I stepped to the doorway and called for magic.
I let it fill me, combined strands of bitter ice and chilling wind, and added freezing water in an elaborate braid, letting the spell go. The soldiers stabbing down at Sand fell forward, as a savage wind tore through the deck. Men fell to the sea, gear rolled and flew crazily in the air, spears for a ballista scattered like leaves, blowing over the side. Wood groaned and cracked. The officer flew to the sea with a shriek. I pushed more and more power into the spell, and three enemy soldiers were dying, their faces blue and white and eyes sightless, as they tottered and fell like chunks of ice. Then, part of the ship’s bow broke off. More rowers were clambering up from the pits, slipping on the icy deck, casting frightened looks at me, and many were jumping overboard, tearing off bits of armor. One, a thick-muscled man rushed for me, hacking down with a club. I raised the sword, but Sand’s sword appeared in the man’s chest, then Sand, who had abandoned his spell of disguise, grinned evilly over his shoulder, holding him brutally to his chest. He ripped off the blade, and thrust it in the man’s back again. The man fell, whimpering.
I looked up to the higher deck.
Archers were aiming bows at us.
Arrows rained down.
I pushed Sand down, but two impaled his leg. He howled with anger, and another arrow struck his belly. He gasped, and pulled at the arrow, glaring up at the archers, who were fitting more projectiles in a frenzied hurry.
I cursed and grew in size.
Two archers gasped in panic, and one fell next to Sand in his terror. His end was swift. I grasped the side of the upper deck, and there were surprised screams, as the men on top tried to escape. I pulled myself up, swatted one man over the side, and another fell right to my feet as the ship lurched. I stepped on him so hard there was a sound of bones breaking. Then, I was looking for the Captain. The deck was suddenly empty. I walked to the side, holding the sword ready, and spotted the man. He was a heavy one in a red tunic and golden helmet, hanging on the side of the galley, trying to hide without abandoning his precious ship. I reached out for him, and picked him up by his hair and his legs flailing, I lifted him to the deck.
I pushed him to his rear, and he whimpered soft curses as Sand stood over him. The Captain stared from the dead to the jotun, and shook with horror. “He is … what are you?”
I placed the sword on his throat—a risky move in the rocking ship as it approached the beach side first, and shifted to my own size. “I have no time to tell such tales. Tell me, good man, who leads the army marching down the Iron Way? Aten-Sur of Aten? Is he in that town?”
He was swallowing like a suffocating man as he stared up at Sand’s inhuman, rotting face. “Will you let me live?”
“You keep your life,” I growled. “Speak up.”
“The headquarters is in Nallist, your city over there,” he said, with a pained voice, and waved to the east. “The Kings of the Legions took it this morning and have fortified it. But, they left it this night for the main army.”
“They are to the north?” I asked. They had left that night? The message would be taken to the army?
Likely.
He waved his hand and looked on enviously as some previously hidden Hammer Legionnaires dived to the sea. The ship lurched, probably sinking, and scraped the bottom as the waves brought the ship and its debris almost to the beach. The dogs were still there, but the girl had disappeared, as well as most of the townsfolk.
“King of Aten,” he said with a begging look, “is some hours to the north. They are hoping to capture Hillhold, but they say it’s well defended. The passphrase for the night is ‘Eggs,’ and then the other one answers ‘and apples.’ Now, will you—”
I picked him up, and tossed him into the sea.
Sand hissed. “He’ll find a way to rattle on us.”
I shook my head.
In the village, I saw a dozen men coming back. At the beach, standing in the shallows, the sailors were weeping and cursing. Arrows were raining down on them, as the villagers were exacting revenge with tall hunting bows. Men were falling into the surf. Others were running along the shore, chased by dogs and arrows. Some were drowning with wounds, and others hanging on to debris, trying to paddle back out to the sea, but the tide was too strong. The Captain was swimming ashore, where he’d die.
“We’ll seek the message in Nallist. They are sure to send it along, if it is important. And if they do, and we cannot take it, we find it with Aten-Sur,” I told him. “The enemy king. And perhaps, just perhaps, we can make the going slower for them.”
