“Please forgive me,” I laughed. “I grew up a thief and do not have the manners to speak to a king. And I must speak harshly, since even many thieves dislike murderers.” My eyes wondered at the girl, a living person who was not excluded from these words. She knew. Perhaps that was the reason for the tears. I guessed she was family to Raven, to Aten-Sur, and would one day follow them to a nightmare.
Balic turned and followed my look. He gazed at the young girl who didn’t turn her face, though all color drained from it. Balic spoke softly. “No manners, eh, but appreciation for beauty. We all love beauty, Maskan. You can spend eternity staring at her. The dead have plenty of time to love. We will achieve all we set out to achieve, Maskan, and then, we have time to stare.” He looked back at me. “Will you make this hard? Why not just bow and accept what will come. Enjoy eternity with us, as we accomplish our goals.”
I sneered at them. “Goals? I wonder what they are.”
“You will see.”
I snorted. “And what then, o king? I’ve seen dead who accomplish what they set out for. Guess what they are after?”
“What?” Queen Raven asked, with a tingling voice. “What are they?”
“Bored.” I laughed. “The last one asked me to push him out of the Pearl Terrace. Balan Blacktower, pitiful wreck after he sat on the Rose Throne. You’ll miss your murderous rampage. Or whatever it is you are truly planning.”
He tilted his head as I spoke, and then waved his hand around. “The Nine Worlds are shattered from each other. The gates—” he said, and waved behind him, where there was a near unnoticeable heap of stones before the Lock of the Sea, much less formidable than the one in Dagnar and the Temple of the Tower, “are gone. We shall rule the land, as Hel wills. She will find us things to do, when our mission has been accomplished. And you need not concern yourself with the quest. You will see what that is. I promise. Few others shall, but you will. After we deal with the Aesir.”
I would see? What were they doing in the North?
“Do what you must, then,” I said thinly. “You are just like I thought you would be. You have a prettier disguise, but you are as driven and dull as the other dead. Your plan will crumble. I don’t know what it is, and I know you are uncertain of it as well. The Book of the Past? Mir knows something, and she has told you, but still, you wonder. You are an uncertain bit of gristle, o King of Bones. And I will get my gauntlet back. I promise you this.”
His eyes squinted, and his face went rigid with doubt, which disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. “Yes, I have a plan. Yes, I know everything I need, thanks to the foolish Mir, but I do want the Book to make sure. And I do need your gauntlet. And more. I see you glimpsed the Book, then?”
“I did not.” I laughed. “But, I know the minds of rats. Suspicious little pests you are. I’ve observed them squatting in the shit and shadows before. You are a shit-sniffer, my lord King. Always scheming, and afraid Mir will betray you.”
He smirked down at me. “Well. I guess you are right. But it doesn’t matter. I shall not speak of the plans with you. Suffice it to say, they had to be changed, thanks to your Aesir. You’ll die tomorrow morning, and it will be a pained death, due to your spiteful words. You’ll suffer here, on this very dais, early in the morning. I’ll have you tortured by women, to the amusement of the city. I’ll have you see your bowels, ripped out by your own sword, and then, before the people, you shall rise up, and bow before me. You will kiss my foot, and weep with joy, as I have you crawl after me. You will be my dog. We will slay this Aesir you released, and it is on you, all the losses she will inflict on us. I will not forget. After we have dealt with your Baduhanna, I will have you perform a deed up in the North, where Crec is with your armies. It will be a deed, which will hand Midgard into Hel’s lap, and your cold heart will know it is your entire fault. After that, I shall make you the caretaker of my pigsty.”
I clutched my fist. “Thank you. Pigs have more honor than you. And no doubt, in truth, better manners. They are not hiding their filth.”
Balic turned to Queen Raven. “Accommodate him for the night in our best rooms.”
“Yes, my King,” she said softly.
Balic’s eyes went to the girl, and he grinned evilly. “And perhaps it is finally time for the family to join our adventure as well. She is old enough?”
