Sons of Ymir Page 3

  Roger and Hal looked at each other, concerned. The latter got down from his saddle and gave the reins away to Roger. “My … king,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “My king, the fact is, that we cannot take the fort. It was designed that way. It is a fort. Even with time, and siege, it would be very hard. It is filled with legions. There is a great chance … my king, that winter will hit us with its full force very soon. There are people here without food—”

  “The dverger have a supply, and you had supplies,” I interrupted him. “You will share the rations.”

  “They are …” Roger began, but Hal lifted his hand, and kept speaking.

  He bowed slowly. “Yes, of course we shall share. The supplies do belong to each individual House,” he said with slight acid to his words, “but we shall share all of it. We must, after all. If we are nobles of the land and the king tells us to, we must obey, and, yes, we should have thought of it ourselves. It is our fault it didn’t take place.” He stepped closer. “But listen to me, King Maskan … Danegell. To get past that fortress, and take our people after the traitor Crec, you must not only take the walls. You must ride through Alantia, which they say is crawling with the enemy. We are, I am afraid, too late.” He hesitated as he grasped my arm. “Perhaps, if you would, you could, um … shapeshift and scout the land, and see the truth of it. You might even go to Falgrin, and Ygrin, and warn them, though …”

  “The draugr will have poisoned them against me,” I said icily, and removed his hand. “In fact, they have never heard of me up north. Not once. They think Crec is the king. We need you,” I told him, “and the men to get there, and tell them what is happening here. It is very important. You know this. We all know this. I have explained why.”

  “Ah, yes,” Hal said, bowing to hide his smile. “This creature of goddess Hel. Indeed. Lord. One day we must meet them in battle. We cannot take this fort. Let us plan for a battle, and not a suicide.”

  I nodded, subduing the urge to crack his face. “This is Red Midgard now. There is no Fiirant, no Alantia, no legions, no …

  Roger spat. “Dagnar. No Dagnar, which you put on fire,” Roger said stiffly. “Along with a great deal of our property, houses, and history.”

  Hal nodded and looked down. Cil looked away, frowning.

  They all resented me for it.

  The dverger all put their hands on their weapons. The prisoners shifted away and looked at me, expecting violence. They knew I was not a human, but a jotun, and had heard what I one might do when upset. I didn’t act like expected, because I still had no idea how a jotun is really supposed to act.

  I was upset, indeed, and cursed them in my head.

  “Your houses are gone ,” I said loudly, for a crowd of noble soldiers had followed their lords and, with them, had come many of the people of Fiirant. There were hundreds of them. “They are part of history, mere mortar, stone, and now, rubble. They all burned down with hammer legionnaires huddling inside, screaming their way to Hel. They all turned to dust along with what you once owned. Balic’s legions were made into ashes, and that is a part of our history, part of Dagnar. That is what new Dagnar shall be built on, after all of this is finished, no matter who rules there. Harrian, Malignborg, Xal Cot, Kellior Naur, and others bled away in our city. You, however, lost nothing.”

  Roger shook his head. “King. This is— “

  They flinched as I stepped forward. “I know fully well not one of the noble Houses left your treasures in the city when you left. You buried them, hid them, sold what you could, and you will remain rich after everything is finished, should you live. Do not pretend otherwise. We cannot flee this place, we must not leave it, and we must get inside Hillhold, and I shall work on that. In the meantime, you are right.”

  Their eyes brightened.

  “We must eventually fight the enemy,” I said. “We will face them across a shieldwall, or in a fortress. We shall have to fight and beat them.”

  “With the militia—” Cil began desperately, sensing what was going to happen.

  I pulled out the finger length piece of wood, the Grinlark, and growled the command word for it. They looked at the full-length staff my father had used and frowned.

  I handed it to Quiss. “As the Regent of Red Midgard, you will obey her, as you do me. And you will obey me, or I’ll rip your guts out.” It sounded hollow. I tried lying more, and it wasn’t easier. “I’m not Morag. I’ll not negotiate or listen to you. I don’t care about your rights, or what decision belongs to a king, and what to some obscure council. There is no Master of Coin, no Marshal, and no negotiations for your ancient rights. None.”

