Sons of Ymir

by Alaric Longward

  Companies were stepping away from the edge of the hillside. Then, legions.

  Crec was betraying his people and allies.

  I turned my head back just in time to see two ballista bolts tear eight dverger to pieces.

  Thrum shrugged. “Weapons. That’s what the boys are. You have been learning it well. Don’t worry. We’ll get some two out of three of them up there. Just damned well plan this well.”

  “Aye,” I whispered, and nodded, spitting blood. “I hope I will do well enough and fast enough. Go and march. I shall deal with Crec.”

  He laughed. “Poor fools, the lot of them. I’d rather march this hill.”

  I nodded and shapeshifted. The eagle was huge, graceful, but not entirely out of place in the north, and I begged the men in the plateau would not take note of it. I flapped my wings hard, made my way up to Asra, and saw what was happening.

  A mass of two thousand draugr riders in red armor was charging past Mara’s Brow, leaving fallen behind. It was led by draugr calling for spells, and on the walls, many ballistae burned with their crew. One had a horned helmet and looked familiar.

  Filar. Rhean’s daughter.

  Arrows and bolts rained down on the enemy. The enemy took it stoically.

  Amid the army rode a group of riders, robed and armored. One was tall and mysterious and rode a black lizard.

  Euryale.

  Another was Rhean, her white battle armor gleaming brazenly. There, too, would be Morag and my mother.

  I banked after Asra, and we watched Crec’s treason.

  Red Midgard’s army was stepping back from the edge of the hillside and was retreating for Hearthold. It was split from that of Falgrin’s, who was sending men to ask what was going on.

  And then, javelins from Falgrin’s legions tearing into them, thousands of legionnaires were rushing haphazardly over the hillside and over the land where our men had just stood. They were rushing like a thick stream of steel, their flags over them, between our and Falgrin’s army, and running for the bridge. They were trying to cut off Falgrin.

  Falgrin was making a shieldwall and tried to keep the bridge. A ferocious battle took place for it. The legions, ignoring the danger of the massive army of Red Midgard, tightened around the Falgrin’s legion, and they were pushing thousands of shields and spears at the hapless men. They were stabbing at them from all directions, and though brave, Falgrin was shuddering under each blow, leaving men behind as they tried to keep the bridge.

  Most would die anyway, if they managed it.

  The fury in our ranks was clear. The Hawk’s Talon, the Heartbreakers, and the Gray Brothers were sending dozens of riders for Crec’s standards, only to be dismissed.

  Some companies stopped marching, and few, braver ones were running at the Hammer Legionnaires, only to be savaged by spells from the draugr kings. They were riding amongst their ranks and calling for fire. They were tearing down files and files of our countrymen, and Crec was doing his best to make the chaos even more terrible by refusing to see the riders that came for him, demanding to know what was going on. I could see him smiling, even from such distance, and he kept touching his crown.

  My father’s crown.

  Falgrin’s men were losing hundreds, falling to blade and spell, trying to force their way back to the congested bridge.

  Crec was simply…watching.

  A glimmer of hope made Falgrin’s men cheer.

  Behind the legions, our people arrived, out of breath, exhausted. The archers began taking down files of the enemy. Then, soon, companies, sweaty, shivering with exhaustion, thousands of them, pushed to the backs of the legions, pushing deep to their ranks, hacking and fighting desperately, trying to open a way to Falgrin.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Spells split our men, and a gigantic inferno, called by a horn-helmeted queen, roasted hundreds of ours and theirs. The flames were spreading down, and our people had to rush away, then back up, the Stone Watchers leading them past the flames.

  It took time.

  A solid rank of spears had turned against them, and even if our men marched steadily to those spears and shields, they were too few to save anything, or anyone.

  The enemy held our men and kept pushing at Falgrin, some of their spells and arrows tearing at the braver, most mutinous of the companies in our legions, and soon, I saw many companies of Malingborg’s push to the bridge, hacking and fighting furiously.

  I flapped my wings and flew higher, ever higher, and turned.

