The Beast of the North (35 page)

Bjornag cursed. ‘They are attacking us! The Brothers will be hard pressed without you, Lord!’

‘Run, and find help! And remember what I said if I should die!’ Morag said sadly.

But I refused to run. ‘I won’t abandon my father now that I found him.’

The staff stood upright. It was changing, growing thicker, sharper at the ends. The frame cracked into an oval shape; the bird sunk to the well-grained wood. The Red Brother kicked it with his huge foot, but it had no effect. ‘Steady,’ Morag said, his sword swaying from side to side. The golden symbols melted and ran across the frame to create a sort of a golden, rippling center for the oval. A strange light shone in the middle and then, suddenly, the room rocked.

A dark, evil looking mirror stood on three legs in the room. The frame was dark gray, it shuddered ominously, and darkness reigned where we should see our reflections.

‘Damn idiot boy!’ Morag spat. ‘Go!’

‘No!’ I told him. ‘I’ll fight for you. With you. Finally.’

‘Fool,’ he said. ‘But thank you. I hope they can hold the enemy above.’

‘There are traps,’ Red said. ‘They can hold off an army. But we cannot!’

The mirror shuddered, just barely. The skin writhed slowly as if maggots were busy devouring it, and we knew someone was going to visit us. It happened so fast. People entered the room from the mirror. It sort of flashed, and then they just appeared. They looked disoriented at first but quickly regained their senses of direction and spread out, drawing weapons, holding dark shields high. There were many people, and they were not people at all. They were all dead, and my skin crawled as they had no masking spells. Many were rotten, dry; others’ skin was tight around a skull. They showed old wounds. They were Blacktower vassals, and at least one was a pageboy of Crec’s, his eye gone. In an eye blink, there were two dozen, more, all armed to the teeth, gazing at the two giants and me with calm hatred. They were dressed in the familiar dark leather mail, or peasant garb, and one was the man Gray had called redundant. He was right. They would have killed and resurrected him in any case. The Blacktower coat of arms adorned their helmets, the white lily on red. One was the man I had stolen the sword I used in the Dark Sands. He grinned at me like a human would though his jaw was split from some old fight.

Then, Balan entered with four other people, all hooded. One stood to the side, arrogantly folding his arms over his chest. Taram, I thought, not an outsider to his father’s plans after all. Well, perhaps to the part about Shaduril. He had nearly ruined everything for them. I might have died.

Balan was a strange, desperate looking cadaver. His eyes were sunken in his head, skin yellow with white spots, and his chest strangely caved in. His eyes burned with unholy joy, and his thin lips were smacking nervously. He snapped his fingers, and men marched left and right of us, surrounding the mound. Father pulled me back, and we clambered over our buried kin. Despite their dangerous looks, I was not sure they could hurt the two, armored creatures. And me. ‘Greetings, your rightness,’ Balan said with a strained voice. ‘How did you like my tinkering with your staff? It is my particular skill. To see ways to change and enhance old magic. I did work for fifteen years on it, and it is superb.’

‘It was deft work, dead one,’ Morag grunted. ‘Never seen that done unless by a dverg.’

Balan smiled, immensely happy. ‘Well. All your Jotuns will be gone to Helheim. Nearly so,’ he said, eyeing the Red Brother. ‘They are still up there, fighting, but surrounded, and we will get them all from down here.’

‘If you win,’ Morag spat.

Balan nodded and bowed. ‘Indeed. So here we will decide it. For years, you have been so careful. Never letting anyone near you, little less alone. When you touched the staff,’ he said and fingered his strange, thick emblem, ‘I felt it. I knew we could succeed. We needed you to turn him around from his hate that must have been terrible for you, king. We knew you would do it alone, or nearly so. Too bad it took so long to build the staff to my liking, but it was worth it. I loved this show. And it was a fine, elaborate show. Lovely.’

‘What do you want? A commendation. I said I am impressed,’ Morag spat. ‘Shall we get to it? You wicked shit.’

Balan laughed. ‘We had the same mistress, Jotun. Hel.’

‘We were mercenaries. You are slaves.’ Morag laughed dangerously. ‘And now, you are intruders. Shall you leave, or shall I show you the grave?’ The house rocked, and we heard Jotuns scream challenges above. Morag grinned. ‘Many of yours go back to Hel.’

