“What are you, exactly?” I asked him.
He pulled me close. His breath stank of shit. “A man. Just a man. I’m to give you that chance you need. That’s all you need to know. Now, sit down,” he laughed. “The Under Lord’s got his ways and shares little, but he’s all right. I’m an associate of his, as I said. A thief, a pirate, a murderer, he needs men like me. So shut your face. I’ll be very useful in a bit. And don’t go near the pyramid in the middle before the rabble tires her out.”
“As useful as a horny dog,” Thak spat.
“Only if you are called the Rear,” Gutty snorted and at that, Thak reached out and grasped the fat man’s flabby throat. There was a moment’s silence in the room, the svartalfs looked at us curiously, but as Thak didn’t squeeze Gutty’s head like he would a pimple, they lost interest fast and returned to their celebrations.
“Speak plainly,” Thak spat. “Why shouldn’t we go near this pyramid? Tires who out?”
“The rabble,” he chuckled. “That Dana will be there.”
I rubbed my face. Of course she would be there. “In what capacity?” I asked.
“As her own team,” Gutty said and winked and removed Thak’s hand. “She must fall. She fights for her freedom like you do. And for a chance to serve Stheno again. She is your first problem.”
She might be. She might give it all she has. And she had a lot. She was dangerous. Five hundred mercenaries might not be able to face her and survive, especially if they were fighting others.
“That’s why we hired the jotuns,” Gutty grinned. He leaned towards me.
And yes, of course, they could withstand the heat. And still, murdering Dana didn’t sit well with me. She was weak, afraid, angry, and still a human.
Horns were blowing across the city. They were sonorous, annoying sounds, demanding attention. Something was happening. Someone was yelling, proclaiming something over the city with an imperious voice. Gutty winked. “Get ready.”
At the end of the hall a doorway opened up. The svartalf lord stepped out, the same who had introduced us to the feast. Gutty moved away slowly.
“Warriors!” the svartalf yelled. “Grasp a drink in salute to the kings and queens of Scardark and her allies. You’ll go and fight in the Sacrifice of the Night, for the glory of the armies. Defeat your fellow fighters and the champion of Stheno, and know true glory!”
On the table of each warrior, before them, before us, servants brought a cup filled with nectar of golden liquid.
“Grab the drink, my friends,” the svartalf yelled, and I squinted up at the svartalf and Gutty, who was making his way for the svartalf. Gutty wasn’t part of the sacrifice. He worked as a guard. And a henchman of Itax.
Everyone took a hold of the drink, and held on to the precious glass. We saluted each other. The high svartalf lifted his. “To the one who makes it! May he, or she, be lathered in glory!”
The mention of ‘she’ raised some eyebrows in the hall, but it passed quickly.
“Drink!”
“Drink,” Thak grumbled. “We are finally at the end of the road.”
There was a universal clink of glass as the sacrifices drank. They smacked their lips, even the dverger seemed to enjoy the liquid, muttering in their odd voices, and the glasses were being put down.
Ours had been horrible. Even Thak had a sour face as he sampled it, and barely swallowed it.
“They seemed to love it,” I muttered. “What’s wrong with them? The food was great, a terrific fare, the mead was fabulous, but this shit—”
“Terrible, but yeah. What that was, was not the same the others drank,” he muttered. “It was that bastard’s piss.”
Gutty gave us a thumbs-up as we stared at him morbidly. “A truly vile man,” I breathed. “Nasty specimen. This is the second such drink in a short time.”
“Oh?” he asked. “Yes, he is a nasty one. A liar as well,” Thak growled. “I’ll kick his head off. Then I’ll piss in his ear.”
“But why did we drink this?” I asked.
It became evident very quickly.
The great majority of the svartalfs looked at each other oddly. They grasped their chairs, the tables, and turned to look at the svartalf on top.
He bowed. “That was a magical nectar, my friends. A strong, magical one, brewed by Queen Stheno herself. It is to the benefit of the nobles waiting for you. This battle shall be with steel only. Nothing but steel. Not one of you will See the Shadows.”
“You took our magic from us?” roared one of the svartalfs. “It is our weapon. Not everyone knows how to use a sword!”
