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

by Alaric Longward

  Sand blocked another attack, and kicked at a man, who had stabbed at him. I roared and swung at him, but he appeared behind the man, and his sword punctured the man’s skull.

  I attacked Sand again, leaping over the dying Atenite. I let the rage out, felt Sorrowspinner dragging it down, weakening it, fighting it every step of the way, but the jotun’s rage answered. The weapon reached Sand, and he blocked, but I immediately chopped at him again from the side, relentless. The blade sailed through him again, and his sword flickered, as it carved a wound in my temple. It bit deep, and I fell, seeing dark and red. I heard a man dying.

  Gorth bellowed near. I got up unsteadily, blood flowing down my neck, and saw Gorth fight magnificently, tall as mountain, his beard jutting. He struck at Sand, who dodged, but Gorth’s spear had moved with the luck and skill of a natural warrior. It tore at my former friend’s face where he appeared to Gorth’s side. Sand screamed, as the blade grated along his skull.

  Flesh was removed, dead and cancerous, leaving Sand’s face a leering, red and white half skull. He shuddered with his undead pain, Gorth stabbed again, but Sand’s sword was moving. He stabbed, missed Gorth, but backhanded me with a staggering blow at the same time. I fell, while Gorth dodged. I grasped Sand’s leg, but he had no difficulty to kick me out of his way, and charged Gorth again, hissing with anger. To my horror, Quiss was there, cursing amongst her dead crew, striking with a sword, but Sand didn’t care, as her blade carved into his back.

  Sand’s sword ripped into Gorth’s chest.

  Sand stood still, staring the huge man in the face. Gorth grinned in his pain, and Sand, roaring with anger, sawed the sword out so his body so savagely the ribs were severed, and the huge man fell in a heap.

  Quiss was standing over me protectively.

  Mir nodded and spoke maliciously, no mercy in her voice, only savagery. “Now, the princess. Let her die slowly. Kill Maskan fast, but let her die for hours.”

  “No!” I screamed. “You—”

  “So, you have forgotten poor Shaduril,” Mir chuckled. “The poor, foolish Shaduril. First, Baduhanna. Then, a princess. A dead woman’s love is a thing no living can endure, eh? I forgive you. Kill her, Sand. See a jotun weep.”

  Sand turned to Quiss, who stood up straight, her face a mask of rage. Around us, the dverger ranks shifted, stepping closer.

  Sand stepped forwards as well, the half-skull face leering.

  Quiss pointed the golden crowned object at Sand. She thumbed the thing furiously. “Tears of Light,” she murmured.

  The fiery magical statue flared to life. It cut a horribly bright path through the air. The whole buried city looked as if Lifegiver lit it, and the fire burned a hole for Sand, who dodged under. The fire roared beyond him, converting two dverger draugr into pyres, and Quiss whirled lighting fast.

  The fire soared across many of the dead, and struck Mir. She staggered, and fell away, burning terribly, shrieking. Sand hesitated, and then attacked Quiss, but I was ready, and charged him, and hit at him with the blade, which connected side first with his savaged face.

  He flew several dozen feet in the air, rolled into the shadows, but as he did, his sword cut at Quiss’s hand, and the statue fell to the ground.

  And broke. The fire blinked out.

  Mir was on the ground, trying to douse the fire, her eyes horrified.

  The dverger dead moved, ready to slay us. Mir got up, her body simmering, clothes still burning, and she opened her mouth to give the order to rip us apart. Quiss looked at me with a pained, brave smile. “We did well, eh?”

  “Yes,” I said, and lifted the sword, turning my back to her. I didn’t want to see her die.

  Axes and spears flashed in the dark, as a dark mass of the fierce warriors struck down.

  But, it was not the draugr that attacked.

  The draugr fell, dozens and dozens, nearly without complaint. Mir whirled to see thousand dverger, living warriors rush out of the darkness. Thrum was there, looking hard at the bitch, as his troops chopped into their dead kin, with wild, murderous intent. Mir, trapped, whirled. A dverg caster braided together a spell of fire, then few others joined him, thick snakes reaching for her, but Mir was faster.

  Her hands opened up, and a fiery wind ripped through the dverger ranks. The magical fires slashed around wildly, catching the dverger in their path. The whole Old City was rocked by the terrible spell’s power. Warriors burned, many fell silently, others screamed hoarsely.

