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

by Alaric Longward

  And so, I began. “The Regent,” I yelled, and waited until they went silent. “The Regent is relieved of her duties. The Regent,” I yelled to silence them again, “was a traitor. Like her husband, she served the enemy. She is dead.”

  “She said you are the enemy,” retorted a tall woman.

  I lifted Hilan’s rotten head from the spike and held it high. Few saw it well, but the whispers began to travel, and I hoped it was clear she had not been alive when she died. Some would claim it was not her at all.

  Yet, a severed head was an excellent way to get them to take note, and silence descended again.

  I tossed the head down, where if thudded wickedly between the ranks of the people. I rammed my fist to the shield. “She was greedy in life, and evil in death. No matter what evil my family has done in the past, I fought for the city before. Most everyone saw it. And I’ll fight for it again. They call me the traitor, my father a throne-thief, and claim, as jotuns, we had no right to rule.”

  “You had not!” a solitary voice called out, but went silent soon. They all stared at me.

  And I gave away the crown willingly.

  “They are right. We had and have no rights. What is done, is done. I just now stood before the throne my father had occupied for so long, and I didn’t sit on it. It isn’t mine. He took it unlawfully. But, he gave us all something back. His ideals, his steady hand in the helm of Dagnar, we should still honor. He ruled, and he ruled well. He made the land into something one should fight for. Let there be another king later, but let us fight for the haven he created. I shall not claim to be your king. I only claim to be his son, honoring the land he crafted, the North we so love. Fight with me! We have no soldiers. But, we have something better.”

  They hung on to my every word. “My father was nearly defeated by humans in the age before. By men willing to sell their lives dearly. By women hoping to save their land, and families desperate to survive. People like you, led by Baduhanna, the Aesir who is about to be betrayed by this mangy Balic of Southern Dogs.” I flashed Quiss and apologetic, smile and she rolled her eyes at me. I turned to the crowd below. “Will you fight for Red Midgard? With me? Let one of you rule after.”

  There was a silken silence for the longest of times. Only the soldiers distributing weaponry to the people were creating a soft clanking voice. A boy was handed an ax, and he lifted it, not fifteen years old. He was a sturdy, brooding boy, like many in the North. Perhaps a goldsmith’s son, or an apprentice butcher? They all looked like fighters, even if they were not.

  The silence broke. The boy screamed defiance, the ax high. “I’ll not die with my cock in my hand! Or theirs in my ass!”

  A unified, feverish shout filled the air with ferocious anger. Men, women, boys, and girls even, lifted their fists to the air. They did it fearfully, cheering each other on, but in that fear, in that mob, I felt kinship, something like the brotherhood of the professional solders, an I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude, which would send many a Hammer Legionnaire to their graves.

  There was one thing they had in common.

  Pride. Pride in Morag’s land. Add anger to the pride, and a common cause was born in a brave heart.

  “We’ll fight! For you!” a man yelled, and others answered. A rhythmic tumult filled the city.

  “What is the plan, Lord?” yelled a man, an old soldier, sheltering his children.

  I waved my hand. “There is a way out.”

  They went quiet, looking at each other.

  “But, we cannot take the way,” I yelled. “We have to fight the enemy, or they will chase us to the Blight. There, we shall die, slowly, in hunger, hunted like animals. Instead, we must surprise the enemy, rip his heart out, bleed them under our walls, like stuck pigs, and we must be brave. It’s here we must make them weep like beaten men. The young ones and the feeble shall leave through the Old City. The ways are blocked, except for some leading to the east. I have dverger who will guide those who leave. The hale and able shall arm themselves as best they can. Ten thousand shall have a good weapon, the rest will use what they can. We shall have the walls. And if we win? We shall have to do it again in Dansar’s Grave. Then, gods know where, yet again. Because it is our land, isn’t it?”

  Many would try to join those who flee. The dverger would make sure none such would get anywhere. I needed a willing army, could risk no traitors leaving the city, and the silence made me twitch with fear that they would all hope to grasp the way out.

  They answered with a scream of roaring approval. I let out a breath of joy and relief, and realized most all of them would fall. I wept.