  The people around us, save for the hundred or so of the nobles, were murmuring approvingly.

  Roger was wringing his hand. “She is not—”

  “She is my choice,” I snarled. “Mine. ”

  I pulled my two-handed sword, and gleaming in battered mail, my face scarred and hard, I stepped towards him. “Get down from your horse. Get down, or face what Gath faced, when he spoke to Baduhanna like you do. Do you remember what Baduhanna did to him?”

  He hesitated. Hal went to his knee, a wiser and more dangerous of the two.

  “Get down,” I said softly, “from that horse. And then, kneel.”

  He blanched and leaped down, splashing in mud and snow. He went to a knee.

  “The Ten Houses,” I said icily, “are no more.”

  That was met with an astonished silence. The nobles around us were frowning, fidgeting with their weapons, and holding their breaths.

  “What will be after the war, is what was after Hel’s War. Nobles were made based on the merit of their actions. You shall merit your place not by what your ancestors achieved, but what you shall achieve for this nation,” I said, speaking so loud, it echoed across the fields, and spread like wildfire in the whispers of the people. “Who survives, and has served the country, not their damned House, shall be rewarded by the king. What was, is now gone. Lords and ladies, your men and the common troops will fight as one, and not under House banners. You will lead wings of such men, as dictated by Quiss of Aten, who is advised by Thrum Fellson and if someone has an issue with any of this, you can take it up with Thrum.” I pointed a finger at Thrum.

  He spat and hefted his ax over his shoulder.

  Nobody voiced complaints.

  “Be gone,” I snarled. “Prepare the men and heal the army. Your men are no longer yours. You are mine.”

  They bowed, shaking with fear, and anger. Then, they got up and were shocked as a raising scream of approval began from the men around us, and like a wave, it spread across the field. The men and women screamed their throats hoarse. I handed Grinlark to Quiss, and she smiled gently as she looked over the thousands of dirty, blood-spattered, mud-cursed bastards, who approved.

  While the people screamed, I leaned down to look Roger in the eye. “I’ve had enough of trouble with the nobility. If someone breaks my peace, or disputes my orders, I shall break that man, no matter the rank or their self-perceived importance, and they’ll serve the rest of their life farming pigs, if they are lucky. Is that understood?”

  He nodded. Hal, as well, his face white as sheet.

  “I need you,” I said, “not your rank. You will serve the nation with Quiss of Red Midgard, as you will reform the army. I shall deal with Hillhold. Go.”

  They left, and I waited until the army went relatively quiet.

  Thrum grinned. “See. Jotun-speech works miracles.”

  “I lied,” I said.

  Quiss shook her head, looking pale. “They will make trouble. You should be guarded, Maskan, at all times.”

  I turned to the two enemy captains and didn’t answer Quiss. Thrum stepped next to me, as Quiss, looking harried, turned to her new duty. Dagnar’s people were looking on, and I felt sorry for Quiss.

  Then, I hardened my heart.

  “Will they reform the army?” I asked Thrum, while considering the eyes of the scarred and then the eyes of the e
vil-eyed one.

  Thrum was stroking his chin.

  “The militia will do well, with veteran fighters,” he said. “They’ll have to learn fast, but by breaking them up, they will. The nobles will aid Quiss, and they’ll make wings, and center, and a reserve. They might lose a battle or two, but if they keep their heads,” he chuckled, “they will do well with what remains and turns professional. Now. How do you want the prisoners killed? Visibly, I take it?”

  I nodded. I leaned down on a captain with the evil eyes. “One Man. One Man Balic, a shit-arse draugr, a filthy follower of Hel, an enemy of the living, and you lot march to his tune. Aye, we’ll give this one the ax.”

  He said nothing. His eyes didn’t flinch.

  I placed my sword on his shoulder. “Twenty nations, twenty lands filled with fools, who listen to the lisping lies of a corpse. Where is the honor in that?”

  The scar-face captain looked down.

  The evil-eye one didn’t. He looked back at me furiously. The silent prisoners stared at us intensely.

  Thrum had chosen the two well.

