Then the next night, the were-beasts had overpowered several of the guards and had allowed Melgund and the group entrance.
The guild had rallied to its defense, but upon seeing Melgund, their former master, whom everyone had assumed was dead, they quickly turned on their new master and his henchmen.
The retaking of the Pitcairn thieves guild had been quick but not without bloodshed.
Melgund himself had fought his way to the traitor who had betrayed him and in a great flurry of sword fighting, killed him.
Standing over the still body, Melgund had cried: “The traitor is dead; the battle is over!”
Any fighting ceased, and any traitorous thieves who had not been slain were placed in jail.
Frederick, wiping the sweat from his brow, surveyed the great room. “Where are those were-beasts!” he demanded.
Everyone looked about but the only replies he saw were shrugs of shoulders.
Einar pointed and said: “I saw them cut a path through the traitorous thieves, but the back of their shoulders is that last I saw of them.”
Frederick was not pleased with the news. “I was hoping to bring them to justice, but such is the accord one makes with traitors: it can only be trusted so far,” he said.
“They did help us gain entrance and help us retake this guild,” stated Einar.
“Yes, that they did, that they did.”
And in those days since the recapturing of the Pitcairn thieves guild, everyone had set to the task of cleaning the guild and interrogating the prisoners. But all they had discovered from the prisoners was what they had already suspected: they had been turned by Alchemist.
The next morning while they broke their fast, Cormac ate distractedly, then suddenly blurted: “We must make haste to find my daughter.”
“But which way should be go?” asked Frederick. “To the Jotunheim Gateway? We know where it is, but on the other side of the gateway lies certain death.”
“It is this feeling of helplessness that is so unnerving,” said Cormac. “My path is usually clear, but with my daughter sent to Alfheim, I know not what to do.”
Frederick nodded. “Then we need help, and as we know that Freya is now awake as I lost my Master of the Hunt horn, perhaps it would be best for her to give us counsel,” he said.
Cormac sighed. Said: “I can think of no other choice as all other paths lead to death or madness. Nas, do you have any counsel to add?”
“The frost giants would slaughter us without much thought,” Nas said. “Unless we have something to bargain with.”
“Such as?” asked Cormac.
Nas continued: “Such as Grum suggested: If Freya is now hale and well, perhaps she may help remove Loki’s curse. With his curse lifted, perhaps he may aid us.”
“A bargain with Loki is a bargain I would not strike,” said Cormac. “He is the original Trickster. He is duplicitous for no reason other than his own amusement. Look at our bargain with the were-beasts. At the very least, we were not harmed by them during their escape.”
“Then, King Cormac, we need offer the frost giants Loki’s head on a platter.”
“You make it sound so easy, Nas. Fine, let us consult Freya. Perhaps she may be able to bind her brother to some sort of an accord.”
CHAPTER 28
An Audience with the Elf-King
Farling found clothes had been laid out for him. He toweled himself dry and got dressed. The material of the fabric was smooth and thin and Farling felt it would keep him warm in cool weather and cool in warm weather. The colors were quite bright and he noticed that the fabric had been dyed. Obviously the elves enjoyed colorful clothes. His boots were a fine leather with a large heel making him appear taller than usual. His bottom of his pants though covered his boots which he felt ruined the effect. The hem of his pant legs was wide at the bottom, almost as wide as his boots. His top was made of the same material as his pants. Buttons ran up the entire front, which he found odd. The end of his sleeves opened like the bottom of his pants so that when his arms were at his sides, the fabric was wide and roomy. He put on the vest, which contrasted sharply with his shirt but in a pleasing way.
He walked out into a common room, where soon he was joined by Margret, Grum, and Arastead.
“I see we are all similarly dressed,” observed Farling.
“Well, Princess Margret is in a dress,” said Grum. Arastead did not say anything, just groaned while Peg his cat looked equally ashamed as she sat on his shoulders.
