Throne of Scars (5 page)

The elven female screamed.

Her heart burned.

Elves turned to help her, but her chest was spewing snakelike licks of fire, and she ignited many of the fabulous soldiers around her. In a moment, she was dead.

And yet she looked up at Shannon. Her darkened husk took steps forward, she looked at her hand, her arms, where black flesh hung, and her hair fell around her like leaves, smoldering.

Shannon was laughing.

It was spiteful, bitter laughter, mocking, and evil, and she pointed a finger at the female, who jerked, and turned to unleash magic at her own guards. A fiery spell rose in the middle of the
elite regiment of the elves. It grew high as a house, spewing burning elves in a wide arch over the harbor. The elfess, dead or not, looked confused and horrified, but the spell grew in power, and sucked up a squad of noble riders, their horses, and lizards screaming in horror.

The golden-helmeted officer was there suddenly, his lizard beating the pavement, and his sword hacked down.

The undead elven Safiroon fell down like a sack of wheat.

“Kill that bitch!” the elven general roared, pointing his sword at Shannon, and arrows rained around Shannon, who danced away. She changed to darkness, shadows twisted in the air as she moved, and the shadows shot across the great, broken seawall of Himingborg, and disappeared.

We watched the draugr march home. They walked under the Straits, the sodden, rotten army got back and marched off, and it was suddenly very quiet.

Across the water, the elves mourned. Their screams of lament and horror echoed, and I saw dozens of squads of the dead climb up to the sides to rush to the city, one by one, to kill and maim and to cause chaos in the night.

Women and children. Shannon was making war on them.

Thak pushed me. “Don’t think about it, Ulrich. Make ready to leave. We don’t have much time. The old Shannon wouldn’t have found joy from something like that, but this one does and we have to solve it. We need that horn, the gods and perhaps they can spare her from Hel’s insanity.’

Coodarg turned to us, and I realized the wheezing wind was laughter. He whispered dangerously, “Oh, she is more than Hel’s creature. In death, she is what life made her. Obey her, and in the end, Hel shall be satisfied. Break your oaths, and she’ll make war on you.”

I
woke in the middle of the night, tossing and turning, in the throes of terrible nightmares. I shook myself awake, and looked around the vast chamber we called home. Thak was fast asleep in an alcove, his gigantic chest rising in tune with his snores. Ittisana, the gorgon, wasn’t there, as she rarely slept. She stalked in the night, doing what she did best, lurking around and helping Shannon. She was friendly and flirty, if that’s what it was, and like Thak, she was Shannon’s first and foremost.

              I was not the only one awake in the chamber.

Kiera was there.

She was seated in the shadows, by the table, her eyes on mine. “You know,” she began, her voice still rich with the elven tingle, despite her undeath, “when you fought in Himingborg to save the mistress from Coinar and Cosia that one day, a handsome human male wielding terrible magic for his friends, braving Danar Coinar’s wrath and that of the bitch Cosia, slaying our foes on the side of my father, well, I felt a certain tug.”

I rubbed my eyes, nodding.
Was she an alp?
I thought. We had such legends in Germany, in Austria, of beings that stalk your nightmares, and drink your blood.
No, an alp is a man,
I thought, but perhaps the legends were wrong and she was one. I had never been a student of the mysteries, and had not been a good student at all, in fact. I had been a craftsman and a thief, and such men can’t claim to know the past.

And there she was, sitting in the shadows, alluring, beautiful, and dangerous. She didn’t look dead. Just …different. Was that a charm, a spell?

What did she want?

“A tug,” I muttered. “A tug of what, Kiera?”

Her shadow fled in the room. I looked around, bewildered next to me, her beautiful, if pale face inches from mine. “A tug of warmest of feelings. Almheir, the Regent, Father, he wanted me to marry well one day. You, so tall, forbidden, roaring mad with anger, brave as any elf? I forgot about his wishes. I wanted
you
. I watched you. You stole my heart in the battle. A human. It’s terrible.”

“
That
is terrible?” I chortled, concerned and worried by her intensity. “I have different kinds of problems. I find terror in the war, in the dying babies, slaughtered women and elders. The draugr.” I looked up at her. “If I were you, being undead would probably terrify me more than love.”