  I soared down for the battle. The Hearthold fell away under me, and aiming for the great standard of the Helstrom’s, I saw Crec ordering some of his men to go back inside Hearthold.

  More companies rebelled. Many more were marching back to battle, to aid Falgrin, to aid our people, while others stood still, and only a few companies were marching back inside.

  I saw Crec’s hateful, pale, and proud face flash a grin as he rode back and forth. His aides were half staying, half deserting him. The standard bearer was whipping his horse like mad to get back the battle, so was the general of the Hawk’s Talon, screaming insults, drawing his sword. He spat at the king.

  Crec turned in this saddle, eyes full of rage.

  He braided together a spell of lightning.

  I felt the air electrify as a stab of lightning tore at the general. The man fell from his saddle, as did two of Crec’s adjutants who had left him. The standard-bearer’s horse was torn to bits, the man’s leg flying in the air. The standard was burning. Two more aides were screaming, their eyesight gone, and Crec was laughing as he aimed his hands at a general of the Heartbreakers, who was calling for his captains, not far. He had not seen what had taken place and was staunchly commanding his men to attack. A fiery spell was whirling around Crec’s wrists, and that’s when I arrived.

  I changed as I did.

  I fell on my enemy with my ax held high.

  His eyes came up, saw my scarred, grinning face, my hair billowing behind, as all twelve feet of anger landed on him. The horse rolled, back broken. Crec was rolling under me, arm torn, leg twisted on the side, as he let out terrified curses. We rolled in the mud, and I came on top, my hand on his face.

  I squeezed my hand closed. I hacked the ax on his corpse.

  He was gone.

  I got up and looked at the general of the Heartbreakers. He was trying to control his wounded horse and was eyeing me with horror. I walked over to him as men stared up at me aghast.

  “General,” I said.

  He hissed. “Traitor! Danegell and a jotun, I—”

  “Silence and listen,” I snarled. I remembered the man was a Kinter, Roger’s Kin, one of the few left. “There is precious little time to tell you what has happened in the south. Dagnar is gone, Balic’s troops were ravaging Alantia and Fiirant, and most all our troops are here and will get slaughtered. Most of the nobles are dead.”

  He stammered. “My people? My family? Roger?”

  I shook my head. “Most are dead. Roger as well. Listen. You are of the highest Houses in the land. One of the old blood. There is no king. Crec was one of the dead. A draugr. Aye, they are real. They are making a bid for power. I will stop them. Fight the legions and lead our people. Do it as a king. You are the King of Red Midgard now.” I pushed a crown to him. “You. Red Midgard needs a warrior, and a noble House must lead it to victory. I want no part of it. It was a stolen throne to start with.”

  “It was…Crec.” He shook his head, and greed played on his face as he held the crown. “I accept, since Crec lost his head!” the general said, eyeing the shocking mass of death not too far and then the crown. “I need to win a war. What about you? I—”

  “He did lose his head, and you keep yours. Don’t let anyone try to steal it,” I said, and wiped the smashed bits of skull off my armor. I grimaced with pain as the poison inside me seemed like liquid fire now. I spat some blood and smiled at his incredulous face. “Defeat the enemy, King. Make sure none usurp the throne. It is your duty.” />
  He nodded and placed the crown on his head.

  I shapeshifted and took to my wings. I found Asra, and together, we watched what was taking place.

  The chaos in the plateau was complete. Our legions were now marching to fight the Hammer legions.

  Over the River Aluniel, the dverger were climbing, taking terrible losses, and still going forward.

  At the gates of Mara’s Hold, a calamity had met Falgrin.

  The horde of riders had entered the fortress. The massive iron gates had been opened. Men had been slain, and the towers were congested above it. I saw parties of draugr pushing out of the gatehouse to the walls, like dark maggots, shoving the defenders relentlessly. They were over a thousand strong and rapidly disappearing inside. Many companies of Falgrin’s guards and the duke’s nobles were trying to push them out, and a furious melee was taking place in the courtyards. Civilians were fleeing for the central keep.

  The enemy was holding the gates, and there seemed to be no stopping them.

