Under A Winter Sun, page 10
This time I'm prepared when he comes and duck the enormous fist he throws my way. I twist and punch him hard in the kidney. Or I would have if he had been of normal height. My fist glances off his ass and I don't think he even feels it through his thick fur breeches.
Berengar grabs me by the throat and lifts me off the floor. The band goes into a soaring first chorus and the crowd joins in the refrain. Berengar was right. It is a catchy tune to die by.
Jagr and her team are up. “What do we do?” Jagr calls.
“Fucking help me,” I croak.
“Right.” Jagr aims a kick at Berengar's knee. It bounces off his heavy leather boot. In return, she gets a backhanded slap that sends her sliding into the bar.
Soledad goes in low and jabs a vicious punch at Berengar's crotch. It finds its mark, and the Defiler howls and lets go of my throat.
I take advantage of the distraction and kick the inside of his leg. He goes down on one knee. Before he gets back up, I slip behind him and lock an arm around his thick neck. I can barely reach, but I squeeze with all my strength. I hope to put an end to this mess before it gets out of hand.
It's a brilliant plan. In theory.
Too bad Goliaths never cared much for theory.
Berengar reaches behind him, grabs my neck in one meaty fist and pulls me off my feet. He loosens my arm with his other hand like I was a sick baby hugging my mother's neck.
Oh, dear.
He throws me in a half somersault over his head and into the bar. I land on my back and bounce off to land on top of Jagr. Fuck, that hurt. I think he cracked a few hypercarbon ribs.
The last thing to register in my mind before everything goes black is the cute red-headed woman in the corner wincing. Is she rooting for me?
* * *
When I come to again, seconds later, Berengar fights Soledad and Braden. They do their best, but against Berengar the Defiler, that is never enough. He shakes them off and lifts Soledad off her feet. One massive hand squeezes her neck, crushing the life out of her while he backhands Braden aside with the other.
“What is your name, little woman?” He hopes for another named one of the little people to boost his legend even further.
I glance around for something to use as a weapon and all I can find is an abandoned chair next to the bar. I grab it, swing it in a perfect arc, and it connects with the back of Berengar's skull. He shrugs it off like a bull, but he drops Soledad who collapses on the floor, gasping, and clutching her neck. The Defiler turns on me.
Another fist swings my way. I duck it effortlessly and punch him in the face. His nose explodes into a shower of blood.
Berengar roars with fury and the air wheezes through his broken nose. Blood splashes everywhere as he breathes harder. Oh, no.
I've seen this before. Berengar the Defiler is a berserker. Some Viking warriors of old were famous for working themselves into a blood frenzy using toadstools and copious amounts of mead. They could fight for hours, shrugging off blows that would kill a normal man. Berengar does that in spades. The thick veins on his neck swell like they are about to explode. He raises his ugly head to the rafters and howls with pleasure.
He lunges after me, but I duck and roll out of reach.
The band moves into a slower part of their song, building towards a crescendo as we begin to circle. Are they syncing their music to the fight?
Berengar snorts and the blood froths at his mouth and nose as we move, both searching for an opening.
Jagr and Braden pull Soledad to safety and the other patrons stand cheering around us. Then Berengar charges again.
This time he goes for a vicious kick at my privates, and I dance aside. I collide with a table before I'm pushed back into the fray by a cheering Goliath.
Berengar attacks, and this time I let him come. At the last second, I drop to the ground, making him trip over me, and he goes crashing into the audience. I jump on his back and wrap an arm around his forehead. Then I pull his head back while I punch him in the neck and the side of the head. I'm not sure how effective my blows are, but he howls in pain when I punch his ear.
Pain is good, because it pisses him off, and you can outsmart a pissed off Goliath.
Unless he's got help.
Two enormous hands grab me from behind and pull me off Berengar's back and throw me across the room.
The Wolf twins pull the Defiler to his feet and all three turn on me.
Oh, dear.
