Suel mounted with a twinkle in her eye and a wide grin on her face. “This looks to be an interesting trip,” she said.
The mood of the gathering was light, which was surprising, given the circumstances that had led them to this trip. Even Paltr seemed to relax as he climbed into the saddle and prepared to ride to the palace the Isir had built in this place back at the beginning of time. They rode for an hour across the dreary countryside, following the path paved with volcanic stone that led to the palace.
“You know, it is said that Haymtatlr himself built this place, though I can’t fathom why,” said Freya.
“At the time, I think anywhere was better than our planet,” muttered Vowli.
“Indeed,” said Suel. “And, besides little sister, Muspetlshaymr isn’t that bad. Yes, it’s dark. And yes, you might be called to fight off the fire demons from time to time, but it does have a certain beauty all its own.”
Freya’s nose wrinkled at the smell. “If you say so, sister-mine.”
“I mean, just look at the beautiful dark shades, each reflecting different shades of the lava’s light.” Suel waved her hand at the countryside around them.
“It does have a certain something, your Grace,” said Vowli.
The path of basalt led them down into a valley with a stream of lava meandering across the valley’s floor. Through the haze and the heat, they could see the black, basalt outer walls of the palace. The palace had been built as a fortress, which could be seen in the utilitarian lines of the architecture, to serve as a toe hold in the wars waged against the so-called demons who had originated in the realm. As they approached, the huge gates swung outward in welcome.
“I’ve had my servants here all afternoon,” said Suel. “Preparing yet another surprise.” Sitting high in her saddle, she rode into the courtyard.
The courtyard was festooned with banners and garlands of sweet smelling white flowers. Men and women from the palace staff in Suelhaym scurried around adjusting the position of the garlands, straightening the banners and carting food and supplies into the kitchen. The courtyard was a wide rectangle with a canal of lava that came in under one of the basalt walls and led away into the smithy. Though the canal gave off a pleasant heat, the magical barrier protecting the courtyard from its extreme temperatures shimmered in the gloomy light.
Veethar walked his horse toward the hitching rail outside the stables. The rail was made from a strange, greenish colored metal that stood free of corrosion, even after all the years the palace had stood. He slid down from his horse and looped the reins over the rail, motioning Frikka to bring her horse over. The other men in the party followed Veethar’s lead, first tying their own mounts and then that of the woman they escorted.
Suel stood, looking at them with a blank expression and what could at best be called a dim smile on her lips. Once they were all on their own two feet and all the horses were secured, she turned and strode toward the twin doors to the great hall. The doors were made from the same greenish metal, and were four or five man-heights tall. Suel leaned against the doors, and they swung inward on silent hinges.
The great hall was very large, stretching away into the dark recesses of the palace. Only the end closest to the courtyard was lit, leaving the rest of the grand room swathed in darkness and shadows. Two tables were set out next to the cold fire pit—no fires were necessary for warmth in Muspetlshaymr, but the original builders hadn’t yet convinced themselves of that fact when the hall was built.
“Oh, it’s hot,” said Suel and sighed in misery. “I always forget how hot this palace is.” She fanned her face with her hands. Bright red splotches dotted her cheeks and neck.
“Perhaps a cool drink, your Majesty?” asked Paltr.
“That would be grand,” she breathed. “For all of us, I think.” She clapped her hands, and when no one appeared, a small crease wriggled across her forehead.
“No trouble, your Grace,” said Yowrnsaxa. “I’ll find someone and arrange some refreshments.”
“Yes, do that please, my friend.”
Yowrnsaxa nodded and then flashed a smile at Meuhlnir before she walked off down the corridor leading to the kitchen. He watched her go, musing about the possibilities.
Freya snickered and jerked her thumb at Meuhlnir. “It looks as if there is a palace romance in the budding, big sister,” she said.
Suel grimaced at her for a moment and then forced a smile on her face. “We are all adults here,” she said. “Even you, little sister, though sometimes I do wonder.”
Freya smiled and looked at Pratyi askance.
“We should all get out of our heavy clothes and armor. We are safe within the palace,” said Suel. She began stripping away her heavy traveling cloak. The men and skyuldur vidnukonur began to divest themselves of their armor and stacked their weapons against the wall.
