It felt like years since he had left Jordheim but not even one year had yet passed. He had thought he was just going to work as a blacksmith apprentice during the King’s Tournament in Trondheim. He had always dreamed it would have taken him years to amass the coin needed to help his mother and brother. But he had made enough money relatively quickly as he and his friends had saved the life of King Frederick and had been rewarded handsomely. Would he attend the next King’s Tournament? Would it even be held? Would Aarlunders be allowed to compete again?
And while he did not own a forge, he would always have work. And, he could always return to Jordheim to be with his family.
Yet, he also knew deep in his heart he could never go back to the farm. He had helped his mother and brother with fixing and setting it up and had been bored silly. He had tasted adventure and all other events paled in comparison. He was a warrior. He and his friends were the so-called Heroes of Midgard. He secretly hoped he would never be called that as he found it all a little bit much. Sure, he had fought frost giants, battled monsters in Alfheim, helped end the curse that afflicted Freya, Goddess of Wisdom, but that did not make him a hero. Heroes were people who had gone on great quests, who had slain horrific monsters that had terrified communities, and had changed the course of history by their courage and honor. Now that he thought of it in those terms, maybe there was something heroic about him and his friends.
He wondered if he would live through all this and become a ranger. He knew he needed more training. Perhaps Mage would teach me more ranger skills? Then he worried Mage would not live through all this.
He squinted at the massive elf host encamped far enough away as to be out of arrow range. Great tents made of colorful fabric littered the elf camp. Large groups of heavy and light cavalry moved in formation and he watched as the riders raised flags so that it was a sea of color that ebbed and flowed seamlessly. Even from this distance, Farling could see the discipline required to move the horses so quickly as to appear effortless. Arranged straw men tested the bowmen on horseback and Farling could see that none of the arrows missed.
A small part of him was glad the elves were attacking Vanaheim and not the cities and castles in Midgard. Because now that he had seen the size of the elf host and their horse and bowman skills, he knew the elf army would have cut a wide and bloody swath through Aarlund and Dennland and may never have been stopped until they had destroyed everything.
He noticed riders going to and fro amongst the frost giant, dwarf, and elf camps. The elves had ridden their fine steeds, the dwarves had ridden their hardy ponies, and the frost giants had merely ambled on their long legs.
It was a bit of a shame that Asgard was now green and lush. That meant all the camps would be able to hunt game and so find food for their animals and warriors. If they had attacked earlier when Asgard was still all sand and dust, the Norse gods may have had a chance at starving out all its attackers.
The sound of a whistle brought him round. Everyone had gathered in a courtyard in the middle of Vanaheim and in a few minutes, Farling joined them.
CHAPTER 69
A Meeting in Asgard
Galdr said: “The elves, frost giants, and dwarves desire an audience.” The two great ravens perched on his shoulders bobbed up and down in agreement. “We shall meet outside the walls in a great pavilion I will conjure.”
As everyone walked out through the main gates, Farling whispered to his friends: “What do you think will come of this meeting?”
Arastead shrugged. “Much or nothing at all,” he said.
Grum grunted. “I see you are really committing to an idea,” he said.
“It is not that, Grum, it is that each army desires this realm,” said Arastead. “Will they all see the futility in fighting as a great battle may destroy all the armies and so leave empty handed. Or will they decide to battle and join forces to destroy the Norse gods and Vanaheim. And once the Norse gods are gone, then they will decide how best to rule Asgard?”
“Much then rides on this conclave,” said Farling. “We have seen how all the invading armies have sent riders to one another. They all seemed to have agreed on something before this meeting.”
“There had better be a fight else this will be all for nothing,” said Grum. “And besides, I came here to fight frost giants. I want to fight.”
“Spoken like a true warrior,” said Arastead with a grin.
“And you, Arastead, how do you feel?” asked Farling. “Did that magical burst you performed that destroyed the golems hurt you in any way? We need you at full strength if this all comes to a battle.”
