The Beast of the North (42 page)

‘I see. But it won’t be that hard,’ I rumbled and changed. Lith blanched as I fell forward on my fours, my claws grew to the size of long daggers, and I turned entirely dark; my snout was elongated and full of razor sharp teeth. Gods, how much power my skills gave me. I sensed everything, smelled the smallest of scents lingering in the corners. I turned my snout towards her and she retreated, blanching in satisfactory terror at the sight of a huge, powerful wolf. Then I padded my way up. There was a door and beyond it only shadows. I smelled the air coming from the partly open doorway and knew we were not alone.

‘He in there?’ Lith whispered, stalking the shadows near me.

I growled and slunk through the doorway in a rush. My eyes were superb. The draugr were creatures of the night, but I was darkness itself. I saw them. They were in the huge room, standing in the shadows of the pillars framing the walls, and there was a dozen of them. All Blacktower men, some women. One, I saw, was a hauntingly beautiful female, her eyes in slits as she tried to understand if a lumbering Jotun had entered. I remember having seen her in the Apex, one of the servants and the one that had given me the clothes the day Lith had tricked me. I smelled others moving carefully, their weapons at the ready, bows aiming at emptiness. I padded forward, felt the thrill of a coming kill thrumming in my chest. I was recklessly anxious, powerfully savage, a slayer in the dark, like they were. I calmed myself, restrained my need to slay them and stalked closer. The woman was calling for magic, her hands were flickering, and the Black Grip, my gauntlet that was part of me told me she was seeking light. She had sensed something was wrong.

And then there was pale light in the middle of the room. The dead turned to look at it, then at the door.

But I was behind the woman, the strongest, and the most dangerous of the lot.

I jumped on her back. She shrieked in surprise, and then in pain, her dry lips drawn in a mask of terror as my blade-like claws raked her neck, and then her spine and the corpse fell, releasing a whiff of fiery spell at a curtain. The dead turned to me; two arrows flew, but I was past them.

They had no chance.

I bowled over one, raked his head off, turned, and bounded at one rounding a pillar, and the corpse actually shrieked with horror as my maw ripped at its face. Several shadowy warriors were coming at me, spears, axes, and hammers up. ‘Kill the Beast!’ one shrieked with chattering teeth and let go with an arrow. I growled and yelped as the point grazed my leg, jumped in the lot as I shifted. I landed on the group of the enemies, their arms flailing desperately, and I pummeled them with my gauntlet, clawed at some that tried to crawl away and roared happily as the bowman let go another arrow, only to hit my sword. I pulled the massive weapon, rushed forward while shifting to a man-sized version and rammed the smaller blade through the draugr’s chest.

A shadow flickered past.

I rolled away, cursing.

A beautiful Jotun’s blade ripped my forehead open. Tear Drinker came at me from the front, then behind, and I danced, jumped, and thrust my sword around me, luckily thwarting the blade while wiping blood from my forehead and eyes. I put my back to the wall, near-blind, called for powers, saw the cascading ice and fiery fires in eternal fall to the abyss, and pulled at a desperate spell the gauntlet whispered to me. I drew in mighty molten forces, twisted them rudely together, and let them go.

The tower quaked.

It shook; dust flew, stones groaned and so did I, for the spell was hugely draining. I saw Taram fall to his side in the small earthquake, his sword scraping at the stone so hard sparks flew high up to the air. He tried to get up, but I released the rest of the spell; a pillar fell with a tumble, and the draugr lord fell again. He saw me coming, for I charged like a mad thing for him, the sword high, then coming down. Then, the bastard turned to shadow, slithered away and the sword split wooden floor panel. I saw him streaking to the side, into a room, where a woman shirked.

Then died, for a servant girl fell on the doorway.

The lights went out in the room.

I laughed and stalked in. I pondered the dilemma. A wolf would be easier to stab by a thing of shadows. But I also needed the senses. I chuckled and tried something creative. My head flowed and changed into a wolf’s while I kept my armored body. It felt a strange mix, the body less dexterous than a wolf’s, more human—no, Jotun—than an animal. But I saw and smelled everything, even over the scent of blood spreading from the hapless servant girl. I resisted the urge to lope as I had no paws and kept focusing on my weapon.

