The Prophecy of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  “But there are no Norse gods left on Midgard or Asgard,” said Phillius.

  “You forget,” began Nas, “there is, as Freya has awakened and sits helplessly on her throne in the ruins of her temple.”

  And the ravens said: “While the frost giants…”

  “…may have laid dormant…”

  “…their anger at Odin and his children has…”

  “…not. And they…”

  “…have a great weapon.”

  “Aesirslayer,” finished Margret, with her eyes glazed over, seeing something no one else could. “The blade that may kill a Norse god.”

  Nas nodded, said: “If Freya is killed, then all is lost. Without her, we stand no chance against the elves.”

  The ravens looked at one another and nodded.

  “We have said too much…”

  “…and we have stayed too long.”

  “We must return…”

  “…to our master.”

  The ravens climbed onto Nas’s arms, and he walked them out to the balcony, nudged them up into the air, where they beat their wings and effortlessly lifted themselves high into the sky. Within a few moments they became small specks in the distance. Nas shivered and walked back into the warmth of the hall.

  “Grim tidings, but much needed,” he said.

  Margret winced and put a hand to her circlet, murmured: “Freya is hurt. Nas, we must hurry.’

  Then the sound of the Master of the Hunt’s horn could faintly be heard.

  Nas cried: “We have been summoned!”

  And everyone who had participated in the Hunt before once again felt the irresistible magical pull of the Master of the Hunt’s call.

  And they fled the hall towards Freya’s ruins, running at an unimaginable speed.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Brothers Frost Giant

  As the Hunt approached Freya’s temple, Farling could feel the temperature drop even further.

  And as soon as the Hunt had started, it ended, and everyone gasped at what they saw.

  Two frost giants, each the height of a small tree and with shoulders as wide as a horse, battled the Master of the Hunt. The sound of their swords clashing was like thunder, its shocks rolling over the ground.

  The Master of the Hunt held his ground as he protected the statue of Freya. The frost giants’ swords crashed down again and again on the Master of the Hunt’s sword, but could not break it. The Master of the Hunt slashed at the giants but could not reach them. His hounds tried again and again to bite the giants but they were easily pushed aside.

  One of the frost giants chuckled, and said: “Soon brother, he will fall beneath our mighty blows. Then we will finish what we started and we will…”

  With his war hammer, Grum struck the frost giant squarely behind the knee, causing him to fall.

  His brother looked confused, asked: “What mischief is this, brother? Why did you fall?”

  And with blue flames dancing along the edge of his sword, Farling slashed the fallen frost giant’s leg.

  The fallen frost giant screamed in pain. “Flamebringer!” he cried. “I know its bite!”

  Quicker than Farling thought possible, the injured frost giant rolled and struck him with a fist. But his punch simply bounced off Farling’s magical shield. Then the giant pulled himself to one knee, stood, and glared at his attackers.

  “Dwarf magic,” spat the injured frost giant. “Father did not warn us there would be dwarf magic.”

  “He must not have known,” said the other.

  “And that shield,” grunted the injured one, “used against us in other battles. A tiresome shield, one that refuses to move when struck.”

  The other brother squinted at Farling’s shield and said: “Brother, this may be more trouble than it is worth. We have what we wanted, we should leave.”

  “But brother, we were to kill Freya and we have not!”

  “No, brother, you err. We were to cover Aesirslayer in her blood, which we have done. I now wish to leave. We return to father with our spoils and our lives.”

  The injured giant nodded in agreement and pulled out a flask. He poured it on the ground and in just a few short moments, a wall of ice grew and spread, separating the frost giants from everyone else.

  The injured frost giant grunted, impressed at the wall of ice. “And now we return, brother,” he said as he pulled out a different flask, drank deeply, then handed it to his brother who did the same. Then the frost giants ran north at an unnormal speed.

  ***

  The wall of ice had stopped spreading. It was now at least ten feet in height and stretched out across the temple floor. And Farling noticed that the further he walked along the wall of ice, the more it grew, constantly blocking his path.

