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

by Alaric Longward

  Balic? His magic?

  I gazed up to the Third Tier, where flags were waving. A horn blew desperately.

  Why? I wondered, and then, Ragga pulled at me. He was bloodied head to foot, like a butchered carcass with very white teeth and eyeballs. “The gate won’t hold! And something broke way down in the middle. Some say a part of the wall, and there’s a breach. Look at the flags!”

  I realized the flags were calling for a retreat. I cursed myself profusely. Balic had used his artifact to get through the wall, but not where we were. He hoped to trap us by surging through the middle. I yelled on top of my voice, feeling unworthy as a general, but like the men and women fighting and learning, I was as well. “Everyone, as taught! Back up to the Third Tier! Quick now!”

  There was a huge cheer somewhere halfway to harbor, and it spelled doom for many of Dagnar’s defenders.

  The horn blared mournfully on the third wall, recalling us with a begging noise.

  We turned to obey, everyone reluctant to do so. There was a dark anger, as we were abandoning stone we had paid for.

  And yet, the panic set in fast, as here and there, the enemy made it up to the wall. Many of the defenders didn’t leave as instructed, but instead, men nearest the stairways rushed away, and left others trapped. I pushed Ragga out of the way, as I charged one group of bewildered enemies, who were thrusting spears at men who tried to get past them. Some of ours fell from the wall, screaming, others died on the blades, and Hammer legionnaires were cheering. There were six foes before me, and they had shut off dozens of our men, and more enemy were scaling the wall like mad ants.

  The foe was busy with keeping the desperate mass of Northerners from leaving.

  I gritted my teeth, shouted madly, and slashed my sword into the back of one man. He hollered with pain, and I, followed by many brave men of Dagnar, found ourselves amidst the fighting. A spears ripped a hole in my chain mail, one thrust his weapon for my face, and missed only by hair’s breadth. I slashed left, then right, hit a sergeant, who fell in two pieces. Ragga and others slashed and stabbed the others down. The trapped men surged past us, and I got up, looking around in horror as the chaos. To the right and left on the wall, the bravest and the slowest men were falling, some embracing an enemy in final, mortifying dance. I followed the others for the stairs. There were corpses everywhere, and I slashed the dverg-made sword in the surprised face of a young, lost Hammer legionnaire, stumbling along.

  “Come on!” yelled Ragga. “It’s damned chaos, but it’s not your fault. Most will make it!”

  I followed him down. Most of the defenders were now streaming madly through the city for the third wall, past streets and alleys where dogs looked at them in frightened confusion. I pushed Ragga forward, as we joined the dverg Narag with most of his kin. The dverger were moving in a phalanx of steel. The gate behind us was groaning under the relentless assault, but the dverger were taking their time, eating, and chattering as they walked.

  “Relax,” Narag muttered, as I was rushing and hesitating, and they didn’t. “If they try to stop us, they’ll rue the day. They’ll be busy with that.” He nodded to the right.

  In the distance, I saw the enemy pushing into the city, and cutting off hundreds of defenders who had been late to leave. A terrible butchery was taking place; men were falling, women slaughtered, and no quarter was given. One of the kings of the enemy, the King of Harrian in red garb, was releasing whirling deadly fog over a group of Mad Watch, and they all fell into rotten, shuddering ruin, weeping, and soon, dead.

  Narag scowled at the sight. He looked up at me, his eyes burning with malice, spattered in blood. “Right. We have to do something about those bastards. They aren’t too bothered about showing their powers, but that most terrible, stone breaking bastard we have to deal with somehow. It’s Balic himself, right?”

  I nodded, as I joined them. “I have to think about it. Tell your men to seek them. Then, we must hunt them.”

  “We’ll find them,” he murmured, as we casually walked up after the fleeing people of Dagnar, and the battle was joined.

  ***

  The night had fallen and we were resting in the Fourth Tier wall.

  There were some fires in Dagnar, but most were caused by thousands of torches.

  The fight for the Third Tier had been a savage one.

