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

by Alaric Longward

  Shaduril. I had loved her. She is undead. I had loved a lie.

  I shrugged my shoulders, holding on to Baduhanna’s hand as I tried to sort through my feelings.

  No. I had fallen in love with her when she was dead.

  But, a living being could not love the dead.

  It was the thousandth time I had told myself that. Friends. We were friends, and I could not bring myself to hate her. Not even if I knew Baduhanna to be right. Both Sand and Shaduril were draugr, and the draugr would obey those stronger than they were. They’d obey Balic. His kings and queens, perhaps. They would rebel, fight, but in the end, they would obey. They were a risk.

  But, they could also be useful.

  “Yes, Queen,” I told her, not sure how to deal with the two.

  “Aesir,” she corrected with a smile. She smiled and let go of me. “Prepare to be challenged, Maskan. Tomorrow, you will be. We will try to make you a king, but be patient.”

  “Challenged how?” I asked. “Hilan?”

  “Hilan Helstrom, yes,” she said simply. “She will oppose you. But, she won’t oppose me. Don’t be obstinate.”

  “I’m the King of these people,” I said, uncertain of what she was trying to say.

  “They hate you. They hate me, but more so, you,” she said. “They learnt what you are, Maskan. Your father hid behind facades for thousands of years. He meticulously planned his deception. He changed his appearance, and so did Balissa and the others, and now, all that is out in the open. Imagine it. All the old ones in the city think back on times, historians skim old books, and what do you think they shall do? They will see Morag’s betrayal in every decision over thousands of years. All the wrongs and rights he did are under doubt.” She leaned down and poked a finger on my chest. “The draugr are the enemy. Everyone understands that here in the north. The One Man has been exposed for what he is. You did well with the Talien ring, Sorrowspiner. Everyone saw them for what they are. But, you and your family have been exposed as impostors, liars, and murderers as well.”

  “I’ve fought for the people,” I snarled.

  She shook her head. “So have many others. So have the nobles.”

  “They are—”

  “Spreading the story,” she said sadly. “They want you gone. There’s the malcontent of the deeds past, every evil deed of Morag is plastered all over your face and that of Balissa. You live in the Tower of the Temple, and every day, they fear and doubt you, and the nobles, they want more. They want power. They think, calculate, and act with creed. They are humans.”

  “And what does that mean, oh goddess? Are you saying the capricious and greedy merit to rule the Red Midgard?” I laughed bitterly. “Is that not the story of the Aesir as well? How did Hel’s war begin? I’ve spoken with her.” I nodded at Illastria. She blushed, as Baduhanna gave her a long look, and apparently, she should not have told me of the gods. “She is mad, but she told me gods made a mighty big pile of shit of their honor in the Hel’s affair.” Indeed, I would soon have Illastria’s book and know more. But, the old, sole living Blacktower, and the Keeper of the Past, had told me some old legends.

  Baduhanna laughed brightly. “Ah, yes. Men are made in our image. Though, not in yours, jotun. Your kin were there before the elves and the men and others who are younger folk. But, men are what Odin is. And no matter what Odin is, he is a god, and not to be judged by humans. But, the humans judge you, and you know the remaining seven high houses will be trying to grasp power, at all costs. They know I need them. So prepare.”

  I grasped her bridle, and she frowned. People were looking on, smelling a fight, but I wanted none of that. I let go of her hand. “I’ll not give up the power, but I shall try to be patient.”

  She sighed. “Announce you will let go of the crown. Let the greedy bastards take it, and then, later, earn it. Take it back when the war is over. Forget the Danegell and Tenginell House names and—”

  “Danegell name?” I hissed. “It is my House.”

  “You are an Ymirtoe,” she laughed. “Maskan Ymirtoe. Danegells and Tenginells died after the war I won, and Morag and your mother took their places. They supplanted the heads of two highest surviving houses. Two high houses of Dagnar are naught but lies. Everyone knows this.”

  “Be that as it may, I am a Danegell, and a Ymirtoe,” I ground out and stood tall. “And the people matter.”

  She shook her head. “Only the fighters matter now. And tomorrow, do not challenge me, if things turn sour. They might.”