The Tree of Life
The crowd goes wild as the band moves into another riveting chorus, raising it a notch. They are syncing their music to the fight. Impressive musicianship.
Berengar and the Wolf twins charge, and I have no more time to enjoy the artists' skill.
One twin goes for my legs. I jump out of his reach only to get caught in the hands of the other who pins my arms to my sides. Berengar roars and lands a fist in my face and everything goes blurry white. A split-second later I'm back and take another punch in the face. The massive blows crack my skull. By now I should be dead and Berengar knows that. He looks a little puzzled as he lands a third blow and I keep breathing.
He says something to the twin holding me, and my arms are released.
I drop to my knees, trying to gather my senses.
Now would be a marvellous time for the General to come calling.
Like a thousand ants crawling under my skin, the nanites swarm into overdrive to repair my broken face. I'm not sure they will be quick enough to save me from the Defiler.
Berengar gets behind me and puts one slab of a hand on my shoulder as if to comfort me. Then he grabs me under the chin with the other and pulls.
Oh, fuck. Not the head.
A tendon tears in my neck and I claw at his trunklike arm, slipping in the blood pouring from his broken nose.
A guttural roar tears from Berengar's chest as he pulls on my neck with all his Goliath strength and berserker rage. The crowd cheers. Something snaps in my back, and reality goes monochromatic and fuzzy at the edges.
What a sad way to die, in a miner's bar on Nifelheim, being torn to pieces by an arsehole like Berengar. The Goliaths will probably not even write a song about it.
My mind does the familiar somersault. Finally. Where the fuck have you been, general Meridian?
Berengar pulls on, and I'm worried even Meridian won't be a match for the Defiler.
Then everything flashes white and the general slips away like a cheap hooker from your bed at sunrise.
What? Isn't there supposed to be a tunnel first?
Another voice cuts through the noise of the fighting and the music. Some shape and colour return to the world and the voice comes again. Berengar releases my head and I collapse on the floor.
My cheek lands in something cold and wet.
Snow.
The bright light comes from the open door.
The setting sun shines through an opening in the low, dark clouds, straight into my eyes.
It's beautiful.
I'm rolled over onto my back and dragged through the door by one leg. One of these days it would be nice to actually walk out of a bar.
I blink to clear my vision, and after a few tries, the world swims back into focus. My neck is a nexus of pain but at least the bloody music has stopped.
I lie in the snow outside the bar. The sun hurts my eyes.
“Welcome back, Perez. I lost you for a moment.”
“Yeah, I almost died, Aeryn, remember?”
“No, before that. I couldn't reach you.”
“Must have been a glitchy connection or something.”
“I don't glitch.”
“Aeryn, go away.”
“Whatever.” It clicks off.
A Goliath leans over me, and it looks like he's about to slap my face.
“Hey, stop it, I'm awake,” I grumble.
He must have slapped me around already because my cheeks hurt like hell. “I'm awake.”
He reaches out to me, and I squint at the newcomer.
It's Wagner's baby brother, Eirik the Fair.
Baby in this context meaning younger. Eirik Wagner is far from a baby.
He's almost as large as Finn but carries himself with a different grace. Even kneeling in the snow, he looks all regal and shit.
“Eirik. Long time no see.” I grab his outstretched hand, and he yanks me to my feet. I slip on a patch of ice, but his grip is like a vice, and he keeps me upright without effort. Standing on his knees, he is as tall as I am.
“Do I know you, little man?” He gets to his feet to tower over me. His English is flawless like his silver-beaded beard and flowing locks of golden hair. If the other Goliaths are wolves, Eirik is a Lion. He is a handsome bastard. He even smells good.
“It's me. Perez.” I try to smile through my bloody and broken teeth. The teeth always take the longest to regrow.
Eirik furrows his brow, trying to place me.
I try to jog his memory. “Asher Perez? Finn's friend?”
His brow shoots up.
