The Prophecy of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  “But not ones helped by Alchemist,” warned Nas.

  And Tuathail’s smile faded.

  ***

  Once everyone was astride their horses, Melgund took the lead.

  “Follow me. These horses are some of the finest in Pitcairn. They will bring us quickly to the Heart Tree.”

  And the sound of thundering hooves filled everyone’s ears as they charged through an open gate and down a road quickly leaving Pitcairn behind.

  ***

  In a quiet pub, the were-beasts sat at a corner table. No other patrons sat near as all felt uncomfortable if they sat too close. Even the pub’s owner was nervous when he served them.

  Beornheard growled at the owner: “More of that honey-flavored mead.”

  “And more meat,” added Asbjorn, “but none of this tired salted tripe. I want some of that good meat you have got stashed away for your fancy customers.”

  The owner’s face flustered red. Said: “You are getting the best meat of someone of your rank. You are not lords, not barons, but some strange village peasants. I do not recognize your accents, but you are not from here.”

  Beornheard stood and loomed dangerously towards the owner.

  The other patrons stood, drawing weapons.

  The owner cried: “I will not have fighting in my pub!”

  “Do not worry,” said Liulfr, “as it will not be much of a fight. More of a slaughter.”

  The were-beasts rose to their feet and drew their weapons. The other patrons nervously gripped their weapons as they now realized their predicament.

  “Peace, young sirs,” pleaded the owner to the were-beasts. “Your food is free, just leave my poor establishment undamaged.”

  The air crackled with excitement, but before any fighting could start, one of the owner’s cats ran up to Kees and excitedly meowed. Once the cat had finished, Kees threw a scrap of meat on the floor which the cat grabbed and ran way to eat safely.

  “What news?” whispered Liulfr.

  “Our friends have left Pitcairn,” replied Kees in an equally low voice. “We must give chase.”

  Asbjorn murmured: “What of the thieves guild lair we want to take over for ourselves?”

  “The guild will always be here for us to take,” answered Liulfr, “but our master will not look kindly on us if we fail in our mission. Let us circle the town until we pick up their scent. Then we will hunt them down and kill them.”

  Liulfr threw a few coins on the table, as they put away their weapons, and grabbed their bags.

  The pub’s patrons, seeing that no fight was to be had, also put away their weapons.

  But as the were-beasts were leaving, one of the patrons made the mistake of chuckling to his friends: “Those freaks even talk to cats and take orders from them.”

  The were-beasts stopped in their tracks, then slowly turned to face the pub’s patrons. The color drained from the speaker’s face.

  “Well,” said Liulfr, cracking his knuckles, “maybe we can give our prey a larger head start. After all, we are sporting, are we not?”

  “Very sporting,” agreed Beornheard. “So, sporting in fact, that we will wipe the floor with this ungrateful bunch without using weapons.”

  And with that, they charged the hapless crowd and within a few minutes, had quickly beaten everyone to the ground with their fists.

  “Now,” said Liulfr, who had barely raised a sweat, “let us give chase to those kings.”

  The other were-beasts grunted as they walked out of the pub.

  Outside, Liulfr sniffed loudly and said: “A beautiful day for a run.” The other were-beasts chuckled in agreement. And as they began to run towards the edge of town, large nets, made with thick rope, fell upon them.

  The were-beasts, stunned for a moment by their capture, teared at the nets like the wild animals they had become, but to no avail, as the nets were strong and well crafted.

  After a few minutes, heaving and panting in exhaustion, the were-beasts lay on the ground, their eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, as they glared at their captors.

  “Bind them,” said the Pitcairn thief. “And shackle their feet. We do not want this lot running away from us.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Revenge of the Were-Beasts

  Through the bars of a prison cell, Margret, Pressan, and Jagjord all stared at the were-beasts. The were-beasts defiantly glowered back. They had been bound with thick ropes and cords and were tied securely to a metal ring in the wall. Behind Margret, stood Stepon, Brascan, and Slofar, and several thieves from the Pitcairn thieves guild.

