Sons of Ymir

by Alaric Longward

  “I killed him. His wife?” I shook my head. “Vampire. There are others.”

  He looked grim. “There are some in Svartalfheim. They hunt the tunnels.”

  I looked back to the woods. “Is she out there?”

  He smiled. “Quiss is fine. She’s pissed you sent her to safety. Came to Hillhold full of fury. She was anxious as shit. She is going to be here soon. She is bringing in five hundred men. They are late.” He winked. “I made sure they would be late. I assumed you didn’t want her in charge after the debacle, and since you sent her away … ” He shrugged. “Your call.”

  “I would see her out of this one,” I said. “Like I wanted to see her out of the way in Nallist. Thank you.”

  “A new queen,” Thrum wondered. “A fast-moving bastard, you are. They say she is popular.”

  “She’ll have to cut her teeth with the nobles,” I told him. “She’ll do well. She is quite ferocious. As is her brother.”

  He was silent. We watched the troops riding back and forth in the enemy ranks.

  “There are two out there,” he murmured. “Your kin. I sense them.”

  “My kind,” I said softly. “Though, not of the most ancient blood.”

  He scratched his head. “If a jotun presents itself to me, I’ll use the ax, ancient blood or not. It will flow just fine, no matter how high and fine the neck. I hear you did as well? One of them claimed to be more than just common, skin-changing shit? Men speak of it.”

  “One of them claimed to be of the high blood,” I said. “Like I am. Like Morag was, and grandfather.”

  “Aye,” he said tiredly. “That blood. Look, you have to take a grip—”

  “Not a one word more about ax, and the art of axing,” I snarled.

  “Grip of your own destiny, Maskan,” he said with asperity. “I told you this already. I hear …”

  His eyes went to the fortress. It was a torn, tilted, bloody mess, and the ground outside it was littered with corpses.

  I held my face. “I was going to die, Thrum.”

  “You were going to die,” he agreed. “And yet, you survived. How?”

  I shook my head. “It was that command post. They had set up an ambush.”

  He frowned and gave me a curious glance.

  I spoke on. “I was surrounded. I was herded like a cow. Then, I heard someone telling me, so very gently, in my head, that I should beg for aid,” I told him. “That I should touch snow with my hand and beg for help. It would feel stupid, except the voice was real. It was …”

  “Magical,” he said.

  “I did, and I felt something,” I said. “It was there, as if it had always …”

  “Been,” he confirmed. “We know. I’ve seen it before. There are just a few jotuns who are linked to the old gods.”

  “Ancient blood,” I said softly. “It is terrifying.”

  “You are of the blood,” he murmured, while watching our lines merging from the woods. “I know. Morag was. I know.”

  I gave him a quick glance. “Aye. Anyway, I received a boon at first. A small one, just enough to give me a chance with Sand. I survived. Then, later, that same voice that had instructed me, was almost enraged, and told me I am a jotun.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for ages,” he said with a sigh. “Every day. You didn’t know? Is the voice and this … being the same thing?”

  I shook my head. “No. The voice I hear seems like someone desperate to guide me. A spell, perhaps. Something special. A link.”

  “Oh,” he said softly. “A lover’s mark.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. It is a little something I will speak with you after the battle. You called for it again?”

  “I did,” I said. “I called for it twice.” I waved my hand at the fort. “No, thrice. It aided me, but …”

  “It asks for lives,” he said. “Or favors. Wicked favors. You must sacrifice lives to it, eventually, always lives. The more innocent, or unsuspecting, or unattached in your conflicts, the better. If you do not comply,” he told me, “you will see misfortune when the winter arrives. Your kin, I know, once stood and fought each other. Both were of the blood, Bolth… this thing of yours, waited to see which one would give him a better boon. With such a contest, Maskan, you always lose. What did you give away?”

  I gnashed my teeth together and stared ahead. “One life. Then, ten. Aten’s men.”

  “That would have displeased him,” Thrum said. “That is cheating. They are the least precious of your allies. And for that? How much?”

