“Perhaps,” I said with a squint. “Filar?”
“Daughter of Balic. Balic’s family deal with these matters. The beautiful Queen Rhean and his son Silas keep the dead. You know this, no?” he asked.
I rubbed my head. “I do not, alas. I am not one to follow the rituals of Malignborg, with all that is taking place back home and in the job. I merely try to float in a flood. My wife …” I shook my head. “She distracts me.”
“Married, eh?” he laughed. “Good man. A distracting wife is a thing to cherish. You don’t need a lover with such a creature in your bed.”
“A terrible woman,” I corrected him. “She distracts me with her constant demands of coin, and a lover would be too expensive to have, thanks to her. I have not noticed the Black Ships. Can one see them?”
He shook his head and nodded down the street. “You know the storehouses in the Opulent Yards as well as I do. They are down there, with Aten and Katar’s merchant navy, all half-filled with supplies. As I said, Betus Coin’s ships are out. The Black Ships are fat, and … well … black and don’t go near them unless you want to end up in the hold as a passenger. You ask a lot of questions. I know nothing of Balic’s comings and goings and the new legions. Not really. The grand admiral would know, down in the naval headquarters. If you dare, go ask him. Wait, they are leaving.”
I looked towards the harbor and then realized he was talking about the cavalry.
Down the street, the massive number of horses were turning about. They were moving slowly under their banners, and captains and sergeants commanded the men with silent gestures. There were no horns, no emotion to the mass of grim men, only a thicket of lances and silent determination.
“Where are they going?” I muttered.
“To war,” he said. “Obviously to war. What else?”
I saw a guard of men. Palan’s White Lion flashed in shields and one of them, wearing chain and plate, with a long, barbed and hooked spear, was Lisar. Her face was free of worry, free of mars of death and time, and soldiers bowed before her as she passed them on a black horse.
Lisar smiled triumphantly, let her eyes go over the gathered nobles and troops, and, whooping, rode off to war, passing the city troops by with her hair streaming after.
I nodded and got up unsteadily. “I thank you for the fare.”
“Oh, few like it. It is from home.” He winked. “It is a boiled dog’s arse and some of their guts.” He laughed. “It the sauce that makes it bearable. It’s not for weak-bellied men, is it? Keep hair growing on your balls, it does.”
“Where are the naval headquarters? You said they are here. Are they in the same building you showed me?” I asked, feeling sick. “I would like a word with someone about a trip back home.”
“That is a different place,” he said magnanimously, eyeing the cavalry with critical eye. “They shall be seated in the harbor, of course. The wharf hosts a cherry red building, and a tavern called the Lamp of Lootan. There, we hold our headquarters. All the officers and Katar’s admiral and other useless sods will be seated there, as well as the grand admiral. He is some fool of Aten’s.” He gave me a puzzled look. “Now, it is time for my nap. Good luck! And remember, if there is trouble, we find a fish for them to fry.”
“Indeed! Thank you for the advice, and the dog’s arse,” I said, and left.
I had to hurry.
CHAPTER 5
The harbor of Nallist was a beautiful place. Nestled inside a sandy lagoon, the entire city built around it and with a beautiful red-bricked road on top of a wharf, it boasted taverns by dozen, and wealthy mansions. One could imagine peace and wealth of its occupants. Now, it was a den of warriors and military support personnel.
There were a dozen piers, and all were filled with fat merchantmen. There were fifty, and more. Most were disgorging supplies, but some also had troops. The legions from Dagnar, haunted looking men from Xal Cot and Harrian, and their officers were trying to find their quarters in the city.
The supplies were being taken into the storehouses and up to the fortress.
A long breakwater built from gigantic rocks guarded the lagoon. Walls that encircled the city ran over the breakwater, and a sea-gate was guarded by two towers.
The naval defense was Morag’s design, and like it was in Dagnar, it was in Nallist and other major cities of the north.
