“May the Gods help us,” Hrolf breathed. “We’d best call a halt to this as soon as may be. I’ll close up the tavern. Then we’ll take him to his room and lock Aubrey in for the night!”
“But Father, do you think we should have him in our house being marked as he is?
Hrolf turned angry. “Mother, I owe him my life and I’ll pay that debt —just not with my daughter.”
“Well then we’d best find a place for him.” Augga planted her hands on her round hips and shook her head. “Where, I don’t know; we have no extra rooms!”
Hrolf looked shocked. ”Are you certain?”
“I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t change the number of rooms we have!” She pointed to the various patrons in the tavern. “There’s the party all the way from Viborg, the Sunkarions, the elves of Haldieth, the hill giant family from Groenhabb and that clan of gnomes that came in day before yesterday. You know well enough they show up for ten barrels of ale every year this very week. It’s for their Midwinter’s Eve festival.”
“Very well, very well, I understand you well enough, Mother,” Hrolf pulled at his beard and muttering. “But I promised him a room. I owe him my life.”
“Well, Father, if he’s a true man he’ll understand and if not then he wouldn’t have saved you in the first place. Worry about your daughter’s affections, not your friend’s comfort!”
“Mother, you see things in your own way, that’s sure,” he growled.
“Am I ever wrong?”
“I hope you’re not wrong this time.”
“He’s a Praetorian and like as not, he’s used to sleeping under trees on the campaign,” she said, bustling toward Tarion’s table. “He’ll be more than comfortable in the common room. There’s many fine folk that have rested well enough in there as opposed to sleeping in the cold.”
“Mother I can’t ask that!”
“Do you want me to ask it?” she said with an expression that left Hrolf no doubt that she would tell him so with no guilt whatsoever.
“No, no, Mother! I’ll do it,” he said. He told to Furge to close up. Although the hour was early, most of the patrons seemed to have had enough excitement for the evening. Therefore, Hrolf and his wife made their way through the thinning company to Tarion’s table.
By the time Hrolf approached Tarion, he was all too ready for some peace and quiet. “Hello, you’ve timed it perfectly. Aubrey has done a job worthy of the best elven healers—and I know what I’m talking about! Anyway, I feel quite whole again. Still, it’s been a long day. I think I’m ready to turn in.”
Hrolf fidgeted and said, “That’s the reason I needed to speak to you, Tarion. I’m sorry, but I promised what I don’t have, it seems. Fact is, all of our guest rooms are full and I was wondering whether or not you had any problem with staying in,” Hrolf hesitated.
The silence grew so long that Aubrey asked, “Well, Father?”
Hrolf beamed with joy, “Yes that was it! I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking Aubrey’s chamber.”
“My chamber?” the girl exclaimed in surprise.
“Aye, lass, you can sleep on the floor in our room.”
“Oh, why don’t you simply sell me along with my chamber? That would be true hospitality, now wouldn’t it?”
“Aubrey!” Augga said, shocked at the impropriety of her daughter—though she’d have secretly welcomed the idea a moment earlier, assuming marriage came with it, of course. Hrolf could see to that.
“Aubrey, you’ll be comfortable enough on the bearskin rug at the foot of our bed,” Hrolf said forcefully. “I’m your father and I’ve made up my mind.”
“Where will the dogs sleep?” Aubrey asked just as sternly, mimicking her father’s pose with her little fists all balled up on her hips. “I think I’ll take my chances with Tarion, thank you very much, he’s a gentleman—and if he’s not you’ll have strong grandsons who are not so fat!”
#
Tarion couldn’t help but laugh, but it was partly in self- defense. Swiftly, he said, “Don’t worry about me! I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that I’ll be fine right here. I’m dry, with a warm fire and a comfortable chair. Therefore, don’t think twice about me.”
Hrolf and Augga were only too ready to agree to Tarion’s proposition and the mother shooed her daughter to bed before she could say another word to Tarion. Hrolf turned down the lanterns and retired.
