Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  Meuhlnir raised his hands in frustration. “What if Luka’s henchman arrives before we can? What if the garrison is fortified? What if Luka takes Hank’s family aboard a ship and sets sail?”

  Sif shook her head. “It’s better to stay together.”

  “No,” Frikka snapped. “Not in this case.” She was still looking at me. “Aylootr must certainly go on ahead with the Tverkr and his dragon. The Alfar have sworn to travel with him, and so should they.”

  “You’ve seen this in augury?” Meuhlnir demanded.

  “Sif is otherwise right. The rest of us should stay together, and travel to Piltsfetl as fast as we can.”

  “Is this a foretelling, Frikka?” Meuhlnir asked again.

  Frikka looked at her saddle and didn’t reply.

  “Sometimes this mystical seeress act grates on every fiber of my being,” said Meuhlnir, eyes blazing.

  “Hush, husband,” said Yowrnsaxa.

  “Why can’t she just speak what she forecasts?” grumbled Meuhlnir. “What could possibly be different following my plan?”

  Sif gave him such a look that even I felt abashed and chastened. “We will do as our sister says,” she said in a tone that made it impossible to think of any other course of action. She turned her horse so that she could look at me. “I will bring Slaypnir myself. Leave your pack. Take your arms and armor and go save your family.”

  The clearing was silent for a moment, and then Althyof smacked his palms against his thighs. “No one will ever believe this tale,” he said with a laugh. “If we are going, let’s be off.”

  I glanced at Yowtgayrr, and as he nodded, I swung down from Slaypnir and passed the reins to Sif.

  “Be careful,” she whispered as she took the horse in tow.

  I nodded and walked toward Althyof. “What do we do?”

  Althyof looked at the Alfar with a critical eye. “Can you three do this?” he asked.

  “So we’ve sworn, so we will,” said Skowvithr. He cast his eyes toward the dragon. “No matter how distasteful it may be, it is what is required.”

  Althyof nodded. “You three may just change my mind about your race,” he grunted. “You are hardly mambly-pambly at all.”

  Yowtgayrr favored him with a sour smile. “And you almost appear to be motivated by ideals other than greed, Tverkr.”

  “There’s no need to be insulting,” snapped Althyof, but I thought I could see him hiding a grin by tucking his chin into his beard. “This is what must happen,” he said. “I will begin my runesong. When I wave you forward, all four of you run—run, mind—to Friner’s flank and climb up his rear leg. Go to his forward shoulders and kneel between them. You must be forward of his wing joints. Once you are safely aboard, I will climb up. Don’t try to talk to me. I won’t be able to answer you and sing the dragon at the same time. In fact, try not to talk at all. It is best for the dragon to not even notice you are there. Especially you Alfar.”

  “Do we need to hang on or anything?” I asked.

  “There is a wide leather strap around the beast’s neck. I will secure you to it once I’ve mounted.” Althyof broke eye contact to turn and look at the dragon. “He’s a might pissed at me, so he occasionally tries a trick or two to kill me.”

  “What kind of tricks?” asked Urlikr.

  “He tries to wheel sharply, hoping I will fall. He might also fly erratically. Nothing else is worth much notice—just be sure you remain fastened to the warded strap.” He nodded to each of us in turn. “Once we arrive, wait for my signal again and then crawl down from the beast. I will not dismount. Instead, I will fly him toward Piltsfetl and begin to harry what troops I find there. Make your way to the town and find a way inside. When you have found your family, blow this.” He paused to hand me what looked like a whistle that was carved from citrine. “When I hear your signal, I will attack the garrison in earnest. Once you are away, blow it again, and I will meet you where we land. If you get in trouble, blow it three times, and we will come, bringing fire and fury.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Land them to the west of the town,” said Frikka. “Nowhere else.”

