“You damned idiot, Gorth,” I hissed at the man, who was practically dancing behind Quiss with anxiety. “I nearly pissed myself. Send her back.”
“Princess, we have to leave right now,” Gorth was saying. “There is a terrible danger.”
“Really? You don’t say?” Quiss laughed nervously. “And a princess tells you to breathe easily, to stop fidgeting like a worried grandmother, and to guard,” she told him, and he obeyed with a hissing complaint. “Did you find it?” she asked.
“I found them,” I confirmed. “I’m happy Shaduril wasn’t caught before she managed to drop them off.”
“Did you see Shaduril?” she asked.
“No,” I told her sadly. “I don’t know where she is.”
“And now, we have to kill that Mir, right?” she asked.
I walked up and pushed her out, looking up at the opening.
Nothing moved up there.
“It’s not going to happen up there,” I whispered. “We must leave now.”
“But—”
“Sand is there,” I said, pulling her along. “As is your father. And some eighty dverg draugr. And Morag and my mother’s rotten corpses are moving and speaking. Everyone is up there. We mustn’t stay. We have to find a better time and place. Mir is sure to go past here at some point. We will hide, and ambush her.”
“Father? He is in here?” she blanched. “And Sand? Balic will have made him come here, and—”
I was hauling at her. “He let us be. He saw you, saw us, but said nothing. He will bring orders from Balic. They will know I’m around. The surprise is gone.”
That Sand had told them about me became painfully clear.
“He did what?” Aten-Sur howled so loud, the chambers and the streets echoed with his rage far to the Old City. I cursed, and maneuvered Quiss on her way, and Gorth was practically carrying her. Reluctantly, she went before us. Then, I hesitated. “Wait for me. Just a moment,” I said, as I crawled up the hillside despite their complaints, and lifted the curtain, carefully and just barely.
I had to hear what they would decide to do next.
Sand was on his knees. He was shaking all over, holding his head with two hands, and Mir stood over him, her hand on his head. Morag and Mother were still up there, and I tried to tell myself, to convince myself, it was no longer Father and the mother I had never seen.
“Maskan is dead,” Aten-Sur whispered savagely. “He must be.”
“Perhaps he lies?” Mir asked, but again, I sensed she wanted to hear I lived.
“Don’t be a fool, Mir,” Aten-Sur sneered. “He cannot lie.”
“He can, if Balic ordered it,” Mir said. She put her face close to my former friend. “Tell me the truth,” Mir hissed at Sand. “He is dead.”
“No, he is alive. He escaped,” Sand whispered back. “There are orders and letters.” He handed them over.
Mir ripped them off his hand, and tore them open. She was muttering, while reading what was inside.
Mir’s eyes told the truth. Aten-Sur remained silent, and Mir stalked back and forth, kicking at bones and stones. “That … creature. Is he still blocked from magic?”
“He is, mostly,” Sand answered.
“Like he was?” she asked. “When he was younger?”
“He is mostly blocked,” Sand said, fighting his urges to tell the Queen everything she wanted to know, his face twisted with agony. “Balic sent me here to bring news. He wanted me to aid Aten-Sur. He wants the Ymirtoe corpses. Though,” Sand said carefully, “he expected them to be corpses, not draugr. He will not be happy. He also wants you to capture the Princess of Aten. And he wants the underground ways open.”
Mir frowned at him. “He wants a lot. Well. Maskan is alive. I wish I knew where he is. Does Balic know where he is?”
“No,” Sand said uncomfortably, looking away.
“Wait,” Mir said suspiciously. “Do you? Do you know where he is?”
Sand croaked. He opened his mouth, and some words came out, and Aten-Sur pushed him around.
“Where is he, then?” he roared. “Tell me.”
Sand shook his head, and pulled the sword. He pointed it.
At me.
I twitched behind the curtain, as a host of undead eyes stared at me.
Sands eyes were gleaming, he looked miserable, but Aten-Sur pushed past him, his face a mask of doubt. Mir whirled, and the dverger draugr took steps forward, chattering strangely.
