brave disdain.

  I waved Sand away as I spoke to the man. “Your king is a walking corpse. Balic is undead, not a saint. Evil. Treacherous. Gods know how many more are like him.”

  He smiled. “He has blessed many,” the Captain said. “You will see. He knows magic. He is a human who can call for magic. He is blessed, a god.”

  “Spells. Balic has spells,” I said with a growl, “because he is not human.”

  The Captain shook his head. “Twenty lands in the Verdant Lands, and he has rewarded all their queens and kings and royals with his blessing. He is the god; they are his servants. He touches a dead one; he brings them back. Your blasphemy does not change that. I’ve seen it. They wake, the dead. And they grow powerful and beautiful. We shall all be blessed by him.”

  “Not if we burn your corpse,” Sand snickered, and the Captain looked at him with fright.

  I shook him so hard, he whimpered. “He is a spell casting dead freak of goddess Hel,” I hissed,
looking at Sand apologetically. He gave me a wry smile. “He is a puppet for goddess Hel to punish the Nine Worlds with.”

  He shook his head, a fanatical gleam in his pained eyes. “He will bring us all back. I have seen his Golden Guard. Five hundred fine men. And dozens of the nobles and royals. We will all be like them. Not you, though. You will be hung for crows after you die.”

  A Guard of Draugr. Kings of the lands? Queens? And his men as fanatical as this one? We were in true trouble.

  He breathed. “So, go ahead. Kill us. We will be back, and I curse you, if you deny me the blessing by destroying this body.”

  I stared at him. Only Balic and Mir could raise a corpse into a draugr, and it was a slow process, an uncertain one, but a guard of draugr would be a terrible enemy. “Have you seen what he looks like? Really looks like?”

  The captain shrugged. “Like he always did. Curly, golden hair, beautiful scion of the ancient family. He died, twenty years ago, and walked out of the ruins of his palace in Malignborg. The gods are stories, jotun, only dreams, but he is real. We have all seen him war against those client kingdoms which have rebelled. I saw him raise the Queen of Aten, jotun. She was dead. She was dead as a stone. The whole army walked around her corpse in Malignborg, saw her pale face, and he, Balic, had her carried inside. And she walked out. As beautiful as she had always been. Have you seen the like, jotun? “

  I nodded at Sand. “Yes, I’ve seen them. See him?”

  He shrugged.

  Sand shed his draugr disguise. They could all mask themselves, but now Sand let go of it. There was a rotting hole on his chest. His face was white and yellow, his lips shriven, his hair dry and drooping, and a black, ugly and oozing gash stood out sorely on his temple. I turned my face away from my friend, but looked at the Captain. “Your king wants to give you that gift. Do you like it?”

  He shook his head, swallowing bile. “He’s dead.”

  “So is Balic,” I growled. “So is he. What is his plan here now he has failed to take Dagnar?”

  The Captain looked away from Sand. He was a young man, and had seen war for ten years, probably as soon as he had been twelve. He had scars, his bravery was unquestionable, but the vision of Sand made him doubt all of his past. He opened his mouth to speak uncertainly. “There are many more legions coming,” he whispered. “Ten, or so. All camped around Aten. Ships from Aten, Betus Coin, Katar Kas Opan are gathered. All ten kings and queens of those legions are there. Ours as well. King of Palan. Aten-Sur Atenguard and Lisar of Vittar are the marshals, after Balic. They’ll come again. They have a plan. You surprised them, but I know nothing more. I just don’t know. They make many plans, and backup plans. Always plans within plans. You will be scrambling to defeat thirty thousand Hammer Legionnaires in battle, even with your regular armies. And then, there will be the southern half of the Verdant Lands. They have another ten legions. More, if they need. North is short of men, but Verdant Lands are not.”

  “Will you help us?” I asked him. “Will you speak with Baduhanna, and see if we can use you?”

  “I made oaths,” he answered, avoiding Sand’s face. “I am a soldier, not a traitor.”

  I cursed and dragged him after me. The broken leg was painful enough for him to nearly pass out. I stalked up the street towards the east, going uphill, towards the dverg-crafted secret room. It wasn’t too far, I realized.

  I nearly got lost on a square filled with ancient, rotting furniture, but Sand pulled me to the right direction. Somewhere near the Tenginell House graveyard and the dverg room, we found a ladder in an ancient bakery leading up to the Third Circle, the merchant’s land.

  I grabbed the Captain by the scruff of his neck, took steps up the ladder, and looked down at Sand, who didn’t move. His eyes glowed, and he waved me off and spoke. “Shaduril will come to Thrum when she is back. She’ll give the items to the dverg. Do you want her to bring the Book to you?”

  “Yes,” I said. I wanted that book.

  He bowed. “Come and find us with news, when you can. I’ll not come up there. Baduhanna might send us to Hel, if she’s in a bad mood.”

  “She probably is,” I said. The situation was tense in the city. I ascended, dragged the captain after me, and he kept silent, bravely. Up there, soldiers of the Mad Watch helped me up into a merchant’s shop, never looking me in the eye. I walked before them, and out of the doorway, scorched black in the war. The captain was slung over my shoulder.

  Outside, a dozen nobles and a thousand commoners turned to look at me.

