The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Sure enough, the two snow waves created by the champions grew larger and larger as they got closer and closer.

  Grum said: “I can see that one is slightly in the lead of the other.”

  “Please be Arastead, please be Arastead,” mumbled Farling.

  In a surprisingly short amount of time, the two snow waves were suddenly just minutes from the finish line.

  And when the runners were yards away from the finish line, Farling and Grum yelled encouragement, still unable to tell who was in the lead as the snow obscured everyone’s view.

  And then one runner made it across the finish line followed a few seconds later by the other.

  In a few moments, the snow settled on the ground, and the winner, holding a gold bracelet in his hand, was the red-haired champion of the frost giants.

  “No!” cried Grum, as he punched Farling in the shoulder, who did not even notice the blow.

  Arastead held up his gold bracelet and gave it to Yorli. He walked over to his friends, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “I thought I had him,” Arastead said, his voice still raspy from exertion, “but he was too fast.”

  Farling and Grum handed back everything to Arastead. Peg jumped lightly onto Arastead’s shoulders as she purred contentedly.

  “Well,” said Grum, “one competition down, two more to go.”

  Farling lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper: “I thought the dwarves all but ensured us a win in these competitions.”

  Arastead said in equally hushed tones: “I felt the dwarf magic from the ring propelling me at a terrific pace but no matter how much more I willed myself to greater speed, the frost giant champion was always in the lead.”

  Grum tried to whisper but failed, but it made no matter as the frost giant brothers were making so much noise, no one overheard their conversation. “I almost feel like Jakobus failed us on purpose,” he said, “as if he wants to make the frost giants an enchanted sled.”

  “Foolish talk, Grum,” said Arastead. “Jakobus thought he had given me enough magic to beat anyone in a race. But that red-haired person almost does not seem human.”

  “No matter,” said Farling, “as the next competition begins.”

  Yorli approached them. “Well done, Midgardian,” she said. “An impressive race, but one you still lost.”

  “I hope I am a gracious loser,” said Arastead. “Your champion was faster than me, he won fair and square.”

  “Next competition is appetite,” said Yorli. “We return to the great hall.”

  Once inside, Farling saw a long table—with no chairs—had been placed in the middle of the great hall. On the table was the most food he had ever seen. Meats of every kind, cheese of all sorts, and various breads, all piled so high on either side of the table, Farling was surprised the table did not buckle and break under the weight of all the food.

  And along the middle of the table was a screen which ran the entire length of the table, ensuring the competitors could not see each other as they ate.

  Grum raised a hand. Said: “I will be the champion for this contest.” He loosened his belt, and fiddled with a new ring on one of his fingers.

  “Meet our champion,” said Yorli. The frost giant champion with the prodigious belly stepped forward.

  Yorli held a large hourglass in one hand. Said: “In the amount of time it takes for the sand to travel from one side to the other, whoever eats the most food on their side of the table wins.”

  “I agree to the terms,” said Grum. Arastead and Farling wished him luck. “A good thing I am starving,” said Grum as he approached the table, “as I hope for once my eyes are indeed as big as my stomach.”

  Grum stood on one side of the table, the frost giant champion on the other. As Yorli turned the timer over, she yelled for the competition to begin. The sand in the timer began pouring through to the other side.

  Farling and Arastead yelled till their voices were hoarse, watching as Grum wolfed down the food, moving quickly down his side of the table.

  And as Grum reached the far end of the table, Yorli yelled for the competition to end as the sand in the timer was now completely on the other side.

  Dazed from eating all the rich food, Grum looked along his side of the table. All he could see were bones, empty wooden bowls, and spoons that had been licked clean.

  Farling and Arastead were all smiles as they clapped Grum hard on the shoulder in congratulations.

  “Easy,” warned Grum, “do not jostle me too much as all that food is sitting precariously in my stomach and I do not wish to taste it again on the way up. So, did I win?”

  Farling noticed that the frost giant brothers were all smiles as well, causing him to stop. “I do not like how the brothers seem so smug,” he said.

  “I cannot move,” said Grum, “I am so full.” He held his bloated stomach and belched loudly.

  Arastead smiled and said: “That should make you feel better.” But then he also noticed the smiles on the frost giants’ faces.

  “I cannot see how much my opponent ate,” said Grum, “as the screen shields my view. Did I win?”

  “I will check,” said Farling as he walked over to the other side of the table, fear of losing another competition filling his heart with dread.

  As he looked down the other side of the table, he let out a long and loud sigh.

  Grum said: “He cannot have eaten more than me.” He and Arastead slowly walked over to stand beside Farling.

  And at the sight of the other side of the table, Grum’s jaw dropped, his mouth hung open. Arastead reached over and gently closed it.

  “I cannot believe it,” said Grum, his eyes wide in wonderment. “Not only did he eat the same amount of food as me, he also ate all the wooden bowls, and bowls made of bread. I do not even see any spoons.”

  “He ate everything,” agreed Farling in disbelief.

  “I lost,” said Grum. “But I ate everything, how could I lose?”

  Yorli said: “Because you did not eat everything.” The frost giant champion contentedly patted his enormous stomach, looking quite pleased at the outcome.