I got up, piss in my pants, and rushed back the way I had come. I heard commotion behind, and then I hurried like mad past the excavation, jumped over rubble and planks, and rolled down the stairs.
Gorth stepped out of the shadow of a rock. His eyes were squinting, as he spied me. “You look like a dog on fire. There’s no danger then, with you rushing like you just humped a queen of a mad king?”
I pushed past him. “Oh, there’s an irate king, or two, and a queen back there! Run!” I yelled, and after a moment of shocked silence, they did. They rushed after me, as we crossed the former market. A host of gleaming, undead eyes appeared in the hole, then below it. We hurtled through the streets. Behind us, the tireless dead were gaining.
“Good thing their legs are so short,” Gorth was gasping. “Though they don’t tire, do they? We have to find a way up.”
“They have been shutting them down,” I panted, as we rushed through the main street. “The only way is the one we used. We might have to find shelter.”
“Shelter?” Gorth shouted. “Until they kill us off, one-by-one? There’s no shelter that can last!”
“We’ll need one,” Quiss shouted. “That guard tower? Is that something you could defend?” she asked me.
“He doesn’t know how to tie his britches,” Gorth yelled.
“Shut up,” I growled. “Yes!”
I could see the tower far ahead, illuminated by the stabbing light pillars from above. Behind us, the footfalls could be heard. I saw the enemy was closing the gap. A spell flashed in the dark. A line of fire tore through us, and one of the men screamed, his chest a burning pit of embers. He rolled away, dead and forgotten, with the final defiant clatter of his arms and armor.
Quiss screamed, “To the tower!”
Gorth didn’t complain. Quiss urged the men forward, and we swiftly made our way to the battle-torn tower. We were panting, and saw shadows around us, circling in the dark. If Father could, he might take a fast shape, and catch up with us any time.
But, I didn’t see him.
I only saw the dverger draugr, leering evilly around and behind us.
We were near the tower. It had been besieged, scorched, half broken, and bits of corpses still littered the place. Stench of decay filled our nostrils, but it was home, for now. We sprinted to the doorway, then through it, and the men took to the stairway up. I leaned against the wall, panting, lifting the sword, and Gorth, nodding heavily, took place on the other side. Quiss ushered the men up the stairs, and we waited.
For just a moment.
A dverg, with a twisted arm, jumped in, holding a sword.
My sword smashed into his skull. He fell, rolling on the stone, twitching.
Another pushed after him, snarling, with two long daggers.
Gorth killed him, with a mighty chop through the chest, which severed him in two. “How many?” he asked desperately.
“Some eighty total!” I laughed hysterically; as I swung the sword at the next one, but this dverg was armored, head to foot. I hammered him to his knees, but the punishing swing didn’t kill him. The dverg got up, another entered, and Gorth and I went into frenzy. He stuck hard for the neck of the first dverg. I chopped at the next one three times, my arms aching, the rage giving me speed and savagery.
More and more dverger surged in, swords flashed, and one scraped across my chain mail. Gorth stabbed him down, then another, and I heaved a corpse to the pile before the door. A white faced dverg, with a heavy, beautiful mallet, climbed over, and launched a nasty swing at me. I dodged, but
the swing came too fast, and my helmet took the brunt. I saw sparks flashing before my eyes, as I fell to the wall, and struck a weak blow at his face. Gorth saved me, and stabbed him through his neck. He howled, as an arrow jutted in his shoulder.
“Get upstairs,” I growled, feeling more of the battle-madness creeping in. I grasped my sword resolutely, and stood up.
Three of the enemy climbed over the corpses.
I dodged an arrow with uncanny luck, and smashed the sword down on the face of the first one. Lightning fast, I hacked it on the head of the second one, and the third barreled into me, trying to claw my face off, but I bit into his filthy finger, and kneed him so hard his chain mail jingled. I grasped him by hair, and splattered him to the wall, with a roar that shook the tower.
I peered out the doorway, and saw a dverg with no weapons standing there, not far, and a horde of enemy preparing to rush in. I realized he was braiding together a spell, and just before I could act, he released it.
