He hummed. “He has trouble with his own horned ones. They scheme constantly against each other.”
“I know.”
He smiled. “You would. My name is Mummion. Mummion of Lok’s Bend.”
“I didn’t ask you for your name,” I snarled. “I asked a question. If you think knowing your name will stop me from killing you, you do not know the jotuns. I tell you—”
“Lok’s Bend,” he said patiently, “is a county in Xal Cot. A nice place, really. Lakes, a bit of rural wonderland with small villages, and a large city filled with thieves. Lord Sarac rules it and consistently tries to purge it out of heresy. Or did, before he was killed in Dagnar.” He chuckled. “It is not called Lok’s Bend by design. It has another name. But it is, indeed, named after a god.”
“Heresy,” I wondered. “I thought my father was the only heretic.”
“Your father,” he said softly, “probably knew about the entire undead business beforehand. You lot … your kind live for a long time?”
I squinted at the man. He had opinions, ideas, and seemed not too afraid. “Are you sure you are not a draugr?” I asked him “We should probably just test it.”
He looked at his thigh. It was slowly pumping blood from a shallow wound. I put my finger in it, and he flinched and tears filled his eyes. I picked one up and tasted it. It seemed genuine.
“Fine,” I muttered. “What is Lok’s Bend, then? Why is it important?”
“A city of caves,” he explained. “A haven for the criminal types. It is said that out of all the gods, Lok still has an odd priesthood working the land. He is not one, you know, a god. They say he is a First Born, in love with mischief, tricks, and trickery. A half jotun, half god, a bastard if I ever heard of one. But these people do openly speak about the Aesir and Vanir gods and their past. Do remind the people there is another force in the land, other than the One Man.” He stretched his neck, and looked at the horde of prisoners, not far. “You think I could find a place to sit in, King? I could use a drink.”
“I’ll put you in with the dverger,” I said. “They know how to handle an ax, and you as well.”
He looked at the milling army, where Quiss was leading a sullen force of nobles around their ranks and then giving orders.
“You do not like the lady?”
“I do like her.”
“Are you in love, perhaps?” he mulled. “How does a jotun love a human? Do we not seem … inadequate? Short-lived and boring?”
“This jotun has loved a draugr,” I said tiredly. “It was far too heart-breaking and exciting.”
“Oh, that is … I mean…” He made a disgusted face. “I hope you forgive me.”
“I try to forgive her, one day,” I said sadly. “What do these heretics do?”
He winked. “They play nasty tricks on the Eye Priests, the draugr. They know well how quarrelsome and single-minded the draugr are—”
“So, you have noticed,” I said.
“Yes, of course,” he told me. “The Lok worshippers tend to get caught, but plenty of men and women join this cult. They raid the emissaries of Balic, and they steal what they can. They once managed to make two One Eyed Priests believe the other one had proclaimed Balic is as godly as a goat with a gout, and they caused a minor civil war. They never found the Mouth of Lok, as it is called.”
“Have you seen him, or her?”
“Him,” he answered and looked sheepish. “Him. So, yes, I have seen him. I was very young. He has a mask around his mouth but sports a blue and black mask on his forehead. He once gave a sermon to young people of the glory of Lok, the imprisoned one. He has reputedly been active for twenty years or more. I didn’t join up. Many other did. All in all,” he said as he stood up with a groan, avoiding the eyes of his former men, “he is a minor bother in comparison with you lot. Both shall fail, of course, but you are no alone in causing Balic trouble. Now, if you have ale or mead?”
I pointed the sword to Thrum’s camp, and we settled there, sitting in my tent.
He had his eyes on Quiss. “She is young. Has she been in war? I heard you. It is a needed change, but she is … not a warrior.”
“She must make them listen,” I said. “And the nobles must follow and help her. I have none else.”
“She will be rebelled against,” he murmured. “I have seen sots like your nobles before. They know their sword, but they have a black heart and douse it in wine every night to give it some life.”
