The Wolf Hammer, page 18
part #1 of Odin's Bastard Series
After a while, we passed old tombs, half buried. Borin ran his fingers along with them, murmuring. Soon after, he pointed the torch at a large doorway up ahead.
We entered a large chamber.
It was high, half natural stone and half chiseled and crafted, especially the walls, which were also painted red.
A dozen torches glowed along the walls, the light flitting along the floors between vast stacks of old barrels and crates. In the middle, there was a long table with the ancient remains of meals, bones and tin plates.
It had once been a guard room.
Later, a smuggler’s stash.
Now, it would be an ambush site.
Borin scratched his neck. “Right. So, here it is. You and I shall be sitting there in the middle. We leave half our boys in one of the side tunnels back there,” he said. His men spread left and right around him, silent and attentive, unnaturally calm. “And half will hide on the sides in those tunnels that go up. They will have crossbows, two each. No rat should get out, let alone the toy soldiers of Aten.”
Indeed, along the wall across from us, the direction that led higher to the mountain, you could see dozens of round doorways, one after another.
Borin smiled as I looked at them with dismay.
“You can get lost here, aye,” he said. “The middle ones are fake. They take you up, then down, and some holes kill you. The one with a scratch on top?”
I saw one on the right with white marks in the light of the torch.
“That’s the one that leads to the city,” he said. “The pilot told me. There are more tunnels left and right up there, but the way has been marked.”
“Surely the guards would know about this?” I wondered.
“They will have guards on top,” Borin agreed. “But you know, sometimes they don’t know about these things. But here we are. That’s the plan. Good enough, Hagar?”
I grunted, pulled on my cloak, and went to sit on the table.
The young man I had seen was grinning at me and pulling clothing out of the bag he had been carrying. Then he was donning a vibrant, red cape with silver fur. He had a comb between his teeth.
He also wore silver and gold necklace, and armbands with rubies.
“He is the Jarl, see?” Borin said. “Don’t need the comb, Orag. Pull on the hood. Yggra will have seen Barrac before.”
Orag grinned and obeyed, crashing to sit next to me, whistling tunelessly.
We waited while Borin arranged for an ambush.
I felt like the accused sitting at the table as Borin began dividing the party, pushing and jostling, giving growled orders to the men, who turned to obey silently, moving in the darkness like rats.
I took off my helmet and laid it on the table.
I touched my forehead and wondered at the terrible pain that never seemed to cease.
I had been hurt there.
They had branded me.
How had I survived?
I couldn’t remember.
Eglin was useful but had not really…helped.
But soon, I would know much more.
And then we would go to war.
And we would likely die.
We would walk out only if we took the bastards prisoners in the keep. But we had to get in there first, and there was a whole army of foes camped all around us.
If just one of the royals escaped?
He, or she, might decide they could fill any throne in the land.
And the elves.
We had to kill them.
They would rip our hearts out.
But this was the place and the time, and I could wait no longer.
Baiae, and my revenge, the truth, and Odin’s justice awaited.
And still, I felt I was going to be disappointed.
I was not wrong.
***
“Where are they?” Borin wondered. He had been fidgeting in his seat for an hour and was now bored to death. “I damned well think Yggra has made a mess of it. Got cold feet, perhaps. Shian should have sent us the pilot.”
“Something could always go wrong,” I said softly, fighting the despair.
“Perhaps he had to change into something appropriate for the occasion,” he rumbled. He was tugging at his hood, where a spider was crawling.
“Perhaps he did,” I answered, and looked at the old plates and bones Borin was playing with his fingers.
Orag was furiously silent and seemingly happy, though he no longer whistled.
Borin touched the bones, snapping some, and for a moment, it felt like some of the bones were moving on their own.
And then, suddenly, a low whistle echoed in the room.
One of the men was at the doorway, waving his hand, and then he ran out of sight.
I grasped my helmet and pulled it on. I drew my cloak tight around me and shifted it. Borin did as well, tucking his beard out of sight.
