Throne of Scars (10 page)

Spells flashed. Fires grew out of the air before the maa’dark, and tried to reach the fleeing creature. The sizzling hot killing spells ripped across the figure, and I was sure he would die.

The figure disappeared.

But then came into view at the side.

The svartalfs and their guards yelled and pointed at him. More spells reached for the lithe creature. The running figure rolled to the side, and glowing spells of guard grew around him like bands of light, as he ran again. He kept glancing back as he ran. He spun skillfully in the air, barely avoiding a ball of flame that left his cape simmering, and passed the draugr. Arrows fell amongst the svartalfs and creatures that had foolishly entered the court. Heavy shields clanged together to guard against the draugr, two maa’dark fell on their faces, their bodies filled with arrows. The enemy chanted madly, and retreated as a ring of draugr tightened around them. Desperately, two of the maa’dark pushed out of the shieldwall and sent their fiery spells at the surrounding draugr. A dozen died, chattering and screaming in their final death. The two daring maa’dark died when a spell of ice ripped through them, leaving the ground wet with blood and shattered ice. The rest stepped back and fled, and the air thrummed as they disappeared. The draugr approached the dead ones, wary of the gate.

I turned to Ittisana. “Her spy?” I asked.

She shook her head uncertainly. “A svartalf. One of the other side.”

“Yes. It’s the contact to Scardark,” Thak said, looking at the running figure. “It’s the Under Lord himself. I’ve seen that spell of displacement before.”

Ittisana pushed me. “I’ll find you that book about artifacts. Shannon wanted you to read about Midgard, and the war that took place there, but I think we don’t have time for reading. There is a smaller library in the Citadel. You start preparing. We will leave soon. Go and see her when she calls for you. It will be today.”

***

I climbed up a stairway. From the windows that opened up on each level, I could see activity on the walls. The Citadel and the Shining City—the palaces and the walls around the holiest part of Himingborg—were the domain of the dead. The undead things were toiling mercilessly, had been for hours after the incident at the gate. They were evil, there is no denying that, scheming things who had escaped Hel’s peaceful lands to wreak havoc in the Nine worlds, but they were not disorderly. Meticulous work was going on at the walls, as the dead frantically fixed them. On the other side of the White Court, by the northern wall and in the Silver Spires, the palace that was part of the outer fortification, an ominous rumbling could be heard, as tons of stone collapsed and a dust cloud billowed high up into the air.

They’re collapsing the gates. Preparing for an assault.

Did it have something to do with this … Under Lord? Probably,
I decided.

I heard hammering in the Citadel itself as well, and the hoarse yells of the draugr. Fires were burning in the workshops below, and a constant stream of draugr were rushing back and forth in the stairways. The Citadel had been cold as ice for weeks—there was no need to warm the dead—but now it was very warm as it too was being repaired. The fumes from the workshops below made it an intolerable place to live. Huge siege equipment was being hauled to the roof, and nasty traps were being built. They would kill hundreds of enemies, should they reach us. The White Court itself was lifeless. No more svartalfs or the strange beasts had come through, and the dead had dragged the corpses away.

I reached the last stairway leading up to the towers where the self-proclaimed Queen of Aldheim –
Shannon
– awaited.

Queen. No, friend.
She would die there in Himingborg, for good. No matter her powers, she could not defeat the enemy. Or could she?

No.

She needed an army. She had one, but it was simply too small.

Perhaps she could escape to Euryale’s tower in the middle of the sea? There we could hold off anything. But no, the enemy ships waited beyond the seawalls and perhaps not even Shannon could cross the sea without dying. It all hinged on the recovery of the Horn.

I looked around as I climbed the last stairway. The Citadel had been opulent, with precious details everywhere. In that stairway, there had been gold and silver decorations, but now there was but bare stone. The dead had taken everything of value. The hallways below were empty, dark, and while I climbed the high tower and looked to the sides where small alcoves opened up, there was only broken furniture.

And the dead.

Eyes flickered there in the dark. The sight made me hold my breath with revulsion and fear.