  “I will try, I said,” I told her, despair welling in my belly. Hilan and hers, they would make it a public humiliation, but I’d try to show them Danegell colors.

  Which, in truth, died long before.

  She pointed a finger down at the Black Grip. “One more thing. I will need that with me, when I ride. Tomorrow, on the third hour, we shall meet the nobles before the Tower, and the next morning we will ride. I want that thing with me, when we do.”

  “Why?” I asked her, horrified. “It is my legacy. It is Father’s—”

  “You will get it back,” she told me. “I cannot explain now. After, perhaps.”

  I held on to it.

  She frowned and straightened her back. “Before I leave, then.”

  “Yes,” I forced out of my throat.

  She rode off at a clatter. “Come up to the keep,” she yelled. “The scouts are returning.”

  I turned to look at a galley entering the harbor. It was called Widow’s Dream, and on the deck, stood a handsome captain. It approached the piers, and the Captain jumped off as soon as he could. He rode up, past me, not giving me so much as a greeting. Captain Muntos, I thought he was called.

  I stood there for a long time, looking at the faces of the people passing by. There was hate, uncertainty, and some few hesitant smiles. I had known the poor all my life, the common people, and had hated the nobles with all my heart. And now, I was to abandon the ones I had loved, to bow to the ones I hated?

  I cursed loud as I walked for the tavern I knew near Bad Man’s Haunt. I changed my face, my looks into that of a old man dressed in gray tunic and disappeared for the night.

  Baduhanna. She wanted Black Grip, the dverger, everything but me and Balissa and the draugr for the war in the north. And it could be I was going to be denied my crown.

  And I was to be patient?

  I wasn’t sure I could be.

  I spent the night brooding. I hoped Shaduril would return that night.

  She didn’t.

  On the second hour, the Lifegiver shining, I hiked up the hill, and found a great host of nobles waiting before the Tower of the Temple.

  CHAPTER 3

  Thrum was chortling. I could not hear him, he was trying to be discreet, but his wide shoulders were heaving, and I knew the bastard well enough by now to know he enjoyed the humiliation. The dverger stood before the dais, armored head to foot; an impressive sight. The captain of the dverger kept glancing up at me, as I stood, half forgotten, near the chair where Baduhanna sat.

  People were bowing. To Baduhanna.

  There were nobles in the furry splendor, modest silver in their wrists and around their throats. There were officials in their blue sashes, Elder Judges in their red ones, and lawmakers of many kinds, most ancient men and women. The city officials and lawyers had no idea how to handle the situation. Normally, in the case of the King and his family dying, the High King would appoint the new King. That law, of course, no longer applied. Balic wanted to appoint the dead to the throne, and in a way, he had, since Crec had been crowned. Most everyone believed Baduhanna, when she said he was a draugr. But, as some of the lawyers had argued, it had to be established, before anyone could decide on who would determine the kingship of the reeling state. Some, the most prestigious of the law-giving men and women, argued the Ten Houses should decide the matter.

  It was an utter and total mess, and Baduhanna had silenced the judges and the officials curtly, turning to the nobles.

  The nobles
knew they could benefit. Most were loyal to Red Midgard, and had served it all their lives, but they all truly believed they might do a decent job at the helm of the ship.

  Baduhanna looked at me.

  Now, finally, the nobles took note. They looked at me unkindly. Some, the lesser houses, with curiosity. They would be scheming and wondering how they might benefit from my weakness and my desire for the Danegell legacy. Thrum was all but laughing.

  My family had killed many of their ancestors. Morag, as a usurper and their former enemy, had ruled them well, disguised as a human. Other families had many had grievances with Morag, even when they had thought him human. Kings cannot make everyone happy, and Morag had not tried. Those families would stop at nothing to oppose me. Some might even demand my death, no matter how foolish that would be in our situation.

  But, there was also fear in the faces.

  They knew what I could do.

  No human could tap into the magical powers. Not one. They could not hear, see, feel the wonders of the Nine Rivers of Nifleheim thundering to the Filling Void, where that icy and terrible ancient cold mixed with the fiery rivers of Muspelheim, spawning primal powers which had created all of life.

