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

by Alaric Longward

  “Look, I did more than just poke at them. I admit it,” she said, and took the golden-crowned statue back, holding it aloft. “See.” It glowed, with blue light. She was brushing a spot with her thumb.

  “Tears of Light,” she said, and a bright flash grew from the crown. It was a stabbing ray of light, which made both of us reel with pain. The guards were cursing, and Gorth was on his elbows, grimacing at us with displeasure. Something smelled burned, and I saw a spider’s net go up in orange-white fire.

  “Give it here,” I grumbled, seeing spots as I grasped it. “Look—”

  There was a black spot on the roof; the stone around it was red hot. “It’s brilliant,” she breathed, eying it covetously. “Do you realize what that could do for a fighting sailor?” she murmured greedily. “Burn a mast, and a sail? Pirate’s delight, that.”

  “And you’d burn your own deck, no doubt,” I cursed. “What else?”

  “Lots.” She smiled. “He seemed to have a fixation for bloated jewelry and statues.”

  “He was a greedy, damned noble.” I chuckled, and she slapped me again, making Gorth snort with disgust. “Anything worth taking? Or something which would save us from a horde of draugr?” I asked her.

  “Many things might,” she said. “I have had no time to test them, save for this statue. However, I did read pages of the book.”

  How long had I been asleep? “Is there anything I didn’t find in Balic’s own notes?” I questioned. “You mentioned an odd and terrible story.”

  She lifted the Book, and absentmindedly opened its pages. “Balic was just repeating what the Book says. It is all about the Queen indeed. There was that odd poem about that boar here, said to come from lips of a jotun who died in war. There was an ancient story, which I began to read. It didn’t state the reasons for the ancient war, but it was called the Hel’s War, and your grandfather and father were generals of Hel’s army, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They were mercenaries. The dverger were part of their command.”

  She was tapping the book enthusiastically. “During that time, the famed Gates to the Nine World were all wide open, all across the worlds. Imagine that!”

  “Like the one in the Tower of the Temple,” I said. “The gods ruled, and then something happened.”

  “There were gates in Dagnar, though the city was called something else. And in Malignborg. And Aten. Elsewhere. One was in Mara’s Brow. Eight of them, or seven, I know not. Most worlds were connected, and that was how Hel’s army took war to Midgard, and no doubt too many other places. It said in the Book all the worlds were reeling under sudden war, terrible betrayal, and shifting loyalties of the gods, while they decided between Odin and Hel. Did your wife tell you anything of it?”

  I shook my head. “She treated me like a child. I told you. She wanted to shackle me here in the South, while she dealt with the issue. Is there more about what they trapped up in the north?”

  She nodded. “Hear this.” She placed a finger on the page with ancient, spidery writing. “I, Altain of Blacktower, and thousands of others saw it. The battle upon the hill where Queen Mara of the North fell, was a terrible one. Baduhanna led the desperate men after her death up the hill, cutting a swath to the gate of Nifleheim, from where the enemy Queen ruled the attackers.”

  “Queen,” I said.

  She gave me a gentle shove, her eyes lit by excitement. “There were more and more enemy troops surging from the air itself. It was the Gate, and Baduhanna’s valor was the only thing keeping the men fighting up that hill. Spears and spells, and Aesir’s rage, a horrible bloody stage. The enemy had sent armies east, for the Golden City, and even more had attacked through the Gate of Aldheim in Malignborg, but this was the enemy Queen, said to be the emissary of Hel herself. She was guarded by a jotun clan, an army of savage dverger, and tens of thousands of creatures from Svartalfheim, savage and squat.”

  “Father and Grandfather,” I muttered. “Thrum’s boys.”

  She pushed me harder. “Then, after hours of butchery, Baduhanna’s best fighters hacked their way to the Gate. There, the Queen of the enemy troops swayed on her throne. She stood up, and in her hand, glowed an object of some terrible power. She lifted her hand, and I swear for a moment, she looked like a corpse, black and horrible, with a mad eye. She was slight, very petite, and beautiful as a snowy flower, then dead and horrible. She was an elf—”

  “Elf?” I asked dubiously.

