“A golem,” replied Cormac.
Grum then whispered to his friends: “A what?”
“A golem,” replied Arastead as his cat’s eyes flashed eldritch green, “a creature, often one that looks like a man. Only a very powerful wizard may create a golem. It is a combination of alchemy and runes and it is dark magic, the darkest. They can be fashioned from stone, iron, even corpses.”
“Ugh,” said Grum. “A nasty piece of work. I take it, King Cormac, you made short work of the golem.”
“Yes, blacksmith, but it was not as easy as we hoped. The golem was in a large building, and when we opened the huge doors, we were amazed by the forge inside; truly one that rivals the great dwarf forges of Nidavellir. And there sat the golem, like a king on his throne. Forged in metal, it appeared the creature slumbered, but when we approached, weapons drawn, a flagstone sank slightly under our weight and this silent trap waked the golem. It raised its head, bellowed as a bull, and charged. On its first pass, it went through us as a scythe would through wheat. Only when it approached me did it stop and pause. It appeared as if it recognized my blade, the Almuric Sword.”
“And then what happened!” cried Grum.
“Well, blacksmith,” said Cormac, enjoying Grum’s enthusiasm, “time stood still as it often does in those moments. Blood dripped from the creature’s fists, its chest heaved even though I do not believe it needs air to breath; it stared at the sword clenched in my fist. Who knows how a golem’s mind works, as it is a creature of magic, bound together by alchemy and runes. From where I stood, it was easy to see all the runes carved on its body as these runes gave it mobility and a degree of sentience. Its face though was devoid of emotion but that too was unsettling. And then it charged.”
Cormac paused for a moment.
Grum demanded: “Is this how all Aarlund Kings tell stories? I die from suspense!”
Cormac allowed himself a small smile. Said: “This golem was fast. You would expect something made of metal to be cumbersome, but it was as if all its iron was molten, able to flow and move. Yet when my warriors struck it with swords, their blades harmlessly bounced off its metal hide, the swords’ edges nicked and chipped. And then I struck it with my blade, not knowing what would happen.”
Grum croaked: “What happened?” His voice was now barely a whisper.
Cormac grinned and said: “It was like the time I struck the ice wall created by the frost giant brothers.”
“I remember,” interjected Arastead. “Your Almuric Sword severed the magic that held the ice wall together and it fell, sundered.”
“Same with the golem, thank Odin for I was not certain my blade would hurt the beast. But my blade split its demon skin across its ribs and a thick black fluid gushed forth.”
Grum exclaimed: “And what did the golem do next?”
Arastead sighed. “Honestly, Grum, you would think King Cormac could not tell a story without you,” he said.
“I just wish I had been there,” said Grum. “But now that I am without my enchanted war hammer, perhaps it is best I was not.”
Cormac continued: “For the first time, the golem’s face showed emotion—fear, plain for all of us to see. It swung wildly at me, causing me to back up, and as I did, it turned and ran from the fight, its dark magic blood streaming from its side. I ran after it, and as it heard my footsteps approach, it turned and made its stand. But it did not put its arms up in time and I was able to drive the Almuric Sword through its chest and pierced its metal heart. The golem issued a most horrific sound, like a dying bull, and its lifeless eyes closed and it fell to the ground, dead.”
Grum asked: “And what of the golem?”
Arastead looked surprised: “What do you mean?” he asked. “It is dead.”
“No, I mean, is it still in one piece. Could we somehow revive it and make it work for us?”
Cormac shook his head. “Nay, blacksmith,” he said. “With the threads of magic that bound it together sundered, it melted like a fine silver cup plunged in the hottest forge. The smell was awful, causing me to gag. A terrible piece of magic, but, thank Odin’s beard, one we will not have to face again.”
Frederick sighed, and said: “As long as Alchemist does not make any more golems.”
“Speaking of which, where is Alchemist now?” asked Cormac.
“In the realm of Jotunheim,” answered Frederick, “hostage to the frost giants. As is the blacksmith Lanson. As is the Aesirslayer Blade.”