  In a severe voice, Margret demanded: “Who sent you?”

  Liulfr spat on the ground. “I do not answer to Aarlund trash,” he growled.

  “I am Princess Margret,” she began in a regal tone, “daughter of King Cormac, ruler of Aarlund, and leader of all Aarlund clans. You will answer me.”

  “As I said, I do not answer to Aarlund trash, royalty or not,” said Liulfr.

  Margret crossed her arms and stared at the were-beasts. The large pearl in her circlet also seemed to stare at the were-beasts.

  “I see you were not always were-beasts,” she said. “There is eldritch magic all about you, the same from all those potions on the table. Those potions bind each of you to an animal: wolf, bear, cat, and rat. They make you strong, give you the abilities of each animal. Even the ability to communicate with those animals.”

  Liulfr merely stared back, a maniacal grin on his face.

  “Only one person is capable of making such potions as to meld people and animals,” she said. “Alchemist.”

  Liulfr merely shrugged, his face now calm. “You always knew it was Alchemist. Why ask?” he said.

  “Just needed to make sure before we attack his compound,” said Margret.

  Liulfr’s maniacal grin returned. Said: “You think he is still there, you think he has not already set things in motion, things that will destroy all of you. You will not be able to fight the rising tide, it will roll over you like a massive wave and you will all drown. My brothers and I will rejoice at your destruction as a new order returns and purifies the land of your stink, your rot, your corruption.”

  Through clenched teeth, Margret said: “You will rot in your jail before any of that happens,” said Margret through clenched teeth.

  “Are you so sure?” asked Liulfr.

  A cry of pain stopped any more conversation. Turning around, Margret saw that one of the Pitcairn thieves had been stabbed. He fell to his knees, then collapsed on the ground.

  Jagjord’s strong hand grabbed Margret’s arm pulling her away from the attack.

  “A coup!” hissed Jagjord in her ear, his sword in his other hand. “Princess, we must find safe haven.”

  A thief rushed the group and Jagjord cut him down.

  Margret confronted Jagjord, said: “I am not some child!”

  “We are horribly outmatched, princess. Draw your weapons, but we must flee.”

  Confusion reigned as thief fought thief. As she ran down a hall, Margret glanced over her shoulder. She saw two Pitcairn thieves stab another thief, then one of the victors grabbed the jail cell keys off the dead body and she heard the rasp of metal on metal as the were-beasts jail cell door opened. Then she rounded a corner and all was lost to view.

  In the common room, under all the trees, the fighting continued. Margret could not tell which side was winning as it seemed evenly matched.

  “Where shall we go?” she asked.

  “The library,” said Pressan. “The head librarian is not against us.”

  Once there, they were aghast at what they saw; all the old thieves had been put to the sword. Pressan quickly found the head librarian while Jagjord, Stepon, Brascan, and Slofar guarded the entrance.

  “He is still alive, but barely,” said Pressan. “Princess Margret, can you help?”

  Margret knelt beside the old librarian, closed her eyes, and after touching the librarian’s temples, said: “I am sorry, Pres
san. He is too far gone. But I may ease his pain.”

  Grimly Pressan nodded. “Then that will have to do,” he said.

  Margret breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She gently laid her hands on top of the old librarian’s forehead. Before, his breathing had been raspy and shallow, now it was even, but still shallow. His eyes opened.

  “My friend,” said Pressan to the head librarian. “Your time here is limited. You must help.”

  The librarian’s voice was weak. “They took us by surprise,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Promise me you will take good care of my books.”

  “I promise. Now tell, is there a secret way out of this library?”

  “Behind that bookcase, on the top left shelf, there is a small lever. Pull it, and the bookcase will swing open, revealing a hidden passageway. Now go, I feel my life ebbing more quickly from my old bones. Thank you, princess, for easing my pain.”

  He closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

  “Good-bye, friend,” said Pressan. “I promise I will protect your library. Perhaps not today, but I will return.”

  From the library entrance, Jagjord yelled: “Princess, the were-beasts approach.”