Darkness billowed inside the room, as the spell encircled my body. I saw nothing, cursing and praying, as I staggered to where I thought the stairway would be. Something hit me in the back. A hand latched around my ankle. I felt burning pain, as it clawed through the boot. I roared and hefted myself up the stairs, and there, finally, I could see. I noticed a snarling dead in my back, trying to push a dagger into my side. Happily, the blade was broken, but try it did, and slick blood streaked my side. I bashed myself to the wall with savage force, flattening the dead one. I stumbled up the stairs, and nearly fell back down. Horrified, I saw another dverg, preparing to hack my leg off, still clinging to my ankle. I swatted him off with the sword’s hilt, saw a dozen more charging through the darkness, and then I clambered to the top.
Gorth refrained, just in the nick of time, from killing me, and I fell to the floor beyond him. Eight men prepared, and the dead swarmed up. The men hacked at them with their blades, impaled them with spears. More and more of the enemy advanced, jostling, like a mad herd of ants, in the tight place. Arrows flashed up, killing one of our men, but I took his place. We fought, our arms growing exhausted, but still we fought. We killed a dozen, then twenty, hacking behind our shields, stabbing down, time and time again, until one of the dverg casters stepped forward, and released a scorching wall of flame. A man howled, a withering pyre Gorth pushed back from us with his sword.
I stopped him.
I grasped the dying, burning man, jumped past the fire, holding the sword and the flaming man. I threw the inferno at the face of the casting dverg, my fingers scorched. They fell down the stairs in a flaming ball, scattering the enemy. I hollered and charged after them, savagely killing, the ring-chained jotun’s power bursting through to fill my limbs. I killed left, and I killed right, hollering madly, as the dead took an uncertain step back, so ordered by some officer of theirs. I advanced after them, howled as arrows smacked into my armor, and killed one more dverg.
They fled.
The downstairs was clear.
I glanced out of the doorway. A fresh force of the enemy was surrounding the tower.
Mir was staring at me, not saying anything. The dead scuttled around her.
I crawled back up, and Quiss kicked me in the shin.
“You brainless, stupid bastard,” she said. “Never seen a dumber man! Never. Not even in the sea, where plenty of senseless, damned idiots dot the decks. What in Hel’s rotten tit did you think you were doing?”
“I cleared the downstairs, so we can rest a bit,” I said. “But, there are many more down there now.”
“They don’t need to rest,” she said, and kicked me again.
I smiled, felt drowsiness take me after the rage fled, and collapsed at the side. The men stared down the hatch dubiously.
“Nothing,” Gorth breathed, having tried to listen. “You think they are having a nap?”
We waited for long minutes.
Still, not a sound could be heard.
“Guard the way,” I muttered, happy the enemy didn’t come again. Quiss sat next to me, and I let her caress my face until I fell asleep. I was exhausted.
We were trapped. And we would die, unless Ragga succeeded in what I had asked of him. And still, we had to last for a long while, time we didn’t have, with Balic coming soon.
CHAPTER 19
I woke up with a start. The stench of decay was nauseating, and Gorth was snoring. Four men were guarding the hole, attentive and tense. “Anything?” I asked them groggily. They looked almost bored, and one shook his head.
“No sounds, even. Wonder if they had better things to do?” he said. “Maybe they had to go to a feast?”
I groaned with my pains, and eyed the scratches in the armor of Muntos. “They have a feast right here. They have the patience to wait forever. They just sit down there in the darkness, stare at the doorway, and plot. Nothing is more important to them than killing me. All they have to do is to keep vigilant. So just stay alert.”
“The men know how,” Quiss said, with a mild criticism. I whirled to look at her, and found her sitting in a corner, with an oil lamp lighting her features. The flame was flickering, casting shadows into the room.
She had my bags, and the Book of the Past was on her lap. The bag of artifacts was open.
I got up, and hurried over to her. “You didn’t touch the items? You shouldn’t. They might—” I pulled at the sack, and she placed a hand over it, and dragged it next to her.
“No. Don’t shit your pants, jotun,” she said, with a tired smile. “You smile when you sleep. Looked like a child with honey.”
“You should have slept as well,” I chided her, and plopped next to her.