Our hoods were low, and we sat still, and Orag straightened his back. “I acted when I was young,” said the boy. “Never for a king!”
“Adeling,” I whispered.
“Damn it,” he rasped. “I’ll try to swallow my disappointment.”
We sat there, wondering and waiting, tense until we heard the sound of men marching, cursing, and finally, we saw the light.
“Hope the bastards in the side tunnels keep out of sight,” Borin rumbled. “They should be right at home. Here they come.”
A man in Aten’s armor stepped in, the sword was drawn.
I saw the pilot, looking at us, and then he was pulled back down.
The soldier’s eyes took us in, then he inspected the walls and the rot. He waved back and began walking the room.
He was a captain, a lord of men, tall and suspicious, and his eyes traveled around the room, before he was slinking between the crates, dodging the towers of barrels, and scrutinizing each detail.
Then, not fully satisfied, but relatively so, he walked back to hover near the table, and t looked at us with a suspicious face.
He stared at Orag, who stood up and bowed. “I would,” Orag said softly, “talk about surrender. I heard Yggra is the King of Aten and the most reasonable of the lot below. I seek to survive this terrible war.”
The captain looked at the riches of the young man, and then, hesitating, grinned. “Aye. He is indeed able to take your surrender. I take it you will not care for the fate of the city?”
The man, Orag, shook his head. “Indeed, I can live with losing it, as long as I get to keep my personal wealth. And life.”
The captain walked to the tunnels, and soon, out of it, poured dozens of men, armed to the teeth, walking to stand in the middle of the room.
The pilot was not with them.
Good for him.
But where was Yggra?
And then I let out a sigh of relief.
Yggra was there, unable to stay away.
His men surrounded him. There were forty or more.
They were watching us with malice, grinning and confident, weapons out. Orag kept staring at them, shaking with fear, real or faked.
“Will I kneel?” Orag whispered. “King Yggra?”
And then Yggra, in his battle armor, tall and wicked ax on his shoulder, stepped out of the lines. He stared at the man.
“Indeed,” he rumbled. “You need to kneel. I am a king, after all.”
Orag smiled and bowed his head. It seemed to please Yggra immensely, like he was a child receiving a honeycomb.
“I would discuss the surrender of my city,” Orag said. “Or rather, if that is not possible, my surrender and that of my family. To you. After I kneel, of course.”
Yggra was nodding and scratching his head. “And I shall accept. I have made a document here.” He snapped one out, a bound scroll, which he tossed before us. “It is a contract. In it, you assign the White Tower to King Yggra of Aten, and in exchange, you may keep your riches, minus a tax. That tax I shall determine later. There are passages, just a few, that state how it was I who took your seawall, a king by the grace of Odin, and how you were forced to—”
“No,” I said.
His eyes turned to me. He was frowning. “What? Wait. Do I know you?”
I got up, and the men with him put hands on their swords. There were forty of them, the most loyal of his dogs. The captain stepped before Yggra, his sword actually out.
“You came,” I said.
“Yes. Obviously. Your voice. I know—”
“Ring-giver,” I said, and showed him the ring he had given me. “It is time we spoke alone.”
Orag pulled out a crossbow from behind the table, grinned at the captain, and fired.
The bolt sunk to the belly of the man and ripped out to strike the thigh of Yggra.
The prince screamed in horror and pain.
As if roused by the scream, men attacked.
Out of the tunnels behind us, men emerged, as Borin and I pushed the table over and crouched behind.
The bolts ripped out of the darkness and tore through the ranks of the Aten. Men howled and were thrown on their backs. Shields rattled, and then chaos reigned.
The men of Aten turned to cover Yggra with shields. From behind, chants echoed as our men rushed out and formed a wall of shields. Crossbows twanged, and rows of Aten’s men were thrown down.
I got up and saw many of the enemy running every which way, some staying and covering the adeling, and then I pulled my sword, and hopped over the table.
