Spearing the Siren

SEVENTEEN

      Specters came at him from all sides, but they disappeared into nothing before they reached him. Gaeleth walked down the central corridor of Queen Hel's domain, his spear sheathed at his back. He followed the corridor until he came to a wide threshold to his right. He walked into a cavernous chamber with a throne against the wall, empty.
      "I must say, I wasn't expecting my enemy to walk right into my domain. Such bravery."
      He turned just as a wide sword swung at his head. Gaeleth brought up his armored arm to block her swing, scraping along its edges, round and round, before he maneuvered it from her hand, casting it aside. Hel stood before him, not appearing disappointed to have lost her sword. Her dress billowed with a mysterious breeze, half her face revealed to see the skeleton underneath, her battle face.
      "The great Naracan Lysandril," she said in a strong voice that lacked inflection. "I hardly thought your people capable of an honorable battle."
      "If this meeting goes well, a battle won't be necessary."
      She tilted her head. "What game do you play, elf? That is why you have come."
      "I have come without an army. What does that tell you?"
      "That you think I am a fool. I know better than to trust your kind."
      "Take me into the dining hall." Her one eye narrowed at him. "I think we both know if I truly wanted you dead, you already would be."
      She raised her chin. "Arrogant as always—"
      "I only speak the truth, and you know it. Let us sit and have a conversation. I could use some wine too."
      A rumbling filled the air before she gave a laugh that personified true evil, but he doubted she could back up the claim. He gave her a steady gaze until she composed herself.
      "A chit chat, is that why you've come, elf?"
      "A discussion of our options."
      "Our options are fight or surrender—"
      "There is an alternative to senseless fighting that will lead nowhere but your death."
      "And you're so interested in saving my life?"
      "I am interested in keeping this place intact. If you can humble yourself to speak with me for a few moments."
      Her one eye filled with flame and he thought she might unleash her self-righteous wrath on him, but instead she gestured with an arm behind him.
      "You first."
      He complied, turning his back as a show of good faith, leading the way into her dining hall. She could have tried to stab him in the back, but then again that would crumble the image of victim she liked to put on for others, especially her enemies. He walked inside the empty dining room, finding it unsettlingly quiet. Gaeleth sat at the first chair and she, predictably, took the head of the table.
      The queen of Helheim sat with perfect posture, her one eye giving him a hard look. He folded his hands atop the stone table, looking at her with an unflinching gaze.
      "Your allies have abandoned you. You stand alone against us and the frost giants that have already invaded your lands. Surrender and no blood need be shed."
      Her face changed little. "My grandson wouldn't betray me—"
      "He would, but in this case, the matter is out of his hands. I have convinced Midgard this fight doesn't involve them..." She hissed but said nothing. "...and events have occurred for the Dokkalfar to inhibit them from sending the armies they promised."
      "What events?" she asked sharply, her voice like the slithering of snakes.
      He settled back, considering how much to tell her.
      "The Black Dragon is dead, killed by the Midgardian commander on whom you placed your hope, which means there is no commander of their forces."
      "Another will take his place—"
      "The one who will do it has his hands full with convincing his people to refuse to send you aid."
Her eye filled with dark flame.
      "Your doing as well, I take it," she said in a voice like a scorpion's sting.
      "It was. I have convinced him that our peoples no longer need engage in useless war."
      "Is he that much of a fool? Your people live for war and victory."
      "Contrary to popular opinion, we would rather not. But we do what is necessary."
      She tilted her head. "In any case, the Dokkalfar will never stop fighting you. They will come," she said in quiet confidence. "I am the only thing standing between you and Asgard."
      "Not if he can sway the Black Citadel to side with him."
      "Who is this contender?"
      "Navileth Morloc."
      She had a good chuckle, his eyes filling with a smile. She slapped her hand on the table.
      "Wine! This is the best news I've heard all day."
      He gave her a tolerant gaze as a servant came from nowhere with a jug two and glasses, the queen still laughing under her breath. She tapped her graceful fingers, her sharp eye on him until they disappeared. She swiped the glass, taking a few long swallows before replacing it.
      "Tell me how this fantasy of yours is supposed to play out. A disgraced brigade commander turned professional fuck artist is going to convince the prestigious order of the Black Citadel to act against their nature in favor of Alfheim."
      She gave another chuckle before she took another drink, emptying her glass before refilling it.
      "It may seem far-fetched, but there are things in play you cannot imagine."
      She raised her glass. "See that in your crystal ball?"
      He gave her a tolerant gaze. "I'm not a witch, Your Majesty."
      "But you do see the future." She took a few swallows from her glass.
      "That is a simplified description of my gifts—"   She rolled her eye as she replaced her glass. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile at the expression from the queen of Helheim. "Suffice it to say, I have an impression of future events. You can rest assured, if Morloc obeys my recommendation and goes to the Black Citadel and argues his case, he will be heard and no aid will be coming to assist you."
      She gave him a suspicious look.
      "Why should I trust you? Your kind are not above lying."
      "You know my reputation."
      Her fingers touched the stem of her goblet, eying him.
      "Say I believe you. If I must, I will fight this war on my own. Whatever Valkyries still in existence might assist me."
      "They can only resurrect living soldiers. I don't see help coming from them."
      "I still have my forces—"
      "That you do. Are they enough to stand against Jotunheim and Alfheim?"
      "I cannot allow your people such a foothold in this galaxy. They would abuse their power if they gained Asgard—"
      "If you surrender, your place here would be secured. Forever."
      She shook her head. "Your people aren't above going back on an agreement—"
      "The agreement would be with me," he said with cold determination in his eyes. The queen studied him for a moment, then another, and another. She looked down at her glass. He waited patiently, his gaze remained fixed on her face. Her finger slid over the rim of her glass.
      "Collateral?" she asked quietly.
      "An agreement with me doesn't require it."
      She gave him a sharp look. Then her eye went distant as she pushed her glass forward. He pushed his toward hers until they touched. They looked at each other in the quiet of her dining hall before she drained her glass and he took a sip.
      "The frost giants?" she asked.
      "They have no quarrel with you. They are our allies, nothing more."
      She nodded. She rose from the table.     "Interestingly, my enemy is of more use than my own kin."
      She walked from the dining hall in her dress that went from black to white with the movement of her hips, like light and shadow playing across the coarse floor.