  “…and she was cursing Baduhanna foully, releasing spells of fire at the goddess, pushing her downhill, killing hundreds with magic. And then, she went still. She was clearly tapping some odd power. Then, we saw what that power was. Tens of thousands of dead jerked. They moved, as if someone was calling for them, and the mad thing atop the hill was laughing. I have never seen anything like it, not during this horrible war. The faces of the fallen, they were shocked as they jerked, as something was trying to take everything away from them.”

  “She was raising an army?” I asked her. “A whole army?”

  Quiss went on. “Something happened up where she was performing this horrible ritual. A fog filled the top, and the corpses fell back into ruin. The battle commenced between the living. For hours, we lost sight of the top of the hill. Then, suddenly, in the midst of the battle, the jotun’s army, with the dverger, attacked. They broke through, beat down a thousand men and women, lost many, even jotuns, and fled south, while the armies of the men pursued after them.

  “They escaped,” I breathed.

  “Baduhanna the Aesir went up the hill, and I stood behind her, as she eyed the Gate. It had been closed. Gods know how, and nothing moved in and out, and the destruction around it spoke of a rebellion. There had been a huge clan of jotuns up there. A stream of them had died, a stream, because it looked like a river of corpses leading to the side of a rocky wall, where a gate and spiraling way had been built down into the murky depths of the mountain.

  “Their base,” I whispered.

  “The jotuns had fought the Queen, it seemed, and when Baduhanna went down there, she came back with a thoughtful look on her face. She pulled me aside, and gave me a poem, if you will, a spell, possibly, and told me a dying jotun had spoken them. She also told one her generals to guard the wall, and placed a law on the city, which was to be built on that hill. A thousand men were to stand before the crypt, as she called it, for all eternity. It was never to be abandoned. Never should lord or lady of the hill leave it open, and none were allowed in. For some reason, the rock couldn’t be delved or broken, or the crypt collapsed. Jotun’s magic, she called it. After this, she set after the jotuns in pursuit. Before she did, she sent forty thousand men, under Duke of the North, to the east, in pursuit of Hel’s abandoned generals.”

  Quiss slammed it closed. “Imagine that. What a horrible battle. And your father? They betrayed her. This queen.”

  “She had more than one general?” I asked her, frowning.

  “Yes, more than one. I guess they were all defeated in the end.”

  “Baduhanna was betrayed by my father and grandfather under Dagnar, and trapped with the same spell,” I said. “There was no way to make sure the other minions of Hel were destroyed.”

  “Matters little,” Quiss said. “They want to release this … elf. Thing.” She smiled at me. “Your father was a hero. To Midgard, if not Hel. He was a mercenary for a mad goddess, but he knew where to draw the line. For thousands of years, he did the right thing.”

  Thousands of years.

  I’d live that long, if I got lucky. And Quiss wouldn’t.

  I shook the thought away, and found she was looking at me with a sad smile, perhaps having thought about it as well. She shook her head, and went on. “We have to save Baduhanna, and the city. We have to destroy your father and…”

  “Mother,” I said. “We know where to find them. Down there. And, unfortunately, I’m just a bit more than a man.”

  She grasped my hand, and smiled shyly. “You’ll just have to beat them li
ke a human, eh?”

  Gorth chuckled. “A confused jotun whelp. Don’t worry boy. You’ve done good. Except we have to figure out how to survive this shit hole. Speaking of which, men have to shit soon. It will make this place unpleasant. So, I agree. We need to leave.”

  “What time is it?” I asked tiredly, grasping the sword.

  As if to answer my question, far in the distance, a horn blared. It was a huge horn, probably in Dansar’s Grave, and after that, many others answered it. There must have been thousands, ringing across Blight, as if the gods themselves were riding to war, as the muster of the nobles of Fiirant finally moved out of Dansar’s Grave. It must have been close to morning and Baduhanna was entering Grimwing Pass.

  “Keep the statue, Quiss,” I said, as I got up. “It will be our only weapon. They have plenty.”

  “The other artifacts?” Gorth asked hopefully.

  I eyed the bag, and shook my head. “We don’t know enough about them. She was crazy to test even one. Let me go see what’s going on, at least, and then we can decide after to try the other items.”