“Yes, I remember you.” The brow comes down again. “You look different.”
Shit. This is not the body he saw me in last time.
Improvise, Perez, improvise.
“I had surgery a few years back. My face got messed up in a fight.” Not too far from the truth.
He tilts his head to one side.
“Can't say they did any improvements to your face. I hope you didn't pay them in full.”
I smile. “Never said I was happy with the job.” My mouth hurts when I smile.
Jagr and the girls stand back, waiting. So does Berengar.
Eirik beams. “A frende of Thorfinn's is a frende of mine. How about we go back inside, I buy you people a round, and we forget about this incident? My man has a temper, is all.”
So, the Defiler works for Eirik. Interesting.
It's not a coincidence Berengar showed up right after we arrived, and it's not a coincidence Eirik showed up in time to save our sorry asses.
They planned this to test us. Eirik was always too clever for his own good.
The priest must have talked.
“So, Asher.” He brushes snow from my anorak and ushers me back inside the bar. “What brings you to Nifelheimr?”
Now that he has my name, I may as well put the rest of our cards on the table. “Thought I'd drop in on Finn, see how he's doing. And we're here to see your father.”
He squints, suspicious. “The Jarl? Why?”
“We're looking for someone. Or rather, they are.” I point to the girls, and Eirik turns towards them.
“What have we here? Little women? Beautiful ones at that. I had no idea you were this pretty. I am Eirik Wagner. Welcome.” He spreads his arms and beams at them, showing perfect teeth under his immaculately groomed golden moustache.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jagr snaps. Her face is unreadable. This is not going according to her plan.
“Oh, come now,” Eirik tuts. “That's no way to start a relationship.”
Jagr ignores him. “We have business with your father, Goliath. Business that could be lucrative for him. And for you.”
Eirik chews on nothing for a while. Then he turns his back on us, rests his massive hands on the bar and lowers his head like he's trying to divine his future in the mead and blood covering the surface. He drums his thick fingers against the concrete. “What business is this?” He turns back to Jagr. There's a strange smile playing at the corner of his mouth. This whole charade rings false.
“Our business is for your father's ears only.”
Eirik inclines his head. “Will you tell me if I buy you a round?”
He is a smooth talker, but this whole thing feels like a shoddily rehearsed play.
Soledad cuts in. “Try it and find out, Goliath.”
Eirik laughs. That was not in the script. “A round for the little ones,” he calls to the barman who pours fresh drinks. When the barman hands them over, he scowls at me and says something to Eirik that includes the words åttio and kronor.
Eirik looks at me. Then he laughs again.
“Put it on my tab,” he says to the bartender and hands out the drinks.
He raises his vessel. “Here's to lucrative business.”
“To lucrative business,” we echo and bang our jugs together, splashing foul mead all over the bar and the floor. This ancient Goliath custom probably arose as a legitimate excuse to spill the vile drink. I can't blame them. It tastes like ass.
Eirik empties his drink in one go. We don't.
“Well then, let's go see my father,” Eirik says as he slams the empty vessel on the bar. “We'll ride with you.”
His face says it's not something to be argued about.
“Well then,” Jagr echoes. “Excellent.”
She slams her still half-full jug down next to Eirik's. “Let's go.”
I thought she was smarter than this. Eirik is up to something.
The redhead in the corner gets up and throws a handful of coins on the table. She nods and gives me a smile that warms me down to my balls.
“Hildr, are you coming?”, Eirik calls to her.
“Going for a piss. I'll meet you outside.” She heads for a frost-rimmed metal door in the back, crudely marked with something resembling a toilet.
Who is she? Must be someone important if she rides with Eirik.
Eirik reaches behind the bar and pulls something from a shelf. “Here, little people. Take these. I don't want my guests to freeze their faces off.”
He hands out bulky knitted scarves made from off-white woolly fabric. Mine smells like something took a crap and died in it.