Thak leaned on me. “None of our mercenaries are apt in magic. The jotuns can shapeshift, since it’s an ability, not a spell. You were spared. He let me have one glass out of spite. I hate him.”
“Silence, sacrifices!” the svartalf on top roared. “Get up! The Black Feast is over.”
The svartalfs stopped complaining. The warriors amongst them smirked, happy with the turn of events, and I whispered to Thak, “What will they do if and when I us my powers?”
“When you do, it won’t matter. Don’t worry about it,” Thak said cheerfully. “We’ll do well.”
The doors opened up, and the master of our feast pointed that way.
Everyone got up, many shaken by the unexpected change. We marched up, each and every one of us terrified by what was taking place, Most, if not all were to die. I passed Gutty, who nodded at me with grudging respect. “Sorry about that,” he said, “fight well. Soon we are done with the secrecy. See you in there.”
We walked into a red corridor, wide as a ship, and marched down the length of it.
Thak nodded and spoke. “We’ll have to kill Dana. Like Shannon always wanted.”
“Shit,” I whispered. “I’ll not do it willingly. Not now.”
“You’ll see,” he said. “She’s the same bastard she always was.”
“She’s afraid,” I retorted.
“She has to die, Ulrich,” he said. “Pull your weight and we shall all feast again after.”
We walked for ten minutes. Then, we were guided to a stony hall. Tall pillars rose high to the ceiling. It was an armory. Everyone was armed, but we could arm ourselves further if we chose to. There were ten thousand weapons there, of all kinds. Bows, crossbows, pole weapons, swords, sabers, scimitars, maces. Some of the svartalfs spread out to find better ones, though the dverger and the jotuns seemed to disdain the selection. I moved to grasp a round, simple shield and a sabre, light, but serviceable.
Thak was leaning on his sword. It was magical, heavily so, fast as lightning, and I thought the dverger and jotun weapons were as well.
Everyone settled into a nervous wait.
Horns blared. The doors in the middle of the hall shuddered and red dust billowed in.
The sacrifices muttered prayers, turned that way, and breathing heavily, they took steps to the door.
Silence reigned, save for the harsh breathing, the clink of armor, and steel-shod steps. None spoke.
We walked forward, and slowly, light appeared in the tunnel. A doorway opened up to our right, and the warriors spread out of the door and into the bowels of the Red Tower. The sight was not unlike Euryale’s dungeon. The whole place was huge and shaded. It was light with fires, not spells. The floor was a mile across. There was sand on the floor, mounds of rock jutted up here and there, a pillar or two, broken, and a small pyramid indeed stood in the middle of the place. Bones, skeletons of people and animals had been built into the walls, the ceiling, everywhere. The place looked like a gigantic grave, and smelled dank and of death.
Above us there was a balcony that ran on three walls, filled with svartalfs. The kings and the queens were seated on golden seats across from us. The four from Scardark and four from the allied cities sat on row before all. The lesser lords stood behind them. Cosia was amongst them.
The best families of Scardark stood on either side. There were females, children, high lords.
Perhaps some f
ive hundred guards stood in ranks near the walls.
Before the kings and the queens, there was a mighty throne.
It was jet black, heavy, fit for a jotun, and decorated with gold, and scuffed with marks.
Battle marks? Kings and queens have died, sitting on it. There were hundreds.
And there, sat a hooded female creature.
She was shorter than Euryale had been. Yet, power radiated from her.
Stheno.
Her four arms reclined on the armrests, her bodice was white and thin, her high breasts shining through. Her face was heavily hooded, because her look could kill a mortal, and her serpents spread out of the hood. They were red, and thick as a man’s wrist, deadly and beautiful at the same time.
Then we stared at the pyramid in the middle of the floor.
On top, stood a girl in battle mail, her wrists chained to the stone. She was beautiful as night, dark-haired, slender, and very afraid.
Dana.