  “Grum,” called Farling, “strike the wall with your war hammer.”

  Gum nodded and with all his strength struck the wall with his enchanted war hammer. But instead of splintering the wall into tiny shards of ice, the wall only cracked a little, then sealed itself up again. It was as if Grum’s blow had never happened.

  Nas said: “Blacksmith Grum, do not strike the wall again. The wall will melt in time. Magic of this sort never lasts long, but it has served its purpose. The frost giants have escaped and we may not pursue.”

  “The Master of the Hunt can pursue,” said Grum. “He just needs to call the Hunt again.”

  Nas shook his head. “I do not think he wants to give chase at this moment,” he said.

  The Master of the Hunt noticed everyone looking at him. “The frost giants came without warning,” he said removing his helmet. “I knew it was an unnatural cold, but did not realize it heralded frost giants. They were too strong and I was too few. I failed.”

  “You did not fail,” said Margret. “They did not kill Freya and they have disappeared again back up north. We will hunt them down and make them pay for this crime.”

  The Master of the Hunt gently shook his head. Said: “No, princess, I failed. They cut Freya with their cursed blade and her blood now stains it. She is weakened and may never recover. And I had to call the Hunt.”

  “And we came,” said Margret.

  Again, the Master of the Hunt shook his head and said: “No, I summoned the Hunt when I was not allowed. I have broken a rule of magic and there will be consequences.”

  An unnatural wind stirred the branches of the trees and the Master of the Hunt had a resigned look on his face. “My time is short,” he said. “Listen closely: Freya has been hurt most grievously. Aesirslayer cut not only Freya’s statue but also her ethereal body. It was a shallow cut, but any wound from this cursed blade weakens a Norse god until they are no more.”

  Frederick asked: “How may we save her?”

  The wind picked up strength. The Master of the Hunt’s hounds now whined in fear.

  “You must find a magical golden apple,” said the Master of the Hunt. “Long ago, in the land of Asgard, there was a tree that grew golden apples. All the Norse gods ate of the tree’s fruit and were able to stay young and full of vitality. Those apples also have healing properties and will be able to heal Freya back to health and remove the poison of Aesirslayer.”

  “How much time does Freya have?” asked Frederick.

  “Day, weeks,” said the Master of the Hunt. “Perhaps even months. But she will perish if she does not taste a golden apple.”

  The wind began to howl. The hounds hid their tails between their legs.

  The Master of the Hunt yelled into the wind: “I called the Hunt! I did so without permission! I accept my punishment!”

  And with that, the Master of the Hunt and his hounds turned into smoke, which then disappeared into the horn.

  “Is he dead?” asked Grum, as he picked up the horn, inspecting it.

  “No,” said Nas, “but he is being punished.”

  “What of Freya?” asked Frederick.

  “She is wounded,” said Margret, her eyes closed in concentration. “I can feel her essence slow
ly leaving her. The wound causes her pain, at least I can stop the pain. But I may not stop the wound from festering.”

  And she placed her hands on the part of the statue that had been cut by Aesirslayer. After a few moments, she took away her hands, and said: “I have done all I can for the moment. Freya is out of pain but her wound is beyond anything I may heal.”

  Nas said: “I think we may have found an item of magic for you, King Frederick.”

  Frederick asked: “How is that, druid?”

  “The Master of the Hunt is not gone, but hides in his horn,” said Nas. “Before, he was able to walk about freely. Now, he is stuck in the horn and can only be summoned.”

  “How does one call the Master of the Hunt?” asked Frederick. “Blow the horn?”

  Nas nodded, said: “It is as you suggest, the sound of the horn calls forth the Master of the Hunt. But it is not as simple as it sounds. The person who blows the horn will become the Master of the Hunt, but only temporarily. But during that time, the Master of the Hunt may fight or perform other deeds that only he may do.”

  “A most powerful item of magic,” agreed Frederick.

