‘Take them!’ I yelled, wondering how much I wanted to hurt the enemy, to burst through the tower doors and find Mir, Balan, and Taram. The ground trembled at our charge, arrows flew at us, and spears were thrown, rocks even. A man hollered next to me, holding his face and then fell down in a heap. Another died behind me. An arrow struck the chain in the hem of my breastplate, a rock bounced off the sword blade. I charged and yelled, hard as a Jotun could and the Mad Watch answered it, and the shield walls crashed into each other. Men fell back to their fellows, some dead, others dying, some stunned. Blood spattered high in the air, cold for the draugr, steaming for the living. A groaning voice of the dead and the wounded filled our ears and the panting of the fearful and the excited screams of the killers made for a mad cacophony. Swords went up, then down, axes struck shield, hundreds of tapering spearheads thrust at throats and faces, and the coppery smell of blood and entrails filled the crisp winter air. The shield walls steadied for a moment in a desperate push of shields. The merciless hacking of panting men and their long weapons turned to a competition of shorter blades and spears over the shoulders of the first ranks, flashing at faces and for guts beneath the shields. The dead were hard to vanquish as only massive damage would kill one, but slowly, our numbers told. The Mad Watch had taller spears and the men in the second and third ranks were brutally effective in pushing them over the shoulders of the first rank and to the faces of the Blacktower men. They began falling, in high numbers, and then the enemy buckled on the sides, where the Mad Watch pushed them relentlessly. Soon the wall was curling around the tower door, and we were stomping on the fallen of the undead.
I raged in the first rank, and the dverg-made armor made me near impregnable. There was a dead Watchman to my left, standing upright in the press, hampering my movements as a great many larger enemies was gathered before me. Spears nicked at my armor and chain as they all tried to take me down. A large, embossed shield slammed at me from the front. It pushed me back, and I saw a surprisingly quick maul coming down at my unarmored head. I grabbed it from the air and hewed down with my sword from high, and the man’s face fell in two pieces. As he fell back, he spat blood on me. I laughed and felt raging joy, released from all bounds. It was a brilliant, utter joy of carnage I felt as I charged forward. I was sweeping the sword through the enemy ranks, and the beautiful blade chewed through the shields, be they metal or wood with unholy hunger. This is what a giant is made of; utter, ruthless carnage. I cleaved an enemy in two with no mercy. A sword stabbed at me from the left, then right, and the men fell as Watch soldiers stabbed at them with spears over the first, ragged rank of men. I grimaced at the pain of the few wounds I had received; roared, and laughed spitefully as I pushed to the less steady second rank of the enemy, where I kicked an enemy so hard he folded in two. I slashed and slashed, like a butcher, growled away nicks and wounds and killed at abandon. Men cheered my progress and pushed after me. I grabbed a huge man with bristling, greasy hair, one who had been charging for me with a ball and chain; his shield was broken, and I squeezed his throat so hard he bit off his tongue. A man jumped on my back, stabbed with a dagger, and I howled as the blade found a hole in the armor and slashed into my shoulder. Then, a Watchman speared the man. I growled, grew thicker, and swiped my sword across a wall of spears, men holding the doorway. Two fell apart; the sword hummed with the brief resistance, and a third man spat blood as his ribs were broken. I roared and fought my way to the door, stepped on an enemy skull and the Watch followed me to the breach, turning to the sides of the foe, pushing and hacking wildly with ax and sword, many of their spears gone and twisted. They lived up to the name of the Mad Watch, howling and laughing at the enemy, who were giving up in places. The door was closed, and I searched for a spell to open it. It came to me.
But then, the door boomed open.
I slipped on blood and guts and fell on my back.
Three draugr stepped up, and they were not bothered by their hideous, dead looks. The draugr were apparently elder ones; those Mir had resurrected that first night after dying. They were the most gifted of all the creatures, and they were all Touching the Dark Mistress. One was the butler, Gray. There were four hundred men standing amidst the piles of bodies, all staring at the creatures and not one knew what was about to take place. I Stirred the Cauldron, and the shield of stone covered me as I scrambled away, and then the disaster struck. One draugr released a whirl of fire that tore through the heart of the Mad Watch troop. It started out as a small campfire and grew to a height of ten feet. Men fell all over the courtyard, smoking and screaming as they burned, some cooking in the air. The acrid smell of burning hair and skin filled my nostrils. Another draugr changed the air to scorching hot across part of the courtyard, and men screamed as they rolled, steaming in their armors. The last one, though, killed most with his magic. It was Gray’s spell. He grimaced and gathered a great deal of power. His spell was made of simmering, deepest embers, poisonous fumes and patient fires, the gauntlet whispered to me. It was a strange spell, and I guessed it was a rare one and very, very deadly. He kissed the air and released a spell of blue tinted wind, which thrust ghost-like past the screaming men, and it billowed for the gates. He was trembling, the spell difficult and draining, but the spell kept going on; men were coughing, weapons were dropped, and some few managed to crawl out of the way. Then the flames cast by the first of the draugr met the billowing cloud and a conflagration blast through the yard, toppling people from the walls, roasting the dead and living, both in such terrible heat I could see skeletons running around before they turned to cinders. Hundreds died.
