Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 3: Books 7-9

by Matt Larkin

  And Thor would feed it to the hammer.

  He gained his feet. And then Tyr hurtled through the air to crash down beside Thor, tumble end over end, tearing up the grass and dirt, and continuing onward.

  Just as well. This ugly bastard belonged to Thor.

  “I own you,” he panted, forcing himself to take one stumbling step forward.

  Tyr had decapitated one head, blinded another, and impaled a third. A whole torso’s worth, rendered dead weight for Thrivaldi.

  Well, it still left five heads for Thor. Five heads, and probably a single mighty soul. He closed both hands around Mjölnir and let its power suffuse him. Lightning crackled along his arms. It leapt over him in a torrent. Building into a storm.

  The jotunn came blundering toward him.

  Good.

  Thor didn’t have the strength to charge.

  He had the strength for one thing. One he had never tried. Maybe the last thing he’d ever do.

  Those souls within writhed. Twisted. Raged. Like Thor raged. Pent up to the point they could all explode. So furious it would consume them.

  Roaring, Thrivaldi seized Thor up with a pair of arms. Keen to try eating him again. It wanted his power.

  Well, it could have it.

  With a bellow, Thor released the stored energy from Mjölnir.

  All of it.

  It erupted outward in a deafening blast. A curtain of lightning exploded in all directions, a sphere that rushed over Thrivaldi, leapt along the jotunn’s arms, torso, legs, and heads in a crackling tempest that drowned out the sound of the jotunn’s screams and of Thor’s own roar.

  Thrivaldi’s arms exploded into showers of rock, and Thor dropped down to the ground. The jotunn’s opalescent eyes melted beneath the lightning storm. Heads popped like rocky pimples. The lightning leapt from the jotunn to corpses and sent them jittering and spasming. It surged into the ruins of Valaskjalf and the hall exploded.

  The jotunn fell to its hands—what remained to it—and knees, smoke rising from its smoldering, spasming body. Dead, and it didn’t even know it.

  Spent but refusing to quit, Thor hefted Mjölnir. Lightning no longer crackled along it. He had completely drained its stored power. But it would still serve, as it had in days past.

  Swinging up above his head, he cracked the hammer into Thrivaldi’s middle jaw. The blow sent the jotunn tumbling over backward, crashing down like an earthquake.

  A steaming corpse.

  Thor slumped to his knees. Black surged up to catch him.

  Mjölnir slipped from his grasp.

  14

  Tyr groaned. Everything hurt. Not unusual. Everything always hurt after a battle. If you were lucky. If you still felt aught.

  Frey was there, hefting him to his feet. Man was strong. Would’ve been nice when Tyr was fighting that jotunn bastard. Now he needed … Shit.

  Shit. The prince. Tyr shrugged off Frey and trotted back up the slope. Legs hurt. Not enough power left from the apple. Using that much meant he’d feel this for days.

  Thor lay there, in a pool of mud. Plenty of blood, too. Breathing, though. Lots of bruising.

  Tyr knelt and prodded at the man’s ribs. Definitely broken. Maybe every last one of them.

  “Does he yet live?” Frey asked.

  Tyr grunted in assent. Praise the Tree for that. “Can’t move him. Injuries. Best send for Eir.”

  The liosalf knelt by the prince’s side. “Well … never let it be said I didn’t come to Odin’s aid despite our differences, then.” He laid a hand on Thor’s chest, then grit his teeth. A sheen of sweat built on the liosalf’s forehead.

  Come to think of it, man hadn’t really sweat from the sun.

  His world must be hotter than even Asgard. Didn’t sound pleasant to Tyr’s thinking.

  Tremble shot through Frey. Bad one, like he was about to swoon. Otherwise, Tyr didn’t see much.

  All he could do was grunt. “Doing that life-force thing Eir does?”

  “Yes.” Frey almost growled it, through clenched teeth.

  Thor groaned under the man’s palm. Good sign, Tyr supposed.

  Prince gasped, then. Sputtered. Coughed.

  Frey pitched over onto his arse. Not hardly looking godlike the way men thought of alfar as. Then again, Thor himself got more worship than most. And he was lying unconscious, half-dead.

  “You can move him now,” Frey said, between pants.

