Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  Althyof nodded as if he could read my thoughts. “Would you change any of it?”

  I shook my head. “No. We didn’t do too badly.”

  “We did well, Hank,” said Yowtgayrr. “Perhaps better than we had a right to expect.”

  I nodded. I’d been thinking the same thing since we embarked on the trip.

  “What is this place?” asked Krowkr, his awe evident in his voice.

  “Never you mind,” snapped Althyof. “Sometimes it’s better to accept what you don’t know.”

  I stared at the runes inscribed in the stone walls. Now that I could read them, the organization of the place made more sense. Runes that seemed to point to different spots on the various klith filled one wall—the places similar enough to our homes that they were almost indistinguishable—as with Henry’s Penfield or Osgarthr and Mithgarthr. One wall contained the preer for various other realms—Nitavetlir, Muspetlshaymr, Alfhaym, and the like. Another wall held runes that indicated danger: hot, cold, heavy, underwater, things such as that, and after each such rune, was the name of a place I’d never heard of before. Stathur, I thought. Those places in the multiverse where the physical laws differ greatly from those we expect. Environments such as the place I visited as my animus. The runes on the final wall seemed tied to both a time and a place.

  I touched the rune for Nitavetlir, and the proo swirled into existence in the center of the room. “Here we go,” I said.

  “This is just a visit to the smithy to get ammo, right? We go to Sig the second you have it.”

  “Yes, honey,” I said. “If Prokkr doesn’t have my ammunition finished, I’ll pop into our basement and go buy one or two hundred boxes at the gun shop in Walworth.”

  “You could get more methotrexate, too, if we went there instead of Nitavetlir.”

  “This stuff Sif made works just as well—maybe better—and I don’t want to risk getting picked up for questioning or something unless we have to.”

  Jane shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but I could tell she’d rather have a taste of home, no matter how brief.

  I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll get there.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “Enough talk,” said Althyof, and he reached out to touch the proo.

  We followed him, and I immediately bumped my head. “You’d think someone would raise the ceiling in this little closet,” I said.

  Althyof shrugged in the near-darkness. “Seems fine to me.”

  The memory of my first trip to Nitavetlir was fragmented and foggy. When we’d emerged back at Veethar and Frikka’s estate, there’d been a battle raging, and in that battle, I’d lost my left eye and then helped Althyof kill a white dragon. “Don’t remember much about the place,” I said.

  Althyof threw open the door to the subterranean hall outside, and the clatter and cries of the Tverkar home realm filled the air. “It’s no matter,” he said. “I might know someone who could serve as our guide.” He smiled and winked.

  “Krowkr, keep close,” I said.

  “Yes, lad, stay with us, and, by all means, watch where you step. The last thing we want is to get into a brawl over your clumsiness.” Althyof smiled at Krowkr’s unease and tipped me another wink before he swirled out into the hall. He threw back his head and roared, “I have returned! Never fear, Nitavetlir, Althyof has returned!”

  “So?”

  “Shut your trap, Tverkr!”

  “Oh ho! Althyof is back! Hide your women!”

  “How much would it cost to have you leave again?”

  The catcalls echoed up the hall, and Althyof’s smile grew wider at each one. Krowkr looked at me in confusion, and I smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s all part of the show.”

  “Follow me,” said Althyof. “I know a shortcut to Prokkr’s smithy.” He turned at the first intersection of halls and led us to a nondescript door. He rapped on it twice and pushed it open. Behind it, two Tverkar napped in chairs tipped back against the room’s walls. “Lazy louts!” yelled Althyof.

  The two Tverkar snorted but didn’t wake.

  “Ah, well,” murmured Althyof. “Down these stairs back here.”

  We descended on a wide spiral staircase carved from living rock. Althyof skipped down the steps, whistling a tune.

  I nudged Jane’s arm. “I’ve never seen him whistle. Think he’s happy about something?”

  “I think it means he has a slow leak.”

  “Heard that,” said Althyof. “Heard both of you.”

  We climbed down the steps without pause until my thigh muscles were shrieking with exhaustion. “Tverkar need to learn about elevators,” I said.

  “What makes you think we don’t know about them?”

  “Stairs and ramps…”

  Althyof shrugged. “Keeps one fit.”

  After that, I didn’t have the breath to tease him. We spiraled down and down and down before we finally reached the bottom.

  “This way,” said the Tverkr, opening another door onto yet another stone hall.

  The air in the hall was hot and stuffy, and I thought I could see an orange glow at the other end. It had been faster than Meuhlnir’s route, I thought, but I wanted to collapse.

  Althyof led us out onto the smithy’s floor. He turned to Jane and pointed at a canal filled with creeping magma. “Do you see, Jane? If we have time, I’ll make you a pendant from one of those channels of lava.”

  “Fine,” she said, turning to me and rolling her eyes. “I said I believed you, right?”

  Althyof smiled. “It never hurts to belabor a point.”

  “Master Jensen!” boomed Prokkr from across the work floor. “Does the belt I made you work in practice?”

  I smiled at his eager tone. “Master Prokkr!” I called. “This belt is a work of pure genius!”

