The Prophecy of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  “You forget I outrank you in this guild,” said Stepon, “and so you had better do as I say, else you will answer to Einar.”

  The two initiates hung their heads. Things had not gone well since their friend and unofficial leader of their small group, Meanog, had been murdered by the Draugr.

  “We searched so many rooms and corridors,” said Slofar. “I am hungry and tired. Can we not take a break and come back and do this later?”

  Stepon shook his head, said: “Einar gave each of you a ring that should trigger the portal to work. He told me to accompany you two so that you did your job. Which is to search this guild to find a portal.”

  “How do we know where the portal will take us?” asked Slofar.

  “Not my concern,” replied Stepon. “We were asked to find one, not to use it. Now search harder, there must be something we are missing.” Stepon added another rag to his burning torch, making it burn brighter. “There, that helps a little. Now look for runes, anything that might be some sort of indication as to a door,” he added.

  “All the walls are bare,” said Brascan. “This task is impossible.”

  “You will do as ordered,” said Stepon.

  Brascan sighed, then said: “I will, but I worry what will happen if we do not find anything. How do we know for certain there is a portal in this guild?”

  “We do not know,” agreed Stepon, “but the only thing I do know is that the entrance to this guild is a portal. So, if there is a portal that allows us entrance, there might be another.”

  “Might,” said Brascan, “being the operative word.”

  “Keep looking,” said Stepon. “I want no corridor unexamined, no room not searched. We may go back empty handed, but I want to be confident we searched everything.”

  Weakly, Brascan and Slofar nodded as they started their seemingly fruitless search.

  CHAPTER 7

  Elf-King and Ogre Mage

  King Amaliji of Alfheim sat his throne. Before him stood several elves in various dress and costume: some elaborate, others plain. All though, regardless of dress, stood nervously as their king was in a foul mood.

  And though his voice never rose above a whisper, all knew Amaliji was angriest when his voice was gentle.

  Amaliji said: “I understand we are having difficulties gaining quick access to this castle of Trondheim where the unborn Sorceress child lives.”

  Branaliji, head of the necromancer, nodded and said: “My necromancers have been devising spells that will transport our elite elf warriors to Trondheim who will kidnap the pregnant queen.”

  Amaliji’s voice became even more quiet as he said: “But you and your necromancers have failed.”

  Branaliji shuddered as if he had been slapped. Said: “My king, we are able to jump from portal to portal within Alfheim. But jumping by portal from our realm to Midgard is proving more difficult. We believe it is because the gateways are still sealed. Once the Unbreakable Barrier falls, we believe our portals will be able to take elf warriors to Midgard.”

  Sundaliji scoffed, said: “Branaliji, you fool of a necromancer. Do you not see? Once the Unbreakable Barrier falls, we will open the Midgard Gateway, and we will not need your useless portals anymore.”

  Branaliji just hung his head.

  Loudly, Amaliji sighed, said: “Branaliji, we cannot wait until we open the Midgard Gateway. General Munkaliji, what of your warriors, how goes the preparations?”

  Munkaliji bobbed his head, said: “My king, the warriors are eager for battle. Their swords are sharp, their shields are strong, their horses are fed. They will sweep through any resistance the people of Midgard provide.”

  Impatiently, Amaliji tapped his fingers on his throne, said: “Yes, yes, yes, but can they kidnap Queen Astrid?”

  Munkaliji hung his head, and said: “Alas my king, no. They are warriors, not kidnappers.”

  Amaliji’s voice rose in anger as he said: “Am I surrounded by bumbling idiots? We have been waiting too long for the return of the Sorceress, and now that one has, our moment of triumph is at hand. The Sorceress is the most feared and respected of the witches, greater than all our necromancers combined, she is even feared by the Norns. We have been waiting too long for the return of the Sorceress, and now that one has, our moment of triumph over the other realms is at hand. But you buffoons cannot tell me of any way to bring the Sorceress to me. Why are you all so incompetent? Why do I let you live?”

