The Beast of the North (41 page)

‘Hearts of old, hills so cold,

here we stand, our merry, bloody band.

Ready the spear, cast away your fear,

And the enemy, the dogs, shall fall like logs!

Call out: kill them!

Twist their stems!

Eat their hearts!

Rip their parts!

The night will soon fall,

Away the dead shall we quickly haul.

For the taverns await,

And the victors shall not be late!’

‘Kill!’ a high officer screamed.

‘Kill them!’ I echoed him, and so we charged. It takes courage to charge a bristling wall of sharp steel and blunt edges, to throw away all that you hold dear, and few did so willingly. They fought for the dead king, for each other and for all living men; for they had seen Gal, the slain Talien guards whose spells no longer masked their nature, and no human can ignore such a thing, knowing in their hearts there is no love or mercy in such a foe’s heart. We tromped towards the enemy, who banged their shields together savagely, the sound echoing above the clanging of the bells and the battle sounds on the walls. Bells were clanging wildly down in the city as well, and I thought I heard distant screams.

‘Take them!’ I yelled, wondering how much I wanted to hurt the enemy, to burst through the tower doors and find Mir, Balan, and Taram. The ground trembled at our charge, arrows flew at us, and spears were thrown, rocks even. A man hollered next to me, holding his face and then fell down in a heap. Another died behind me. An arrow struck the chain in the hem of my breastplate, a rock bounced off the sword blade. I charged and yelled, hard as a Jotun could and the Mad Watch answered it, and the shield walls crashed into each other. Men fell back to their fellows, some dead, others dying, some stunned. Blood spattered high in the air, cold for the draugr, steaming for the living. A groaning voice of the dead and the wounded filled our ears and the panting of the fearful and the excited screams of the killers made for a mad cacophony. Swords went up, then down, axes struck shield, hundreds of tapering spearheads thrust at throats and faces, and the coppery smell of blood and entrails filled the crisp winter air. The shield walls steadied for a moment in a desperate push of shields. The merciless hacking of panting men and their long weapons turned to a competition of shorter blades and spears over the shoulders of the first ranks, flashing at faces and for guts beneath the shields. The dead were hard to vanquish as only massive damage would kill one, but slowly, our numbers told. The Mad Watch had taller spears and the men in the second and third ranks were brutally effective in pushing them over the shoulders of the first rank and to the faces of the Blacktower men. They began falling, in high numbers, and then the enemy buckled on the sides, where the Mad Watch pushed them relentlessly. Soon the wall was curling around the tower door, and we were stomping on the fallen of the undead.

I raged in the first rank, and the dverg-made armor made me near impregnable. There was a dead Watchman to my left, standing upright in the press, hampering my movements as a great many larger enemies was gathered before me. Spears nicked at my armor and chain as they all tried to take me down. A large, embossed shield slammed at me from the front. It pushed me back, and I saw a surprisingly quick maul coming down at my unarmored head. I grabbed it from the air and hewed down with my sword from high, and the man’s face fell in two pieces. As he fell back, he spat blood on me. I laughed and felt raging joy, released from all bounds. It was a brilliant, utter joy of carnage I felt as I charged forward. I was sweeping the sword through the enemy ranks, and the beautiful blade chewed through the shields, be they metal or wood with unholy hunger. This is what a giant is made of; utter, ruthless carnage. I cleaved an enemy in two with no mercy. A sword stabbed at me from the left, then right, and the men fell as Watch soldiers stabbed at them with spears over the first, ragged rank of men. I grimaced at the pain of the few wounds I had received; roared, and laughed spitefully as I pushed to the less steady second rank of the enemy, where I kicked an enemy so hard he folded in two. I slashed and slashed, like a butcher, growled away nicks and wounds and killed at abandon. Men cheered my progress and pushed after me. I grabbed a huge man with bristling, greasy hair, one who had been charging for me with a ball and chain; his shield was broken, and I squeezed his throat so hard he bit off his tongue. A man jumped on my back, stabbed with a dagger, and I howled as the blade found a hole in the armor and slashed into my shoulder. Then, a Watchman speared the man. I growled, grew thicker, and swiped my sword across a wall of spears, men holding the doorway. Two fell apart; the sword hummed with the brief resistance, and a third man spat blood as his ribs were broken. I roared and fought my way to the door, stepped on an enemy skull and the Watch followed me to the breach, turning to the sides of the foe, pushing and hacking wildly with ax and sword, many of their spears gone and twisted. They lived up to the name of the Mad Watch, howling and laughing at the enemy, who were giving up in places. The door was closed, and I searched for a spell to open it. It came to me.