  Grum said in protestation: “No one said I was to eat all the bowls and mugs as well.”

  Yorli shook her head. Then: “You were to eat everything on your side of the table. And as you did not, you did not win.”

  Grum looked absolutely crushed at the outcome of the competition and no words from Farling or Arastead seemed to cheer him up in the slightest.

  Arastead said as Grum was incapable of talking: “Princess Yorli, congratulations to your champion. A fine competition as I have never seen the likes of your champion. He is a true wonder to behold in the arts of culinary destruction.”

  The frost giant brothers hooted in pleasure.

  Yorli said: “You have now lost two of the three competitions. Do you wish to concede the third?”

  “No,” said Farling. “To win the prize, you must win all three competitions. I will defeat you in the competition of strength.”

  Yorli allowed herself a wry grin. “And you realize, blacksmith, as soon as you lost the first competition of speed, you were never going to win back your dwarf weapons,” she said.

  “Of course,” replied Farling. “Now this contest is all about preventing you from winning a sled forged by the dwarves.”

  Yorli nodded. “An admirable stance,” she said. Then: “Our champion.”

  The remaining frost giant champion with the oversized muscles stepped forward.

  “What are we to do?” asked Farling.

  Yorli said: “Whoever can lift our house cat furthest off the ground, wins.”

  And as she spoke, a cat taller than Farling walked into the room. It rubbed against Yorli’s leg affectionately as she reached down and rubbed its back.

  Grum belched and said: “That is the largest cat I have ever seen.”

  “Do you think it a trick?” asked Arastead.

  “This entire contest is all about trick
s,” said Farling. “It is all about not getting caught in your trick red-handed that makes this contest interesting.”

  “Be careful that the cat does not think you to be a mouse,” said Grum.

  “I am not afraid of being cat food,” said Farling. “I am afraid of losing.”

  Farling walked over and stood beside the frost giant champion near the cat.

  “Who is to go first?” asked Farling.

  “As your team is losing, you will go first,” said Yorli.

  Grimacing, Farling walked over to the cat, which was now sitting on its haunches as it licked and cleaned one of its front paws. As Farling stood close, the cat stopped and looked quizzically at Farling.

  Not sure how to lift the cat, Farling decided to first try and lift one of the cat’s front paws. He nestled in close to the cat’s leg, squatted, and squeezed his hands underneath the cat’s pads on the bottom of its paw. As he did, he felt the new ring on his finger scrape the ground.

  With several deep breaths, Farling closed his eyes and with all his strength, attempted to lift one of the cat’s paws off the ground.

  His face went red, the veins in his temples popped into view, and his breath escaped from his mouth in a loud whistle. And for all his effort, he was only able to move the cat’s leg by just an imperceptible amount.

  He stood and stepped back from the cat, gasping for breath. “I cannot lift it,” said Farling. “This cat is surprisingly heavy.”

  Arastead said: “You moved it a little.”

  “A smidge, nothing more,” said Farling, his breathing becoming more regular.

  “Farling, try a different approach,” said Grum. “Stand under the cat, push your back up against its belly, put your hands on your knees, and then push with your legs and shoulders as hard as you can.”

  Arastead nodded. “A good idea, Grum. It is worth a try.”

  “OK,” said Farling. “But if this does not work, I admit defeat.”

  “Not yet,” began Arastead, “as their champion must first lift the cat.”

  Farling walked over to the cat, who sniffed him delicately, but showed no more interest than before. Farling positioned himself under the cat, and as Grum suggested, pushed his back flat up against the cat’s belly. The cat, noticing what Farling had done, now stood on its four legs looking slightly alarmed but still calm.

  Farling placed his hands on the tops of his knees, breathed deeply several times, and then pushed up against the cat as hard as he could.

  Sweat broke out across his face. With a burst of effort and a loud scream, he pushed again against the weight of the cat, and then collapsed to the ground. He crawled on his hands and knees out from underneath the cat as Arastead and Grum helped him to his feet.

  “Anything?” said Farling, his voice still weak.

  “I think one of its paws lifted slightly off the ground,” said Grum, “but I could not tell if it was from your effort, or just the cat lifting it on its own.”

  “You did well,” said Arastead, “as I think the deck was stacked against you.”

  “Let us see how their champion fares,” said Farling, wiping sweat from his brow.

  The muscles on the frost giant champion rippled and moved as it walked over to the cat. Like Farling, he stood under the cat and placed his back flat against the cat’s belly.

  And with no visible effort, he pushed up against the cat and easily lifted all four of its paws off the ground just enough that the cat finally looked slightly alarmed.

  He lowered the cat, who used the opportunity to run back to the kitchen.

  With a huge grin, the frost giant champion walked back and stood beside the other two champions.

  Again, the frost giant brothers hooted with laughter.

  Farling sighed. “Princes Yorli,” he began, “your champion is stronger than I. I congratulate you on your win.”

  “We look forward to our new sled,” replied Yorli.

  Arastead said: “We will visit the dwarf realm and let them know what is expected of them. We thank you for this visit. We hope this contest engenders good will between our realms.”

  “Midgard means nothing to the frost giants,” said Yorli. “Still, this contest was most illuminating.”