  I smiled at the man’s fury, feeling the jotun’s rage bubbling inside my chest, even if my father’s laws tried to stifle it. “The dead took your damned kings and pretty queens, the rulers of your kin. I wonder how they died? How did Queen of Palan fall, and how did Aten-Sur get killed?” I murmured. “He told me he was murdered. His throat had been cut, but gods only know what happened. Do you ever wonder?”

  He said nothing.

  I went on. “Now, the One-Eyed Priests are walking about, dead as stones, evil to their eyeballs, when they have them, and you dishonor who they once were by marching to the tune of Balic, the False. Why do you serve them, and what do you get out of it? Coin? A pat on your head? Speak, man, or go to Hel.”

  “There are no gods,” he said fervently. “No Hel, nothing. Only the One Man. I am,” the man said thinly, “Dannac of Pelthos. I have served them since I was five. There is nothing else for me. I shall tell you no more. The legions are not like that of Aten, craven and traitors, but will serve on. They will die for the One Man, for Balic, and his faithful One-Eyed Priests, his fine kings, and the enlightened queens. They shall be raised again. We shall all walk again, one day. It has been promised.”

  Fanatical fool, I thought.

  “They won’t walk anywhere, save the bridge over the Gjöll to Helheim,” I told him harshly. “I’ll show you, unless you answer some of my questions. Tell me about Hillhold. Tell me all you know about it.”

  He looked at me and lifted his chin.

  I nodded and sawed the sword to his neck, watching his eyes enlarge. He fell on his face and twitched his life away, on a red snow. The prisoners were watching me carefully, and some with disapproval, though most also lifted their chins.

  Brave, but fools.

  I turned my eyes to the other captain. He frowned, waiting. I got up and walked to him. He eyed my size, the size of the bloody blade, and sighed as I squatted before him, the sword on his shoulder. I leaned closer to him, and he flinched.

  “What in the blazes are you doing?” he demeaned. “Are you going to try to mate with me? Do jotuns honor the best fighter they take prisoner with love-making? No, thank you. I am not that kind of a man.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “And wait. I shall tell you a story.”

  “Why?” he asked, frightened. “I don’t need to hear one. Just put me back with the remains of my company.”

  “No,” I told him, close to his ear. “Are you like your friend was? Brave.”

  “Of course I am!”

  I smiled. “And yet, you look down to the mud whenever a dverg passes you. Most of the bastards are stiff-necked, fanatical shits, but some of you are not. The dverger know a sensible man when they see one. I need someone fresh to answer some questions. I’ve been talking to the draugr, and the men like that one, far too often of late.”

  “I’ll not speak a word,” he answered stubbornly.

  I laughed aloud, placed a hand on his shoulder, and nodded. He flinched. The mass of prisoners frowned.

  I leaned down and shook his hand, and then, I cut his bonds. “Thank you!” I said loudly.

  He looked at the ends of the rope and then at me.

  I pointed a finger at the man and looked at Thrum. “This man,” I called out, “must be kept alive. We shall get everything we need from him.”

  Thrum nodded and grinned.

  The man’s jaw was hanging open. He looked over to the prisoners, and most everyone looked like they had just swallowed a rancid bit of gristle.

  “Why, you bastard—” he muttered. “Oh, you shit. You damned … king.”

  “Decide,” I told him, smiling. “Will you go to them, or shall you speak? Later, you may go back to your service, because I doubt any of these men will return to the ranks again. They won’t tell about you.” I winked. “We don’t have the supplies for them. We’ll hang the lot.”

  “I have a pension and pay I need to feed my family, and …” he cursed and rubbed his head. “Yes.”

  “So, you are not as fanatic as he was, are you?”

  He shrugged. “I was recruited for my skills later than many.” He smiled wistfully. “I also can put together simple thoughts. It makes no sense to fight a raging current. It takes your life, anyway.” He watched the dead captain and the horde of simmering hammer legionnaires. “Shit.”

  “So,” I grunted as I sat next to him. “Explain why most of them would sit on a stake for Balic.”

  “Well,” he said tiredly. “We serve, either because we get paid for it, or because we were bred for it. The legions the Verdant lands once had are long gone. I mean, men who saw it as a profession. When the One Man—”

  “Balic ,” I snarled. “Don’t make him sound a god. He is a shuffling, curly-haired corpse.”