I nodded. “I’ll raise better ones to the standards, if they do,” I told him. “I shall slaughter each one of them, if they resist. They know this. I’ll find them in their locked towers, and in their beds, underground, or hidden in clouds, if I must. They have heard the stories and know they are no lies. Midgard must change, anyway, if we are to survive this onslaught of Hel.”
“Midgard …” he wondered. “Oh, Lok’s arse, this is a damned mess. You speak tough, king, but I think you are also trying to be a good ruler. Your people need the one who actually breaks bones of those he distrusts. Break those nobles in half, I say.”
“Tell me about Hillhold,” I told him.
He squinted at me. “Surely you don’t think you can take it? The sots were right. They shall keep it. You don’t have enough men, enough good men, no siege, no supplies or means to get them, nothing. Winter is soon here. They’ll keep it.”
I leaned forward. “Thrum told me something. I smell something.”
“What?” he wondered. “Did he compliment you on your nose?”
“I smelled something, indeed,” I said. “Here.” I handed him some bread and a mug of ale.
“Oh, gods,” he breathed. “Oh, thank you. We haven’t eaten in two days.” He tore into the meat and, in mid-chew, stared at me. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, you are right.”
“You have no food,” I said. “None?”
“We have horses?” he told me. “They can be roasted, like you will. I suppose they will supply us. I hear the ships came in, and they will find wagons coming in soon after.”
I shook my head. “Well. That does give me ideas.”
“Uhum,” he said.
I got up. “You will be taken to Dansar’s and held there until the war is over, or you are rescued.”
***
Later that night, the camp in an uproar, as the nobles were restructuring the army. I sat and waited.
She didn’t come.
I went out, looked around, and walked the camp, swathed in my bear-skin cloak. I walked and searched, and thought deep, afraid of the future, and then, finally, I saw her.
She was speaking with three nobles. They were handsome and tall, perhaps of the Kinter House. They were speaking, and Quiss was listening, and I was proud of her. The men were not happy, and she was unhappy and tired, as she leaned on Grinlark. Finally, the men bowed and left, and she placed her head on the staff, apparently exhausted.
I walked to her, and, startled, she looked up at me. She licked her lips, her eyes moist.
She was afraid and overburdened, and as terrified as I was of the responsibility. I lifted her up and carried her off.
While I did, she leaned her head on mine, and spoke. “Oaths are terrible things. The past, it haunts us.”
“They are gone,” I told her. “Your family is at rest.”
She shook her head. “I am sorry.”
The duty had sucked all the happiness from her.
I carried her across the camp, drawing some chuckles, and carried her into her tent. I was about to leave, when she hesitated and stopped me. “You are a widower.”
“I am,” I said, smiling. “Baduhanna is dead. I suppose I am.”
“And jotuns marry many, anyway. As many as they wish, and think is wise.”
I smiled. “I have no idea. Do you?”
“I think they do,” she said. “In fact, I am sure of it. I think we both deserve a moment of happiness, before you leave for Anton, and I get to play a Regent, knowing absolutely nothing. Let’s pretend we are
married.” She wiped a tear off her eye, and then, almost with desperation, pulled me to her.
I made love to her, and she was warm, full of matching love, and passion. She guided me patiently, and I followed her, and still, while our love was wonderful, I felt she was sad. I felt her, almost as if she was inside my heart, but I also felt she was heartbroken. I had not been sure of my feelings for her, but they were brilliantly clear then.
I loved her. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to survive.
I sat next to her and eyed her as she finally slept.
I touched her back and arranged her clothes around her. I hesitated to leave her and played with a large, red stone that had slipped out of her bag. I replaced it and dressed. I fetched my gear, the bag filled with the magical, odd rings, the Book of the Past, and the earrings Mir had used to trick us all in Dagnar, or rather, which she had forced Shaduril to use, and placed them in her hand. She looked up at me, saw I was leaving, and smiled sadly, afraid.