  I could. The dead could. Many of the dverger, the few thousand manning the Tower of the Temple, could, and the distant, miraculous past, which had been a legend, was suddenly standing before them, demanding their allegiance. Some were swayed. Others saw the necessity of allying with beings not of this world to escape the terrible future.

  The nobles had an army, though, and that was even weightier in the scales, than one magical jotun. Of the ten highest Houses, only some remained strong, whereas many of the others were dead. Talien House was shattered. Tenginell’s had been dead for a long time. Blacktowers were dead, even as they walked, and Illastria alone could not claim much influence. Danegells were impostors. The rest wondered. Most had their dependents, vassals there to support them. The old grudges could be seen in their gear. Everyone carried weapons and wore armor. They were a tense lot, and the silence was unbearable.

  Except for the occasional sound of a building falling.

  The city was still smoking. There were fires all through the five tiers, from the Gate and Harbor all the way to the Temple. It sent a sobering message.

  We needed a king. A ruler.

  I was the King. I stood there, wondering why I wanted it so badly.

  Thrum chortled again. He probably knew what I was thinking about. Balissa, whom the people had known as the White Brother, leaned closer to me. “It’s ours. Fight for it. And then we can defy Baduhanna’s madness.” She had not developed respect for me, not yet. She had lost all her brothers, some to my weapon. But, she had learned to hate Baduhanna, even if she must have known we’d need her. Even if she didn’t speak of Baduhanna, the past, and the north, she wanted Red Midgard for us.

  She was right. That was the reason I wanted the crown. It was ours. Ready or not, I wanted it. Morag had captured it. I had inherited the responsibility. It was a chore I could not abandon, out of honor, or duty, and perhaps of greed. And I genuinely wanted to protect the people my family had protected for such a long time. It was ours. A thief with a sense of duty, I thought, and smiled grimly, drawing many frowns from the crowd below. And there was more. It was our prize. We had conquered the crown. What jotun would give away his treasure? The clan couldn’t return home, since the gates had been sundered, but we had built Red Midgard, and no jotun gave up his loot to another, and no Ymirtoe ran from duty. Despite the way I had been raised by the draugr, hidden from my heritage, my powers smothered by a vile, magical ring, I was a Ymirtoe. The Rose Throne was where Father had sat. It was mine next. My ass would be seated on it.

  And still, the human upbringing had instilled weaknesses in my character. The King had been called the Beast of the North. Morag had been ruthless as a drunken taxman and brave as a wolverine. Half of the nobles would be swinging and the other half bowing, had he stood on that palisade. But, I, the fool, declined to let Thrum’s boys take care of the business, and hoped to reason with the angry mob.

  And had I tried to be like Morag, Baduhanna would have likely stopped me.

  She needed every sword she could get.

  The nobles were nearly all there. The gates were open, and the crowd walking through them was thinning.

  Baduhanna sighed. “Begin, husband.”

  I raised my hands, drums rapped on the battle scarred walls, which ringed the Temple of the Tower, and the people turned to stare at us. The nobles of the remaining six Houses below grew alert. Some were whispering, others shaking their heads, and before I could step forward and raise my voice, I realized something was happening. Eight men and women were pushing to the front. The wife of Crec Helstrom, Hilan, leading the heads of the Houses as they pushed to the front, glaring right up at me.

  She was an impressive woman, tall, armored with chain and beauty. Her face was a sculpted, stunning face, and she sat proudly on a horse, under her banner of crossed arrows. Three other Houses, Kinters, Bollions, and the Ranthors, stepped behind her, and they all had their ancestral lands in Alantia, eastern side of Red Midgard. The last two of the remaining Ten, led by Ban Valtair and Cil Noor, hung back, their faces unreadable. Those families had lost many of their warriors in the Battle of Dagnar, the day I had exposed the dead to the humans. They had no use for Hilan, or just saw supporting a jotun as king as a hopeful way to regain their powers.

  Hilan bowed stiffly before Baduhanna. She ignored me. Her face glistened with sweat, and uncertainty visited her face as Baduhanna scowled. She gave another slight bow to the Aesir, until Baduhanna waved her hand, robbing me of my opening speech. “I am Hilan Helstrom,” she said, with a silky voice. “And I’ve come here, summoned by your … person.” Her eyes twitched to me. “We do so reluctantly, but there has to be a place to air our grievances, lady, and so let it be this.”