  Everyone’s faces blanched, but before anyone spoke, the king cut them off with a gesture as he said: “Leave, everyone leave, while you still have your heads.”

  Turning on their heels, they all did as told, some gratefully rubbing the backs of their necks, pleased their heads were still attached.

  Only the king’s advisor, Sundaliji, remained.

  Amaliji took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Said: “Tell me, old friend, why are so many of my people so incompetent?”

  Sundaliji smiled wryly and said: “We have been isolated for too long. Our people have grown indolent. They think everything they now do is somehow revolutionary, as if no one has ever thought of it before.”

  Amaliji barked a laugh and said: “As always, you are the most clear-sighted of my advisors. Tell me this then, Sundaliji: when we unleash our warriors on the people of Midgard, will our warriors win?”

  Sharply Sundaliji nodded and said: “Our warriors have been bred since birth to be the greatest of warriors. They were separated from their mothers at an early age and learned that fighting is the only way to live and that winning is the only way to survive.”

  “Our warriors are fierce,” agreed Amaliji, “at least that I may count on. It is our aristocrats and lords that have become slovenly. I should place them all at the front of our attacking armies when we go up against the armies of Midgard.”

  “They would simply soil their pants and lie down on the ground like a defenseless turtle,” said Sundaliji with a chuckle. “No, my king, best to let them think they are all powerful while you continue to pull the strings.”

  “Agreed, now I have an idea of who may give us access, even if limited, to the realm of Midgard.”

  “You speak of Ogre Mage?”

  “Yes, summon our friend.”

  The king’s advisor nodded. He called a servant and whispered a name in his ear, then the servant left the hall. After many long minutes, the servant returned, a rather massive form lumbering behind him.

  Ogre Mage stood in front of King Amaliji. Ogre Mage was not dressed like the king’s other guests: he was dressed as if he was cold. A long blanket-like cloth was wrapped around his large frame covering his entire body. His face could not be seen under a large hood. Taller than the king and his advisor by at least a hand, Ogre Mage looked as if he should have been a warrior, not one who practiced the arts of magic.

  In a deep baritone voice that sounded almost bored, Ogre Mage said: “You have summoned me, King Amaliji.”

  “Yes, ogre,” said Amaliji deliberately offending Ogre Mage by only calling him by his race. “You may have heard that a Sorceress is to be born to Queen Astrid of Dennland.”

  Ogre Mage nodded.

  “Your thoughts?” asked Amaliji.

  “My thoughts are my own,” said Ogre Mage. “What the soothsayers think the Sorceress will do to the many realms is very different from my thoughts.”

  Sundaliji interrupted and asked: “What do the soothsayers say, ogre?”

  “They say the birth of a Sorceress heralds the end of all the Norse realms,” began Ogre Mage, “perhaps even the destruction of Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent. With those gone, a new realm will be born.”

  “Exactly,” said Amaliji, “the birth of Alfheim in the realm of Midgard. Or, better, in Asgard, home of Odin.”

  “A wise interpretation, King Amaliji,” said Ogre Mage.

  Sundaliji tersely snapped: “Do not try and ingratiate yourself with King Amaliji. You are here only to serve.”

  His voice unchanging in tone, Ogr
e Mage said: “He is not my king.”

  And Ogre Mage removed his hood, exposing his face and head. Instead of the usual look of mindless brutality, an unusual look of high intelligence could easily be seen in Ogre Mage’s eyes. By all reasoning, he should have been mistaken for one of his brutish warrior cousins. Instead, he held himself proudly, almost regally before the king of elves.

  Angrily Amaliji hissed: “No, I am not your king. I am your master, and you will do as I command.”

  “Then tell me your will, Amaliji.”

  Sundaliji leapt forward, his hand raised high across his face, ready to slap Ogre Mage at this perceived second offensive remark. But instead of striking Ogre Mage, Sundaliji’s hand and arm went limp, his face slack-jawed. He had made the mistake of locking eyes with Ogre Mage.

  Amaliji snapped: “Enough of your cheap parlor tricks, ogre, release him.”

