King of Nothing—Chapter 1

the final book in the Hero of the North trilogy!

The afternoon sun beamed down, unhindered by clouds, and struggled to overpower the chill in the air. This far north, the weather was steadily marching towards winter; the days grew noticeably shorter and the air colder by the week, and flurries of snow fell almost daily.

Between the towering spires and thick stone walls of the keep, an icy breeze blew. It snapped pennants out and then made them flap wildly, and tugged at cloaks and hats. The wind wound through the city and found its way to the training field where Owyn stood. It cut through his clothing like a knife and chilled him to the bone, but he did his best to ignore it. Being shirtless certainly didn’t help.

The largest of the logs sat on the ground in front of Owyn. The handholds that had been carved into it were already turning color from sweaty hands, day after day. Both Owyn and Einar had visited this training field almost daily, at least the days he had been in Akanes.

Partially healed skin on Owyn’s left arm twinged in a brief flash of pain as he bent down and wrapped his thick fingers around the handholds. The ache of his healing wounds served as a reminder why he trained so vigorously, and as if his life depended on it. As he had recently learned, his strength and stamina were the only reason he was still alive.

With a deep breath and a grunt of effort, Owyn heaved the massive log up to his thighs, then squatted down, pulling it tight to his stomach. He straightened up, rolling the thick log up his stomach to hold in front of his shoulders, where it remained for the duration of several deep breaths. Owyn firmed his grip and used his legs to help propel the log from his shoulders. He pressed it overhead six times, straining on the final two repetitions, then let the log slam to the ground.

He stood there for a moment with his hands on his hips, gulping deep breaths of sweet, cold air. Sweat slicked his hair and covered his chest. Everything felt heavy today, heavier than it should. Stress and frustration had filled every hour since the previous morning, making sleep a chore and wakefulness a daunting task.

Owyn tried to focus on his exercise routine, but the lack of sleep made everything seem to be filled with lead, including his own arms and legs. He sighed and shook his head.

“Weak,” Freya growled.

She was seated on a bench near Owyn with silk ropes binding her wrists and ankles. Her eyes, usually emerald green and sparkling, glared with shadowed anger at her husband and everyone else.

She leaned forwards, straining the ropes that tied her to the bench. “You are weak. Weak, pathetic, and disgusting.” She spat on the ground as fresh rage flared in her voice. “Untie me!”

Three days ago, Owyn had arrived in the capital city. After barely surviving the great, burning skeleton and the avalanche, he had managed to find some of the horses left behind by his dead soldiers. Grabbing two, he took turns riding them to help them stay fresh longer, and rode them as hard as he dared. When they became exhausted, he traded them along with some silver for a fresh horse. He had run three horses nearly to death trying to make the journey home as quickly as possible in his haste to tell the king everything that had happened near Mount Hekla.

The scout Olaf had somehow managed to beat him, no surprise there, so the king already knew of the bandits. The news Owyn brought, however, was terrifying and dreadful. The horrors that had occurred after the scout left were enough to chill a man’s blood.

All of the trouble at the border of Akranes over the past few months had been caused by Ezoleus, the court wizard in Vogar, the capital of Midsandur, the nation to the south. It was Ezoleus that had paid and instructed bandits to slaughter Akranian merchants at the border, steal their goods, and then spread rumors that King Ivar was too weak to protect his own people.

Trade between the two countries had come to a halt as a result, and when Owyn had traveled with nearly a hundred soldiers to investigate, disaster had befallen them; Ezoleus had summoned a skeleton that was nearly thirty feet tall and wreathed in flames, a beast out of nightmares. It had laid waste to both bandits and Akranian soldiers indiscriminately, then chased Owyn down, seeking to capture or kill him as well. Only quick wits and a bit of luck kept Owyn alive.

As soon as he had arrived back in the capital city of Akranes, he went straight to his chambers to see his wives, Freya and Sunneva. They had been joyous to the point of tears at seeing him, and had fussed over his injuries and burned clothes.