  Baduhanna stood up. She gazed down at the woman. “Do you speak for the remaining Houses?”

  She nodded to the men behind her. “I speak for most.”

  Baduhanna’s eyes were calculative, as if she was unaware of the fact. Surely she had met them already, I thought. Was this some elaborate game? She waved her hand towards me. “Are you willing to commit to the Danegells?”

  Hilan shook her head. “We would be willing to submit to Danegells. But, there are no Danegells, so we are not going to bow to this impostor. Since High King Balic is not our supreme lord, due to the fact he tried to murder the lot of us, the power to appoint a king falls to the heads of the Ten Houses. It should be so.”

  Baduhanna shrugged. “Truly? It seems a tie to me.” Her eyes went to Ban. “Surely Maskan will vote for himself. Illastria will vote for him.”

  Hilan smiled coldly. “He would. She would, perhaps. And yet, there has ever been ten noble Houses in the land,” she whispered. “Ten. I say. We cannot decide anything before the ten places are filled.” Her eyes snaked to two tall men in the crowd, handsome and young, and likely the most powerful of those who would be given places of the lost houses, if only they voted for Hilan’s candidate. Meaning her. “We need two more Houses in Dagnar, to really decide on anything. Perhaps three, if Talien house is truly gone. And yet,” she said softly, “what is there to decide?”

  “Indeed,” I told them. “There is a king.”

  They turned to stare at me; deep frowns on their faces. I ignored Baduhanna’s long, suffering gaze.

  The woman had over half the noble army. Six thousand men. All the men were well armed and armored, a bit undisciplined, but we had nothing else. Hawk’s Talon was marching off. The regular armies were soon under Crec’s thumb, and the Stone Watchers were still marching from the west, days away. The City Guard was all but gone. Thrum’s army was stalwart, but not numerous. I hesitated, as Thrum’s eyes rested on me.

  Have her killed, I thought those eyes demanded.

  It would not be honorable, claimed the other voice inside my head.

/>   Thrum sneered and shook his head. Baduhanna had seen the confrontation and settled down in her seat, cold as ice.

  Hilan spoke. “The houses should decide, as I said. Or perhaps not. Perhaps, there is a simpler solution. There is a king. Crec Helstrom. He was chosen from amongst us after your family’s perfidy was made clear.”

  The crowd was buzzing. Everyone was whispering, some shaking their hands, others nodding. Thrum’s troop rapped their axes into the ground, making an echoing noise that probably drifted far to the city. Hilan stared at the dverger in spite, and her horse took a step back from them. I was confused. Had she not just wanted the Houses to decide the matter? Why bring up Crec at all? Why defend him? Everyone believed he was with Balic. Everyone had seen him with Mir and the Blacktowers.

  “Crec,” I growled, “is a spawn of draugr. A king with no will, he is a shitty dead walking.”

  “Like the two you spared, my lord?” Lord Kinter, an aging man and Crec’s friend, asked dryly.

  Silence. People were gazing at the Tower, wondering where Shaduril and Sand were.

  “Like the two I spared, two, who fought the undead Blacktowers and your husband,” I said.

  “Then,” Hilan said, her chain skirt jingling, “is it not possible Crec is fighting them as well?”

  People were speaking agitatedly.

  I pulled the huge sword, and Thrum gave me an appreciative look. Rage was simmering in my heart, and they went silent. They saw a man, dark haired, fierce looking inhuman in plate mail, the sword of the Black Brother on his side. I looked like father had, only younger. I was the scion of the House, a noble House of the jotuns, a Danegell, no matter what. Yet, none of them bowed, even if they eyed the sword with speculative, scared looks. “I was hanged treacherously by your dead husband. I bled in these walls, in the Harbor, and after I destroyed the draugr in battle, and fought the Hammer Legions in the streets, I led the defense. Your husband is dead. He is a king of nothing. He has no life in his treacherous husk.” I glared at her. “And he always schemed to topple my family anyway. He was alive, a traitor even then, and not worthy of Helstorm’s name.”