I smelled Lith. She was close, stalking just outside the room, finally joining the battle. In the room, there were bunks in neat rows, a thick carpet that smelled of wet wool and also trunks for servants to keep their gear in. Then, on one wall there were weapon racks. I snarled with a feral intensity, for I smelled rot and blood at the far right corner. I stalked forward, keeping my eyes on a suspicious shadow. I was close, jumped over bunks, and laughed, the sound coming out with a curious, dog like yelp. ‘Run, little skeleton. Run!’ I howled, and the growl was enough to convince Taram his hide and seek game had failed.

The shadow shuddered. Then moved. It flickered; I felt a spell being cast and saw vine-like tendrils grasp my feet. I jumped out of them, ripped them up, and thrust forward, for Taram was flickering forth by the wall, trying to escape. I turned with the speed of his movement and swished my blade, which clanged with his sword. It didn’t hit him but was enough to stop his flight, as he fell against the wall. I roared, my strength savage and bitter and hacked down again, with terrible effect as a bed was sundered into bits. I kicked it aside, looking at Taram’s shadowy, dead, and yet still strangely handsome face backing off. He danced away from me, and I saw him glance at the door. ‘Lith?’ he said. ‘Care to help me?’

‘No, you shit sucker,’ she hissed. ‘I will enjoy the show.’

Taram laughed and gathered spells. The fires spread left and right of me, and he charged forward. He dodged under my savage, quick thrust, and rolled up to bump at me. I howled and grabbed him, pulled him towards my jaw, but his dagger stabbed at my face; his knee kicked my mouth shut, and we fell over rubble, rolling. I was a Jotun, savagely strong; he was lithe and agile as a snake. I dared not change; he was so close, and it would take a moment to do so, and that moment would be all he needed. He laughed, let his façade of calm disappear, cursed, and spat dryly at me, again rolling on the floor. He hacked down with the dagger; my hand blocked him, the blade stabbing a shallow wound through the armored arm. I howled and kicked, and we rolled again to break another bed. He tried to get away from my grasping grip, his sword aiming down to slit my face. I butted my fanged face forward, and the dagger went through my snout again. I bit down on the blade and held it, and his victorious smiled disappeared. I grasped his hair. He shrieked. I welcomed the stabbing, terrible pain as I yanked him closer, his dagger held by my teeth. If a dead man can grow pale, he did. I growled and pulled; he resisted, but in vain. He let go of the sword and again yanked at the dagger in my face, which sent stabs of fiery pain across me, but I had him, and then my bloodied, wounded maw opened up, clamped in his jaw and throat. The dagger was free, but he had no chance to hit with it. I bit down hard, tasted rot and old bone and ripped most of his face off, leaving one eye and forehead. He stumbled away as I choked on the terrible fare. He tried to melt into the shadows, sobbing in his strange, undead pain, hoping to dodge smirking Lith.

My gauntlet came up with a solution.

I called a spell, one of ice and icy rocks, of frigid waters and vapors, and Taram fell forward on his face. A grasping pair of cold hands held onto him, and then more as I gave it a good, last push, released the spell, and he was held in a powerful vice of many hands. I shifted, taking my gigantic form and shuddered with fatigue. There were savage wounds in my face, and one tooth was loose. I stepped on him, placed my foot on his back, and pushed, his bones cracking. He howled, giggled, and addressed me, lisping strangely. ‘Well, worm. It was different from what we used to share in Crimson Apex, this fight. Lith betrayed us?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And Shaduril will outlive you. Both of them will.’

‘I should have taken Ann when she lived. Much more sensible than these two. Well, I guess I’ll get my chance in a bit. She is already there, and I would have company in Helheim.’ He laughed. ‘But she was a prude, and I hope Hel’s land has cured her of that.’

‘She’ll hurt you for her sisters in Helheim,’ I said with murderous rage. ‘I doubt you will enjoy her company. And the girls here? They’ll laugh over the remains of your miserable corpse. Think about that, you shit, as I see how deep I can smear you into the cracks.’

‘Maskan—’ he began, but Lith interrupted me.

‘Go and take out Balan,’ she said with an ice-cold voice. ‘Leave him to me. You promised.’

‘Why would I?’ I laughed. ‘He killed my father.’

‘He is broken, Maskan,’ she said slowly. ‘We need to know more about Mir’s plans. And then I will slay him. If she is not here, we will have to prepare for her. He might know more.’

