by Edward Eck
After searching the shoreline for some time, Radimir in wolf form, caught Taryn’s scent. Even with Sheelin’s help finding the tracks again, they were tired and wet and knew the Wendigo was still around. Alex decided it would be better to set up camp for a few hours than risk running into the creature while drowsy and half asleep.
Sheelin started a fire and they sat down for a meal before turning in.
“Any idea where she might be headed?” asked Alex as he took a bite of dried meat from their food rations.
“None of us know this area very well, including Taryn,” replied Sheelin. “My father would’ve been able to provide some help with the terrain if he weren’t so stubborn, but since Taryn doesn’t know the area she wouldn’t know where to go anyway. Our best bet is to follow her tracks and hope we find her before the Wendigo does.”
“Hope we find Taryn before Wendigo find us, too,” added Radimir.
Sheelin and Alex agreed. They continued to sit in silence eating their meager meal.
“Alex,” said Sheelin, “have you been able to remember anything about your past? Anything about the Circle?”
Alex had to ponder the questions before answering. He’d had memory flashes, but they were so jumbled and inconsistent, he wasn’t sure what to make of them.
“I remembered Taryn was a fire elemental sorceress before she told anyone, and I vaguely remember two other girls and a guy. I think they were from the Circle as well, but then there are other memories that don’t seem to fit.”
“Meagan, Amber and Cyrus,” grunted Radimir as he took another bite of the tough jerky he was gnawing on.
“I remember wearing an old brown robe and carrying a crooked wooden staff while wandering the woods somewhere with a couple of knights, but I was an old man. There are other fragments too, but they seem like they are scattered throughout different periods of time.”
“Better look forward not backward,” said Radimir. “See who want to be, not who was.”
“I know, but it just seems like my past holds the key to my future.” Alex couldn’t explain it, but he knew his memories were important. More important than just knowing who he was, something in his past held the answers to finding his future. Time seemed twisted in his mind as if his memories were not following a chronological path.
“Do you remember anything about these dark sorcerers?” continued Sheelin.
“It’s not the dark sorcerers that worry me,” he answered. “It’s the demon lord they serve that is the bigger problem.”
“Demon lord?” questioned Sheelin and Radimir almost as one.
“I don’t know where that came from,” Alex said. He was kicking himself for not remembering that piece of information before. It made him wonder what other critical details he had locked away in the recesses of his scrambled memory.
“Who is this demon lord? Do you know his name?”
Alex shook his head.
Sheelin’s eyes drifted to the firelight. “Is it possible this demon is even more of a danger to my people and the rest of the world than the Wendigo? Regardless of my father’s instructions, I know now more than ever I need to join the fight against the darkness. We need to find Taryn and return to the Circle. Taryn hadn’t mentioned a demon lord so either this was the information she was hiding… or not even the Circle knows about it.”
“We get sleep,” said Radimir. “Start fresh in morning. I take first watch.” Without even waiting for the other two to agree, he changed into a great grizzly bear and started to prowl the perimeter of the camp.
Alex decided to get some sleep. He wasn’t about to object while Radimir was in bear form.
20 Choosing Sides
Vincent returned from Mount Helicon to Ravenicon castle through the mirror in the library where he spoke to the Muses. He had been on a mission to gain information regarding the sorcerers trying to overthrow Malcolm as the leader of all dark sorcerers. He found Gollnick sitting nearby pouring over a New York City newspaper.
“So what’s new in the Big Apple?” he asked, sitting down across the table.
“Weird weather conditions the meteorologists can’t explain—not that they’re the best at predicting normal weather patterns. They haven’t been right all week. So, what did you find?”
“Veena doesn’t have any new information at this point about Malcolm or the other sorcerers in New York. But then, she’s the muse of historical literature, not current events.”
Gollnick folded the newspaper and gave a command. “New York Times.” The print swirled around and when it was done, the banner for the New York Times appeared above the fold. He opened it and started paging through again.