  We had held them for hours, and had thoroughly mauled the rest of the poor Minotaur Legion, who had, again, tried to take the walls, which were taller, the gate thicker. The Hammer Legion had had hard time pushing the ram to the gate. In the end, after hours of butchery, a Hammer Legion champion had taken the part of the wall near the gateway, with mad bravery. I had killed the man, eventually, but not before hundreds had surged to the wall to stop the followers of the champion, and that had drained men from the other parts, and there, finally, the enemy had swarmed over.

  Balic had been seen.

  He had moved constantly, but at the last wall, he had waited far from the battle, speaking with three of his fellow priests.

  The dverger had saved the battle, stopped the worst breaches, and we had managed to get back from the battle with little losses during the retreat.

  Now, on the Fourth Tier, we watched the enemy eat, and had a meager meal ourselves. I was spooning globs of gruel into my mouth, and there were people all around doing the same, most listless with fatigue. Some were asleep, their food untouched in their laps.

  I’d leave soon. I had but a moment. Narag had sent Ragga a runner to fetch me, because he had spotted Balic in the middle of the walls, possibly plotting with the King of Harrian.

  I nudged Ragga with my boot, and asked one of the questions plaguing me. “How many left?” I asked him so softly, none else heard it. He looked like a creature of some other dimension. His chain mail was ripped and torn, and so was mine, sticky with blood and broken in three places, dverg crafted or not.

  “Less than half?” he said loudly.

  “Half?” I asked him, with horror. “Eleven? You don’t have to shout.”

  “Nine to ten thousand people,” he said loudly again. “Don’t be coy. They can count.”

  People were muttering in agreement, and many flashed me a grin. If they were afraid of dying, it didn’t show. Nor did they need a coat of sugar over the terrible situation. Or perhaps, they were all just plain mad.

  It would be no wonder, if they were.

  Ragga nodded. “We need the dverg on the walls,” the Captain said grimly. “Would never hold without. How many dverg live? And why are they gathering in the middle?”

  “Of the five hundred? Four,” I said. Narag had given me a count. “And they will have a mission. We have one. But, it’s going to help us all.”

  He eyed me curiously, and resisted asking for more. “Thank Odin for that,” he breathed. “It’s getting really hard. The walls get smaller as we go up, but we lost a lot of people in the middle in the Second Tier. Lot of good people.” He looked around, and smiled at the tired faces. “Though I guess these ones are good people by now.” They smiled back at him ferociously, as they ate.

  I rubbed my face. “Is Quiss—”

  “The Princess is alive,” he said, with a tired smile, and took a piece of bread from a boy, who accepted a half-full pitcher of ale in return. “The boys, and the girls especially, say she’s making quite a reputation for herself. Men would follow her to Jotunheimr after this.” His eyes twinkled. “You should perhaps marry her, just to make sure she won’t take the kingdom.”

  “I’m married,” I said, begging in my head Baduhanna was alive still, for Midgard’s sakes, if not mine. “They’ll have her trapped, if Thrum fails. Hopefully, she smells trouble, and leads the nobles back. If not…” I shrugged. “Then, we just have to win with what we have.”

  “We hold them for a bit, at least” the Captain said uncomfortably. “We have done well. Stop worrying. You look like someone placed a turd in your gruel.”

  “I’d eat it, though I prefer no hair on it.” I la
ughed. “I’m starving, just noticed.”

  “I know,” he answered. “I’d eat a pickled rat right now, but I’m too tired to find one. The gruel’s got no salt, but I guess I can just bleed in it.”

  “So,” I breathed, gazing out at the city. “Over eight thousand?”

  He snorted. “Give or take. Many thousand man the unchallenged walls, just to make sure nothing takes them, heaping rocks in preparation, and setting up sieges, but we have a terribly many wounded, and missing.” He smiled wistfully. “And the dead, of course. We lost over a thousand in your surprise at the gate alone. The few thousand they killed in the Second Tier, as I mentioned. You saw it. Harrian’s King did much of it. I guess they are not shy about magic today.” His eyes told me he knew I was about to go hunt for the enemy lords. “We’ll keep your shield visible while you are gone.” He rapped the shield on his side. He had carried it, and it had become a sort of a mascot for the defenders.

  “How many have we put down?” I asked the second question I didn’t wish to ask.