“Perhaps we men could entertain you ladies with feats of skill and strength?” asked Luka with a strange twist to his lips.
Suel nodded and smiled. “I would not be opposed to sitting here and watching for a while.”
The men spent the next little while clowning around, showing off and wrestling with one another. By the time Yowrnsaxa returned, there were grazes, scratches, bruises, and even a bloody nose to contend with. Through it all, Suel laughed and egged them on.
“And for the finale,” said Luka, “Huthr has something to show all of us. But we need someone to assist us. Paltr?”
Paltr grinned at his twin brother, even though Huthr couldn’t see him. “What’s this, Huthr?”
“Assist me and find out,” said Huthr with an enigmatic grin.
“I guess I must then,” said Paltr with a chuckle. “Where will you have me?”
“My assistants Vowli and Luka will position you while I prepare my mind.”
Luka took one arm and Vowli the other, and together they led Paltr to stand against the wall. They positioned him so that he was standing with most of his weight on his left leg, the right they pulled in front and pointed his toe. They spread his arms, bending the left arm at the elbow so that his hand pointed up. “There,” said Luka, “hold that pose, brother.”
“So, Huthr’s trick is to make me look an idiot?” asked Paltr in good natured fun.
“If that were the goal, would I need do anything?” asked Huthr with a teasing smile. “And, now, for a feat of skill not before seen in this land of Muspetlshaymr, my equipment please, Luka.”
Luka scampered to where Huthr stood and handed him a small hunting bow. His face was a mask of impishness. He bowed at the gathering and then moved to stand behind Huthr.
“Behold,” said Huthr in melodramatic tones. “The blind archer awakes!”
“Uh,” said Paltr with a trace of unease.
“Don’t worry, brother,” said Luka.
Huthr drew the bowstring back to his cheek, the tip of the arrow wandering about.
“Syow,” muttered Suel. The air crackled with power.
Meuhlnir glanced at her from under arched eyebrows, but she shrugged and made a shushing motion.
The tip of Huthr’s arrow stopped wandering and centered on the square area of the wall outlined by Paltr’s left arm and head. “Ready, brother?” he called.
“No,” said Paltr to the general amusement of the gathering.
Huthr let the arrow fly, and it snicked into the wall in the dead center of the square. The men and women in the room whooped. Huthr bowed and fished another arrow out of the quiver on the ground at his feet. “For my next trick—”
“Woah, woah, woah,” said Paltr. “I’m as game as the next man to let my blind brother shoot arrows at me, but is one not enough?”
“Come, come, Paltr,” chided Huthr. “Don’t be squeamish. How often have you had the pleasure of being a target for my arrows?”
Paltr laughed and tried to shrug and hold the pose Luka and Vowli had put him in. “Shoot away, then, master archer.”
Again, Huthr pulled the bowstring back, the tip of the arrow un
erring pointed at the space outlined by Paltr’s right arm and torso. “And here we go again,” he said, marshalling his breath so as not to spoil the shot.
Luka muttered something just before Huthr let the arrow fly and Huthr looked stricken by fear.
“Fidna mida,” said Suel. Again, the air crackled with potential energy.
Meuhlnir watched the arrow fly, at first heading straight at the blank spot on the wall, but then curving midflight. The arrow impaled Paltr by the neck, blood spurting in bright red rivulets across the wall he was pinned to.
Freya screamed and clamped her hand over her eyes.
“What?” yelled Meuhlnir, leaping to his feet. “What have you done!”
“What has happened?” yelled Huthr in a breaking voice. “Why did you dispel my vision?”
Paltr looked at them, one hand pressed to his throat, the other working at the arrow, trying to break off the shaft. His mouth worked like he was trying to speak; his eyes were riveted to Meuhlnir’s. He managed to snap the arrow in two and slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail.
Veethar sprang to his feet and moved toward Paltr.
Yowrnsaxa glared at Suel with cold hatred in her eyes.
“What?” asked Huthr. He sank to the floor, ironically matching Paltr’s slide down the wall. “What have we done?”