My spell saved me. It was strained to the very edges of its endurance; I felt the stone guard losing its potency as the fires licked at me. I charged forward as I saw the outline of the gate that was swinging shut. I grew into a Jotun. I saw the butler’s eyes grow wide, the draugr guarding the three lifted feeble spears and shields, and I landed on them, taking down many of the enemy and a healthy part of railing of a fabulous stairway. They squirmed under me, biting and thrusting, and I pummeled anything that moved and the two spell-casting ones were soon nothing more than mangled flesh. I spied the butler, who was trying to flee up the stairway. I ran after him, breaking chairs and gilded vases decorating the vast bottom level of the Tower. Some guards converged on me, but I ripped them off the stairs and grabbed Gray. He was raising his hand. ‘No you don’t,’ I laughed and grasped the limb. It broke apart while he was staring at it incredulously.
‘Why did you help me?’ I asked him.
He smiled wickedly. ‘I told you. I loved Shaduril. And she loved you,’ he explained. ‘I saw her grow up, you see? Almost like my own child. Is she—’
‘She is not gone, no,’ I told him.
He smiled. ‘She is as fine as she can be under the circumstances. She is best of the lot. Though Ann was a good sister, if sad. Some children are miserable all their lives, sir.’
‘I will spare Shaduril,’ I told him.
‘Thank you, sir. Spare her if she desires this life. Kill the rest,’ he said sadly. ‘And myself, sir.’
‘Speaking of which, where are Taram and Balan? And the pretender mother,’ I spat, ‘who made a fool of me.’
‘You are Jotun.’ He chuckled. ‘Imagine that. I have taught manners to one. How to dress and to eat. I am sorry I tricked you. Though I did little. I smiled at you, and that was a genuine smile, sir. I liked you, sir. They are on top. Save for Mistress Mir.’
‘Where is she?’ I demanded the draugr. I noticed the battle was still ongoing outside, but apparently there were still some hundreds of Mad Watch alive, and they were killing the remaining enemy, despite the catastrophe at the gate.
‘They left yesterday. In the evening. King Crec and she? They took Hawk’s Talon north. They will march and pick up our armies and take a war to Ygrin. In the winter, even. The passes will be closed any day. Madness sir.’
I stared at him. ‘They want to make war on our allies and then rule what is le
ft. There is nothing mad about it.’
‘Rule? They? Mistress Mir?’ the butler asked and then shrugged. ‘Not really.’
‘No?’
‘No sir,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘Killing your father was just the first step in a far more elaborate plan. You forget. There were many living mercenaries in the Crimson Apex. The ones that always changed? So far, only the undead have fought. Where are the living men who work with them? Think about that, sir. Quickly. That mask, sir? The horned mask? It is that of—’
Lith appeared and hacked off his head.
He flopped down on the stairs, and I grabbed her. ‘And now you appear?’ I said. ‘What is the Horned Mask? And where are the mercenaries? The living ones. I saw hundreds in the Apex.’
‘We have no time for this now, Maskan!’ she said with rippling anger as she struggled in my grip. ‘Ignore him. Did you tell him you will spare Shaduril? I cannot find her outside.’
‘Yes,’ I hissed. ‘Why were you looking for her?’
‘I would have had her killed,’ she hissed. ‘So what?’
‘You won’t get her. She is safe. Neither one was prepared to keep their word so stop weeping, girl,’ I told her.
‘I was only going to take what is mine in advance. You would spare her. That was not the deal,’ she cursed. ‘Liar. But fine. I’ll leave my men in the yard. The Mad Watch is nearly done there.’ She looked down as two of Valkai’s men pushed Illastria inside. One was an undead woman, in fact. Illastria looked confused but smiled politely at me. ‘They will keep Illastria safe. Let’s go on.’
I shook my head at the creature. She had some devious plan concocted. But I was not unprepared. ‘Yes. Let us deal with the rest of your damnable family.’ I laughed as she was still fuming.
‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘Up there. The bottom is clear. I checked. You first. If they see me, they can command me.’
I nodded and got up to walk the stairs.
‘You and I, love, will probably have to settle some scores at some point,’ she whispered. ‘I love you, and cannot help it, but I will flay your hide if you displease me too much.’
‘I think I am beyond such concerns,’ I told her with a grin. ‘Be careful, love.’
I nodded for the upstairs and hesitated as I saw Sand standing by the doors. I nodded at him as he eyed Lith and me dangerously. Gods, do not make it so I have to slay him for the bitch. ‘The wall is safe? The city?’
‘There is a Mad Watch guard at this Tower gate, keeping people out. Lith’s people are at the wall gate,’ he agreed darkly, his eyes on Lith. ‘She giving trouble?’
‘You serve me, Sand,’ she reminded him.
‘I forgot, mistress, sorry,’ he told her.
‘We are going up. You stay down here. Keep my horse by the gate.’
‘I will,’ Sand agreed with a sickly grin. ‘Good luck, my … friend.’
I nodded at him, dragged the huge two-hander out, and marched up the stairs. Lith followed me, her eyes burning in the dark, her face pale and dead. The Danegell residence was surprisingly sparse, barely worthy of a king, but then, it was also a practical, surprisingly homelike abode. The stairs were made of lacquered wood and slabs of stone and dignified, simple furniture sat every now and then in wide, homely alcoves. ‘What do you need Illastria for?’ I asked her.
She laughed softly. ‘She owns the Blacktower lands. I think she had better be under my thumb. Where did you hide Shaduril?’
‘How many stairs?’ I asked Lith, loathing and ignoring her question.
She nodded up. ‘I’ll find her. Or she will find me. She cannot help it. The Throne room is up on the third. It is colossal. The Pearl Terrace is also up there, behind the Rose Throne, and there are halls and banquet rooms set around the area. They hold court there. There are a hundred rooms on each floor. The work areas are below with the gate guards. This second floor is for officials. There will be draugr up there. It will be very hard to find them if they are hiding.’
‘I see. But it won’t be that hard,’ I rumbled and changed. Lith blanched as I fell forward on my fours, my claws grew to the size of long daggers, and I turned entirely dark; my snout was elongated and full of razor sharp teeth. Gods, how much power my skills gave me. I sensed everything, smelled the smallest of scents lingering in the corners. I turned my snout towards her and she retreated, blanching in satisfactory terror at the sight of a huge, powerful wolf. Then I padded my way up. There was a door and beyond it only shadows. I smelled the air coming from the partly open doorway and knew we were not alone.
‘He in there?’ Lith whispered, stalking the shadows near me.
I growled and slunk through the doorway in a rush. My eyes were superb. The draugr were creatures of the night, but I was darkness itself. I saw them. They were in the huge room, standing in the shadows of the pillars framing the walls, and there was a dozen of them. All Blacktower men, some women. One, I saw, was a hauntingly beautiful female, her eyes in slits as she tried to understand if a lumbering Jotun had entered. I remember having seen her in the Apex, one of the servants and the one that had given me the clothes the day Lith had tricked me. I smelled others moving carefully, their weapons at the ready, bows aiming at emptiness. I padded forward, felt the thrill of a coming kill thrumming in my chest. I was recklessly anxious, powerfully savage, a slayer in the dark, like they were. I calmed myself, restrained my need to slay them and stalked closer. The woman was calling for magic, her hands were flickering, and the Black Grip, my gauntlet that was part of me told me she was seeking light. She had sensed something was wrong.
And then there was pale light in the middle of the room. The dead turned to look at it, then at the door.
But I was behind the woman, the strongest, and the most dangerous of the lot.
I jumped on her back. She shrieked in surprise, and then in pain, her dry lips drawn in a mask of terror as my blade-like claws raked her neck, and then her spine and the corpse fell, releasing a whiff of fiery spell at a curtain. The dead turned to me; two arrows flew, but I was past them.
They had no chance.
I bowled over one, raked his head off, turned, and bounded at one rounding a pillar, and the corpse actually shrieked with horror as my maw ripped at its face. Several shadowy warriors were coming at me, spears, axes, and hammers up. ‘Kill the Beast!’ one shrieked with chattering teeth and let go with an arrow. I growled and yelped as the point grazed my leg, jumped in the lot as I shifted. I landed on the group of the enemies, their arms flailing desperately, and I pummeled them with my gauntlet, clawed at some that tried to crawl away and roared happily as the bowman let go another arrow, only to hit my sword. I pulled the massive weapon, rushed forward while shifting to a man-sized version and rammed the smaller blade through the draugr’s chest.
