“Good,” Rhean said. “And her?”
They all looked at a woman in robes. She was kneeling, and her eyes were absent of emotion.
The king looked sad. “Morag, your highness, told me he had put a spell in her to cloud her mind. Perhaps you should make her one of ours?”
She shook her head. “Draugr? Nay. She will lose her special power. A vampire might not, but it is a risk. She could very well refuse to come back to us from death.” She shook her head. “It matters little. Opar told me he cannot heal her, not likely even with the Grip. We have our deal with him, and hostages. We shall soon speak with Opar, and seal it. All the arrangements are made. Proceed with our plans, King Marc.”
I smiled bitterly. Opar was there.
“It will be done, as you say,” Marc said, and kneeled. “We shall begin this very night.”
“Very well, as ordered,” she said, and eyed the golden-haired woman. She was an odd one, with glowing golden skin and a beautiful face. She could have been a vampire, but for some reason, I thought she wasn’t. “Will you fetch Sarman of Illon, good Morginthax. After that, I shall speak with the jotuns.”
“Of course, Mistress Rhean,” she answered, and didn’t bow. Instead, she turned, and I felt the vampires were all tense and insulted. The golden lady disappeared to the maze of streets, and I watched Rhean as she allowed her servants to pull leather pants on her before they would armor her. She was perfectly healed, I noticed.
“She must be respected,” Rhean said. “And you and I shall endure her insolence, no matter how hard it is.”
The vampires bowed, and Rhean waited.
I hopped forward, dipped down low, and took to my wings.
I stared down at them, a dark blot in the night. I saw Morginthax disappearing, a golden halo in the dreadful darkness, and dove after her. Out in the city, a horn blared—hard, long, sonorous—and the voice echoed across the great cavern. When the horn stopped braying, and I heard draugr cheering, I knew they were marching to war. I flew and dodged above ancient mazes, keeping my eye on the golden one.
I saw the army.
Filling the streets not far from the marketplace, finely armored draugr, a guard dressed in red armor, their spears swinging, was following the crowned Tenginell, who was riding a skeletal mount. He looked supremely pleased, saluted Morginthax, who ignore him, and then, he waved hand forward. A thousand or two marched after him, the horn braying again, held by a dead elf. It must have been one, for the eyes, even in death, were bright as rubies, and the hair still lustrous and thick.
Morginthax was turning right and abandoned the army. I followed her. She headed straight for a doorway on a wall of red murals and didn’t knock.
The door opened.
Inside, a surprised man got up with his followers. He was blond, young, and had three men like him on his side. He walked to the doorway and leaned on it. His face was pulsing with anger, and fear was in his eye. “Tell me,” he said huskily. “Why do we have to come to this terrible place? We could have met in the light, above ground.”
Morginthax shook her head. “Because,” she said simply, “she wished it. They want you to know where your sister must live or die, or walk again, all eternity, if you do not agree to our terms.”
He blanched and looked down. “And if I do, I must live with the fate of Ygrin’s dead on my conscience.”
“Yes, can you?” Morginthax said. “It is a simple choice. Mara’s Brow has a captain who had to make the same choice. He helped us. He let our scum inside and will be responsible for countless of lives. Save your sister or buy your people some time. You will open the gates to the Serpent Skull in Illon, and you shall bow before her. You will be amongst those humans who will survive our conquest, and you will suffer for your crimes in silence.” She stepped forward. “I thought you had gone past such remorse?”
I wasn’t listening.
I felt something.
I looked across the street and saw a blond, thick-jawed, silver chainmailed man staring at the confrontation. There was a look of shame and disgust on that face, and I knew it was the jotun I was seeking. He turned and went inside an ancient house. Sitting in shadows, he soaked in misery.
It was the jotun who had ordered my death.
Opar Ymirson, king of the clan.
I landed on top of the ruin and looked back to the street. There, the men of Ygrin followed Morginthax, ready to betray their kin.
I turned to look at Opar.