She tilted her head, confused for a moment, wondering, trying to remember or grasp a memory that would allow her to sympathize with what I was feeling. She was what she was. Dead. Dead and she had no remorse or fear or disgust for it. I saw her struggle, trying to remember, probing for the moments before she had been raised, and in the end, perhaps she succeeded. “Of course it is terrible as well,” she said with rare, raw feeling in her voice. “But Shannon is my mistress, the Queen of the Dead, and my maker. Being dead and alive at the same time, it is odd, Ulrich. We remember some of our past, some feelings from our forgone life. We yearn for things and people we loved or desired, but slaying the living, Ulrich, that is what we do. We slew in life, we slay in death, and perhaps knowing death is not the end for our souls, makes us less careful with what we slay? What do you think?”

“Perhaps,” I murmured. “Though I’d rather see babies grow into elves and men, and find their destiny much later.”

She nodded softly as she put a finger on my chin and traced my beard. Her voice was trembling. “Matters not, Ulrich. The dead obey their dukes, queens, and kings. We cannot refuse. We cannot. It should be simple. It is not.”

“Is it not?” I asked and saw a flicker of pain in those eyes.

“It is not,” she confirmed. “As I said. We are also plagued by needs, urges, wants, from our past. And so, your disgust over the war, the way it is being waged, and where it is taking us makes me suffer. It makes me want to sit down, bury my face in my hands, and weep.”

“Weep, Kiera,” I told her. “Would make two of us.”

She smiled and leaned over me. I smelled the leather in her armor, and felt the chain as her bosom pressed against my chest. She climbed to lie next to me, and I, unsure how I felt about that, caressed her hair. She was close to my ear, but she was not breathing, and disgust, pity, and even desire coursed through me. Her lips touched my ear and I turned to her. “But you cannot.”

“What?” she asked, fighting the urge to kiss me.

“Weep,” I muttered.

She stared at me with brief fury, which she chased away, and she caressed my face.

“You are a coward to try to break my mood,” she murmured. “A coward, Ulrich. Brave in battle, weak outside it. Give us a break from this shitty war and the fear. You have seen me in a mood to slay. Now I’m giving myself as a gift of gentleness. This is the mood you want to see.”

I spoke uncertainly as the creature looked deep into my eyes. “The living and the dead, Kiera. They probably wouldn’t mix very well.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, aye. Just look what happened to Father and Shannon. Father had it coming though. The Rot is eating him alive, and his heart is broken. He loved me well.”

“What,” I asked her, “is it that you want with me?”

“Love,” she answered simply. “More than lovemaking. Love. Love within a box, within the chains that bind us. Love that stays in our hearts, even when we must act against it. I dreamed of it before I died. It’s still there, and it’s not going away. It haunts me.”

I caressed her hand, unsure what to tell her. “But Shannon and Hel, the war. The box is tight, the chains constricting. I’d never understand you, or her, or what is needed. I joined Shannon to help her,
not
Hel. You would never put love first, and your mistress second. Or your god.”

She frowned. “Will
you
put Shannon second?”

I hesitated. Her mood was about to be broken for good. “She knows I don’t agree with her on many things. Occasionally, I will put my needs before hers.”

She sat up and held her head. “I envy you, perhaps.” She gazed at me, her head tilted and her honey
-
colored hair was spilling around her. “This is confusing. So confusing. I bet it is confusing for Shannon as well. But that dagger of Hel’s, Famine, helps her embrace her role as the Queen of the Dead, and to forget the pains of conscience. Or perhaps there is nothing left from her life that would tug at her heartstrings. She seems to have few regrets.” She turned her eyes to me. “You say no to me?”

I bit my lip and touched her cheek. It was cold as ice. “I cannot promise I’ll obey her every day,” I said simply. “And you must. What if she tells you to kill me?”

She grinned. “I’ll kill you with a kiss,” she said and smiled, and I was sure she could. She pushed me gently. “But perhaps things will change one day. Anything can happen. Much has happened, eh? I’ll fight for Shannon, but who knows what can happen?”

“Yes, Kiera. And I cannot say I didn’t like … perhaps love you, or desire you when you had no such burdens,” I muttered, unsure what I had felt for the girl. I had not known her. She still stared at me, and her eyes were blood red. She smiled at me, her lips full as rubies, and I bit my lip as I saw there were fangs in her mouth. Shannon drank blood. I was sure she did as well.

She got up on her knees on the bed before me. “Love later, if gods allow. Lovemaking now, because I desire it.”