“Foul news indeed,” said Cormac. “For if the frost giants command Alchemist and Lanson to make more golems, an uglier battle will not be found.”
Farling asked: “How do you know Lanson helped make the golem?”
“I do not, but strongly suspect it,” said Cormac. “As I described, a forge worthy of the dwarves was in Alchemist’s stronghold, and we know Lanson had a book of spells and items of magic hid in his forge’s walls. I merely speculate, but with good reason.”
“Dark times,” said Frederick, “but we have the old Norse gods on our side, at least the ones that remain. But hold, blacksmith Grum, what is this tiding of you having lost your enchanted war hammer. Was it not you that felled a frost giant?”
“It was I, and a more glorious strike I have never struck,” said Grum. “But it is true. My war hammer, and the Gloves and Belt of Strength that allowed me to wield it were stolen.”
“As was my sword, the bane of the frost giants, Flamebringer,” said Farling. “And my shield of protection, that which allowed me to go toe-to-toe with a frost giant.”
Frederick asked: “And who stole your enchanted weapons? The dwarf king?”
“Nay, he is without blame,” said Arastead. “It was Loki, God of Trickery, Patron of Thieves.”
Einar shuffled uncomfortably.
“What news is this?” said Cormac. “Have other gods returned?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Farling, “but only one other: Galdr, Norse God of Magic.”
“And is Asgard open once again?” asked Cormac.
“It is, father,” said Margret, “but with only two gods left to defend such a huge realm, it may not belong to the old Norse gods long.”
“Two gods?” asked Cormac.
“Yes,” replied Margret, “Loki disappeared almost as soon as he was freed from his prison. His heart belongs still to Yorli, the frost giant princess.”
“Dark times,” said Cormac. “And if it was Loki who stole the weapons, he most surely must have done it to please Thrymr, king of the frost giants.”
Mage rumbled: “We assume this to be true.”
“Well, what else have I missed?” asked Cormac.
“Queen Astrid is a witch,” exclaimed Grum as Arastead elbowed him sharply, causing Grum to wheeze and hold his ribs in pain.
“Tis true,” said Astrid. “It appears the unborn child I carry, a future Sorceress, gives me the powers of a witch.”
“What a strange turn of events,” said Cormac. “Has this always been the way?”
Mage rumbled: “There are some records of Sorceress in the ancient books and scrolls, but no documents ever speak of the mothers. So, none are to know if the mother was granted magical abilities.”
“Well,” said Cormac, “at least that sounds like some good news. Another witch in our midst.”
Margret chided: “I hope you do not think she will be fighting alongside us, father. She is pregnant, remember?”
“Of course, of course,” said Cormac, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant.”
Grum whispered to no one in particular, “She could fight alongside us pregnant like she was when she destroyed those assassins.” Arastead surprisingly did not elbow Grum for his comment.
“Still,” said Frederick not hearing Grum, “the news of the Sorceress child reached some ears we did not expect: assassins.”
“No!” cried Cormac. “The assassins guild disappeared years ago.”
Mage said: “Around the same time as the last Sorceress we suspect.”
&nbs
p; “And what of these new assassins?” asked Cormac. “What happened that they made themselves known?”
Einar described what had happened. Cormac was also stunned at the news of the elves being in Trondheim.
“But as it turns out,” continued Einar, “Queen Astrid did not need any defending, as she destroyed all four assassins quite handily all by herself.”
Astrid scoffed. “You speak as if I enjoyed it,” she said, her face hard. “I am new to magic, and believe me, I did not enjoy it. With Mage’s help, I will be a better magic user with better control.”
“Wait,” said Cormac. “You mentioned elves in your description of the attack on the thieves guild. I thought the Unbreakable Barrier sealed. I just returned from it and the pond practically overflows, ensuring the gateway never again opens. How did elves enter our realm?”