I kissed her, my heart full of love.
Then, I flew off.
CHAPTER 2
I flew over the Hillhold in the guise of an eagle, still happy for Quiss and the time we had just spent together. I let the thought of her flow from my mind, could see her face looking back at me, and I began scouting the fort.
I had done it a few times already.
The great keep held the pass in its snowy grip, and it was bathed in light. It was filled with legionnaires standing on cold guard, and not an inch of it was unguarded, or unlit. Standards of many legions were set up on the walls and the towers, and men stood in every nook and corner.
I had to find the command post. It was supposed to be along the way to Nallist, near the edge of the woods. It would have spare horses, a garrison of scouts, and captain Antos, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find, or speak, to him. He could very well be a sullen mutineer or still loyal to Balic, even if our traitorous legionnaires of Aten thought differently.
A churned road ran for the south and Nallist, another equally churned road led deep into eastern Alantia, and one led for the north-east, the wide, bloody Iron Way.
The land beyond Hillhold was dark, save for specs of distant lights, which were likely enemy garrisons and burning villages and estates.
I flew around the fort one more time, found a pleasant draft, felt the air joyously lifting me higher as I beat my wings. I glided south, along the slopes Blight, and looked at the churned road with alarm.
On it, I saw a marching column of nearly two thousand men.
They were swathed in their cloaks, their standard forlornly draped over the pole. They were miserable lot on a night march, and by the fish and ship symbol, it was clear they were men of Aten. They were the rest of the legion, perhaps marching for Nallist or to put down some local rebellion. I had no idea.
I was on a fool’s errand.
Antos would, or wouldn’t, help me, but it seems he couldn’t. I’d not find men to speak to in Hillhold, for they were not there. Rebellious, disgraced scum had been ousted.
I flew around them, cursing. I circled lazily, and before I knew, they drew close to a great, dark forest. They passed an old inn nestled on the road’s edge.
Some riders emerged from the forest and saluted the men. Few men exited the hall, holding bows. Out stepped another legionnaire, a captain in a gorgeous armor, and he spoke with the man leading the legion.
They embraced and shook arms, and the captain gave the officer a stack of orders before going back in.
Antos.
I waited until the legion marched off to the night forest and then, having made up my mind for seeing Antos at least, aimed for the building’s roof. I would talk with him, and perhaps the legion would come back, and all I had to do was to find out.
I flapped hard and then felt, and heard, something.
I looked up, and my heart nearly stopped.
A huge owl, snow white, was right there above me. Then, it crashed into me. I felt the peak coming down on my back, and I shrieked. We were plummeting through the air. Its claws tore at my feathers, the beak came at me again, the cabin, the woods were spinning closer, and then, the owl let go.
I crashed to the trees and among pine branches. I had to shapeshift and tried to grasp at the trunk but failed. The branches did slow me down, but then, I struck the ground hard. I lay there for a moment, trying to decide how many bones might be broken. I sat up, feeling lucky I might not have broken one, gathered myself, and inched up the trunk to stand. I tried to spot the bird that had attacked me and cursed the thing. I could shapeshift and fly, but I knew precious little about nature. An owl attacking an eagle seemed odd, but perhaps it happened all the time. I had no idea.
I was a thief, after all.
I saw the building not too far ahead.
My arrival had not escaped notice. The riders were looking at me from the trees, silent, not moving at all. I cursed, shapeshifted, and adopted the look of a legionnaire, and took Hal’s face. I had no orders, no papers, and nothing more than lies, but perhaps they had not seen what happened and were trying to decide what and who I was.
I saw a group of men walking around the cabin, and one was likely Antos. His armor was gleaming in the light of the moon.
One was carrying something, a sack.
The riders were coming for me as well.
I stepped forward and raised my hand.
The sack-carrying man threw it at me. It opened and out rolled heads. They were men who looked like they had died in their sleep.
I had been expected.