  With a nod in her direction, Althyof strode toward the dragon, beginning his runesong with a vocal flourish that seemed to pick up where the previous song had ended. Friner twitched its great head and hissed in our direction. Althyof sang louder, and the dragon shuddered. When he waved us forward, the four of us ran toward the dragon, leaping over smoking corpses of the revenants. When we were halfway to the beast’s side, it lurched its head toward us and snapped its jaws. Althyof sang louder and with more insistence. Friner’s head stopped moving, but its bright, blood-red-colored eyes focused on mine, and I felt an insistent tugging like it was coming from the center of my brain. Althyof chanted a series of sharp, discordant phrases and the feeling stopped as the dragon’s eyes seemed to glaze.

  Climbing a dragon’s leg sounds a lot easier than it is. First off, dragon scales are slick and slippery. Also, dragons have a tendency toward ticklishness and are constantly shaking the leg to make you fall off. Or at least Friner did.

  We made it to the dragon’s back and began to pick our way forward between its great wings. We crouched next to the broad leather strap, that looked enough like a large version of the kind of belt powerlifters use to protect their lower backs that I had to stifle a chuckle. The belt was inscribed with runes along its length—I assumed it had something to do with what Meuhlnir called “the binding of Friner.”

  Althyof continued to chant and sing as he climbed up behind us. When he reached us, he drew a thin-looking cord from his pack and tied it around my waist. He looped it through the belt around Friner’s neck and then moved to do the same for the Alfar. The cord looked flimsy. It was goldish in color and had a kind of rainbow-sheen that danced along its length as I moved the cord. I didn’t think it would be of much use if the dragon decided to unseat me, but Althyof seemed confident in its strength.

  The runesong changed, with subtlety at first, and then grew more insistent. Beneath my feet, Friner grumbled deep in its chest and then sprang into the air. Its great wings beat against the air, propelling us upwards at a surprising rate of ascent. The dragon veered to the southwest, alternating between beating its great wings in a flurry and gliding gracefully through the air. The land dropped away from us quickly, and I could see the Darks of Kruyn stretched out to my right and the Empire of Pitra to my left. In front of us, like a great tear in the land, was the fjord. The sun glinted off the water in its depths like jewels.

  Without warning, the dragon dove toward the water with a neck-breaking suddenness. As my stomach dropped away, I was glad of the golden cord Althyof had used to tie me to the dragon—regardless of how flimsy it might have looked. The dragon held its dive long after the point I thought was prudent. As it angled its wings to pull out of the dive, I could see fish swimming in the fjord. Friner pulled level so low that its wingtips skimmed the tops of the waves pounding into the cliffs of the fjord. A weird rhythmic sound came from deep in the dragon’s chest, and I could have sworn the beast was laughing at us.

  We flew at the level of the wave tops the length of the fjord and then out to sea before the dragon made a lazy turn to the left and began to gain altitude. Friner flew straight toward the tip of the cliff that made the south side of the fjord. It skimmed over the edge, putting down its rear legs and stretching its talons wide. The shock of the abrupt landing transmitted itself through the dragon and into the soles of our feet. Althyof nodded and made a “hurry up” gesture, though he never broke the tempo of his song. Yowtgayrr, Urlikr, Skowvithr, and I hurried to climb down the dragon’s leg and raced away from the beast. Once we were clear, Althyof nodded to me and then the dragon sprang into the air with a teeth-rattling roar.

  “Let’s go,” I whispered and strode forward to the trees that stood between us and the walls of Piltsfetl. We moved at a slow pace through the boscage, pausing often and trying to move without any regular tempo in case there
were watchers on the back wall. Squatting behind the last row of trees, we stared across a small clearing at the stone wall of Piltsfetl. We were in luck. Not only was the rear wall unmanned, but the postern gate—which was more of a large door than a gate—was right in front of us. Weeds grew at its base, and from the heavy oxidation on the hinges, it wasn’t used much.

  Yowtgayrr put his lips to my ear and whispered, “I don’t like the looks of that door.”

  “I can find a window or grate or something and use my cloak to get inside as smoke, but those hinges will make a bucket-full of noise if I open the door to let you three inside.”

  “Let Urlikr or Skowvithr climb the wall and check to be sure it’s clear. Then use your cloak to gain the wall top,” whispered Yowtgayrr.