She smiled. “I know. I didn’t touch your toys. I’ve seen plenty of relics of the old times, remember? And I know they are priceless and dangerous. Even if the artifact is simple, like something which makes your foe snort like a piglet, there are people who would pay their soul to possess something like them.”
“Didn’t touch them, eh?” I asked. Something peeked from behind her back, and she sighed guiltily. She frowned, and pulled out a stern-looking statue, with a tiny golden crown on its head. “Fine, I touched some. Just a bit.”
“Did your father possess any?” I asked her, trying to remove it from her grasp, but she slapped my fingers.
“Some,” she said, and noticed how bothered I looked. “What?”
I sighed. “Your father. I didn’t see him outside, but he might be there. We will have to fight him. Maybe. I’m not sure why they didn’t charge up.”
The look on her face was pained, perhaps by memories. I squeezed her hand, and stroked her cheek as she spoke. “Probably worried about the losses. The draugr don’t wish to risk their precious second lives. Don’t worry. He’s dead. Whatever is down there, is something else than the father I knew. Just like it is with yours.”
I smiled wistfully. “Did he spoil you as a child? You were probably bathed in silver, and buried under toys?”
She smiled gratefully. “No. I had nothing like that. Aten-Sur was a fine father, who was very sensible. Frugal. Saved in everything. The silver, the cost of pomp and brilliance, went into the army and expeditions, and trade. Mother helped him well, though she hated me, and loved Tallo twice as much.”
“You must have half-starved in such misery. I had to steal to eat, sometimes,” I teased her, and she punched me in the shoulder painfully.
Quiss grumbled and leered at me unkindly, very close. “And I had to see Father deal harshly with people, who were no worse than any one of us, sometimes better. I saw my first execution when I was six, and nearly died when I was eight, when our cousin tried to take the crown. I’d rather run around stealing bread than fear my own relatives before I could even walk.”
“Yes,” I chuckled and hesitated, as her beautiful face hovered very near mine. She looked at me for a long time, acutely aware Gorth had stopped snoring, and was probably staring at both of us. He was likely thinking hard on how best to cut me down, without
spilling blood on Quiss.
He warned me with a deep voice. “You had better not touch the princess—”
Quiss pelted him with her boot, and put her face into my cheek warmly, her eyes closed. I was surprised, and didn’t move much, though I was suddenly filled, topped, absolutely ridiculously overflowing, and full of love.
There was no doubt about it.
I felt like a burning sun, in midst of the darkness and despair. I pressed my face to hers, and she nuzzled my ear, and kissed my cheek gently. There was a promise in her kiss. The promise was much like what I had had with Shaduril, though the forbidden feelings and the underlying sadness had made it sort of a promise you knew you would never keep. With Baduhanna, it had been nothing like that; only need, lust, and anger.
I reluctantly moved myself away, and she smiled, swooning.
“She’s gone, poor girl,” I heard Gorth muttering to himself, as he turned his back on us. “Jotun’s crap, she fell for him.”
She smiled fondly at Gorth’s back and stroked my face. “Time to start making decisions,” Quiss said softly. She had absentmindedly grasped the golden statue, and I gingerly took it from her hand. “On how to proceed,” she added.
“You have any ideas?” I asked her.
She sat back, and rapped at the Book. “As to getting out of here? No. But, I learnt something.”
I nodded at it. “What?”
“Ancient writings,” she told me gravely. “It’s odd and terrible writing.”
“What is?” I asked her.
Quiss drew me to her side, and she picked up the book. It was ancient as time. Illastria’s hand had graced its pages the past thirty years, and before her, all the Blacktower scholars had penned down the history of the North down, all the way back in time to the time of Hel’s War. It held so many secrets. One could easily have called it the most important—and perilous—book in Northern history.
“First, there is this,” she said. She withdrew a sheet of paper from the middle book. “It was on the bottom of the artifact bag.” In it, were listed the items Shaduril had brought back from Balan’s workshop.
“It states some of the powers—” I said, as I traced the lines.
The Queen of the Draugr: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Thief of Midgard - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2) Page 24