  Tyr grunted again. “Heard doing that gets someone lustful. Dying for it, even.” People, they always wanted more of wherever it came from. That’s what he’d heard, leastwise. Had gotten Vili killed, in fact, going after Frigg like that.

  “Yes, well, if the prince wishes to suck my cock, I’ll not stop him.”

  Shit. Normal times, Tyr would’ve laid Frey on his arse. Talking like that about the prince. It didn’t hold with him. Not in the least. Even if Thor was an arse himself, most times. Some things, a man just didn’t say. Hardly fitting to punch the man who saved the prince’s life, though.

  Instead, he just slipped a hand under Thor’s legs. Another under his shoulders. Hefted the man up and trod down the slope.

  “Got to find a safe place,” he said.

  Frey huffed a moment more. Then the alf came trotting after him. “Your people have rallied around Mani, who mounted a defense by Thor’s hall.”

  “Ugh. Thrudvangar. Not far. Just on that peak over there. Defensible.”

  “Yes,” Frey said. “But we have nowhere to retreat from there. With the mountain surrounded, the jotunnar will breach those defenses, sooner or later.”

  “Cost ’em. Especially once I get there.”

  He’d not let more Aesir die. Not without the jotunnar paying in blood. Paying heavy, for every life taken.

  “We’ve lost more than half the island, already,” Frey said. “Saule and many of her liosalfar remain engaged with the Deathless on behalf of Odin, so I doubt they even realize we are so besieged here. Odin only sent me because he sensed danger to his wife.”

  Danger. Putting it mild. Tyr had failed Queen Frigg. Plain as day, failed her, and failed Odin in the process.

  Hadn’t much thought about feeling old since he’d tasted the apple. But Tyr felt old now. Tired.

  They sat inside Thrudvangar. Mani had taken command. Thor came in and out of consciousness. Not fit to challenge anyone. What with Eir missing, one of Frigg’s maids attended to Thor at the moment.

  Tyr could have protested. He had authority. But Mani seemed to do well enough. The Vanr focused on defense.

  A good sign, given hundreds of non-warriors had holed up here. Like to get slaughtered if things turned ill.

  Frey cleared his throat. “Ullr and Magni hold out on the bridge to Yggdrasil, but I don’t know how long they can maintain their position.”

  Oh. Well, trollshit. Tyr hadn’t even considered what would happen if the jotunnar got apples. Naught good. Be swimming in immortal jotunnar.

  “Got to reinforce them,” he said.

  “With what?” Frey asked. “I share your concern, I do. I might be able to Sun Stride through enemy lines and aid Ullr, though it would take a significant amount of my stored sunlight to do so.”

  “Ugh. One man won’t make the difference.”

  “Rather my point.” Frey had begun pacing the hall. “We’ve lost contact with the other island. We have no idea who remains alive there, though fires have been spotted, so they’re certainly under attack. Or they were. Maybe they’re all dead.”

  Tyr didn’t want to dwell on that. “Damn jotunnar. Too many of them.”

  “That would be why Mundilfari built the Midgard Wall.”

  A jab at the Aesir for failing to maintain it? Tyr didn’t have patience for that kind of shit.

  “If you can get to Yggdrasil, you can get to the Bilröst.”

  “Another issue,” Frey said. “If the frost jotunnar seize the Bilröst, they might turn it from Alfheim to Niflheim. Odin believes Hel will make a play for this world. The las
t time she came to Earth, she flooded the world with the mists using a similar device.”

  Tyr stared at the liosalf. Hardly knew what to say to that. He opened his mouth. Shut it. “King … gave Hel a way to our world?”

  Frey folded his arms. “Not intentionally, but we may find ourselves left with no choice save to destroy the device and shatter the bridge.”

  Well, trollshit. “Not what I had in mind. Got to get reinforcements.”

  Frey grumbled something under his breath. “You mean from Alfheim.”

  “Seeing as how you already lost us a runeblade.” A man thinking with his stones was naught new. Losing a runeblade for it? Pretty new. Had to figure it made Frey a giant walking cock.

  Liosalf actually winced at that. Good. Still felt shame, then. Good sign, that. “There’s news from the south, as well. The Serklanders have crossed the Andalus Marches and moved on Peregot.”

  Ugh. Not again. Bastards must know the Aesir found themselves pressed. Figured, maybe, no better time would come. Damn caliphate wanted to own the world.