  The witch fled, billowing darkness cascading around her with a spell of concealment. Dverger moved, fire spells tore the air after her, but she ran wickedly fast. The last of the draugr were being put down, but she was almost too far.

  Almost.

  I ran as well. As soon as she had released the horrible spell at the dverger, and churned through my allies with their own fires, I had sprung to movement, grabbing a two-handed maul from a fallen draugr. I saw the terrible creature running, I gauged the distance to her, as I held the weapon high. I dodged rubble and fighting pairs of dverger and draugr, I swung it in the air, and roared, as I hurled it with all my power after her.

  The weapon spun in the air, making a whooshing sound. I prayed to Thor, the Hammer God, for small mercy, and perhaps he heard me.

  It flew true.

  Swallowed by her darkness, it disappeared, and then, suddenly, the darkness vanished.

  Mir shrieked terribly, her body cruelly twisted, as she fell against a fountain so hard it broke, spilling murky water over her. The dverger surrounded her, keeping their weapons at ready. I walked for her, trying to keep my balance, since my head was aching. I was bleeding, lightheaded, and terribly tired, but the rage over the lies, terror, and chaos she had caused kept me going. I stopped to grasp the maul, and dragged it after me. She was raising herself, trying to get her legs to function, and fixed a terrified, dead eye on me under her coif.

  “Well,” I said thinly, as I stood over her. “Looks like you won’t see your bitch queen run rampant, or watch Hel take over the Nine Worlds. Nor will Balic kiss your boot. But, I thank you for raising me a fighter. Looks like you did a commendable job at it, after all.”

  She gave up and fell on her back, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I loved you, at times.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Mir. Now, go to your mistress. For Father, for all the lost ones in this war. This is for all of them,” I said, raising the weapon.

  “I think I was wise to take precautions, and plan for all possibilities, after all. Poor Balic!” She laughed softly. “I am sorry,” she said sadly, just before I brought it down on her face.

  She twitched, as her skull turned into a red and white mass of rot and bone. I stared at the mass of chain, skull, and jewelry. There was gold glinting amidst the mess, and I turned away, feeling sick. It had been a great blow for the living, and yet, her sadness, and oddly apologetic manners had let me unrewarded by the victory. I felt … sad. I heard steps, and straightened myself. I turned to see Thrum. “You betrayed Baduhanna?” I asked him.

  “You complaining?” he asked, with a grin. “No, we didn’t. I forgot my ale. Came back to fetch it.” He winked.

  “You weren’t missed?” I said with a smile.

  “We left the army, like a horse drops a turd,” he answered, with a grin. “There were over ten thousand of them, so I know something about horse turds by now. We know how to sneak as well. They didn’t see a thing. I bet Baduhanna isn’t too happy, though.”

  “Thank you. Ragga found you in Dansar’s Grave? I sent him for you. How did you get here so fast?”

  Ragga emerged, and smiled from the crowd. “I didn’t get to the muster field at Dansar’s Grave. They were marching back already. They march really fast when angry.”

  I kneeled next to Thrum. He scowled. “If you hug me, I’ll chop you down.” He eyed Quiss, who was nursing her injured hand, and holding onto Gorth’s body. “I guess you found a new girl, eh? That Mir really disliked her. Wonder why?”

  “They hate eas
ily. If she asks you to do something,” I said, as I saw she was sobbing, “obey her.”

  He nodded. “Never liked Baduhanna. There’s a reason we fought her to begin with. I knew you didn’t mean when you asked us to obey her,” he muttered, and cheerfully clapped my back. “Well. Looks like there is a king to fight for, still,” he mused. “Though that ring makes you a mere man, no? The human was saying something to that effect.”

  “The city and its people needs a hero or a general more than a jotun or a king,” I said, echoing Ragga. “And we have to save a goddess. But, first, we have some thirty thousand Hammer Legionnaires to beat.”

  He didn’t flinch. I stared at him.

  “What?” he asked, confused. “Why did you go quiet?”

  “Thirty— “

  “Yes, my king,” he answered. “Then we should probably plan?”

  My heart sang for my allies and then I went serious. “Shaduril and the dead might be below here. And others. We have to secure the Old City as well.”

