Throne of Scars (7 page)

“Let’s do it, then,” I said. We trekked away from the destroyed battleground and across pristine courtyards, silent spaces of beauty where human and elven life had thrived. There were toys scattered in the corners of elaborate playgrounds, craftsmen had dropped their hammers and tools across the street called the Crafter’s Run, and there, the Safiroon arms factory had been left burned, a gigantic smithy called the Pride of Soot. It was all quiet now. We got close to the library and hiked through fantastic alleys, filled with statues and brazen colors and subtle details everywhere, and that horror was only challenged by the rotting corpses, hundreds of dead left by the draugr on one particularly wide courtyard.

“What the hell—”

“Shit,” Ittisana agreed. The dead. They had been positioned as if they were alive. They were rotting, hacked and ripped, but seated and left leaning on walls, their hands grasping their partners in a grisly scene that resembled a feast. There were many human children there, dead the lot of them. The draugr had created a joke, or art, and I cared not which it was. I fought the need to pull Iron Trial out and go hunting for the creatures.

And I fought for this? For Hel?
Ittisana pushed me on, and Thak looked down
. Did they have any misgivings? Probably not.

I shook my head, hardened my heart for the time, and we took the final stretch for Haven. There, the draugr started to show up. Occasionally, we saw some of them squatting in the doorways, having claimed a house to loot, a temple to search for treasure, and they truly coveted it, since I saw three such dead elves utterly mesmerized by a chest filled with silver, hardly noticing our passing. Thak drew his mighty sword, the sword of a jotun, a dverg
-
crafted weapon that would grow or shrink with him, and I was happy he was there.

Finally, we had reached the steps of the library.

The portico that guarded the gate was shaded and coated with gold, and as we walked the steps, I could see the windows were adorned with jewels, sunk into glass in artistic patterns. Vines grew wildly along the white walls and the squat towers. We reached the fine, red doors, and Thak shrugged and pushed them open without any ceremony.

Inside, silence and darkness.

Thak went first, using his huge sword to push back the swinging doors, and dusty fog billowed out

Inside, shadows reigned. Ittisana scowled and stepped forward, and I knew she was braiding spells. She lifted her arms and from them and many
bright lights escaped. “Best leave the snake—”

“Dragon—” I murmured.

“The thing in the artifact,” she said patiently. “Best not ignite anything, right?”

“Right,” I said sullenly as I watched dozens of bright balls of light scatter all over the bottom floor, lighting it very well indeed. “I have no wish to call for it anyway,” I said and then went quiet. In the midst of the central chamber there was a huge, circular stairway that went up for six levels. On each level, there were colorless windows the size of an elf; hundreds of them, and beams of light shattered the shadows and the darkness.

Between the windows, there were jotun height bookshelves of thick, red wood.

“Quite something,” I breathed.

There were millions of books and scrolls in Haven. All glittered with gold and silver, and I could only gawk in silence. They stood in silent vigil like dutiful soldiers waiting to be relieved. The books were worth an empire, and probably a dozen kingdoms to boot. And quite a few of the books glowed gently, being magical. I walked across the black tiled floor, and went to stand near the staircase, where I leaned on a silver statue. The railing was decorated with gold and gems, there were building-high pillars supporting the stairway, all made of some pink-hued stone. There were more statues hidden between the bookcases, some were standing on the stairs, pondering problems, images of long
-
lost scholars and mages and lords.
Perhaps one was of Coodarg?
I thought. They were beautiful and delicate, the sort of feats of unimaginable skill that left the onlooker waiting breathlessly for them to move.

Thak was looking around, his sword out, and he smelled the air carefully. “Where do we go?”

Ittisana squinted up. “Kiera said the works on Svartalfheim are on the third level. I’ll show you. She walked up the stairs and I went after her, wondering at each new sight. We reached the third floor, and Thak stood by the stairway, looking around the shadows carefully.

Near the stairs, there were coaches of green and gray velvet, and Ittisana nodded at me. “You just take a seat. Relax. I’ll find what we need.” She rushed to find the works on her homeland, her sword slapping on her thigh and I pulled a couch next to the window. There, I plopped down on it. I squinted in the light of Mar that shone through the window, and got up to push at it. After a moment’s struggle, I discovered they opened inwards and now clear, fresh air moved into the room.

The sight was breathtaking, opening up towards the north. The land, the Holy Continent that was called Freyr’s Tooth rose steadily from Himingborg. There, Bardagoons guarded what was Freyr’s Seat, the lost god’s hall where Lex and Shannon had died, and where Dana had betrayed them. There, also, before the passes that led to that wondrous land, red forts guarded the roads. Before the forts, a vast camp of silken tents spread across hillsides. They looked like people on a peaceful outing, like a nation out camping, but there too glittered thousands and thousands of spears, and I knew the might of Safiroon and Bardagoon houses, and their dependents were preparing. There, Anja was, her skill in opening anything with her touch a potent weapon for Almheir, who would attack the city with fury. There too, Hannea Coinar, the sister of Ompar Coinar and Shannon’s love, helped Almheir by pretending to be the Hand of Life, disguised in the lost armor of the office. Fifty thousand? At least that many. And another fifty to come soon, no doubt.

There was no way to win,
I decided. None. Why did Shannon try? What could she do anyway? Why not flee?

I sat there and enjoyed the silence, despite the ominous sight of the enemy. “I’d love to stay here for a long while,” I whispered.

“Nothing to eat, though,” Thak predictably complained from behind, where he had looked over the land in silence. “Surely the guards and the keepers
had
to eat something.” He looked at me guiltily. “You mind—”

“Go and find the kitchens,” I sighed and sat there, happy for a moment.