  Didn’t see how he could do a damn thing about it now, though. “Valland belongs to the Deathless. No better than the Serks.”

  Frey shrugged. “I’ll do as you ask, though I cannot promise any liosalfar will come to our aid. My sister already won over those most inclined to aid us, and I used up much of my goodwill in Áine’s court when I brought our warriors into Svartalfheim.”

  Couldn’t hardly picture that. Didn’t much want to, either. Battles in Otherworlds? No. Shit, but no. Tyr had enough problems on Midgard.

  “Go, anyway,” he said. “Have to try.”

  Frey frowned. “If we lose the Tree while I’m gone, if they alter the bridge, I’ll have no way back.”

  “Best hurry, then.”

  The liosalf’s frown turned into a glare. Didn’t object, though. Knew better, Tyr figured. What with having lost Laevateinn.

  Not an hour after Frey left, the prince was groaning on his cot. Tyr moved to his side. Settled in a chair.

  Took a fair bit before Thor actually opened his eyes. Blinking. “Mother.”

  “Gone.”

  “She’s … that nine-headed trollfucker killed her … tore her apart …”

  “Thrivaldi.” Tyr had long heard tale of that one’s savagery. Even back with Hymir. Strange thing, knowing Tyr’s old master was dead. Maybe even his father. Never knew for sure. Didn’t hardly know how to feel about that. Easier not to dwell on it at all. “You avenged her, then.”

  “Tore her apart …”

  Right. Prince had to figure it happened that way on account of Hödr. Queen ordered Thor to savage Narfi’s brother like that. Tyr would’ve died to spare her from that urd. Still could see why it happened that way.

  “Narfi’s got to die,” Tyr said.

  Thor grunted in assent.

  “Don’t figure you’ll be in the shape to do it. Not for days, still.”

  “Every day he draws breath …”

  Tyr shrugged. “Say the word and I’ll hunt him. You go now, you’ll fail.”

  “I never fucking fail!” Thor gasped at his own outburst. Even speaking probably hurt.

  Prince was damn lucky no rib had gone through his lungs. Tyr didn’t bother arguing with him. “We’re losing Asgard. Don’t know if they knew Hermod was away. Scout would’ve helped. Now I need someone else looking for survivors.”

  “Where are my children?”

  Tyr grunted. “Magni’s at Yggdrasil with Ullr. Holding it for now. Thrúd’s here. Been checking in on you every few hours. Figure she’s sleeping now, though.”

  “Send her to scout.” Looked to Tyr like saying it pained the prince. Maybe his wounds. Maybe the thought of putting his daughter in danger.

  Didn’t much like the idea himself. Tyr had all but fostered Thrúd. Maybe the prince had the right of it, though. Had to send someone. Had to be someone who knew woodcraft.

  Grumbling, he rose, then made his way to Thrúd’s chambers. Knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Girl stood staring out the window. Probably couldn’t see much from here. Just mountains. Warriors outside, watching for another press of jotunnar. She glanced his way, then looked back outside.

  Those burns on her face never had healed. Girl didn’t blame him. She said she didn’t, leastwise. Tyr couldn’t help but blame himself, though. Should never have left her alone at Peregot. Possessed or no, Hödr had … Well. Man deserved whatever Hel did to him now.

  “Need someone I can trust.”

  Now Thrúd did turn to him. Didn’t say he could trust her. Probably knew she didn’t need to say it.

  “We don’t know if anyone else yet lives, save those here and at Yggdrasil. Could be survivors all over. Someone needs to find them, bring them here.”

  Thrúd nodded once. “I’ll do it.”

  Right. He’d known that, of course. “Listen to me. Finding others, it’s important.”

  “Of course.”

  “Not half so important as you getting back to us. Your father needs you.” Part of him wanted to say he needed her too. Part of him wanted to claim to be a second father to her. Fostering wasn’t official, though. Words like that, to the king’s granddaughter … just not proper.

  Maybe she saw it on his face, though, because she embraced him before she left.

  With Starkad and Vikar long gone, Thrúd was like to be the closest Tyr got to having another child.

  And here he was, sending her out to face jotunnar while Asgard crumbled around her.

  Ragnarok. All the king’s efforts, and still it had come to their shores. And Tyr didn’t know if he could save anyone from it.

