The Reckoning of Asgard Read online

  Einar bellowed: “Where is the prisoner!”

  The guard’s eyes went wide in alarm. “He was there a moment ago,” he stammered. “He was put in the first cell, so it would be easiest to watch him.”

  “I do not know how you may watch someone through your eyelids,” said Einar. “It appears he has disappeared. On your watch.”

  The guard gulped, beads of nervous sweat appearing on his face.

  Margret’s calm voice broke the tension. “I see the illusionist,” she said. The pearl in her circlet glowed.

  “Where?” asked Einar

  “He is still in his cell. He is simply using an illusion to hide himself by camouflaging his appearance.”

  Goran, having been discovered, dispelled the illusion. “A simple spell,” he said, “really basic, but still effective.”

  “And my sleeping guard?” asked Einar.

  “Ah yes, that spell is a little more complicated, but still every effective.”

  Margret moved close to the cell bars. “What are you doing back here in Trondheim?” she asked.

  Goran shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. Said: “I heard rumors.”

  “Go on,” she said.

  He crossed his arms and raised his gaze. Said: “I will, but first, I need a promise.”

  Einar barked: “You are in no position to bargain with us. You brought us to the brink of civil war. This realm would have been easy pickings for any invading force as the barons would have fought amongst themselves.”

  Goran grimaced. “Fine, I will tell what I know,” he said. “And, based on my information, if it is credible, I would ask for a favor.”

  “Spin us your yarn,” said Einar, “and we will decide if you deserve a favor.”

  Goran cleared his throat then said: “Since escaping from Trondheim, once I had been discovered as the fake king, I travelled far and wide. I have many associates who offer me work for my line of business.”

  Einar asked: “And what business is that exactly?”

  “Mostly impersonating wealthy merchants as I pretend to be them while the real husband is with his mistress.”

  “A fascinating line of work, I am sure. Get to the point.”

  “It was during one of these jobs that I became privy to a certain guild that has been long thought extinct.”

  “Which guild is that?”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “Assassins.”

  “Impossible! That guild disappeared ages ago.”

  “Not true, my lord. The guild simply went underground.”

  “But there have been no assassinations in recent memory.”

  “Because they have been waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Waiting for—”

  Out of the corner of Farling’s eye, faster than he thought possible, Margret unsheathed her short daggers and leapt at the guard while at the same time he heard an odd pop sound.

  As if bitten by a mosquito, Goran slapped his neck.

  “Do not move,” threatened Margret to the guard as she held a dagger at his throat. Farling noticed a short hollow tube in one of the guard’s hands.

  Einar, after briefly fumbling with the keys, unlocked Goran’s cell. He bent over Goran’s prostrate body. As Goran’s eyes glazed over, foam bubbled from the corners of his mouth.

  “Poison,” hissed Einar. He shook Goran’s shoulders. “The assassins guild! What have they been waiting for?”

  Goran mumbled something. Einar bent low to hear the words. With a convulsion, Goran’s body stiffened and he stopped breathing.

  “What did he say?” asked Pressan looking at the dead illusionist.

  Einar ignored the question and walked over to the guard. “Keep your blade at his throat,” he said to Margret.

  Einar grabbed the tube from the guard’s hand and inspected it.

  Mage asked: “May I?” Einar nodded, handed it over.

  “I have seen this device before,” said Mage twisting and turning the small object delicately in his oversized fingers. “It is an ideal tool to shoot a poisoned dart as it is highly accurate.”

  Farling looked on the floor near Goran’s dead body and saw the small dart Goran had slapped from his neck.

  “Do not touch the dart,” warned Mage. “The poison may still be active and we all saw how fast acting and deadly it is.”

  “An assassin.” Einar gritted his teeth. “In my guild.”

  “The Black Hand is everywhere,” said the assassin, his face now an impenetrable mask. “Their eyes see everything and their ears hear everything.”

  Einar demanded: “Why kill the illusionist? Just because he knew the Black Hand waited for the Sorceress?”