“I appreciate your concern but it seems the ring keeps me strong,” said Arastead. He petted his cat Peg on his shoulders. “It was a tremendous amount of magic that surged through me and I am sure that, if I did not wear the ring, it would have fried me like a pig on a roast. Instead, the magic obeyed me and destroyed those golems.”
“I am fine as well, Farling,” said Grum. “No need to ask about me.”
“I can tell you are fine by the amount you eat, Grum,” said Farling with a smirk. “If your appetite is strong, you are strong.”
“The food here is quite good,” said Grum in agreement. “Still, what would it be like if we were to eat one of those golden apples?”
“I do not know and am hesitant to try,” said Arastead. “Those apples are meant for the Norse gods, not us. As with any magic, those apples may contain too much and may destroy us.”
Outside the main gates of Vanaheim, Galdr had conjured a canvas canopy held up by great beams. Open on all sides, it was high enough that the frost giants would not have to stoop to enter. And the canopy was wide enough to protect all the groups from the glare of the sun so that no one had to shield their eyes and again feel inconvenienced in any manner. In the middle was a small fire that burned low but cast enough heat to ward off any chill.
As they entered, Farling noticed how Galdr had arranged the seating and quietly grunted in approval. Each realm had one stool for their ruler. These four stools were plain but well designed so that no one had a perceived advantage. The stool for the frost giant was the largest, while the stool for the dwarf was the smallest, but none could complain that anyone had an advantage over any other ruler over how their seat looked.
Each realm’s group entered the meeting place from the direction of their camp and so no leaders crossed paths. The frost giants had walked as well, the elves had all ridden fine steeds, all adorned in fancy leather and designs, while the dwarves had ridden ponies, the hardy stock used in the mines that never tired.
Representing the frost giants was Thrymr, his daughter, and Thrymr’s two sons. The frost giants wore their customary simple garb, although Thrymr wore his crown, a simple band of gold about his temples. The two sons carried their customary clubs.
For the elves, it was Queen Amalaja and several elves who appeared to be generals due to their armor and weapons and a few necromancers also based on their garb and the staffs they carried. Farling was impressed at the elf-queen’s appearance. She wore the finest chain-mail armor ever seen; it looked like another layer of skin the way it moved and shined. It covered her entire body running down her legs and arms. Her hair had been pulled back in a tight braid and a crown woven of fine gold appeared to float on her temples. Even from where he stood, he could see that the gold twisted and curled like vines.
Jakobus sat on his stool in his customary dwarf armor: simple but looked like it could repel any weapon. Upon his crown a simple band of iron: no jewels adorned it. His small group of dwarf warriors dressed similarly, long beards and moustaches appeared to be a necessary part of the uniform.
Farling glanced at Loki and groaned. On Loki’s head rested the crown Jakobus had made. Was he intentionally trying to antagonize the dwarf lord? He shook his head in amazement at the Trickster. What game did he play?
Thankfully, when it came time for someone to sit on the stool in front of the Norse gods, Galdr sat, a raven perched o
n either shoulder. If Loki had sat instead, would Jakobus have stormed off, or worse, tried to chop Loki’s head off again?
Galdr cleared his throat. The: “Queen Amalaja, King Thrymr, King Jakobus, welcome to Asgard.”
Nobody nodded noticed Farling.
“I wish this meeting was under more favorable circumstances,” Galdr continued. “This should be a time of rejoicing. Jotunheim and Nidavellir are awake. The mines in the dwarf realm ring once again with the sound of hammers. The mighty dwarf forges once again burn fiercely. In Jotunheim, the game is plentiful I hear and the adventures many. And Alfheim, an ancient and most civilized realm, continues to make great advances in all the arts; music, painting, architecture. We should be celebrating the realms and we should be competing in games of friendly competitions, not games of war.”