  I shook my head. “We can’t risk being seen. I should go in first.”

  “No, Hank. Let us do what we’ve pledged.” Yowtgayrr nodded at Urlikr, and the Alf started moving his hands about as if he were writing in thin air. I began to see a tail of silvery light stretching out behind his finger, and I raised my eyebrows at them.

  “He’s writing in the language of the stars,” whispered Yowtgayrr. “The Isir aren’t the only ones with access to the strenkir af krafti.”

  As I watched, Urlikr finished whatever phrase he was writing, and the color seemed to leech out of him, and he faded away. “Invisibility?” I asked.

  Yowtgayrr nodded. “Of a limited form. If he is far away, or remains still, he will be almost impossible to spot. Go, Urlikr.”

  I heard Urlikr moving toward the wall with stealth. After a few moments, I heard a strange sound like a bird being strangled.

  “The signal,” Yowtgayrr grunted. “It is clear.”

  We ran to the base of the wall, trying to keep our footfalls light and soundless. Yowtgayrr and Skowvithr raced up the rough-hewn rock wall like spiders running on water. They hesitated right below the top edge of the wall, and Yowtgayrr waved to me.

  I activated my cloak and vanished into smoke. I had no idea how to fly, so I just pretended to climb a ladder to the top. It was easy, since I didn’t have any mass to speak of. When I got to the top, I stepped over the crenulations and stood on the wooden platform attached to the inside of the wall.

  No one was visible, but I made my way to the steps leading down to the courtyard below and hurried down them. I moved into the shadows under the stairs just in time for my fettle to untwist and make me solid again. I wondered where the three Alfar were, until I felt an invisible hand on my shoulder.

  “I go to scout,” whispered Urlikr in my ear.

  He brushed past me, and concentrating on the area I knew he must be moving through, I could see a faint blurriness moving away. The area the rest of us waited in was kind of a cross between a back alley and a midden. It seemed few people ventured between the last row of houses and the back wall. The houses themselves were constructed of plaster-covered wooden lathe and had thatch rooves. The architecture reminded me of small villages in the country-side of Great Britain.

  As we stood there, waiting for Urlikr’s return, Friner roared and flew low over Piltsfetl, from the back wall toward the front. I looked up in time to see the dragon’s tail whipping back and forth over the rooftops. The dragon roared as it passed over the front side of the village, accompanied by a pandemonium of screams, shouted orders, and general uproar from the villagers and garrisoned troops.

  The town wasn’t large. I guessed that the population was less than three hundred people, counting the garrison, but I was willing to bet Luka had brought a few friends with him.

  The dragon roared somewhere to the east, the bass notes of its cries rattling around in my gut. Doors slammed shut in the row of houses between us and the rest of the town, and I could hear mothers scolding wayward children to get away from the windows. From deeper toward the center of the village came the sounds of an organized military response.

  “I went as far as the village square,” whispered Urlikr. “The town is overflowing—troops are billeted everywhere, and I’ve seen a few that must be Briethralak Oolfur. Tall, gaunt, and mean-looking.”

  “That sounds about right,” I said. “Any sign of my family?”

  Urlikr hesitated, and my stomach fell into a churning mass of fear. “Yes. There is an iron cage in the center of the square. Thick black iron bars and a big lock. A woman and a boy child were inside.”

  “Are they all right?” I asked with my heart in my throat.

  “They appear to be in perfect health, though they look exhausted and scared.”

  “Can we approach unseen?” asked Yowtgayrr.

  “We can get to the edge of the square in relative safety, but the square seems to be where the troops are being marshalled to meet the dragon.” I could hear Urlikr fidgeting somewhere to my right.

  “Will it be safe for Hank?”

  “I think so. There is a sort of alley way between the blacksmith’s shop and the stables. It is swathed in shadows. He will have to use the cloak several times to get there unseen, but once there—”

  “Fine,” I said. “Lead on, Urlikr.” I held out my hand, and the Alf grasped it and guided it to his belt. I grabbed his belt and followed him as he advanced through the back streets of the town.