  Princess Margret notched an arrow to her bowstring.

  Pressan laid a hand on her shoulder. “Princess, they are too powerful. They will destroy us. We must escape to fight another day,” he said.

  “Aarlunders do not run from battles,” she growled.

  “The unwise ones, perhaps. But there is much more at stake here than defending the Pitcairn thieves guild. We will return, and we may enter by the secret portal at any time and catch them unawares.”

  Margret lifted her chin, sighed, and said: “I see now why Einar values your counsel.”

  “Some days I wish he valued it more. Now, we must be off and warn your father. Jagjord, bring the others and follow me.”

  Jagjord, Stepon, Brascan, and Slofar caught up to Pressan and Margret. They stood in front of the bookcase the librarian had described.

  Pressan whispered: “Now, he said the lever was somewhere around here. Aha, I believe I have found it.”

  Pressan pulled the lever, but nothing happened. Beads of nervous sweat formed on Pressan’s forehead. “Why is it not working?” he said.

  Jagjord grunted: “Stepon, Brascan, Slofar, watch my back. Pressan, move aside.”

  Jagjord sized up the bookcase and asked: “Pressan, which way do you think it is supposed to swing open?”

  Pressan’s eyes blinked furiously. Words tumbled from his mouth. “Secret doors are designed to look like a wall. You cannot see hinges or anything else that will indicate it is a door. There are no runners or pulleys on this side, so the bookcase must swing inwards.”

  Upon seeing the were-beasts walk into the library entrance, Stepon yelled: “Hurry! We are running out of time!”

  “Something blocks it,” said Jagjord. “If it swings inwards, then I believe it needs a little extra help. Pull the lever again Pressan, while this time, I provide encouragement.”

  Pressan pulled as hard as he could on the lever, while Jagjord threw his considerable bulk at the bookcase.

  Everyone heard a small crack and the bookcase swung inwards.

  “In!” roared Jagjord, and all rushed into the secret passage, except Margret.

  “Princess, inside, now!” bellowed Jagjord.

  “Have you found the lever that closes the door?” she yelled.

  “Find the lever!” hissed Jagjord to Stepon, who scrambled to find it.

  The were-beasts were now plainly in sight and were marching slowly and determinedly towards the group. The sound of fighting continued to rage in the background.

  Margret faced the were-beasts, an arrow notched.

  “Demon-spawn,” she spat. “Would that I had more warriors with me and more arrows. You would be like so many pincushions.” Behind her, she heard Stepon and the others furiously looking for the lever.

  Liulfr smiled his wolf-like grin. Said: “Princess, you must know we are nigh-indestructible. We are strong beyond belief, but we are not demon-spawn. No, we are the children of Alchemist. And we are a new vanguard in the approaching storm.”

  “I found it!” yelled Stepon as he pulled the lever, while Jagjord yelled incoherently at the princess.

  Margret let her arrow fly and, without waiting to see if it hit its mark, turned and ducked into the passageway as the bookcase slammed shut just behind her.

  She heard a sharp cry of pain from behind the wall and she smiled ever so slightly in satisfaction.

  Inside the passageway, everyone could faintly see as the moss on the walls glowed with a perceptible light.

  And at the sound of the were-beasts scrabbling on the other side of the hidden door, Jagjord, with as much force as he could, drove his sword into the ground, sealing the secret door shut.

  “That should hold it,” said Jagjord, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Now, we must be off and see if we can catch up to the group at the Heart Tree.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The Dwarf-King Strikes a Bargain

  “I am awake, Rickters,” said Sihr. “You may stop shaking me.”

  “Your pardon, Master Sihr,” said Rickters, “but you have an early morning guest.”

  Sihr groaned.

  Rickters asked: “Shall I prepare some food to break your fast?”

  “Please, and some strong tea as well. Thank you Rickters. Oh, and make enough for our guest.”

  “A wise idea.”

  As soon as Rickters left, Sihr rose, dressed, grabbed his staff, and went to meet his early-morning guest.