  The guard’s eyelids flickered almost imperceptibly as he licked his lips in an odd manner.

  Margret shouted: “Stop him!”

  But it was too late.

  Unseen and undetected by anyone, the guard had pricked himself with one of his poisoned darts. His body racked with spasms as he fell to the ground. In a few moments, he stopped moving.

  “He is dead,” she said. “Death appears to be the preferable option for an assassin rather than the chance he might give up valuable information during questioning.”

  Einar exhaled loudly. Then he said in an oddly detached voice: “He has been here many years. He knew we would question him harshly.”

  Mage said: “The assassins are after the Sorceress.”

  “No,” said Margret, “they are after the Sorceress’s mother, Queen Astrid.”

  “We must warn her,” said Grum. “Now!”

  Margret shook her head then said: “She is already under plenty of protection.”

  Now it was Einar who shook his head. “I disagree, Margret, you saw how easily this assassin infiltrated this guild, my guild. It is as he said; the assassins have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  Grum asked: “How will we know who is an assassin?”

  “A good question,” said Einar as Grum looked pleased. “Pressan, is there anything in the books?”

  “I will have a look,” he said.

  “No need,” said Mage. “Look at the nape of his neck.” Mage reached down and turned the guard over, pulling his hair away off the back of his neck.

  “See here,” began Mage, “above his hairline, hidden, a black hand tattoo.”

  “It is very difficult to see,” said Grum.

  “And he has good eyes,” said Arastead.

  Mage continued: “When the assassins train in their guild, they shave their heads. That way, the tattoo is as plain as day for everyone to see and recognize. It is only once they are given an assignment that they are allowed to grow their hair long and cover the tattoo.”

  Einar nodded. Said: “I must inspect all my thieves for this tattoo.”

  “You will walk away empty handed, Einar,” said Mage. “Assassins work alone. That way, they will never do anything that may throw suspicion on a fellow assassin.”

  Margret added: “We must still protect the queen.”

  Einar nodded. “I think it best if you stay very close to the queen,” he said. “Do not tell her of anything that has transpired here. Just do anything you can to always be close.”

  “I have an idea,” said Margret, “but I will need the illusionist’s necklace.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Elves Visit Jotunheim

  King Amaliji strode through the halls of the frost giant’s castle in Jotunheim. Accompanying him was Sundaliji, his advisor, while leading the way was one of Thrymr’s sons. The shoulders of the elves were draped in fur to keep away the cold.

  Thrymr’s son led the elves into the great hall. At the far end at the top of a short staircase upon his throne of ice sat Thrymr. On one side of the throne stood Yorli, Thrymr’s daughter, and on the other, his other son.

  Yorli said: “Welcome to Jotunheim, King Amaliji, Lord Sundaliji. It has been far too long since elves and frost giants have met.”

  “I agree, Princess Yorli, it ha
s been too long,” said Amaliji hiding his displeasure that the king of frost giants had not addressed him. “We awaited your awakening with great anticipation.”

  “Yes, and we owe you thanks for breaking the seals that imprisoned us. For without your help, your minion, Alchemist, would not have known how to awaken us.”

  Amaliji refused to rise to the bait. “We brought presents as is the tradition for the reawakening of a realm. We know how much the frost giants enjoy their festivities. For the sons of Thrymr, a mug of mead that never empties. Merely tap the bottom of the mug on a table and the mug refills with the most delicious honey mead ever tasted.”

  Sundaliji handed the mug to the closest son who grunted thanks.

  “For Princess Yorli, whose beauty puts many an elf-maid to shame, a gift of gold. These bracelets, when worn, create music as you walk. A most pleasing sound I am confident the princess will enjoy.”

  “My thanks, King Amaliji,” said Yorli as she walked down the small flight of stairs to accept the bracelets. She put on the bracelets and as she walked back to stand beside her father’s throne, the music made by the bracelets was pleasing. She smiled ever so slightly to show her pleasure.

  “And for King Thrymr, most venerable and wisest of kings, I am pleased to present you with a horn.”

