Sons of Ymir

by Alaric Longward

  It is.

  Here it is, lord of jotuns, a great trick to trick all the gods. Listen.

  I was not there, thousands of years past, when Hel tried to take Midgard.

  But I was here, twenty years past, when she failed again, though she did not fail completely. Morag failed. I was given a task. Others were given theirs.

  They failed as well.

  I endured, and I am still trying to complete my mission, though I am much hated by the filth of Hel and hunted by most everyone, even the living, but is that not the lot of Lok’s Mouth?

  It is.

  We must endure shit and piss and do our duty.

  It is ridiculous and tricky that I must trust the son of the one who has much of the blame in the current situation. Yet, I have no choice. The others failed. They betrayed us. I must see you. I must tell you everything. It is unfortunate, my lord jotun, that I cannot leave Aten, where I set up shop month past. I can send messages, for I have followers in the soldiery of the enemy, but I cannot risk a journey. I have sent these letters to those who are tricky, and perhaps evil, and yet, no friends to the draugr.

  If you see this, come and meet me in Aten. Find the Adopted Horse.

  If you do not come, we will all have all failed.

  I pray you are not like Morag. I have no other prayer left.

  Caru, the Mouth of Lok, and one miserable bastard.”

  I rolled it up and waited until men told me they had had no sight of Sand. He might be hiding anywhere, but most likely, he would be afraid I would go after him, so he would be hiding, safe, regrouping, gathering allies again, and would be nowhere near. I got to my feet. I turned to see the columns forming in the valley. They were the men-at-arms. They were the militia. They were one, finally. Hal sat with the horsed nobles, fewer than forty, and Quiss was there as well. Saag and Nima were busy with the archers, and there were hundreds of local spearmen who joined the column from Fiirant. There were, too, many men of Aten, all looked upon with doubt. Many scouts were riding out already, and many others joined Quiss. A mass of them, three thousand, formed behind and before my people. I walked to them, in my full size and lifted my sword to the air.

  There were nearly seven thousand of them.

  Many were wounded.

  Most had not followed me before.

  Nima stepped forward, wearing a black chain, looted from the draugr. She lifted her spear, and the others followed suit.

  “Behold the Queen of Red Midgard! Behold the Duchess of Alantia!” I called to the wonder of the people. Saag frowned, for I had not mentioned him. Nima beamed a smile.

  Then, they cheered.

  They screamed themselves hoarse. Where Quiss had been a foreigner, she was one of theirs, and not even the nobles seemed to mind they really didn’t know her, or that she was a robber.

  When the cheering ended, I spoke again. “Today, we are going to go back. We are going to surprise our foe, and we shall drive them to ruin. Mistakes were made.”

  Eyes turned to Quiss who didn’t move.

  She knew then I had not been honest she would rule over them still. She was a figurehead, a someone to blame, and I had just confirmed it.

  “None more can we afford,” I went on. “Not one loss. With our new allies, none more shall be suffered. Trust your queen, trust your king. Trust your generals and obey the commands. We shall ambush those shits of southerners, and then, we will hang the lot in Alantian trees. There are plenty of trees, and only some of them. But first, we shall march. To victory, and a new dawn for Red Midgard!”

  A ragged shout echoed across the valleys and the hillsides.

  I nodded at Quiss, whose eyes were pools of anger and disappointment. Then, she turned her horse and rode out, leading the nobles and scouts.

  We followed her.

  The road was cumbersome, and the troops spread to navigate the trails. Quiss soon took her troops out of sight, and we struggled with the pack animals until she was at least an hour away from the main body. We marched for half an hour until we were all out of the valley, even the last mule.

  I stopped the army and leaned down on Nima. “It is time, dear,” I told her.

  She nodded, and Saag rode to us, confused, looking at Nima speaking to scouts and officers, who began guiding the men around us, making sure none got past. We rode on, and Saag rode hard to catch us.

  “Where in the name of Tyr’s testicles are we going?” he called out.

  I nodded to south. “Nallist. We shall take Nallist.”