Margret’s dress was of the same smooth fabric. The bottom of her dress just touched the ground. Her long arms were covered while white leather gloves covered her hands. She wore Freya’s circlet.
“It feels quite nice,” said Margret. “This fabric is not anything like I have worn in Aarlund. I think it is silk.”
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” they called.
Mage poked his head inside. Said: “I see you have all got dressed, have bathed, shaved, and the perfumed oil in your hair makes you all look almost like elf royalty. You look presentable, fit to be introduced to the elf-king.”
“I am hungry,” said Grum.
“I thought of that,” said Mage as he threw him an apple, which Grum chewed contentedly. “Now, follow me. Do not make eye contact with the king, do not speak unless spoken to, bow and curtsy deeply when I introduce you, and answer all his questions truthfully as he does not tolerate liars. Here, Arastead, this is the gift I want you to present to the queen, Amalaja. Princess, this is the gift I would like you to present to the king. Just like we practiced.”
Arastead and Margret nodded, holding their packages close.
As they followed Mage, they walked past armed guards. These were the first elves Farling had ever seen. He had almost expected them to have four arms, but realized that in many ways they were very similar to humans. The guards were tall and did not move as the small group walked by. They wore armor from head to toe, with helmets that covered their entire heads and faces, only their eyes could be seen. Farling glanced at the guards and saw their eyes watching him as he walked by, noticing the redness of their pink eyes.
The heels of their boots clicked loudly on the polished stone floor. All the stones had strong designs of vines and other flowers that seemed to move from one stone to another in a continuous manner as if the vines themselves grew from one stone to the next. When the vines would touch a wall, they continued up the wall but were now sculptural in nature. Doors he passed also looked as if they were carved from wood and appeared to Farling’s eye as if he were looking into a forest.
In a few minutes, they began now to walk past elves dressed in their finest who stood with their backs against the walls. From then on, there was no space between the elves as they lined the walls, shoulder to shoulder. Soon, the elves were packed two deep, then three deep, with the she-elves always at the front, dressed impeccably in long flowing dresses, each trying to outdo the other in style and fashion.
Murmurs and whispers followed the group’s every step. As these were the first elves Farling and his friends had ever seen, so too were they the first humans the elves had ever seen. Farling figured that as they walked closer and closer to the main hall, that the status of the elves grew higher and higher as the clothing looked fancier and more decorative as he went along.
As they turned a corner, two incredibly large doors appeared. Guards stood at either side. As Farling walked through the doors, what he saw took his breath away.
The height of the ceiling was the highest he had ever seen within a building, even higher than the Pitcairn thieves guild’s ceiling. He was positive that clouds could have appeared, the ceiling was so high. Arches crisscrossed the ceiling that to Farling’s eye looked like ribs of some gigantic animal. Large pillars carved with ivy and vines appeared to grow like tall trees, holding up the ceiling. Windows of all colors and designs appeared in-between the pillars casting multi-hued rays of light which appeared to shift and chang
e the color of the clothes people wore.
Before them, at the far end of the hall, was a raised dais, with many stairs in front. As they walked closer, their heels still clicking loudly, Farling could see that an elf guard stood on each step so that twenty steps in total were occupied.
The throne was ornate and massive, the theme of ivy and vines creating a wondrous backdrop behind the king. His queen sat her throne immediately to the king’s right. Her face was like alabaster, her hair blindingly white like fresh snow. But it was her eyes that held him, for they seemed to pierce through him and know all his thoughts.
At a certain distance from the bottom of the steps, Mage motioned the group to stop. The hall went as quiet as a tomb. He cleared his throat. Said: “Your Majesty, Your Highness, Lords and Ladies of the court, if it pleases, I would like to introduce our guests.”
As Mage spoke each of the boy’s names, they bowed low before the king and queen, and when he introduced Margret, she curtsied graciously.
The king’s Advisor, Sundaliji, stood beside the king. He slowly walked down the stairs till he was level with everyone. When he spoke, it was loud enough for everyone in the great hall to hear. And he chose to speak in a language that everyone understood.
