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

by Alaric Longward

  And that meant they had indeed entered the passes, and Dansar’s Grave.

  Baduhanna was in worse trouble than I had thought. I had fought so hard, and yet, she was going to be surprised. I rubbed my face.

  Quiss poked me. “Some thousands are far better than twenty thousand. It mattered, love.”

  Thrum looked up at me remorsefully. “They are a legion and a half. But, there were these golden-armored guards, with Throne and Skull symbol. Malignborg? A lot of them. Some helped them probe our positions. Used magic. Killed dozens. The rest of them went to the pass. Look. I should have …” He was swallowing, and it almost looked comical, but in the end, he forced the words out. “I should have smelled the rat, after they stopped coming up in force. I was just happy to keep battling with the few who tried, propelling them back down to the beach. I kept on ogling at Dagnar, praying the enemy flags would not be hoisted up in the morning, though that was of course the plan, eh? To get them up there, and then roast their arse-hair. I wasn’t doing a proper job.” He indicated towards Dansar’s Grave. “We don’t have the numbers to take the fortress from the legion.”

  “No,” I said.

  “So, do you have another plan?” he asked gruffly. “We will try, of course, if we must. But, there’s no way—”

  I waved my hand to put him at ease, and rubbed my face tiredly. I shifted in the trunk, and tried to shake the fatigue off my shoulders. My face was half burned, and blood trickled from over a dozen wounds. Not even a jotun could take wounds without risking infection. I felt sick, and hopelessly tired, and yet, I looked forward to trying. “I have one more card to play. Well, two.” I eyed the prisoners, and felt darkness creep into my soul. I growled it away, and kept my patience. “They are the jokers in the deck. But, first, we need to muster the land.” I gestured for some young, mounted men to come closer, and they obeyed with worried faces.

  While they approached, I spoke to my two friends. “They won’t expect us, will they? They will be surprised to see an army out here, and they’ll think Balic is coming behind, soon. He might, actually,” I murmured, and turned to the boys. “You will ride to every village; every town you can possibly find. If there’s a house, you’ll visit it. You will tell them their General needs them, or else they will perish, as will their families. They’ll bring their bows, spears, food, and bodies under our banner before Dansar’s Grave, and you tell them the fate of the kingdom depends on them.” I eyed the rosy pattern in the shield carried by Ragga. It had been mounted on a pole. It seemed fitting, somehow. “We shall need everyone you can find, and many more you cannot. Ask people to spread the word.”

  Their faces were grave, as if I had asked of them a near impossible task.

  Quiss smiled to calm them down. “Tell them to hurry. You hurry as well. Go!”

  They smiled at her shyly, spun their horses around, and galloped off to the corners of the land.

  Thrum looked up at me. “I suppose you should share the plan on how to get through the fort? A joker you mentioned? Two?”

  “I have a plan which is all about a jokers.”

  “Gods help us, but I’m sure they won’t play cards with you, the bastards,” Thrum groaned. “Who is the fool?”

  I looked over to a line of prisoners being herded along. There, Ikar, draped in a loincloth and a ragged tunic, was being paraded forward with some others. “The son of Hilan Helstrom. The head of their House, actually, since Crec is a draugr, and Hilan is with Hel.”

  “What makes you think he’ll help us?” Thrum said, his face betraying his shock at Ikar being our one true hope. “Might as well hope to see a rain of gold, eh?”

  “Shaduril,” I said softly. “I need her as well. We have to trust her. She is a draugr, but she has been helping me.”

  “She might kill you just as soon as help you,” Quiss said. “Though I’m happy she saved you once.”

  I squeezed her hand affectionately and grimaced. “I am too. She has been good to me.” I saw Illastria walking about, sitting down to help healers take care of wounds. She was nervous, twitchy, but her hands groped a large, white bag with certainty. She removed herbs and healing supplies, which she applied with surprising skill on gaping wounds. Shaduril was never far from her, but out of sight.

  “She’s been helping the healers in Dagnar as well,” Quiss said. “Was damned useful when they brought the wounded up. Helped all night. She was under guard, and Shaduril assisted as well, every now and then. Why do you need Shaduril there?”