Owyn had been equally excited to hear about their progression with magic. Freya was quickly becoming a powerful sorceress, with Sunneva showing promise as well. Odarin, King Ivar’s new court wizard, practically sang their praises, exclaiming the good fortune that not only one, but two incredibly talented and diligent magic users lived in the keep. He insisted that it was a joy to train them both.

Sunneva also expressed hope and joy that she might be pregnant. She had taken to knitting in her spare time, colorful hats for the baby, and brainstormed names with Freya at times.

And things had been wonderful for that brief time period after Owyn returned. Freya and Sunneva saw to his wounds, and the three of them made love at every chance they got. They had even found an opportunity to bring Katla into the keep to spend lunch with. She was every bit as beautiful and lovely as they had described; somewhere between Freya and Sunneva in build, but with bright blonde hair and sky-blue eyes.

But the good times quickly came to an end.

Only yesterday, Freya rose early to meet with Odarin for her magical studies. She often worked alone with him for an hour or two in the mornings before Sunneva joined, as the two were at different points in their magical education and training. Sunneva and Owyn had spent the extra time in bed, making love.

An hour later, a servant came running, calling for help. Through her tears, she begged Owyn to follow, and together they ran to Odarin’s chambers.

When Owyn arrived there, he found the wizard alone, fraught with disbelief and near to tearing his hair out. Something had taken over the princess, Odarin said with tears running down his cheeks. Something horrible and incredibly powerful.

Freya had fled his chambers, screaming of murder. She had killed five guards with magic before Owyn found her, and even with his strength he was only barely able to subdue her. A silk scarf stuffed in her mouth had cut off her ability to cast any spells, and his thick arms around her kept her from moving, though she did her best to kick him.

Since that day, she had been acting in this manner. Her normal quips and humorous comments were gone, as was the gentle instruction Owyn often relied on. Instead, it was replaced by rage and bile.

“I love you, my wife,” Owyn said softly. “Always and forever.”

“I hate you!” Freya roared. “I want to see your insides spread across the ground!” She fell off the bench and writhed on the ground; only her wrists being bound behind her back kept her from performing the hand motions used in casting her horrible spells. “I will bathe in your blood before this day is done, you son of a whore!”

Her behavior had only gotten worse since it began. At night she screamed horrible, evil things until she fell asleep from exhaustion. Owyn and Sunneva had begged Odarin to heal her, but the wizard said he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He wept openly upon seeing the princess in her possessed state.

Owyn sighed heavily and nodded to a guard standing nearby. “Let’s take her back to her room. Maybe some rest will help.”

The guard bowed his head, then moved towards Freya with a silken cloth in his hands. It took him three tries, but he finally managed to get it between her teeth and tie the rest behind her head.

Princess Freya screamed against the gag and flailed as much as her bonds would allow as the guard lifted her to her feet. Carefully, he picked her up and sat her in a chair that was generally used for the elderly and the sick; it was well-padded, with wheels at the bottom so that it could be moved around safely.

Owyn helped the guard hold Freya’s arms as he unbound them, then tied them to the arms of the chair. The entire time, Freya glared at Owyn, no sign of the love and adoration in her gaze that he was used to. Pure, black hatred filled her gaze, and Owyn knew she would attack him if she got the chance.

The guard pushed her chair across the green and into the keep, and Owyn walked with steadfast loyalty next to his wife. She writhed on the chair and spat blasphemies around her silken gag, all the while looking pure murder at Owyn, the guard, and anyone else within sight.

“Turn here,” Owyn said quietly. “Let’s make one more visit to Odarin. There has got to be something he can do to calm her fits of rage. At the least he can put her to sleep until we can find a cure.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard said.

He kept his face stoic as he pushed the princess’ chair down the hall. Servants in the hallways took one look at who was there and ducked away. Freya’s muffled grunts and oaths sent them scurrying away, fearful that she might kill them as well. Stories of Freya’s sudden insanity had spread, although the king himself had warned everyone not to speak of it. Rumors traveled like the wind, it seemed.

