The Beast of the North (32 page)

Sand cursed, pushed me off, and tore off in a canter for the man.

‘Sand!’ I shrieked and ran after him. He was dodging the twitching tail of the sauk, vaulted over some of the dead Silver Fingers, and charged the White Brother, his scimitar held low. The Brother turned, saw him coming, smiled and the whip struck Sand’s shield.

Then it curled around it, tore around his hand and arm, and the man tore the whip off, tore off skin, meat, and Sand’s shield. Sand fell on his face.

I roared and the White Brother stared at me strangely. He shook his head and raised his sword. ‘Wait. Maskan? You have to—’

But I didn’t listen. I roared again and made my way forward, struck the blade on his blade, and we both grimaced as the lumps of steel shuddered in our hands. ‘My family. Sand.’

‘Your family?’ He laughed gutturally, dropped his whip and grabbed my throat. He pulled me close. ‘You care for your family? You should. But—’

I let go of the sword. I grabbed his temples.

‘Larkgrin,’ I whispered, and the staff grew into my hand, ripping through the gauntlet. The weapon glowed wildly, the runes glittered and then turned into a red hued shade, as the end of the staff—the bird—was inside White Brother’s thick skull, then past it. ‘Larkgrin,’ I whispered, and the weapon shrunk as we fell. There were screams of despair and shrieks of triumph, many more dark flowers rained down on us, blocking the light. I pushed at the White Brother’s shattered helmet and saw a look on his broken face that was very surprised by his grizzly death. I spat, felt my rage disappear, replaced by fatigue, and I ran to Sand. He was conscious, his eyes wide. There were bones showing in his mess of flesh in his arm, nasty abrasions running up and down his side. He was very pale and sickly looking; the arrow wound showed in his face, dark red and polluted. He was very severely injured. I cursed and grabbed the whip and the Brother’s splendid sword, picked up Sand and ran amidst falling flowers for the doorway. It took time; I could not see very well, and my ears were thrumming as the crowds cheered us wildly. I passed the wounded woman, who blanched as she saw me approaching.

‘Go and take a bow. You won,’ I told her and walked over Hammar and disappeared into the doorway.

L
ith greeted me at the door of the Pit’s Edge. She scowled as she eyed Sand and shook her head as she turned to me. I looked around and saw she was not alone. There were a dozen Blacktower men there, all with weapons drawn. ‘What now?’ I asked her with a growl.

She shrugged back, eying me thoughtfully. ‘You are hurt.’

I looked down to my side. I was bleeding from Sand’s sword thrust. There was a distant yell echoing around the Dark Sands stadium, and I did not know what to tell her. ‘He is hurt worse.’

‘He is,’ she said, and her eyes softened. ‘I am sorry.’

‘I’ll need him healed,’ I told her and saw she was shaking her head. ‘No?’

‘You don’t understand, Maskan,’ she answered. ‘You have a job to do. We will take it from here.’

‘You?’ I said incredulously. ‘I will not leave him.’

Regret was playing on her face. ‘I am sorry. But we will take him. We will care for him. And you shall have to hurry to do your duty. The joke has gone on for long enough. If you do not obey us …’ she said softly, and I understood the threat. They would kill us both. She softened the threat with a small curtsy. ‘We will heal him. You will see him up in the Tower when it is all finally over. We don’t have time, Maskan,’ she told me and touched my face, but at the same time the men in the room took a step forward. I flinched away from her, and her face bubbled with rage. ‘I said, we do not have time.’

‘He is alive. If I do not see him alive again, I shall kill you,’ I told her.

She nodded at me. ‘I understand. Nothing’s changed, Maskan,’ she told me, hugging herself. ‘Nothing. We still have something to do, something important, and the guilty ones must perish. They must. You agreed to this, no?’

‘I did. But I’ve lost my appetite for murder, especially the death of someone I have no real knowledge of. Only your words, actually. And they have all been twisted and filthy.’

‘Red Midgard needs this, Maskan,’ she explained and put a hand on mine. Her touch was cold, but there was desperation in her eyes, and I found it hard to turn away from them. ‘Look,’ she said and showed me her hand. It was hale. Her fingers were dexterous, the joints moved. ‘You broke it. If you care nothing for Red Midgard and a house of your own, then do this for him. I will heal him. He will need you to obey.’

‘You are a bitch,’ I told her as I stared at the hand. I laid Sand on the ground and threw the whip aside. ‘Yes,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Now, I have a date with the queen.’

She nodded, nervously. ‘Falg is dead, right?’

‘He died. Made a mistake,’ I said. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘It will be risky going as him,’ she said, listening to people complaining to Blacktower guards on the top. ‘They want to know where you went and if the woman you left alive honestly won. There is a Helheim up there with all the bets going awry.’ She grinned. ‘I lost some gold as well.’ She turned to look up, listening to the sounds. ‘I do hope they won’t take the news of Falg’s death out there too fast.’