Opar had his ax and his shield and stared at Grinlark, the simple staff, intently. It was a powerful weapon, a surprising weapon, and with Balan’s manipulation, a portal, but he simply stared at it with wonder. Aras had sent it to him.
“I do think,” he said sadly, “that if you killed my daughter, as you did one of my sons, and many of our kin, Maskan Ymirtoe, I shall not even listen to what you have to say.”
His deep, blue eyes turned to me.
I flew down before him, shapeshifted, and waited. I stared at him, and he at me. He shook his head and sneered. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I hold her,” I told him harshly. “She is alive. I didn’t bring her here, to the den of evil and traitors.”
He lifted his hand and shook his head. “You are the last Ymirtoe. No other remain. I hunted for your kin. I filled many a tomb in that Tenginell crypt. But Morag, he was a crafty one. A traitor, as well.”
I walked closer and stood face to face with him. “He had fewer jotuns than you did.”
He smirked. “Envious shits, they were. We held the Golden City. That’s where Medusa led us, and she gave us great wealth. Baduhanna, she chased your father, and killed so many of you, that you never fully recovered. Red Midgard.” He snorted. “A land of fighters. The Golden City? A city of riches.” He laughed bitterly “Imagine, what could have been done, together. But my father and your father and our old ways …” He shrugged. “Morag offered us help when the dead tried to take Golden City.”
I shook my head. “I do not understand. If the dead tried to take the city, surely someone would remember. It seems to me that the living consider the dead a myth.”
He nodded. “This Urac told you a tale?”
“He told me,” I said bitterly, “that my father betrayed you.”
He shook his head. “Had he stayed faithful to his own word to the end, had he just aided Dana and not led the draugr to the Golden City, had he not stabbed us in the back, while we fought for the city and fought the dead, things would be different now. You wonder why no-one knows of the dead? Why your father hid all he could of the battle?”
“I do wonder,” I said.
“Because he was a gold-loving monster,” Opar spat. “Traitor to his oaths and words. He looted the riches of the Golden City. He hunted us. He had his army hunt ours. Dana, the Mouth of Lok, told me to hide. She did. Even after I tried to kill her. She made me take an oath. I did.”
“You were to recover the gauntlet and to kill Euryale,” I said. “And you didn’t succeed.”
He nodded. “Yes. So many died. I tried.” He gnashed his teeth together and shook his head. “I hated him enough to try for two decades. He betrayed us all for riches. He coveted gold, he would have eaten gold, if he could have. Trust me. He hid it well. After the war? His own legion, the Hawk’s Talon? He sent them away, one by one, on fool’s missions, to hide not the truth of the dead, but the truth of the stolen gold. He raised men to rule the Golden City, and those men wiped all evidence of the dead and were paid well. They paid tribute to Morag.”
He wiped his face from sweat. “Yes, he tried to find Euryale on his own. He grew rich, nearly got rid of us finally, he faced Balic and others and failed because of his greed for gold, power in Midgard, for his love of his paltry nation. Aye, we had been the same. Gold and trade and power, and we forgot who we were. We all killed each other brutally, but only the draugr grew with the deaths.” He reached forward and pulled me close. “We cannot beat their armies.”
“I h
ave beaten—”
“We cannot beat them,” he whispered. “You do not understand. What did Aras tell you about my plans?”
“That you hoped Baduhanna would lead all to battle against the foe,” I said.
“She did, once,” he said. “And did she tell you I would try to fight Euryale, when the gate opens?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And you? What do you think.”
“I think, Opar, that you hope to find Medusa,” I said sadly. “And you hope she might be your Baduhanna. I doubt she cares. She has virtues. She is honorable, she is mighty, she is First Born, and she is clever. Her blood is precious. But she likely doesn’t care.”
“Euryale is the last of the foe who can raise the dead,” he said. “At least Medusa could hunt down her sister. Undead sister. The cause of Hel’s War, Euryale. That bitch …”
“And if this Hand of Hel defeated her?” I asked.
