The Queen of the Draugr: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Thief of Midgard - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  Quiss began writing furiously. She had a concentrated look on her face as she did, her tongue licking her lip, and I admired the ease with which she crafted several orders, one after another. I lacked many skills a king should have, and my writing was horrendous at best, but she made it all look elaborate and fine. The butler appeared carved out of rock, his eyes in the roof, and the pages shifted their feet.

  Finally, she folded the papers perfectly. The butler snapped to action, and used a candle to melt wax onto the folded letters. Quiss stamped the wax with the anchor and fish symbol of Aten. She cast me a glance. I nodded at her, and she handed them to the butler. “The generals. Their deputies. All you can find. And only to be delivered when their royals are not present, yes? Not the kings, not the queens. Not one must fall to the wrong hands. You must hurry. In an hour, the generals must be in the throne room ... hearing the words of our High King.”

  The butler nodded, gave the orders to the pages, giving them instructions with hissed whispers. The boys bowed, and rushed out.

  “Cover the royal jackets!” Quiss called, and the butler rushed after them. Quiss slumped, played with the seal, and tossed it to me. I caught it, wiped some of the blue wax off my thumb, and smiled at her encouragingly.

  “It will work,” I said.

  “It is mad,” she answered. “And won’t change a thing.”

  “If the generals see what they are dealing with, it will make them shake in their boots.”

  “They are just men,” she whispered. “Easily replaced. Balic won’t blink if he wants to kill them. And I …” she hesitated, “…would rather see you live.”

  I said nothing, and the butler entered again. “They are covered, my lady. They look ordinary enough.”

  “Good,” she answered. Then she pointed at me, and the butler frowned with horror as he saw the seal in my hand.

  “Show him there,” she said softly.

  “Very well,” the butler huffed, and sighed a breath of relief, as I placed the seal back on the desk.

  “Sand,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “I’ll need to borrow that,” I said, gesturing at the sword.

  He held it like a drowning man would hold a rope. “I don’t want to—”

  “I need it. You won’t be there.”

  The butler’s eyebrows couldn’t have gone any higher in his forehead, but I thought I saw a gleam of pleasure in the eyes. He smelled blood, and likely he hoped Raven and I would kill each other.

  Sand frowned. “I suppose I have skills enough, without a blade. Here.” He handed it to me, reluctantly. “I want it back.”

  I gave Quiss my two-hander. “I’ll need Tallo’s clothes.”

  “Get him a new robe,” Quiss said softly. “Get one from Tallo’s wardrobes.”

  “Won’t Lord Tallo disapprove?” the man asked.

  Quiss chuckled. “No. He won’t object.”

  “Not at all,” I snarled.

  The butler bowed. “The lady is leaving, and the murderer will go to meet the Queen. Very good, my lady. I will want a large raise, when things settle down, though.” He judged my attire with a critical eye. “I take it you wish to see Balic’s papers first?”

  “We have an hour,” I said.

  Quiss got up, hesitated, and walked over to me. She smiled and stroked my chin. “Just remember what I said. Door or window. Survive. I have a spot for you in the crew.”

  She walked out, Sand scowled at her as he turned to follow her, and I leaned on him. “Do not kill her. In fact, fight for her.”

  “I cannot promise,” he said, with hesitation. “I don’t like her.”

  “Promise,” I hissed.

  He nodded, glowering unhappily, and went after Quiss. “I promise I shall try.”

  The butler appraised me. “I’ll get you the robe upstairs. Though, I’m not sure a simple garment enough to fool the Queen.”

  I let my face run, transforming it into that of Tallo.

  The man’s face didn’t twitch. Instead, he smiled. “This way, Lord King Danegell.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The butler showed me the way up, stopping on the second floor. Soon, I wore a golden yellow robe around my filthy, bloody armor, and climbed after the man. The whole palace was rather like the Crimson Apex, the now burned estate of the Blacktowers, but grander in every way. It was the abode of a royal family, a famously wealthy trade king at that. Intricately carved, rich wood, with the finest details, appeared everywhere.

  The butler turned his eyes at me every ten seconds, probably to make sure I’d not try to steal any of the silvery statues set on alcoves on the walls of the stairway, or even thought of them improperly, since most were suggestive, nude mermaids.