‘I know! I know it all! Spare me!’ Taram howled as I cracked a rib.

I considered him. He shook his head and let go of his disguise spell. His skin was white and yellow with old wounds, leaving dry flesh hanging out in places. He had lost the fight, but he was still dangerous. I bent down and took one of his arms in my hand. ‘Ready?’

‘Spare him! For now!’ Lith said, and I grinned.

‘Here,’ I told him and tore his arm off. I handed it to him as he looked in shock at the thing. Outside, bells were tolling.

‘I’ll take him to the guards, and then I’ll join you,’ Lith said, smiling at Taram.

I shrugged and stepped away. ‘Fine.’

She hesitated as she came closer. ‘You going to survive, love?’

‘Wounds, you treacherous bitch, love,’ I told her with a grimace. ‘Nothing serious, I suppose. Perhaps not,’ I said and felt my face was badly wounded.

‘Makes you look handsome,’ she purred, and I pushed her away and picked up Father’s sword.

‘None of that, now,’ I told her, and she nodded, hesitant, chasing away that obsession. Then she was staring at Taram, who was spitting strange mucus from his dry lips.

‘Go,’ she told me and concentrated on Taram. She walked around him, thrust her short spear through his leg and began pulling him towards the doorway. He howled; Lith giggled, and I left. I stumbled across the hall, drew breath, and prepared to fight Balan. I walked up a staircase, met nobody, passed gilded couches in small alcoves of the higher tower, and made my slow way towards a doorway. It was a wide, silver thing at the end of a hallway, illuminated by Lifegiver’s brilliant light. I spat as pain twisted my side, and I pushed over to the door.

I kicked it in, and it flew open with a bang.

Inside, the heart of Dagnar.

It was a huge circular room with dozens of doorways leading out of it. The walls were adorned with well-crafted tiles, inscribed with silver runes. Heavy arches supported the high, blood-red ceiling. A road of yellow bricks led to the opposite side of the huge chamber, and any visitor walking the path would at all times be thinking about the king on the throne, and he would be flanked by a row of courtiers and guards. The throne itself was a simple thing. It was large and dark red, and it had a simple back of the well-grained wood. It was made of rosewood and rumored to have been the seat of Odin in the ancient times.

The vast chamber was empty.

There were torches burning on sconces, casting light to the chamber, but it felt dead. I shifted to a wolf, fell forward, and sniffed the air. I walked around carefully, eyeing the Rose Throne, the shadows, and the rooms beyond and around the perimeter. The kitchens were not far; I smelled spicy soup had been prepared there a day or so ago. I also sensed there were corpses in the other rooms, but they were different from the draugr. They were truly dead. Only one dead was standing, I decided, as I thought I had found Balan.

There was someone beyond the throne.

I loped there, spied window frames made of twisted dark iron flowers. The glass panes were crystal glass, yellow and white. Beyond the beautiful windows, a figure stood. I spied a door, a simple one and thought I saw Balan standing on the Pearl Terrace. I walked that way; wary of the many tricks Balan might have up his sleeve. He was a crafter, a maker of miracles, and I had carried his tools to my father. So many dead. 

I stepped behind the draugr lord but stopped to look out over the town, to the mountains and the sea. The sight was unbelievable. The terrace itself was simple, broad and barbarically adorned with crude iron and rough wood, yet the wonderful sight gave the terrace its name. The Arrow Straits spread out to the south and the east, glittering as if a thousand tiny pearls were bobbling across its surface. The many cascading waterfalls, the Hard Pass, and its lake land were things of wondrous beauty, and I could see why my father had prayed there, each morning for the gods. I momentarily even forgot Balan.

But not for long, as the Lord of the Blacktowers turned. His hand was gone, of course, and yet the dead thing raised it to ward me off. Then he realized his mistake and frowned, shrugged and put the stub down. He was not grasping at power, only standing there, and he let his human face disappear. He looked drawn, yellowed; his skin stretched and rotted, and his lips were curled back into thin flaps of skin. He leaned back tiredly and wiped lank hair from his eyes. ‘Well, if you wish to kill me and send me on my way, do it. If you wish to talk before the nastiness, you should do something about your shape. ‘And so I changed. Tear Drinker was under Balan’s chin, and he did not flinch. He grinned. ‘Well. We fooled you well, didn’t we?’