Sundaliji said: “Welcome to Alfheim, young ambassadors. I trust you have enjoyed your stay so far.”
Everyone nodded, not too sure what to say, and who should respond.
“The young ambassadors,” began Mage, “have brought gifts they would like to present to the queen and king of Alfheim.”
Mage nodded to Arastead.
Arastead, with his cat on his shoulders, walked to the front of the group, and said: “I have read books and seen drawings depicting the wondrousness of this land. The drawings were ornate and showed a culture advanced beyond expectations: A people creative in all forms of art. I have heard stories of the elves and the beauty of Alfheim, told me by the bards of old, whose stories had been passed down through the generations of bards. To hear the stories, my imagination soared. To look at the pictures, my heart leapt with joy. But when I return to Midgard, I will tear out all the pages and I will burn all the books. I will stop my ears with wax when the bards speak of Alfheim. For I have now seen the radiance of Alfheim and the beauty of its people. Stories and books do not do this realm justice when they attempt in their weak and inept manner to describe it. When I tell people back home I have visited Alfheim and been introduced to its king and queen, they will nod their heads politely. But they will not understand. For how can they? Their eyes have not seen the splendor of this realm. How can they understand if they have not seen elves for themselves? For to gaze on the beauty of an elf is something unimaginable. To say that it takes my breath away does not do it justice. To say that I am left speechless does not do it justice. For words alone cannot describe the beauty of an elf. And if words cannot describe the beauty of an elf, truly, they may not describe the radiance of its queen. For your beauty, My Queen, is beyond compare and words fail me. On behalf of the ambassadors from Midgard, I present you with a gift. I may only hope that you cherish it as much as I cherish this moment.”
Arastead bowed while extending his arms that held the gift.
Sundaliji did not look terribly happy as he took the gift from Arastead’s hands. He slowly walked up the twenty steps and bowed before Queen Amalaja. She motioned for him to open the package.
Inside was a hair comb made of the finest gold inset with fine jewels. Sundaliji grunted softly as he was surprised at the beauty and elegance of the gift. The queen raised one eyebrow slightly in amusement at the simplicity of the gift. She delicately lifted the comb out for everyone in the hall to see. Then, much to the delight of the audience, she passed the comb through her long white hair.
Everyone in attendance clapped loudly, especially the she-elves. For when the queen combed her hair, the color of her hair sparkled and shined and looked as if her hair had been spun from pure sunshine.
When Sundaliji indicated if the queen would like to return the comb to its box, she politely refused and slid her new comb into one of her hidden pockets. And now she did not even try to hide her smile.
When the crowd stopped clapping, Mage nodded to Margret.
Grum whispered: “A hard act to follow.”
“She will be fine,” whispered Farling. “She is a princess after all.”
Mage glared at them ending their conversation.
Margret moved to the front of the group and said: “The realm of Alfheim is as old as time itself for when Yggdrasil sprung forth, the elves were born, said to have been made from Yggdrasil itself. Proud and beautiful, the elves were the protector of the Norse realms for their wisdom was unrivalled. All other Norse realms sought the wisdom of the elves and traveled far and wide to hear their advice on all matters, great or small. For that advice was always sage and always of great benefit. When matters of injustice were raised, the elves advised dialog and diplomacy. When matters of intolerance were raised, the elves advised discussion and interaction. When these matters escalated beyond control, the elves would advise a show of strength to prevent a battle, prevent a war. But when the show of strength did not prevent the battle or the war was inevitable, the elves advised to fight. For the elves knew it was imperative to win the battle and win the war. And when the elves found their own realm under attack by others who were jealous of its beauty and wanted the riches of Alfheim for their own, the elves would defend their realm zealously. In those battles were forged the heroes and heroines whose names and deeds are still immortalized to this day in stories of their great deeds, their acts of selflessness, their acts of bravery. And when the bards sing of the heroes and the heroines of Alfheim, they sing of their beauty and grace and their strength and resolve against those that would harm this beautiful realm. For your strength, My King, guards this realm, keeps this ancient world safe from those that would wish it harm. On behalf of the ambassadors from Midgard, I present a gift. I hope you enjoy it as much as Your Queen enjoyed hers.”