  We watched the terribly carnage where the storm has smitten the ground.

  “For that?” I whispered. “I must walk this road to the end. I must give it a great life, a great gift, and I shall receive a great favor. It will give me power, and demand servitude.”

  “Oh,” Thrum said happily. “You had better pay this price, or he will take all that you love, have, or would have, and he will hunt you forever. You’ll be a hermit, alone, and herded like a rabid wolf. Winter and cold will find you and your loved ones.” He gave me a long, considering look. “It will change you. It might make you dangerous. Hel is one thing. Bolthorn, aye, I name him, is another. What will happen if he asks for my life in exchange for a victory?” He grinned.

  “I remember you have been asking to die for a while,” I said with a smile.

  “You bastard,” he murmured. “You are thinking about renegading on this pact?”

  “I am. I would lose all I have fought for. Morag’s realm would be gone to people like Nima and Saag, and Roger. I am torn. I see the humans who are so brave. They believe in what I believe. How can I just … leave them? And father didn’t leave them. He loved them well enough to fight to the end for them. They feared, but loved him.”

  He smiled. “The people hate you. They loved him because they thought he was a man.”

  “They do fear me,” I said. “But I just gave them victory. They do love me.”

  He hesitated. Then he shook his head, and I saw he had a large, thick scroll in his hand. I tried to take it, and he slapped my fingers. “Fine. I think we must fight this battle, and then you get this. I found it on Roger. We need to speak about some other things as well.”

  “If we survive, I must go to Aten,” I told him. “But we shall discuss it after the battle.”

  He grunted.

  He shook his head. “How did you survive a vampire?”

  “In that,” I said, “I was … lucky. It was … hateful, and wonderful. It still is. She made me love her. And I did, and I do. Then she let me speak, and Bolthorn saved me. I love her, and I had to kill her and I have never felt more confused. I doubt she can frighten me again, though.”

  He grunted again. Troops, mine from the fort and the new, were marching to the field. I saw Hal, who saluted me with his sword, and then led men forward to match the enemy line.

  “Can you trust this Nima?” he asked.

  “She is greedier than a rat in a larder,” I muttered. “She’d swap me for a chunk of silver, I think, but she has kept her word, and she gave me victory. It cost them terribly.”

  We looked at the line of six thousand men and women.

  Nima had summoned many to my flag, and they had gone to find Thrum in Hillhold. They had answered.

  Alantia’s warriors were there and took their places on the left. Nallist’s militia, a few hundred who had survived early battles in the city, a thousand men of the local nobles, their shields and gear filthy from hiding in the woods, walked grimly forward. The rest from Alantia were Saag’s archers, one thousand and a half, including the men I had brought from the fort, and they spread before our ranks, and hundreds were bunching together on the far ends of the flanks, where they were pushing stakes to the snow and the icy ground below. They were low on arrows, but eager to finish the war.

  Fiirant’s people strode forward to the middle. There were men from the fort, and those who had survived Hillhold’s butchery. They were all militia and men-at-arms.
They were men that had marched from the broken fortress with me and looked grim as devils, and ready for revenge.

  There were nobles, a hundred and more on horses, sitting in lines behind us.

  Thrum’s two thousand held the right flank, a solid block of terror. Some, mainly evil bastards with magic, were taking places along the entire line, to boost them and to fight the horned draugr.

  Hal was on command on the left flank, nervous to the bone.

  Magga was standing amid his men in the middle.

  A pair of sturdy dverger stood around Roger, who was near middle position. He was not allowed to go and fight with the nobles. His hands were tied. His horse was slow and old.

  He was dressed in a splendid armor, and looked bright as a morning.

  Every enemy draugr were watching him, likely thinking on how to kill him.

  Roger cast a begging look my way. I turned away, and watched the brave people, instead.

  They were hunters, bandits, warriors, and fools.

  The archers were placing more stakes on the flanks. Many seemed to be only for show, and simply stuck upright in the snow.

  “They likely won’t attack,” Thrum said, bored. “But they cannot get away, either.” Thrum smiled happily. “Vittar made a mistake. They should have marched to the city and taken the boats.”