  As we approached an intersection, Urlikr turned, and his lips brushed my ear. “Smoke now,” he whispered. “Go around the corner to the right, and there will be an alcove protecting a door. Wait for me there.”

  I activated my cloak and wafted around the corner of the intersection, which was bathed in full sunlight. Off to the east, Friner was knocking trees about in front of the village gates and the troops now lining the front walls screamed and taunted the great beast. I found the alcove Urlikr mentioned with ease and ducked into its shadows and deactivated my cloak.

  Footsteps came toward my position, and the invisible Alfar pressed me tight against the walls of the alcove. I couldn’t reactivate my cloak yet, so I hoped the shadows were deep enough to hide me from casual observation. A young man in the uniform of the Pitra Empire’s martial forces strolled down the center of the lane. His eyes darted over me and away, searching the shadows but not seeing past them. It was obvious that something had spooked him—he held his right hand across his body on the hilt of his sword and was moving slow, trying to minimize the noise of his passage. I held my breath as his eyes turned toward the alcove I was hiding in for the second time. He peered into the shadows that hid me and took half a step toward me. I put my hand on the butt of Kunknir, but one of the Alfar’s hands covered mine. The soldier took another step toward us, and his eyes widened.

  “Smoke,” hissed Urlikr in my ear. I activated the cloak. The soldier stepped into the alcove and stepped right through me. I could hear the faint rustling of the Alfar moving out of the alcove, and I followed suit. I darted toward the next alley between the houses and ducked around the corner, just as the enchantment on the cloak wore off. I was hoping the Alfar could follow me but couldn’t hear any of them moving around me. Just as I was about to panic, a commotion broke out in the street behind me.

  The unconscious soldier floated, face down and limp, around the corner into the darkened alley, and I had to suppress a chuckle at the sight of it. He slumped against the wall and slid to the cobbled passageway. His arms arranged themselves in a pose as if he were napping and an invisible hand pushed me away down the alley.

  We made it to the alley between the blacksmith’s shop and the stables without any other incidents. Friner was putting on quite a show in front of the village gates by the sounds of its roars and the shouts of the troops guarding the town. I skulked toward the mouth of the alley that opened on to the village square, trying not to make a sound, keeping the cloak wrapped in my hands, ready to snap it up and activate the smoke if necessary. The Alfar followed behind me.

  When I saw Sig and Jane, it was all I could do to stop myself from running to them. A warning hand squeezed my shoulder.

  The square was on the small side�
�perhaps one hundred feet across. A large, black iron cage crouched in its center. The bars were rough and thick, and the large lock on the gates looked crude but effective. Troops were formed up surrounding the cage and our position. The men shifted nervously, looking to the sky. They seemed to be waiting for something.

  I fingered the whistle Althyof had given me and pulled it out of my pocket.

  “Wait,” hissed Yowtgayrr into my ear. He pulled on my shoulder, and I let him pull me back into the deepest shadows of the alley. “We need a plan.”

  I nodded once. “I’m going to shift to smoke, run over there, and free my family. All I need is to scatter those troops.”

  “No, Hank. Think it through. How will they get out of the cage? We need a key for that lock.”

  “That’s got to be pig iron,” I said. “I can use my pistol butt to pop that lock right off. All we need is for Althyof to distract or scatter this rabble.”

  Yowtgayrr shook his head. “I don’t know about this, Hank.”

  I drew the citrine whistle to my lips and blew it as hard as I could. Nothing happened. No whistle, no sound, nothing. “Great, the Tverkr gave me a broken whistle,” I muttered.

  Yowtgayrr opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say was lost in the din that exploded from the front gate. The racket was loud and chaotic as I raced toward the mouth of the alley. The jet engine sound of the dragon breathing fire shrieked, and then the beast’s front claws slammed into the gate like battering rams. The troops that had been standing in the village square ran toward the gates, drawing their swords or waving spears, as if those paltry weapons would do anything against a pissed-off dragon. I turned to smoke and dashed across the square. As I reached the rough iron bars, the enchantment faded, and I solidified.