  Eventually, I turned to Quiss. “Will you defend the southern walls?” I asked her amidst my tears. “They will eventually swing there.”

  “I shall, and I hope Thrum’s people can hold the cliffs.”

  “I hope we can hold our heads on our shoulders. It will be a hard day, and a terrible night. And gods keep Baduhanna alive in the meantime. But, this is the only force we have. And it can be enough. If my plans work.”

  She leaned in to give me a kiss. It was a warm and gentle one, and I smiled, despite myself. “You keep yourself alive, my Maskan, because you are needed as much as the Aesir.”

  CHAPTER 21

  By afternoon, the people of Dagnar manned the Second Tier wall, which overlooked the ramshackle Harbor district and the massive main gate, with its ornamental, black beast heads across its top and around the windows and gate’s doorways. The people, most terribly equipped, were staring over the Bad Man’s Haunt and the black gallows. The whole city seemed to be holding its breath. The north of the city and the east were safe, since the sides of the hill were steep and not climbable, and the harbor was blocked by the efforts of the industrious dverger. The five walls guarding the city were our lifelines. The gates, two in each wall, were the weak points, but they were not all that fragile. The enemy would have to fight well for them, and the stone would not easily budge, unless Balic used his magic.

  Which he, of course, would.

  The mood amongst the people was varied. I could hear both cries of fear and mocking laughter. Some were depressed, all were probably terrified, unless they were utterly mad. I stalked the gate, staring down the road beyond the gate I guarded.

  The main gate was open; the unmanned wall was peaceful. Where are they, I thought. Should I have sent a clearer invitation?

  I calmed myself, and took a stock of the situation. Quiss commanded the southern walls, guarded by her crew, who had rowed back to the city. She’d be holding the gates that guarded the road from the Harbor. The Mad Watch and the stranded sailors were in charge of the ballistae and catapults. A contingent of hundreds of the Watch were holding the middle bit of the wall as well. I took a long look at the few city guardsmen, who were confident, fairly professional soldiers. They looked steady enough, which seemed to have a calming effect on those who had never held a weapon.

  And there were far too many of those amidst the many defenders. There were women, with knives, men, with stones, and youngsters, with daggers. Spears and axes, as well as swords, maces, and even shields had been given to the more skilled ones.

  I was no master with any weapon, trusting the superior quality of the brutal, unforgiving two-handed sword more than skillful hands and arms, and fleet feet. My jotun skills had made me a beast, the Beast of the North after Morag’s image, and I’d take many of the enemy with me. Of the nearly twenty thousand defenders, thousands would fall in the first assault, and the rest would have to learn fast.

  Where are they?

  Horns were playing, had been playing all day. They were coming. It was clear. But, why didn’t they just march in?

  Hammer Legions had been patrolling down the peninsula, blocking it all morning. At first, there was mostly cavalry, then infantry. Pillars of smoke rose from the villages around the Pearl Beach. Balic’s army was preparing and unloading supplies, setting up fortified positions for food and weapons, and unloading horses, but they were nowhere ne
ar as fast as I had thought they would be, and it was tearing at my thin patience. To calm it, I imagined Balic’s anger at finding the city was not open for pillage, but would have to be taken. Did he think Mir had defied him? Did he suspect she was dead? Aten-Sur had fled, and taken Morag with him. Yes, Balic would know, and he’d curse Maskan Danegell Ymirtoe to Hel.

  I waited, and begged Odin my plan would be a sound one. It would bleed the people I loved, mothers, fathers, grandparents to those who had left the city on a long, dark trail, but would it bleed the enemy more? Would it even hurt Balic?

  We waited.

  ***

  In an hour, the enemy was massing beyond the gates. The gates of the First Tier, the main entrance were left open, but unguarded. It was as I had planned.

  Elsewhere, battle had been joined.

  We could hear horns in the eastern cliffs, and the scouts in the Tower of the Temple sent reports down, that the dverger and their war machines, which were blocking the Crow’s Hook, were taking terrible toll on the ten thousand enemy trying to make their way for Dansar’s Grave. There had been skirmishes on the roads to the north of us.

  But the main army was in front of Dagnar. All of them. It was a relief. It was also terrifying.