‘Won’t matter. Take Sand and spare his life,’ I told her, ‘and I will bring you the news of the queen’s death.’

‘Where are you going?’ she asked me as I walked past her. I pushed some Blacktower guards away from me, walked to the door to Falg’s and White Brother’s dressing room. I opened it up and tore off my chain with a wince as the wound throbbed angrily and headed for the magnificent gear of the White Brother.

‘Help me with this,’ I told her with a grin as she gawked at the door.

‘What about the poison?’ she said weakly, getting in. ‘No. We must stick to the plan!’

‘I’m bringing the queen sad news of Falg,’ I grumbled and grabbed the helmet. ‘He died.’

‘No! This is too risky. Dangerous! We had a plan and …’ she began but saw I was not listening to her. I tossed the bottle with poison to her, and she grabbed it from the air. The pellets rattled inside. The rage was still throbbing in my head, and I felt dangerous, uncaring. She shook her head, and helped me pull on black chain mail, black boots with greaves, pauldrons and cuirass, gauntlets and a gorget and finally, the helmet. There were many other parts, and I didn’t even know what to call them, but Lith was expertly making me look presentable. She smiled weakly. ‘Can you walk around in it? You will waddle like a duck.’

Surprisingly, the armor felt like I had been born to it. ‘It feels incredible. The damned whip? And the sword.’ She nodded and fetched them.

She bowed to me. ‘Good luck, savior of Red Midgard.’

‘Queen killer,’ I corrected her, feeling wretched with the whole business. ‘And if Sand dies, prepare to join him.’

She laughed merrily for some reason, and I went out.

I found the White Brother’s horse readied in the stable; the boy in charge of the establishment was bowing with confusion, and I ignored him. He had probably heard the man owning the armor and the horse was dead, but there I was, mounting the unfamiliar beast. I guided the creature downhill and then for the alleys. Sand. Sand was alive. Still. I’d keep him that way. I rode to dark alleyways and people gave way. Most looked scared, alarmed, and I thought of a king whose men made such an impression on his subjects. The queen was no better. That I told myself as I rode on. The horse was skittish, probably because it knew there was a wrong man inside the armor. It tried to pull my grip off the bridle, and I felt foolish for fighting with it in plain sight of the commoners and nobles of the city. ‘Easy, you damned thing. Be a good boy, please,’ I pleaded, and it seemed to listen to me, for it settled down a bit. I made my way through the lanes, praying for the gods to have mercy on me for what I was about to do. Murder. I would murder. For Sand, as well as my family. I would. Though had I not already done so? I made it past the Second Ring’s gates without any questions from the Mad Watch and wound my way for the Third Ring. I went past the street where the mint was, passed the Thin Way, entered the main street and headed for the Tenginell house.

I pushed my horse forward and rode for the Tenginell house. The guards were closing the gate after some carts were rolling out, but spied me and stopped. They eyed me nervously, and I clutched the deadly whip in my fist. They stared up at me, the other one nudged the other and they began to crank open the doors. ‘Congratulations, Lord. You won again. Will your partner be coming back soon?’ one chatted with me amicably.

I shook my head and nodded at the main house and said nothing. They bowed, confused, and let me through.
One obstacle behind,
I thought. The mush and slush on the ground were white and gray, and I noticed my blood was dripping to the snow from the horse’s flank. It hurt, but I had business to finish. Larkgrin was again clutched in my gauntlet. The queen would not have a chance in Hel to survive it. I looked around and hoped to figure out a way to escape the place. In armor, I realized, it would be very hard.

For Sand, I would try.

I rode in through the gate, and slaves ran out of the house and the stable area. There was one lanky man with a thin beard and a girl of twelve gawking up at me. I dismounted heavily and cursed, as the wound hurt desperately. I held onto the horse for a moment, gathering my resolve. It moved away from me.

‘Shh, pretty one. Galisan,’ the man told the horse. ‘She is upset, Lord, but I will take care of her.’

Her, I chuckled.

‘May I ask how your event went, Lord?’ the man asked me.

I waved my hand at the dripping blood. ‘Well. It is nothing. Nothing, really. I’d see the queen. Falg is dead.’

‘The queen?’ asked the girl, very confused.

‘I’d see the queen. Alone. Her servant has died,’ I told her slowly, trying to mimic the voice of the White Brother.

‘I see,’ the girl said and hesitated. Then she brightened and nodded my way. ‘She is praying. Alone,’ she said meekly. ‘She is in the crypts. Not sure you wish to disturb her there?’

I could not wait. I’d get caught. ‘This is important. I will bother her only for a moment.’

‘Yes, Lord,’ the girl said with some hesitation and curtsied. ‘This way.’

‘Thank you,’ I grunted. ‘Keep the horse here. I will leave momentarily for the Tower of the Temple.’ I was shivering with fear but headed for the main doors, arrogant and superior.