  He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Approximately?”

  “Go ahead,” I smiled thinly. “Feel free to lie. The people might not need it, but I do.”

  “They came with twenty thousand. Thirteen thousand left. That Harbor Legion has been badly gutted. Silver Snakes? Yes, them. The same as this shitty Minotaur one bleeding over there.” He nodded over his shoulder at our stubborn foes. “And the Headless Horse has lost some.”

  I was opening and closing my fingers nervously.

  Ragga was muttering with exhaustion, eyeing the sky, as if hoping for a solution tumbling down from the heights. “You going there?” He spat over the wall, with skill born from living in the gutters. “I do wish that king was headless, like the horse in his standard.” His eyes glittered with cunning. “They say Balic rides back and forth between this gate and that king’s headquarters, and leaves the Harbor to fend for itself. They used that mighty artifact to break the second wall, eh? I bet Balic was there. We lost him then, right?”

  “Yes,” I said, ignoring his probing look. “Though why they didn’t use it on the last one, I don’t know. Perhaps the artifact needs rest, like men do.” I tapped the bag with the artifacts, and felt the Book of the Past. Gods, we needed magic. And yet, trying the ones we had might kill us all. “Yes, I need to find Narag now.”

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  “We have to hit back. The draugr lords are far too dangerous to leave at large,” I said, rubbing my face. Dried blood flecked on my lap. “And Balic and that stone of his can bring ruin in the last wall. Or this one.”

  “So you will head out, eh?” His tone was intermixed with worry. “Perhaps send someone else?” He nodded at the people around us. “They are still brave. All eight thousand are doing as well as expected, better. They’ll do good until the very end. But, if you fall? You might have little control over the battle itself in the walls, but they see you when you swing that sword, and you do well. You aren’t the best trained soldier with it, but the blade and the armor makes up for it, eh?” He smiled grimly. “And if you fall? All praise to Quiss, and they will fight on, but—”

  I shook my shoulders to relieve tension, and groaned with the thought of having to get up and go to war. “I know. And still, I have to. How does the First Tier gate look? Can your people see that far?”

  He smiled cleverly and gestured to a thin, gaunt cheeked man, who nodded back. “That one has eyes like an eagle, and he was hiding in the buildings below. Made his way up just an hour ago.”

  “He’s not a Hammer Legionnaire?” I asked mirthlessly.

  Ragga shook his head. “No, I know him. A criminal, a bad one, but not today. Says he can see well in the torchlight, and he saw plenty. There are still a lot of soldiers there, I guess, though all the armies are inside. Cavalry, he saw that. Less than before, but a lot, nonetheless. A field hospital, gear being pushed and pulled through, an extra ram, and catapult crews. They said there’s a kitchen set up to the side.” He squinted. “I bet he lies half the time, though. Old liar he might be, and a thief and an arsonist, but I believe him. They don’t expect trouble down there, though. Why would they?”

  I looked that way, and begged Odin we would live to ponder that question later.

  Then, I looked at the arsonist turned hero, and knew I’d have to make sure Balic thought we had no plan but to fight to the end.

  Ragga’s head whipped to the side, as if listening. A stillness conquered the defenders, a spoon stalled on its way to a hungry mouth, a sentence was unfinished. People were tense. Ragga got to his knees.

  There was a rattle of gear across the city. It was gentle clattering echo at first, then there was a clinking sound booming across the city like a rising tide. I sighed, and held my face, as I climbed to look over the awakening horror. “Remember, on the highest wall, we have to stop them. We must stop them at least once.”

  The Captain gave me a brave smile, as he joined me and leaned over the wall. “Hunt well, my king.”

  “I will try,” I answered. “I will try.” I hesitated to leave.

  The enemy army was heaving wearily to its feet. Torches flared across the city, and the wounded were screaming as they were moved. Captains and irascible sergeants were yelling commands and encouragements, as men rushed back and forth in the shadows. Some gold-crested officer was handing field promotions to a group of privates. The hated ladders were easy to glimpse, as they were hoisted over men’s heads, all rubbed clean of blood, the shattered ones heaped to the sides of the buildings. The accursed ram was man handled to the front of the troops, where men were touching it with their forefingers, wishing it great fortune.