  Ogre Mage imperceptibly nodded and Sundaliji’s eyes came back into focus. He muttered darkly under his breath as he took his place beside his king.

  “Ogre, you know we must bring Queen Astrid and her unborn child here to Alfheim,” said Amaliji. “You must know of the necessary portal spells that can take several warriors to the castle in Trondheim and give them enough time to kidnap the queen and return before the portal closes.”

  Ogre Mage nodded, said: “You speak of the power only a Sorceress possesses. Now, a Sorceress needs neither the runes from the Midgard Serpent, nor the runes from Yggdrasil for her magic.”

  “Yes,” said Amaliji, “and that is why the Sorceress will help us destroy Midgard and the other realms. I will control her, as I control you. I will find the weakness of this Sorceress, and she will obey me. Once she is old enough, I will break her, just as I broke you.”

  Ogre Mage’s eyes twitched as he remembered being broken. White scars crisscrossed his broad back, and bones that had not healed correctly still caused him to walk with trepidation.

  “It will be most difficult to control a Sorceress,” said Ogre Mage. “The runes of magic, whether from the Midgard Serpent or Yggdrasil, binds the wizard, witch, cleric, druid, illusionist, any user of magic, and keeps his or her magical abilities in check. Even if they are the most powerful wizard or witch, there is only so much magic he or she may do. But there is no such check on a Sorceress’s power; her magical abilities are unfathomable. A Sorceress may even challenge the Norns, such is her power. And without the Tapestry of life, where are the realms?”

  “Where indeed?” muttered Amaliji. Ogre Mage’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Now,” continued Amaliji, “you told us years ago that you have studied many of the Sorceress’s books. And with this knowledge, you too know some secrets of the portals and gateways linking the realms.”

  Mage nodded, said: “As I am neither wizard nor cleric and not of the blood of the realm of Midgard, I was able to learn some of the arcane arts of the Sorceress.”

  “Which is why you still live,” said Amaliji.

  Again, Ogre Mage nodded and said: “I am most grateful for your continued kindness, your gracious one.”

  “Will you be able to succeed, where my necromancers failed?” asked Amaliji.

  “I will be able to create a temporary portal that acts like a gateway between Alfheim and Midgard,” said Ogre Mage. “But this portal will not stay open long as the magic that creates it is unsustainable. So, your kidnappers must act quickly, else they will be stuck in Trondheim.”

  “When will you be able to create the temporary portal?” asked Amaliji.

  “Not for several months,” began Ogre Mage, “as the ingredients and the timing require much preparation. The moon must be dark and the realms of Alfheim and Midgard must be in alignment for a temporary portal to be opened.”

  “Sundaliji, make sure ogre has all the ingredients he needs,” commanded Amaliji.

  Ogre Mage said: “This special portal requires much blood, any blood will suffice.”

  “What if you have the blood of a Norse god?” asked Amaliji.

  Ogre Mage did not even try to hide his look of shock. Said: “Of course, the blood of a Norse god would also open the portal. The portal would even stay open longer. I may not even have to wait for the realms to align, such is the power of the blood of a Norse god. You have this in your possession?”

  “Not yet, ogre, but soon,” said a confident Amaliji. “Still, prepare to open the portal using your usual ingredients.”

  “As my master commands,” said Ogre Mage and he left the great hall.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Children of Alchemist

  Alchemist commanded: “Show me the blade.”

  The two frost giants loomed before Alchemist as horses to a child. Yet it was Alchemist who was in charge.

  The injured frost giant opened a wrapped bundle of cloth revealing Aesirslayer. On the blade could easily be seen dried blood.

  “You were successful at least,” said Alchemist. “Tell me all that transpired, especially how you got wounded.”

  After the frost giants told their stories, Alchemist inspected the blood-stained blade. “Cut the goddess enough I see,” he said. “But you did not kill her.”

  One of the frost giants said: “The Master of the Hunt’s hounds dragged me away from Freya before I was able to cut her again. And then the Master of the Hunt sounded his horn and summoned the Hunt.”

  “Who came?” asked Alchemist.