All turned to look at Mage for an answer. Mage returned their gazes unflinchingly and took a moment before responding. “The necromancers of Alfheim have grown more powerful,” he began in his characteristic rumble, “but not so powerful that we need fear them every day. They may only create portals that can transport a handful of elves. And, since this event at the Trondheim thieves guild, I have set charms in place that raise an alarm if any elves are brought to Midgard by portal.”
Cormac asked: “What prevents the elves from sending warriors to Midgard every day?”
“The elf-necromancers may have grown in power but are not that powerful,” replied Mage. “They require a great deal of ingredients to generate the portal rune spell, as well as the moon and stars must be in specific alignments.”
“Well, that is some relief,” said Cormac. “What of the weapons the elves brought? Are any enchanted?”
Einar shook his head. “They used up their entire arsenal of sleep draughts,” he said, “which is how they were able to evade my entire guild. It was only when they were leaving that they encountered the assassins entering that the fight broke out. Your daughter, wearing her circlet, inspected all the weapons, but found none enchanted. But what was imbued with magic were their cloaks.”
At this, Einar presented the three cloaks. He unfurled one, wrapped it about his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head.
Everyone in the room, except Margret, exclaimed in surprise, as Einar, for all practical purposes, disappeared.
“A cloak of camouflage,” said Einar, removing the hood so everyone could see his face. “It appears the magic in the cloak blends with the surroundings. This, too, is why the elves were so difficult to detect by my thieves, as when you stop and lean up against a wall wearing this cloak, you are practically indistinguishable from the wall. Only if you physically bumped into someone wearing this would you discover him or her. And if there is a great deal of shadows and shade, then it is even more difficult to pierce the illusion.”
“I could still see you,” said Margret, “as my circlet gives me the ability to see through illusions.”
Einar grunted. “A wonderful ability, and a shame you were not on guard in my guild,” he said. He removed the elf cloak and placed it on the pile with the other two cloaks. “We also found these,” and he held up several amulets.
“Enchanted,” started Margret, staring at them intently, “amulets that open portals and gateways.”
“Exactly,” said Einar. “This is how the assassins and elves entered our guild.”
“Those may be useful,” said Cormac. “It would be best to keep them.”
Einar nodded and returned the amulets.
“What other business affairs need we attend?” asked Frederick.
“If I may,” said Sihr in his quiet voice. “I would like to remind both kings that the great realm of the dwarves, Nidavellir, is once again alive with the ringing of hammers on anvils. If I may suggest, it would serve well if both the kingdoms of Dennland and Aarlund, and the realm of Midgard if you two kings were to pay a visit to King Jakobus—in his realm—and present him with all the needed gifts and other trappings required when a realm reawakens. I visited Nidavellir and it is a wondrous realm. Just remember: dwarves are fond, very fond of traditions and the tradition of paying a visit to a reawakened realm is important.”
“Wise advice, priest,” said Frederick looking to Cormac who nodded in agreement.
Sihr continued: “And I hope I do not overstep my welcome, but you should also visit the realm of Jotunheim, and present King Thrymr with gifts. It would go far in realm diplomacy and ensure goodwill.”
Grum grumbled: “Next you would suggest we pay a visit to Alfheim.”
“No,” replied Sihr, “as the realm of Alfheim never closed. The elves have always been awake; their realm does not need the gifts required when a realm reawakens.”
“And what of Asgard?” asked Frederick. “The realm of Asgard has reawakened, has it not.”
“The gods do not require those kind of gifts,” said Sihr, “but, if I may suggest, the temple dedicated to Freya that sits beyond the Paupers Cemetery should be rebuilt in all its glory. That would please her.”
“All wise counsel,” said Frederick.
Farling cleared his throat. Said: “I too have a matter of importance to discuss with our king, and others of this council. It is about the were-beasts. They appeared in Trondheim and have a request.”
Cormac’s face darkened: “I thought we had seen the last of those cowards,” he said.
“As did we,” said Farling. “We were working in the forge when they appeared. But they do not look as formidable as they used to, as the potions given them by Alchemist have begun to run out. They do not look much like were-beasts anymore; they have begun to revert to their original human forms. They made us an offer: they would tell us the location of the assassins guild—if we make them more potions that will return them to their full were-beasts’ strength.”