‘May I show you the way?’ the girl asked as she ran past me.

‘By all means, do,’ I agreed and waited as she skittered for the door. I nearly kicked myself, for surely the real White Brother would need no guide. She was not suspicious, however, and bowed to the guards at the door, hustled through to a round roofed portico and held the door open for me. There was a footman in a rich, silver threaded coat and his eyes followed me as I walked past him. He cast his eyes down, and the girl showed me the way forward. In the middle, there was a central room with a cold fireplace, couches and armchairs scattered around and a circular wooden stairway to the higher floors. There were many guards up there, and I wondered how I would get away, for I saw several Brother Knights in the rooms above, laughing at a joke. I started for the stairway, but the girl gingerly pulled me to the left. There, at the shadowy end of a hallway, there was a pillared marble stairway leading down. There was something forlorn about it, and there was a smell of violets in the air.
Crypts,
I thought. The queen was visiting her dead family as well as the living one. The girl stopped there, at the door and nodded that way. ‘She is there, now. Praying.’

I nodded and stood on top of the stairway. She eyed me curiously, probably wondering at my timidity, and I was not sure I could go through with what I had planned to do. I walked down the stairs, the armor clanking on the stone steps. There were oil lamps fluttering on the walls, held by iron claws. There was an ominous feeling in the air, thick, strange, and I smelled the incense.

Below, at the end of the stairway, there was a black doorway that was ajar. Inside, there were fires burning. Torches were fluttering, a small wind was playing with cobwebs. I looked up the stairway, and saw the girl, following me. She stopped as I stopped. She smiled and waved me onwards.

Gods, I would have to murder the queen with her watching
.
I would have to think about what to do,
I despaired.

‘Go back,’ I told her. ‘I know the way.’ I noticed she was smiling. And her hand glowed briefly. So did my ring. And my gauntlet. ‘What are you doing?’

She did not answer. Not to me. ‘He has that evil ring. And your staff, my Lord. That is all.’

‘What—’

‘Come in,’ said a regal female voice.

I turned around, then faced the girl who looked at me with encouragement. She winked and pointed a very steady finger down to the door. ‘Are you not going to heed her call?’

‘I—’

‘Won’t kill her. Trust me. You can breathe easily now!’ she told me. ‘And you won’t die either. Probably. You are safe and it is all over. In a good way. You failed and the draugr did as well.’

Draugr?
I hesitated.
Sand. Sand was with the Blacktowers. He was far from safe.

I took a very deep breath and walked down unsteadily. I pushed at the door and hesitated. There were no Tenginells there. She was alone. There was only the queen. She was lounging on a throne on top of a curious looking mound full of carved stones. She was draped in an attire of red velvet, seemed fragile and pale, and her blonde hair was shimmering in the dark. Behind her, there were a dozen fires burning on small cauldrons. The mound was twenty feet across and ten high. The slabs that made up its sides were subtly differently colored, all gray and black or nearly white. There were runes on the rocks, and I noticed they were all inscribed with a strange, undecipherable language that was oddly familiar. I nodded at the queen, then cursed myself and bowed low. Her eyes flickered with amusement, but then her mood changed to a somber one. ‘You killed him?’ she asked me gently. ‘Borlein.’

I stared at her. I clutched the whip and breathed hard. ‘Yes. If Borlein is the White Brother, who hung my family. I did it. With your—’

‘Staff. My staff,’ she said. ‘It is sad I ever lost it. It was a surprising night. We lost many things then. I’ll miss Borlein. We grow few.’

I shrugged. I had killed him indeed, and he had murdered my family. ‘Your staff?’ I asked her. ‘The king lost it the day he tried to rape my mother.’

She rubbed her face, and I noticed there was a brief look of relief mixed with sorrow in her eyes. ‘Take off Borlein’s helmet,’ she told me. ‘I wish to see your face.’ Her face was pale as snow, hair blonde and tall, and she looked very young. There was something strange in her voice, a thrumming, inhuman rhythm, and I felt my hair stand up all over my body. ‘Never mind. Let me.’

Then, my helmet lifted into the air and fell behind me with a clatter.

I stared at it. I heard a giggle behind me, and the girl was standing there, leaning on the wall. ‘It is him. So lost.’

‘Maskan, I hear they named you,’ the queen said, standing up. She flicked her hand, and the helmet flew to the girl, who grabbed it from the air. ‘We never got the chance.’

‘You know me, your highness?’ I choked.
Your highness,
I groaned to myself.
I was there to murder her.

She grinned, wringing her hands. She hesitated and gestured to the side of the mound, where a great slab of stone stood. ‘Go ahead,’ she said. I took a hesitant step forward and then walked forward slowly, trying to keep an eye on every shadow.
She had lifted my helmet
, I thought. Artifact?