  Gorth looked at me like a madman. “The only way to deal with this is to charge out, and sacrifice lives so some will get away. Go together, go fast, and beg gods and luck are on our side. Some might make it out.”

  I got up, and walked to the stairway. I peered into the dark hole, and then at Gorth and Quiss. “I’ll have a look, before that. Take care, if things go wrong. Gorth, you won’t let her down?”

  Gorth nodded his heavy head, and stared forlornly at Quiss, and I knew he was terribly worried about her. He also understood I was going to make sure the enemy, if they were down there, would be thinking about me, and not them. I fully expected them to run for it.

  I leaned down on Quiss. “And you. You find a way to save Baduhanna. Do the best you can, eh? If I die, they will need you to warn them. To help them. Perhaps you can raise the city? Just don’t die here.”

  Quiss wiped her hand across the Book, smoothing some dust off the cover, and packed the items to the bag. “After we get out of here, after we have either escaped or put them all down out there, we have to raise the city. The Regent’s not there to stop us. We have a war to fight. Just like they did thousands of years ago. It will be a thing to remember. You think Illastria is up to recording it?” She was nervous, and trying to give me confidence by speaking of a hopeful future, and I loved her for it.

  “She will,” I agreed sadly. “Anything?” I asked one of the guards.

  “Silent,” he whispered. “Not a sound. Not even rubble moving. Just like it’s been for hours.”

  “They are there,” I answered. I hefted the sword, and took some tentative steps down the blood-sticky stairs. It was very dark; shadows were playing in the hallway. I made my way down the steps, trying to avoid the draugr corpses. Any one of them might be pretending, playing dead, and then I’d die before I knew what was happening. They were clever, and utterly ruthless, and I would be like a newborn puppy, if they had laid out an elaborate trap. I glanced up, saw Quiss’s unhappy face staring down at me, and I shrugged. I went forward, deeper into dark, and cursed as I brushed a bit of armor with my foot. Nothing could be heard, no sound whatsoever. I peeked over the heap of bodies, and stepped to the side of the doorway. I looked around carefully.

  The yard was empty.

  Was it possible?

  I let my eyes travel the darkness, the shifty alleys, the main street’s stony lumps, broken masonry, forgotten statues, and the silent fountains.

  Nothing. I grinned.

  There was a kick on my back, and I flew headlong to the street. I rolled as I fell, trying to keep my balance, and spat dirt, trying to gain my balance. There, behind me in the shadows of the tower, stood Sand. A withering shadow, his deadly sword was out, and why he had not used it immediately, was a mystery. He made an apologetic bow. “Aten-Sur. Balic. He told me to make it slow.”

  “I see,” I said, holding my sword out. “And you cannot resist?”

  “I didn’t give you up immediately. But now I have strict orders, friend. Strict. Remember when Lithiana ordered me to attack you? I couldn’t resist,” he said. “I have been given specific orders, Maskan. Aten-Sur made it so.”

  “You can resist it. You can turn, and leave, or even help me,” I tried.

  He shook his head unhappily. “I cannot. It’s not possible. I am sorry, Maskan.”

  My eyes darted left and right, and I felt my skin crawl. From the shadows, dozens of dverger dead appeared, filthy and rotten.

  At the front of them stood Mir. She looked at me with incredulity. “Maskan.” She released a spell of pale light, which hovered over the area where I stood. She looked hesitant, the chain coif hanging low over her forehead, masking her eyes.

  I spat at her, squinting. “I’m sorry to have been of trouble, Mother,” I returned. “I hear you are not the Queen, after all?” I was turning, seeking Aten-Sur, and my true, dead kin.

  She chuckled tiredly. “They went to Balic. Aten-Sur had the authority, and he left me here to deal with the doors, and you. It is so, Maskan, that Balic enjoys humiliating the Blacktowers, and while we struggle, even I have to give in to him and those he set over me.” She smiled, her dry, bony face twitching into a likeness of a wistful grin. “You know about our quest?”

  “For the true Queen of the Draugr,” I said. She didn’t seem annoyed, just sad. “The spell, which blocked her in the dungeon in Mara’s Brow demands many things. All of which he now has.”

  Sand was walking slowly towards me, his eyes flashing.