  Beyond the gate and the abandoned first wall, the milling mass of twenty thousand enemy warriors was a mind-numbing sight. The stomping of arriving companies, the dense dust as they prepared, the distant yells, whinnying of horses, and a sea of flags made one think of kicked anthill. None were resting, every single man was ready. Some were assembling great siege catapults in a terrifying line of power; a horde of slaves was pulling at ammunition. A virtual sea of tents had sprung amidst them.

  Since they were not standing down, it would start any time.

  “Balls burning, this will be horrible,” a man near me breathed. Ragga grunted in annoyed agreement, as he leaned on the crenellation, staring beyond the walls at the heaving mass of enemy. The Mad Watch Sergeant was tapping the stone under his gauntleted hand.

  “This bastard of all rocks will hold. They are very heavy walls, never better, and will withstand the assault for a long while,” he said, pouring confidence into the faltering hearts. “Hug the walls like you would your mothers, boys and girls. This stone will hold us safe in its bosom, and make life miserable for the bastards trying to scale it. It will be well, unless they have magic we know nothing of.” His eyes flickered my way, and I didn’t mention Balic’s magical toy, but he saw my frown. “King? Anything you wish to share?” he whispered.

  I leaned near him, so as to spare the others from bad news. “Yes. Balic has something that will hurt the walls. And Aten-Sur got into the city, likely with Hilan’s help. And probably out of it. Some of the draugr might as well.”

  “No, Lord. This will be straightforward siege,” Ragga whispered back. “Nothing fancy. The ways below are held by your dverger, and all the enemy can do is to come over, praying and bleeding.”

  I was quiet for a time, pleading to the gods he would be right. I shook my head. “Arrows. They have thousands of archers. The spells of the draugr will be very uncomfortable.”

  “I wonder,” Ragga said, with a brave smile, “why I have to boost the confidence of the Hero, as well as his sad rabble, but I will. They cannot show their magic, can they? Not often, not publicly. They are supposed to be men, not magical beings. It is a hidden card; one they only use under the greatest of pressure. But, what is this ‘toy’ you mentioned?”

  I clasped his shoulder with gratitude. “Balic has something truly nasty in his pocket which might make this terribly uncomfortable. A spell, or a device, worth dozen huge catapults. A stone breaker, that is. Ripped chain off my back, broke Aten-Sur’s palace. Speaking of the turd, do you see the High King?”

  “No.”

  I turned to ask Gorth to look out for him, but then I remembered he was dead by Sand’s hand. And Sand, I thought, was below, anywhere, in fact. Same as Shaduril. He was no friend to us. I turned back to the Sergeant instead. “No?”

  “I don’t know,” he said glumly, as he wiped his hand across the enemy army. “They are all ugly and misshapen. What does he look like? Those wide helmets, shields. Is he different? Never seen a king or a queen of the Verdant Lands in battle.”

  I smiled. “They’ll look fancy. There will be four such creatures out there, perhaps more, and him—Balic. They’ll wear horned masks and red robes, though Aten-Sur wore regular armor in the east, when he captured me. Without the helmet, Balic is a pretty boy, a young, nasty bit of meat, golden and curly.”

  “Sounds like my cock,” Ragga said, and spat over the wall. “Despite all I just said about the walls, my King, you know this will end up in tears. You said you had a plan. How will we win this one?” he asked gruffly. “Those men out there have ravaged though the Verdant Lands for two decades. They are all soldiers. The best kind. Tough and disciplined, they are, with maps of battle carved in scars in their hides, and they all believe in their cause, however warped it may be.”

  “We shall fight them all the way to the top,” I told him.

  “A good plan, but—”

  “And then, we have a surprise,” I added. “A big, nasty surprise for the lot. But, we must actually hold them at that last wall. For some time.”

  “Who came up with the plan?” he asked, with a smile. “And may I ask—”

  “The Princess mentioned something when we sailed in, and I stole the thought.” I lifted a hand to shadow my eyes, squinting. I had seen horses galloping, fancy ones, and then, in the front of the legions, men were bowing. “I bet bastard Balic’s here,” I said, and pointed my finger for a figure on a dark, red-armored horse.