      The queen walked slowly into her pool chamber, dropping her dress from her shoulders as she walked. She took the steps carved into the floor down into her pool, the water sliding up her legs and shapely hips, all the way to the top of her breasts. Her black hair rested atop of the surface, the chamber quiet as death before she placed two fingers on the water in front of her.
      The water swirled before an image became visible. Her grandson did not appear pleased to see her.
      "Could you not communicate with me while I'm in the bath? It's creepy."
      "This is the only way I can communicate with you. Your mind is made of metal since being on that tin can."
      He appeared bored. "What is it?"
      "You have failed me, child, and you were too much of a coward to tell me face to face." Those observant green eyes that told her nothing only gave her a steady look. "Have you no excuse to make for yourself?"
      "Do you wish to take Asgard for yourself?"
      She gave him an eye lit with black flame.
      "If I do, you will have no part of it."
      "I didn't want to take part in this. I told you I was the wrong person, in your arrogance you thought merely because you wished it—"
      "Are you actually blaming me for your inadequacies?"
      Another image appeared behind him, murky, but she saw enough to know it was a female. A Dokkalfr female. Her fist tightened in the water beside her as she called his name. He turned and said something dismissive, but she really wasn't listening. He looked back at Hel.
      "Is that what I think it is?"
      He gave her a chiding look. "She's half Dokkalfr and half Ljosalfr."
      She felt her face heating. "A half-breed? With my grandson?"
      He returned to appearing bored.
      "What does it matter, you're going to exile me anyway."
      "It doesn't matter! You are still of my blood—"
      "I'm not as stuck up as you."
      She pressed her lips together.
      "You think because space separates us you can speak to me however you wish—"
      "I spoke to you like this to your face."
      "Yes, and you bore the brunt of your disrespect!"
      A tired resignation filled his moss-green eyes.
"Yes."
      "You will separate yourself from her, immediately."
      "What about me makes you think you can order me around like one of your slaves—"
      "You are my blood and I will do with you as I wish!"
      His eyes went cold, revealing nothing.
      "I am no longer your court jester, grandmother."
      "You are mine!" He looked at her as though she had struck him. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you forgotten what my displeasure feels like, grandson? Must I teach you again?"
      "I am not on Helheim anymore—"
      "Do you think you can run from me? I am your queen. You continue to try my patience—"
      "I love her," he said in a voice without inflection.
      Her face heated. "Must you continue to play the fool? Both her people are liars, they care for nothing but themselves—"
      "And you do?"
      "I am your blood. You will do as I say or face the consequences."
      "I am no longer under your control. Krampen has other offspring—"
      "Are you deaf? There is no getting rid of me, you belong to me—"
      He gave her a sad look. "I'm not playing anymore, grandmother."
      "Do you think this is a game? If you do not separate yourself from her, after everything you've done to undermine me, it will go twice as hard for you when you are back in my clutches. Do you remember the humiliation I made you suffer? I'll make sure you drown in it."
      "Why can't you just let me go?"
      "I let go of nothing. I am Hel, queen of Helheim. You will please me in this, or you will suffer, more than you ever have."
      The image disappeared and she released a scream of rage, the water trembling around her. Hel waded from the water, snapping a finger, and a servant came from the shadows and brought her a robe. She snapped it on her, glaring down at the young man.
      "Bring me my son, and make it quick," she said in a low voice. She turned back to her pool as he skittered away, her chest heaving, fists clenched at her side.
      You will beg for mercy before I am through, Lillevenn Krampenson. Your knees will bleed and you will cry for mercy that will never come.