In an hour, Ittisana slumped next to me. “I asked Thak to check all the doors and trapdoors. There are some below, but they are all magically locked.However I found a lot, and you have a lot to consume.”

“Food and ale?”

She giggled, an odd sound from such a deadly creature. “Information,” she said. She reached over me and there, on a desk were dozens of books. I groaned. I’d be buried in information. Ittisana pulled out a book and opened it up.

***

An hour later, I rubbed my face and she blinked. Even the snakes looked surprised. “You are not interested?”

“I—”

She slammed a gold-rimmed tome closed. “It is
my
home.
My
homeland. And you are
not
interested?” The gorgon was rarely riled, but she was now.

I raised my hands disarmingly, but she was not impressed. She was tapping her sharp nails on the book and I felt lost like a pup, not sure how to repair the damage. “I don’t get it,” I said.

She let out a long breath. “What don’t you get, human dolt? Maybe I should train you like Cosia trained you in Euryale’s sweet care? Flay your flesh a little?”

I scowled and swallowed the angry retort. Kiera had flayed me enough for the day. “You are telling me stories of the past. Cities, ancient and old, the land of the shadows, of the darkness, and the beings that inhabit it. Svartalfs aplenty, millions of them, dozens of cities where their rulers call themselves kings and queens, and that warfare and thievery are part of life. Ruugat ...”

“Ruugatha. The Toppling of the Throne,” she said.

“Ruugatha, the game of throne toppling is the law. Kings and queens hold power, and when one falls, the new power gains rights to the throne, and keeps it for themselves or appoints another who obeys them. That is how Stheno rules. She has filled all the Eight Cities and their thrones. Take the throne, kill the occupant, and you rule. That is the one rule. Svartalfheim is the land without a sky, and the richest land—”

“See,” she said happily. “You
got
it.”

“But
why
do I have to know all this?” I asked, perplexed. “I’m not going to topple thrones or—”

She slapped my hand. Look, you don’t have to
get
everything,” she hissed. “It’s enough you know about some of it. You
must.
”

“Don’t
you
know Svartalfheim? This Scardark?”

She smiled. “Yes, Scardark, the capital of Vastness, the great cavern. The city of Five Thrones and the Throne of Scars where the ruler rules over all of Vastness, I—”

I interrupted her. “See. You know
everything.
Why must
I
?” I complained, feeling exhausted. “You have been explaining the birth of the world and its customs. I’m not sure what use that will be in helping us find the Horn. And Dana, if she is there to be found. You guide me, after Shannon figures out what is happening in the land, eh? You will do it. I’ll follow, fight when I must, and die with you, as we probably must. The stories bore me to death before we even enter the hold of shadows.”

She poked me painfully. “I
love
those stories.”

I rubbed my face. “I’d learn to love them if things weren’t so grim,” I said, and the dangerous female moved closer. I tried not to flinch as the snakes licked the air next to my ear.

“Fine. No stories of intrigue or the distant past. But you must learn of the Scardark, at least. You must know some of the ways and the customs. At least enough to survive.”

“You will—d”

She grasped my cheeks in a vice-like grip. “I know the tunnels. I know Dark Water, the cavern where my kin live. I’ve
never
been to Scardark, never seen the Throne of Scars of the great dark elven cities of Vastness. We don’t often go there. We occasionally join Svartalfs in war; sometime go against some fool who offended Eris, our Queen, but rarely fight in the open wars of the cities. I can guide us to it, but if I die? You really need to learn.”

I hesitated.
She might die, yes
. She was right. I removed her hands from my face. “Look. I’ll try to learn enough, but I never went to school,” I muttered. “I was a tradesman, a thief, until Napoleon made life hard in the part of Austria I lived in. The Frenchies burned our town when they marched through it on their way to Vienna. I can read, I can write, thanks to Cosia’s spell that night we arrived in Aldheim, but I shall try. Just not the whole history of a world! None of the small details on the cultures, arts, or the origins of mighty spells.” I stretched over the couch and thumbed the great stack of books. “I see what you are doing, and thank you, but—”

“She’s right,” Thak rumbled, while cutting his fingernails into a sharper form with his sword. My eyes went to a cauldron he had set precariously on the railing. It was filled with a steaming broth. “Stop complaining, man up and listen to her.”

“What have you brewed?” I asked him, my belly rumbling.

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You
sure
you wish to know?”

I frowned, and Ittisana giggled. “Is there human or elf in it?” she asked.

He smiled and shrugged. “A dash of this, a dash of that,” he chuckled. “But none of those.”

We ate well.

He served us huge plates of a dubious stew that was both sweet and salty, and I had a hunch he had rarely cooked anything, but still, it was passable, save for the occasional clumps of burned meat.

“Next time, stir it,” Ittisana murmured with a smile.

“Bah,” he laughed.

I finished and sighed. “I wonder if Shannon would allow us to stay here,” I said, depressed with the inevitable return to the Citadel of Glory.

“No,” Ittisana said simply. She sighed, and took out a blue book of glowing covers. “We’ll skip the legends of the dverger. I’ll not speak of the rituals of the clans, or the past wars, peace, and why the world is such as it is. It is full of life, with war over resources and Scardark; the great home of the Svartalfs is the hub of it. At least of the known world. This is the center of the Below.”

“Below?” I asked her, chewing on something Thak had thrown at me, and I thought it was fruit, or maybe strange meat. “Does that mean there’s an Above?”

She shrugged. “In the beginning of the world, the Above was separated from Below. The Throne of Scars and the Scepter of Night are the marks of the kingship of the Below.”

“Why scars?” I asked. “Just curious.”

She smiled. “Ruugatha. The throne is scarred from attacks.”

Thak muttered. “I bet none take it off Stheno, though. I bet there are no scars since she took it.”