  Balic was far, but I could see he wasn’t wearing the typical robes of his order but plate armor of bright red and black. His face was covered with the usual, horned mask. He held a black shield, and long, golden spear, and looked supremely martial in the attire. With him, there were three or four other royals, all in robes and horned helmets, and a mass of gold-armored guards was marching after them. There were less than a hundred. Were the rest of the draugr guard attacking Crow’s Hook? It would be bad news for Thrum.

  I indicated to the guards. “That’s all draugr right there. His guard is draugr. That’s at least part of it.”

  Ragga was nodding. “Look like harlots, the lot of them,” he said wistfully, probably hoping to be with a harlot somewhere far from there. He named the flags, one-by-one. “One is the Minotaur Legion. They come from that swampy Hel’s hole, Kellior Naur. One is from Malignborg,” he muttered. “Skull and Thorne. The best legions out there, likely. I think the two other ones are the Silver Snakes of Xat Col, and Harrian’s Headless Horse Legion. They say Harrian has a nasty, war-hungry king. Though, of course, none of them are here to pick flowers.”

  “Twenty thousand men,” I said queasily. “All out to collect loot and skulls.”

  “Shit,” the Sergeant laughed. “Plain good news, eh? They are all elite, and some are magical and draugr. A draugr takes an arrow, and keeps fighting for hours, with but half a face, eh? No, don’t tell me.”

  I was looking on, as Balic rode back and forth before the kings and queens of his armies. His spear was high, then inclined towards the city. “They’ll die like any, but it takes some skill,” I said.

  “That we happen to lack,” Ragga answered, took a swig of ale, and bowed apologetically. “I forgot to boost your confidence. I think we’ll do fine.”

  I smiled at his lies.

  Balic was raising his weapons high to the air. He was now speaking to the officers before the Legions; they were yelling something back, with high, excited voices. Then, suddenly, twenty thousand spears thrust to the air, the flags waved madly, and horns blared. They brayed, and blew madly, and our Silver Bells answered them, defiantly holding their own, as our scared people answered the challenge, with a ragged cheer which sounded so scared I wished they had stayed quiet.

  A horseman was riding before the enemy
troops. The man was waving a flag madly, and the siege machinery sprung to action. Men rushed, pulled at levers, others were carrying ammunition, others cranking the weapons.

  Heavy catapults fired on the city.

  The missiles tumbled through the sky. The stones arched high, then fell down, and two smashed into the abandoned gatehouse, and the open gate. The rest fell around the Bad Man’s Haunt. The Old Watchtower, abandoned long before, took a solid hit, leaving it crumbling into two halves. Our former home, the inn, had a hole on its roof and a missing wall.

  “They don’t have the range to hit these walls?” a man asked, with a worried voice.

  “No, I doubt they do,” Ragga said, and grinned at him. “They’ll have to do it the old fashioned way. Hop in, and fight. Why are they firing at all?”

  “They know how to do it the old fashioned way,” I muttered unhappily. “At least the wait is over. They are firing those beasts to make us jump. To show us what they can do, to root out any defenders hiding in the buildings. The gate’s open. Why not just come have a peek?”

  “They will,” Ragga said sagely.

  The stones were cumbersomely loaded again, and fired. Again, they hurtled to the city, breaking a few buildings, and gouging walkways into rubble. One crashed over the gallows in the Bad Man’s, breaking them into pieces.

  “Good riddance,” I mumbled. “See, they move?”

  “They do. The Minotaur Legion,” the Sergeant answered, while squinting at the mass of men stomping their feet. “Ugly lot. Looks like they are all holding piss. But, at least its starting.”

  “I don’t care where they are from. We’ll hump them in the ass,” I told him, with savage relish and joy, mixed with fear. He was right, I thought. The wait was over, and it was a relief, indeed. I turned to look down to the yard below the second gate, where three thousand citizens waited. They had received armor, the better shields, and all had simple crushing and hacking weapons. They were a mob, but a brilliant looking mob; the best we had. The Sergeant also looked at them, and clearly refrained from mouthing his opinion of them to spare the proud citizens on the wall. In the end, he turned away, shaking his head.