  I watched the draugr milling around the gate and saw the group of ominous riders passing in. Soon, I saw Rhean and Filar leading a phalanx of draugr for the central keep. I saw the men of Falgrin blocking the doors to the main keep behind a shieldwall, and then, Filar led her dead against them.

  A furious battle took place, Filar’s fiery ball and chain hacking down a brave champion, and the enemy fled. Inside the main keep, I heard a man exhorting his troop. The duke was preparing for a last stand.

  The draugr began hacking the gateway with axes. They did it brutally, while the last of the riders, releasing fiery spells at men on the bridge and at the ones on the walls, were entering the keep.

  I saw a draugr captain, and he was screaming up to the gatehouse, hoping to close the keep.

  I beat my wings and flew down. I went fast, plummeting, and Asra was with me.

  Then, suddenly, many others joined us. Forty huge birds of all kinds and colors, joined us.

  We flew down like a hail of steel. We shapeshifted as we landed, stomped down dead and the wounded before the gates, and promptly shifted to fit inside the gateway. The draugr turned to watch us. They saw a bitter, angry party of forty jotuns, shields out, axes flashing, filling their sight. The draugr before us were stuffed in a corridor with many horse. It was ten draugr wide, just enough for a pair of wagons, and there were a hundred or more of them milling in the confined space. Some were going up to the gatehouse but most had been ordered to hold it.

  Their grins of victory turned into screams of death.

  We locked shields and stomped over them, crouched low, our helmets scraping the ceiling. We hacked and kicked into the mass of horse, draugr, and tore them to pieces or simply crushed them. It took no time at all. We soon held the gateway, and Asra was nodding at some of them. Jotuns were rushing upstairs. We soon saw pieces of draugr falling down the stairs.

  Asra turned me around and nodded at me. “We will hold the gate, and we shall wait until Thrum gets here,” she said with glee. She was free of pretense and her father.

  “Let no man or draugr take it back,” I said. “Tell Thrum to hurry. He knows what to do.” She nodded, and I walked forward. She laughed brightly as she set about killing draugr who were still alive, and ten jotuns joined me as we entered the courtyard.

  Before us, there was an utter chaos. It was a battle of pairs, of singles; a butchery of desperate men and evil dead that one couldn’t make any sense of.

  We cared not to try. We walked for the doorway for the keep, which had been breached. We walked with shields high, and we slaughtered anyone on our way. We marched into a party of men who were trying to get to the keep and hacked through them. A champion of Falgrin, his spear gored, standing on four draugr, was fighting four horsed draugr just before the gate.

  I swiped my ax to the draugr and the horse, then stepped over it, caught the spear of the man, and kicked him inside the keep. The other jotuns hacked at the foe, and we stepped inside the keep.

  It was a round hall hung with expensive tapestries and decorated with rich statues and busts. Tables and round chairs littered the place, and the duke’s throne commanded the center of the floor. The upper floors were many, and their people would be holed up, begging for their duke to protect them.

  The draugr mass was still engaged with the garrison. Many hundreds of them had surrounded the throne and a hundred of the duke’s guards. Shield pressed on shields, and the draugr, deviously clever and fast, were braiding together spells of fire walls, cutting though the lines. There, when men burned, they jumped through, often died, as the duke’s own family, handsome knights all, led men to pluck the holes.

  “Take them, take them now!” I heard a female calling out. There, Filar was riding around on a skeletal horse, exhorting her men. She had arrows in her body, slashed shoulder armor, and a horn was missing, but she was laughing, in love with war. She had probably been in life as well.

  One of the duke’s knights was on the first rank now. He pointed his sword at Filar and then used it to slay two draugr. He danced before her, and she laughed.

  She suddenly rode forward, and her mount crashed into the ranks, her flailing, fierce ball smashing down.

  The knight threw his shield up, the ball crashed through it, and took an arm.

  The knight stabbed at the mount, and Filar fell amongst her draugr.

  “Kill her, fast!” the duke called out, and many men converged on her. “Then, cut a way out of here!”

  I led the jotuns forward.