“She is, but I would prefer—”
“We shall take her in the morning as well, since Maskan likes her. It’s on him,” Balic said, and I felt instant regret for my loud spite.
Raven looked at her daughter, and nodded slightly at a horned man. “Tallo,” the Queen said. “Take your sister away.”
The girl went white of face, horrified.
“Leave the girl be,” I said hoarsely. The damage was done. I had already mocked Balic, and my death would be terrible anyway, but I didn’t want the girl to suffer.
“No,” Balic said simply, eyeing me with fierce malice.
I addressed the horn-masked draugr. “You look the sort who sleeps on your mother’s lap, and mainly fights tied up women. Probably began your career by torturing the castle cats, eh, boy?”
The man hissed. He pointed a quivering finger at me, apparently unable to speak for his rage.
I grinned at the girl bravely, who gave me a ghost of a nervous smile. “I bet you could beat him, lady, if he were alive. In fact, I bet you did. Now, he is just a lap-creature and a sorry coward, eh?”
“He was also always weak-minded,” the girl blurted, looking astonished, as if defying the terrible family for the first time since they had been raised. “And he was afraid of cats, when alive.”
The Queen raised her hand to silence the hissing boy. The draugr held his fists tightly, and then grasped his sister, whom he and some guards dragged away. She gave me a tiny, frightened smile, and I tried to get up. They headed for the yawning gate of the Lock of the Sea.
Balic, who had been looking on impassively, shook his head. “Well. I almost spared you this, but I suppose Atenguard family honor has to be resorted.”
“It has to be, my king,” Raven said softly, her eyes lingering on mine.
“Very well,” Balic said. “Before you follow her, before you go down there to the dark, King,” he continued after taking a long breath, “we must show the nations how traitors are punished. And those who would mock our nobility. Hold him, guards.” They grasped me. “Raven, beat him well. Bloody and raw. Let the people know, and the thirty thousand men camped outside this city, Balic has no tolerance for jesters.”
I struggled.
It was useless, of course. The guards dragged me to the platform, and the chain was pulled over it, and two men held my head down and two more my legs.
Balic smiled as he placed a heavy foot on my neck, and ground it down, holding me still.
Raven, the Queen, let a whip coil down. She walked next to Balic, peering over the sea of expectant faces, all of who were staring at my naked ass and waiting for more humiliation. And then she whipped me. She struck me across my buttock, my back, and even between my legs, making me tremor with pain and humiliation.
It went on, until I was barely coherent, and my back twitched with stabbing pain.
I kept my fist clenched.
***
I realized the guards had grabbed me, and they dragged me through a garden, past the ruined temple for the moat, then over a sturdy ridge and inside the gates. I was dragged in a stupor to a tower, which had guards on all the levels. My sword was carried after us, and thrown on a floor at the corner of a guardroom, waiting for the next day. A turnkey appeared, and opened up a creaking, moldy doorway. They dragged me down a set of stairs, which seemed to go on forever. The way became very cold, very tight, and at the floor, there was a layer of mud.
The turnkey grinned, as I was dragged along, past guard rooms, and then down a wide set of stairs into a darkness. Terrible freezing air surrounded us, and the man spoke softly, “Whipped you good. Happy you have your balls left, eh? Some wate
r will do well for your wounds. The sea rises almost to the roof of each cell. Lock under the Sea, we call the fine bathhouse. Hope you have not had yours. You’ll not like it, anyhow. Salt and wounds, and night of swimming. Enjoy, my lord!”
Door was opened, crusty with seashells and mold.
I was thrown, face first on the floor. A torch was placed on a socket in the wall, high, near the ceiling. I was left with my fetters. They left, and there I lay, until I crawled to an iron bed, and sat up, holding the fetters on my knees. The sea’s beguiling speech could be heard; rolling and gurgling somewhere near, rising up unseen ways. The smell of salt was strong in the air, as was that of decay.
I was helpless. My back was a mass of pain, blood trickling down it. Moving felt like a terrible idea.
Balic.