But then, the door boomed open.

I slipped on blood and guts and fell on my back.

Three draugr stepped up, and they were not bothered by their hideous, dead looks. The draugr were apparently elder ones; those Mir had resurrected that first night after dying. They were the most gifted of all the creatures, and they were all Touching the Dark Mistress. One was the butler, Gray. There were four hundred men standing amidst the piles of bodies, all staring at the creatures and not one knew what was about to take place. I Stirred the Cauldron, and the shield of stone covered me as I scrambled away, and then the disaster struck. One draugr released a whirl of fire that tore through the heart of the Mad Watch troop. It started out as a small campfire and grew to a height of ten feet. Men fell all over the courtyard, smoking and screaming as they burned, some cooking in the air. The acrid smell of burning hair and skin filled my nostrils. Another draugr changed the air to scorching hot across part of the courtyard, and men screamed as they rolled, steaming in their armors. The last one, though, killed most with his magic. It was Gray’s spell. He grimaced and gathered a great deal of power. His spell was made of simmering, deepest embers, poisonous fumes and patient fires, the gauntlet whispered to me. It was a strange spell, and I guessed it was a rare one and very, very deadly. He kissed the air and released a spell of blue tinted wind, which thrust ghost-like past the screaming men, and it billowed for the gates. He was trembling, the spell difficult and draining, but the spell kept going on; men were coughing, weapons were dropped, and some few managed to crawl out of the way. Then the flames cast by the first of the draugr met the billowing cloud and a conflagration blast through the yard, toppling people from the walls, roasting the dead and living, both in such terrible heat I could see skeletons running around before they turned to cinders. Hundreds died.

My spell saved me. It was strained to the very edges of its endurance; I felt the stone guard losing its potency as the fires licked at me. I charged forward as I saw the outline of the gate that was swinging shut. I grew into a Jotun. I saw the butler’s eyes grow wide, the draugr guarding the three lifted feeble spears and shields, and I landed on them, taking down many of the enemy and a healthy part of railing of a fabulous stairway. They squirmed under me, biting and thrusting, and I pummeled anything that moved and the two spell-casting ones were soon nothing more than mangled flesh. I spied the butler, who was trying to flee up the stairway. I ran after him, breaking chairs and gilded vases decorating the vast bottom level of the Tower. Some guards converged on me, but I ripped them off the stairs and grabbed Gray. He was raising his hand. ‘No you don’t,’ I laughed and grasped the limb. It broke apart while he was staring at it incredulously.

‘Why did you help me?’ I asked him.

He smiled wickedly. ‘I told you. I loved Shaduril. And she loved you,’ he explained. ‘I saw her grow up, you see? Almost like my own child. Is she—’

‘She is not gone, no,’ I told him.

He smiled. ‘She is as fine as she can be under the circumstances. She is best of the lot. Though Ann was a good sister, if sad. Some children are miserable all their lives, sir.’

‘I will spare Shaduril,’ I told him.

‘Thank you, sir. Spare her if she desires this life. Kill the rest,’ he said sadly. ‘And myself, sir.’

‘Speaking of which, where are Taram and Balan? And the pretender mother,’ I spat, ‘who made a fool of me.’

‘You are Jotun.’ He chuckled. ‘Imagine that. I have taught manners to one. How to dress and to eat. I am sorry I tricked you. Though I did little. I smiled at you, and that was a genuine smile, sir. I liked you, sir. They are on top. Save for Mistress Mir.’