  A draugr turned, holding a standard of Serpent and Skull. He wore a gorgeous red crested helmet, and he was missing half his face. What remained gave an impression of terrible surprise. He looked at my belt, then up at my eyes.

  I axed him.

  I nodded, and the jotuns spread out. We called for spells of ice, and winter made them more potent.

  The Black Grip made mine terrifyingly powerful.

  I let go my spell first.

  I tapped my ax on the stones before me.

  A blossom of ice grew behind the duke’s legs. It opened its leaves, and a field of whitest, coldest ice spread from it.

  The throne groaned and broke.

  The Duke screamed and held his legs, his sword buried in ice. Men were turning to see what was taking place, and then, they were engulfed with the bitter cold, freezing ice. It was so cold, it burned the skin and tore at armor and boot. Men, dozens of them, were falling heavily, some against each other and the draugr. The draugr, too, were falling, confused, trying to extract themselves. A hundred and fifty more were caught, while others retreated.

  I saw Filar, who was on her hands and knees, cursing.

  Her eyes turned to me.

  I smiled.

  “Kill them,” I whispered. The other jotuns released the braids they had created. Terrible spells of icy brilliance tore into the hapless fools. Icy hands grew from under the draugr and tore down ranks of them. There, on the icy floor, they were torn to pieces. Icy spikes tore into men, and I saw the duke butchered by two, his corpse lifted high as he bled. Snow was blowing around the hall, whirling and herding the enemy, and soon, I let go of my icy spell.

  What remained was a shivering mass of dying men and ice-trapped draugr.

  Some were fleeing past us, throwing away their weapons. There were not many.

  “Clear the hall and then guard it,” I said.

  They nodded, and half turned to hold the gate, heaping table, stone, and corpses across it.

  Others walked forward and hacked about in that room, stomped on the dying, and chased the men and the draugr who had been hiding until nothing remained alive.

  I was waiting and saw a shadow, just barely catching it in the corners. I smiled.

  Then, I turned to see another shadow coming for me.

  A huge, fat rat jumped before me and changed into the scar-faced jotun. He grinned and spoke. “I will show you where, King.”

  “None spotted you?” I asked.

  �
�Nay, lord. I have been hidden since last night and ate well in their larder,” he laughed. “Will you survive?” he asked.

  I held my belly and found a stain of blood. “Only, and perhaps if we hurry.”

  He nodded and led us off. He walked to the edge of the great hall, dodging corpses. There, we passed a shady part of the hall, where ruins seemed to have been built to house a pleasant corner with couches and tables. I raised my hand to touch the ancient stone, and hesitated. Then, I turned and walked after the scar-face. He pushed through a curtain and led me along a corridor that had recently been busy with maids, cooks, and servants, but which was not empty of life.

  He led me to the kitchens.

  He winked. “The ancient world below has been hidden in the one place no lord willingly enters. A broom closet. Come. Morag knew exactly where it was.”

  CHAPTER 19

  We rushed through the kitchens, found a small doorway, and took a set of stairs below, and there, we entered a large room that was a mess hall. Breakfasts had been abandoned.

  We sneaked past tables, and then, he pulled me for a corner and pushed open a gray door.

  There, a wooden wall had been torn down. Brooms, hooks, barrels lay scattered and destroyed around the room, and rags were in heaps on the floor.

  Behind the destroyed wall, was a dark, ragged hole.

  “In there,” he said. “They went that way. There were two you will not want to meet. There were two vampires, though, I couldn’t see one properly. I smelled the disease, though.”

  Morag and Mellina. Anja, perhaps, and Rhean. They had managed to raise Anja.

  I nodded. I looked back to the mess hall and listened. I heard nothing.

  I felt something, however.

  I stepped forward, man-sized, and looked down a long stone stairway. The air smelled of decay and mold, and a cold air was ruffling my hair. The walls were rough, and the stairs ancient, dark, and huge, not made for men, or perhaps not even for jotuns.

  Far, far down, there were lights. The lights flickered as a party of creatures were making their way down.

  “What are you called?” I asked the jotun.