by C. L. Werner
The King of Asgard’s gaze never left Tyr, but it was impossible for him to read the thoughts behind that stare. While he related the tale of his trek into Muspelheim to steal the sword of Surtur, Tyr had no way to gauge his father’s reaction to his account. No emotion cracked the stern attentiveness he kept fixed upon his eldest son.
The hall was cleared of all others save one. The hero who had so recently returned from Niffleheim had been permitted by Odin to listen to their father’s judgment and act as witness to the justice of his decision. Thor, at least, was easier to gauge than the All-Father. The God of Thunder leaned against one of the tables in the grand hall, a smile on his face as he listened to Tyr relate his deeds in Muspelheim and the battles fought against its monstrous inhabitants. He drank mead and picked morsels of meat from the platter that rested beside him, savoring the story as he would a saga related by the skalds during any feast. When he’d frown at some particular incident, Tyr realized that Thor was comparing the feats to his own during his venture against Ymir.
When he finished the tale, Tyr bowed his head and waited for their father to speak. Odin peered at him for a moment, then lifted Thrudstok from his lap and pointed it at him. “So that is your account,” he said, his voice severe. Tyr paled at the grave tone, but it wasn’t unexpected.
“I know my choices were ill-advised–”
Odin cut him off with a flourish of the scepter. “Ill-advised? Rather say reckless. Rather say idiotic. For a prince of my realm to conduct himself in such manner is outrageous! You’ve put the whole of Asgard at risk! Perhaps the whole of the Nine Worlds, for don’t think the fire of Surtur would be satisfied with anything less than complete destruction of all that is, was, or ever shall be!” His hand shook with anger. “And to what is this recklessness owed? You speak of the hubris of Sindr, but you don’t credit your own nearly as much as you should! Headstrong pride and audacity, to take it upon yourself to venture against the stronghold of our mightiest enemy and seek to steal from him his greatest weapon!” Odin shook his head. “You, the God of War, supposedly the greatest general in Asgard and yet you contrive to pursue such a foolish course.”
Tyr accepted the anger of his father, for he knew it was deserved. He’d focused too much on what was to be gained by stealing Twilight and given scant thought to what stood to be lost. Whatever punishment Odin decreed, he would have earned it for putting the realm in danger.
There was one in the hall, however, who didn’t agree. “Is this the same Odin Borson who sat in this same hall and celebrated my victory over Ymir?” Thor stepped away from the table and approached the throne. “You had no scolding words for me when I journeyed to Niffleheim and fought the King of the Ice Giants in his frozen lair.”
Odin scowled at Thor. “Yours was a venture that threatened disaster to none but yourself. That is heroism.” He turned his attention back to Tyr. “There’s nothing courageous when the innocent are put in danger, even if you yourself share in that danger. Subjects of Asgard have died because of Sindr’s trespass into the realm. Far more would have perished had Surtur won his way across Bifrost.”
“Brother, I don’t ask you to defend what I’ve done,” Tyr told Thor, surprised by his sibling’s support.
“You don’t have to,” Thor replied. “What you sought to accomplish, the great battles you fought to achieve your goal cry out to me already. Your deeds ask – nay, demand – that I not keep silent!”
“What deeds might these be?” Odin prodded Thor. “To bring Surtur’s image to the very threshold of Asgard from sheer hubris?”
Thor shook his head. “You can be wise, father, but you can also be stubborn. Did you hear Tyr’s story or merely listen?” He clapped his brother on the back. “Maybe you were jealous of me that night at the feast,” he said to Tyr, “but it wasn’t such an unworthy thing that set you on the path to Surtur’s castle.” He turned back to Odin. “It was concern for you that made Tyr embark on his quest. To wrest Twilight from the fire giant and thwart the doom foretold for you.”
“Neither god nor mortal can easily balk the dictates of fate,” Odin declared.
Tyr bristled at the fatalism he heard in his father’s voice. “I thought it was worth whatever price I had to pay to try,” he said. “To save you, no sacrifice asked of me would be too great.” As he spoke, his hand closed about the metal cup at the end of his left arm. “When I learned the peril I’d brought into Asgard, I did everything in my power to thwart it. My only regret is that others suffered because of my mistake.” His voice had an edge of guilt when he thought of the farmsteads Sindr had destroyed and Lorelei’s fate when she was caught by the same spell that banished Surtur back to Muspelheim.
“You’re the King of Asgard, as well as our father,” Tyr said. “By both counts I am sworn to defend you no matter where the danger arises.”
Odin leaned back in his chair. He waved his hand at Tyr. “Do you think any of that absolves you of responsibility? Your actions have imperiled the realm! An example must be made.” He sighed and shook his head. “Tell me, Tyr, what example should I make of you? What should I do?”
Thor slapped his arm over Tyr’s shoulder. “Let me answer him, brother. Our king asks what to do with you, so I will tell him.” He gestured with his other arm at the empty hall. “This place should be filled with revelry! Mead should flow in a mighty torrent and the songs of the skalds should linger long into the night. Let a high table be set before your throne so that all might pay honor to Tyr Odinson!”
Odin rose from the throne and glared down at Thor. “You’d have me celebrate deeds that I should punish?” The growl in his voice made his ravens take flight and brought low whines from his wolves.
“Yes, lest people think the King of Asgard is unjust,” Thor answered. “In this hall you held a feast for a son who stood and boldly fought a giant of ice. Justice would dictate that you can host no less a feast for a son who fought a giant of fire!” He looked over at Tyr and smiled. “There was no malice in anything you did and once you saw how you’d been tricked your efforts were valiant to undo the wrong.” Thor winked at his brother. “Even when the least of your worries was that I might be forced to a loveless wedding.”