The Goliaths wrap their shaggy faces, and we follow suit. The smell is horrible, but the warmth is nice. We head for the door with Eirik in front and Berengar and the twins making up the rear like an honour guard. Or a prison detail.
On the way out I smile at the bartender. “I told you I'd get your money.”
He gives me a sour face and spits in the jug he's holding. Then he cleans it out with his dirty towel.
I knew it.
* * *
Back on the Sundowner, we strap in for the short hop over the mountains to the Jarl's fortress. Eirik sits next to me. The redhead sits on his other side. She appears to have fallen asleep. Jagr sits across the aisle, studying our guests.
On the way in I noticed Eirik eyeing the hardware in the cargo bay. There's no reason to doubt Eirik knows who we are, and if he's still playing along with this charade, he wants something.
As soon as we're airborne, he slaps a ham-sized fist on my knee.
“Good to see you again, Perez.”
He sounds sincere enough, but there's no warmth in his eyes when I meet them.
“Likewise. It's been too long. When was it we last met, you and I? Twenty years ago?”
“Something like that. We were both young. A lot of dark water under Bifrost since.”
“Yes, those were the days. What have you been up to?”
He peers off into the distance.
“I spent a decade in the Varangian guard.”
That must have been a heaven and hell experience, judging by his facial expression. I nod, impressed. If he served in the Cardinal's personal Goliath guard, he's not all fancy clothes and manicured beards these days. The Guards are mean bastards.
“But then father called me back when mother died, and he remarried. A kingdom doesn't run itself, and with Finn gone to breeding, there's a lot for my father to handle on his own.”
“How is your father? Well, I hope.”
“He is splendid. He's old, but he still has his strength. The old man will live for decades.”
Do I detect a slight frustration there?
“Let's hope he does. He is an honourable man, your father.”
“That he is.” Eirik falls silent. Then he looks at Jagr. “A word, if I may, little woman.” His voice is almost jovial.
“I'm listening, Eirik.”
“You are the one I've talked to?”
“I am.”
Do they know each other?
“Does our deal stand?”
Jagr chews her lower lip. “If you can guarantee your end of the bargain, then yes, our deal stands.”
I scowl at Jagr. What's this talk of a deal? She meets my gaze and shakes her head imperceptibly in response. I get it. Shut up and follow her lead.
“Terra will support my claim?”
“If you handle the Jarl, we will.”
Eirik beams. “Then we have a deal, little woman.”
He rubs his enormous hands together. “Excellent. Fly on. My father's hall awaits us. I'm starving.”
I lean towards Jagr across the aisle. “Can we talk?”
She nods and rises from her seat. I follow her into the airlock and slap the button to close the door behind us.
“What are you playing at, Jagr? What's this deal you're talking about?”
“You said it yourself. Recruiting Thorfinn is no longer a viable solution. I had to improvise.”
“Tell me about this deal.”
“We get our agent and Eirik's help to discover what Project Jotun is all about.”
“In return for what?”
“Future Terran backing.”
“Come on Jagr. You can't trust Eirik. He's up to something. Besides, we're not here to pick a fight.”
She regards me coldly.
The realisation hits me like a punch in the gut. “We are?”
“This is my show, Perez. You're hired muscle. Remember that.”
I stand there and scowl at her. She scowls back. If Terra supports Eirik against his father, there will be a war on Nifelheim. Jarl Ragnwald is a popular man. But so is his youngest son. It would be a long war. Which would be exactly what the Terrans want if they fear an imminent Goliath attack. Humanity would never survive that assault. Make the Goliaths fight among themselves first, and Terra can pick off any survivors. Divide and conquer, and all that shit.
Fuck. I put a hand over my eyes and massage my temples. “You're aware there will be a civil war?”
“That is a likely outcome, yes. We have a potential fucking crisis brewing in this system, and we need to find out what's going on. This deal is us stirring the pot to see what floats to the surface. Don't worry. This is what we do. Everything is under control.”