I’d be doomed to his service, and Red Midgard, indeed all of Midgard, would be doomed as well. All my friends would fall. Balissa, Shaduril, Sand. Baduhanna, she would die, if an Aesir could truly die. Thrum’s people would be butchered, their valiant deeds forgotten.
Children, women, and the helpless would be driven before swords and evil, until none stood.
And I would serve the mad King, as he sought to destroy the world.
I’d stride with his armies, Kissing the Night, as the dead called the art of spells, bowing my head with other filthy dead to Balic. Hel would not so much as notice me, as I lay sprawled before her at the end of the time, when Midgard was conquered. Whatever Balic planned, what he and Mir intended to do with my Black Grip, what he hoped to confirm in the Book of the Past, and what he needed me for, I could stop none of it.
And yet, kings didn’t give up easily.
I was a king. No matter what people of Dagnar said, I had the heart of one.
More, I was a jotun king, a shape shifter, a god amongst men, a power to be reckoned with. I had nearly killed an Aesir, and I was brave.
And yet, such merits didn’t help a prisoner in the Lock of the Sea.
Kings were as helpless as children when fettered.
I smiled.
Before all, I had been a thief, like Mir had taught me.
I opened my fist.
Amidst the blood, there was the key I had stolen from the potbellied captain. I placed it in the lock of the fetter and it opened up with a clank.
I had the night. It would have to do.
CHAPTER 9
I sat in a cell, and waited for a moment, staring at the open fetters with a grin. The gurgle of the sea was a constant, terrifying sound. The squeak of the rats and sloshing of some other, unseen denizens of the dank, dark dungeon would not stop, but I was waiting for the guards to climb back up to a dryer guards’ room. There were men walking up and down the corridor nearby.
“The Beast of the North. The Fool!” yelled a man so loudly I flinched, right outside the doorway, and then left, laughing like a demented bastard he was. I was lucky he had not looked inside. I held the fetters over my wrists, and waited.
“I’ll show you the beast in a bit,” I cursed, and then held my aching head in my two hands. I played with the accursed ring on my hand.
I’d have to make do with what I had.
I frowned in the sputtering light of the torch. I couldn’t afford to be negative. Not even in the horrible place. I had to adapt. To survive, I had to adjust. I concentrated and took a deep breath. I tried the small power I had always had, all my life, and bid myself take a different face. It was hard, so very hard, but then my features ran like wax.
Balic.
I felt the hair, the delicate face with a strong jaw with my hands, and knew it could get me out of there. At least it could buy me time. And possibly, I might get some of the jotun’s strength in battle, but it was an uncertain thing. The ring was too powerful, even if Shaduril had broken it a bit. There was no guarantee it would work.
I had a chance, if I only could get out of the cell.
And then, I’d have to get back to Dagnar.
Balic had a host of Hammer Legions in Aten. Thirty thousand men? More? Fifteen more in eastern Red Midgard? And our armies, all of them, were headed for battle with our allies.
I frowned. Was Baduhanna right? To keep the army intact, and let people fend for themselves, might buy us time, might give us a chance to combine our strength. Those people might make it hard for Balic to trap Baduhanna, if he had to deal with tens of thousands of them. I felt the weight of kingship heavy on my shoulder. I had a brief vision, even without the Black Grip, of Father abandoning part of his army, in some distant battle, to gain some higher goal. I shook the vision away, gazing at my hands.
I was not sure I wanted to be the King. Not then.
But, I wanted to be draugr even less.
The noises receded in the corridors, and guttural laughter was resounding further in the tunnels.
I rubbed my face, the ache in my back terrible. The burning, humiliating sensation of Balic’s foot on my neck made me grimace with disgust. My back, my ass, and even my balls were in fire.
Raven would pay, I thought, as I tried the skin between my legs.
I put down the chains on the bed, and got up carefully. I walked to the door, feeling weaker I had in ages.