I pulled my sword and held it high, feeling a wrenching fear in my gut. I watched them spreading around me, and my heart fell, for their eyes were glowing and faces shifting from those of the living into the decay of the draugr. They were shedding cloaks, and most all, save for the captain, wore black chainmail, decorated with bone-white symbol of serpent coiled around a skull.
There were draugr out to kill me.
One stood back, in the shadows, while the others pulled swords of night black.
The captain pulled off his helmet, looked at me, and smiled. His eyes were red, and skin white, and I felt fear coursing in my heart, stabbing ferociously. I considered those eyes, and the fear I felt. It was not natural. It was almost crippling.
That man was no draugr.
He grinned, and I saw his elongated incisors, like those of an animal.
I forced myself to step forward and to speak. “Balic’s dogs run in the woods. Out to make a draugr out of me again?”
The man shook his head and spoke with a very smooth, cold voice. “Balic doesn’t have a thing to do with this. It is time for others to take over. And, no, we do not want you. We just want you dead, finally, as you should have been a long time ago. Balic and Mir’s squabbles, their pitiful rivalry, has put us all on risk. So, now, we deal with it. Put down the sword.”
“What are you?” I asked, feeling compelled to obey.
“Not a draugr,” he laughed softly. “King Maskan, put the sword down and get on your knees. No man can fight the command of a vampire.”
I felt the need to obey. I felt the suggestion working its way to my head, and the fear aided it. I felt the sword trembling.
The draugr stepped forward.
I blinked, growled, and attacked. “I am no man.”
I swung, and saw darkness. There was a cloud of shadows twisting away from where the vampire had stood, and then, it appeared behind me. It grasped my hair and pulled me back to the tree. Its arm was around my face, the hand tugging my head back, and I, a jotun, couldn’t move. Perhaps it was the fear, the suggestive power, or simple, terrifying brawn, but no amount of struggle could rid me of it.
The team of draugr charged, swords high, except for the one in the shadows. They were all coming for the throat.
I stopped struggling, pushed the panic away momentarily, and changed. I grew to ten feet and thickened, my skin growing white, with thick hair and powerful muscle, and I ad
opted a bastard half bear, half jotun form. My face was that of a white bear, upper body as well, hands those of a jotun, and legs as well, and it felt terrible and unnatural and sickening, for it was, in a way, as unnatural as those things attacking me.
At least, the armor covered my body.
The dead were there, and their swords stabbed, the evil faces grinning, until they noticed the throat was no longer there to be slashed, and their blades sunk to the magical armor, and while many went through it, the thick skin and my armor saved me. I roared and swung the sword with terrible speed, decapitating one and splitting another. They stepped back and aimed for my guts. I threw myself at the tree, and the tree broke, so did the undead thing on my back, and as we rolled and rolled in the woods, the draugr loping after, the vampire tried to get away.
I grasped its leg, and it kicked at my face, stunning me, but the beast in the form recovered with rage, and I pulled it to me.
It pulled a dagger, but it was too late.
I sunk my teeth in its face and tore it apart.
I whirled and struck around with my sword, and a draugr’s legs were cut out from under it. It howled, I stepped on it, and then, more came at me, rushing silently, so fast, aided by the darkness and the shadows. I was hit, stabbed, and pushed, and I fell and rolled in the snow-laden land, roaring. They were chittering and laughing amongst themselves as they hunted me.
I smelled them all around, and I was surrounded, confused, and then, a figure far in the woods braided together a spell.
Darkness rose around me—thick, suffocating, and familiar.
Sand?
I saw a glimpse of perhaps eight dead surrounding me, before the darkness enveloped me, and knew I’d fall.
I felt a tug. It was like someone was opening a door, a familiar relative, or a lover.
It was a weak voice in my head, and it suggested something Black Grip might have whispered into my ear. It was as if wind blew a thought my way, fleeting and loving, and it was speaking wisely.
Pray for your gods. Touch the snow, and pray aloud for aid. A life for a boon.
Sons of Ymir Page 4