  “Balic,” he echoed softly, as if terrified, “a man once, a draugr now, and no god, stepped up from the Eye Keep in Malignborg, resurrected, promising men eternal life once the world was rid of those who still believed in the old dreams. It had been, I recall, a day of treason in the city, where some of the royals killed his family. There had been his funeral, and a new king and High King were to be elected, and instead, Rhean and his family were murdered in battle. He raised many over the coming months, always a thing to see. He raised his valiant daughter, Filar, and also Silas, his son. They were dead, and then alive. Filar had died before Eye Keep to Lisar Vittar, and then, suddenly, she lived.”

  “You seem to have done your reading,” I said. “Keep going.”

  He smiled. “I had rich parents, and I was grounded a lot, when not learning the sword,” he said, and eyed mine. “Damned butcher’s blade. No good for battle, only for a duel. But I digress.”

  “You do. As you said, it is a butcher’s blade, so don’t risk a butchery.”

  “I do not. I am talking, am I not? So. He publicly raised many of the dead. There was Lisar Vittar, the rebel. There were Rage Larran, the king of Harrian, Sarac, of Xal Cot. Dozen others, like Aten-Sur. Imagine, o King, how such … men, women, no longer dead, can raise a nation to fervor. Everyone wanted to bite that fruit. It was sweet as life. Balic promised the world harmony, peace.”

  “And he gave it war and blamed others, for Hel,” I said.

  He nodded. “I suppose so. He went about making Midgard peaceful by launching a war on those who had rebelled. One by one, all of them were brought to the fold. Palan was broken in pieces. New kingdoms made. To do something like this, he began raising troops. From age of four, the sturdiest of boys were taken to his care, and trained. Only the very best, mind you. Those are the men that make up most of the legions. You cannot really reason with them, as you noticed.” He looked at the corpse and shuddered. “They believe in him like they used to in Odin. The Eye Keep of Malignborg is not what it was, once. The Odin’s Seat is gone. His One-Eyed Priests, some of them draugr, roam the lands, posing and praying, and causing havoc, and even in lands far away, some of th
e trouble is his.” He grinned. “Some men who serve are like me. Latecomers. Most are poor as paupers, but very good with spear, and I am an excellent one with spear. When there are losses, men like me replace some of those who fell in wars. Now, after this war, there will be plenty of those coming to the ranks.”

  “Where is Balic sending his legions?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “Now, King, why would I know that? Do I call him a friend? Does he hail me with wine when I come to his house? Nay.”

  “You know plenty,” I said, and poked the man. “Let’s not go back there, or I’ll widen that scar.”

  “I do know a lot,” he murmured. “But I have no idea what he is planning. I’m a captain. I know they are doing something up north, and I have no idea why, since the war in Alantia isn’t won, and … well …” He looked around at the army besieging Hillhold. “They have the stockpiles … shit. This is hard.”

  “Dying is not easy,” I told him “if I cut off your limbs first. Or if your men do it.”

  He glanced at the prisoners and forgot about his apprehensions. “There is a great city of Alantia, where the legions concentrate. That’s the place where they drag all the gear and reinforcements, and one fortified village on the east coast, but mainly in Nallist.”

  “Nallist,” I said. “On the south coast. I was near it, not too long ago. Had to sink one of your galleys.”

  He spat. “I hate ships. Sink all you want. As for Nallist?” He shrugged. “A pit of mud, misery, dysentery, and filthy soldiers. But the Ugly Brother, the fort, is nice and warm fort, large as a mountain, and that is where the reinforcements are going to come in from. The harbor’s the best in the coast, and rather sizable for the north. Betus Coin, Aten, and many other navies are already ferrying in more troops, and perhaps picking up what you failed to kill in Dagnar. Half the legions are still over there in the Verdant Lands, of course, and many will stay to keep order, but—”

  “Keep order against what?” I asked. “I wonder, since the High King has such a loyal following, all desiring life eternal. Odin is forgotten, and One Man rules all, and still, he needs people to keep order.”