Silas was giggling. He raised his hand and released a spell. A thick web of stone grew around the doorway. “There is no other door,” he said.
“And how,” I wondered, “would you know that? You don’t look the sort that once travelled northern wilds and stumbled upon a bandit camp.”
He shook his head.
I stepped forward, holding my weapon over my shoulder, trembling with anger.
Sand stepped forward. “As I said, I have my ways.”
“Is Saag dead?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Best not to alarm them. They’ll fall to the legions one day soon. We are here for you alone. Mir and Balic’s rivalry is over, and everyone agrees you must go. Make it easy. You didn’t last time, and it was very upsetting, friend. Very much so.”
I would die there. It was unavoidable, unless we got very lucky.
I tried to play for time. “So, my father and mother are already on their way north? What if,” I said, just coming up with a possible wrinkle in Balic’s plans, “my father can no longer use the Black Grip? He is dead, after all.”
Sand shrugged. “It is true. He cannot.”
I blinked.
He smiled horribly. “What do you know of Mara’s Brow, and the great ways and halls under it? Your father, Maskan, will show them the way. He is the only one who knows where to go. He has seen the door. He saw it before he sealed the Hand of Hel in. That is what I am told. So, he has his uses. As for the Black Grip?” He shrugged. “They have ways to open the door. Two ways. They will try, even if there is no key. It is her duty.”
Her?
Silas walked down to Sand “Enough. My father doesn’t approve this banter. He need not know anything. He is going to—”
“He was a friend,” Sand snarled at Silas. “And I shall let him die with some answers.”
The draugr around Silas stiffened and then spread to the shadows at Silas’s nod. Their eyes gleamed, and I felt spells being braided together.
“Sand—”
He shook his head. “No. I cannot fight it, and you know it. One more question. Ask it.” He looked like the one playing for time, not I. He didn’t want to kill me.
“If you do not heed Balic,” I asked him, “if Balic must heed someone else as well, then who is that? You mentioned a woman?”
“Balic was raised by Hel,” Silas spat. “He was, and he raised us. Sand—”
“Whom do men like Balic heed?” he laughed softly. “Remember the first time you and I saw Shaduril? Do you? We both obeyed our hearts, and she held them in her palm. While it is not exactly the same with Balic these days, he, too once followed his heart …” He shook his head. “Never mind that. We need not give you more answers.”
I stared at him. “I’ll find them.”
His eyes went to the scroll from the Mouth of Lok, peeking from my belt, and then to my eyes.
How could he know about that?
His draugr shifted on their feet and were moving around the archers. Sand shook his head. “You cannot escape. You cannot walk, run, or fight your way out. You cannot fly or slither. You are no fish, are you, my friend?” He trembled as he said that, apparently struggling with the words.
Silas pushed him aside, his chain jingling. “E-nough! That’s it! Here, take it!” He grinned and threw me a kiss.
A familiar spell of thick black fog came forth from his lips and filled the chamber, robbing the living of their sight. The archers were calling out in dismay and fear.
I twirled and struck around with my sword and smiled grimly as the blade met flesh. A draugr’s head and upper body fell next to me. I rolled down and heard blades striking stone where I had stood. I heard men shouting out warnings, then the sound of arrows hitting stone, and when I rushed to the edge of the room, breaking a table, I was, for a moment, out of the dark fog. I turned, sword up. I saw a shade of Silas in the far edge, with his sword on a throat of an archer, kissing the man’s dying lips. His eyes went to Nima, who was nearby, and aiming an arrow bravely.
Silas smiled. “Oh, I’ve seen girls like you. Feisty. I’ll make you mine, girl, when you die, and—”
She released the arrow, and Silas roared as it struck his chest, ripping the chain. He jumped over a bed and bore down on her, and then Quiss, pushing Nima aside, struck him with her shield. Nima grabbed a spear, and the two women faced off with the bastard.
I had my own trouble.
I turned to meet seven draugr, two rushing across the ceiling like spiders, other coming for me from all the directions, their eyes gleaming in the fog.