  “Wait,” interrupted Margret, “someone approaches…”

  “Where?” asked Frederick.

  Eyes closed, Margret pointed to a path. Sure enough, within a few moments, they heard someone approach.

  “My father,” said Margret with a happy sigh, “I sense my father. But how could that be?”

  “The Hunt was called,” said Nas, “and he was one of the original members of the Hunt. He was summoned.”

  “Margret!” called Cormac. “Is that you?”

  “I am here, father!” And they ran to each other and hugged.

  “We should send a raven to Aarlund,” said Cormac after he was warmly greeted by everyone else. “I do not want them to be worried. I was riding with a war party towards Alchemist’s stronghold when I felt the irresistible pull of the Hunt. I tried my best to explain to the war party with the few moments that I had. So, where is the Master of the Hunt? He is a hard one to miss in a crowd.”

  “Gone,” said Frederick as he described what had happened. “And now the horn has been given to me, when I sound it, the Master of the Hunt will assume my place.”

  “And the frost giants?” mused Cormac staring at the wall of ice.

  Nas interrupted, said: “King Cormac, if I may. This wall of ice was created by magic. And your sword was created to destroy magic. Please, see if your sword can damage the wall of ice.”

  Frederick nodded, said: “A test of the Almuric Sword, a fine idea, Nas. Stand back, everyone.”

  With sword drawn, Cormac slashed the wall of ice. This time, instead of the wall repairing itself, the cut spread until the wall melted.

  “Well done, Your Highness,” said Nas. “Magic cannot withstand the power of your sword. A good test and one that should serve us well when we attack the Heart Tree. I see the Master of the Hunt did us a favor bringing you down here as I was hoping you would accompany us to the Heart Tree.”

  “I am glad I joined the Hunt,” said Cormac as he grinned at his daughter and the Aarlund brothers.

  Frederick nodded, said: “I think we have done enough here. Come, we should return to Trondheim. Princess Margret needs to find us more items of magic, if there are any to be found.”

  ***

  Once in Trondheim, everyone broke into groups that then went their separate ways.

  “It already feels warmer,” noticed Farling. “That was an unnatural cold that brought the frost giants.”

  “Alchemist must be very powerful if he can create and manipulate the weather,” said Arastead. “And he is now allied with the frost giants and the elves. Scary to even contemplate such an alliance.”

  “Who are we allied with?” asked Grum. “Dennland and Aarlund are now as one; King Cormac and King Frederick are practically brothers considering all their adventures. But still, it is asking a lot of us to go up against the power of Alchemist, the craft of the elves, and the power of the frost giants.”

  “And the gods themselves do not enter the battles, but merely offer us weapons,” said Arastead.

  “That is all the gods have ever done,” said Farling. “They may meddle in our lives but only on rare occasions do they interact with us. We are beneath them and we are their playthings.”

  “On the contrary,” said Arastead, “the gods need us as much as we need them.”

  “Yes, as we are the only ones who may find a golden apple,” said Farling. “Let us gather our things, close down the forge, then visit Einar and Pressan. I fear this battle against the elves feels a little one sided.”

  ***

  Within the hour, each of the blacksmiths was asking permission of Horund to enter the Trondheim thieves guild.

  “As you know,” said Horund, “since you are not members of this guild, you have nothing to declare as you do not profit share.” He wrote their names on a piece of paper.

  “Our thanks, Master Horund,” said Farling.

  Arastead asked: “Horund, would you happen to know where Einar is?”

  Using his writing quill, Horund merely pointed over his shoulder.

  As they walked away, Grum muttered: “I guess that means Einar is in here somewhere.”

  Arastead chuckled, said: “He must be with Pressan, most likely in the library.”

  Soon, they were walking down the aisles of books towards Pressan’s desk. As always, the older thieves who maintained the library, as they were too slow to pick pockets and fleece the rich, glared at Farling and his friends.

  “I am not even interested in books,” said Grum noticing the stares, “so I still do not understand why they are always so quick to think I am the one who will cause mischief.”