A shadow flickered past.
I rolled away, cursing.
A beautiful Jotun’s blade ripped my forehead open. Tear Drinker came at me from the front, then behind, and I danced, jumped, and thrust my sword around me, luckily thwarting the blade while wiping blood from my forehead and eyes. I put my back to the wall, near-blind, called for powers, saw the cascading ice and fiery fires in eternal fall to the abyss, and pulled at a desperate spell the gauntlet whispered to me. I drew in mighty molten forces, twisted them rudely together, and let them go.
The tower quaked.
It shook; dust flew, stones groaned and so did I, for the spell was hugely draining. I saw Taram fall to his side in the small earthquake, his sword scraping at the stone so hard sparks flew high up to the air. He tried to get up, but I released the rest of the spell; a pillar fell with a tumble, and the draugr lord fell again. He saw me coming, for I charged like a mad thing for him, the sword high, then coming down. Then, the bastard turned to shadow, slithered away and the sword split wooden floor panel. I saw him streaking to the side, into a room, where a woman shirked.
Then died, for a servant girl fell on the doorway.
The lights went out in the room.
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I laughed and stalked in. I pondered the dilemma. A wolf would be easier to stab by a thing of shadows. But I also needed the senses. I chuckled and tried something creative. My head flowed and changed into a wolf’s while I kept my armored body. It felt a strange mix, the body less dexterous than a wolf’s, more human—no, Jotun—than an animal. But I saw and smelled everything, even over the scent of blood spreading from the hapless servant girl. I resisted the urge to lope as I had no paws and kept focusing on my weapon.
I smelled Lith. She was close, stalking just outside the room, finally joining the battle. In the room, there were bunks in neat rows, a thick carpet that smelled of wet wool and also trunks for servants to keep their gear in. Then, on one wall there were weapon racks. I snarled with a feral intensity, for I smelled rot and blood at the far right corner. I stalked forward, keeping my eyes on a suspicious shadow. I was close, jumped over bunks, and laughed, the sound coming out with a curious, dog like yelp. ‘Run, little skeleton. Run!’ I howled, and the growl was enough to convince Taram his hide and seek game had failed.
The shadow shuddered. Then moved. It flickered; I felt a spell being cast and saw vine-like tendrils grasp my feet. I jumped out of them, ripped them up, and thrust forward, for Taram was flickering forth by the wall, trying to escape. I turned with the speed of his movement and swished my blade, which clanged with his sword. It didn’t hit him but was enough to stop his flight, as he fell against the wall. I roared, my strength savage and bitter and hacked down again, with terrible effect as a bed was sundered into bits. I kicked it aside, looking at Taram’s shadowy, dead, and yet still strangely handsome face backing off. He danced away from me, and I saw him glance at the door. ‘Lith?’ he said. ‘Care to help me?’
‘No, you shit sucker,’ she hissed. ‘I will enjoy the show.’
Taram laughed and gathered spells. The fires spread left and right of me, and he charged forward. He dodged under my savage, quick thrust, and rolled up to bump at me. I howled and grabbed him, pulled him towards my jaw, but his dagger stabbed at my face; his knee kicked my mouth shut, and we fell over rubble, rolling. I was a Jotun, savagely strong; he was lithe and agile as a snake. I dared not change; he was so close, and it would take a moment to do so, and that moment would be all he needed. He laughed, let his façade of calm disappear, cursed, and spat dryly at me, again rolling on the floor. He hacked down with the dagger; my hand blocked him, the blade stabbing a shallow wound through the armored arm. I howled and kicked, and we rolled again to break another bed. He tried to get away from my grasping grip, his sword aiming down to slit my face. I butted my fanged face forward, and the dagger went through my snout again. I bit down on the blade and held it, and his victorious smiled disappeared. I grasped his hair. He shrieked. I welcomed the stabbing, terrible pain as I yanked him closer, his dagger held by my teeth. If a dead man can grow pale, he did. I growled and pulled; he resisted, but in vain. He let go of the sword and again yanked at the dagger in my face, which sent stabs of fiery pain across me, but I had him, and then my bloodied, wounded maw opened up, clamped in his jaw and throat. The dagger was free, but he had no chance to hit with it. I bit down hard, tasted rot and old bone and ripped most of his face off, leaving one eye and forehead. He stumbled away as I choked on the terrible fare. He tried to melt into the shadows, sobbing in his strange, undead pain, hoping to dodge smirking Lith.
The Beast of the North Page 36