“Right,” he answered, not bothered in the least by the prospect of probably death.
I changed into the huge eagle, grasped Sand, and flapped noiselessly to the darkness.
The ship broke behind us as we flew to find the enemy.
CHAPTER 7
The enemy sent three hundred riders to the north, as I circled Nallist. Some looked official, and I knew they were taking the message forward. So we followed them. In no time, it seemed, we saw the massive enemy army. The Hammer Legions were marching in the night. It was late, but still the swarm was moving for Hillhold. They’d reach it in two days’ time, I estimated, as I glided through fog over a thick forest. Perhaps faster. A huge heaving mass was marching inexorably through our lands, and the thump of the boots echoed dully from the hills surrounding the woods. Yells and commands of the officers, the whinnying of the horses, and the odd ululating calls of the lizards of the Verdant Lands all reverberated in the night ominously.
I flapped my way down to a barren hillside, dropped Sand, changed into human form, and hid amidst clusters of round rocks, staring down at the enemy. The riders disappeared into the mass of the foe.
“Nearly fifteen thousand?” Sand whispered, as we squinted at the enemy travelling the road below. Hundreds and thousands of troops were moving forwards, spears glinting in the light of their torches, the shields clanking, hammers and swords on their hips. There was cavalry about, scouting the night, the flanks, and far ahead, but night was a terrible time to scout, and the enemy was clearly trying to reach the fort as fast as possible, with little heed for safety and ceremony. Occasionally, horses would return without a rider, and every now and then, men in the legion would fall, when arrows slew them in the night. The men of Red Midgard didn’t die or give up easily, and most everyone hunted. The march was costly for the enemy, but not too costly.
Our side was running around, confused, or marching away under the commands of the enemy, not knowing what kind of king they served in Crec Helstrom. All Baduhanna wanted was to save the army.
She was right, of course. But, then, the misery of the people moved me, as I gazed down at the enemy.
They had slaves.
The prisoners were a miserable bunch. Strings of them could be seen, walking unsteadily forward. Women, children. No men. No elders. Everyone looked scared and some, I cursed, had clearly been hurt and molested. The looks on many of the faces told that story painfully and loudly.
“Bastard slave-taking dogs,” I cursed. “Nobody seems bothered we were subjects to the same high king. They treat us like vermin.”
“So what now?” Sand asked, little moved by the fate of the people. “We cannot stay the entire night, Maskan. We have to do something now. Baduhanna should be told the enemy will be there before she gets here. And someone has to make sure Hillhold is ready.”
I nodded at the great flags, which rose above the armies. There, the generals and the kings and queens rode, issuing orders, and all the royals were no doubt draugr. “I know. But we are here, and so we will finished what we came here to do.”
“How? They are damned well marching like ants.”
“They have to rest,” I stated. “We stay a bit longer.”
“And if they do,” Sand murmured, “how will you have a chat with the Aten’s lord? He’ll be guarded.” He lowered his voice. “He’s like I am. He won’t go to Hel easily.”
I smiled. “He’ll have
the letter by now. It will be with him. And one of his closest officers has to take a shit, right?” I said crudely. “Even generals relieve themselves. And gods. Baduhanna does.”
“I don’t want to hear more about that,” he muttered.
“Such a man will take a piss or a shit,” I murmured. “He’ll find a bush—”
“The generals and the officers are soldiers,” Sand complained. “They’ll know how to piss in sight of the army. They won’t scatter around the bushes to crap. You can’t count on being able to capture one. Not to mention replace one. You will have to go in and just wing it.”
“They’ll stop. One will get separated. Then I’ll go in,” I snarled. “I’ll take one of their faces, and you and I—”
Right then, we heard a flute playing. It let out sweet, high notes that pierced the night and the noise of the army, and other flutes and drums followed it. I realized the army had reached a dark area full of fields, a huge estate formerly growing wheat and rye, and they evidently intended to camp, indeed. The Hammer Legions scattered across the fields, their fifteen thousand men trampling everything on their path. Their horses were being left in the middle, and individual divisions, companies, and squads began to prepare their food.
