The Beast of the North (21 page)

‘Yes, Sand,’ I told him sadly, feeling terrible for I had not told him everything.

He went on. ‘The queen is the key, and then Shaduril will do her bit, and we will figure out how to go on from there. She will be hurt,’ Sand said sadly. ‘And you know it. Do not try to stop her. Remember why we are here.’

‘I will trust her. And respect her. She is determined to do this, no matter if I wish someone else killed the king,’ I whispered. Gal was the key. And I could secure the key. And I would.

‘Right,’ Sand said and slapped his thigh. ‘Well. Don’t feel sorry for me,’ he whispered as I heard Taram speaking in the hallway. ‘I’ll do that part.’ Then he fixed an eye on me. ‘When she goes to the king, do not mess up. She will go there, and you will let her.’

‘I will,’ I told him bitterly. ‘I will.’ He glanced at the door, and Taram was there.

‘Maskan?’ he asked.

‘Yeah?’ I nodded and got up.

‘I told my Lord Father about you, and he wishes a word with you,’ Taram said darkly. ‘Be careful with him. He has high ambitions. He might not smack you with a staff and kick you around, but that does not make him docile.’

I snorted. ‘Everyone is giving me advice today. I only have your father, my lord,’ I told Taram. ‘I will not risk the Blacktowers and their plans. Never. I will obey him in this most crucial mission.’ He hesitated, and I slapped my forehead. ‘Oh, I forgot. You know nothing of these things. But thank you for the advice.’ I turned my back on him, looked at Sand, and he nodded.

Taram laughed with a booming voice. ‘If you weren’t a peasant thief who is protected, I’d show you how to talk to the Blacktowers. Come, you ugly monkey,’ he said with a clipped angry voice and nodded at Sand, who reluctantly followed him.

I pushed past him, went up the tall stairway, and witnessed Sand walk to the central hall where buns of bread and eggs were being served with butter and mead. There were porridge and meats, and my belly rumbled. Sand grinned up at me as I stared down at him enviously. Taram snapped out a chair for himself and sat down to see Sand eat. He made no noise other than thrumming his hand on a dirk at his side, but Sand ignored him and smiled at a serving girl. ‘Bounces back fast, my Sand,’ I whispered. ‘Soon he will be married.’

I went up, crossed a floor of the second floor, and took a stairway to the third and guards nodded at me in their cumbersome, gleaming chain mails. I got to the door of Balan Blacktower, slightly winded, and knocked.

‘Enter,’ Balan said.

I did. There, a sumptuous breakfast was laid out on a table, and Lord Balan looked up at me. The room was nearly dark; silken drapes had been drawn to cover the windows, and only the sound of gulls and flying lizards could be heard outside. Balan nodded at the table before him, and I was startled to see Illastria, the old lady leaving the room. She stared at me, her red-rimmed eyes huge, and I stepped back, involuntarily. The old lord waved at her as she hesitated, and she passed by me, looking down. Her hair was pearly white and covered most of her face. ‘Eat,’ he said and nodded at a seat opposite him.

‘Will you eat, Lord Blacktower?’ I asked him tentatively as the old lady left, hoping he would. I would not be able to swallow if he sneered over my breakfast.

‘No, I never do,’ he grimaced as if disgusted by the thought. ‘Taram gave you a beating? He will do that for months. I think he is protective of his sisters and the family name.’ He smiled briefly at that and adopted his usual stoic look. ‘Though he did mention something unusual happened, and you would fill me in. Said it is important. Oh, Illastria and I spent the night plotting and have a plan for the “after part“ we discussed. Gal. And more.’

‘You do?’ I asked.

‘Sit.’ I did. ‘Yes, we have a plan, and I’ll talk to you about it. First. What happened down there? Taram said it was something strange and mythical, and he also said he kicked the Hel out of you,’ he said, leaning forward. He is always intrigued by mysteries and by the unknown, I decided.

‘I gave him one as well,’ I told him. He did not blink, and I filled the gap. ‘A beating. I nearly killed him, in fact. There was something strange inside me, or perhaps it was this ring?’

‘Something inside you?’ he whispered, fiddling with a pen. ‘Like a power? Evil spirit? Some disease? Gas?’

