Eye of Hel: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Ten Tears Chronicles - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  ‘That is the Citadel of Glory. That is the barracks of Himingborg. It was the old palace, but Talien wanted to live by the gate.’

  ‘Glory as in victory and bravery, or Glory as in the power?’

  ‘Both.’ He chuckled. ‘But mainly because that is where Hel’s War took a different turn. All the greatest lords in the Glory are entombed there, under the Croft’s floors. That is their resting place, and most fell in Hel’s War. Cerunnos did not, but he has a spot reserved there as well. Lines of house heads have had their bodies interred under its cold stone. It’s the barracks and the great heart of the city, not so much Talien Safiroon’s palace that is over the White Court on the other side across from the Citadel, but many high lords live there. I make it sound very mundane,’ Asfalon said, wringing his hands. ‘I have no poetry to describe it. That is my fault. But it looks grand, rich, and in truth, it is all built to fit a jotun.’

  Thak, I thought. Another lost soul. Like Ompar, I had trusted him.

  ‘Go on,’ I begged. ‘How big is the city itself? You need no poetry; I have a good imagination.’

  He bowed slightly. ‘Meaning I do not? No, I am just jesting. I truly do not. There are a million people and elves living in and around the city. Four powerful noble families hold the lands of the city, all belong to the highest twenty houses, all are Safiroon dependents and the Safiroons themselves reside there in the palace and rent the land to them, of course. Humans live free but are not allowed to leave the gates to the north. It is an elven land and has nothing to do with superiority of the elven race.’

  I smiled at his tone. ‘No, humans are just not allowed there. Pigs, cows, vermin are, but no humans,’ I said softly and with some humor.

  ‘Don’t pick up where your friends left off, please. They were very unhappy, were they not?’ he said dryly. ‘It’s our land.’

  ‘Tell me about the temple, the ... gate. Where did it lead? Asgaard?’

  He shook his head. ‘We are not sure. Some say Svartalfheim, the land closest to ours. It’s a dark, shadowy world, but it is closed.’

  ‘Gate of Svartalfheim,’ I mumbled, ‘but now only a dead pile of stones.’

  ‘Dead relic,’ Asfalon agreed. ‘A nothing, really, just some crumbling pillars before a hole in the ground. Dogs piss on the stones. Birds shit mercilessly on them. Not very holy, really. But that is where the Feast is held.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, and I stared at the ships flitting in. A huge one was just disappearing through the massive sea gates, and others followed. A column of blue-sailed vessels of great speed raced for the gate, black and silver pennants whipping furiously in the wind. ‘Who are they? Coinar?’

  Asfalon nodded and spat over the board. ‘That is the House Coinar, our shady friends. Arrogant bastards, they are, but powerful because of their riches. They trade everywhere. I think they are here for the Feast. It is to be held in one to two weeks—again— and they are allowed a thousand troops in the city. It could be something else, of course. That house sails around Aldheim, even the forgotten lands of the east and west. They are explorers. But now they will keep on exploring, and their takeover has been foiled, even if there shall surely be a war. We will win. Thanks to you. And us, of course.’ He smiled crookedly as he thought about his mighty feat of rescue, and that show of spirit made me like him a bit. It reminded me of Ompar.

  ‘Ompar would have been proud of your blockade-breaking tactics,’ I said respectfully. ‘You came with the fog and surprised them.’

  He sniffled. ‘He has sunk many a ship of ours, but I suppose I thank you. The deed was not mine; the fog was Shinna’s.’

  ‘How many elves are there here in the north?’ I asked.

  ‘Sizing us up, hero of the Black Ring?’ Asfalon smiled.

  ‘I am curious,’ I said with a scowl.

  ‘How many humans are there in this Cerunnos Timmerion’s ancient world?’

  I shrugged. ‘On Earth? I don’t know. Seven hundred million? More?’

  He stared at me and shook his head. ‘That is quite a number. It’s similar to the number of humans in Aldheim though only half of them live in Spell Coast. They say many hide in the east. Elves are around five hundred million strong across all the lands. Only one in ten is a noble. I wonder how many humans there are in your original home world. Midgard.’

  ‘What is it like?’ I asked, wondering. ‘This Midgard.’

  ‘It is … I know some of the stories, and they are only stories. It was Odin’s own land. There he made your kind. Gods know how long it has been since we last heard of other lands. It’s some two and a half thousand of our years since Hel’s War took place.’