  Nima shrugged. “We try.”

  Saag was trying to take in breaths, and finally managed some words. “But … that is madness. It is their capital. They have—”

  “Only a few thousand men in the fort, and the city holds all their supplies,” I said. “We shall take it, and the ships as well.”

  “They will retake it,” he yelled. “Don’t you see?”

  “They will retake another Dagnar,” I told him. “We shall hold the keep, and we shall burn the city down. Where fire claimed the previous legions in Dagnar, cold shall claim them there. A terrible storm will arrive this evening. It will be thick with snow, it will be freezing cold, and death will be bone white for the enemy. Let the bastards freeze and starve to death, while we watch. We’ll sit on the supplies.”

  “They will come,” he complained. “They will come, and they won’t give us the pleasure of watching them die! They will come and take it. They have the best army in the land and even more on its way!”

  “Yes,” I said. “And we must hold it for a few days.”

  He went quiet and looked at Nima. “You sent orders and requests for me?”

  “I did,” she said. “I am the Queen of Red Midgard, and the Duchess of Alantia, am I not?”

  He shook his finger. “About that. I should be the duke, and you …”

  “You will have Nallist,” I told him. “If Nima agrees.”

  “You will burn it!”

  “You will rebuild it,” I snarled. “You will use the bones of our foes, eh?”

  “And the Regent?” he demanded. “She won’t be there. You sent her to safety.”

  “I have my reasons,” I said. “Safety is just one of them. We must have fewer generals, and no dissent. Any spies will follow her. She will be fine. Don’t worry. We will do well as well.”

  He looked pale as a sheet. “Lok’s tears. Oh, this is not good.”

  Nima grinned. “Will you tell him?”

  I leaned on Saag. “Balic and his family will be there. I’ll take his damned heart, and I’ll feed it to rats.”

  Nima laughed, and Saag shook in his boots.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nallist was strangely gray in the blizzard that afternoon. The snow was whipping across the ramparts of the city, and our troops shivered outside it, careful, nervous, and still, many of the bitter, angry men and women had determined looks on their faces.

  They wanted to pay back for our suffering.

  This was not an even battlefield. This was a place to surprise and butcher the enemy. They felt confident they could.

  The blizzard had started before the Lifegiver sunk below horizon, and the harbor was closed. We had seen fifty ships and some galleys, and many others had been rowed inside. The Black Ships had left. Most were still half filled with supplies for the garrison of legions from Dagnar, for the troops in the field and for the new legions, and those troops would be arriving soon as well. Many wagons were busily disgorging those supplies from the ships to warehouses and the Ugly Brother.

  The enemy had no scouts out.

  They were tired, and lazy, and cold.

  I watched the enemy sentinels on the walls, huddling in the graying evening, and all were miserable as shit. The guards that could be seen were so cold, they huddled under their cloaks and leaned on the walls to avoid snow piling up inside their tunics and armor. They were men fresh from the inferno that had been Dagnar, and I had a hunch they missed even that calamity in comparison.

  I fe
lt empowered by the blizzard.

  I closed my eyes and felt the power of the cold swirling around me. It was brilliant, beautiful, and chaotic, a power of awesome proportion. It was as raw as magic. It was part of me, and I was part of it, and for some reason, I wasn’t cold at all.

  A jotun, rather than a man, would think like that.

  A man would think about Quiss, and how I had sent her away.

  The jotun thought it was a brilliant ruse. A needed ruse. She was safe.

  And thus, I had been safe in marching to Nallist.

  There was a bell tolling. Soon, a change of guards came to the walls, and the relieved ones ran off. Who came, stood only for a moment, before sitting down in cover. I heard their curses that far. Xal Cot’s men, they loved warmth, and the south.

  The stretch of wall we were looking at was facing the east. It was not far from the Ugly Brother, which was part of the wall near the breakwater and sea-walls. The woods were quite near the walls and had not been cut for security.

  I thanked whoever had ruled Nallist earlier, heartily.

  Nima nudged me. “Well?”

  “A bloodthirsty queen, eh?” I muttered. “I’ve seen enough.”