It happened with the familiarity of old campaigners.
It was very late, well past midnight.
In the midst of the tremendous army, huge tents of hide sprung up like mushrooms after rain. We saw men pull at ropes, use hammers to nail the sides down to the trampled field, and all of it took practically no time at all. Sound of hacking axes echoed in the land, and soldiers were fetching water. Smell of smoke permeated the air, and then that of roasting meat and boiling gruel made my mouth water. I was starving.
Under Aten’s banner of ship and fish, a man emerged from the tent. He was wearing a bone-white armor, a dark fur-rimmed helmet, and he had a gold ringed, gray beard. He was surely Aten-Sur Atenguard, a King and the Marshal of the legions ravaging Alantia. We had killed two generals during the first battle of Dagnar, but younger officers seemingly had replaced them since, and there would be kings and queens of the other legions around, as well, all draugr. A boyish general followed the King out of the tent. He looked nervous as he mounted, listening to orders of the King. The officers wore horsehair on their helmets, dark and white, golden-rimmed chain armor. The young general nodded enthusiastically, and rode off. Aten-Sun snapped other orders, wiped his face clear of dirt, and pushed his cloak back, as he pulled off his helmet. His long, white hair cascaded down his back, and he snapped a finger at an aide, who nodded and ran off.
My eyes followed the general, who was riding from camp to camp, inevitably going closer and closer to the woods. He had aides with him and six bodyguards in the usual wide helmets and long chain, holding tall spears high.
Sand chortled. “The boy-general doesn’t look like the sort to wander off to piss for being modest. None of them do. I doubt he leaves the camp.”
“Let go already,” I growled.
Sand shook her head. “Girls. The King wants girls.” His words echoed with no surprise or disapproval, though the Sand I had known once would have spat and cursed as he said that. I drove off the discomforting, thought and looked on.
He was right.
The general and the aides stopped by a chained lot of prisoners, unusually beautiful females.
“Do the dead take pleasure like that?” I asked him.
“Some do,” he said darkly. “Remember Lith, and what she did to you?”
“Oh shit,” I answered, knowing he was right. Aten-Sur wanted a girl. The officer nervously chose some he apparently liked. Then he turned and hiked for Aten-Sur’s tent. The guards pulled the chosen string of chained women and girls with them. The women were looking down, probably scared out of their minds. Soon, the girls were standing before the king. None looked up. One of the guards grunted, and when that had no desired effect, he forcibly lifted the faces to the King, who was nodding as he walked from one to another. His eyes glinted as he took in the eyes of the pretty captives. He was measuring each carefully, until he stopped before the seventh girl, a petite blonde, with a pert nose and delicate face.
The King smiled.
The girl slumped. She was whimpering. I couldn’t hear it, but I could see her lips quivering. The King nodded. The guards said nothing; the aides grasped her, and dragged her away, though not for the tent. The rest of the women were being led back, but not this one girl. The general followed the aides and some guards, and they walked past the tent. They navigated the camping and eating army. The girl struggled, but not for long, as one of the aides hauled her up and over his shoulder, to the crude amusement—and in some cases disgust—of the Hammer Legionnaires. They walked to the edge of the field, and with my excellent hearing I knew there was a mass of water close. There was a river there. “They mean to bathe her,” I said softly.
“Wants to rape a clean one, eh?” Sand said. “You want to do this?”
“Yes,” I said and smiled coldly. “I have a way to Aten-Sur’s tent.”
He gazed at me curiously. “You are taking her place?”
“If that general doesn’t have anything to tell me, I’m considering it,” I snickered. “Yes. Aten-Sur will have that message, but perhaps the young officer knows something.”
He hummed. “We’ll do this quickly. Then escape. Right?”
“This will be easy. There is little they can do against a jotun,” I said arrogantly.
“Or a draugr,” he laughed. “Let’s go. Can’t fly though. They’d wonder at a huge eagle with a man on its claws. Can you run fast?”