After several more turns, they came to a tall wooden door, inlaid with malachite and turquoise. Arcane symbols had been carved into the ancient wood, although Owyn had no idea what they meant other than they were somehow related to magic. He knocked firmly three times.

The door creaked open after a minute, and Odarin’s face peeked through. His eyes were red and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His gaze darted from Owyn to Freya and he licked his lips nervously. He opened his mouth to say something, but Owyn cut him off.

“Please, Odarin. I know you said you can’t help her, but I beg you to try one more time. There has to be something you can tell me about her affliction. At the very least, could you put her to sleep so she doesn’t have to suffer?”

Odarin let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. His face sagged with weary resignation. “Bring her,” he said.

The wizard was known for his gently persuasive and competent manner of speech, but now his voice was tired and hoarse.

“I can’t fix her, Prince Owyn,” he said. “I’ll try one last time, but I make no promises.”

He pulled the door the rest of the way open and took a step back, gesturing for them to enter. Owyn motioned for the guard to push Freya in first, then fell in behind them. Freya had fallen silent upon seeing Odarin, something which Owyn took mental note of. She merely glared at him instead of spewing hateful curses like usual.

“Put her over there,” Odarin said as he gestured off to his left without looking.

He walked to a sprawling wooden table covered in scrolls and ancient tomes and began rummaging through them while muttering under his breath. After selecting one small book, he flipped through its pages, frowning intently. He stared at the spidery handwriting covering the pages until something changed in his gaze.

The guard wheeled Freya to where Odarin had gestured and stood behind her chair, awaiting further command. Owyn immediately went to his wife’s side and knelt so he could meet her gaze.

“I love you, Freya,” he whispered to her. “Some part of you has to be in there; surely you can hear me.”

For the briefest moment, the anger in her gaze melted and recognition flashed across her eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile, and Owyn felt his heart leap with joy.

It lasted only a second, and then her face contorted into a scowl with enough fire to heat the room, as if she were angry with herself for the smile she had just given him.

“There,” Owyn said as he stood up. He turned towards Odarin. “Just for a moment, she was back to herself. The old Freya, the one I married, just smiled at me. She’s still in there, Odarin. She’s still there. There has got to be something you can do.”

Odarin lifted his haunted gaze from the page he had been scanning. He clutched the musty old book to his chest and his shoulders sagged.

“I truly wish there were,” he said quietly. “However, I shall try one more time. Your presence seems to be helping her, so maybe we’ll be able to break through. At the very least, I shall do what you said and put her to sleep. Gods be good, I can put her to sleep until we can find a cure.”

Owyn grabbed a nearby stool and set it next to his wife, then positioned himself on it. Odarin held the small book in both hands as he approached Freya. She transferred her glare from Owyn to the court wizard and her lips peeled back in a snarl around the silk cloth stuffed in her mouth. Her glare deepened as Odarin stepped closer.

With a frown, Odarin opened the book and ran his finger down several pages, muttering silently to himself. After a few seconds of that, he reached out and placed his palm on Freya’s forehead and began uttering a quiet incantation.

Freya growled low in her throat like a wild animal, something completely at odds with the beauty of her face. She bared her teeth and for a moment Owyn thought she was going to bite the wizard. But she kept her place.

Odarin’s words sounded at the same time familiar and completely foreign to Owyn; he kept thinking he almost recognized several words, but nothing made sense. Freya’s growl deepened, but she stayed there, unmoving beneath the wizard’s palm.

Odarin moved his hand down to the scarf wrapped around the princess’s mouth and gently tugged on it. She immediately spat out the cloth but kept her silent as Odarin held a single finger in front of her eyes. Sweat ran down the side of Odarin’s face as he continued his spell. Freya focused on his finger intently.

“It’s okay, soldier. Keep your calm,” Owyn said to the guard standing behind Freya, who had shifted nervously at the sight of the spell.