  ‘That would not make sense,’ I frowned. ‘That was the time of the Egyptians on Earth. I’m sure we would have—’

  He clapped my arm ‘Over two thousand years for us, but I suspect it’s much longer for you. Our years are calculated differently, perhaps. We have years, but they vary in length and are not based on how fast the world revolves around Mar. They are based on major events like an end of war. Perhaps it has been ten thousand years or more for you?’ I nodded, feeling dizzy. That long had Euryale been looking for me. She would never give me up. Asfalon went on. ‘As for Midgard, there were kingdoms and lords and wars just like elsewhere. An old text I once saw said Hel sent an army of the underworlds and giants of Nifleheim to take Midgard during her war. Dragons, beasts, men fought. Nobody knows how it ended.’

  ‘I’m afraid the gods are going to disappoint us,’ I said with a wistful smile. ’But I hope not.’

  ‘The gods are all there is,’ he said with mild reproof. ‘Now, we shall go in.’ He got up to scream at the officer in the mid ship, and they trimmed the sails and oars were pushed out. We turned to stare at the approaching city walls.

  They were huge. They were gigantic and dull red and white on top, like old bloodied teeth, made of blocks the size of small houses. They were obviously thick, greenish moldy where the water was engaged in hopeless war to erode through them. Every fifty yards towers of wondrous make rose high to the sky. They were all of different size and color. One had a round cupola with pyramid-like crenellations and strange, elongated elephant heads on top of the window. One’s surface was carved with a thousand leering beasts of great size. One was square and squat, ugly and grim, except for bright silvery spears held by gigantic statues in winged helms on top. A thousand statues, serpents, dragons and sea drakes adorned two towers, the ones that controlled the gate. I was grinning as we stared at the wonders in mute wonderment. Even Asfalon did. He noted my looks and shrugged. ‘I always gawk at them like any first timer.’

  ‘Albine would have something to say about them. She knew history,’ I said and wondered what had become of her. ‘Though perhaps she would be planning on how to reduce them to rubble.’

  On top of the decorated gates, there were walkways where elves and men were pointing at the ships, signaling fiercely, and Asfalon was gesturing back. We passed under the gate, sailing in a dark tunnel, and the strait’s cold wind made us shiver. The smell of mold and tar was mixing with that of seaweed and salt, and it was cold as Mar no longer warmed us. I turned to look at the elves in the afterdeck and noticed they were speaking agitatedly. A female elf was furiously gesturing for us, and Asfalon was making curt gestures, his tall hair dancing around his back as he was making some point. Finally, he rushed there to deal with some issue.

  It took time, but soon we passed through as the oars splashed to the sea. We slid through the thick gates and the straits, miles across, slowly filled our sight until Mar’s light lanced inside the tunnel. Warmth returned to my bones. I rubbed my shoulder that was bleeding a bit, the rash wet and terribly painful, the creatures enjoying the sunlight as much as I had. I wondered what Aloise Bardagoon’s skin looked like. She had been infected longer than I had.

  Asfalon came back. We passed into the straits. The view was breathtaking. Flocks of colorful birds were skimming over a light coat of fog, and then to the left an
d to the right we saw wonderful sights. To the left a green city, a hilly part of the city lay inside the huge wall, and beyond it a hazy statue, tall as ten men, just barely to be seen. ‘Freyr?’ I wondered.

  ‘I think so,’ Asfalon said reverently. ‘They say that is so. Nobody knows for sure. He looks glum, almost like he bit into a sour plum.’ I smiled and tried to see the look on its face. But it was impossible as it was standing before a huge gate and a white fort that was guarding that side and facing south. ‘Take my word for it, Hand.’ Asfalon laughed. To the front of us, to the west, the wall circled straits that looked more like a huge bay, a bay of golden waters that stretched nearly to the horizon and there too, similar walls and forts and towers guarded a waterway to the west.

  But the city to our right was what we all stared at, finally. The ship turned for a long quay with some open spots in that bank.