The common room sank into red flickering darkness, courtesy of the well-tended fireplace. Deep shadows cloaked the corners. The figures in the faded murals seemed to move of their own accord. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the soft snoring of the few patrons who were either unable to retain a room for the night or already asleep. Tarion settled in by the fireplace. This time he was careful to check the pixie’s niche before reclining. Setris and Dacia weren’t at the table but there was a small door behind it and Setris stepped out with a smile.
“Good evening, Tarion, stuck in the common room, I see?”
“It’s better than Gaurnothax’s cave,” Tarion said, wrapping himself in his cloak. “Still, I’m thinking that may be the best place for me. I’ve caused far too much trouble already and if I haven’t worn out my welcome by now the hour isn’t far off.”
“Listen, Tarion,” Setris said. “Let me make amends for my discourtesy and reward you for your gallantry.”
Tarion glanced up and smiled, “What do you have in mind?”
“We bards never tire of our trade so let me sing you a song. You’re a wandering knight and every wanderer is searching for something. This song helps you find it. It can lead you along the right path, or even call someone to you. It never fails.”
Tarion couldn’t help but smile. “It seems harmless enough. As long as I’m not required to sing along, I’ve no complaint against listening. Sing on!”
Setris began to sing. Tarion closed his eyes, but he didn’t hear the pixie’s lilting sonnet so much as he absorbed it. The notes of the tiny lute plucked his consciousness even as the words of the song morphed into thoughts. Almost instantly, he felt naked, vulnerable and absolutely alone in the world.
Chapter 18: Devil’s Play
Navernya watched Naugrathur leave with mixed feelings of anticipation and trepidation. She relished his long awaited dominion. An eternity of power and prestige were hers. Yet she was distinctly aware that she contributed nothing to this victory and she would therefore gain nothing more excepting perhaps the Destructor’s indifference.
A vehement curse interrupted her thoughts. Navernya turned to see Loki’s ageless face white with anger.
“Look what Tarion’s done!” he said. “It’s a waste of a good demon, a very good demon, if you ask me! Balthazar was as mean as they come!”
Navernya stepped forward with a smile, “You can change into a jester’s costume as soon as the Destructor returns; I daresay it will be clean enough!”
Loki sneered at her, “He’ll be gone for some time, won’t he? We’re alone then, how romantic!”
Navernya smirked and blew him a kiss. A howling icy wind hit Loki and threw him across the tower. He slid through the arch onto the balcony, bounced over the rail and just barely caught hold the rail before he fell. The Ice Queen laughed and said, “Have a care, Loki, your wit and charm is wasted on me. You’re only alive because the Destructor wants you alive. What he’ll do to you is far worse than what I’d do; I don’t want to miss a single one of your squirming screams.”
Loki clambered back on the balcony and brushed off the frost. “You say so only because you don’t know who we’re up against,” Loki told her. He turned himself into a huge polar worm. Quick as a flash he slithered over the slippery floor and curled around the dainty Ice Queen. His white tongue darted out, flicking her cheek playfully as he squeezed ever so tightly, telling her, “This is no ordinary mortal, Navernya. You’re lucky you didn’t have to face him alone, as I did. I doubt you’d return so comely or cocky!”
“And what do you
know of him, Loki?”
Loki looked thoughtful and for once, his voice and manner were sincere. “Not enough, but enough to know he’s more dangerous than he seems. The Destructor fears him; that’s enough for me. No, this one is different.”
“So you say, Loki,” Navernya replied. Then the beautiful She-Devil became a swirling cyclone of snow, leaving Loki grasping nothing but frigid air. She re-appeared by the door and said, “This was fun, Loki, but let me warn you—since we’re both on the same side—if I know anything about our Dread Lord it’s this: our rewards are based on our service not our intentions!”
She left him, chuckling at the thought of Loki’s reincarnation as a jester for the ages in the Destructor’s dominion.
#
Loki recast himself in his normal form and cradled his sharp chin in his long hand. “So, this little misadventure did have profit. The Dread Lord very rarely makes a misstep, but here: Tyr the Wanderer, I didn’t know that.” He thought long and hard, but his thoughts were not at all comfortable. “Yet if Tyr is the Wanderer why does he have a connection to the Destructor? Freya, she-witch though she is, always thought of the two as from the same stock. Is there then a race older than the Gods are? There must be a way to use this to my advantage.”