Nas interjected: “I have some potion making abilities, but I doubt my abilities would match Alchemist’s.”
“What of you, Mage?” asked Farling.
Mage grunted: “I am like the druid, alchemy is not my strong point,” he began. “If the were-beasts have any potion left in their bottles, I do know of some ways of replicating what is left. While I may not be able to create the potions the were-beasts crave from scratch, but I think I know of a way to—how does one say it—extend the potions.”
Frederick asked: “Are we then willing to make a deal with the were-beasts? The price being the location of the fabled assassins guild.”
Astrid said: “If you want me and our child safe and the assassins nest wiped out, I say the price is fair.”
“Agreed,” said Frederick. “What say all?” Everyone voiced their agreement. “Good, but I do not want to give them all their potions that will return them to full were-beast strength here in Trondheim. It might turn them into butchers in a slaughterhouse. We cannot trust them.”
“I have an idea,” said Nas. “We will make the potions; the were-beasts may test a small sample of them to ensure they work. If they are satisfied, I will then have the ravens Hugin and Munin carry a bag containing all the potions far away from here to a location that the were-beasts are familiar.”
“Jordheim,” blurted Farling. Everyone looked to him. “I grew up with them, before they joined Alchemist up north in his stronghold. I beat them all up once as they were picking on my younger brother.”
“I do not think you could beat them all now by yourself,” said Arastead with a wry grin.
“No,” admitted Farling. “Back in Jordheim, they were just skinny bullies. Now they are very big bullies. So, if the potion making goes well, I say have the ravens leave the potions somewhere in Jordheim. The were-beats will find them there and then they may go their merry way.”
Frederick asked: “Now, I am almost afraid to ask: What other business affairs need we attend?”
Einar cleared his throat. “I would like to make a request, Your Majesty,” he said. “My guild has done much to defend this country and this realm. In the process, howe
ver, I have lost many guild members. I would ask that Trondheim guards stand at the end of the alley that leads to my guild entrance. Hopefully, they may stop or at least slow down any future attacks and prevent my guild from hemorrhaging members.”
“It will be done,” said Frederick.
“Many thanks, Your Majesty,” said Einar as he bowed.
“I assume then that is all the business matters that need be discussed today?” asked Frederick. “Good, then let us eat, as I am famished.”
“About time,” muttered Grum as he loosened his belt.
CHAPTER 18
A Visit to Nidavellir
“King Frederick, King Cormac, welcome to Nidavellir, realm of the dwarves.”
Farling recognized the dwarf that had spoken as Jakobus’s key advisor. Farling looked around at the landing where everyone stood in the massive entrance hall. Frederick had brought Farling, Grum, Arastead, and Sihr as company, while Cormac had brought the Aarlund brothers and their nephew. Farling thought it a bit strange that they accompanied Frederick, but Arastead had explained that they were part of a select group that knew much about the other realms, the Norns, and items of magic. As Arastead had mentioned earlier, they had also saved Jakobus’s life, and Sihr had already visited the realm and Jakobus trusted him.
Farling ignored the kings as they talked with Jakobus’s advisor. He looked about the hall. The room had a high, vaulted ceiling, while the floor was polished marble. It was an impressive entrance to the realm of the dwarves. A large squad of dwarves, dressed in armor, with battle axes strapped to their backs, acted as ceremonial guards. Farling knew they could, at a moment’s notice, leap into action to defend their realm.
“Arastead, what gateways are those?” Farling whispered pointing at the other doors that flanked the Jotunheim gateway.
“Gateways to other realms,” Arastead answered. “Alfheim must be one of them. We just walked through the Midgard Gateway. Perhaps the one over there that looks rather red and hot might be Musspelheim, realm of the fire giants. And last, the dark one could be Phaerieheim, realm of the phaeries. And there are others I could not name.”
The Reckoning of Asgard Page 8