Sand was there, one of them, and I felt a braid of magic swirling around me.
I stepped away and found my armor stiffen with cold, and my eyes and face heavy with ice.
The draugr leaped forward, swords coming for me.
I feinted, forced my limbs to move and dodged, and feinted back and rolled under a blade, my armor struck by sword. My blade cut up and to the side, gutting one, beheading another, and then, one was stabbing for my face, another for my crotch, and two were ready to jump down at me.
Sand’s spell lingered, his ice grew thicker in and out of my armor, it cracked as I moved, and then, I saw nothing, as it enveloped my eyes, my mouth, and my face, jingling and deadly.
I would be killed by ice?
No. Take it. It is ice. It is you! the voice called out.
It echoed in my skull, desperate, and I tried. I touched the ice.
I actually saw the spell.
I had not thought it possible.
I felt spell being collected, magic being called, but with ice and wintry killer, I could now actually almost see it.
I could, possibly, break it.
I could, possibly, do more.
I made a spell of my own first.
I braided it spell together. I added ice, wind, and freezing water, saw the spell and its braid was perfect, and then loosed it around me.
The spell thrust forward and grew on the stone, loot, and furniture, covering inches of ground in ice. It stopped the draugr in their tracks, and then I tugged at Sand’s spell and ripped it off him. I could see his eyes enlarge in the fog. I took the spell and added it in mine, and what followed was a mayhem.
Spells twisted together. The ice grew in every direction in thick lumps of golden blue waves and threw me against the wall. A draugr was twisted into bits and pieces inside the grinding, moving, monstrous ice. One draugr, on top, scuttled to the shadows, but one was crushed against the ceiling. The spell looked like it might go on until it had filled the woods.
Then, a thick storm of dark fire struck the mass.
The two powers seemed to battle it out, and finally, fire burning fiercely, the flames thick and strong, the ice spell died out and fell apart in a wave of water.
The draugr, Sand, few others stood in the fog, and suddenly, the darkness filled even the space I had been standing. I saw fiery whips growing from their hands, their glowing eyes coming closer, and so, I shape changed and plunged into the darkness, rushing forward.
The draugr loved night.
So did this animal. There were some, even in Red Midgard, and I had seen one in the harbor, once. I was a gigantic black lion.
My thick paws and dark, short fur made me a prince of night hunters. I bounded from the stone, silent and fast, and jumped at a draugr. I swiped my claws on his face and neck and ripped him open. He fell under me, and I jumped forward, narrowly avoiding two whips.
“Ware!” Sand called. “Together!”
I slunk away and hid behind a pile of loot, just as the draugr stalked after me, sensing where I would be, without seeing me. They heard my breathing, saw traces of warmth, and perhaps smelled blood on me. I slunk off in the dark, went for shadow to shadow, passed one very close, and then saw they were again turning.
I saw them, and none of them was Sand.
Sand was hiding. He was waiting, one of the shadows, cold as stone, and I couldn’t spot him.
He would be there, wait
ing until I was found.
I stopped near a corner. They were around me, the fiery whips slapping around them, skillfully striking the floor, the air, and I knew I’d be hurt. My armor was in pieces already, and those spells could rip my arm off.
I might have to pray to Bolthorn. I was terrified to even think about it. I was also … thrilled.
And then, I was lucky.
I heard Silas screaming in anger and pain, beyond the fog, and the draugr turned that way, whips shivering still.
I charged and changed as I did and ripped through the fog with my sword high. I buried a draugr under my boots and hacked down on one, who dodged away. I charged forward, hoping to put a wall behind my back.
It was too late. A whip tore to my armored leg, and another burned around my gauntlet.
They pulled me over, and I fell on my face, the terrible weapons burning deep into the magical armor, heating it.
Sand stepped from a shadow.
He leaped over me.
His swords were up, and then, he dropped one and tried to tear away my plate. His sword was entering my shoulder, into a muscle, and then, likely my lung.