  We went to the third floor, and I was out of breath by the time we got there. I eyeballed the gigantic hallway, where there was very little light. Before us were white, shadowy doors, carved with red, painted sea serpents, with silver scales. The rest of the gallery was as splendid.

  And yet, it was strange.

  Once glorious, now, it was … sleeping.

  The place was bereft of life and joy, and I guessed it was so because the dead guarded it. What Balic had done to his own kingdoms, how many dreams and families he had corrupted, would one day make for a very sad book. But only if I succeeded in putting him down. I cursed the magical ring in my finger, tugging at it gently for the thousandth of times, but it was stuck, as it had been designed.

  I’d have to make do with my wits and the sword.

  The butler stopped with a cocked head. I fondled the hilt of the sword, peering around with suspicion. The man listened for a moment, then seemed content, and spoke very carefully. “Quiss is like my own favorite relative. The dear girl tortured me with upsetting pranks for long years growing up, and I love her more than anyone in this family. To be frank, it seems she is the family these days, and today, I was worried for her.”

  “I saved her,” I told him. “We escaped together. They were going to—”

  He lifted a hand. “I know, sir. I have seen things I should not. I am as much part of their daily life … unlife, as are the chairs they sit upon. It was always so, and it hasn’t changed as they died. But, still, even a butler puts the living above the dead. You have seen them as they are?”

  “I have. And more. I’ve fought them, shown them to the living. That’s part of the plan here tonight. To expose them as what they are.”

  He sighed and wiped a hand on his face. “A dangerous plan. You have seen them? And more?” He squinted at me. “Perhaps you have. I thank you for saving her. I sent the guards away. You have some time. The study?”

  I straightened. “Balic is not here, I take it.”

  He shook his head. “No. He came after the parade, read for hours, and left. Lord Aten-Sur gave his study to the High King, though I doubt he sleeps there. He uses it to—”

  “Plan,” I said. “Where?”

  He indicated to the right. There was a simple, gilded door, with light wooden paneling, and the crest of the kingdom. I walked that way. “No guards, you said?”

  “No. gone,” he said. “Lord, you must be silent. These doors hold noise, but there is a way to the throne room in the study, and it’s only draped.”

  I opened the door.

  The room was long. Nearby, there was an unused bed, and, next to it sat a desk with green leather top by the window.

  I gasped.

  On that table, there was the book I knew–The Book of the Past. Balic had wasted no time in verifying whatever it was he was planning. I felt a moment of panic. There was a stabbing fear that someone might walk in and steal this wonderful moment of triumph had sweat forming at my palms.

  I stared at it.

  That it was there meant Shaduril had been captured. Perhaps killed.

  I forced myself to move to it. I placed my hand on top of the ancient tome. Everything one wished to know of Red Midgard’s past was there. Baduhanna’s secrets, the tale
s of the old wars, so penned down by the Blacktowers since the end of War of Hel, were mine. I drew the book towards me, hesitated, and fought the urge to open it then and there. I grasped a small bag from the side of the table, and dropped the book inside. I tied it to my belt, under the robe. I was about to get up, when I noticed a smaller book on the desk, with a blotched, leather cover. It looked unassuming, plain, but something about it drew my attention. I thumbed it open.

  Inside, Balic’s writing.

  I knew, because his throne and skull symbol was drawn on the first page, many times, in different shapes and forms, and I guessed this was the first sketch of his death-glorifying heraldry. I felt the butler watching from the doorway, leaning on the frames with two hands, nervous to his core. I gave him mercy as I stood up, and walked his way, fighting back the anxiety and nausea. I fumbled with the bag, and dropped Balic’s book in as well.

  The butler looked at me. “He’ll be upset,” he whispered. “Very upset. But, I suppose that matters little, eh? How will you kill her?” He nodded towards the side. There was a doorway with red drapes. “How will you kill the Queen? I assume you had a plan concocted before you decided to do it?”

  “I think you need to find a place below for a time,” I told him. I took a deep breath. “And, as for the plan, I’ll walk up to her and stab her to death. And I thank you.” I tapped the bag. “These might make a difference.”