  Sundaliji handed the gift to the closest son, who walked the gift over to his father. Thrymr glanced at the gift but did not touch it.

  Amaliji said: “The sound of this horn brings forth enough food for a feast. And it will be enough food to fill the bellies of even the hungriest frost giants.”

  “Our thanks, King Amaliji,” said Yorli, “for the thoughtful gifts: drink, music, food. All the things we frost giants cherish.”

  King Amaliji nodded, inwardly pleased that the gifts appeared to have been successful.

  “We would also like to talk of another issue,” he said. “Centuries ago, the elves were spurned by Odin. He treated us like cattle, something to be used only for his own gain. When we rose in rebellion, Odin was harsh in his retaliation. Those people of Midgard, favored by Odin, were weak and insipid. We took our vengeance upon that realm.”

  “And still you lost,” said Yorli.

  Amaliji grimaced. “Those Midgard wizards and their Final Spell. My elves did not think the wizards would sacrifice themselves in that manner. It was a brilliant move, one the elves did not suspect, one for which we did not plan. The creation of the Unbreakable Barrier formed by the blood of the wizards, magnificent. The elves of that day were removed from Midgard and could not return. And the other realms soon closed, sealed: Nidavellir, Jotunheim, all put to sleep. We thought they would never wake. But it appears as if Odin knew the elves would rise again in strength and numbers and so had plans if the few gods who lived would return.”

  “What Norse gods have returned?” asked Yorli.

  “Freya,” began Amaliji, “Goddess of Wisdom was the first. And her protector, Magnus, the Master of the Hunt has returned as well. While not a Norse god, he is a formidable fighter.”

  Yorli nodded. “Yes, my brothers can attest to his fighting skills,” she said.

  One of her brothers grumbled: “He was not that strong of a fighter. It was those Midgardians with their weapons of magic that took us by surprise.”

  “What of these fighters?” asked Sundaliji, feigning ignorance.

  The other brother grunted: “One wielded Flamebringer, bane of the frost giants. His shield was used in the great dwarf wars against us. Striking his shield is as striking a mountain, unmovable. My brother still carries a scar made by that cursed sword.”

  “You forget that cursed war hammer, brother,” started the other brother, “that was the more dangerous. The Midgardian wore the Gloves and Belt of Strength and with that magical war hammer, he struck me as I have never been struck before.”

  Amaliji innocently asked: “You never fought someone who wielded a war hammer before?”

  The brother spat: “It was a weapon forged by the dwarves, those cursed miners. The wars between the dwarves and the frost giants did not last long. Those dwarves are tough and their ability to make weapons of magic kept our skirmishes short. And so, we learned to leave the dwarves alone.”

  “And you thought those weapons were gone from memory?” asked Amaliji.

  Yorli interrupted: “Not just memory; we thought those weapons buried and lost forever,” she said.

  “Flamebringer was,” said Amaliji. “It was buried, it was gone. Somehow it resurfaced and I do not know how.”

  “Freya must have found it,” began Yorli, “and brought it to those Midgardians.”

  Amaliji sniffed: “Those cursed Norse gods, always meddling,” he said. “We also understand Galdr, God of Magic, also reappeared. As well as another one. We heard there is a final god that appeared, making it a total of three of the old northern gods.”

  Amaliji looked directly at Yorli when he said: “The troublemaker’s curse is finally over: Loki, the Trickster, has returned.”

  But if Amaliji had hoped to get a reaction from Yorli, he was sorely disappointed as Yorli’s face remained impassive.

  Instead, it was Thrymr, who exploded with fury.

  “Deceiver,” he bellowed, smashing an arm of his throne with his fist. “He was to stand as a statue, cursed, for all time. Odin promised.”

  “As with all curses,” said Amaliji, pleased by Thrymr’s outburst, “there is a way to end it. It turns out Odin had a sense of humor: Odin punished Loki for kissing the dwarf princess, almost sparking a war between dwarves and gods. So, the curse against Loki could only be ended when a dwarf king made a new crown and placed it upon the Trickster’s head.”