I howled and rolled. The whips rolled around my legs, around my arms and chest, and the enemy rolled with me. I rolled over Sand, the whips burning his legs and my armor terribly, tearing off pieces. Together, like fishermen trying to harness a dying, raging whale, they crashed into a huge pile—eight feet or more—of loot, and I with them. We scattered coin, precious statues and destroyed fine paintings, and a pile of tables and chairs fell over us. I came out of the pile, again bleeding badly, and looked down at the two draugr and Sand, who were climbing up, pushing away burning furniture and coins.
I laughed and let go the same spell I had once. I did it fast, so very quickly, and the ice rushed from the floor and thickened around anything it touched. The two draugr were caught half inside a heap of coins, one with a statue frozen on his face.
Sand had disappeared.
I cursed, roared, and hacked down once, then twice.
The draugr didn’t move again.
Then, I felt the fire again. Dark fire mixed with a billowing, evil cloud was spreading from the corner. Sand was standing there, swaying with great powers. The fires were spreading for me, and a filthy cloud of corruption was twisting wood, coin, and marble into blackened heaps of decay. He was pushing all he had on it, the fog was disappearing, and I would die, if I didn’t move.
I retreated, and then, the fire was twisting around me, my chain was smoking, my plate was melting with the corrosive power, and I rushed forward.
At the other edge of the chamber, I saw Nima, her spear in Silas’s belly, and Quiss, her blade in his leg, tumbling and jumping around, until they fell together in an unfortunate heap next to an odd wall. As I rushed forward, feeling the fire dancing across my back, the corrosive cloud billowing behind, I saw the wall was flowing, and then I knew it was water, a thick, oddly silent waterfall of it, and realized what Sand had said.
I was no fish. I’d try to be, though.
“Stop him!” Sand roared.
Silas had finally pinned down both girls, his sword hovering over them. It was on Quiss’s throat, and he cursed and turned it to Nima.
“Die, bitch. Remember what I promised!”
I got to them, my sword cut in the air and took his arm and half his skull. I tossed the sword into the waterfall, screamed as the mists and fire settled around my leg, tearing away chain and armored boot. Then, I grasped both girls and tumbled down to the water. We fell for a long while, though probably not that long, and splashed into a deep, brilliantly blue pond, graced by the morning’s light. I kicked up, hampered by the armor, some more pieces of it falling away. I was soon dragging the two up with me, and came up to the surface. I saw my sword under the surface, and saved it.
Women doing laundry were staring at us in shock, almost as if they had seen an ugly merman. I realized my laces were still open, and my pants were sagging far too low.
They got up, and giggled as they left.
I held my face, and looked up to the waterfall. Sand wasn’t coming.
Finally, men were rushing forward. I pushed Quiss on her belly. She was choking and coughing and vomiting water. I pushed Nima next to her and fell on my face, breathing hard.
The latter turned to me, while Quiss was breathing heavily, silent.
“My brother?” she wept.
I shook my head. “He wasn’t there.”
She wept. “Thank Lok.”
I held a hand on her shoulder, and finally, she, too, vomited, though likely for the fear. She had fought like a mad thing, though I wondered if she regretted marrying the jotun of Red Midgard. Then, she got up, furious, and soon, was rushing through the camps. Alarm was sounded, and the men began searching for Sand. I watched them rushing about and sat there, tired to the bone.
Quiss finally sat up and held her face. “Gods, but that was close.”
“They always have plans behind plans, and then more plans, and they are very good at executing such plans,” I said tiredly, and looked at her. “Worry not. Nothing has changed. You helped me, I helped you, and nothing has truly changed, eh?”
“Everything’s changed! And I must share your bed with a bandit?” she hissed. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” I said. “You might grow to like it.”
“A worm in comparison to us,” she cursed. “You seem not too bothered by the idea!”
I shrugged and wiped water off my face. “They say Morag wasn’t either. Perhaps I’m a shit of a man? She is brave. She is needed. I’ll not … love …” I shook my head and went silent.
