“No indication of any portal,” answered Stepon with a shake of his head. “No unique drawings on the floor, nothing on the walls, no place that would fit a ring.”
Pressan removed his glasses and cleaned them methodically. He stared thoughtfully at the ceiling while he cleaned. Said: “Perhaps the portal is not in this guild, there is that possibility. Just because the entrance to our guild is portal-like, does not mean that there are any more portals in here.”
“Do you think other buildings in Trondheim have portals?” asked Stepon.
Pressan placed his extra clean glasses back on his face, then said: “The Paupers Temple seems to have one big secret, that of the tunnel leading from it out to Freya’s old ruined temple. It may have other secrets.”
Stepon chewed his lip in thought as he looked around the library. He grunted and said: “You know, Master Pressan, there is one room we did not search.”
“And which room would that be?”
“This room.”
“Then by all means, search the library. But I warn you, do not do make a mess else it will anger my helpers and I will never hear the end of it.”
“It will be as if we were never here, right Stepon and Brascan?” The boys nodded.
“Well, now is as good a time as any,” said Stepon. “Slofar, search over there behind those book stacks. Brascan, behind these ones.”
“Where are you going to search?” asked Brascan.
“Everywhere you do not,” snapped Stepon, “now get to it.”
After almost an hour of searching, the three young boys gathered again in front of Pressan.
He peered at them over the top of his glasses. Said: “I see you three do not look very excited.”
Stepon looked dejected, said: “We searched the entire library. We found nothing.”
“Are you sure you searched everywhere?”
“Actually, there is one place we did not search.”
“And where would that be?”
“Under your desk.”
Pressan chuckled and said: “Fine, I will take my weary bones and go make some coffee. I will back in a moment. Try to not make too much of a mess.”
Once Pressan was gone the boys lifted the edges of the old carpet that lay underneath Pressan’s desk.
“Do you see anything?” asked Slofar.
“I think I just might,” replied Stepon as he reached a hand under the carpet as far as he could. “Feels like the ground is engraved or carved or something. Quick, lift back the edges of the carpet as much as you can.”
The carpet was heavy as it was made with a thick weave. It took some effort for the boys to fold the edges back. While they were doing that, Pressan had returned with his steaming hot coffee.
Pressan’s eyes were wide in excitement as he exclaimed: “You have found something?”
“Well,” began Stepon, “we may have found something, but I do not know if it is a portal. It could simply be a decoration of sorts carved into the floor.”
“Well, we will need to clear everything then,” said Pressan.
“Can we not wait until morning, when there are more helpers?” asked Stepon. “The night is getting late.”
“Of course, of course,” said Pressan. “This is quite the discovery. And to think, something of significance has been under my desk all these years. Come to think of it, it has been under the desk for many librarians.”
***
The next morning, after the thieves had broken their fast at the Trondheim thieves guild, the three young thieves Stepon, Brascan, and Slofar returned to the guild’s library.
Pressan, with the help of several old thieves, had removed all the papers and documents from his desk and had neatly organized them on a nearby table.
Pressan chuckled and said: “I must admit, I should have cleaned off my desk months ago.”
One of the old thieves muttered under his breath: “Years.”
“Yes, well,” said Pressan ignoring the comment, “better late than never.”
After a few more minutes, the top of Pressan’s desk was wiped clean and all the contents from his desk drawers had been removed. Then, to make the desk even lighter, the drawers were also removed.
“I think that is it,” happily said Pressan, “let us now move this desk.”
The three boys lifted the desk from one end while several of the strongest helpers lifted from the other. Pressan, of course, merely directed the action.
“Careful, do not stub your toes,” he said.
Once the desk was off the carpet, it was placed down. The older thieves who had helped move the heavy desk gingerly rubbed their lower backs.
“Now for the carpet,” said Pressan eager to see what lay underneath.
The boys wrestled the heavy carpet from one end and managed somehow to make it curl into a small roll. Soon they got some momentum and were able to roll up the carpet. Once finished, the carpet lay in a large roll against Pressan’s desk and the engraved symbol on the floor could plainly be seen.
Stepon wiped the sweat from his brow, staring at the symbol carved into the floor. Said: “That is one heavy carpet.”
Pressan nodded and said: “Which is probably why I have never noticed or felt the carved floor underneath.”
They were all quiet for a few moments, staring at the runes carved into a pattern on the floor.
“Pressan, what is this design?” asked Stepon.
“Carved runes always have significance,” said Pressan. “Runes can offer protection, whether from the undead or demons. Runes can also help wizards or clerics. So, looking at the runes we have just discovered, they are in the shape of a circle. So, the wizard or cleric would stand in the middle, and their powers might possibly be magnified or enhanced in some special manner.”
“Don’t runes mean letters or words as well?” asked Stepon.
“They can, but the runes for wizards and clerics, and druids and illusionists, all who follow the arcane arts, are for certain spells and how to cast them. It is said that Odin when he wanted mankind to be able to learn how to use magic, carved runes into Yggdrasil and into the hide of the Midgard Serpent that gnaws Yggdrasil’s roots. They are the source of magic and it is through those runes that we may do magic.”
