The Wolf Hammer, page 24
part #1 of Odin's Bastard Series
Nor would they want to.
Both suddenly changed, and their wounds disappeared, and they looked human..
“They like to keep hidden,” Borin said helpfully. “They can Kiss the Night, as they call magical powers, my friend.”
One, the captain, lifted his hand.
It was a thin spell of blazing fire that left it, and it split the air and struck my shield and through it, my chest.
I fell back and over and rolled on my feet, my chainmail smoking, but intact, as the draugr weaved a new spell. Fresh fires were growing and dancing around me, obstructing sight.
I sensed movement, and then an ax smashed down at me from the side. I parried, the ax smashing into mud between my legs. The draugr, on the other side of the fire, was grinning.
To distract me.
The other draugr slammed his ax at my back.
I rolled through the flames and screamed for the pain. Then I stabbed behind me, and up.
The blade went through a draugr, tearing at its chest, but the ax came down anyway, bashing down on my helmet.
I felt dizzy, realized I was on my arse, and then I saw the two coming again. I regained my footing, the axes missing me by an inch, and heaved with my sword at one. His face was opened, and then I smashed the sword down on the skull. It fell.
The captain still snarled and from his hands, ran fire again.
It spattered against my chainmail, it burned my chin, and I pushed the sword through it, and the skull.
The flaming sword came off the head.
I turned to see a blade coming, stabbing up at me. I swatted at Borin so hard, the svartalf flew at a door, and through it.
As he was trying to get up, I placed a hand on his chest and shoved him down.
He looked up at me with resignation.
“Where, Borin, now that you must serve me, are they going?” I asked, panting, burned and angry.
“Dagnar,” he said. “They go to Dagnar, and they will take the city, by deceit.”
“Of course they will,” I said.
“They will sail in with fog this very night. Eglin will lead the army forth to the walls in the morning, while Reignhelm and the others will seek the top with your Morag, and his kin. They might need to use the hammer, see? To find the door. Your father…Hagar, he said he had never penned down the exact position. Only that there is a creature he met there, once, and he had to flee. That Odin would take care of it, but then he never told anyone, thanks to you your mother and Narfi. See? They know it is at the temple on the top, hidden way inside their hill. I wish I could see it. I do love hills and holes.”
He beamed me a smile.
I drove the blade into his guts. He howled and kicked and twisted, and the dead twitched and cried with him.
I cut at him, hacking off his legs and arms, and left him for the crows.
I found Chal waiting, and she smiled. “We have a boat. And I will fly ahead. Are you ready?”
I nodded. I picked up Borin’s sword, and we left.
CHAPTER 7
“What if this is all a mistake?” asked Jarl Sigurd, swathed in a cloak. Kiron, his heir was at his side, his dark beard jutting. “They told Kiron they will sail to their homes, and that we have peace.”
Kiron was nodding.
Rikas shook her head. “Kiron was fooled. They are not even human. They are coming. They don’t care for peace or oaths.”
Jarl, an old man with a long sword on his side, was shaking his head. “We had allies. Here. Right here. Falgrin’s men left this morning. Ygrin’s too. Our fleet took many to the north. They won’t make it back in time. Do you have any proof? Where did this fog come from?”
He was right.
The fog had thickened that night and morning, and especially that afternoon into a soup-like, moist cover that had spread from the sea. It was the uncanniest fog I had ever seen.
We knew what it was.
Narfi’s spell.
Sigurd was still reluctant to believe.
“The fog,” Rikas said, leaning on the crenellation, “is there to hide them. It is the proof you seek. Has any of your scouts come back?”
“There are guards on the coast,” he said, and turned to look up the hill. “And the ships are looking. As I said, most of our fleet are taking Falgrin home.”
I watched the land, what I could see.