“A jotun and a man, and so damned confused,” she hissed, and then breathed. “We need them. I know. Nothing … has changed.”
I nodded, smiling at her. “I wonder how Sand keeps finding me.”
“They have coin, and they buy traitors,” she said, wiping some blood off her nose. She had a wound on her scalp. “What will you do with your new queen’s army?”
“Well, Regent,” I said. “We—”
“I won’t obey her,” she hissed.
I rolled my eyes. “Listen. Please. We shall get back to Hillhold. There, we shall muster the land, and wait for a moment. Her archers will start to harry the enemy supplies, and in the end, before the winter is over, we shall prevail.”
She looked at me sadly. “And the north? What of that?”
“I shall have to go there alone,” I told her. “I will first deal with the issues in Hillhold. And you shall still command the army. This time, you can. Thrum and Hal will help you, and Roger is likely dead, hung in a tree somewhere.” I smiled. “Perhaps he is even in one of the Black Ships?”
She flinched. “You never mentioned those before. I didn’t know you knew of them.”
I shrugged. “No. They will get the dead to Malignborg. The very best, eh? So, perhaps Roger won’t be there.”
She frowned. “People don’t usually speak about those ships.”
“Do they speak of the Mouth of Lok?” I asked her.
She looked glum. “I heard Saag speaking about that. I did. We know about him. He is more like a bandit, than anything else. A common bandit, is all. And a mad one. An adopted horse? I know no such tavern in Aten. Seems like a waste of time.”
I nodded. “I agree to all you said. I have no time for it. We must get back to Hillhold, today,” I said. “We must march fast. You shall take the nobles and scouts of Nima, and you will lead the army off. You lead us to Hillhold and send her scouts back to report if there is any trouble. Make sure they are ready to march in two hours, and we shall follow you. Tell Nima as well.”
She wasn’t happy, but then nodded. I pulled her close and kissed her. She struggled and then sighed and looked at me with forgiveness and sadness. “Nothing has changed.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I trust you.”
She got up and walked to Nima and Saag, and they were speaking. I watched them preparing
the men briskly. The entire valley echoed with men calling out orders, and women packing gear and often, dressing in armor when they had it.
They all looked scared.
Some would desert.
Most would march with me.
I pulled out some items. I looked at the scroll from the Mouth of Lok. I pulled out the orders I had taken from the admiral in Nallist, and then the Grinlark, the mighty staff magically sealed into a stick-size. The last item I placed on my lap.
I eyed the orders again.
They were orders for putting up Balic and his family in the Ugly Brother’s royal quarters for three days or until two more legions arrived in Nallist. They would be there late this very day. I looked at an alarming report of an incoming storm front, heavy with blizzard, cold, and snow, also set for this day, and likely early afternoon. Yet another was an order to seal the harbor, to keep the ships safe. A paper concerned some local ladies, whom they thought were spies.
Then, I gazed at a ruby red stone and finally threw it in the pool, watching it sinking.
Finally, I watched the scroll from the Mouth of Lok and opened it up again. I had merely eyed it, but now, I read it twice, trying to make sense of it.
“To the jotun-king of Red Midgard, from your humble servant, Caru.
The long years of waiting are past us. As the Trickster warned us, so it is seen. The Hel’s curse endured and grew, and her servants have spread like a disease across the land.
You ask why Lok might care about this trouble?
You are right to do so.
Lok sees the chaos and finds amusement in the many tragedies he has witnessed, while suffering in his chains. Is it not Lok’s pleasure to see such horror inflicted on those whom he often battles with, whom he hates?
It is.
And yet, there is a reason our lord Lok wants his Mouth to resist these dogs of Hel. To think it is Lok, who must save the Nine for the filth of Aesir and the Vanir, is beyond strange. And still, when a Mouth of Lok must work for the gods who imprisoned our lord Lok, he must ask himself: is this not the greatest trick of all? Is it not so that Lok the Hero will make the Aesir and the Vanir writhe in rage by his aid to their causes?
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