  “I hope so, lord jotun,” the man said.

  “You wish me luck, an enemy to Aten?” I asked him, nervous as the time to fight drew near.

  He smiled. “Everyone saw a man dragged through the streets today. The Beast of the North, they called him. A woman, others screamed. Traitor, yet others hollered. But, some, men who were wounded in the battle for Dagnar, spoke of something else.” His eyes glinted with worry. “There is more to the story than Balic tells us. He says that you in the north defy him and his religion, and that the jotuns destroy their own people, and hate men. The wounded said you fought for Dagnar, and saved it. Perhaps you will fight for Aten as well. Judging by the way lady Quiss looks at you, it might come to pass. She hasn’t been saved often in her past. I think she will forever love you for doing so.”

  I blushed. “She should never suffer what they planned for her. It was my pleasure. And yes. I’ve proved myself once, by fighting for Dagnar,” I growled. “I’ll fight for any kingdom, if the dead threaten them. As anyone should.” I eyed the shades. “I’ve lost most of my powers. But, perhaps, I’ll make a difference today.”

  He nodded gently. “I’ll leave you to your deed then. I wish you luck. For Quiss. For the living.” He stammered. “Your highness.”

  I snorted and walked to the shade. I took a deep breath and dodged in. There was a dark corridor, with a shred of light filtering through another drape at the end of it. I tried to adopt the arrogant, if nervous face of the prince. I had been a pickpocket, a thief, a man who could appear innocent as a child, and, if caught, manipulate situations to benefit myself. I hoped I could fool the draugr.

  I pushed through the final drape. There was a circular, vast room, and a set of thrones in the middle. The two thrones looked rich, white and red, standing on a dais made of marble. A simple, serviceable table, apparently for a scribe, sat forlornly on the side, where a quill shivered in the sharp air.

  “You should not go to Balic’s study, son,” a voice called.

  Something was seated on one of the thrones.

  “Mother,” I said softly, and realized immediately I had no idea what Tallo had called her.

  I waited for the reaction from the hideous thing slumped on the seat. Nothing. I looked around. The room was cold. The windows were open, wind whipping thought the room, and the drapes were outside of the windows, torn and pulled by the winds. The figure didn’t move, and I took a hesitant step forward, wondering if Raven was in some odd form of undead sleep, able to observe and comment, and yet not entirely present. She was wearing a white dress, with frilly arms and low-cut front. She was still, her head leaning on the throne. Her hands were on the armrests, relaxed, one palm up, the other down. On the upturned palm, rested a bone, where red meat clung. White fat was dripping to the ground. There was a plate near her, and I shuddered to think what kind of a cook would prepare it like she wanted it. She didn’t say anything, and I assumed that was how the dead treated each other. With cool indifference. She was disguised. She looked alive. Perhaps that was how she ate, like a human.

  I walked forward boldly.

  The Queen acknowledged me. Her eyes turned my way. I was trying to imagine what the dead spoke of when they were alone, and remembered how Shaduril had sung the sad song in her loneliness, the day we finally fought back. They were different, and not so different, and so I decided to chance it.

  “The King is being prepared,” I said maliciously. “He cried.”

  “Is he? Did he?” she asked, with breathless voice, as if I had caught her in middle of a sentence. “And you defied Balic? You went there to pay back for the mockery? It is weak, Tallo, to let such a hairy beast get to you. It’s weak to allow an insult to take you so far from Balic’s grace. Did you leave him his limbs? He will need them.”

  “Yes, he’s got his limbs,” I snarled and walked for her, gliding over the floor. I clutched Sand’s blade, hidden in my sleeve, and tried to walk casually, unthreateningly, as if there was not care in the world. “He’ll be standing with us tomorrow.”

  “Balic’s a fool,” Raven said miserably. “Utter fool. I know not his plans, but to raise a jotun? Foolish. But, don’t tell him I said so. Might mortify him.” She chuckled with humor. I smiled dutifully, and stopped myself from laughing out. I was trying to be as natural as possible, so as not to alert her. She went on. “He’ll raise the kings and the queens easily enough, but a jotun draugr? He has no idea how such a thing will obey him. Nor does Mir Blacktower, the self-proclaimed queen.” She chortled nastily. “To imagine Hel raised Balic, and a minor northern bitch of a tiny house first. Queen! Queen of the Wood Pigs! She is no Queen. How dare she call herself one? I am a Queen. She is a peasant.”