The dead were watching my every move, creeping in the dark, slithering in the corridors. The tower was echoed with their soft, sibilant whispers. They had to obey Shannon. They would obey their undead lords and ladies, their creators, when commanded. But they were also rebellious, strangely driven by their own personal goals, and those goals were often a mystery to the living and dead alike. And perhaps some had gotten into their heads that killing the sole live allied Ten Tear of the Queen could be accomplished in such a dark corridor.

I climbed on, holding my torch aloft, and kept telling myself not to turn around. My belly rumbled and I pushed hair off my eyes, begging for the trek to end, and then, suddenly, I was there at the top. There was a ladder to the roof of the tower, but I’d take a bridge to another tower. Before I could, I’d have to pass a portcullis. It was a dark and menacing iron grille that barred the way to a small bridge, high above the Citadel. There I waited, while my torch sputtered.

“Hello?” I said finally.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

It shuffled from one dark place to another, and then, reluctantly, braved my torchlight and stepped closer. It tilted its head to the side as it stepped up to the bars, and I flinched as I looked at the torn, rotting face of a burly elven guard. His left eye was missing, the sword strike that had taken it running from scalp to chin. The elf’s once beautiful, superbly long silver hair ran all the way to his hips, and while the armor he wore was finely crafted, his clothing the best quality, the lone surviving eye was feral and enough to cause an animal-like fear scuttle around my belly. He tilted his head to the other side this time, as if considering how best to devour me, but the draugr didn’t eat, so I’d be spared that fate. I regretted not taking the Iron Trial with me. “She is expecting me,” I said as steadily as I could.

“She is impatient and in a foul mood,” the draugr said mischievously. “She has asked a dozen times where her pet human is. She has been cross with us, she has. But she is busy with the upcoming war, isn’t she? We forgive her. Maybe she won’t be too upset with you after all. You should be safe. Go in, then, and do not Kiss the Night. No spells near her, or you will be roasted and left as a treat for the rats and maggots.”

“I doubt I could hurt her if I wanted,” I said. “And if I could hurt her, I doubt her demise would be a worse fate than the one she must endure now, every day.”

“Day or night, endure she must,” he chuckled dryly. “It is not a bad … life,” he added and pulled a lever, and the iron grille shot up. I stepped in, but the dead one had not moved, and one thing the dead didn’t seem to understand was a sense of personal space. They came close, far too close, and were not bothered by that at all. The thing stood in my way, its inhuman eye following me. It stayed still and finally I pushed past it, reluctant to touch it. I walked to the bridge.

“Perhaps,” he called after me, “you’ll join us one of these days. That would be nice. There are thousands of draugr humans amongst us. They’d like some fresher company.”

I shuddered and cursed and walked on. I heard the grille slam shut with a jarring noise.
Join them? Shit. Never. I’d rather die
. Then I chuckled at the irony of the thought and stopped for a moment. Before me, there was the recluse tower of Shannon. It was a dark and squat, round tower during the night, but in the light it was cream-colored and favored by ravens.

I turned to look around. I tried to calm myself. I gazed across the land and wondered at the splendid Himingborg and the surrounding lands. Far, in the south, lights shone across the land. That was the ravaged land of house Safiroon and House Vautan, where Houses Daxamma and Coinar had waged war on the Regent and his allies just a month ago. Their armies had been beaten back, but Danar Coinar survived, and so did Marxam Daxamma and gods knew if they would fight against Shannon as well, or wait for something better to come along.

Perhaps the dead were there as well
, I thought.

Many dead were raised by Shannon’s terrible spell, and rumors said they didn’t all stand up in Himingborg’s battlefield. The north, the Holy Continent, the once mighty seat of Freyr, the Boar Lord was visible as the Two Sisters trekked the sky. The pale moons glided across royal blue sky, the stars twinkling across it, and there, in the heights of the Holy Continent, hills burned with fires, magical and ordinary. There, the Bardagoon armies and Safiroons, soon hundred thousand strong were gathering. Had been for a month.

It all looked splendid and I almost wished I had chosen differently. I could be there, serving the living. No matter the scum most of the elven nobles were, I’d not endure terror and fear like I did with the draugr.