  She chuckled. “Yes. Sand told me you had the Book. True, Balic now has the tools. And yet, Baduhanna is the one creature that might challenge the Queen.”

  “Is this worth it?” I spat. “Balic wins. And you and the rest of us will suffer.”

  She shrugged. “It will be worth it, if Balic shall have to use my creation. The Queen will know who released her, no matter where I am, how humiliated, how scorned. And I shall be set over him. I know this is so. He fears it.” She smiled sadly. “But, unfortunately, he will use you. I am to take your corpse to him. And likely, he will kill Baduhanna as well. Not I. The glory for that deed is going to be his, likely as well. You are right. He is winning.” She shook her head with regret. “I am truly sorry for this.”

  “For failing to cheat Balic?”

  “For more than that,” she said, surprisingly truthfully. “For all of it, I suppose.”

  “Why? You weren’t when you hung me. And I’ll not die without a fight,” I growled, my eyes darting from the dverg dead to Sand, and then to Mir. I held the huge sword before me.

  “I am sorry, but the reasons won’t matter. Fight, Maskan. I expect nothing less of you. And that girl.” She eyed the tower with sudden, withering fury. It was uncanny to witness. Her fingers were grasping air like Quiss was there, being torn apart. “I’ll marry her rotting carcass to a filthy beggar, Maskan. Just to spite you for loving her. It will anger Aten-Sur as well. A fitting bonus.”

  “Aten-Sur—”

  “Is gone,” she said. “I told you. With your kin. Left me to clear up, to open the ways, to bring your corpse. Silence.”

  The dverger dead moved just a bit closer, keeping to the edge of the shadows. I looked into Sand’s feverish eyes, and there was nothing left of the old friend there.

  He’d kill me. Slowly.

  Mir waved her hand, as she spoke heavily. “I wish you luck in the battle, friend. I truly do. If you slay me, Balic will suffer. If you slay me, my plans will go forward, but it is not likely, is it? And I have to do my best to thwart my own ambitions, because Aten-Sur was very specific. Ironic,” she said, and gestured to Sand. “Kill him. And I am really sorry, love,” she said sadly, and Sand’s sword glittered in the semi-dark.

  I fell on my face, and a shadow moved past me. The sword ripped the air near my face, and then stabbed at my torso, but I rolled, and my sword moved fast enough to block the blade, half with luck. Sparks flew hig
h. Sand’s face was hard as stone, then guilty, then angry, as he pushed the blade at me.

  I blocked again, breathless with fear.

  Before the blade connected, he disappeared out of sight.

  I got to my feet, spinning around, and saw Mir’s solemn, sad face, the dverger draugr staring at me, chattering in their odd voices, and I knew I had to move.

  I rammed my elbow behind, connecting with Sand’s face.

  It did nothing to him.

  His blade cut to my leg. I yelped as I danced away, my sword striking through in the air, missing by far. He was coming after me, and dodged under the blade a second time. “Sand! Stop—”

  “No,” he whispered.

  I hacked down at him.

  I saw a flicker of a shadow. Then, Sand’s fist crashed into my temple. I swung the sword again, but he moved away, then back and under, lighting fast, and stabbed at me. The blade tore at my armor, punching a hole in the skin and flesh of my side.

  He moved away, leering.

  “It has been slow enough, Sand,” Mir said softly. “Finish him.”

  He nodded, but he was shivering. His face was screwed with an internal battle he was bound to lose. And he did. I saw it. It was almost like he let out a breath, though in truth, he didn’t breathe. He would not hold back with the impending attack.

  Sand growled, moved so very fast, and slammed into me.

  I fell back several steps; he charged forward, my sword guarding as best I could. He sidestepped the blade, slapped my sword aside, stood up right before me, and then, as the blade was coming for my throat, when I saw his eyes squeeze shut to avoid seeing my death, my idiotic allies intervened.

  Aten’s men rushed out of the tower. One was Gorth.

  Instead of trying to break out, they attacked in a show of hopeless bravery.

  They attacked Sand like mad things, not heeding the army of dverger draugr. Two stabbed at my friend with spears. He twisted out of the way. He stepped back, ducked under the spear, and the blade visited the man’s eye. He fell silently on his knees, and flopped lifeless to the ground.