‘Your poor boy,’ Balan chuckled, ignored the taunt and nodded at me. ‘The only thing he truly understood is that we wanted the king dead. At first we hoped to blackmail him into saving his poor Valkai imprisoned family and working with … the Horns, but he was resourceful. He escaped. So, we took the opportunity to build a finer play and to check out the mint to make the Tower taking easier and to clear the Valkai’s gang out quicker than we would have. Nobody missed Valkai’s men and it was easier than killing our own villagers, though we killed quite a few. We got so many corpses,’ he said and waved his hand around the troop around him, ‘and made a more elaborate ruse. We enjoyed it. Maskan, Maskan. Your grief over your mother was delicious. Your sordid love affairs, your budding realization of your powers? It was fascinating. You have served us well.’

‘You must be proud,’ Morag spat. ‘Draugr liars. You built a show for him and now you gloat?’

‘Sand?’ I asked them.

Balan shook his head. ‘I know nothing of your friend.’

‘Ask your boy,’ I said and nodded at Taram’s dead, white face. ‘Sand was alive, and he nearly ruined the plan.’

Balan looked at Taram, who shrugged. The lord laughed. ‘Morag here told you about us. The dead, my friend are creatures of old and new passions. They obey when they must and rebel the rest of the time. I am a lord of the draugr. He has to obey a direct command. But when he is alone? Such controls weaken. And besides, Taram there is not my boy. He was Shaduril’s betrothed. Before Lith took him.’

The young lord shook his head at Balan. ‘I tell you, Lord Balan, that I was in love with Lith before you and my father ruined it by agreeing to marry me to Shaduril,’ Taram said softly. One of the hooded dead stiffened. Shaduril. It all made sense.

Balan shook his head, not really caring one way, or the other. ‘Here we are, nonetheless. It all worked out in the end. How did you like our funeral, King Morag? How you wept over our empty caskets? Amusing.’

‘It was boring,’ Morag said sullenly. ‘Shall you show your faces, you filth?’

‘Shaduril,’ Balan said.

She flipped down the cape. She looked alive, vibrant, if sad. She had kept her spell of concealment. She looked at me. ‘Maskan,’ she said with a small, frightened voice.

I bowed to her. ‘Riding after the king is dead, eh?’

She smiled. ‘I am sorry. I would have escaped with you if you had killed him. It was possible, but he expected you and it went this way. Instead, now we have no chance.’

‘She gave you a chance,’ Balan snorted. ‘By breaking the ring. Tampering with my tampering. Take heart, boy. She loved you. Before Lith broke her again.’ The Red Brother was looking at Morag, who shook his head carefully. Above, a strange sound as the dead had apparently reached the house proper. A clang of steel, strange explosions could be heard.

‘Did you have some specialty, witch?’ Morag asked. He was gauging our chances for an escape.

Shaduril bowed. ‘The women in the family can cast charms.’

‘Oh yes,’ I agreed darkly. ‘Charms.’

She looked at me and shook her fair head. ‘No, Maskan. You are a Jotun. You are beyond such simple spells. And I did not lie to you. You just simply … loved me. Remember, you were only to see me once. Then the Horns was to guide you here. But you escaped. I love you as well. And hate you. I cannot help it.’

The Red Brother saw my face and leaned to me. ‘Don’t worry. That is magic nobody is immune to. She was lovely. Is. I don’t know.’

The enemy rippled with impatience.

‘And you tinker with magic. Craft items?’ Morag went on, his eyes going over the enemy lord.

‘Yes,’ Balan said. ‘I can do that, sometimes. Create things that are useful. Your staff is my greatest achievement.’ He tapped his pendant. ‘I can feel who touches it, you see. I worked for nearly two decades on it. Three taps on this pendant, and it opens up.’

‘Lith?’ I asked them. ‘Come, step up.’

‘She is not here. She is, they said, gone,’ Balan said with asperity. ‘She rebelled. She won’t be able to refuse us when we see her and give her a direct command, but she is gone for now. She and some of our men disappeared. It does not matter. I will miss her. But our family keeps walking. Shaduril and my wife and eldest daughter.’ He nodded at the two last hooded figures.