  “You sure the two legions are not inside and only the survivors of Dagnar?” Saag asked.

  “No,” I said icily. “I am not. But the orders claim they shouldn’t be. I think some few thousand men are in the fort, and hundreds in guardhouses and the walls, and some are moving supplies. Most will be huddling inside the buildings, hiding from this weather. You are prepared?” I asked Nima.

  “We are,” she said. “They know what to do.”

  I made sure. “Your archers will burn the city, and my men will march along the wall to the fortress,” I said. “Later, your boys must get to the fort as fast as they can. They know the city?”

  ​ She rolled her eyes. “It might not look like much to you, but the locals know Nallist. They know every inn, tavern, and shop.”

  “Bring all you can to the fortress,” I agreed, fearing the worst. The two legions might very well be there, for they would know about the storm and would have tried to beat it.

  “We will, of course,” she said acidly, spoiling for a fight. “I will lead them, and then, we hope for the best.”

  “Food, all the food,” I reminded her. “Spare the ships but burn the warehouses. Carry what you can to the Ugly Brother and toss the rest to the harbor.”

  “We have three thousand men running around the city, and they know!” she hissed in my ear and slapped my shoulder. “Are we ready?”

  I nodded.

  “Get them,” she said again. “We’ll follow.”

  I watched the men. A long line of them looked back. Only the men of Aten looked unhappy, but they, too, were determined. A burly captain formerly of House Bollion, was now a general and saluted me. His name was Maggon. Sergeants had been made into captains. They all looked ready.

  I nodded and changed.

  A large owl, white and hoary, took to the air. I flapped my wings in the woods, dodging branches, and looked at the wall. The guards, three of them that I could see, two huddling together for warmth, didn’t so much as twitch. One, a tall man, just got up to walk the rampart and was shivering like a dying old drunk. His beard was white with snowflakes and icicles.

  I glided through the air, saw no movement in nearby, and much in the harbor, where ships were still being unloaded, and then flapped from the night for pair of men audibly cursing Red Midgard.

  I landed and changed, and hacked down at them, once, and again.

  The man who had been walking, turned.

  His eyes went round as plates.

  I picked up a spear from one of my bleeding victims and threw it with all my force.

  It pierced armor, leather, and belly, tore his guts out from the back, and left him a miserable heap on the snowy rampart.

  I hesitated, felt a presence, and looked around.

  A dog, what I had thought was a pile of snow, got up and looked at me. It shook its coat and wagged its tail.

  I smiled at it.

  Its legs went between its tail.

  It ran off, barking furiously, snow flying.

  “Hey, mutt, over here!” someone called out. “Where are you going!”

  The man who called out knew the dog, and he was calling from the street, and I heard horses neighing.

  I cursed, turned, and waved my hand at the woods. I grabbed another spear.

  A dark mass of people moved out of the woods, snow flying. Ten or more sturdy ladders were with them, pillaged from barns and farms on the way. Their eyes were huge, as had been those of the guards, every soul stressed and terrified, but eagerly, they dashed forward, armor jingling gently, and prepared to top the parapet.

  “Hey, up there?” I heard. “Why did Fierce bolt? Did you kick it? I swear, if you kicked the company mascot, I’ll make a carpet of your arse-skin!”

  I peeked over.

  I saw a party of men, huddling in their military cloaks. All were from Xal Cot. They sat on their horses in the street below. I grasped a helmet from a man’s head and pushed in on my head, as I returned to their sight, just barely.

  “You!” the man leading them called. “Why did the dog bolt?”

  I shook my head and tried to pretend I couldn’t hear him.

  “You, man!” he insisted, being the type of a man who felt slighted by everything.

  “Sir?”

  “What are you doing?” he called out. “Where is Sergeant Balt? He is the one who should address his captain, eh? The regulations must be followed. This is war, and no idle posting meant for tit-sucking toy-soldiers! Where is he? Did he leave his post? Name!”

  ​ “Mine?” I asked him, unable to follow which question I should answer first. “Monk.”