He was not at all as confident as he sounded. He paced a very tight circle and muttered, “Despite what advantage that knowledge might provide, Navernya is right, damn her. If the Destructor succeeds, as well he might, I will be the last villain who failed him and the last in his consideration for a new world!” He stopped at the corpse of Koth and the demon within. “That is, of course, if I’m the last and greatest villain in his eyes. I must find a new target for the Destructor’s fury.” He gave the corpse a dig with his foot. “The fortunate thing about demons and Devils is the majority of them are stupidly powerful, but also powerfully stupid!” He stepped to the gate, which was still shimmering and changed its course with his powerful, if twisted, mind. Loki stepped through and into a long vaulted hall. Iron pillars joined by iron chains marched on either side towards a high iron throne. A red and black, blotchy, bloated shape with wan yellow eyes sat on the throne.
Loki was instantly surrounded by a guard of tall black demons with sickle shaped hands and barbed tails. They reeked. He waved his hand under his nose and sneezed. They hissed back.
“Your welcome is lacking, duke Belioch!” Loki called. “Are you still groggy from the Dragonheart’s curse, or is this the usual fanfare you give a peer? I would welcome you better in Pandemonium, if ever you should visit me!” He started toward the throne. The guard followed him closely.
Belioch laughed with a gurgling, blubbery resonance. His paunch jiggled in nauseating fashion and the words fought their way out of his swollen throat. “Why do you disturb my repose, Loki and so put yourself in peril? You know how I value my leisure.” Belioch sucked the soul from a wretched inmate. The husk of the unfortunate being collapsed to the iron plates of the floor. Belioch’s guards tore it to pieces and devoured it.
Loki grimaced. Belioch didn’t fear him and rightly so. Despite his slothful demeanor Belioch, Lord of Ferrus, was the strongest of all dukes and Queens of Hell. At one time, he was the Arch-Devil of the Hells. The arrival of the Destructor cost Belioch his crown—an event he’d not forgotten. Belioch thought he kept this secret to himself.
Loki, of course, knew all about it.
“A thousand pardons, great Belioch,” Loki said, “but I come on a matter of great haste and need.” He explained his misadventures with Tarion and the Destructor’s resulting fury.
“And why should I care, Loki?”
“I am a useful servant and the crop of souls in Pandemonium has been especially good this year,” Loki said. He saw Belioch’s interest waning and he got to the barb of his scheme. “I know you can’t be bought, great Belioch, for you are too powerful to care about a poor plane such as Pandemonium. Indeed, I am a poor duke—too poor and weak to seize the ultimate prize of power even when it is within my very grasp!”
“What prize is that?” Belioch said, his fat brows furrowing in feigned indifference.
“Alas, the anthracite throne of the Destructor sits empty, duke Belioch,” Loki said, feeding Belioch’s humiliation. “The Destructor, Lord of the Nine Hells is busy chasing down this mortal man Tarion. Once he catches the man, as soon he will, he will recreate the world in the likeness of his dominion for all eternity—forever. I had a chance to change that, but, alas, the anthracite throne demands a being of power and I am not that being.” He paused and acted as if he daydreamed, saying, “Think of it! I was but a step away. Could I have taken that seat all of Durnen-Gul and the power therein would have sworn fealty to me! Yet I am not the one; I am but a duke and I shall never be Lord of all I survey! Alas!”
Loki’s last lament met with silence. Duke Belioch and his court had already left. The horns of Ferrus sent a wailing chorus into the fetid airs.
#
Navernya stepped silently from the balcony, a glimmering, graceful form wondrous to behold. She made her way through the dark magnificence of Naugrathur’s tower to her own small chamber. There was a dressing table there with a large ornate mirror. She breathed on the glass. Frost crystallized to an opaque sheen of ice. She spoke a name and the blue visage of a giant filled the mirror. He noted her at once and knelt before her. The flaxen braids of his hoary head nearly touched the floor.
“Well met, duke Johaan,” she said. “Once you were mighty in the designs of the Destructor and verily you were the lord of all giant clans. Through the cataclysm of Thor’s hammer, your people are now scattered vagabonds, sundered from each other and wandering without lordship. What would you do to have your former station restored?”