  I shrugged. “Because Ikar is a fool, and will tell them everything he can, but Shaduril is a draugr, and will make him credible. I would have tried it with just Ikar, but she is a blessing, indeed. They will open the gates for us. Ikar knows Shaduril was held prisoner, set there by Hilan. He has no reason to think she has helped us. But, ultimately, Shaduril is a draugr, and he will happily believe she would escape us, no matter the reason. So, she will escape, rescue Ikar while she does, and we shall ride together for the fort to bring them the news some of the rabble escaped, and Balic is merely delayed. And that’s the way in.”

  “You said ‘us.’ You shall ride to the fort?” Thrum asked. “With Shaduril and that petty, vengeful child? As a guard? Another prisoner?”

  “Ah, no,” I told them. “I dare not take a face of someone important. That had been the plan. Helstrom troops would open the gate for Ikar Helstrom, and I would have ridden with him, killed the Captain, and taken his face, opened the doors, and that would have been that. But, with a draugr Queen? No, I dare not be seen. I’ll go in, all right, but they won’t notice.”

  “You sure?” Quiss asked.

  “Yes,” I said, uncertain indeed of the fact.

  “Two draugr queens,” Thrum said, with a shocked tone. “Two of them. What if there are two in there?”

  “I guess we shall see,” I said.

  Quiss kneeled next to me. “You are far too weak, love. Wounded and beaten.”

  “And I cannot rest now, not at all,” I answered. “I mustn’t, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “You cannot trust Shaduril,” she whispered. “If there is a draugr royal there, she might—”

  “It must be risked,” I explained. “It must be. They wouldn’t dare leave a draugr and an ally outside. And we will enter.”

  After several seconds of silent contemplation, Thrum peered up at me, exhaustion hidden in his eyes. “It’s crazy plan, my king.”

  “That’s the sort that might work,” I told him, shivering with fever. “Set up camps, make sure no enemy rides to the fort. Send men to guard all the ways, all the land, and tell them to kill anyone who looks like a spy. And tell Shaduril I need to speak with her.”

  Quiss hesitated, and placed a hand on mine. “Good luck, Maskan.”

  “I need more than that,” I said, and wrapped her in a one-armed hug.

  Lisar Vittar. Though it was terrible she might be in there, it might also be a blessing.

  If things were as I feared they were. And I dared not tell Quiss or even Thrum about it. They would stop me from going.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dansar’s Grave was defended by Vittar’s White Lion Legion, which had lost many men the previous night while trying to crawl up from Crow’s Hook, and in the smuggler’s way after. How many remained in the fortress, and how many had marched into the Grimwing Pass was a mystery. There were perhaps a thousand men on the battlements, all wondering at the great pyre which had been Dagnar, many cheering, probably thinking Balic had erased the city after his victory, and others, the local troops, were most likely very confused and angry.

  The gates were closed fast, and the enemy army was alert. They knew of the dverger, they had seen us marching down the road, and were cautiously keeping guard, like a snail in its shell. They couldn’t know the valleys hid miscreants, farmers, hunters, and men who had never used a sword, but they took no risks. Our vagabond army was growing, slowly, but it would never be strong enough to take Dansar’s Grave. The enemy sent a
few, skillful men scouting for Balic, on swift horses. However, by now, the hunters of the land had awoken to their general’s call, and no rider could find a hidden path, which the skillful peasants of the land didn’t know and hold. No man returned to the fortress.

  That was good news for us. But, that was all of the good news.

  We rode hard through a path, where the sides of the road were full of dark flowers, and I itched and ached all over, as I struggled on. Men were in pursuit, but they were falling behind.

  Ikar looked ecstatic, even if half of his teeth were missing.

  He was like a child before the Yule feast, whooping with a high-pitched voice, but not in the way which makes a grown-up smile at the antics of the young awaiting a fabulous feast and presents, but in a selfish, mocking way, making me want to break his damned neck.