  “They have no oars of sails,” I said. “I made sure. The sea-gate is locked. They didn’t bother opening it when they held the harbor for a day.”

  He smiled. “They are too proud, and make mistakes too. We might end this here. It was a good plan, King. Hal and I managed to make them all come here, and they obeyed. They know this is it. This will save the winter. They do have lots of men in south, though.”

  “Then, let’s make sure they know in the south,” I said cruelly, “that there are no survivors or mercy to be had, and the winter is sword-sharp up here.”

  He spat. “I am fine with that. Still must win this scrap, though. We will.”

  The enemy was not moving. They were chanting, perhaps singing. It sounded forlorn.

  “No Black Ship for them,” I murmured. “None shall pick up their heroes.”

  “Eh?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I said. “What are the other jotuns called? Their name?”

  “They are Sons of Ymir,” he said darkly. “Ymirsons. Their king and your father were cousins. They, and you Ymirtoes, hated each other. Long grudges over women, lands, and treasure. They claim you stole Grinlark, and the Black Grip from them, once. Jotun-treasure means treasure that someone is seeking to regain. That’s what they are, your grip and the stick. It seems that their general Medusa settled them somewhere when they left the battle in Mara’s Brow, and before your father did something to that Hand of Hel.”

  “We need answers, and I have a hunch where one might find such,” I said, tapping a scroll on my belt. “But first …”

  “Yes,” he agreed as he watched the singing enemy. “I think they are either waiting for us to make the first move or to send an invite, at least.” He shifted. “Look. I hate to ask you, and I am not sure if you have thought of this, but—”

  I turned in my saddle and interrupted him. “After the battle. As you said. When Roger came back, did you ask him why he attacked?”

  He nodded. “I though you said you want to speak after the battle?”

  “And what did he say?” I pressed.

  “That it wasn’t his fault. That he had been told to,” Thrum said. “Roger’s got faults, don’t you think otherwise. But as said; after the battle.”

  “We’ll make the first move,” I told him, swallowing bile. “Are they ready yet? Are they there?”

  “No,” he said, sighing. He picked his nose and spat. “Soon.”

  “Sand is out here,” I told him with a smile. “He and a party of killers have been trying to take my life for a while. If you see him, spare him. I doubt he’ll fight here, though.”

  “He is not one for sparing, king. The boy has got wicked evil skill with shadows,” he said sternly, eyeing the coast to the south and then the woods to the east. “Soon. They will fight well, the enemy. They have a chance. Our boys don’t know sword and shieldwall like they do.”

  “They have twenty draugr,” I said, looking at the undead nobles, silent on their horses. “They depend on them.”

  “We shall show them our arses,” he muttered. “And then, we’ll ax them.”

  “They will beat our militia in a shieldwall. We are short in arrows,” I said. “Where are they?”

  We both watched the eastern woods.

  “They have been marching for a week and more,” he answered. “They marched to Hillhold just when we got your orders. They should be in position. Don’t you worry about that.” He grasped my hand and smiled. “They are here.”

  On the right flank of the enemy, a forest of spears and flags appeared.

  Enemy guards were running before the spears, guards from the ships of the Grinning Mask and Skull legions. There were dozens, and all screaming.

  Men’s heads turned that way.

  Lisar turned to look.

  Our men raised their weapons and screamed their approval to the winds.

  Through the woods, Red Midgard’s last legion, the Stone Watchers from the western coast, men who had been marching to aid Dagnar, had arrived in Alantia instead, and Thrum’s people and chosen nobles had guided them well to the enemy flank. There were nearly four thousand of them. Some were holding Dansar’s Grave, others guarding Hillhold, many had succumbed to illness during the march, but what was there, were coming forward with vengeance. Ranks of spears gleamed in the wintry light of Lifegiver, and though they were spreading out and not yet killing their enemy, the black and silver mass of the grimmest soldiers of the north promised the exhausted legionnaires doom.