  A red and golden fortress guarded a harbor of blue and silvery buildings, a sea of tents and a bustling market of the elves and men. The fort’s dark towers reached up, high, and the whole thing had obviously been built around a tall crag, as on top of the Citadel of Glory there was natural grove and rocky outcropping towards the north, where the temple was supposed to be. I saw the Silver Spires beyond the fort, gleaming enticingly from the palace. Hundreds of ships were moored in long piers adorned with gigantic statues of marble and gold. Beyond the harbor to the northwest, a city full of white and gold spires rose to the air, birds frolicking happily across the sky and between the tallest ones. The land was level with the sea there, but you could see huge cliffs stretching to the west like they had to the north, and it was true the Seat of Freyr was inaccessible by sea anywhere else than right there in Himingborg. A thousand pennants rode the rooftops. Asfalon grinned at me. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’

  ‘No,’ I said with a frown. ‘It is entirely unearthly,’ I added. Nothing on Earth could match the sight of the elven splendor and the riches of unique beauty. Details were everywhere as we pulled closer to the harbor, even the huge statues were indeed unearthly in their natural poses that would make da Vinci or Michelangelo weep with frustration. ‘To see Rome and to die,’ I breathed, and Asfalon grunted though he had no idea what I meant. It was unique. Or perhaps not? The Nine Worlds were sure to have many wondrous sights. I suddenly felt terrible and fought the tears, for Ompar would not show them to me. ‘Is this where Freyr sits?’ I wondered. ‘Must be. It is splendid.’

  Asfalon laughed. ‘No, this is Safiroon’s seat, as I said. Ljusalfheim is up there in the north, beyond that mountain range. The Bardagoons are sheltered beyond that. It is different, that city, not so big, perhaps, but it has an ancient, holy air to it. And perhaps a speck of unholy as well, as you know.’ His eyes flicked to me, and then wind blew his long hair across his face. He struggled to pull it out of his mouth and laughed apologetically. ‘No humans live there, only the highest elven nobles. Half of the noblest houses inhabit the north.’ He waved his hand that way, over the green hills, golden woods, and small mountain range. We stared at the bustling marketplace and the huge fort beyond where archers stalked the battlements.

  A huge ship of the House Coinar was moored at a quay not far from where we were going to tie ours.

  ‘It’s like a dream, a medieval dream,’ I breathed and pointed at the Citadel. ‘I can imagine some Spanish fort looked like this in the Peninsular war.’

  ‘You have famous forts as well, then?’ Asfalon mused, keeping a close eye on the mooring.

  ‘German and French lands are full of things like that,’ I stated. ‘Seen some near home, of course. Read a book about the Europeans once. Charles, Father had one. They looked most bloody dark.’

  ‘These are only bloody,’ Asfalon said with a laugh. ‘Hel’s armies were stopped inside those gates.’ He nodded at the Citadel’s fine doors. ‘Stuff of dreams. Glory. A desperate battle you win.’

  ‘It might be a nightmare,’ I said but shook away the gloom. ‘It’s a sight to remember, surely.’

  ‘I hope they take us to Talien Safiroon immediately,’ Asfalon hummed as he jumped to the prow of the ship, waving at the dockhands waiting with sturdy ropes. There was a heavily armored guard of elven warriors in golden armor, holding tall halberds. ‘I’ll ask. They are not here to collect taxes. I sent word ahead.’ He jumped off the ship lithely and winked over a red-armored and white-cloaked human standing in the front of the elves.

  They conferred a bit, and the elf lord was nodding quickly.

  ‘Come!’ Asfalon yelled, his voice thrumming powerfully over the bustle. ‘Lord Talien awaits.’

  ‘Wait,’ Shinna said as she appeared. An elven maid bowed and gave me a black robe. ‘Use this to be a little less conspicuous.’ I draped the robe around me.

  ‘Ready you are,’ Shinna said, smiling widely. ‘Let us rush. We cannot wait.’ I sighed and felt nervous, but nodded at her.

  ‘This way,’ Shinna said and waved her hand as she went to the mid deck. The beautiful elfess smiled and beckoned and grabbed the railing as the ship rocked. It was groaning a bit as it was pulled the final foot to the pier. ‘Do not tarry. Father is always busy but does have a small window to meet you. Hope you slept well on the deck, Hand.’

  ‘Like a small baby,’ I said.

  ‘They don’t always sleep very well, though,’ she noted with a frown.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘Try not to be sarcastic with my father,’ she insisted. ‘Carefully now,’ she said and helped me down the plank. The armor and the weapons clanked as we settled on dry land. I nearly fell, feeling rocky after the sea fare, but Asfalon grabbed me.