I waited on the docks for a moment, staring at the galleys and other ships, and saw the Black Ships. They were at the end of a middle pier—fat-hulled, double-masted ships with a wide belly. They were merchantmen, obviously not in the business of hauling wheat around the bay, because they were armed with several ballistae. A dark flag of white throne and skull flew over them, as did the symbol with serpent and the skull, which I had seen on the chest of Sand’s killers. Around them, the piers were quiet, and nobody went near them. Dark robed men stood guard, wearing black helmets, black robes, and black boots, holding black shields with spears. They were entirely dark and looked oddly statue-like as they stood on the decks and pier. They had already, and would again, collect the very best of the dead for Balic.
One day, he would resurrect them.
And once, all the dead of Midgard would follow them.
Hel would be happy to see no living humans walking in Midgard.
I watched the harbor entrance, where some galleys were being rowed in, and some were waiting for their turn to get out.
I whirled and marched off to the wharf, taking the path toward the east. I walked, looking for the headquarters, and spotted it soon.
A stream of naval officers was waiting before a cherry red building, which was lit by torches. There were at least fifty. All wore salty armor, and some were drinking to relieve their boredom, but most had their eyes fixed on the doorways, where whoever commanded the navy would be seated. They had reports to give, requests to make, and they would have to wait to meet scribes and officials, and they were all boiling for a fight. I walked over and saw one of the officers, a red-headed young man in a fine chainmail and holding a blue cloak over his arm, walking for the alley.
He was going to take a piss.
I hesitated and then walked after, looking down to my shoes as I did.
Trash, barrels, and cats filled narrow passageway, as usual, and it stank of piss, shit, and fish, but I did see the man ahead. He was leaning on the wall and looked up, apparently enjoying a long overdue relief.
I flexed my fingers and walked for him. I’d take his face, his documents, and his business, and then, I’d get inside. I’d find anyone who could tell me exactly when Balic would be there and what his plans were.
Hillhold abandoned? I must to hurry. And first, I will murder.
I took a long breath and stepped forward.
The man sensed me and turned his face to me, surprised. “Wait. I am nearly done—”
I reached out and snapped his neck so brutally, the head nearly came off.
I kept a hold of him and tried to see what he looked like, but I was distracted.
On her knees before him, was a whore. She looked up at me, and she still had the soldier’s cock in her mouth.
Then, she fell back, horrified, and screamed. She screamed like a demon of the night and scrambled away. I dropped the corpse and ran down the alley.
I heard voices behind, the woman was still screaming, and then, there was the clink of armor and the distinct sound of swords being drawn.
I ran into a dead end.
I looked up. Old fishing nets hung on top, blocking the way. The walls were thick stone.
It seemed I’d be the fish that was going to get fried, after all.
I turned around.
There, a shadowy rank of naval officers stared at me. They saw a fat supply officer. I heard laughter and mocking whispering until a tall, bearded man stepped forward, his sword out. “What did you do, and why? A murder? In the middle of our own men, an army man stabs down a naval officer? Was that about a debt or over your wife?”
“Wife!” someone
suggested, and they began to argue about it.
“It was an accident,” I said softly. “I fell over him, when I was going to take a piss. Such a skinny boy, he hit his head on the wall. Look—”
“Fell over him,” the man said as the party, some twenty strong, with more beyond, stopped arguing and walked forward, swords out. “The girl said you snapped his neck. You. Snapping a neck? Seems odd. Never mind. I’m sure we shall find a wound on Larken. Let the admirals deal with this, after we have cut you up a bit. They’ll make the right choice. You’ll hang, and then, you’ll be drawn, and that is the way forward. Come. Give your sword to me.”
I shook my head.
He and the others rushed forward.
I shapeshifted.
There would be nothing like I had tried before. There would be no bastard of a creature, confused and ugly. I’d be an animal, and the enemy would be corpses. I fell on my fours and grew terribly in size. Hair burst from my body, my snout grew and widened, and my mouth filled with fangs. My legs and arms were thick with muscle, and the claws were long enough to be considered daggers.
A gigantic ice bear faced the men.