  Perhaps one could understand him. He had, after all, escaped the vices of a terrible, merciless enemy, who would have hanged him for the crimes of his family.

  The young Lord of Coin was riding a horse with surprising skill, and Shaduril followed, having freed him in a confusing, masterful chaos. Shaduril had acted her part to the letter, and Ikar was even laughing at the sight of the burning Dagnar, and at the men who tried to pursue them. The idiot didn’t seem to understand the city was gone. “Finally, as it should be.” He laughed. “The city fallen, and soon, they will take the jotun and the rebellious scum. You did well, very well. I shall reward you well.”

  Shaduril fixed him with a long, lasting stare, one suggesting violence. “I did well? You sound like a king, rewarding a vassal. Is that how you feel, Lord?”

  “Master of Coin, that’s what I am,” he said, with a grin. “And, if I guess right, second to the lord of House Hilan. I am the prince of the land! If Mother is dead, as I learnt, then only Father, the King, remains! So you did well indeed. A prince is well fitted to giving praise to his subjects, Blacktower. Dagnar shall be mine!”

  Shaduril, perhaps forgetting we were supposed to get the bastard into the keep, let out an exasperated growl. The dead had their urges, and sometimes, such urges made a mess of well-drafted plans. And, if I was right, Ikar was especially close to a fiery death. I prayed Ikar would try to find sensible middle road between his monstrous pride and true gratefulness, for his sake and ours. Eventually, Shaduril spoke with a lisping voice which suggested Ikar should not speak again. “I freed you only because you happened to be in the next tent. And do not sound so pleased, my lord prince. I could have fled any time, but found it safe only now. That jotun could have captured and killed me, had I tried before, but this night he was exhausted, wounded, and too busy to keep an eye on me, finally. I would not put it past him to try to take us back still. Best not be too happy, eh? Gods might listen, and you’d weep under the fists of the jotun. Keep your eyes to the sky.”

  “May pigs hump the jotun!” he roared. “Rancid pigs!”

  “Silence,” she hissed. “Prince of what? Dagnar shall not be yours, not ever. You can be the Master of Coin, my lord, for a fishing village. Besides, the city is gone.” Her voice trembled with anger, and I guessed it was aimed at me.

  He gazed at Dagnar, finally comprehending the meaning of the terrible conflagration raging around the hill. He complained under his breath, as we rode on, and didn’t say anything more until he saw the great fortress suddenly rise up before us, guarding the way through the Blights. Who Dansar had been, I had no idea. A hero who fell in Hel’s War, long ago? A king? A peasant who saved an army?

  It all mattered little.

  What Dansar had left behind, was a brute. It squatted before on the Iron Way, like a fat, drunken giant, and looked impregnable. The fort had round, thick, squat towers. It blocked the way to Grimwing Pass fully, and was so well built a mouse couldn’t have found a space between the rocks. Even the sides of the mountains had been hacked smooth. As I watched, someone shot an arrow at a bird soaring too close. For some reason, it made me feel worse. Whomever was in charge of the place, was a clever, cautious one. The soldiers on the walls were like ants, equipped with mail and bows, and they were expecting trouble–in a jotun’s form. I prayed they would not think of the obvious. It had worked before, after all.

  “Fast!” Ikar yelled. “Lady, fast.”

  “Hold it, or they’ll shoot you, you damned fool,” Shaduril yelled, frowning. “They’ve never seen a toothless prince in rags, have they? No luck for fools who charge on without sense.”

  He didn’t listen, and gods must have been merciful, as he survived. He stopped the horse before the moat, and was screaming at the gatehouse, gesturing wildly like a windmill in a storm, and someone was finally shouting something back down. I took a deep breath, as Shaduril arrived, scowling. Ikar turned to point a finger at her. “There, that one helped free me. That one,” he said carefully, “is one of …them. And you know me! I pay your coin!” The man looking down was a Helstrom guard.

  “One of what, man?” yelled down a Hammer Legionnaire captain, next to the Helstrom guard, his helmet silvery bright. “What is she, might I ask? A harlot? Answer swiftly, and then, be gone! We want no visitors today. Queen’s orders those!”