Orag followed, and yelled, and screamed, as a spear jutted from his chest, and he fell on his face. Men rushed me, and I grinned, stepping forward as our men charged from all over, holding axes and spears, pushing the muddled mob of foes into bedlam and death.
I parried a swing by a warrior.
I bashed into his shield and hacked on his thigh, felling him. Borin was there to help me, taking another man under his armpit with his sword. I thrust my blade into a man’s face, then his shield pushed it out as he was panting with pain, his nose cut. A young woman stabbed a spear at me, the blade tearing along my helmet. I grasped the spear, and yanked her along, feeling the battle rage growing. My head ached.
I rammed my sword up to the woman’s blurry figure, and the blade sliced through her armor. I ripped it through her to smite the noseless man, who fell back without an arm, for one of our men had just hacked at him with an ax.
I felt the joy of the kill, the love for the chaos, and laughed at the enemy, their faces betraying their horror as they were suddenly beset on all sides.
Our men slashed into the backs and bellies of Aten’s less experienced men. I saw Yggra, running past, throwing away his helmet, sprinting into a dark way, panting with horror, bleeding from his leg.
It was the way up.
He disappeared, and I, cursing, ran after.
I rushed fast in the darkness, and saw there was light far up on top.
I cursed that too, for if there were someone in there, things could go very wrong.
They were going wrong already.
I heard and saw his figure, not far up. He panted for help, softly as a child, and the ax he was dragging was suddenly spinning out of the darkness, smashing into my legs, tripping me.
I fell and climbed back up, cursing foully. He was far ahead now.
I ran and then crashed into a hole. I rolled down for a bit, losing my weapon.
I got up and saw movement above, then steps slapping the stone. I heard screams echoing not far, and then I found the sword.
I sprinted up, gravel flying. I saw the lights up and down and scrambled up. I turned around, saw our men below, killing the last of the enemy, and then rotated and saw shadows moving up above.
There was a scream.
I ran and spat, cursed, and nearly wept.
I got up there and found the doorway unguarded.
It was empty.
A single oil lamp was burning there, in the middle of the room.
And then I saw the room was not empty.
On the side, in a dark corner, I saw Yggra, his neck twisted, and Borin hunched over him, dragging at his coat and bag.
I stared at him. “You killed him.”
Borin turned to look at me, his face was dark with anger. “No. I caught him. He tried to fight. I dodged and pushed him. He fell against the wall. His neck is broken. He is alive still. See?”
He leaned over the man and hauled his head up.
It took a moment, but suddenly, the eyes opened, and Yggra stared up and said nothing.
I stepped forward.
Men were pushing past now from below, bloodied and with huge eyes, staring at the sight of the adeling of Aten.
I walked to him.
His eyes were moving, and his tongue was lolling out of dry lips.
“Sorry about that, lord,” Borin said, and stuffed the tongue back in. “There.”
Borin held a hand under his head and moved the man. He couldn’t move.
I watched the bastard and leaned close. I grasped my helmet and removed it. He saw my face, the eye on my forehead, and didn’t so much as flinch. He just stared.
“Can you speak?” I asked.
He opened his mouth, and with his beard trembling, he answered, “Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He blinked. “Yes.”
“Then you know what I wish to know,” I said harshly.
He flinched. “I do not.”
I grimaced and held back from striking him. “Where is my wife?”
He frowned. “I never had your wife. None of us did. We did look. You were here, hiding after the battle.”
I stared at him. Surely, he was lying.
Borin grimaced. “Hard to say. I think he is lying.”
Yggra opened his mouth to protest, but then he went quiet.
I wondered what to do. I could hardly trade his life for my wife. He knew he was already dead.
Lucky, but always unlucky.
“You went to Hard Hall,” I said. “There, you found Morag, my nephew, and my wife. You took them as prisoners.”
“I would remember,” Yggra said, and Borin growled at him. “I am not sure. I took prisoners in the city. They are in Aten, waiting for ransom. We don’t have anyone. We do not. Perhaps there…”
He didn’t sound convinced.