As with Arastead, Margret now extended her arms out, holding a package.
Sundaliji, still not looking very amused by these proceedings, took the package, walked up the twenty steps, and presented the gift to his king. Amaliji indicated for Sundaliji to open the package.
As with the queen, Amaliji raised an eyebrow in surprise upon seeing what was inside the package.
He rose from his throne causing the room to gasp, for the king never stood when presented with a gift. Sundaliji would always merely show the gift to the king of queen, then hand it off to some servant. But not this time, for the king reached into the package and pulled out the gift for everyone in court to see.
In one hand, Amaliji held aloft a scabbard and sword. The scabbard was ornate yet appeared aged, as if the scabbard was as old as Alfheim. The hilt of the sword was finely made, decorated with runes and bind-runes.
Amaliji’s eyes blazed as he shoved Sundaliji to one side and swiftly made his way down the steps. Everyone in attendance began muttering loudly as no one had ever seen this before. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he stood in front of the group from Midgard.
Farling gulped, realizing how tall and powerful the elf king looked up-close. But Amaliji only glared at Margret and spoke only to her.
Amaliji demanded: “Do you know the story of this sword?”
Margret nodded calmly, then said: “Ages ago, the trolls had grown in numbers and in strength. They were as a plague of mice, devouring everything in sight. None could stand in their way. They were unorganized in their battles, but unstoppable when it came to fighting as they would overpower all armies and overrun all castles, biting and tearing everything. The king of trolls, a brutish thug, named Ugbar the Handsome, a name he obviously chose, after many years of destruction, felt it was time to take a queen, and felt that the only queen worthy of him and his importance was the elf queen. In that day, the queen was Mandalaja, a queen of great beauty and grace. The elf king was Amandaliji
, and his strength and courage are still celebrated in song and prose. A great sword was crafted, the one you now hold in your hand.”
The king unsheathed the sword, holding the scabbard in one hand, the sword in the other. Light reflected and sparkled off the sword as it was still as sharp as the day it was forged. The cheers from the audience were now the loudest they had ever been as this turn of events had been so dramatic and unusual.
Amaliji held up a hand and the hall went silent immediately. Amaliji demanded: “Princess, do you know the sword’s name?”
She nodded. “It is the legendary elf-blade,” she began, “unnamed when it was made by the elf sword masters of old. It was named after King Amandaliji lopped off the head of Ugbar the Handsome, relieving the troll of his greatest asset. Upon seeing Ugbar’s head rolling around upon the field of battle, King Amandaliji named the sword Vorpal, and ever since then it has been known as the Vorpal Blade, bane of the trolls. For trolls may regenerate, even reattach their severed heads to their bodies and continue fighting. But after a cut from the Vorpal Blade, there is no regeneration, not even by a troll.”
Amaliji leaned over and whispered in Margret’s ear. “How did you come by this sword?”
She whispered back: “Does it matter, My King? It is yours now. Where it should be.”
Amaliji leaned back, mildly shocked by the brazenness of Margret’s comments. Then he did something nobody had witnessed in years. He laughed. And it was not a fake laugh, but one of genuine pleasure.
Amaliji cried: “The Vorpal Blade has returned home!” He held the sword aloft for all to witness. “The sword of our forefathers has returned!”
The audience clapped enthusiastically. While everyone was clapping, Amaliji sheathed the Vorpal Blade and indicated to Sundaliji to remove the sword he wore on his hip. Sundaliji untied the straps and belt holding the king’s sword in place. Many servants now surrounded Amaliji and Sundaliji handed the sword to one of them.
The Prophecy of Asgard Page 20