“Why have you done this?” Meuhlnir screamed.
“I didn’t know,” said Huthr, unable to see that Meuhlnir was looking at Luka. “It was supposed to be a clever joke to make Paltr… What has happened to Paltr?” On his brother’s name, Huthr’s voice rose to a shriek of his own.
Vowli took two strides to Huthr’s side. “You murderer!” he yelled. Vowli jerked a dagger from under his tunic and sank the blade into Huthr’s chest up to the hilt.
“No!” screamed Meuhlnir.
Everyone was yelling at once; everyone was trying to do something, anything, to help one of the two twins. Meuhlnir swept Vowli away from Huthr with the back of his arm and sank to the ground next to his brother. “Have they killed you too, Huthr?” he asked in a broken voice.
Through it all, Suel sat, still as a statue, and smiled.
Yowrnsaxa ran to Paltr and checked him for breath. She shook her head, and Meuhlnir let out a shriek of pure anguish as he closed Huthr’s eyelids.
“My brothers!” yelled Luka. He tried to force his way between Huthr and Meuhlnir, but Meuhlnir shoved him away with enough violence that Luka staggered into the wall.
“You did this,” hissed Meuhlnir, pointing one blunt finger at Luka. His other hand was dancing around his belt, looking for the hammer that was lying against the wall.
“I didn’t do anything, Meuhlnir!”
“Gentlemen, please,” said Suel. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”
“Come now! It’s clear what has happened here,” said Veethar and his normally blue eyes turned yellow.
Suel turned to him. “You too, Veethar?” she asked with venom in her voice.
Meuhlnir sprang to his feet. “Was all this just to get us somewhere out of the public eye?” he demanded, glaring at Queen Suel.
“You’d be wise to modulate your tone,” said Vowli with contempt. “Have you learned no lessons today?”
Meuhlnir screamed and grabbed Vowli by the face and neck. He pushed him hard into the stone wall of the great hall and began to squeeze Vowli’s throat. Spittle flew from Meuhlnir’s lips as he grunted and shifted his weight to bring more torque to bear. “I’ll kill you for this,” he hissed.
“Stop!” yelled Suel.
“He murdered my brother. You saw it!” said Meuhlnir without letting his grip on Vowli’s throat weaken one jot.
Suel snapped her fingers at Pratyi and Veethar. “Restrain him,” she said.
Pratyi and Veethar stared at one another, neither moving.
Luka screamed a high, wavering battle cry and charged at Meuhlnir, shoulder lowered to catch his eldest brother in the ribs. Luka did not yet have Meuhlnir’s bulk but was known for his strength, if not his strength of will in battle.
Meuhlnir grunted as Luka slammed into his side, and Meuhlnir lost his grip on Vowli’s throat. The two brothers went down in a heap, fists, and knees thumping each other. Vowli stood looking down at Meuhlnir with a hate-filled expression. He retrieved his dagger from Huthr’s chest, rubbing his throat and muttering to himself.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Frikka. She leapt in front of Vowli and kicked his long-bladed dagger spinning across the floor to thud into Paltr’s boot.
Vowli grunted and back handed her with as much strength as he could muster. Frikka shrieked and went down in a heap.
Veethar’s eyes went big, and a snarl danced on his lips as he launched himself across the room at Vowli.
“I’ll not be part of this, sister,” said Freya with a frown. She gathered her weapons and ran out of the hall and into the courtyard
“Bitch!” Suel hissed at her retreating back. She turned on her heel and stomped to the door that led to the courtyard, yelling for help. Groomsmen, porters, and smiths swarmed into the room, grabbing the queen’s guests indiscriminately and holding them fast.
Suel strode in a little circle, with rage burning in her eyes, fury twisting her face. She glared at each of them in turn. “This was an unfortunate accident! Who can believe otherwise?”
Meuhlnir grimaced and spit on the floor. “This was no accident!”
“I say it was. Who are you to contradict me?” Suel asked with fire in her voice and something that looked like hatred in her eyes.
“I am Meuhlnir! I heard you call on the strenkir af krafti. ‘Arrow find the target!’ You are part of this!”