  Farling, Arastead, and Grum all bowed low.

  “King Thrymr, Princess Yorli, sons of Thrymr, we bid farewell,” said Arastead.

  And with a flash of eldritch light, he cast around him and his friends a gateway portal rune and they all disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  Yorli looked at her father who did not seemed pleased with the outcome.

  CHAPTER 37

  Porridge at the Paupers Temple

  The basement of the Paupers Temple swam into view.

  “That was a better travel, Arastead,” said Farling. “My stomach did not lurch as before.”

  “It is always easier travelling back to Midgard,” said Arastead. “Especially to this place as the magic is especially strong here and so is easier for me to find.”

  “Good,” said Farling, “as I was most worried about Grum and all the food he ate.”

  “These travels do not affect me,” said Grum. “And the magic ring Jakobus gave me, as soon as my stomach was full, the rest of the food from that competition never reached my stomach. I have no idea where it went, probably some other realm.”

  “The realm of excess food,” said Farling as Arastead and Grum chuckled.

  “I am sure there is one,” said Grum. “Now, as most of that food from the competition never reached my stomach, I am once again, hungry.”

  Farling said: “Perhaps if you had eaten all the wooden and bread bowls, you would not be as hungry.”

  “I would not have believed it if I had not seen it,” said Grum as they walked up the stairs. “I know we had dwarf magic on our side, but those frost giants had their own sorcery as well.”

  Arastead nodded. “Unfortunately, theirs was stronger,” he said, “which does not bode well for any future battles.”

  It was early morning as they continued their conversation walking into the kitchen of the Paupers Temple where Rickters, the temple’s caretaker, had just finished making porridge.

  “Rickters, I will take a bowl of your finest,” said Grum. “Oh, and good morning to you too.”

  At the appearance of the blacksmiths, Rickters merely chuckled and, if he was surprised to see them, it did not show on his face. Said: “A good thing I make so much in the morning, just for these unexpected visits.”

  Everyone thanked Rickters for his generosity as they sat around the kitchen table.

  At that moment, Sihr walked into the kitchen. As always, he carried his staff. “I thought I heard voices,” he said with a big yawn. “Rickters, some strong tea as well, please.”

  As Sihr sat at the table, Rickters placed a mug of steaming black tea in front of him.

  “I do know your routine,” said Rickters with a wink.

  Sihr smiled. “And I am glad of that,” he said.

  “Grum,” began Farling, “do not forget to remove the dwarf ring from your finger else the porridge will travel to that other stomach realm.”

  “No,” interjected Arastead, “you forget. The rings only work in the realm of the frost giants. The rings’ magic is useless here.”

  “Good,” said Grum, “as I am starving.”

  And in a few minutes, everyone devoured their porridge and nursed their tea.

  “So,” began Sihr, “what of your latest adventure? None of you look pleased, so I take it, it did not go well with the frost giants.”

  Farling, Grum, and Arastead all shook their heads as they told Sihr and Rickters what had happened, each taking turns, then interrupting each other to add missing details, about how they had each lost their contest against the frost giant champions.

  Sihr shook his head gently. Said: “The frost giants have been winning contests of strength, appetite, and speed since the great ox created the Norse realms. You three were never going to win.”
/>
  “And we cheated,” said Grum. “Jakobus had given us rings of power that enhanced our abilities. And still, we lost.”

  Sihr winked. “It is just because the frost giants cheat better than you,” he said. “No, they agreed to the contest as they are bored. And, I am sure, a little curious as to you three blacksmiths. It was, after all, Farling and Grum who bested Thrymr’s two sons. I am a little surprised they let you leave—alive.”

  Arastead said: “The rules of the contest do not allow for fighting. Besides, I would have stopped them with my magic.”

  “Yes,” said Sihr, “I can believe that. I feel magic radiating from you.”

  Farling asked: “But how are we to rescue Princess Margret if we do not have our enchanted weapons?”

  “Can we still use the rings Jakobus gave us?” asked Grum.

  “Grum, we told you, they only work in Jotunheim,” said Arastead. “They are now simply rings made of iron. What was your plan? Eating all of the food in the assassins guild to starve them out?”

  “Might have worked,” said Grum with a quick shrug. “Well, I am out of ideas then.”

  “Let us return to our forge,” said Arastead, “and let us consult Mage. And perhaps Einar and Pressan have ideas as well.”

  Farling nodded. “We will need help, that is a given.” Then, as he stood, he said: “And Rickters and Sihr, thank you for the food and tea. That was a most delicious repast.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Loki Visits the Hive

  The bakers in the Hive woke hours before everyone else in Trondheim and so the smell of fresh baked bread wafted over Farling, Grum, and Arastead as they approached their forge. The blacksmiths, butchers, candlestick makers, silversmiths, and leather workers would all soon open their stores and those smells would push aside the delicious smell of bread and replace it with the smells of sweat, smoke, and grease.

  As they entered their forge, Grum sniffed loudly. “I smell cooking upstairs,” he said.

  Farling and Arastead sniffed too.

  “You are right,” said Farling, “and I think I hear someone moving around pots and pans.”