Black Monastery (26 page)

Finally, Abid spoke: “These Franks. Could they be waiting for us?”

Asgrim chewed his lower lip, then exhaled. “It possessed the monks when they dug up the old bones from the crypt, then the Frankish knight who fought the monks—even my own brother. Could it do the same to others it came across?”

“Most definitely, Captain… unless one possesses protection.”

Asgrim scowled. “Protection?”

“We can keep you and your men safe, Captain. We protected you once already when the
Marid
first appeared. We have… secret ways.”

“I don’t like secrets, Saracen,” Asgrim spat, glaring at the merchant.

The warrior Achmed stepped closer.

“My apologies, Captain,” said Abid quickly. “I did not think to tell you. My companion, Yusuf, can keep us safe from the
Marid’s
evil, but not the others on this island…”

Asgrim nodded and then faced the rest of the men. “Be ready. The Franks may still be here, hiding. Be prepared for anything.”

He stared for several long moments at the empty walls of the monastery before nodding to himself. “Let’s go, then.”

No one challenged them as they approached the blackened walls. Up close, the stench of burned wood was overpowering. Asgrim’s skin crawled, and he expected men to burst out from hiding and attack, but none did. He was the first man through the monastery entrance, walking into the courtyard where they had originally found the bodies. Only scorched earth and soot-stained walls remained. But the air became cooler and damp with the promise of the sea—a sure sign the
Marid
was nearby. His sense of unease grew. The rest of the men followed closely, trying to watch all the doors and windows of the inner courtyard at once.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” asked Steiner.

“Yes,” said Asgrim.

“The
Marid
is powerful and arrogant,” said Abid, “but it has underestimated the power of God before. It does so again, you shall see.”

Asgrim felt a dull weight within his gut, as if he had swallowed a large stone. “I hope you’re right.”

From behind them, the sorcerer Yusuf began chanting in his foreign tongue. The words made Asgrim feel uneasy, although he had no idea what the man was saying. Yusuf continued for some time, and Asgrim and the others waited, watching, tensed for battle. Finally, Yusuf spoke. Abid listened and then translated for Asgrim.

“The
Marid
is indeed present, Captain. Yusuf believes it is inside, through that doorway, below us somewhere.” Abid pointed to the main entrance.

“The monks’ crypt is down there,” said Asgrim.

Abid nodded.

“You better be right about your magic, Saracen.” Asgrim turned and glared at the sorcerer. “We’ve come this far. Let’s finish this.”

With that, he stepped inside the black monastery. After only a moment’s hesitation, the other men, led by Steiner and Achmed, followed him.

Within the cursed walls of the monastery, the air was even colder, and Asgrim could actually see his breath in front of his face. Everything that could burn had been consumed by the fire his men had set, leaving only the blackened walls intact. The level above them was exposed. The wooden floor had been consumed by the flames, falling in and creating piles of blackened rubble that the men were forced to step carefully around.

The stairway leading down to the crypt, though, was clear. Asgrim snorted. If that didn’t scream trap, then nothing did. He stood at the top of the stairs, glaring down into the darkness below. The air thrummed with menace and the cold promise of death. He gripped
Heart-Ripper’s
handle harder, squeezing it until pain spiked through his hand and forearm. Trap or not, he wasn’t leaving this cursed place until he had his revenge for Bjorn… and for Alda.

His men shuffled nervously behind him. They had to move now, before their courage frayed too thin. Men could only stand so much.

“It waits,” said Abid, from just behind Asgrim’s shoulder.

“I know,” answered Asgrim, feeling a rush of chill air circle about his legs. “Someone light a torch.”

One of his men handed a flaming brand to Asgrim. He slung his shield over his back by its straps and then took the torch. Asgrim stood in place, blinking rapidly, staring at the darkness. The spirit was right below, expecting them. It doesn’t fear men. Why should it?

If they went down there, they would all die. There was no question of this.

Fate. Fate was inexorable.