The north was split by the massive mountains called the Blight, and they loomed even over the fog, far in the north. I knew that green hills and valleys dotted the land, and long, white, cold beaches spread west and east. Dagnar was surrounded by woods, high meadows, and fields, and the city itself was a set of six rings around a hill, with rustic, wooden houses filling the magnificent hillside. They got richer the higher you went. On top, the temple stood, ringed by a set of white walls, much like the ones at the bottom. The harbor had six piers and no ships.
None had returned.
The high roofed temple was dedicated to Freya.
I saw her likeness sitting on top of it, white marble painted with life-like colors that had somewhat tarnished in the harsh winters of the north.
The Jarl saw my eyes.
He knew who I was. “We didn’t come, king Hagar” he said, “because your father told us they would die in that war. He knew it. He sent me a most desperate message, after Aeginhamn. He told me to guard the temple. He never said anything, but he, I think, found something in the crypts, once, years ago. It was not because we were cowards that we let you in trouble, but because your father had no hope. He loved your mother. He seemed robbed of every shred of hope. Hopeless men win no wars.”
Lok’s spawn.
Murderous, filthy things.
I hated them.
“I know,” I said. “Hope is hard to come by when surrounded by lies. But now, we have hope.”
“What, exactly,” asked Kiron, “are they?”
Chal smiled. “Shape changers.”
Kiron frowned. “Just that. They stole armies of the Verdant Lands and have no real powers other than that. They are elves.”
“Come,” Sigurd said. “That is power enough. I always doubted elves. So did the east.”
We stood there in silken silence, waiting.
Kiron spoke finally. “We have four thousand men of Hawk’s Talon,” he said. “Our walls are ten feet high, and they will have ten thousand men. They don’t need powers.”
Around us, men stood. We had prepared. The walls were rippling with men. Hundreds of archers, ten ballistae, catapults. Behind us, on the wide street that led up to the temple, were thousand men, and a surprise.
We had a surprise way up on top too.
One that had confused Sigurd.
They would retreat up there, if they lost down here.
“We are dead,” Kiron said dully.
“Rikas is the Queen of Midgard now,” I told him. “Stop depressing her.”
“Not of the north,” Sigurd murmured. “We shall keep our own council, thank you.”
“They are here,” Chal said. She looked like a soldier, and I pulled my deep cloak around me, and hid well behind men.
Sigurd looked at us with confusion.
And then, from the night, marched an army.
The men on the wall, above and below, saw them at the same time.
They were running, and were eerily silent, until suddenly, just when we could see them, some spell of Narfi’s fell away, and the jingle of armor echoed across the city.
No horns brayed. No alarm was needed.
Every man simply readied themselves, and both sides, it was clear, were surprised.
Before all came Vittar’s men, rushing forward in ranks of two thousand, very near all of a sudden, and behind them ran Malignborg’s thousands. To their left flank, Graymoor’s men, and Aten was to the right of us.
It looked desperate.
And truly, I didn’t care about any of them.
I only had a quarrel with my father, wife, and uncle.
The enemy army was not well off.
Tired, spent, sick from the sea-journey, lacking supplies. there were some nine-thousands of them, and in their midst, was Eglin, wearing a red cape and holding a golden baton.
They came as a massive, marching wave of war.
I saw dozens of horses amid them, captains and generals, and beyond, in the fog, shadows.
“I don’t see them,” I whispered.
Chal nodded. “They are being shy. We need to expose them. I am ready.”
“Good,” I said. “I am not.”
The Jarl was watching the rushing enemy with shock and he saw the ladders too.
He turned to Rikas, a look of desperation on his face. Men all around the walls, were shaking and waiting, and indeed, here and there arrows were loosed.
She collected herself and stepped forward, and climbed stairs to the room of the gate, and there, stood up for all to see. Gilad, Chal, and I followed her. So did Kiron. Sigurd walked down to take command of the street, his sword in his hand.
Vittar’s men, just a hundred feet from us, saw her.
They staggered into a slow jog, whispering. Gilad, near her sister, suddenly held Vittar’s flag of twisted spear high.