I looked out of the peek-hole in the door. It showed torch-lit corridor, stairs up in the distance. I groped at the door, and found a keyhole. I peeked inside, pushed my little finger in, and felt around the thing. Then, I cursed profusely. The lock was far beyond my ability to open. I was a pick-pocket, not a burglar. I had the key to my fetters, but it would be useless with this lock. I looked around frantically. The cell had nothing, just some rotten hay on the iron bed and a drain, and some bones on the floor. I bent down, picking up one and the key, inserting both in the lock. I began to twiddle with the lock, with no hope.
The bone broke.
I banged my head to the door, aching all over, burning with fear over my coming recruitment into the dead army. Chained or not, I couldn’t get out.
Balic. They’ll take me to him in the morning.
Early, he had said.
I could only wait. I let go of Balic’s face, and felt my own brooding countenance grow back, along with my own thick, dark hair.
I looked around one more time, and contemplated on trying to break the bed for a weapon, at least. Then, suddenly, water gushed through the drain. It was dark, cold as ice, and I hopped out of its way, as it trekked across the floor.
And then, I heard footsteps.
There was a door opening. I retreated, heard hissed chatting, and uncertain steps on the slippery stairs. Someone was coming down.
I shuffled back to the bed, draped the shackles around my wrists and looked down, as I leaned on the cold, moist wall, twitching with a stabbing pain as my wounds found salty water. I waited, sweating, forcing myself to calm down and hoping for luck. The steps stopped before my door.
“Open it up,” said a thin, sonorous voice.
“Balic said—”
“Open-it-up,” the voice insisted. “I have better things to do than wade in this shit.”
“Yes, lord,” the voice answered fearfully. “But, this is not going to go down well with the King. He wanted to execute him tomorrow.”
The door creaked open.
An undead nobleman stood there, squinting, and the guard hesitated and stepped outside. He wore the familiar robe. “Lord Tallo, killing him—”
Tallo. He was there to skin a cat. Me.
Tallo sounded petulant. “He’s going to die anyway. I’ll take the blame, turnkey. You shall not defy me on this. That bastard shall wither away by my hand, and all you need to do is make sure the rats don’t feed on him. Then, later, the One Man shall raise him, and purge all the evil from his rebellious, seditious soul.”
“Of course,” the guard murmured, and I saw the man gaze at me with almost a sorry expression on his brutish face.
Tallo stepped in, and the water reached his knees. It was rising outside the cell as well, and the guard was shivering.
I snorted. “Ah, the unhappy pup. Sister-beater is turning into prisoner-slayer. A step up in your career?”
The lord grasped a torch from the guard, and banged the door closed. He placed the torch on another socket, and fire and tar dripped to the sloshing, murky water with hissing sounds.
He let go of the draugr magic which allowed one to mask the wounds and rot, and observed me.
His face slithered, it twisted and changed, like wax running down candle, and in his place stood a boy with a white face, and no eyelids. There was a hole in his skull, just like Sand’s. His lips were curled darkly, the yellow teeth shining. I had seen plenty of the creatures the past year, but he was still a revolting, unkind, un-natural thing, and the setting didn’t make me any less uneasy. I shuddered and looked away. I was trying to fake fear, and it wasn’t hard. I was shaking.
I could lose to him, I reminded myself. No matter his cowardly soul.
I was a strong man, but no match for him. I had advantages, but not many.
He stood there for a time, not saying anything, but savoring the fear he sensed in me, the terror of a king who knew he’d die. Then, he hesitated, looking at the door, and I frowned.
The uncertain, weak bastard was having second thoughts.
I dropped the act of fear, and decided I’d goad him instead. He had been a weak man living, he was a weak man dead, and bitter, angry one at that. I got ready.
“So, hear me,” I told him. “We both know you cannot do it. Why not just go away, and wait for Balic? I’ll tell him I’ve never seen a draugr piss his prissy pants before. Will that make the One Man proud of his creation? Never a more wasted magic than the spell he used to bring you back, eh? He should have found something better, like your dog to raise.” I winked at him. “I like your sister. She knows what a weasel you are. Wise, and pretty. She knows you are a walking turd.”
The Queen of the Draugr: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Thief of Midgard - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2) Page 12