As he took the first step, the slap of his hard leather sole echoed down into the well of the stair. A damp wind wound about his legs. Steeling his resolve, he took another step, then another. Slowly, he descended. The torch guttered. Achmed and Steiner followed so closely behind that he felt their hot breaths upon his neck. Behind them, his men were quiet, save for their footfalls on stone and ragged breathing. At the bottom of the stairs, Asgrim stepped into the large crypt. The air was so cold that he shivered; ice covering the stone walls of the crypt glittered in the torchlight.

The
Marid
stood waiting for them, in the exact spot where the statue of Philibert had been. The spirit even imitated the statue’s exact pose, his arms crossed, his head raised to the ceiling above, but with an evil smirk on its cadaverous face, it watched the men approach. The statue itself lay shattered on the floor. Asgrim stopped about five paces from the
Marid
. The men followed, packing the chamber behind him. Yusuf began chanting again, and Asgrim felt an army of insects crawling across his skin.

“
Greetings, warriors
,” said the
Marid,
lowering its gaze to them, but still smiling cruelly. “
I had feared you were no longer coming, that I would have to go and root you out from whatever hole you were hiding in.”

“We… we do not fear you,
draugr
,” said Asgrim, hearing the lie in his voice.

The spirit didn’t answer, but merely shook its head. Yusuf chanted louder. The air throbbed with power and menace.

“
I find the presence of these eastern fools distasteful
,” said the
Marid
. “
But just the same, I am glad that you brought them with you
,
Asgrim Wood-Nose
.”

Heart-Ripper
wavered in Asgrim’s hand, and for a moment, he felt the desire to lower it and welcome this creature. Then Yusuf’s voice rose in intensity, and the feeling passed.

The
Marid
frowned. “
You think these fools with their charlatan tricks can protect you? Why? And what is it, exactly, that you think you need to be protected from?”

“You’re evil,” answered Asgrim. “And you killed my brother.”

“No, northern wolf, I did not kill your brother. You did.”

“But… but it was your—”

“Oh, don’t be so tedious, northman. I gave your brother the gift of serving me
. You
took his life.”

Abid spoke in his foreign tongue, softly, in almost a whisper. Asgrim heard it only because the man stood just behind him with Yusuf. It must have been a command to Achmed, because the other man edged closer to the
Marid
, stepping just past Asgrim with his hand on the cover of his shield.

The
Marid’s
eyes flicked to watch Achmed, and it grimaced.
“Whatever deal they made with you, you should know that they will break it. They have no intention of letting you or your men live.”

“Tricks,
draugr
. Tricks and lies,” Asgrim spat.

“No, northman. But you suspect as much already, don’t you? They seek to force me to serve them again. And if they succeed, their first command will be to slay you and all your men.”

“Lies, Captain,” hissed Abid. “It is a deceiver. It is frightened now because God’s power will soon protect the world from its evil.”

The
Marid
laughed, and it was an unpleasant sound. It shook its head and glared at the Saracen before returning its attention to Asgrim.
“You are no fool, northman. You understand this man lies. They will not protect anyone, merely use me for their own gain. Their Caliphate’s power will grow over the entire world. But I will not be used, not again.”

“You
will
serve God, demon!” shrieked Abid. “You will submit.”

“
Never
,” said the
Marid
.
“Instead, I shall take you and your ship, northman. I will use your body to replace this vessel of flesh, which even now is failing and rotting. You and your northern wolves will serve me. And why not? You and I are more like brothers than you and your real brother ever were. We serve the same purpose, red death, carnage, chaos, and destruction. Oh, yes, we shall burn the world and destroy every village, town, and city along the coast. And our strength will grow. More ships, more men, and more death. And you, Asgrim Wood-Nose, will become famous. Your name will live forever.”

“I… I don’t,” Asgrim’s glance went from the
Marid
to Abid.

“You are one of mine,”
said the
Marid
,
“You are death from the sea, just as I am. You know this to be true.”

“I’m not… I…”

Was he like this thing?

“I could have taken you and all your men that night in the fort. But I waited because I knew I’d have to deal with these Eastern fools sooner or later. And now you’ve brought them to me. And their magic shall not work a second time.”

“Don’t listen to its lies,” said Abid.

The
Marid’s
eyes narrowed as it turned to Abid. “
Tell me, Eastern man, did you bring my old prison with you?”

“Enough, demon,” said Abid.