Tyr returned Thor’s smile and clasped his hand. “It comes hard for the elder to be eclipsed by the younger,” he said.
Thor laughed at the remark. “That is more foolish than anything our father blames you of! Are we not each a conqueror of giants?” He nodded to Odin. “That is what all Asgard will think,” he said, just a hint of warning in his tone.
Odin slapped the scepter against his palm. “You aren’t the only one who plots strategy,” he told Tyr. “Today your brother has maneuvered me into a position where I can do nothing except what he proposes. Though you’ve been reckless, there will be no punishment.”
“If that is your decision, father,” Tyr said.
“It is your king’s decree,” Odin replied, making a dismissive gesture with his scepter.
Thor swung Tyr around and led him from the hall. “Let’s not tarry here. We must leave father to prepare the feast. While we wait, we’ll find us a brewhouse where the ale is strong. Once we’re deep in our cups, I’ll tell you lies about my fight with Ymir.”
Tyr laughed and nodded. “And I’ll swap you lies about my fight with Surtur.”
“Lie for lie then!” Thor exclaimed. “The one whose boasts don’t outdo the other’s, has to sit next to Loki at the feast!”
“With that as the wager,” Tyr said, “I’ll give Surtur four heads and twelve arms before I stop stretching the truth!”
There was a sparkle in Odin’s eye as he watched his sons march from the hall. When he was sure they weren’t looking, he let a smile pull at his beard. For some time he’d noted the resentment growing between the brothers. Tyr feeling insignificant beside Thor’s exploits, turning bitter from the idea that heroic deeds were something relegated t
o his past. Thor becoming haughty and overconfident, not as mindful of how his actions made those around him feel.
For now, they were amiable. Tyr’s adventures in Muspelheim and his efforts against Surtur had drawn from Thor something the younger had almost forgotten to show the elder: respect. Thor’s defense of Tyr against Odin’s anger had drawn from the elder something his envy refused to bestow on the younger: admiration. Odin had always known the quality of his sons but now, at least for a time, they could see that in each other. He regretted his treating Tyr so harshly, but the quickest way to unite the brothers was to give them a common foe.
A tear shone in Odin’s eye as he was reminded of the truth of that wisdom. He thought of his own brothers, Villi and Ve. They’d all had their petty grudges against each other, but in the end they’d been willing to give up their lives that he might live. As he’d listened to Tyr’s story, Odin was reminded of his own journey into Muspelheim and his struggle against Surtur. Well could he recall the blistering heat and the unforgiving land, the cinders falling from the skies and the noxious fumes rising from the earth. It was impossible to forget a land where he’d left the bodies of two brothers.
Tyr was too fixated on what he’d tried to accomplish and his failure to accomplish it. He didn’t understand that the very thing he considered a catastrophe might be of even greater benefit to Asgard. Until she’d passed through the Eternal Flame with him and broken through the barrier, Sindr had been Surtur’s devoted child, eager – even desperate – to prove her worth to the fire giant. Now, because of Tyr, Sindr had been forced to see how little her father valued her. Odin could foresee conflict brewing in Muspelheim, and Surtur might yet come to regret his indifference to his daughter. Should Sindr manage to prevail, the threat from Muspelheim would be much different. Her ambition was that of the conqueror, and so she would seek to dominate Asgard, not destroy it. Surtur’s only goal was annihilation. He’d been there at the start of time and was obsessed with bringing about the end of everything. If all there was to fear from the fire giant was his own death, Odin would be content to meet his doom on Twilight’s blade, but it was the knowledge that all else would be consumed in Surtur’s fire that haunted him when he slipped into the Odinsleep.
Like Tyr, Odin felt guilt over those who’d been lost in the ordeal, but he had a greater share in the responsibility. He’d foreseen the path the future might take when he stirred Tyr’s jealousy at the feast. He’d weighed what was to be lost against what might be saved. However onerous, it was a choice he felt had to be taken, and so he’d set things into motion.
Odin fixed his gaze on the door by which his sons had departed. What he hadn’t foreseen was how long their rediscovered camaraderie would last. He hoped it would be a long time, because the threat remained. Even if the fire giant was one day overthrown by his daughter, Asgard was certain to again know the menace that was the sword of Surtur.
About the Author
C L WERNER is a voracious reader and prolific author from Phoenix, Arizona. His many novels and short stories span the genres of fantasy and horror, and he has written for Warhammer’s Age of Sigmar and Old World, Warhammer 40,000, Warmachine’s Iron Kingdoms, and Mantic’s Kings of War.
By the Same Author
KeyForge
Tales from the Crucible,
A KeyForge Anthology
Warhammer Fantasy
Blood Money
Blood and Steel
Witch Hunter
Blood of the Dragon
Witch Finder
Vermintide (as Bruno Lee)
Witch Killer
Palace of the Plague Lord
Runefang
Blood for the Blood God
Grey Seer
Temple of the Serpent
Wulfrik
The Red Duke
The Hour of Shadows
Thanquol’s Doom
Dead Winter
Wolf of Sigmar
Deathblade
Curse of the Phoenix Crown
Warhammer 40,000
The Siege of Castellax
Cult of the Warmason
Warhammer Age of Reckoning
Forged by Chaos
Age of Sigmar
Wardens of the Everqueen
Lord of Undeath
Overlords of the Iron Dragon
The Tainted Heart
Castle of Blood
Beastgrave
Profit’s Ruin
Iron Kingdoms
Night of the Necrotech
Blighted Empire
Moving Targets
Wild West Exodus
An Outlaw’s Wrath
The Himalayan Horror
Table of Contents
Cover
Advance Reading Copy
The Sword of Surtur
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
About the Author
Bibliography
Return to the Realm Eternal
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