“Hank has informed me he can get seven sorcerers from Egypt,” commented Gollnick as he scanned the headlines. “Three from Greece and four from Rome will aide us if it comes to fighting this civil war. He’s still trying to contact some other people he knows. So far, we’ve had little response to our call for aid, most are more concerned about protecting their own areas of the world.”
“I think I can count on five sorcerers in the Miami area to support us even though they claim allegiance to Malcolm,” said Vincent. “It seems Francois LeRain came to New York by way of Canada, but he was originally from France. Veena didn’t have much on Duestoff.”
“Duestoff is the younger brother of Frederick Von Woonst,” Gollnick said. “Apparently he blames Malcolm for his brother’s death at the hands—or claws, as it were—of Tiamat in Babylon.”
“As I understand it,” Vincent said, “each of the two faction leaders have about a hundred followers supporting them. Malcolm has somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred, which means he still has the best odds of maintaining control… even without our help.”
Gollnick laid down the paper. “The question is, what’s the likely fallout? How much damage and death will they cause?”
“The better question is, what does Malcolm really think we can do to help? If he has that many sorcerers at his disposal, how are we going to make a difference?”
“I may have a suggestion,” said a voice from behind them.
They both spun around to gaze upon the face of Malcolm in the mirror staring back at them. Vincent realized he had been listening in on their conversation. This sudden appearance was unsettling and unexpected.
“Remind me to put a block on that mirror as soon as possible,” instructed Gollnick, leaning over to Vincent. “I don’t like eavesdroppers.”
“So what is this great idea of yours?” questioned Vincent with an obvious dislike and distrust.
“If the two of you were to secretly take out my competition…” started Malcolm, “…say in a surgical strike… then there won’t be anyone to challenge me. Admittedly their followers would join me in coming after you, but think of the number of lives you can save by doing this.”
Vincent stared at Malcolm’s image with bulging eyes. “You seriously think we’re going to just walk into New York City, kill two dark sorcerers and walk out without having every sorcerer in New York on our heels? We wouldn’t make it one block until we’d be dead.”
“If you have a better idea,” replied Malcolm, “I’d love to hear it. Either way, you’d better make up your minds soon. There’ve already been a few skirmishes. The civil war has begun. And you know me, I’ll be protecting myself. If innocent people get hurt, it’s on you for not acting sooner.”
Waving his hand in front of himself, Malcolm’s face disappeared, leaving Gollnick and Vincent sitting there still wondering what to do.
Vincent spoke first. “We can’t do what Malcolm wants. I say we contact these two sorcerers, get their point of view and see if we can negotiate a truce. If we do what he wants, we’re as good as dead ourselves.”
Vincent was determined not to do as Malcolm had suggested. He didn’t want to see innocent people die, but knew it would be worse if Malcolm gained full control of New York. “I’ll contact Deustoff, you get in touch with Francois.”
Gollnick
scrunched his nose at the suggestion. “It might be better if I contact Duestoff. He may have a grudge against you too, since you were with Frederick when he was killed by Tiamat. We need to make this quick or Malcolm may force our hand.”
21 The Dwarves of Nidavellir
Arriving on a plateau overlooking a great canyon, Amber, Cyrus and Meagan arrived by way of the Bifrost. The column of multi-colored light gave way to reveal a desolate barren valley below. They were on the side of a mountain with two paths before them. One led off to the left and wound around the side descending into the valley below. The other was a cave opening in the side of the mountain itself. On either side stood twenty-foot statues of what appeared to be dwarves holding great axes. The sky was dark and what little light was available came from torches near the cave’s entrance.
After a quick survey, Cyrus grabbed one of the torches and headed between the statues. Meagan followed, but Amber hesitated. They turned back to see her staring into the dark void. Her complexion was pale and she took two tentative steps away. Cyrus knew as an air elemental sorceress, she would naturally not like going underground, yet again. In addition to her encounter with Tiamat and the descent into Fenrir’s pit, another journey underground would only serve to reinforce her fear.