  “The woman,” Ikar said. “One of the Raised. A One Eyed Priest.”

  The man’s eyes flickered to Shaduril. Shaduril didn’t so much as move her head, as she gazed up at him. The Captain licked his lips, hesitated, disappeared, then came back, cursed and disappeared again. Apparently, he decided to defy what had probably been clear orders to fillet anyone who tried to approach.

  We sat in the darkness for the longest time. Flies were buzzing around as we waited, and even Ikar knew better than to insist. He eyed the men on the wall, most were southerners, some Helstrom troops, who were not trying to convince the officers of the legions they knew Ikar. That spoke worlds of the boy’s popularity. Half an hour rushed by, more, and it was pure torture for Ikar, who finally dismounted, and sat in the dust, and whimpered like a man who had lost his mind. It was torture for me, as I had fever, felt weak, and wanted to vomit. It would have looked odd, and I fought down the urge.

  Shaduril didn’t so much as move.

  Finally, a lady appeared on top of the gatehouse.

  Shaduril shuddered with shock. “Lisar Vittar,” she whispered. “Carefully, Maskan.”

  She wore black and red robes, secured with a golden belt, and a mask with a beast’s horns. An odd, bone amulet was draped around her neck. The thing stared down at us, as if choosing a particularly pleasing morsel from a feast table to sample, and finally, she removed the helmet. Her face was beautiful as light itself, but also the sort of a face which was always suspicious, worried. She had probably been a cautious queen in her past life as well. In short, she was perfect for the job of holding the door to the enemy’s success, and the worst possible news for us.

  “You are Mir Blacktower’s daughter?”

  “I am,” Shaduril said steadily.

  “You dare come here? You know I have no love for your mother!”

  “My mother is dead,” she answered. “Fell to the jotun.”

  She laughed brightly. “Oh! Then you are welcome indeed!” Then the voice faded as the mirth fled. The queen scrutinized the burning city. “Does that mean Balic is dead as well? Why are you here, and not the One Man? And where is Mir, Hilan Helstrom, and the entire army?”

  “Balic lives. They are trapped—”

  She waved her hand. “Trapped? All four legions? We have had no news from the city.”

  “Trapped. But, alive.”

  The draugr was pondering hard, as she looked at the still burning city and spoke again. “We saw the thousands of refugees approaching. Some were well armed. And there was a force of those strange beings. Tell me about them.”

  “They got lucky,” Shaduril said. “Some thousand managed to escape the city, as Balic took it in triumph. Few thousand, where most died. They had us prisoners. The jotun seized me when he killed mother.”

  “And there was a battle in Dagnar,” she
wondered. “There were not supposed to be a battle. There was supposed to be a swift butchery, and nothing else. And now, my city is in cinders.”

  Ikar was frowning at that. It began to dawn on him his mother had not been entirely honest with him as to the intentions of the invaders. Shaduril frowned darkly, but relaxed.

  “Balic miscalculated,” Shaduril said simply. “They fought well. They had leaders.”

  “The jotun?” the Queen said. “And he is out there.”

  “He is nearly dead,” Shaduril explained. “Bleeding and feverish. I escaped. Took this one with me, though I have no idea if he is going to be useful in any way. He is the son of the Regent, and perhaps he will be useful.”

  Ikar croaked. And kept his mouth shut.

  “The city is ruined,” Lisar stated again.

  “The city is gone,” Shaduril agreed. “Except for the Tower of the Temple.” Indeed, one could still see the tower in the shadows of the fires, though it was hazy, and had been blackened in places.

  “I suppose that is still something,” the Queen murmured, already making plans to rebuild. The Queen smiled coldly at his uncomfortable squirming, and asked one more question. “Balic is coming?”

  Shaduril raised herself in the saddle. “I said they survived. He is alive. The city caught fire, but he is alive and well. So is majority of the army. He will come this way, as soon as the city allows it. In the meantime, that rabble will come here, hoping to pass through. The dverger are still dangerous, but the rest are nothing. May we enter, my lady?”