  Lisar stared at the enemy for a moment in shock and then turned to look at the main battle line.

  She leaned down on a man next to her, who turned to her standard-bearer.

  The flag tipped. Horns brayed. The line twitched and moved. They strode forward. Then, they were screaming defiantly, surging across the snowy field.

  Thrum spat. “They’ll be coming for us, then. I guess the Watchers count as an invite.”

  Lisar’s great drum beat a wild, steady rhythm and then a wild one, joining the horns, and the legionnaires charged forward in a wall of shields, in a rank of three lines, thousands of them still, the very best, the very luckiest, of our enemies. Chanting, begging for battle, hoping for loot, if victory was granted, their eyes shone with unholy happiness. Our men, obeying calls that echoed across the field, braced their shields. Militia, men-at-arms, and then, Thrum’s evil dverger shifted and braced themselves. I rode back and forth, looking for the enemy draugr who all seemed to be riding behind their men.

  Lisar’s flag dipped, and the Harrian cavalry turned left and rode wildly behind their charging men, their eyes on me.

  “Seems she thinks you are the key to the battle,” Thrum chortled. “What a waste of good men. Come, King. Let us take cover. Fire when in range!”

  Thrum’s men lifted crossbows as we walked to the ranks. His dverger were in line, but five hundred at the right flank were deployed in a square.

  The nobles on their horses were riding behind us, ready to support us, or any part of the field.

  The dverger waited, aimed, and fired. Archers before our ranks and on the flanks lifted their bows, many guarded by stakes weakly struck on the frozen ground, also fired. The arrows sailed across the sky and sunk on the enemy force. Dozens fell, rolled on their faces and backs, and never got up. More arrows reached out, and enemy shields caught many, but men again fell, howling. A great officer, a general, perhaps, fell from his saddle behind the ranks, holding his throat.

  The enemy kept coming and stopped for just a second, catching many of the arrows and bolts on their shields, and tossed their last javelins at us.

  The javelins tore to our ranks, wounding and killing hun
dreds, and now, the enemy lifted their spears, their shields banging on each other, and they spurted through a murderous hail of rock, arrow, bolt, and now, spell.

  Thrum’s dverger, those who knew battle magic best, stepped to the front for just a moment. Their dark and white faces gleaming, white teeth shining like vicious pearls, they released twenty lines of wicked, dark fire. Those lines cut at the oncoming enemy. They burst through snow, shield and flesh and armor, melting iron and bone, leaving men heaps of skeletal, flaming remains to be trampled on by those, who, horrified one and all, filled their places.

  It went badly for those legionnaires who were coming for us.

  Thousand men had been charging our flank, had caught Thrum’s crossbow bolts, and few lines of fire, and they were now cautiously coming forward, ignoring the screams of a draugr. Arrows and javelins fell at the dverger now, dropping one here and another there, leaving even some of the casters silent heaps on the snow, but all the cohesion was gone from the ranks of our enemy as their left flank stalled, while their center and right didn’t.

  We didn’t have men to split them.

  We’d have to wait for the Stone Watchers to start flanking them.

  Knowing they had to be fast, the draugr and their men fought furiously. In the middle and left, the did. There, the draugr let loose with battle-spells just before the shields struck shields, answering fire with fire. When dverger cast spells, the horn helmets spotted them, and rippling storms of fire left our ranks shattered, and men burned into crisp. What had been a left flank was now a fierce battle of many shieldwalls, in the middle of which draugr rode wildly. Archers were running to the woods and turning to support our men. Hundreds of legionnaires were pushing to the holes, and hundreds of ours tried to stop them. Bitter battle, led by Hal, was brewing into utter chaos, and we were holding them, here and there.

  Half the nobles rode that way.

  “Rush, Stone Watchers!” I roared.

  They were dashing out of the woods now, spreading into lines. Few draugr were calling for fire to stop them and, in places, pushed companies of the Watchers into chaos.

  In the middle, the enemy thought Roger was in command. He sat on the horse, and the dverger, seeing the enemy draugr converging on him, dodged away.