  While the sun had not yet broke the horizon it had begun to fill the sky with light. The air was crisp as winter approached. Birds started their morning ritual of greeting the day with chirps and whistles. Sihr also heard the bustle of people beginning their early-morning rituals, the chores needed to be done before others woke.

  As he approached the front lobby, he could see someone standing inside the great front doors of the Paupers Temple. The man was not tall, and his long beard was peppered with grey. Sihr instantly recognized him as Jakobus, owner of the Knights Stable. He also remembered how Jakobus had revealed himself at the war council as the king of dwarves, ruler of the realm of Nidavellir.

  “Master Jakobus, welcome to the Paupers Temple,” said Sihr. “What brings you to my humble temple?”

  Jakobus cleared his throat and Sihr prepared himself for Jakobus’s usual loud voice, but instead it was soft, almost hard to hear.

  “It has been many days since King Frederick and King Cormac departed for Pitcairn and I have not heard a word of their success or failure.” Jakobus frowned. “I wondered if you had heard anything, Sihr?”

  “I have not, Master Jakobus. Would you like to continue this discussion over a small meal? I have yet to break my fast.”

  “Of course, of course, I did not mean to interrupt. I see you carry Freya’s staff.”

  Sihr smiled. He had absentmindedly grabbed the staff after he had dressed. The staff was so much a part of him that he almost forgot it at times.

  “I dare not leave it alone,” said Sihr. “After the Draugr attacked you, I feel it best the gift from Freya is kept with me at all times.”

  Jakobus’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of the Draugr. Then he composed himself and said: “Perhaps I will now share a small meal with you. Is there any tea?”

  Sihr grinned and said: “Only some of the strongest and finest that the Paupers Temple may afford.”

  “It will just have to do then.”

  Inside the small kitchen, Rickters busied himself with boiling the water for the tea and porridge. Upon seeing Jakobus, he nodded politely, and once the water boiled, he made a big pot of tea and poured several mugs.

  Jakobus and Sihr sat on the stools. Jakobus’s feet did not reach the ground, so he rested them on one of the stool’s rungs. He cradled a mug in his hands and let the warmth seep
in. He closed his eyes in thought.

  “Do you miss your forge?” asked Sihr.

  Jakobus’s eyes opened. He threw a glance at Rickters who tended the fire.

  Sihr, noticing his gaze, said: “You may trust Rickters. He is aware of all my secrets. There is nothing I hide from him. He has seen much in recent months, including the purging of the Draugr’s poison from Queen Astrid, and meeting the Master of the Hunt. He has never breathed a word.”

  Rickters smiled to himself and kept working.

  “All dwarves miss their forges,” began Jakobus. “We are practically born with hammers in our hands and the sound of anvils being struck is a mother’s lullaby. And if we are not working in our forges, we are working in the mines, digging, ever digging, finding treasures to create works of art.”

  “Or items of magic.”

  “Yes, or items of magic. Runes of magic require the finest diamonds, the purest gold, and unflawed jewels to work best. In the days of old, the great forges of the dwarves rang with hammers and song. It was a joy to work, bending metal to our will. Or so I have been told, as those forges closed long before me and now the only sound they make is the sound of dust gathering and of small spiders spinning their webs.”

  “The Book of Princore, the one Arastead is to learn, will that not help with the great dwarf forges?”

  “It is only part of the solution, and at that, only the beginning.”

  “What else is missing?”

  “The dwarves lived to make things, to create greater and greater works of art, to make stronger and better items of magic. Only the Norse gods, especially Odin, had the ability to ask us to create. And with the passing of Odin, the dwarves too fade to darkness.”

  “Not true, Freya has returned.”

  “Freya is dying.”

  Sihr winced at those words as he knew them to be true.

  “Have you visited her since the frost giant attack?” asked Jakobus. “A battle I missed sorely. How I would have wished to have been there and wielded the great hammer. Those weapons were forged by dwarves to fight frost giants. I would dearly have loved to have used them in battle.”