  The Captain sobered up from the pain as I shook him. He looked around, and kept his face brave, as he saw there was gallows in the middle of the street—dark, crude, and well used. I lifted the man like I would a child, and I heard the people whispering. The whispered of jotun’s strength, of my plate and sword, weapons they now knew were not of Midgard, but Svartalfheim. I gave the Captain to the Mad Watch, and he was taken, shuddering and cursing to the scaffold, and there, promptly hung. There was no ceremony to it. It had been happening all day, and he would not be the last. Looters and people who had taken advantage of the invasion would follow after the last of the enemy. The man twitched his life away, one of the men who had killed thousands in the city after their terrible surprise attack, and yet, the people kept staring at me, as if they were waiting for me to join the Captain. I stepped to the scaffold, pulled the sword, and leaned on it. I noticed Hilan Helstrom, the wife of the draugr Crec Helstrom, who deceitfully led our loyal armies for Mir to the north. She sat on a gray horse in the crowd, pulling at her fellow nobles. She looked back at me with hatred.

  “The Old City is secure,” I shouted. “Your king made it so.”

  Not a sound. Even the Mad Watch were quiet. The only sound came from the creaking rope, and piss dropping from the Captain’s boots to a puddle.

  In the end, the nobles rode out, as if my presence had spoiled a feast. The commoners dispersed.

  They had been there to listen to Hilan speak, and I had a hunch she had been campaigning for her future.

  There would be trouble.

  I walked away to find Baduhanna.

  CHAPTER 2

  Baduhanna was by the docks. She wore a dverg battle mail, one modified for her, bits of plate and chain mixed, her hair bright as the Lifegiver itself. She sat on a horse, and while the Aesir and the Vanir gods might be the most spectacular spell casters of all the races in the Nine Worlds, I suspected she knew no spells to allow her to fly, and move around faster. She was no shapeshifter, like some gods were, reputedly. She would have used such skills already.

  But I was.

  Balissa and I were valuable for the inherent skill of shapechanging, the trademark of many of the jotuns, but Baduhanna was terribly powerful, and wise. She was a mighty demi-goddess and a general, who had beaten Hel’s army before. While we were important, she was invaluable. She was … above the squabbles of men, and thus, could easily lead them.

  Balissa was standing next to her, speaking softly. Her plate had been partially blackened by whatever she had been doing in the east. Battle? Sneaking in dirt? Balissa had been scouting. While both were blond, Baduhanna was slight and Balissa large and hulking, but both were beautiful as light itself. I stopped to admire them, and then forced myself forward. Baduhanna was nodding sagely, staring out at the wrecked harbor, where the Hawk’s Talon mariners had cleared the entrance after days of grueling work. A few light, and one heavy, galleys were roped to the piers, all heavily guarded. The naval forces of Red Midgard had rowed away, mostly, with Mir and Crec Helstrom.

  I walked to them, and heard Balissa speaking, her voice crackling with fatigue. “They are passing to the north. They were passing Dame’s Fall, and picked up most of the Gray Brothers. I spoke with some sick Hawk’s Talon soldiers. The army is ten thousand strong now, stripping away all our garrisons, and they also sucked the land free of munitions. The galleys are already near Heart Hold. There, they will have put the Heartbreakers into an alert. That’s fifteen tho
usand men, more or less the whole army of Red Midgard, save for Stone Watchers marching here from the west coast.”

  Baduhanna nodded and spoke with her tingling voice. “You didn’t go after them, as I commanded?”

  Balissa shrugged. “I didn’t. I went nowhere near Heart Hold, or even the Blight. But men were gossiping that Falgrin, just across River Aluniel, is moving men to Mara’s Brow,” she said. “They’ll keep a close eye on things, but Crec’s and Mir’s plans are uncertain. They are there to make trouble with our allies, and that’s a fact. Mara’s Brow is their target. Mir and Crec have concocted some plan, but we don’t know what. Maybe they’ll pass further north? Falgrin has a good navy, so it’s risky. Especially in the winter. One good storm could sink the whole army.”

  “I will take care of them,” Baduhanna whispered, frowning and fidgeting.

  “I could take you to Heart Hold?” Balissa mused. “You would awe them into—”

  “No,” Baduhanna said. “I might be able to, but they could easily turn the army against me. Even I can fall to swords. And no jotun shall fly to the north. I’ve made that clear, no?”

  “Not even with you?” Balissa asked, astonished. “Of course we shall go there and fight them. They murdered our brothers and sisters, and you cannot expect—”

  “I can,” Baduhanna said icily. “This will be a matter for humans and me alone. No jotuns shall go up there. It is final. Too risky.”

  “Too risky?” Balissa asked, shocked. “Oh, I know what you fear. But I can—“

  “Silence,” Baduhanna said icily, and Balissa went quiet, their eyes going to me. They had a secret, and I didn’t like it. “Neither one of you will go up there with me.”

  “And how,” I asked, “shall you stop them? And why cannot we go? I don’t like the secrets.”

  Baduhanna shook her fair head. “You shall not ask, Maskan. I don’t trust you to act responsibly.”

  I ground my teeth together, and tried to keep my mouth shut. She would not negotiate. I had learnt that about her already. This was part of the reason I so eagerly awaited the Book of the Past. Not one of my subjects, Balissa or the dverger would speak of the past, but the book would. And now, it seemed that past was tied to my ability to take part in the war.