CHAPTER 17
The sacrifices slowly spread left and right, and around the chamber, though they kept away from the area beneath the malevolent Stheno. There were a thousand of them, most looking up at Dana, then at Stheno and the court of the royals. The ones who had lost their ability to weave spells, were easy to spot. They were visibly shaken, and many looked like a kitten dropped into a doghouse. They were scared as hell. The air was oppressively hot, and all of us, even the dverger sweated like pigs. I was standing behind Thak, who was leaning on his sword, gazing up at Dana, as if already preparing to slay her. Thak was Shannon’s creature, Dana was her sister, but also her enemy, and all she wanted was to see her die. Thak and the jotuns would see it done.
And I’d have to help them.
She was very afraid. She was shaking. I was not sure I could. I smiled. Had not the Masked One told me my bleeding heart would stop me from helping my friends? He might be right. Dana had killed my brother, Ron, a rotten apple if there ever was one, for trying to have Shannon killed.
Could I blame her?
I had asked myself this so many times. Then I remembered we were there for the Scepter of Nött, and tried to find it with my eyes.
I spotted it immediately.
Stheno held it. It was a long staff, black with gray runes the length of it, and the top of it shone with a white, pale light. Stheno, the mistress leaned on it as she conversed with Kallista on her left. Her eyes flashed bright red under her cowl, as she gave a guard a command, who ran away. An old svartalf stood near her, wearing white robes. Her hair was hugely braided and white, and she was tall, leaning on a golden staff with a top of golden flower. A steward of some sort, I decided.
I stared at the Scepter of Nött, the key to Below. Stheno held it, and with that, she was near invincible. How in Hel’s name was Kiera to gain it? Impossible.
To kill Dana?
My thoughts swirled back to her. Could I?
I looked at her as we spread around. Dana’s eyes were rigid with fear, and she was breathing heavily, dressed in a chain mail skirt and plate which would do nothing to help her. I barely noticed Thak was prodding me, and the jotuns and the dverger were making a loose group of fighters near the corner of the Pit.
I’d not have to. Jotuns would do it, I tried to reason with myself.
My chest was aching for more than the oozing wound. Dana was probably the least evil of the creatures in the room.
“Are you ready for this?” Thak growled. “A lot will happen in just a few short minutes.”
“No,” I whispered. “I’m not.”
“Use the Trial,” he whispered. “Use it, and you’ll bring us victory. In the end, I’ll save you. I won’t die. Fire can’t take me.”
“If I use it, it might consume me,” I cursed.
“You’ll need it,” he said. “Listen and obey. You will not like this.”
There was a thrumming sound as the Scepter of Nött banged on the floor. The ancient svartalf who had stood behind Stheno stepped forward and stood on the edge, her foot on a skull of a giant. She snapped a finger. The doorway began to close.
I glanced at it, turned away from it and then back. The door had closed. It didn’t move, but I thought I saw something and squinted. I saw a shadow in the crack of the stone door, and there was something crammed into the top of the doorway, like a bone, or a rod.
It wasn’t closed. I frowned, and then had no more time to mull about it.
The ancient svartalf lifted her hands. “Welcome, sacrifices to the honoring of the gods. Fight well, oh mighty warriors, and do us proud. Give us the favor of Nött and the gods, and die well. Behold the champion of the Scardark.” She pointed at Dana. “Behold her! The human who can call fire, the rare creature and a worthy sacrifice, shall fight you. Kill her, if you can, kill her under the eyes of Nött, kill each other while you try, and in the end, only one shall stand tall before the Throne of Scars. Gods are watching, Nött is with us.”
Stheno said nothing, her red eyes glowing under the dark hood. Her First Born sister was dead, and her armies had gathered, and the dragon was her foe, and she was a malignant thing that anticipated the end of the sacrifice, so she could get on with killing the Masked One, and then Shannon.
I fingered the mask and the gauntlets, hidden under my belt. I pulled out the ring instead, and held it in my fist.
Stheno got up and walked forward. Her powerful body moved like a cat. The beastly female spread her four arms wide. Her naked flesh could be seen through the fabric of her immodest robe, and her four hands grasped at the spells and powers she only knew. Her voice echoed with power. “Prepare!”
The fighters drew weapons, some ran to find a better position, others maneuvered away from danger, which moved with them.