I felt fear crawl down my back. I sat up and put my hands on her belly. “You are dead,” I whispered. “Do you see—“

She took my face in her hands. “My heart does not move, the blood does not course through my veins, but I am not rotten,” she said softly. “Never will I be. I’m just …still. Listen.” I felt her voice twist around me, hypnotically. The voice whispered of pleasure, of warmth, of loving things I had missed for a long time. It reached out to me, and I pushed back at the thoughts, desperately trying to find a way to deny them. They kept sneaking around my struggle, convincing me to relax, to give in. I fell back and held my head. I noticed her lips were not moving. She tugged at her armor, which fell in a heap around her, the red dragons engraved on the leather bright against the black. She pulled at her tunic, and it came off, her hair billowing around her like a glorious pale morning over icy plains. Her skin was white, there was no sign of death anywhere, and her breasts were high and inviting.

The draugr. They used spells to hide their condition,
I thought, but I knew she was no draugr, but much like Shannon. Different. Beautiful. The voice in my head spoke to me, gentler and less demanding, but I felt weak to resist her. She stood up and pulled at her pants, which fell away, revealing her beauty in all its glory. I opened my mouth to refuse her, but couldn’t. She tugged away my clothing, and pulled away my blanket, whispering to me, like a mistress to her dog, and pressed her cold flesh on mine, and her hot lips on my belly, and then below. I couldn’t hear her voice in my head any longer, only her pleasured murmurs, and I gave up the struggle.

Later, when it was morning, she left my side.

I watched her dress, and pressed my head with my palms, and wondered if her urges concerning me were now gone, and she would no longer be interested in me.

That,
I argued with myself,
was the reason I had let her into my bed
. I lied, of course. I knew it was not. It was the spell, partly. Part of me knew the spell would not have had a hold of me if I didn’t care for her. I let her near me for her beauty, for the tragedy she had suffered, and even if she was not breathing, she was not dead like I understood it, not really. There was far more to death than I understood.

She turned to look at me with a nervous smile, as she closed the buckles in her armor. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling on a gauntlet and then she held the sword, Heartbreaker. It was not a longsword, but slightly shorter. It was made of totally white metal, with a carving of an open eye in the crosspiece. She looked at it, and placed the blade over my heart. “Easy,” she whispered. “It’s an artifact of the past, and so sharp you must not move. It will split a heart if it breaks more than skin.”

“Do you think Shannon will raise me for you?” I asked her nervously as she held the blade there. “Are you going to remake me, because I made you no promises? Or did you get what you needed, and now make sure it is only yours, forever. I don’t want to come back when I die.”

She sighed. “If you die, Ulrich, you will come back to us, if it is possible. You will, because Shannon and I want you to. And you’ll see it is worth it.”

“Never,” I breathed.

“But fear not,” she said. “This is a gift.” She hesitated and pricked my skin, stared at the bloodied tip, flicked a drop of blood from it, and tasted it. Her eyes went to the wound, and there was a hint of regret there, until she blinked it away. “Just so I always know where you are, Ulrich.” She smiled. “I was possessive before I died.”

“What kind of a gift—”

She put away the Heartbreaker. “Mistress will want you to go to the library today. Study, learn, and then, soon, you’ll be fetched. She thinks she will have news from Svartalfheim and a plan in place very soon. Then we’ll go forward and see where we end up.” She leaned over and kissed my lips, and left.

The jotun was chortling, having been awake for a good while. “I’ve had some coldhearted females in my time, Ulrich, but you chose one with a very icy pumper. Oh, you’ll be in trouble.”

“I
will
be in trouble? I
am
in one. She just marked me!”

“Your own fault, I say. You made love like a horny bull,” he chuckled. “You satisfied the elven bitch so well her undead dreams will never forget it. She’s your burden now. I would have made a mess of it, if I were you. I’d have humped away sloppily, panted with exhaustion, finished quickly and complained about a headache, but no, you had to give her pleasure for five hours. No, she won’t go anywhere. Never again. She’ll obey Shannon, but she’ll keep track of you with some odd blood magic, and in the end, her confusion will land you in a very awkward situation. My advice—”

“I don’t want it, dolt,” I groaned. “I’ve got enough trouble than to take advice from someone who eats gorgons and elves for breakfast.”

“Have fun before you die in her hands,” he said, giving it anyway. Then he sobered. “I’ll fix us something to eat. Not gorgon, mind you, or elf. And then we’ll find Ittisana and leave for the library. There are books and perhaps items there Shannon desires. Dress up, you corpse lover.”

“She is not—”

He left, laughing and I rubbed my face with desperation. I had a way of making my life complicated, even when it was already hopelessly knotted.