Amalaja responded coolly. Said: “It is the Norse gods, your father Odin especially, who played the most games. Were the elves not promised many things by your father, only to have the ashes of those promises shoved down our throats? Galdr, I reject your stories of the realms living in some sort of pretend harmony. There never has been harmony, only discord. Your father used and abused the elves just as he did all other Norse realms. And now we are too strong to be your slaves. Elves desire Asgard as it is our right. You old Norse gods are weak, the elves strong. We will rule Asgard and all the realms wisely using all our arts. It is the elves who will not make the mistakes of All Father Odin.”
“A fine speech,” boomed Jakobus in his customary loud voice, “but one that omits the humiliation suffered on the dwarves by Odin. Long ago, the dwarf men were strong and lithe, but Odin demanded more and more from the dwarves. And so, for us to be more efficient miners, the great and wonderful All Father stunted the dwarf men so that we could tunnel more effectively and find more rare jewels and precious metal for him. But our women he kept lithe and beautiful so as to remind the dwarf men of our change. The Norse gods are weak, the dwarves strong. It is we, the dwarves, who understand how to make enchanted weapons from the finest materials who will keep Asgard protected.”
Thrymr spat on the ground. “Weaklings all,” he grumbled. “Only frost giants are strong. Why do we even talk? Talk is useless. It only leads to more talking. The frost giants will crush you all and we will rule Asgard as we should have from the beginning of time. It is the frost giants who were humiliated when the realms were first made and the Norns began measuring the threads used in the Tapestry. The frost giants appeared when Odin appeared. We were stronger than him, even then. It is only because the Norse gods used enchanted weapons that they were able to defeat us. But no longer. Only the strong rule. We will crush all armies that stand between us and Vanaheim. We will make the walls of Vanaheim tumble and fall, and we will rebuild Vanaheim using ice and frost like it should have been since the Tapestry was first created.”
“Strong!” barked Jakobus in such a loud voice that some people winced. “Do not make me laugh, king of snow, lord of frost. It was dwarves who made you sip from a cup of humiliation. It sounds like it is a cup of which you must be fond as you seem to want to drink from it again. You tried to defeat the dwarves and enslave us, but you were repelled like water off a duck’s back. I assumed you remembered those wounds but maybe you forgot them as you stopped licking those wounds. The dwarves can remind you of those wounds again. You just have to ask.”
Jakobus laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, at his joke and his warriors behind him laughed heartily as well.
“Silence dwarf! Silence giant!” spat Amalaja as she stood. “We are not here to war amongst ourselves. The children of Odin are our common enemy; them, and whoever defends their walls. Now is the time for unity as we agreed before this meeting. We discussed that our armies will not war amongst each other. Nay, we work together to pull down the walls of Vanaheim. And whoever sits first in Odin’s throne rules Asgard.”
Amalaja continued in her regal voice: “Return to your camp, King Thrymr. Return to your camp, King Jakobus. On the morrow, our armies ruin Vanaheim.”
“Hold,” said Galdr in his usual calm voice. He stood and the ravens adjusted their grip on his shoulders. “You forget, Queen Amalaja,” his white milky eyes everyone found were disconcerting to look at, “the Norns listen not to who sits in Odin’s throne. They listen to the person who holds Gunghir, Odin’s spear. It is with that spear that the heroes of Valhalla were chosen. It is with that spear that Odin All Father ruled Asgard and all the realms. It is with that spear that the Norns respected him and treated him fairly whenever they discussed the future of the realms with him. Queen Amalaja, King Thrymr, King Jakobus, one or all may tear down Vanaheim, may sit in Odin’s throne, but you will never truly rule the Norse realms. It would be a hollow and pyrrhic victory.”
Amalaja sniffed. Said: “And you, old blind god, you forget,” her voice full of disdain, “that elves tire of Asgard rule. Perhaps the realms should be separated. Perhaps Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent should be destroyed. Perhaps even those precious Norns should be destroyed as well. A change is in the wind. The old order should be swept aside. There is a reason you are called an old god. You are not young any more. And what is Gunghir but an old symbol. And if I did find that old spear, I would crack it over my knee and snap it in half. Odin used it to fill the halls of Valhalla with fallen heroes for Ragnarok. I do not remember any of those heroes being elves. And yet, the elves were essential to the success of Odin and this realm Asgard. Nay, old blind god, your time is done. A new history begins. And it begins with the destruction of Vanaheim, with the destruction of Asgard, and perhaps even with the destruction of the Norns.”