He looked at the sky and decided it was late and getting darker by the minute. They needed to find shelter for the night. “Amber, I know you don’t like this, but we don’t have much choice at the moment. Meagan and I will be with you all the way. You don’t have to worry.”
Amber continued to stare at the cave entrance for another moment, not saying a word. Finally, she nodded and slowly moved toward them. Cyrus reached out to take her hand and led the way into the cave.
From stories of both myth and modern culture, dwarves were thought to be dwellers of underground caverns and cities. It only made sense this cave would be the entrance to their underground kingdom of riches and weapons. Or at least shelter for the night.
The tunnel led down into the bowels of the mountain, eventually branching off in many directions, but Cyrus kept them on what appeared to be the main passageway, hoping it would lead to their destination. Eventually the tunnel opened up into a large room about fifty feet in diameter. It was completely empty. There were no other corridors, no doors and no objects inside the room.
After examining the space for many minutes, they decided to retrace their steps in the hope they had merely missed a turn somewhere. Cyrus knew they had to be careful. There were many side tunnels along the way leading to numerous twists and turns. It would be easy to get disoriented in the labyrinth. The last thing they wanted was to be lost forever in the underground lair of the dwarves.
The clanking of metal and unsheathing of weapons echoed through the passage. As they turned to make for the exit, they were confronted by a hundred armored dwarves standing ready for battle, bearing great axes, hammers and weapons of dwarfish design. The soldiers made no move to attack, but neither did they look ready to offer safe passage.
Remembering their training with Taryn, Cyrus pointed to the center of the room. Amber positioned herself according to her brother’s direction. He wanted to make sure her elemental powers could be used effectively to defend them. Meagan stood next to her, ready to erect an earthen barrier for protection. It was Cyrus who stepped forward to talk with the dwarves, he hoped.
“Hi there. It seems we’re a little lost. Any chance one of you can point us to someone who knows how to make powerful things?”
Amber and Meagan rolled their eyes at Cyrus’ request. Meagan whispered to Amber, “Leader maybe, but diplomat? No way.”
Many of the dwarves started mumbling amongst themselves, but Cyrus couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was either too garbled or they were speaking some language he didn’t know. The dwarf at the head of the group made no comment and no movement to converse with the others. He stood stock still, staring at Cyrus.
The two men never flinched. Locked in a contest of wills.
After many minutes of the motionless and soundless competition, it was Cyrus who finally blinked. The dwarf puffed up his chest, proud of his victory as Cyrus lowered his gaze.
From the corner of his eye, Cyrus determined the other two had been preparing to defend themselves. He still wore his bracer of fireballs. He may have lost this battle, but he was not ready to surrender just yet.
“I am Kallanir Stonefoot,” said the lead dwarf. “You will come with us.”
“Where?” questioned Cyrus as he raised his gaze once again.
“The destination is of no concern to you.” Raising his overly large axe, the dwarf pointed down the currently blocked hall. As he motioned, the other dwarves separated, creating a path down their ranks to whatever was Kallanir’s planned objective.
When Cyrus and the girls started toward the path, Kallanir took the lead. As they passed the dwarven ranks, Cyrus noticed he stood at least a foot or more above the heads of their captors. However, the dwarves were more bulky and their strength could be seen in their arms and legs.
Kallanir led them a third of the way up the passage then turned into one of the side tunnels. After many twists and turns, climbing up and down, Cyrus was completely lost—which he figured was Kallanir’s plan.
They walked for almost an hour before entering a large chamber with many guards on either side. At the opposite end stood two gigantic stone doors. They swung open without a sound at Kallanir’s approach.
Upon entering the area beyond the doors, the trio emerged into an enormous cavern. Structures were carved into the sides like apartments overlooking a grand central plaza. Ornate Norse carvings decorated almost every surface. Buildings and streets lined the cavern floor. Artificial light from a central point at the top of the cavern made it seem like a bright sunny day even though they were hundreds of feet below the surface.