He would know these prisoners. Something was wrong.
Borin grinned and caressed his face almost gently. “Liar. Liar bastard. Now—”
“What happened to my mother?” I asked him. “My father was told you murdered her. And your brother told me you tortured and raped her. My father was told these things too.”
He opened his mouth and seemed to tremble with rage. “I did not. Of course not! I…” He shook a bit more and spoke. “Please. I didn’t. I would not do that. Eglin lies. He always lies. Petty and bitter…”
Borin was eying the doorways, tense.
“What happened,” I asked him, “when you took my mother to the dungeons, naked and beaten?”
“She was Jarl Graymoor’s blood,” he hissed. “Queen of the East! I would not touch her, except to take her down, as Naergoth demanded. I would not do something like this. Eglin lied. Naked, indeed! Never! Someone told your father I had done this. I know. I heard of it, I remember. Reignhelm told him in a letter it wasn’t true, but someone had sent a filthy letter in Reignhelm’s name first. It was not from the High King. I didn’t…”
“But you did take her down there,” I whispered, my head spinning. I shoved Borin off him, and the man growled warnings.
“Lord—” Borin began, but I stepped closer to the prince.
“Answer,” I told him.
He blinked. “Yes,” he hissed, unable to move. “We imprisoned her, as Naergoth told us to do. Tarl Vittar was courteous, and Rikas and Gilad stood outside the cells with me and Eglin as Naergoth took her inside. It was strange. As strange as all this…”
Borin walked around me, put a hand on his throat, and shook him. “Stay focused. Answer the questions,” he hissed. “Obey.”
“Yes,” Yggra said, suddenly meek as a kitten.
“Go on,” I told him.
“She was going inside when the elf told me he would take her to the deeper part of that cell, at the bottom, to question her.”
“Why?” I snarled. “Question her? Why? She was supposed to be a prisoner.”
He looked at me with no fear in his eyes. The closeness of death made him brave. “I know not. Naergoth came up later, looking upset, and told us she had died. That we should tell no-one about it. And to prepare for war. But someone told your father about it, in quite an interesting way. Naergoth said she strangled to death. How? I know not.”
Naergoth. He did it.
I stared at him with growing impatience and bubbling rage. He could see it, and he was terrified.
“Did Odin truly sanction the war against my family?” I asked.
He smiled nervously. “Did not your family, in fact, start it? Naergoth told us Odin had told Reignhelm to rule over Midgard and to take your hammer. Treason, he claimed, evil in your family forced Naergoth—”
“Enough,” Borin said, and Yggra went quiet. “That’s enough. Lies and lies. The gear of his father. His bag and the book. Who took it?”
His eyes flashed. “The hammer was lost. Naergoth thinks Jarl Barrac has it, and Prince Hagar here as well. Barrac told him as much, and here we are. Lies all around.” He laughed. “I took your father’s gear. In the field, before anyone could get there, in a terrible press, just after he died. Not the hammer. It cannot be touched, we know. It was missing later when the elves came for it.”
Borin growled a question before I could ask. “The Black Tales. It is not with you!”
Borin had already searched him.
The man grinned, a hideous sight, vengeful and evil. “Aye. I took it, but I don’t have it. It’s your fault, you know. I took it when I saw Graymoor’s men slaying Hagar, hammerless and just a man, stabbing him down finally. Tar Vittar was close, and there, too, Naergoth going for him, but then there was an influx of Hagar’s men, trying to avenge him, many on fire and still mad as bears. I was close, taking a message from the right flank to the High King, and I saw them pushing the lot off. And then, suddenly, for a brief moment, there was a way to the corpse. Hagar’s bag, his coat bulging, bloodied. I knew he had a ledger of his travels. I knew it was filled with stories that could make a man rich. The queen had told us. So, I was brave enough to jump down and to run there, and I picked his pockets like a thief in a brothel. I found that book. Alas, I couldn’t open it.”