“My Queen, my heart is yours. I wait your tasking.”
“Would you be King of the Giants again, Johaan?” she asked.
“That I would, my Queen.”
“Then your task is to search out Tarion,” she said evenly. She saw Johaan turn red. Against his darkening features, a long white scar stood out. It ran up his cheek and beneath the hide patch over Johaan’s right eye. “Yes, Johaan I mean the same Tarion who marred your visage and cost you an eye. I want him. He is in Trondheim and may soon be journeying with Thor through Jotunheim. He is on his way to Asgard. He must not reach the Rainbow Bridge.”
“I have long desired to revenge myself, my Queen. It will be done.”
“Can you waylay him?”
“There is no need, my Queen, for he shall search me out and I will ensure that he finds me.”
“I will expect good news, worthy Johaan.”
“I shall not disappoint you, my Queen!”
Chapter 19: A Deliciously Damning Enchantment
When Tarion woke up Setris was gone and the inn was a dark hazy place. He felt very weary. Try as he might he couldn’t get his thoughts to focus. It was as if he was now vulnerable, incomplete and lost—it was not a good feeling at all.
With difficulty, Tarion stood and followed the wall to the privy. His vision was inexplicably dim and fuzzy. Hopefully, some cold water would end the effects of the pixie spell. Then he’d have few words with Setris! Feeling his way, Tarion made it down the narrow corridor and opened the door. He stepped inside, but he wasn’t in the privy.
The first thing that struck Tarion was the scent of pine and cedar. Considering that he was expecting the close, suffocating vapors of a Norse privy this was a welcome surprise. Tarion’s head cleared. He was in a forest, standing on a path strewn with pine needles. Turning, he saw there was no door behind him, only the path leading back into the darkling woods. With nothing else to do, he went down the path. In a few yards he saw another way crossing the path and then another. After a few more yards, it was obvious: he was in a woodland maze. Tarion walked on. He tried as best he could to stay straight on his original path and after some time he broke out into a secluded glade. There was a small waterfall emptying into a dark pool. Glimmering stars twinkled on the
water. The glowing arch of the Godsbridge gleamed fitfully through the clouds.
A seductive silence hung over the place. The smell of wet stone mingled with the scent of trees. For some reason he felt completely at peace and his heart found a measure of rest from its questions. A soft form caught his eye. Across the water, perched atop a flat slab of smooth gray stone, was the naked form of a woman. She was marvelous in shape and presence. Her ivory skin was translucent in the soft radiant air. Involuntarily he took a step toward her—enthralled. She lifted her eyes and captured him with a power beyond any dragon spell. He recognized her instantly: the Goddess Freya.
Here was the perilous, powerful and enchanting daughter of the Hunt. Tarion flushed with embarrassment. He’d never seen Freya in so private a moment, nor did he want to. She was responsible for his loves lost, and worse, the forced divorce of his parents and his disinheritance. He turned away; instantly angry that he found the Goddess beautiful—but he found himself somehow facing her again. Freya sat up and looked at him with an impish smile.
“What’s the matter Praetorian, do you not like the look of me?” Her voice was soft, lilting and sensuous. He found it hard to resist and impossible to ignore.
He averted his eyes even though her voice, an enchantment itself, commanded that he look upon her. “I did not mean to intrude, Lady—” he began, but she laughed and stopped his protestation.
“You don’t intrude, of course. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t desire it.” She laughed again. Her voice was heavy with magic. When she said, “desire” he had to look at her—she commanded it. His eyes rose and there she was, posing like a cat on her rock. She held out an exquisitely perfect finger and curled it slowly inward like a hook piercing his heart. “Come here Tarion; come to me.”
Tarion felt a warm surge of desire course through his body. He took another step toward her, but he stopped and gained control of himself. He turned around and walked back into the forest. After twenty paces, he rounded a bend, congratulating himself for his moral discipline—or was he damning himself for his cowardice—he wasn’t sure which. Either way, Tarion came out of the woods and inexplicably found himself in the glade again. Freya glanced at him with a curious expression, both impish and scolding.
The Last Praetorian Page 20