“Shannon was dying at the time,” Opar answered. “I will release Medusa. I will bury Dana and her friend Gutty.” He fidgeted.
I pointed my finger out. “There, they are guarding a woman. Not just any woman, but a living one. They think she had special skills.”
“Anja of the Ten Tears,” he agreed. “Morag took her. We heard he hid her. And we could never find her. Dana told me to try, if things went badly in the Mara’s Brow. She told me to see if Anja was alive, and Morag’s prisoner. She didn’t trust him. Dana told me many things.” He stood close. “Why did you come here?”
“You know why,” I said. “Liar.”
He looked like he had been physically hit. Then, he looked away.
“Coward.”
He twitched.
I pushed him. “You had no plans to release anyone . You clung to lies and would-have-beens. I offer you a sliver of honor, and you grasp it. Medusa, Medusa. Nay, Opar. That Anja is broken. Magic-struck by Morag. They know she cannot easily be made to open a thing. They trust you. They trust you well.” I spat, and he took a step back. “After Baduhanna fell, you really betrayed your kin. Only some agreed with you, no? The rest didn’t. You lied to Asra. Go home like beggars. It was the plan, though you lied about a great risk and a battle after you betray the dead. You were going to do what they told you to do,” I said sadly. “There was no hero, Opar. You simply gave up. Why did you intend to aid the dead?”
“I was … I cannot say,” he answered, and looked frightened. “You will see, perhaps.” He held his face. “You do not understand. I know I…I regret it. But how could I undo this now?”
I smiled. “I might forgive you. I can still accept you, and your kin. Asra would be proud. Where are your Sons now?”
“Forty of us,” he said, with relief. “They are camped in a village, north of Mara’s Brow. The village is called Warthill. Could you really consider … we could still try to--”
His eyes shone with hope.
I nodded. “Good. You know, I told your daughter I believe you were a hero. That you were out to do a great, desperate deed. She had doubts, but she believes it now as well.”
“Thank you.”
I shook my head. “I did that for a reason.”
He frowned. “What was it?”
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I did it so she would be proud of you after you die. I shall tell her you fell in the hands of the dead who betrayed your brave attempt before it got fully on the way. And that’s the way it will be for her. She’ll serve me, and I’ll marry her. She’ll be the queen of a new clan. We’ll remake our world. There won’t be Ymirsons. Nor Toes. We’ll find a new name. Alas, it matters little if you betrayed us or not. I still must kill you. I cannot have a coward, who hunted for my father and my people, betray me as well. And, alas, I need your warriors.”
He stepped back.
I grasped him by the throat and rammed my ax-blade to it, and again, and took the head. He fell and died.
I pulled Opar up and considered his eyes.
I smiled. “But your treason can be useful in one final way.”
My face flowed, and I looked like Opar. I took the head and stuck in in a leather bag. I stepped outside to wait.
Soon, Morginthax arrived.
She gazed out at me. “You ready to make you oaths?” she asked. I walked to her and waved my hand for her to lead us out.
CHAPTER 17
I walked to the courtyard and saw the enemy waiting. Tense, eyeing me with distrust, the vampires stood around Rhean. She was wearing her white armor now, splendid with gold and silver links in the chainmail, and her shield was on her side.
I struggled with the love I had for her. I struggled, pushed, and fought it.
I looked away with difficulty.
She smiled as she sat down on a chair before the huge throne of a serpent-woman. “Opar Ymirson,” she said. She pulled out the Black Grip and hung it around her knee. “The time is nigh. The legions my poor Balic sent to push Falgrin into turmoil are all deployed. They shall fight tomorrow morning. I have draugr even inside the fortress, and we shall take the gate when their troops are outside. I have my guide,” she said, and looked disappointed, “and I have a mad woman.”
All their eyes went to a figure kneeling next to her.
The blonde woman was Anja. She was forty, pale, her hair grown, and an absent look in her eyes.