  “We shall manage,” he answered. “You raise the city.”

  We had a city to summon. And a war to win. And I had some ideas that might work.

  I turned to look behind into the darkness. Sand was gone. So was his sword. I cast a last, long look at Mir’s corpse, and wondered why I got no joy from it.

  BOOK 4: BALIC’S PRIDE

  “Because I don’t want to lie to him. That’s why generals have captains.”

  Maskan to Ragga

  CHAPTER 20

  Sails filled the Arrow Straits. It was an awe-inspiring sight, as the great sea-nations of the South; Aten, Katar Kas Opan, and Betus Coin, exerted their mighty fleet across the straits. On the ships, thirty thousand Hammer Legionnaires, a host of draugr guards, and High King Balic, with his kings and queens, were on their way to accomplish all they had dreamt of, finally.

  Dagnar would fall. It had to fall. It was a personal goal for Balic, and first step in his plans to overcome all opposition. He had missed his step the first time, but the terrifying sight spreading across the sea told a story of a draugr king determined never to stumble again.

  Thrum’s presence had changed the city. The Helstroms had been shocked by a thousand of them marching up to the Temple of the Tower, and none had fought as I took the Rose Throne, though I didn’t sit on it. The dverger spread to prepare the city for battle, and the confused population of the city were gathering.

  They also wondered as two and half thousands of them marched back out, and left the city.

  We had made a plan, and we were in a hurry to execute it.

  Soon, pages were running across the city, calling a summons for the free people of the city.

  Before that, Quiss and I rode down to the harbor, staring mutely at the mighty fleet. Her remaining crewmen walked after us, as the Widow’s Breath had rowed back.

  We reached the docks guarded by the dverger. A hundred or more of the short folk were on top of the Fat Father, setting up their odd, portable ballistae. They were doing the same all across the four inner walls, though not on the outer one. Opposite from the Fat Father, the short folk were committing an act of terrible sabotage, and were breaking down a tower like a horde of angry ants. Most were pushing huge chunks of masonry to the sea to block the harbor. We stopped to stare at the groups of the short warriors, who were almost happy to be so surrounded by an overwhelming enemy. I had always felt they were in a rush to get to Helheim, and they had never had a better chance.

  I dismounted, and Thrum pulled me around and pointed that way. “Do not worry, pup King. The main battle will be fought as planned.”

  I was nodding. We had made a hasty plan. I had had some ideas, and Thrum had perfected them, and gods knew if we could pull any of them off. It all depended on the city, and people supporting us.

  Thrum was speaking tiredly, almost bored. “They merely make sure none of the draugr army march under the sea. It could spoil the surprise. Now, you have to figure out how to make an army of rabble.”

  “I might as well fart an army,” I despaired.

  “I suggest you work on it,” Thrum said, and chortled, “Fart us an army, and make it a good fart. The best one in Midgard, ever.”

  “They are late, so perhaps Maskan’s ruse back in Aten cost them some time, at least. We have an hour,” Quiss said, as she was observing with expert eyes the enemy navy split. Flags were waving, and ships were careened left and others right. “What is that big beach to the west?”

  “Pearl Bay,” I said. “Crow’s Hook is to the east, and those smaller trails lead up from the beach, and then for Dansar’s Grave, way past the city.” I pulled Thrum around. “Are they on their way there?”

  “Most dverg marched out, after we took the Tower,” Thrum said. “As we planned. Five hundred remains. I shall go after them now.” He eyed a swift horse with clear distaste. The horse cast him an annoyed gaze. Thrum thumbed towards it. “I’ll make a meal out of it, as soon as I get there.”

  “Can you hold the beach? Can you hold the Crow’s?” I pointed a finger at the far away rocky trails, where most of the dverger would be soon, just before the enemy arrived.

  He sighed. “Provided the Helstrom troops from Dansar’s Grave do not attack my back?” he muttered. “We will send them weeping. The boys won’t budge. We also guard the roads that bypass Dagnar with some hundreds, in case they send messengers and other scum to Dansar’s Grave. Won’t stop a legion, but will keep something smaller away. But I think they will all come here, as soon as they figure out the ways below are blocked, after all.”