  The second giant balled his hand into a fist. “You also did not warn us that the warriors in Trondheim would have items of magic.”

  “Magic weapons made by dwarves,” said the first giant as he took a menacing step forward.

  Alchemist scoffed, said: “You are two of the fiercest frost giants, renown for your savagery. Your names are used when children refuse to eat their vegetables. You either were asleep too long in your dusty rooms or your fighting skills rusted.”

  “My injury still pains me,” said the first frost giant. “It must be healed.”

  “Ask Old Monk,” said Alchemist, “he will give you a potion that will ease the pain and help the wound close. You will scar, but it will remind you that you lost a battle.”

  The two frost giants scowled.

  “Follow me,” said Old Monk ignoring the giants’ ill tempers.

  Alchemist watched Old Monk’s back recede, then said: “Come, Lanson, I want to show you something.”

  He led Lanson over to a tent Lanson had never been inside before. At the entrance stood two young guards who allowed them passage.

  Inside, Lanson saw four young men, but as his eyes accustomed to the darkness, a gasp escaped his lips.

  In the shadows of the tent stood four young men but it was their bestial postures that shocked him. One had the look of a wolf, his face canine in appearance. Another was large, barrel-chested, and lumbered like a bear. The third was small and twitched his nose constantly sniffing. And the last one had wide luminous eyes like a cat, and he moved with ease and suppleness.

  “You have never met my trackers,” said Alchemist. “Let me introduce you. A long time ago, these four initiates joined my stronghold. They were skinny and had been picked on in their village of Jordheim. They wanted strength, both inside and out, and so I gave that to them. During their stay at my stronghold, they were reborn. And so, they have been given new names.”

  “These are abominations,” said Lanson. “One is part wolf, the other part bear, the third part rat, and the last, part cat.”

  Alchemist shook his head, said: “They are my children and they are beautiful. This one answers to Liulfr,” and the boy who most resembled a wolf nodded his head. “This is Beornheard.” The bear-like boy nodded. “Asbjorn.” The boy with rat-like features lowered his eyes. “And Kees.” The boy with the cat-like features blinked.

  After a few moments, Lanson found his voice again. “What of weapons?” he asked.

  “Besides of course their increased strength, agility, and endurance, each has chosen their own special weapon,” said Alchemist.
“Show this blacksmith your weapons, my children.”

  Liulfr unsheathed a fierce looking blade and said: “Long sword.”

  “War hammer,” said Beornheard lifting a tremendous cudgel off the ground.

  “Long daggers,” said Asbjorn twirling the lethal weapons in his fingers.

  “Quarterstaff,” said Kees, his voice a throaty purr, as he tapped the ground with it.

  Alchemist said: “And in their belts and sacks I have given them additional potions: some for strength, some for healing, and various others depending on their needs. Are you not proud of my children?”

  “Children,” said Lanson with a choke. “I suppose they are as they resemble you in so many ways.”

  The were-boys growled and bared their teeth. Alchemist waved a reassuring hand at them. “The blacksmith meant no harm,” he said. “I am proud of you all. And to make me even more proud, I have a task for you all.”

  “Our will is yours to command,” said Liulfr, the unspoken leader of the group.

  Alchemist said: “I have learned that the king of Dennland and the king of Aarlund and a small war party have left Trondheim and are making their way towards the Heart Tree. Your task is simple: find these two kings, kill them and kill everyone in their party.”

  “It is as good as done,” said Liulfr, his eyes gleaming in excitement.

  “Then be off with you my children and do not return until your task is complete,” said Alchemist.

  The Secret in the Thieves Guild Library

  Pressan asked: “Have you found anything?”

  Stepon, Brascan, and Slofar stared at the floor.

  Stepon raised his head and spoke first, said: “No, Master Pressan, we searched the entire guild and found nothing. No markings, no etchings, no runes, nothing that indicated a portal, secret or obvious.”

  “Did you search all the bedrooms?”

  “Yes, we searched even yours, Pressan. It is very dusty.”

  Pressan chuckled, said: “What of the kitchen?”