“I know you’re in there,” Odarin said to Freya through clenched teeth. He held his finger in place and some of the rage seemed to drain from her.

“O—Odarin?” she stammered. Owyn leaped to his feet.

“Fight it,” Odarin whispered, sweat running into his eyes. He refused to blink it away. “You are stronger than him. You must regain control of yourself.”

Princess Freya shuddered as her mouth worked silently. She coughed, but kept her eyes fixed on Odarin’s finger. Tension evaporated from her shoulders, and she slumped in her chair. Her head suddenly turned to Owyn, and recognition lit up her eyes.

“Owyn,” she said tearfully. Her eyes regained some of their sparkle, and love came through in her voice, warming it.

“I’m here,” Owyn said as he placed his hand upon hers. “Whatever this is, you have to fight it, Freya. Be strong.”

She smiled at Owyn, a sweet smile filled with love and adoration. A single tear leaked from her eye and ran down her cheek.

It lasted only a brief moment.

Her mouth suddenly twisted into a scowl as her eyes took on a feral light. Her brow contorted and she snapped at Owyn.

“I would rather chew dung than have you touch me!” she shouted. She spat in Owyn’s face and began screaming as she writhed in her chair, pulling at her bonds. Blasphemies and curses poured forth from her mouth, things more vile than Owyn would believe could come from a woman like her.

Her gaze became even more heated as she turned back to Odarin.

“You spineless dog!” she roared. “Powerless churl. You dare think you can compare to my strength? Ass-kissing is the only reason you’ve made it this far. The rest of the academy laughs at your pathetic weakness! They say—”

Odarin hastily lifted the silk cloth back into her mouth and nodded at the guard, who tightened the knot. The wizard leaned back and rubbed his hands across his face, muttering something too quietly to be heard. He wiped his eyes with a thumb and forefinger before finally turning to Owyn.

“Something has control of her,” he said, not meeting Owyn’s eyes. “Something incredibly powerful. More so than I initially thought. Freya has a strong mind; you saw how she was able to briefly fight against this possession.” Odarin let out a long, deep sigh. “There is nothing else I can do about this. Only she can pull her mind free. I wish I could help. Truly, I do.” With that, Odarin turned away, his face full of shame and despair.

“Surely, you can try again,” Owyn pleaded. “As you said, it’s better with me here. I saw her there, for just a second but damnit, I saw her! Her, and not this monster that she has become. Can you at least tell me what caused this?”

Odarin looked up at Owyn and a fresh tear leaked down his cheek. His eyes went back to the floor and he spread his hands. “I cannot. Truly, I wish I could help you, Owyn.”

“It’s that bastard Ezoleus,” Owyn growled. “I’ll wager anything on it.”

Odarin’s head jerked up, his eyes going wide. “How would…. What makes you say such a thing?”

Owyn frowned. “He’s responsible for the rest of the trouble in my life. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He looked down at his hands and balled them into fists so tightly his knuckles cracked. “I must find out how he was able to affect Freya. Perhaps someone helped him—someone here, in the castle. I will need your help, Odarin.”

The wizard swallowed heavily and nodded his head. “I will help however I can,” he said quietly. His voice sank to a whisper. “Whoever is responsible for this will not go unpunished. That, I assure you.”

He stepped back up to Freya and began chanting again, then waved his hand across her eyes. Her swearing halted and her snarl faded as her head lolled to one side. She drifted off to sleep in a matter of seconds.

“Right now, this is the most I can do,” Odarin said. “It will wear off in a few hours, but at least we can have a moment of peace.”

Owyn placed a thick hand on Odarin’s bony shoulder. “Thank you, Odarin. You are a good man.”

The wizard recoiled as if slapped. He stared at Owyn with haunted eyes and swallowed heavily. His mouth worked silently for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but instead he turned back to the large, book-covered table.

Owyn turned to the guard accompanying him. “Come. Let’s take her away.”

The guard nodded and took hold of the handles on Freya’s chair. He followed Owyn and they exited Odarin’s chambers.