I nodded and we got up. I changed into a black-furred wolf, and we rushed in the dark, past copses of wood, across small meadows, skirting the army. We were fast as shadows, careful, and the night belonged to us. Occasionally, Sand pulled me aside, his dead eyes picking up bored guards, woods hackers, departing and arriving scouts on wooded trails. Very near the river now, we spotted a female Hammer Legionary with a male counterpart, and they were making love under the shade of trees. We discreetly moved past them. Sand’s magic was uniquely well suited for stealth, and I felt him occasionally touching the fiery stings of Muspelheim, calling forth spells that made our footsteps silent, spells that brought a bank of fog out of nowhere, and we moved fast indeed.
We reached the woods, then the river, and rushed in the dark, following it up. For a moment, I despaired. There was no sight of the girl.
Sand lifted his hand. I heard it as well. There was a splashing sound up ahead, not too far.
He nodded at me, and waved his hand. He moved purposefully, excited by the hunt, deadly, impossibly fast, and pulled his thin, deadly sword. His leathery armor didn’t creak, and I lost sight of him fast, even in my wolf form. I cursed and loped forward, hoping not to alert anyone, and then I saw a torch. I brushed through some branches hanging over the river, and saw one of the aides scrubbing a woman. He was naked and in the river, the woman was as well, gasping in his grasp. He was laughing to his friend, who was shaking his head. There were only two soldiers there, staring on, and the General, who looked mildly embarrassed, though unable to turn his eyes away either. The bastard aide applied soap on the woman’s belly, making his way for her breasts.
At that moment, Sand moved.
The aide in the shore gasped. A blade emerged from his mouth. The General didn’t notice anything, the guards neither.
The aide fell, the guards laughed, the General grimaced.
The young General then fell forward, holding his head, stumbling to his knees and rolling on to the grassy riverbank.
The guards stared at the man, uncomprehending if he had just stumbled. Sand took advantage of their shock, and black fire lit inside one guard’s helmet, scorching meat, skin, and skull so fast the man just fell.
I moved for the last guard, but Sand was a true killer, every bit as Taram had been.
The last guard’s spear fell, as he was clawing at the sword in his che
st, wounding his fingers in his desperation, but Sand’s eyes were lifeless and cold, and he killed the man with a twisted rip of his blade.
The brute in the river turned to look at him, not sure what the saw, but what he did notice was a shadow, a splash, and a sword’s tip coming to his eye. He fell like a sack, dead. The girl cried, as Sand turned to look at her. He grasped her, and pulled her to the shore, hissing her to be quiet. She was trembling like a leaf. I was moving, changing, and took my man-sized form. Sand pushed her to me.
She went to her knees. “Sir, no, please—”
“I—” I began, and her scared furious face turned into an enraged one, as she came out of the ground and kneed me in the groin. I was armored, but it hurt nonetheless, as I staggered back. Sand was there, and pulled her to him, and predictably, her knee came up again to connect with Sand’s crotch.
Nothing happened. Sand lifted his eyebrow.
I pulled her around, and held a warning finger to her face. “I’m with Red Midgard. I just want a look at you.”
“You—” she said and blushed, covering her breasts.
“No,” I hissed. “Not at you, in fact, only your face. Then, you’ll run away.”
“I don’t want—”
I shook my head and scowled, shutting her up. She stared at me, biting her lip, and I felt my features move. The magical dverg armor changed with me, guarding me somewhat in my new form, and even Sand whistled as he saw I was a young, pretty blonde. “Almost as nice as Shaduril.”
The girl shook her head in horror. I let go of her as she backpedaled. Then she turned, splashed to the river, and Sand let her go. I grasped with my new form, felt naked and exposed, and cursed Sand. “Turn your eyes away, you freak.”
“We are all freaks,” he laughed, almost like the old Sand. “Her gown’s over there,” he said and nodded to the bank. I turned to look and froze.
The Queen of the Draugr: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Thief of Midgard - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2) Page 9