But for Shannon, I would have chosen differently.

A tingling voice spoke near me. “Full of doubts, guilt, and self-loathing as usual,” said a shadow and I tried my best not to flinch as Kiera, the former daughter of Almheir Bardagoon stepped next to me. “Thak is right.” The elf lady had died in the battle, but Shannon had resurrected her in front of her father, claimed her as a servant and while she was not a rotting draugr, she was every bit as dead.

Our common night haunted me. It had been full of passion, perhaps even love. I turned to look at her, searching for things to say. I managed just one word. “Yes.”

“Yes, you are,” she said as she joined me in my scrutiny of the lands.

Her face was pale, her hair blond and lustrous, and her movements as smooth as silk on silk, and yet I missed most her high laugh, like she had laughed when we had escaped Coinar ships in the waterways outside Himingborg, no so long ago. “What have you been up to?” I managed and shook my head with desperation. What a stupid question. She had been
killing
. “Are you well?” I tried again and bit my lip.

She was
dead
. Of course she was unwell.

“I’ve never been better,” she smiled, her eyes red and twinkling with amusement. “Don’t worry about it, Ulrich. Don’t worry about anything. We need you.”

“Very good,” I told her. “I try not to.” I nodded towards the tower. “I should probably enter now.”

“Wait a moment before you go to her,” she whispered. “She is doing something. She’ll call you.” She looked on at the lights of her father’s army. “Father is soon ready with his army.”

“There he is, Almheir,” I muttered as I settled to wait with her. She placed a hand on mine, her grip cold and powerful. I thumbed her hand, not sure why. I cared for, and feared her. “Your father is coming soon. Shannon’s given up the rest of the city?”

“Looks like it,” she said while staring at where her father was. There he and her brothers waited to take the city. “It is impossible to defend.”

“Is she a bad general?” I asked her boldly.

“What?” she asked, looking astonished. “No. She is not. She is doing what she can.”

“Hel’s plan wasn’t very good, was it?” I said, half happy it was so. “Her army is too small.”

“Yes,” she said. “But Hel has many plans. She wants the Horn, and Shannon has her support. Don’t judge before you see the full picture.” She smiled softly. “She has advisors. Us. The dagger, and Hel through the dagger. It whispers to her and she and the weapon work well together.”

“The Famine,” I said disdainfully. It had killed Euryale, so it was a mighty artifact indeed. “I’ve not seen her much. Has she changed these past weeks?”

She nodded. “You know she has. You saw her when she killed the elven mage. But what is, is. Do not worry about it.” She placed a hand on my chest. There was a frown on her face.

“It’s infected,” I complained. “Your sword was not clean.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said unhappily, and looked away. “Do not worry about that either. Don’t fear. I will know where you are, Ulrich, at all times. I’m your friend, no matter if Shannon might not be, one day. Yes, she has changed. I didn’t know her before, but she is changing all the time.” She looked for the mask on my belt. “Ittisana spoke to me about this … Iron Trial? Imagine wearing it all day, every day, and then you know what Shannon is going through.”

“Yes, I see,” I said simply. Kiera should actually hate Shannon for her cruelty. She had died. She had been raised, and perhaps only to hurt Almheir, Shannon’s traitorous husband and the mightiest man of the land.
But no,
I thought. She smiled there, her mood odd, but she wasn’t unhappy. While Shannon was changing into a Queen of the Dead, Kiera was finding pleasure in her new unlife.

I shook my head.
Would I, if I died, enjoy it?

No.

A wind blew from the Straits, and we both gazed across the wide waterway to the southern part of the city. There, the Safiroons still held sway, though the draugr raided heavily now, since their mighty maa’dark was dead. Fires burned in several parts of the city. There were defiant lights in the buildings. People and elves were living there, fearing the horror that befell their brethren, but doggedly, they held on. Kiera’s eyes glittered. She spoke, almost dreamily. “Shannon won’t have to take it now. She is defending the city. But the dead will go out and kill in the night still. Just to keep the enemy busy. It is fine sport.”