“Men of Vittar!” she screamed, as the thousands of men and a stunned Eglin slowed down to crawl, slowing everyone into chaotic lines.
“Forward!” Eglin howled. “Take the walls! Bleed them! We will keep this city for our own. Land and house for all! Go, and take them! Captains! Do your job!”
Captains in the ranks shouted orders. They tried.
Here and there, companies went forth, but the confusion caused by the Vittar’s standard made it a slow advance.
Hundreds of northern archers readied. Two thousand men on the walls shifted and prepared themselves.
I watched the woods to the north.
I looked behind me to the streets.
There, more waited.
And something else.
None of it would matter.
All I wanted was to make Narfi mad. I had a hunch I had a knack for it.
“Listen to your queen!” called out Jarl Sigurd. “Listen, as she tells you of treason!”
The ranks of the thousands shifted. They tramped forward still, the gleaming, mud-spattered armor shivering with expectation and confusion, like a hurt wolf creeping toward a dangerous, confusing prey. Their fear, their hopes, rested on their High King, but the daughters of one of their kings?
Why was she amid their foes?
Prisoners or traitors?
The whispers of Vittar echoed to the walls. Half and half, I thought.
Eglin was pulling at his horse. He was howling and thinking and came up with a solution from those whispers. “Forward, slugs! What do you fear! Save the princess, the other one too!”
And at that, the shields of the Vittar, Aten, Malignborg, and many others banged together.
Rikas lifted her hand.
In it, was a head.
The army stopped. “Here, see!” called out Rikas. “Men of Verdant Lands. See us. No prisoners are we. We are here to expose a great evil. See us and despair, for this is your king. And here, another!”
In her hands, she was holding the heads of Reignhelm and Vittar.
Eglin gagged and stared.
Men of Vittar gaped, and Malignborg’s captains were riding past them, ignoring all to see better.
She gave both to Chal, who grinned and tossed them.
Tarl’s landed in the ranks of the Vittar, bouncing off shields. The one of Malignborg fell short, but men rushed forth to look at the hideous heads.
And then a terrible commotion erupted.
We saw a captain of Malignborg, his helmet splendid with streaming horsehair, jumping down to pick up the head, and then, screams of anger echoed across the land.
Vittar were holding their head high, and turning around to Eglin, screaming questions.
The armies were in chaos. Men were leaving ranks.
“A lie!” called out Eglin. “A filthy lie!”
“It is him!” another cried out. “Our Tarl! The king! Do not deny it!”
“And men of Vittar, where is your king?” shouted Rikas. “Let it come forth! A think of Lok’s, I tell you. As is the High King, and Lon Graymoor!”
Her voice carried far and wide, and she stood there, shivering, petite, and beautiful, looking over the men of the Verdant Lands.
And it was then, when Eglin was about to lose control of the army, that a horse rode out of the dark fog.
On it, sat the suffering High King, Reignhelm, his face noble and proud. He was alone, and I guessed he was not happy to take a considerable risk. He carried my damned hammer.
Behind him, in the shadows, I saw ranks of riders, and I knew the rest were there, waiting.
Reignhelm’s eyes were slithering across all the men in sight on the walls, and he didn’t spot me. He bent his malice on Rikas, instead. “What sorcery is this?” he demanded. “The traitors bring us a head? Did we not already suffer deceit and lies? Did we not see our protectors and kings falling? Where does it end, Rikas Vittar? You fled here to get more good men killed?”
“And are you here,” Rikas called back, “because you forgot to thank Kiron as he left? You brought friends, perhaps? Nay. Nay. I am not here to kill men. I came here and saved many!”
It was true.
The city had been evacuated.
Reignhelm lifted Wolf Hammer high.
He pointed it at Rikas. “This is naught by a lie! I, Reignhelm Barm Bellic, Son of Odin, the one who carries the traitor’s hammer, tell you—”
And then, many things happened.