  He looked at me incredulously. “Bloody Monk what? You are not Monk. There is no Monk in the company. Stay there!” He got down from his horse. He jumped to the slushy snow and stomped for a stairway, not far. His eyes were bloody and enraged, and he likely envisioned gutting a private or two with his verbal skill, while serving the sergeant to his general as a supper. I stood up and stepped near the stairway.

  He came up, his face a mask of rage.

  Then, he slipped, his hands wind-milling, and fell down the stairs.

  “What did you do?” yelled another man on a horse. “You pushed him, you bastard!”

  His men dismounted, looked at the captain with horror, and ran to help him.

  The man who had called me out, looked up at me, then cursed, took a horn, and raised it to his lips, about to call more men to put me in chains.

  I flipped the spear and tossed it.

  It impaled the man, and he fell over his horse, spitting blood. His friends, alarmed, looked up.

  I jumped down and landed in the middle of three soldiers, and their smitten captain.

  They stared at me in horror. I slashed my sword down at one, then lopped off a leg of another and stepped on the captain, while I grasped the last one’s skull inside my gauntlet and twisted.

  I grinned, pleased with my handiwork.

  Then, I heard a horse galloping.

  I turned and saw my spear victim riding for the fortress, his guts flowing on the horse, face white with pain, fear, and the certain knowledge of impending death.

  I growled and changed, and a huge white wolf loped after him.

  I’d have to trust my people, the captain made into a general, the new officers. I had to stop the bastard from running to alert the city, and especially, the fort. I ran after the horse. The horse, terrified, whinnied and sped even faster. I gained on him. A dozen dogs began barking, a man stepping out of his house shouted in horror, and then, I saw the gateway to the fort. Men were coming and going, and guards conversing with soldiers driving wagons inside the gigantic, round fortress.

  They paid little heed to the horse and the dying man on it, and I loped forth in the blizzard, three dogs on my tail, and prayed the gu
ards would not turn.

  Then, one did.

  He was just guiding a wagon in a line of four to the courtyard, when he spotted the horse and the dogs, and then, squinting and taking a step forward, the man’s guts flowing along the horse’s side.

  His eyes turned to the gigantic wolf running for him

  “Guards!” he screamed, apparently forgetting he was one, and fell back. He began pushing the gates shut. Every eye stared at him with surprise, until the horse crashed past them for the relative safety of the fort.

  Then, they all saw me, so very close already.

  The wagon drivers whipped their draft horses and, yelling warnings, tried to push in. The first wagon and the horses crashed to the closing wooden and iron barriers, then past the guard and his friend who was helping him, and went through, wheel spokes drawing furrows out of the wood.

  The others crashed together in a jumble of chaos, as the gates were again closing, and I jumped on the next wagon in line, bit down on the driver, and roared at the horse.

  The guards were struggling, the door nearly shut.

  It jumped and landed on the back of the horse, and the horse went berserk. It rammed the gate, we crashed at them hard, and they flew partly open again. The horse forced its head inside. Many guards threw their backs at the breach, pushing at the horse, and the gate.

  I raked my claws along the neck of the horse, the horse fell, and when the men kneeled to push the head out, I swiped a claw on a man’s neck and pulled him back to the breach, his head and body crushed between the gates, and over the horse.

  The gate was stuck. Men were calling alarm, and up in the fortress, horn called out forlornly.

  Behind me, the wagon drivers were grabbing spears, and then, the dogs sunk their teeth on my arse.

  I shifted and turned into a jotun. I placed a foot between the gateway and turned to face the enemy. I saw their eyes go wide, and then, a captain snarled, and they lifted their spears and aimed. I fell on my arse, squashed two dogs I had forgotten about, the spears rattled on the wood above me. The enemy drew swords and hammers and charged.

  I felt the enemy pushing the gate again, a spear stabbed at my foot.

  I pushed myself up, braided together a spell, thrust my left hand into the hole, and released a blizzard inside. I pushed a terrific amount of power in it, and because of the winter and the storm, my magic was far stronger than usual.