  “To have army like theirs, eh?” Ragga said softly. “They’ve climbed up bloodied hills, over proud walls, and captured rebellions lords across the Verdant Lands for long years. Wonder how they enjoy our pretty shores.”

  “It’s the worst possible place for them to fight in.” I wasn’t sure of it, but the army which left the city in victory, if they did, would be in no shape to march far and to fight.

  Ragga moved away to help up people who had been asleep before the enemy stirred.

  I spun him around, and looked deep into his eyes. “Find me a man.”

  He looked confused, but decided to rise to the occasion and hazarded a guess. “A good man?”

  “No, a no-good would do best,” I told him. “A useless man, who deserves the risk of death.”

  “They are all fighting for Dagnar,” he answered. “There are no men who deserve death this night. They all risk it together.”

  “But, there are many falling who deserve life,” I answered. “Choose a man, a bad one with an evil reputation, one who would hang anyway, and tell him I need him. Tell him he will carry messages.”

  His eyes went to the eagle-eyed arsonist, who was leaning on the walls, holding a spear loosely.

  “Anything else I need to tell him?” Ragga asked me, looking away. I took a ragged breath. Morag. Father had done worse things to gain victory.

  I nodded at the man we had both chosen. “Tell him we are preparing to hold the Tower of the Temple. That this is all the plan we have. Do it casually, as if—”

  “I can lie, I told you once,” he answered. “It’s a lie?”

  I didn’t tell him. “Tell him we will fight to the end, and the plan is to hold until help comes. Inside the tower.”

  “And that is not the plan, right?” he asked, but decided it didn’t matter. His eyes scourged the wall, and I didn’t envy him his task. “Yes, general,” he said, rubbing his tangled hair, as if that would ease the task he knew was somehow twisted and filthy. “Too bad he owes me money.”

  “Tell him to find me with the dverger, below the wall where Harrian’s troops are preparing. They will be easy to spot,” I said.

  “Why not go with him?” he asked, confused.

  “Because I don’t want to lie to him. That’s why generals have captains,” I answered, with a
weak smile that felt like a sick grimace. “Send him after me, right away. Tell him his keen wits are needed, that I need a messenger, and he shall be in no danger.”

  I marched away to find Narag, trying to forget what I hoped to do with the man. Perhaps it didn’t matter? Perhaps it would? The man deserved death, but I felt like a traitor, nonetheless.

  I hurried on, thinking of anything but the man.

  To win, to even think of winning against such overwhelming odds, was how Morag had grasped a golden future for himself. Father’s army had retreated from Mara’s Brow, defended the city against the Aesir, and, at the end of it, had snatched the victory from the jaws of an overpowering, superior foe by guile and deceit. I could do the same. It was still possible. Even Mir, when she had played her deceitful role as my mother, had taught me to fight the bullies in the Bad Man’s. She had taken me by the ear, told me to never back down from a raised fist, and pushed me out to fight whoever it was that had ruined my day.

  I smiled gently. Wasn’t it ironic she and Morag were alike in that? And so, I’d lift my fist until it was stomped down in death, and my breath left the body. I’d go out, and show the foe how Morag’s boy fought. No matter the gradual death of my home, the ruins would be worth a great deal more than an intact city filled with traitors who would push the living to Hel’s lap over the years. Every corpse in the city was my doing. Some were a triumph to evil, others to unyielding bravery. I’d weep the rest of my life for the sights of that day and night, but I’d do it again in an eye blink.

  I heard Ragga speaking with the man, loudly, confidently, and apparently, judging by the man’s agreeable answers, he was happy to vacate the wall for a safe assignment.

  To win.

  To grasp a victory from the foe’s hands. That was always the goal, even in a desperate game, where you had little to move across the board. And yet, what little I had, I’d move.

  “And gods forgive me,” I whispered, because I’d cheat all I could.

  I rushed down the rest of the steps, my body aching horribly for the rigors of the past days. There were many people carrying assorted gear down from the first wall, preparing carts for the wounded, and I gazed up at the last wall, where people were toiling already.