They tried to stop, but it was too late. They crashed into me. I roared, over the brim with rage, and bit down on the first one of them, the bearded shit. My snout grabbed the man’s skull in a grip of death. Blood, bone, brain filled my maw, and then, I rose to my hind feet and buried many of them in an avalanche of ripping claws and snapping fangs. An arm was ripped off, a chest crushed, and a leg severed as I embraced the battle-rage. The tight alley still full of foes, I rushed forward, and over them. Men shirked, a woman wept, crushed under my foot, and my claws and fangs gouged at the writhing bodies under me as I rushed on. Armor was rent, flesh torn, and the gigantic bear that I was, relished each bite, each kill with simple joy. I danced on bleeding bodies and hopped on the heaps of the fallen enemy and in the tight press, where half were pushing to escape, half holding on, even though their swords were of no use. Ten, then five left, I rolled up the street like a storm of anger. I saw the whore running out of the alley, her skirts flying, and then, I landed in a ball of rage on the few officers that were left, and we rolled out to the wharf. I heard the bones snapping, fingers groping for my fur with desperation, and I savaged them until they gave up.
Bloodied, panting, staring at the wharf around me, I found myself eye to eye with a troop of those black armored men and their leader.
Blond, in black clothing and black armor, a woman with a chain and ball dangling from her hand was staring at me with curiosity.
Her troops, spears aimed at me, shields out, were circling around me.
“Now that,” she laughed, “isn’t what I was looking for at all, when they told me I must find the grand admiral. An alley full of sailor bits and pieces!” She winked. “I think you are not really a bear, are you? No? I am Filar Barm Bellic, and you made a mistake, jotun.”
I snarled, and then, the draugr let loose a spell.
She braided it together so very fast and skillfully, and I felt earth itself tearing around me. Like a fist of rock, a force tore up from under, and rock, mud, and brick tossed me, a gigantic bear, up and through the air. It was painful, I felt my fur ripped, and flesh flailed by the power, and then, it was even more painful, as I struck the naval headquarters with full force and went through the doorway, rolled over few scribes and a servant, and end up in what used to be a set of sofas, now a heap of bear, wood chips, and screaming, crushed officers.
I jumped to my feet, sank my teeth into a man who had stabbed me from under, tore his head off, and saw shadows at the doorway.
I felt magic being braided together, and Filar was Kissing the Night there, swaying as she eyed me.
I changed again.
I felt air rushing and then came up as a large dog-sized wolverine. I jumped to the side, sunk my teeth into a meaty thigh of a fat officer trying to hide behind curtains and felt Filar’s spell being released. It was a bolt of lightning.
It flashed and boomed, and I kicked off my victim and rolled on the floor, howling as the energy passed me.
She struck the fireplace, and the spell tore it to pieces. Debris was flying in an arc, burning wood scattering all over the room.
I got to my feet and ran at her.
I was so very fast. I pounded thought the floor, past fallen chairs, and under a table and jumped to the air.
A black armored guard was before her, a shield out.
I changed shape and came down as myself. A jotun of twelve feet, buried in magical armor, hefting a bitter sword. Armed with an irate nature, I struck at them. My sword smashed into the shield and shattered it, and the guard behind. I stepped on the corpse, and Filar hissed with anger, her spiked ball smashing up at me, and I laughed as I grasped it out of the air and pulled her to the wall next to me.
She smashed into it face first, and I lifted my sword to slash her in two.
I saw a boy out of the corner of my eye. He was an evil looking shit with a weasel’s face, wearing robes of black, and staring at me while Kissing the Night.
It would be Silas Barm Bellic, and I wondered why the youngest sons of the kings were always sadistically twisted shits.
I found myself standing in a field of black fire, and it sneaked up my feet and on my sword’s blade. He was swaying and laughing, and the spell-fire crept on. I howled as my legs were burnt, I fell back inside, and a lizard, a long dark, armored sauk, took the place of a jotun, its claws drawing slivers of wood from the floor as I slithered for a stairway. The fire was still on my flesh, and I felt the tiny armor scales twisting with heat, my flesh burned beneath. I ran up the stairs and jumped, waited, and saw a shadow as Silas was following me. I thrust forward and landed on Silas, who was rounding the corner, giggling. I landed on him brutally, tore my claws into him, bit down on his shoulder.