  Thrymr scoffed. Said: “You speak falsely, elf king. The Trickster was not punished for transgressions against the dwarves. He kidnapped my daughter. He almost started a war between us—that is why Odin punished Loki. Odin, foolish as he was, was wise enough to know any war between frost giants and gods would end in the destruction of both realms.”

  “Then why was it that only a dwarf could end the curse of Loki?” asked Sundaliji innocently. “If the curse was because Loki kidnapped Princess Yorli, then why was it not a frost giant who ended Loki’s curse?”

  Thrymr smashed the other arm of his ice throne. “Loki,” he muttered. “Even saying his name is as poison on my tongue. After all these years, my hatred of that fool Norse god still burns hot.”

  “Then let the elves be your sword,” said Amaliji. “We will destroy Midgard, make the few Norse gods wish they had never angered the frost giants.”

  “My hatred of the Norse gods does not extend to all gods, only that fool, Loki.” Thrymr’s anger disappeared and his now calm voice impressed Amaliji. “Midgard means nothing to us frost giants. It is a weak realm. It is Asgard we crave. That is the realm we were promised when the Norns created Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent gnawed its roots. Instead, it was Odin and his children who were given Asgard while we were relegated to Jotunheim.”

  “This realm is not to your liking?” said Amaliji. “I thought the frost giants enjoyed their frost. Besides, it was Odin who forced you into this realm, was it not?”

  “A war in which the Norns sided with Odin,” said Thrymr. “That stupid spear, Gunghir, given him by the Norns.”

  “But made by the dwarves,” pointed out Amaliji.

  “Yes, as with all the most powerful items of magic, that cursed spear was fashioned by the dwarves, but it was Odin who breathed his magic into it. Magic given to him by Norns.”

  “Norns are supposed to be above interfering in the matters of gods and giants.”

  “The Norns weave the Tapestry. They know what is to happen. They have their own self-interests at ensuring they remain Norns.”

  “You suggest the Norns meddle for their own purposes?” Sundaliji sounded surprised.

  “Norns are as anyone else: They crave power. They enjoy taking the measure of someone’s life and taking the scissors to the threads of the Tapestr
y.”

  “When it is time.”

  “So the Norns say.”

  “But the Norns are above reproach.”

  “Bah, all words. These words have no meaning. If the Norns are so passive, why then do you search for the Sorceress?”

  One of Amaliji’s eyes twitched ever so slightly. Thrymr knew his words had struck.

  “The Sorceress was prophesized to bring glory to the elves. It is even said the Sorceress strikes fear in the Norns.”

  “But Norns have nothing to fear,” Thrymr said with a fearsome smile as he spread his hands wide as if in surprise.

  “They fear the Sorceress. Odin feared the Norns. He respected them but he also feared them. They had a power over him that he did not enjoy. So, he created a Sorceress.”

  “How would a Sorceress strike fear into the Norns? The Norns are all powerful.”

  “They still depend on magic.”

  “Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent provide all the magic the realms need.”

  “Yes, but if all the magic in the realms disappeared, then what would the Norns do?”

  “You speak in nonsense and rhymes. Magic will never disappear from the realms.”

  “But it could, King Thrymr. Magic flows both ways. Hear me out. Magic flows out of Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent into all the Norse realms. There are runes carved into the bark of Yggdrasil and the flesh of the Midgard Serpent. It is those runes that allow magic into the realms. And depending on what runes show, that magic is most powerful. But magic also flows back into Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent. The Sorceress is unique in that she may control both magics.”

  “So why would the Norns fear the Sorceress?”

  “The Sorceress can take all the magics in all the realms and remove it by forcing the magics back into Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent. Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent cannot absorb all the magics in all the realms. They would be destroyed.”

  Thrymr shook his head. Sai: “A dream, elf king, a dream, an impossible dream at that. Yggdrasil can never be destroyed. And besides, the Sorceress is not even born. You will need to wait at least 20, 30, 40 years. Even then, who says this Sorceress would be powerful enough to remove all the magics from all the realms and put it back into Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent?”