“Don’t be an idiot! Paltr’s neck was not your brother’s target, was it?” Suel looked at his face for a long moment, seeing only enmity there. “Okay, then,” she said with a shrug. “So be it. I can see there is no reasoning with you.” She glanced at the men holding Luka and Vowli. “Oh, let them go, you stupid dogs!” she snapped.
“I knew it would be this way,” muttered Vowli. His face was twisted in a triumphant, but malevolent smile.
“Oh yes, you are so wise, Vowli,” hissed Suel. “So, wise to suggest that this was a way to solve our problems. No one will suspect, you said. They will see it as an accident, you said. Fools surround me!”
“Justice!” demanded Meuhlnir. “You were a part of this, you’ve just said so. I demand my justice!”
“Oh, shut up, you great fool.” Suel put her hands on her temples as if she were trying to stop her head from exploding. “Now, I’ll have to kill you or exile you. Why couldn’t you be more like Luka?” Her glance darted around at the gathered men and women of the party. “Do I have to kill you all?”
Meuhlnir looked at Yowrnsaxa and shook his head with despair and infinite sadness on his face.
Veethar looked at Pratyi and nodded.
Pratyi began to sing a slow, dirge of a tune, and Suel looked at him with irritation.
“Not now, Pratyi,” she hissed.
“Frist!” shouted Pratyi, his voice discordant and loud. The smiths, porters, and groomsmen all froze in place, making it easy for everyone to wriggle out of their grasp.
“What are you doing?” said Suel with hate and a touch of fear in her voice.
Veethar pointed at her and screamed “Thun!” His voice boomed around the room, each echo seeming louder than the last.
Suel grasped at her throat, her mouth working, cords standing out of her neck, but she couldn’t make a sound. She turned to Luka with panic dancing in her eyes. Luka grabbed her arm and pushed her out the door into the courtyard.
Meuhlnir made a grab for Vowli, but he slithered out the door after Luka and the queen, slamming the door after him.
“Weapons,” snapped Meuhlnir.
They hurried to dress in their armor, jerking straps into place and shrugging into heavy mail. They armed themselves, each grabbing his own weapon. With a roar, Meuhlnir kicked the two tall doors. The sound
was not what they expected—more like the tinkle of bells than the impact of a heavy boot on a metal door. Meuhlnir led the charge outside.
The courtyard was filled with fire demons. They stood half again as tall as a man and had two arms and two legs, but there the similarities ended. Their skin was a swarthy greyish-black, and their eyes gleamed red in the gloom. Their fingers ended in vicious looking claws, and their mouths, filled with sharp black teeth, glowed as if fire burned in their chests. Two black horns sprang from their skulls and curled up to point at the sky. Some of them were mounted on sleek black horses with eight legs, red eyes, and fiery, glowing mouths.
Their horses were gone. “The stables,” Meuhlnir shouted.
The front tier of fire demons roared and began to advance toward the six Isir. They brandished brutal looking weapons that looked like perversions of the weapons carried by the Isir. Some carried unpolished swords that ended in jagged shards of metal rather than smooth points. Others carried clumps of misshapen metal attached to the ends of arm-length measures of black wood.
“This could be a challenge,” whispered Yowrnsaxa, standing at Meuhlnir’s left side and protecting his flank with her shield.
“For such a small woman, you have a gift for overstatement.”
Yowrnsaxa shrugged and grinned. “Yes, you are right, of course. Nothing more than a slight delay.”
With a cacophony of savage, ear-splitting screams, the fire demons fell on the party of Isir.
“Ehltur ehlteenkar!” shouted Meuhlnir. A wreath of burning lightning encircled the attacking fire demons, and their blood-thirsty screams turned into shrieks of terror and pain. The circle of lightning began to shrink, herding the demons closer and closer to its center.
“The stables!” shouted Meuhlnir over the din of demon screams. They began to edge their way toward the stables as the circle of flickering blue fire collapsed with a loud pop. Fire demons shrieked and ran in panicked circles, alight with a cold, blue fire that arced between them like lightning. As the party reached the stable doors, the demons began to collapse to the ground, burnt out husks of foul-smelling black skin.
Blood of the Isir Omnibus Page 29