Abid yelled something in his Saracen tongue, and the crypt erupted in confusion. Achmed stepped in front of Asgrim, blocking his view as he yanked the cloth cover from his shield. Asgrim saw a flash of silvery metal. The
Marid’s
face went pale and then flushed with rage. Yusuf also stepped forward, chanting furiously, almost shouting, and held a small silver jar over his head with both hands. The
Marid
drew back, its eyes widening.

But then someone screamed in pain from the rear of the chamber, and Asgrim saw forms battling near the foot of the stairs.

“Behind us!” Asgrim yelled. “We’re under attack.”

Frankish soldiers poured down the stairs, attacking those closest to the crypt’s entrance. The Franks were unarmed, attacking the Danes and Saracens with their bare hands, biting and clawing at them as if they were animals. Asgrim saw one of his men go down under the weight of three Franks who had swarmed over him.

They hadn’t been in the ruins of the monastery, but Asgrim had no doubt that these where the same Franks whose tracks they had found earlier—the survivors of the battle at the village, now possessed by the spirit. They must have been hiding in the woods nearby, awaiting some occult message to attack once the Danes and Saracens had entered the crypt.

He had been a fool to come straight down here first.

A wild-eyed Frank charged Asgrim, reaching for him with claw-like hands. Asgrim rammed his burning torch in the man’s face, letting it fall to the floor as he stepped to the side and brought
Heart-Ripper
down on the back of the man’s neck and yanked the blade back, nearly severing his head. Everywhere, men fought against the crazed Franks, with more still swarming down the stairs. There was barely room to move in the crowded crypt, and Asgrim almost tripped over a body lying on the floor. Achmed maneuvered to stay in front of the
Marid
, still holding the spirit at bay with whatever magic his silver shield possessed. Yusuf struggled to maintain the jar over his head amid the men fighting around him and jostling him. Abid stood just behind Yusuf. Terror filled his wide eyes. Then a half-naked Frankish soldier grabbed Abid and pulled him down, biting at his throat. Abid screamed, and the Saracen’s feet pounded the ground. Asgrim moved to help, but someone suddenly grasped at the shield on his back, pulling him off balance. He slipped his arms free of the shield’s straps and spun in place, lashing out with his sword and cutting a Frankish arm off at the elbow. But then at least three more Franks rushed forward, colliding with him, and he went down under their combined weight. Panic gripped him as their fingers jabbed at him like knives, trying to get through his chain mail coat and tear into his flesh. He kicked and thrashed, cutting at them with
Heart-Ripper
and pounding at them with its hilt. He needed room to get up, to keep fighting, but he couldn’t get it. Only his armor saved him from their attack, but that couldn’t last. One of them bit at his thigh, and stabbing pain ran up his leg.

Then, miraculously, one of the Franks he fought collapsed against him, unmoving, and another was suddenly wrenched free. Asgrim managed to shove
Heart-Ripper
against the throat of the last Frank and wrenched his blade back, sawing the Frank’s throat to the bone. Hot blood sprayed his face, but he was suddenly free of his attackers. He staggered to his feet just as Steiner killed the Frank he had pulled from Asgrim, cutting the man open from chest to navel and spilling his guts onto the stone floor.

Panting, Asgrim nodded his thanks, but then three more Franks threw themselves on Steiner from behind, dragging him to the ground. Asgrim tried to help, but even more Franks appeared, cutting him off, trying to drag him down, as well.

Gods damn it! How many of them are there? His men! His men were being slaughtered.

Asgrim kicked one of the Franks between the legs. Even possessed, the man dropped. Another rushed him, but Asgrim brought
Heart-Ripper
down on the side of the man’s neck, hacking through bone and muscle. He tried once more to reach Steiner, but the wild mass of fighting men had pushed them farther apart, and he couldn’t find him in the cramped confines.

He needed to do something, to take charge, but chaos ruled. Sigmund sat atop the chest of one of the Franks, repeatedly pounding the man’s already-crushed skull against the stone floor, seemingly oblivious to the fact the Frank was already dead. A moment later, another Frank fell upon Sigmund’s back, and Asgrim was pushed away from him by the press of the fighting.