One stepped up. She lifted her slender hands and pulled back the cowl. It was Ann. She smiled at me coldly.

‘She is Sand’s sister,’ I whispered.

A familiar voice tittered. ‘No, but eventually poor Bear was sure she was. He was not immune to my charms. And spells. It took a long time for him to start believing my lies, but he did. In the end, he had very little will of his own. I am the Queen of the Draugr and a hard corpse to resist,’ said the last one, and I knew who it was. It was Balan’s wife. I shook my head. ‘Yes, it is I.’ The figure threw back the hood, and I found myself staring at the Horns. There was a golden mask gleaming on her face, the horns glinting in the dim light. She grasped the mask, for it was she and pulled it off. It was Mir. ‘Hello, my boy. Too bad you escaped that day in Valkai’s place. It would have gone much smoother had you just come here to save your family. But we do like theater and perhaps your hate of the king did indeed make him think you were the only threat worth considering.’

I stared at the woman I had thought of as Mother, the dead one that had raised me. She was lean as a wolf, mean, and her hair was in tatters, a great slab of meat missing from her scalp. She was sickly yellow. There she stood, arrogantly staring around at the hall, and then she just simply ignored me. ‘So, Danegell. The dance is over. With the Jotuns gone, we will soon rule Midgard. Hel rules, and we shall govern in her name. It is time for you to travel back to Niflheim, and beyond to the bridge of the dead. There you shall meet your mistress and mine. I hope she will have forgiven you.’

Morag snorted, a sound like huge bellows blowing dust and cinders. ‘Twenty years you have haunted our realm. You filth. And you think the men of Red Midgard will just hand their home to you? You think they will succumb to your betrayal forever? You may raise a few of them, charm some, but they will fight you.’

‘Yes,’ Mir said coldly. ‘Of course, they will. But this is the beginning. Your Tower of the Temple is ours. Thanks to the mint. And Crec and Gal, who I was fortunate enough to bring back. They don’t always return, and you need a living person to raise a dead one. I raised Valkai’s men and quite a few of our villagers, but many failed to return. Now,’ she said, cherishing the moment. ‘Know this. The new king will march the troops to Stone Home, muster the armies of the north, and take the war to Ygrin and Falgrin. They will fight, the humans will, but each other. Not us. But enough of this, Jotun. Kill them. Spare Maskan.’

‘No need to spare me,’ I growled. ‘I won’t spare you.’

‘No, we won’t spare you,’ Taram said steadily. ‘The people will need to see a man hang, won’t they, for this crime? The last Brother.’ He nodded at my armor. ‘They shall.’

My Father turned to look down at me, his eyes betraying his fear. I shook my shoulders at him. For some reason, I was at peace. ‘We will see in Helheim.’

‘Sentimental,’ Balan noted. ‘But you are no true Jotun, so perhaps it is excepted. Kill the two. Then we go up and surprise the rest if they hold. Let none escape!’

Mir nodded, and the soldiers stepped before the five undead lords. There were a hundred of them, and the dangerous Blacktowers. They roared gutturally and charged up the mound, a wave of dead coming at us with murderous intent.

Morag roared, the floor shook, and I felt him calling for strange powers.

The Blacktowers called for them as well.

The Red Brother jumped before me, his huge sword swiped down at the charging enemy mass. There was a flash of deadly metal, then grim screams and six undead men fell in a heap of limbs, indeed dead again. One was the man whose sword I had taken, another the guard I had had killed in the Apex. The giant growled and charged through the milling mass of enemies. Gravestones shattered, corpses tumbled under his foot, and the swords darted like lightning around him. He jumped up and leaped for Balan. Spears reached for him in the air, but he shifted to a man size, the sword as well and he came to grouch just before the dead lord, the weapons having missed him. Mir was backpedalling; Ann as well, but Balan was not. Another spear missed the Red Brother as Magor’s spell turned a group of the enemy into pillars of ice at the Red Brother’s back.

I felt useless as the dead all turned to look at the Red Brother.

A dead man speared at the knight’s back, but the man toppled as he hit empty air. The now gigantic, blond gargoyle had shot up from the floor, its hand around struggling Balan, and the sword was flashing in the air. I felt Balan touching the powers, Stirring the Cauldron, as my Father had called it, and a fiery field of energy surrounded Balan.