“One thousand,” Stheno said, so it echoed though the tower. Her magic enhanced the voice to boom over the city. “Begin!”
Thak didn’t hesitate. “Here we go. Don’t touch the dverger or the other jotuns!”
“Of course not!” I screamed.
“Good!” he roared and his sword swept into a group of svartalfs, who scattered, save for one who was screaming on the sand, legless. “All the way to the corner!”
He pushed me along, and I ran, breathless in the sudden raging melee.
It was war and chaos at its worst. Hundreds swirled to attack the closest creature. High screams of pains echoed immediately in the chamber, and the clash of metal. Next to me, a svartalf stabbed another in its back, again and again, before Thak chopped them both to pieces. Several dozen formed a ring of spears, bristling like a porcupine, yelling defiance. The dverger rushed with us, their powerful legs pumping. Three svartalfs were in their way and fell in a heap as they were hacked down with hammers and halberds. A pair of jotuns got into trouble as a dexterous trio of svartalfs speared them with supreme skill. One jotun fell dead, his head bleeding, the other one ripped the svartalfs apart and fled bleeding until a swift warrior slashed his knee, and he fell and died under a barrage of strikes from five svartalfs. The rest of the jotuns rushed for us, hacking down at a tough group of armored svartalfs, who had already occupied the corner, into bits and pieces. Nearby svartalfs charged a mass of the ones I guessed were on our side. A savage fight ensued, bitter and skillful. The enemy beat down ours with swords and axes, killing many, and ours died well, taking many with them. I panted as I reached the corner, the remaining jotuns appeared, and they, and Thak, grew to a height of twelve feet.
A ring of dverger built a wall around us.
I was overwhelmed by the terrible noise, the cheering crowd, the pushing battle. The stone pillars and the sand was awash with blood, as groups and singles fought in a swirling battle all across the Pit.
I noticed the red-armored svartalf. He was pulling at others, and slowly – in midst of slaying and killing – twenty, then thirty svartalfs tightened into a group. They banged shields together, slaughtered a few who weren’t with them, and then charged us. They surged forward with a roar, not intimidated by the merc
enaries and not even by the jotuns. “Get ready!” Thak yelled. The enemy screamed, surged on, and banged into our ranks. Thak roared, hacked down, the jotuns stomped, kicked and killed and a savage melee swirled around us. A piece of face flew by, a dverg laughed gutturally. A mace-wielding jotun smashed two skillful svartalfs into red pulp. The red-armored svartalf was screaming and leading the troops into a mad attack, just behind their ranks. He held a two-handed ax loosely, gazing for weaknesses, as his companions rushed to kill us.
But we held our own.
A svartalf pushed between the dverg shields, and hacked back, killing one of the short ones, and I stabbed him in the throat, and stepped back to let him vomit his life on the sand. More and more of the svartalfs joined in, until we were totally engulfed by a ring of enemies. One of the jotuns screamed, and fell on his fours, pulling three svartalfs into the sand with him, ripping at them as he shuddered in pain. There, some elves speared him, and he went still. Across the chamber many of our mercenaries were doing well, but too many of the enemy had prepared to kill the jotuns as fast as they could and so we were in desperate straits. Thak fought hard, slaying with each savage strike. His sword split mail, limb, and torso, as the enemy fell right and left. I was next to him, feeling like a child. My shield occasionally thrummed with hits, dark and white faces came and went, often crushed, as our mercenaries gave a good account of themselves. I hacked blindly at a figure of a svartalf – hit him so hard his skull shattered – and wounded others. A dverg fell to a spear next to me, hissing in pain, and I slashed my saber across the face of the attacker.
Minutes went by. We backed off, bleeding, until there were but three jotuns and a few dverger. Fifty of the terrible, determined enemy had fallen, and some were still climbing over their bodies to get to us. “We will be spent!” I yelled at Thak. “We’ll be no good to—”
The red-armored champion appeared, seemingly out of the air. He smashed his ax into a shield of a dverg, then rolled under Thak’s sword, and slashed the weapon at me. My shield took the hit, and I fell on my rear. He was over me, the ax high, and then his head flew to the corner, as Thak killed him. “Slippery bastard,” he panted.
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