Kallanir marched them through the city to the far end of the cavern. Many dwarves stopped to watch and stare at the newcomers. Apparently it had been long years since someone other than a dwarf was seen in the city.
Approaching the far end, they came to two more gigantic stone doors flanked by twenty-foot statues. Kallanir approached the guards at the front of the doors and whispered something to them. The doors swung open, and one of the guards raced inside. He looked over his right shoulder. “The dwarf king’s palace.”
A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle as Kallanir led them into a large audience hall with a throne at the far end. The crowd poured into the chamber, anxious to observe. Kallanir marched up to the throne then knelt. He immediately glanced back over his shoulder. Cyrus took the hint so he motioned Amber and Meagan to approach. They knelt too, awaiting the king’s entrance.
From the right side of the chamber entered ten more guards followed by a stocky figure with a silver cloak. His bushy red beard hung over a broad golden chestplate with a round belly. The crown upon his head was encrusted with many rare gems. He eyed the newcomers cautiously and took his seat on the throne.
“Who have we here?” The question was directed to Kallanir who now rose to speak.
“Intruders into the central tunnel, my lord.”
“What are their names?”
Kallanir opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. Cyrus realized their earlier conversation had been too short. The dwarf leader never asked for their names. After their capture, he’d brought them straight here without so much as a word.
The dwarf pursed his lips with a frown. He turned to Cyrus and said, “Speak.”
“My name is Cyrus Marx,” said Cyrus as he came to his feet, “and this is my sister Amber Marx and our friend Meagan Strom. We are sorcerers from Earth—or Midgard, as you may know it. We’ve come in search of your help, oh wise king.”
“You have manners for intruders. Welcome to Koldihr. I am king Brodkir Stonefoot. What is it you seek and why come to me?”
“The giant wolf Fenrir has been released and we seek a way to re-imprison him.”
&nbs
p; “What!” exclaimed the king as he rose from his throne. “How can this be? Our Gleipnir bound him in a deep cavern on the Gioll rock.”
“Dark sorcerers discovered his location and freed him.” Cyrus then opened his backpack and pulled out the shredded remains of Gleipnir, presenting them to the dwarf king.
“The wolf is loose on Midgard once again,” sighed Brodkir as he hung his head. “Alas, the Asgardians are not here to stop the beast this time. Fortunately Fenrir has no way to reach our realm.”
“But what about Earth?” asked Cyrus. “The people of Midgard have no way to defeat the beast. We need a new Gleipnir.”
“What you ask is impossible. The dwarves who made that binding have long since passed. Though we live longer than humans, we are not immortal.”
“There must be something you can do?” Cyrus was desperate for any idea to stop the giant wolf.
“Kallanir, assign them quarters for now and keep them there. I must assemble the council to discuss this situation.” Without another word, the king left the room in a hurry.
Cyrus moved to stop the king, but Kallanir blocked his movement then shook his head. Kallanir motioned for them to follow him. As they turned to leave the audience chamber, the crowds mumbled to themselves, perhaps concerned for their safety. Kallanir led them out through part of the city and into a building, then up many flights of stairs.
Finally reaching their destination, Kallanir showed them into their quarters. “Remain here. There will be guards just outside the door if you need anything.”
When Kallanir turned to leave, Cyrus asked, “What’s going to happen now?”
Kallanir looked over his shoulder at Cyrus. “The king will meet with his council. They will tell him we are safe from Fenrir and should not attempt to aide you in any way.”
“But why?” asked Amber.
“Another sorceress from your realm arrived about an hour ago. She told us it was you who were trying to release certain creatures on Midgard—including Fenrir. The fact that you brought the remains of Gleipnir indicate the wolf is indeed free. The only question that remains is who freed him… you or her.”