I hesitated as I fidgeted there. ‘No. I mean I don’t know. It was like … like I would imagine magic. It was a strange, rippling feeling. I felt ferocious, and it was somewhat familiar. Like a dream, but I was awake. I was very mad, so unyielding, and Taram is alive thanks to Sand.’ His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I know. I’m also baffled.’

He sat back, his eyes gleaming curiously in the dark. ‘I knew your father, as I said. The ring? Possibly it has something to do with it, indeed,’ he stated. ‘Tell me, boy, do you know much about artifacts?’ he asked. ‘I saw Taram was shocked to his core about the fight. He is used to being the superior being in that practice room of his. He is the house, master-at-arms. He trains men to kill. Has done since he was sixteen. And what I smelled in him? Saw in his eyes? Fear. Shock. It bothers me. You have no idea what happened?’

‘I …’ I began while lifting pork and dark bread onto a golden plate. ‘Would rather not  speculate…’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve been changing my face, but what just took place? It felt very strange. And also very natural. I know little about artifacts, to answer your question.’

‘I see,’ he told me neutrally. He eyed me carefully, and finally his eyes settled on my ring. ‘Do you know what an artifact is? And what do you know of the past?’

‘Past?’ I said, hiding my black metal ring with the yellow stone under my thumb. ‘About Hel’s War?’

‘Yes. Indeed. That, and time beyond,’ he nodded. ‘Hear me. There were Eight Gates in Midgard before that war of Hel’s. They led to worlds the gods chose in the beginning for themselves. Odin’s Aesir and the Vanir, who became allied, drove the other gods away, and the Nine Worlds were chosen by them for their kingdoms, many well shaped and formed worlds and all crafted and perfected by the beings. They claimed these worlds, and two of those worlds stood out.’

‘Indeed?’ I asked, intrigued.

He smiled at my eager tone. ‘Yes. Two of these worlds are more than the fine wonders the gods made the others into. They were there in the beginning, before the First Born and from them—the nine rivers of Niflheim, the fiery infernos of Muspelheim—were all things born from. Gods were cradled in the Filling Void, where the celestial heat and the fierce ice mixed up, there were born many races, some of which no longer exist. We? The humans? Odin made us later. Perhaps we are the only race that does not possess the gift of hearing and seeing the mixing of the ancient ice and fierce fire. That is what magic comes from. That skill ... a sense, really, of having access to the old power of creation. We cannot see or hear the power. Humans. It was never given to us. Magic.’

‘Magic?’ I asked him, mystified.

His brow was sweaty as his hand trembled. ‘Magic. We do not hear and see the great power. Most races can, at least some can. I am not sure if every single elf hears the call, but—’

‘Elf?’ I asked him, bemused.

‘Keep an open mind, boy,’ he scowled. ‘Other old races in the old books, they are close to magic, others far from it and yet others are connected to it directly. Gods are part of it. Some beings only hear and see the ice part of magical power, others the fire part. This is in the books of Illastria.‘ He leaned forward, clearly excited. ‘They say it can … one can … see it? Hear it? In your mind. It is like a sense as I told you. Then you can clutch these powers, pull and combine strands of heat and icy winds, chunks of ice and fire, ever so gently learning millions of ways of using this power. You can create spells of destruction. Spells that can lay low armies. Or you might create more subtle spells, helpful, even entertaining spells. The sky is the limit. That’s what they say.’ He slumped and waved his hand around lazily. ‘This world is just very, very boring.’

‘I can imagine such spells being very interesting,’ I told him dreamily.

His eyes were very wide, the thin face shaking with slight anger. ‘Interesting! I’ve spent my life finding such magic. It can make and break this world, Maskan, magic. You see,’ he said, his eyes feverish and mad, ‘Hel’s war changed the world. There were kingdoms here. Human kingdoms. We governed each other, and Odin kept the world safe from marauders. But a war is an unpredictable matter, and his attentions were taken elsewhere. Hel sent her armies—’

‘Why did she do this?’ I interrupted him.

He looked shocked for a moment. ‘I forget; you have never been tutored.’ There was a mild look of disgust on his face, and I thought Shaduril might be right to think he would not approve of me, not ever. He went on. ‘Why? Because the bastard Odin had taken her, Hel, a maiden of joy and threw her to Niflheim, condemning her to rule Helheim, the realm of the dead souls. He did this to punish Lok, his kin, and a demi-god and Hel’s father. She was robbed of half her beauty, her home, her father Lok, her sisters and brothers and set to judge and guard the dead. Many wept for her, many rumbled in the dark shadows against the heavy-handedness of Odin. She had friends.’