  All the dead royals seemed to share disdain for Mir. She was an insult to them.

  “Yes, Mother. But, perhaps, the jotun shall be as obedient as any. Like we are. He’ll be useful.”

  She gave me an evil eye, a lot to say for such a creature as she was. “And what if he is more powerful than you, or I? Eh? What if he can command us? We obey, because we must.” She held her head with her hand, and shook it. “But,” she said sadly, “Balic said he will need him, and so it must be. It’s all-important we have one. This is what Balic said.”

  Why? I wondered, but she had said she didn’t know, so I held my tongue. I had the books.

  “Balic shall be happy then,” I said dryly. “The giant is his.” I stepped forward. I was getting close, very close, and she sat up and leaned forward. Her face changed, the beauty ran from it, and the dry, white-yellow, flaky skin crackled, and the oddly thin neck grew even thinner, into mere mangled and bruised skin and bone, that suggested it had been squeezed so hard, she had died.

  I resisted a shudder of revulsion.

  “Good,” she said. “I’m not happy you drifted away from the main reason you went there, though. What of her?” she asked, her voice stretched with anger and distrust. “Did you take her as well?”

  Quiss? She had wanted Tallo to kill Quiss?

  “I did,” I said casually, few steps away. “I did. She’ll join us tomorrow, as well.”

  And at that, she stiffened, her face confused. “No, wait. I told you to be rid of the corpse. I told you to take it to the depths of the Lock of the Sea, and to push it under the floors where the jailers throw the dead. I want no sight of her, ever again. I don’t want that bitch anywhere near our court. It’s enough her father doted on her all her life. I’ll not suffer her presence after she is finally gone. And you left her corpse there?”

  “I—”

  “Where is she? Why—�
�� Her eyes went to my ring. The frown turned into puzzled astonishment, and then she twitched. The bone fell from her hand.

  I cursed. I charged, pulling the blade out of my sleeve.

  She hollered with a note of panic. She leaned back on the heavy throne, and it fell over easily, propelled by her strength. I slapped my way past her skinny legs, and lunged at her belly. The bitter blade sunk in, and ripped open her dress, then her belly, and ripped into her rotten intestines. She kicked at me, pushing at the throne, and her knee connected with my face. I fell aside, the blade pulling off her flesh. I got to my feet unsteadily, trying to see where she was.

  The throne was empty.

  I whirled and turned again, and saw something by the window, a shadow, a gleam of evil eyes, and felt the malice reaching for me.

  I faced a wrathful draugr queen, weaving together a spell.

  I saw it. I almost felt it.

  She was waving her hands, braiding and drawing together a spell from the deeper fumes of Muspelheim’s fiery rivers. The dead Kiss the Night, and she kissed it masterfully. I hesitated, cursed my feeble human form, and fell aside. I felt a distant echo in my head, a touch of my true strength. The ring stopped most of my powers, but since Shaduril had broken the ring a bit, occasionally, I could find a fragment of the ferocious rage, the power of the ancient jotuns coursing in my limbs. It was far cry from what I should have been, but I welcomed it. I rolled again, as a blue, yellow wall of fires split the space where I had been standing. It was crackling scorching fire, and I felt the heat reaching for me as I surged away.

  She was dancing, keeping up the power, and braiding together Nifleheim’s ice with the Muspelheim’s fire now. The fire spread left and right, and the floor was coating with thick ice. Ice and fire created steam, obscuring sight. Though the fire was scorching hot, the ice made part of the floor slippery. I fell though the fire, and hollered from pain as my savaged back was heated and scorched. I tore at the burning robe, as the Queen moved to kill me, cackling with unholy joy. She cut off the fire, giggling madly as she saw me burning, and kept the ice. I managed to tear off the flaming robe, and grasped the fallen throne to stay upright. I fell again to my knees. She stepped near me, weaved another spell of fire together, and an orange, fiery spear grew out of her hand.