Under A Winter Sun Johan Dahlgren (digital e reader .txt) 📖

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.”

“Under control? These are the Goliaths we're talking about. There is no way to know how this will play out.”

Braden calls from the speakers. “Landing site coming up.”

“Roger that, Braden.”

Jagr turns back to me. “Bear with me, Perez. You might be surprised.”

She punches the button and the door hisses open. “Strap in people, we're landing.”

We get into our seats, and Eirik beams at me. “So, are we good, Asher Perez?”

I nod. “We're good, Eirik Wagner.”

“Good.” He looks up at a screen and I follow his gaze.

We are on our approach to Hrafnheim, the ancient stronghold of the Jarls of Nifelheim. The name means Raven's Home, and I can't think of a more fitting name. The immense building sits on a plateau near the peak of a steep snowy mountain, overlooking the valley far below. Behind it is a massive wall of rock and ice that provides shelter from the storms. The hall resembles a Viking stave church in style, but it's vast like a cathedral, buried in ice and snow. There are giant carved dragon heads on the roof and intricate knot-work adorns the walls and pillars supporting the structure. A fifteen-metre-wide staircase winds up the mountain to the Hall.

The largest tree in the known universe grows in the courtyard. The giant ash known as Yggdrasil reaches almost as high as the hall, and its evergreen branches catch the last rays of the dying suns, setting it alight. Legend has it the first settlers from Earth brought the tree with them. Or so Wagner once told me after a lot of beer. How they keep the tree alive is beyond me. They either feed it the blood and souls of slain enemies, or the Goliaths have green fingers. Who knows?

Over the centuries, Goliaths have built their dark homes below the fortress, and a crowded town clings to the slopes. A tall rampart of ice and stone with a single great gate protects the lowest tiers of the town against ground assault. Under the Newell treaty, the Goliaths are not allowed to build air vehicles. The grumpy giants are bad enough in their own right but give them air support and you make them unstoppable. Besides, Goliaths prefer the old-fashioned boots-on-the-ground approach to warfare.

The clouds have broken apart and the snow and ice on the roofs glitter like diamonds on fire in the dying light. Goliaths are not noted for their architectural design, but the place exudes a certain raw beauty.

“Spectacular, isn't it?” There's pride in Eirik's voice.

“Quite,” I agree as Braden brings us down in a wide arc over the grounds.

Posted at regular intervals inside the grounds are huge, mechanised sentries. The only thing more formidable than a Goliath is a Goliath in one of their infamous Sentinel battleframes. One of those things could take on a squad of tanks and walk off with a broken hip. Someone is expecting trouble.

“Why the hardware, Eirik?” There's something about those Sentinels that makes me ill at ease.

Eirik keeps looking out the window, studying the scene like a general surveying his troops. Which, in a way I suppose, he is.

“My father's ravens whisper of a coming coup. The Althingr says it's nothing but rumours, but I won't be taken unawares if it's not.”

“Wise move.” I nod. “Who are the rebels this time?”

Eirik waves dismissively. “Some chieftain up north you've never heard of. Every year the grumblings grow louder. They claim the taxes are too harsh and their crops fail year after year. We know it's not so. Their children grow fat, and the warlords grow fatter still.”

“Classic.”

Braden puts us down on the landing pad with only a slight bump. The pad is surrounded by concrete bunkers.

The PA crackles.

“This is your pretty captain speaking.” For once, she has turned off the music. “Welcome to sunny Nifelheim and the court of Jarl Ragnwald Wagner, the Allwise. Enjoy your stay, and I hope you will fly with us soon again. Braden, over and out.”

The engines whine to a standstill as we unbuckle. Braden lowers the ramp and a cloud of icy snow swirls