I pulled Rikas back from the wall, and her sister joined her.
I propelled them for the stairs, and Chal, peeking past the crenellation, called out a spell.
It was a skillfully cast wall of fire.
A fiery storm burst around Reignhelm.
The horse collapsed like a house of sticks in a roaring fireplace. Bones and skin turned to ashes, but the army, screaming in horror, all saw what remained.
It wasn’t the High King.
Narfi, a being of darkness, stood there, a spell of protection gleaming as he backed off the flames. A thing of shadows, I saw my father. Made up of darkness—his limbs almost like black dreams, the face a blot of night with eyes of bright, white fire—the thing hated the day.
His armor gone, the spells of concealment falling, the fog dissipating around him, he was seen by so many.
“Traitor!” Vittar’s men screamed, and some ran.
“What is it?” yelled a captain of Malignborg.
And it was then when Narfi had enough of concealment and lies.
He snarled, twisted, and moved, and suddenly, the afternoon turned to night, darkness sweeping across the landscape, the fog making it hard to see far at all. He dismissed the men around him, and spell of fear tore at men around him, many of whom fell on their faces, and were clawing their eyes out.
And then, a fiery line of fire came at Chal, who dodged down.
It burst through Kiron, killing the man.
And then, the chaos of the battle truly began.
Ranks of warriors shifted in panic, men were moving back and forth, and I heard Eglin screaming, “Forward, forward! Take the walls.”
And most tried. Most had not even seen what had taken place.
Much of the enemy, seeking some sense, stuck to war.
Ranks of their men were running forward, thousands of them.
Not the men of Vittar. Not half of Malignborg.
Many thousand men went forward, enraged, and rushed the blot in the night, while thousand made a shieldwall to protect it.
What followed was terrible chaos, and men wept long after as they thought back on it.
The north, enraged by the loss of Kiron, horrified by the sight of Narfi, fought well.
Arrows ripped down at the enemy, and hundreds of charging men fell. Hundreds more loped over them, taking arrow, spear, javelin, rock and falling in heaps before Dagnar’s walls.
Out of the northern woods, the noble cavalry of Dagnar rode out, terrified, armored men carrying lances and swords. They rode at the backs of Graymoor’s charging men, throwing them into chaos.
Chal grinned and pointed a sword at the night.
Out of the darkness rode two figures. One was pulling at a horse, where a boy was sitting. With them, were forty men, all with swords out.
Morag and the Swans.
And my wife and Vali.
They saw our handiwork.
They saw the army split in half, and how Narfi was backing off from an assault by the Vittar and rebellious men of Malignborg. The enraged, surprising foes were tearing at many ranks thick shieldwall of loyal Malignborg. Eglin was screaming orders at the men, and a terrible melee enveloped their middle.
Their left was now a chaotic melee, where horses were hacked down, nobles pummeled to deaths, and new wave of such men tore the heart out of Graymoor’s men, until they too were stopped.
The men of Aten got to the walls. Some of Graymoor, a thousand of Malignborg.
And dying, fighting, they began climbing it.
Narfi, looking back at his siblings, decided not to hide away.
He hefted the hammer.
He braided together spells and threw his shadowy hands out, laughing, wicked and cruel voice echoing over the darkness that was his.
Spells tore through the ranks of Malignborg and Vittar, no matter their cause. A wide swath of dark fire burned through their men, gathering momentum, melting metal, skin, bone, and like a wave, it washed for the walls, burning through Aten’s companies, their ladders, and then, splashed at the walls.
Chal pulled me down.
Around us, men were screaming, howling, as the flames washed over the walls, sparks of it flying in all directions and all across the city. The houses caught fire and burned, and conflagration would clearly destroy much of the lower city.
Narfi, hefting his hammer, was striding forth, kicking skulls out of his way.
His siblings were following. I saw Alar and Agon leading the Swans forth, just after them, picking their way through the filth and corpses.