‘And?’

‘And, Baldr died,’ he said gleefully. ‘Lok, using Hodur the Blind’s stupidity, poisoned him, and since Baldr died of poison, his soul went to Hel. Odin wanted him back, of course, but they schemed and made it so, Hel and her father, that there was hope, but no true hope of his release. It was a cruel torture for Odin; it was, and when he was denied? Rage.’

‘It was called Hel’s War, though,’ I stated.

His eyes glinted shrewdly. ‘Yes, and that is a good observation. It was. She lost her left eye after Baldr’s death. That tipped her over. She longed for her old life. Hag’s Eye, her left eye, and some called it the Crow’s Orb allowed her to scry the lands she once loved, the pastures she had once danced in, people of all the races and the First Born she loved. It was the one thing keeping her even remotely sane in Helheim, on her Thorne of Bones. And it was stolen.’

‘By Odin?’

He shrugged. ‘I am not sure. Neither is Illastria. Aldheim was involved; elven nations. Illastria’s books are all speculative on that matter. I know there were many races fighting for her. First Born and dukes of Hel as well. What followed was a terrible war. Hel held a speech to the Jotuns, most of whom hated the gods. She spoke to the rogue First Born, some dragons of great power, beast and generals of many races. Many joined her. Legions of fighters and mages. She robbed the dead of the gold, she bought mercenaries and then? She released the armies. In all the Nine Worlds, the lands and followers of the gods were assaulted. Lands burned, Hel’s kingdom welcomed the dead, and she sought her eye mercilessly. In Aldheim, she finally failed. Elves threw her back. They threatened Niflheim, even Helheim. Some lord called Timmerion won that war. She had her steward Ganglieri steal the fine horn of Heimdall, the Lax Guardian. The great horn was taken indeed, an incredible, heroic feat. It was rung on all the gates, for that artifact is the key to the gates. They all closed. Gods in Asgard and Vanaheim could no longer find their Nine Worlds, and thus its stands today, even today. But Midgard? It was in the war. It was a brilliant move by Hel to shut the worlds from the gods.’

‘What happened?’

‘Hel’s troops took much of the land,’ he said sadly. ‘She surprised the south, the East, and the West and in here, where Dagger Hill, Hill of Fangs,’ he nodded for Dagnar, ‘stood, there was a great battle.’

‘Fangs?’

‘Few know it by that name. It is Dagnar. Dagnar is the name our Danegell kings gave the city, survivors of the battle. It means “Mauled Hill” in some old language, and it is an apt name. Men won that day, Hel’s armies were beaten, finally. They had their base up there, but they fell.’

‘You know a lot of this,’ I noted, my food cold.

He sighed. ‘I have ever sought out items of power. Illastria helps me. Hel’s armies brought magic to Midgard. They had powerful spells, weapons of fame, armies and—’

‘Were there dragons here?’ I asked him with utter wonder.

‘Dragons?’ he asked. ‘I suppose so? Might be so there were? But I,’ he said empathetically, ‘have ever collected lore of magic. Especially lore of those items made by the dverg.’

‘The short folk?’ I asked him.

‘The smiths of Svartalfheim,’ he told me reverently. ‘While men cannot use magic,’ he confided in me, ‘we can use magical items. Hel’s armies had plenty. Now the Danegells hold a hoard of them and the highest, oldest houses hold many as well. Most of them fought in that war for the humans. And that is how White Brother can track men, if he knows their names, sometimes. It is an artifact, no doubt, he is using.’

‘But not you,’ I said, eyeing his amulet. ‘They cannot find you.’

‘Not us, the Blacktowers nor anyone near us,’ he agreed, sitting back on his lush seat. He tapped a finger proudly on his chest, and the familiar amulet of towers and ravens clinked. It was heavier than the one Shaduril had, thicker and had a golden rim. ‘Old. We fought in the Fang, our family. Same as the Danegells. These are from Hel’s army, and we adopted the figure as our house symbol. We used to be the Blackships. I prefer the tower, though.’ His eyes gazed the figure of tower and ravens with admiration, and I waited patiently for him to focus on the matter again. ‘Gods know whom they belonged to. We have many of them. They have power we cannot even understand.’