Rhean shook her head and put a finger on her lip. “You cannot heal her?”
I shook my head.
She sighed. “I can take her life. I might be able to recall her. She could be brought back as one of my brood. I prefer males, but I could make an exception.” She shook her head. “But that special skill of hers might also be gone. Morag cannot, as a draugr, take animal shape. He has spells, but they are draugr spells. Darkness, fire. He used to be ice. Vampires regain skills, I think, I believe. And yet, not all bitten, killed, and prayed to return, do so. One out of dozen, if you dared recall that many. Unruly lot.”
I watched her and closed my eyes.
I struggled with a need to reassure her, to make her happy.
She was speaking. “What did Morag do to her? She was being held in a cell with the Gray Brothers, that fortress in northern Alantia. Locked up like many criminals. Morag had spared her. He had not spared her mind. I ask again. What did he do to her?”
I shook my head again. My eyes went to the Black Grip.
She looked at it too. “Ah, yes. Entirely useless to the rest of us. You think he used a spell from it? Can you heal her?”
“After,” I said. “I can try. But I told you; it is not likely.”
She frowned briefly. “Such a strong voice, Opar. Like a true jotun. After, you think? After you and I open that doorway and see what lies inside. It might disappoint you and me. There might be no way home. There might be no Hand of Hel, and Famine? Or even the Horn? Medusa might have died, even. We could only find bones.”
I shrugged.
She smiled and shook her head. “And yet, there the mistress must go, as ordered. After, indeed. After you let us in, you and I shall do each other services. After such, you shall be released from this world and free to walk through that gateway you so dream of.” She was nodding. “You have delivered your three sons to me. The fourth died to Maskan, didn’t he? Your daughter has not come back with the head of Maskan?”
“Matter of time,” I answered, and admired her cool confidence. I closed my eyes and fought the rage and love, both. The rage was steadily growing inside me, for the vampires were getting restless and couldn’t help themselves. They were trying to intimidate me with their power. I spoke hurriedly and walked back and forth. “Your killer and ours will not fail again.”
She nodded. “We are running out of killers with this Maskan. He is a vexing one. He fooled the lot of us and came to Nallist with mere bandits. He challenged the army, my husband, your kin, and me. And now, the Red Midgard yet stands.” She shook her head, enraged. “At least I gave him a gift he shall never forget.” She smiled fondly at the memory and leaned forward
, grabbing the gauntlet. “I am grateful to your daughter for saving me, but I am most grateful when we have finished with the duty the Serpent has given us. You and I shall leave for Mara’s Brow this very night. They are ready for us. We shall act fast.” She looked at me with suspicion. “If you fail, your sons shall all die. I’ll hunt your kin to the ends of Midgard.”
I looked around. “And where,” I asked her, “is your mistress? Will she not join us?”
She looked at me coldly, and I felt the fear, the rage that followed and took a step forward. I forced that step to change into a kneeling position.
“I am her mouth,” she said, surprised. “She is not going to share her plan. Why would you—”
“And if the Hand of Hel survives inside the hole,” I said, “and if she disagrees with our oaths and deals? If she decides there are no oaths? She is, after all, the Hand of Hel.”
She shrugged. “That is a chance you must take. With luck, we shall befriend Medusa, we will free Hand of Hel, we shall wield Famine, and hold Horn, and you will be free to go home, if we can persuade either Medusa, or the Hand of Hel to grant you passage. Hel is no enemy to you. Never was. You chose it yourselves. You once served her, and now, you serve her again. Hel will approve.” She leaned forward, and her will touched mine. “Betray us. And you will join Morag in servitude.”
I shook my head.
“Good.” She gave Anja a glance. “She will be useful later. You will try to heal her, if you can. I don’t want to risk her unique skill, unless I must.” She looked at me. “Now. Before you will get the gauntlet,” she said, and lifted it, “you shall have a thing to do, Opar Ymirson. It wasn’t part of our deal, and I ask for no oaths. I merely want you to drink this.”
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