  ‘Gods, help us,’ I breathed and rubbed my stinging shoulder as I made my way down from the foredeck, feeling like a drunk. Shinna chuckled.

  ‘Hand or not, you are a human. No grace but hardy enough. Here,’ she laughed and gave me a strong arm. I was helped across the beautiful, rich planking. The cordon of elven soldiers in heavy armor surrounded us.

  ‘Lord Safiroon’s Household Guard, they will escort us to the palace,’ Shinna said imperiously. There was an emblem of green and a golden, rampant beast on their cloaks. ‘Come. And do not attract attention, human. Do so at your own peril.’

  And we went.

  The pier had been bustling. Now it was silent and respectful as the royal troops marched on. They held their halberds high, and thin swords swung on their hips, deadly fast-looking weapons of glittering hilts. Their stomp made a terrible noise across the pavement. The people and elves bowed to Shinna and Asfalon, though I noted there were no smiles. I saw a barrel of some sweet-smelling nectar being opened and realized I was parched.

  Shinna saw my longing looks. ‘Unfortunately we cannot stop. And you cannot remove the helmet anyway. If you must, drink your tears.’ She laughed at her own joke and shook her head to show me she was not serious. She was strangely different than she had been when I first met her. She was tense, and her humor was crude.

  ‘I wish Nox was here. I could use a drink. He could fill this helmet with wine,’ I complained softly to myself and smiled. The Tomte of Euryale, the strange, subterranean thing that had magical skills of nourishment had kept us fed for two years, though he would have liked to give us better fares than he had been forced to. The fabulous fragrances of the market made my mouth water. My belly rumbled. We passed a menagerie, where elven children mixed freely with human ones, wondering at a collection of strange, docile lizards. Soon they were staring at us and whispering.

  ‘Oh!’ I said as I stared at a pen of horse-sized, two-legged lizards. They turned their heads towards us in unison as a flock of birds would, their forelegs grasping air in confusion, their lean snouts sniffling. ‘That is …’ I breathed, ‘interesting.’

  ‘You have seen a thing or two, Hand, I know it,’ Shinna stated in exasperation. ‘And you swoon over lizards?’

  ‘No, I mean …’ I said and nodded in embarrassment. Beyond the lizards stood a trio of elven women, who were only t
hinly clad, dancing a wild jig, their arms and legs shining with a film of sweat. Their eyes found us, and they froze, but I had never seen creatures that were more beautiful. One especially, a woman with lustrous, jet black hair and brilliant, green eyes seemed to smile at me. Then she winked, and I nodded back.

  ‘They are Spring Dancers,’ Asfalon said with spite. ‘Actors. Pay them no mind. They are only interested in being adored.’ We passed a lamp hanging in the air and a curious restaurant, where plates were being filled by a stone servant with a strange, painted skin.

  ‘I can see why you disdain technology,’ I said grudgingly. ‘Are elves ever ill? Flu and such?’

  ‘Rarely,’ Shinna said softly. ‘But humans are. You were made for Midgard, and you suffer elsewhere. But perhaps you are ill in Midgard as well. Who knows?’

  The Citadel of Glory came closer, the doors were open and cauldrons of silver were burning on both sides of thick steel-bound doors of great height. ‘Enter,’ Asfalon said.

  ‘And we will soon enter the White Court?’ I asked suspiciously as the soldiers and the gate guards milled around us for a moment, stopping us.

  ‘The road goes through it to the Shining City and the White Court, the closed land. The soldiers and administrators live here. Fewer questions, please,’ Asfalon said. He entered, and we followed. We walked into a gatehouse full of murder holes and arrow slits and went through an inner drawbridge into a cathedral-like open palace. It was full of light; plants were growing on the vast stone pillars that led up to a richly painted roof. It seemed to go on for a mile. It depicted a scene of serenity, a god-like being blessing nations of elves. The colors were vibrant and nearly … alive. I could imagine the wind blowing through the trees and the birds flitting through them. ‘The welcoming,’ said Asfalon. ‘Quite overwhelming. The first Regent, who was a Safiroon, painted it. I cannot remember his name.’

  ‘Bathias Safiroon,’ Shinna helped him. ‘Bathias, dear.’

  ‘It was the day elves were given the land to rule,’ Asfalon said.