Brascan grunted, said: “Will not the Midgard Serpent one day destroy Yggdrasil?”
“A wise question,” answered Pressan, “and it is one we will never quite know. Some books say the world was already destroyed, when Asgard fell and when many of the gods were destroyed. But as it turns out, it was the realm of the gods that was destroyed, our realm lives on. Some argue it is a better realm without the gods constantly interfering in the lives of people. Still others miss the gods and their complicated lives.”
“So, what of the runes on the ground?” asked Stepon.
Pressan nodded, said: “Yes, well, I am rusty in my identification and interpretation of runes. Nas, I am most certain would be able to identify them. Yet even he may not be able to know their true meaning and use. Much knowledge was lost when Asgard fell. And if this is a portal that allows us to access somewhere else in Midgard, then that knowledge of how to use this portal has been lost.”
“How are portals usually activated?” asked Stepon.
“Well, pretty much how Jagjord described, usually blood is the necessary tribute,” answered Pressan. “Although, as we know, our amulets allow us access to this guild that resides in a place not of Trondheim. So, to make a long answer short; many ways.”
“If I understand,” stared Stepon, “it was the elves, the Chosen, who would travel to distant realms and bring back treasure for Odin.”
“How did you hear that?” asked Pressan.
“I think you and Einar forget I am standing beside you when you talk of these things,” said Stepon with a grinned.
Pressan merely shook his head and grinned. Said: “Of course, of course, and there should not be any secrets within our guild.”
Stepon chuckled and said: “Ther
e will always be secrets. Now, would there be different gateways for different realms? Or would the elves have been able to use the same gateway, but make it point somehow to different realms?”
“You are wise beyond your years,” said Pressan. “And again, I would not know the answer to that question. Only the elves would know and I do not feel like asking that of them.” Then Pressan sharply asked: “Brascan, what are you doing?”
At Pressan’s question, Brascan looked up. While Pressan and Stepon had been talking, he had walked around the circle of runes on the ground and had now walked into the middle of it.
Brascan said: “There were some runes I could not see here in the middle. I was taught some runes at the School and I think this one here in the middle stands for the letter ‘p’ and that rune stands for…”
By this time, Slofar, Stepon, and Pressan, seeing no harm had come to Brascan, joined him in the middle of the rune design.
But as soon as Slofar stood beside Brascan, both boys let out a cry of surprise, both staring at their rings.
“My ring!” cried Slofar, “it burns!”
Brascan yelled: “Mine as well!”
And at the sound of rock grating against rock, everyone jerked their heads up towards the ceiling. There, a section of the ceiling had peeled away, revealing a circle rune much like the one upon which they stood. A slight humming sound like a swarm of bees became louder and louder.
Stepon yelled to be heard above the loud humming: “Pressan, do we need to tell the portal where we want to go?”
“I think it already knows!” cried Pressan.
And, as the old thieves watched in shock, Stepon, Brascan, Slofar, and Pressan disappeared in the blink of an eye.
CHAPTER 10
Ogre Mage Discovers a Secret in Trondheim
Ogre Mage shook his head, his eyes wide open in shock.
“Is that what I thought it was?” he murmured.
No one answered as he was alone in his small study that was filled to the brim with books, parchments, and ingredients used for spells.
He stood and rubbed his head in thought. Amaliji, king of the elves, had ordered him to find a way to create a small, temporary gateway between Alfheim and Midgard. This gateway would allow only a select few to move from Alfheim to Midgard where they would kidnap the pregnant Queen Astrid who carried inside her a baby. And no ordinary child, but a Sorceress, one prophesized to change the realms.
Ogre Mage had been in a mystical trance, one that allowed him to move his mystical body between the realms and see into Midgard, especially Trondheim, to search for portal runes. He had been expecting his search to be difficult if not fruitless. The art of searching for portal runes was a delicate process, one he had only read about and which he had little practice. He had been searching for hours, looking for anything that would smack of magic or mysticism. His mystical body had followed the group riding hard from Trondheim to Pitcairn. He could sense the magic emanating from several of the weapons and objects the warriors and kings carried. But those were not portals, and so he had then glided over Trondheim where he had worked hard at trying to sense portals. And he had, but as he looked at it more closely, it was more of a doorway between Trondheim and a guild of some sort. He watched as people pressed amulets worn about their necks against the wall and the doorway would magically appear. They would then enter and the doorway would close behind. Ogre Mage had tried to enter but, interestingly enough, he could not. As his mystical body did not have one of the special amulets of entrance, he could not enter. It was then, as he waited outside the doorway, realizing he was running out of time as the potion that allowed him to travel ethereally was coming to an end, that he sensed a great surge of magic, one he instinctively knew could only have come from a portal rune—a working portal rune.
At practically the same moment, his potion had run its course and his ethereal body had returned, waking his corporeal body from its trance.
Still woozy from the potion’s magic, he lumbered about his study, making the wooden floorboards creak in protest. He grabbed some small pieces of wood and fed the fire burning in the woodstove. He prepared some coffee and set the coffee maker on the wood stove.