She spun on her boot heel, her generals and necromancers parted allowing her passage. As she sat upon her horse, waiting for her generals to mount, she glared at everyone in the pavilion, and in a commanding voice, cried: “You old Norse gods will be destroyed as you destroyed my husband! I will cut off your heads and feed your entrails to those ravens. Heed my warning, leave Vanaheim now and you live. Else, ravens feed on your carcasses!”
She jerked the reins of her horse and led her generals and necromancers back to the elf encampment.
Thrymr stood and shook his head. Then: “She uses many fancy words, but her words are the same for the frost giants. The time of the old Norse gods is done. Live as slaves in Jotunheim or die here in Asgard, it is your choice.”
The frost giants strode back to their encampment and Farling noticed Yorli glancing quickly at Loki and wondered what that glance meant.
Jakobus waited until the elves and frost giants were far enough away as to be out of ear shot and approached Galdr.
In a softer voice, Jakobus said: “I know the relationship between dwarves and Norse gods is not perfect, but it is profitable. And even though dwarf-men were stunted, it does give us some advantages in battle, mostly that we present a smaller and lower target. And our women still love us, and so we are grateful for that. You old gods, while you worked dwarves hard, you always protected the dwarf realm. And when you could not, we did. While I was teasing the frost giants of the wounds we dwarves gave them, according to dwarf lore, those were terrible battles. But we defended our realm. Our ability to make enchanted weapons was not diminished while the realm slept. Arastead’s ring is testament to that.”
“But you old gods and the Heroes of Midgard are few,” he continued. “It is a simple game of numbers. There are only so many frost giants you can stop before they overrun Vanaheim. There are only so many elves you can stop before they overrun Vanaheim. And there are only so many dwarves you can stop before we overrun Vanaheim.”
Jakobus chuckled. “Oh, and the ring I designed for Arastead that gave him all the magical abilities to destroy those golems, it does not work against dwarves,” he said. Arastead’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “All magic Arastead summons from Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent, useless against dwarves. And so there is one less hero of Midgard to defend Vanaheim against the dwarves, who also happens to be your most powe
rful.”
Then Jakobus said in a solemn voice: “Farewell, old gods. Farewell, Heroes of Midgard. Vanaheim falls on the morrow. To what army, that I cannot predict. Even the Norns do not know. But I know these walls will fall.”
Jakobus left the pavilion and he and his guard headed back to the dwarf army camp on their ponies.
Arastead stared at the ring on his finger. “I thought the ring was too good to be true,” he muttered.
Farling said: “I am just glad he did not make you fight for the elves. What—”
Margret had spun to face an unseen danger, her daggers appearing in her hands so fast Farling could not fathom how she did it.
She hissed: “Someone approaches.” Her body was tense, ready to fight. Everyone now had their weapons drawn, eyes strained, ears twitching, trying to find the attackers. Then: “What type of attack is this? My head feels as if it is fire.”
“Mine as well,” said Arastead as he rubbed his temple with his free hand.
“Hold,” said a disembodied voice that sounded oddly familiar to Farling.
Liulfr sniffed loudly. Said: “Everyone, stand down, stay your weapons. These are friends.”
“’These’,” said Margret as she sheathed her weapons and straightened. “Liulfr, who are these ‘friends’?”
Liulfr sniffed again. “Ogre Mage, your father, the Aarlund brothers, their nephew, the thieves guild master, and the librarian,” he said.
“My father?” said Margret.
“Daughter,” said Frederick, “I am here. Mage is having some problems with the illusion that hides us.”
Mage said in his usual low rumble of a voice: “It is that Graydon Armor that messes with my magical abilities. This is more difficult than I imagined. Ah, I think I have it.”
The Reckoning of Asgard Page 28