  15

  The glacial caverns had seemed to stretch on forever, such that, when Hermod at last came to stone steps carved into the floor, it had taken him by surprise. The builders had bored down into the ice in order to expose a staircase leading up into what, he could only surmise, must be a mountain.

  Yes … The Mountains of Fimbulvinter …

  As in the name given by völvur to the era of mists on Midgard, and later to this prolonged winter?

  Yes … Her reign began here … Her sorcerers flocked to her banner … defied death … to shape Niflheim in her image … They called her a goddess of sorcery …

  Hel? Keuthos spoke almost as if he had personal knowledge of these events. Did that mean the wraith had known Hel before her mortal death?

  But now Keuthos fell utterly silent in Hermod’s mind, as if rejecting this line of inquiry. The truth was, unlike his sister or even Odin, Hermod did not much care about such knowledge for its own sake. Wisdom mattered only insofar as it served to achieve an end. Knowing which plants he could eat or use for poultices might save a woodsman. As Odin’s apprentice, knowing how to drive off vaettir became indispensable. But unraveling the secrets of Hel’s or Keuthos’s mortal life didn’t make overmuch difference to Hermod’s mission, so far as he could see.

  If the wraith wanted his secrets, or—perhaps even more likely—had lost his memories to the Lethe, it concerned Hermod little.

  These stairs, though, bore extensive, faintly glowing glyph lines along their length, traced in strange, Otherworldly arcs and angles, as if someone had intended to work sorcery on a grander scale than ever Hermod had beheld thus far. That, of course, bespoke utter madness. If any sorcery was apt to cost the sorcerer’s soul—perhaps transmuting it into something like Keuthos—then to attempt mystical workings of such a magnitude must represent hubris only men like Mundilfari had ever mastered.

  Of course, if Hel had truly usurped the original goddess of Niflheim, her arrogance must have dwarfed even the Mad Vanr’s.

  Mist billowed in from the top of the stairs. Which meant they led back outside.

  Grimacing against the bone-chilling cold that must soon return, Hermod climbed up, into the mist, walking Sleipnir behind himself. The stairs ended in a landing. A tunnel, really, one that he followed for another twenty or thirty feet before comin
g to an archway twice his height. From this, another staircase descended the mountainside, disappearing into mist that, while less thick than what he’d seen before, still concealed much.

  Hermod glanced back at the horse, who snorted. Above them, those glowing sigils spread out over the nigh vertical cliff they had emerged from, stretching dozens of feet. More, perhaps, given the mist prevented him from seeing their end. Someone had engraved an entire mountain with sorcerous markings.

  “Fuck me.”

  Indeed, similar glyphs—not glowing—lined the stone rails that flanked the stairs and even covered the landings where the surface leveled out here and there.

  What did all of it mean?

  You don’t care …

  Hermod snorted. No. He didn’t care, true enough.

  Ice had crusted over those steps, and he didn’t trust himself riding down that. Instead, he released Sleipnir’s reins and allowed the horse to descend at his own pace, while making his own careful way down the slopes.

  The sky above looked like night, lit by faint stars and brighter, swirling bands of iridescence like those found above Nidavellir or Kvenland in the winter. No moon, though. Just mist covering the ground and dancing lights in the sky.

  And everywhere, endless snow-drenched mountains.

  It took the better part of two hours to descend the stairs and into a valley, where the mist grew thicker than ever. On the trek, he’d glimpsed numerous mountain peaks creeping out of the top of the mists and seeming intent to scrape those lights in the sky.

  No way to know how far these mountains went on or how long he’d have to navigate the passes to reach his destination.

  Modgud had told him to follow the river to its source.

  Except, Hermod didn’t see or hear any river.

  Continue forward … take the left branch of the pass through the canyon …

  Ah. Well, that was the first Hermod had heard from Keuthos in a while. His guide had proved true, thus far, but Hermod couldn’t say he truly missed that hissing, hollow voice in his head.

  With a sigh, he stretched, then remounted Sleipnir. After wrapping a cloth around his face once more, he kicked the horse forward. With Keuthos’s sporadic guidance, he did move from the pass between two mountains to a canyon that seemed more a crevasse in a glacier than aught else. Icicles three times his size dangled from overhangs, looking like teeth in the maw of a linnorm.