He chuckled to himself. Some people thought coffee was a magic potion that created wakefulness and alertness. He knew it was no such thing. Coffee did not require any magic and so was no potion, simply a drink like mead or wine. But unlike those drinks that caused sleepiness and unruliness, coffee helped him think more clearly. Still, he did not disabuse people who wanted to believe coffee was a potion. He made sure to charge everyone a fair amount of coin for his coffee. A small business on the side, one that allowed him some small creature comforts. One was a drawing of his wife and child. He gazed longingly at the picture, wondering how they fared. It had been many long years since King Amaliji had separated them. Ogre Mage had been told his family was safe and fine, but he had never heard from them nor seen them since. He doubted he would ever see them again.
He sighed loudly. He held onto the slimmest of hopes that by giving King Amaliji the Sorceress, the king would reunite him with his family. He shook his head in disbelief: the king would never free him. With the Sorceress in Aelfheim, the king would need Ogre Mage more than ever, for he was the only one who could train the Sorceress in the arts of mysticism.
Still, Ogre Mage wrote letters to his wife and daughter, describing in great detailed lies all the wonderful things he was doing for the elves. He knew he could never tell his family the truth, else they would despise him. He had done many horrible things for the elves, things he could barely forgive himself for doing. But what other choice had he? None, he knew, not when your family is threatened.
The coffee maker whistled loudly.
Ogre Mage lifted a mug off a shelf and carefully lifted the coffee maker off the woodstove. All household items were made large for Ogre Mage as his fingers and hands were enormous in comparison to the delicate hands and fingers of elves. He poured his coffee into the mug and sat in his large chair. He put a hand under his chin in thought as he took small sips of the hot coffee.
He had sensed a portal rune, one that would allow travel both within Midgard and from other realms, he was most certain of it. But this portal rune was not in Trondheim, yet it was. He could feel it behind the doorway and the portal rune had created a strong enough impression that Ogre Mage was confident he would be able to create the necessary twin portal, one that would replicate the original portal rune and would allow travel between the two. Ogre Mage did not require a gateway to travel between realms, his magic allowed travel between realms via portals. Which is why the elves valued him and he was not dead.
But once created, anyone who travelled from the portal rune Ogre Mage created, where would they arrive? Behind that magical doorway in Trondheim, but where was that? All these questions would need to be answered, but a small part of him did not care. He had found a portal rune in Trondheim. He would be successful and King Amaliji would be pleased.
CHAPTER 11
The Thieves Guild of Pitcairn
From a distance, Farling stared at the city of Pitcairn.
He and the rest of the group had been travelling for days and everyone’s horses were tied up nearby. Farling had grown up in Jordheim and had only travelled the road between it and Trondheim. He had heard stories of Pitcairn, the second largest city in Dennland, the one built where the two great rivers, the Renaelva and Orklaelva met. Pitcairn was close to Aarlund and had served as the wall against Aarlund during the years of wars.
Standing beside Farling, Grum said: “I have never really quite liked Pitcairn. Their food is not tasty and their fashion sense is boring.”
Arastead, who stood nearby, said: “Grum, you should open your own tailor and pub. That way, you can show the people of Pitcairn how to properly eat and dress.”
“Actually,” interjected Conall, “the influence of Aarlund plays a strong role in the food and dress of Pitcairn. You may be able to eat some food
here that tastes much like Aarlund’s. And it will get your stomach prepared before we head over the border,” he added with a wink.
“An interesting proposition, Conall,” said Grum. “I accept. And Arastead, you know my heart belongs in the forge, a blacksmith I will always be.”
“I am glad to hear of that,” said Arastead. “As you are part owner, you had better not leave it.”
“Never,” said Grum, “once we are done this little adventure, I look forward to firing up the forge.”
Farling added: “I hope there will always be an anvil there with my name on it.”
“Always,” said Arastead. “We expect to be busy next King’s Tournament, we will need help.”
“Good, cause this adventure work is not paying very well,” grumbled Farling.
“If you joined the thieves guild in Trondheim,” started Einar, “you will have the opportunity for great profit. The merchants guild does not often post rewards and if they do, it will not always be you and your friends who earn them.”
“Once again, Einar,” began Farling, “I find myself in that familiar dilemma where I despise people who steal for a living and cannot find it in my heart to forgive you. Yet you did help us save both kings.”
“And I did return your father’s sword to you,” said Einar. “So, you can see, a thief can also do honest work.”
“Working in a forge is honest work,” said Farling. “These adventures will not last. But people will always need their horses shod, knights will always need their armor repaired, and their swords sharpened. Thieves get old, and what use is an old thief?”
“We take care of our own,” said Einar. “You have seen the old thieves who help out Pressan in the library. That too is honest work.”
“Maintaining a library is not my idea of work,” said Farling. “I need the heat of the coals, the smell of hot metal, the sound of steam, the air of the bellows. I need soot in my ears and nostrils if I am to be happy. I do not think Pressan would appreciate too much soot in his library.”
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