‘Where is she?’ I demanded the draugr. I noticed the battle was still ongoing outside, but apparently there were still some hundreds of Mad Watch alive, and they were killing the remaining enemy, despite the catastrophe at the gate.

‘They left yesterday. In the evening. King Crec and she? They took Hawk’s Talon north. They will march and pick up our armies and take a war to Ygrin. In the winter, even. The passes will be closed any day. Madness sir.’

I stared at him. ‘They want to make war on our allies and then rule what is left. There is nothing mad about it.’

‘Rule? They? Mistress Mir?’ the butler asked and then shrugged. ‘Not really.’

‘No?’

‘No sir,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘Killing your father was just the first step in a far more elaborate plan. You forget. There were many living mercenaries in the Crimson Apex. The ones that always changed? So far, only the undead have fought. Where are the living men who work with them? Think about that, sir. Quickly. That mask, sir? The horned mask? It is that of—’

Lith appeared and hacked off his head.

He flopped down on the stairs, and I grabbed her. ‘And now you appear?’ I said. ‘What is the Horned Mask? And where are the mercenaries? The living ones. I saw hundreds in the Apex.’

‘We have no time for this now, Maskan!’ she said with rippling anger as she struggled in my grip. ‘Ignore him. Did you tell him you will spare Shaduril? I cannot find her outside.’

‘Yes,’ I hissed. ‘Why were you looking for her?’

‘I would have had her killed,’ she hissed. ‘So what?’

‘You won’t get her. She is safe. Neither one was prepared to keep their word so stop weeping, girl,’ I told her.

‘I was only going to take what is mine in advance. You would spare her. That was not the deal,’ she cursed. ‘Liar. But fine. I’ll leave my men in the yard. The Mad Watch is nearly done there.’ She looked down as two of Valkai’s men pushed Illastria inside. One was an undead woman, in fact. Illastria looked confused but smiled politely at me. ‘They will keep Illastria safe. Let’s go on.’

I shook my head at the creature. She had some devious plan concocted. But I was not unprepared. ‘Yes. Let us deal with the rest of your damnable family.’ I laughed as she was still fuming.

‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘Up there. The bottom is clear. I checked. You first. If they see me, they can command me.’

I nodded and got up to walk the stairs.

‘You and I, love, will probably have to settle some scores at some point,’ she whispered. ‘I love you, and cannot help it, but I will flay your hide if you displease me too much.’

‘I think I am beyond such concerns,’ I told her with a grin. ‘Be careful, love.’

I nodded for the upstairs and hesitated as I saw Sand standing by the doors. I nodded at him as he eyed Lith and me dangerously.
Gods, do not make it so I have to slay him for the bitch.
‘The wall is safe? The city?’

‘There is a Mad Watch guard at this Tower gate, keeping people out. Lith’s people are at the wall gate,’ he agreed darkly, his eyes on Lith. ‘She giving trouble?’

‘You serve me, Sand,’ she reminded him.

‘I forgot, mistress, sorry,’ he told her.

‘We are going up. You stay down here. Keep my horse by the gate.’

‘I will,’ Sand agreed with a sickly grin. ‘Good luck, my … friend.’

I nodded at him, dragged the huge two-hander out, and marched up the stairs. Lith followed me, her eyes burning in the dark, her face pale and dead. The Danegell residence was surprisingly sparse, barely worthy of a king, but then, it was also a practical, surprisingly homelike abode. The stairs were made of lacquered wood and slabs of stone and dignified, simple furniture sat every now and then in wide, homely alcoves. ‘What do you need Illastria for?’ I asked her.

She laughed softly. ‘She owns the Blacktower lands. I think she had better be under my thumb. Where did you hide Shaduril?’

‘How many stairs?’ I asked Lith, loathing and ignoring her question.

She nodded up. ‘I’ll find her. Or she will find me. She cannot help it. The Throne room is up on the third. It is colossal. The Pearl Terrace is also up there, behind the Rose Throne, and there are halls and banquet rooms set around the area. They hold court there. There are a hundred rooms on each floor. The work areas are below with the gate guards. This second floor is for officials. There will be draugr up there. It will be very hard to find them if they are hiding.’