Spears stabbed at me.
Dozen or more.
A fiery, burning ball and chain was coming down on me.
I jumped off Silas, who was nearly crushed by the ball, but not quite, and then, I fled. The horde of men rushed after, and I loped up and around a corner, and there, a door was closed. I changed, panting with exertion and pain, my joints on fire, kicked through the door, and dodged aside.
Arrows and javelins tore past me, impaling two of the black armored men in the stairs.
I cursed as an arrow transfixed itself on my thigh and came face to face with perhaps three admirals, one a kingly man with an oiled beard, and their scribes. Guards were backing off, pulling new arrows.
I rushed the admirals and wiped my sword savagely across them. Two fell, bloodied and screaming, and the oiled man tried to run, sheets of paper on his hand. I jumped after him, rammed my sword on his back, and struck his hand off. I leaned down, took the hand and the papers, felt arrow sink to my ass, and staggered for a window.
I threw myself out of it, fell through it, my back on dark flames again, and changed into an eagle. I plummeted down, hurt, trailing feathers, and then, spread my wings, and flapping frantically, pulled myself up where I’d find favorable drafts. I was soon flapping over the dark ships. A stench of death wafted up to me, and when I looked out to the nightly sea, I saw four galleys being rowed.
On one, the emblem of skull over a throne was whipping in the wind.
Balic.
I fled the city, for the north.
I flew like a mad bat caught by daylight and worried myself sick over the terrible foes that gathered to call down our last armies.
I flew away, and in an hour, when the Lifegiver was sharing its first rays of light, I saw Hillhold.
On top of it, my banner flew. Higher than it, was that of Roger Kinter.
Before the Hillhold, there were corpses. They were scattered in line, dozens of them, and I saw they were the Aten’s men.
I heard horns and drums and looked out to the plain before Hillhold.
I felt my blood turn to ice.
The legion of Aten was out there,
much reduced. They were in a ring of shields, thousand and half strong, and rapidly being surrounded by our forces. Ten thousand men, elated by the unexpected capture of Hillhold, it was the only army we had in the south, save for the Stone Watchers and the three legions Crec had stolen and led north.
It was also victorious.
It was arrogant.
Aten’s legions had been surprised.
Our men, still in companies of militia and those of the nobles, were competing for the honor of capturing them. The nobles on their horses were riding around them, whooping like fools. I saw Roger and Hal’s flags, the latter on the right, the former on the left. Their men-at-arms were rushing to encircle the enemy.
Only the militia, in the middle, was marching forward in a solid shieldwall. They had not yet mixed up the troops.
Not too far, an icy river ran lazily for the woods, and its steep banks were snow-laden.
I saw a glint of metal in that snow. Then more. I saw movement. I saw men getting up.
Horns blared.
The legions, the bitterly beaten legions from the Pass, suddenly filled the valley’s end and began marching for the bewildered nobles.
And I was still far.
CHAPTER 6
It looked bad from the start. The historians would blame me, and Quiss.
They were right to do so.
I had threatened Roger and Hal and trusted Quiss and Cil, and that Thrum could coerce the new order on them. I had stripped the lot of their titles.
When Hillhold has suddenly capitulated, and Aten’s lone legions had been surprised before the gates, historians wrote that Roger had quickly led his men-at-arms and other nobles out.
Quiss had followed with the militia and Aten’s men.
Thrum had not followed. He and his dverger had started to prepare the place for defense.
I could see it all taking place as if I was right there.
A disaster.
The horde of Red Midgard’s nobles and men-at-arms was still engulfing Aten’s legion in a pincher-like movement, despite the wide shieldwall of southern veterans marching on them. The five hundred noble cavalry was still riding around wildly, many younger nobles, lances and spears high.
Sons of Ymir Page 7