  “Do your best,” I told him. “Baduhanna’s life might depend on it.”

  “And your life,” he snorted, “depends on an army of peasants and craftsmen, who hated you but a few days past. Instead of doing one thing, like trying to take Dansar’s Grave before they arrive, you hope to take down all of the enemy in two places. It’s so crazy, it might work. You just do your bit.”

  “It has to work. We cannot be sure we can enter Dansar’s Grave, and if we do, we may not be able to keep Balic out. He has magic, draugr, and we might just die in that fort, and accomplish nothing. We have to surprise the enemy. Balic will come here, he knows I am waiting, and he hopes it will be enough. It will go brilliantly.”

  “You have heard too many happy stories,” Thrum chuckled, and his face went serious. “I’ll keep the beach and the roads. I’ll hold them. You make use of my boys that stay here.” He pointed his finger at the army sailing for Pearl Beach. “Farts won’t do good against them. They seem to mean business. Do well with your plan.”

  I shook my head forlornly. “I shall try. Do you have a deputy?”

  “He is re-checking the ways below, and preparing your traps,” Thrum said, and mounted the horse with difficulty. “He’ll be ready. Narag, he is called. You’ve met him. If he falls, then Hirag takes over. They both know the plan.” He grasped my arm. “We didn’t find Shaduril or Balissa in the Old City. Granted, they could be down there anyway, but be careful.”

  I shook my head with regret. “Balissa. She didn’t get to Baduhanna? You are sure?”

  He looked away. “Never saw her, after you disappeared. Hope she found a fast death. Or at least glorious. Good luck in battle, my king.”

  ***

  The Silver Bells were tolling on top of each gate.

  The remaining Helstrom troops had been disarmed. Those who were closest to Hilan’s betrayal had been thrown in jail, or killed while trying to escape the city. Ikar Helstrom was locked up, and Illastria had been moved to the Tower, where she helped setting up hospitals. The mad, confused woman had found her true calling, but I had Ragga’s relatives guard her, to make sure she would not disappear.

  What population remained, would be on our side, or die hiding.

  It wasn’t an impressive collection of fighters.

  I wore a dverg-crafted chain mail, and some plate, though the plate was broken in places. They were old bits and pieces taken from the Tower of the Templ
e, and the crypt beneath the Tenginell House. I held a shield of black metal, with silver flowers covering it in intricate detail. It would not go well with my two-hander, but looked heroic, so I held it. The people needed such martial sights, Quiss claimed. Despite the condition of the mail, I stood above the gates of the Tower of the Temple, and the streets below were filled with desperate, scared people. They had all seen the ships. Many were old as shit, others were far too young, and some were sick. Happily, there were plenty of sturdy merchants and craftsmen.

  Thousands and thousands were fit to be warriors, but very few had training. Most could fire a bow, some had served in the Mad Watch, others in Hawk’s Talon. Hundreds of men were rushing to the barracks of the Mad Watch, carrying out weapons, spears, what armor there was, swords, maces, and axes. The civilians were watching those men toil, and quite a few guessed what would be expected of them. The hundred remaining Mad Watchmen were already manning the gates, save for the main one down at the Gate District. Bad Man’s Haunt had been my home.

  Now, it would be something else.

  Quiss stood at my side. We were staring down at the faces, which betrayed confusion, fear, and utter horror, as enemy horns played their vicious music across Fiirant, and everyone in Dagnar knew life would not return to the same. The promises of Hilan Blacktower had been proven false, and indeed, they knew she had been replaced. Her head was placed on a spike next to me. Everyone sought answers, and all they had was the reviled king of a tribe of strangers, who were known as lying slayers of their ancient houses. The rumors had travelled far and wide across the land.

  The horns of the Hammer Legions echoed again all over the city. The bells rang again.

  Quiss propelled me forward. “That’s twenty thousand people. Speak to them. The dverger are making ready all over the city. We must hurry and promote this lot into fighters.”

  I gazed over them, and they chanted the name of Morag, Maskan, and gods knew who else. None sounded elated, but none cursed me, either. They could have easily blamed the horde on their doorsteps on me, but they didn’t. Not aloud, at least. They were too scared to. They saw the still bleeding wound on my forehead, the one Sand had given me, and many muttered about a battle below.