  “They just know you better than you do,” said Arastead.

  As they entered the open area of the library, Einar called out to them: “Ah, there are my favorite blacksmiths,” he said. “Come, eat, there is plenty of food.”

  But it was the guest at the table that caused the most surprise for Farling: “Jagjord,” he said, recognizing the bard he met so long ago on his first trip to Trondheim.

  “Jordheimer,” beamed Jagjord as he warmly shook Farling’s hand. Farling then introduced Grum and Arastead. “Come, my little friends,” encouraged Jagjord, “there is more than enough food for all. You all look like you could use a good meal.”

  That was all the encouragement Grum needed. He filled his plate and began eating in earnest.

  Jagjord continued: “Einar was just giving me more details about the encounter with these frost giants. A tremendous battle, a ballad may need to be written about it. Dear me, frost giants this far south, unheard of.”

  Pressan nodded, said: “What I am still trying to piece together is the why. Frost giants on their own would never attempt such a bold move.”

  Einar said: “They were helped by Alchemist.”

  “Our old friend,” Pressan said sarcastically.

  “Yes, quite,” said Jagjord. “I am puzzled as to why they were reluctant to battle further. Especially after Grum and Farling hurt the one brother. Frost giants never retreat; they would rather die than flee a battle.”

  Arastead said: “They got what they wanted, a bloodied Aesirslayer blade. If they had fought us more, they may have lost or been so injured they could not return to their father.”

  Grum grunted, asked: “What use is a god’s blood to a frost giant?”

  “Some of the most powerful magic derives from blood,” said Arastead as he glanced at his cat’s eyes as if for more information. “The Unbreakable Barrier is forged from the blood of the wizards.”

  Grum waved a meaty chicken thigh bone. “As I said before, a very breakable barrier,” he said.

  Farling asked: “But what would Alchemist want with Freya’s blood?”

  Einar said: “Alchemist is a master potion maker. But he is also ambitious and ruthless. Whatever he intends to do with Freya’s bl
ood, it will be dangerous to Midgard.”

  Farling continued: “And why are the frost giants so beholden to Alchemist.”

  “A good question, Jordheimer,” said Jagjord. “I suspect he must have freed them from the prison Odin built. That is the only plausible reason. And Alchemist must be planning on opening a gateway with Freya’s blood.”

  “Yes, but which one?” said Farling.

  “We will need to just wait and find out,” said Jagjord. “Now, before Orlough was killed, he told me of the importance of those two rings, you, Einar and Pressan wear.”

  Einar grunted, said: “The Norn spoke of the importance of these rings.”

  Jagjord nodded, said: “Orlough always suspected there was a portal somewhere in this guild.”

  “Why this guild?” asked Grum.

  “Did it not ever seem strange all the empty rooms?” said Jagjord. “That this building exists apart from Trondheim? I have always puzzled over these questions every time I visit this guild. Yet, how could this guild ever have had more thieves? It is not like Trondheim used to be bigger. It was when Orlough started asking those types of questions that he and I realized that this was not always a thieves guild, but was probably used by the elves, Odin’s Chosen. Alfheim may be the realm of the elves, but their warriors would reside in Asgard, ready to travel to other realms at the whim of Odin. And it is rumored this building was once in Asgard and fell to Midgard after Ragnarok, when Asgard was destroyed.”

  “So, Jagjord, if I follow your logic,” started Einar, “then there were portals within this guild that the elves used.”

  Jagjord nodded, said: “In theory; but we were never able to find anything.”

  Einar tugged his beard in thought, then said: “There is a tunnel that leads from the Paupers Temple to Freya’s temple ruins. This tunnel must have existed for hundreds of years and was just recently discovered. I am positive there are other secrets in Trondheim, especially this guild. I would wager my thieving bones on it.”

  Pressan interrupted, said: “These secrets will need to wait. Right now, everyone is to meet at the Knights Stable as you are to leave for the Heart Tree.”