  “Good, good!” He strode toward us, shoving his underlings out of the way when they ventured into his path. “And the armor? The bucklers?”

  “Excellent.”

  He strode up to us, giving a terse nod to Althyof. His eyes lingered on Jane for a moment, then bored into Krowkr’s for the space of ten breaths before turning back to me and smiling. “And Kunknir? Krati? I can’t speak to the enchantments, mind, but how have they held up?”

  “Very well. They were instrumental in helping Althyof to slay that white dragon and have seen a lot of action since.”

  His eyes brightened. “Might I…”

  I smiled. “Any time, Master Prokkr.” I drew Kunknir, cleared the chamber, and handed the big, enchanted Kimber .45 to him. As with the first time he saw it, his eyes crawled over every cranny, every feature of the pistol. It was almost as if he’d forgotten we were there, or where he was. Lesser smiths crowded behind him, vying for a look.

  “Ah, yes,” he breathed. “Such craftsmanship. But it appears to collect grime in these crevices.”

  “Residue from the propellants,” I said. “An unavoidable consequence of firing them.”

  “Ah. One day, I’d like…that is, with your permission, Master Jensen, I’d enjoy firing these myself.”

  I smiled at his enthusiasm for new experiences—at least where engineering was concerned. “That can be arranged.”

  “If you’ve finished?” groused Althyof. “Our time is valuable, smith.”

  Prokkr’s face soured. “I think I preferred our previous relationship, enchanter. The one where you were subservient to my will.”

  Althyof shrugged. “Things change, Tverkr. Adapt.”

  “Come,” said Prokkr, whirling on his heel and striding away without returning Kunknir and without checking to see that we followed.

  I grinned and shook my head, noticing the scowls on the faces of the Tverkr smiths as they watched their master trek to his private office. Inside, he turned, still holding Kunknir in both hands. “And what might I do for you today, Master Jensen.”

  “Let me introduce you to my wife, Jane,” I said.

  “Charmed,” he said, barely glancing at he
r.

  “And this is Krowkr.”

  “Yes, yes.” He didn’t bother looking at the Viking.

  “I’m here to check on your experiments with the ammunition. I hope you’ve made progress.”

  “Of course!” he grunted. “It was a simple matter when we got down to it. A press, a few molds, quality checks at every step.” He looked disappointed. “Is that all you came for today?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He shook his head, but his eyes caught on the golden spear Jane carried. “Curious,” he said. “Old craftsmanship in that.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was a gift from a pair of cave bears.”

  He turned to me slowly, eyebrows arched. “Is it so?”

  “It is.”

  “Interesting.” He reached out and flicked his thumb against her shield. “And this is quite nice.”

  “I like it,” said Jane. “It goes with my wings.”

  Prokkr glanced at me uncertainly before meeting Jane’s gaze. “I see. Extraordinary.”

  “She is,” I said, taking her hand. “I wish we had more time, Prokkr, but—”

  “Yes, time is as elusive as ever.” He said it with such irritation in his voice that I was hard pressed not to smile. “I wish there were a way to control it, but in all my studies, I have found no principles by which to manipulate it.”

  Althyof grinned at me and shook his head. “The ammunition, Master Prokkr?”

  “Yes, yes,” said the master smith in a disinterested tone. He stooped and opened a cabinet under his work table, then withdrew two metal boxes close to a foot long, six inches wide, and six inches tall. Each box had a handle that folded flat into the hinged lid. “Thirteen hundred rounds for Kunknir, one thousand seven hundred and fifty rounds for Krati. Will you require more?”

  Relief coursed through me. I hadn’t wanted to face Luka crippled by a lack of ammunition, despite all the things I’d learned since the last time I’d fought him. “Let’s make this a standing order,” I said. “I’ll take a can of each, every time I visit Nitavetlir.”

  “Hmm,” said Prokkr. “I can do that with ease—as long as you don’t return on subsequent days.”

  “Excellent. You don’t know how good it is to hear you say that.”

  “The only matter to settle on is the price.”

  “Ah. Yes, about that—”

  “My account,” said Althyof. “Make the price reasonable, Prokkr, and we need never discuss it. Make the price egregious, and…well, sometimes it’s best to remember how I defeated Fowrpauti in single combat.”

  The master smith rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Yes, yes. Each can will be a quarter bag, but that price is contingent on an agreement, Master Jensen.”

  “And what agreement is that?”

  “I wish to learn more about the crafting techniques from your klith.”

  “Well… I’m not a smith—”

  “Yes, yes. If you travel to your home, find me materials describing the processes used to create such a fine weapon. Find me material that describes the principles behind other, more exotic weapons.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I can do that, but the language spoken on Mithgarthr—”

  He waved his big hands. “I understand I’ll have to do the groundwork to understand the runes of that realm. It’s settled.”

  “No,” said Althyof. “If Hank is to educate you, these cans of ammunition are the least you can do for him.”

  Prokkr glowered at the Tverkr, using his height to loom over Althyof. “I don’t recall you being part of the negotiation.”

  “Is it so?” said the runeskowld. “You don’t recall that I’m the party paying?”

  Prokkr harrumphed and rolled his eyes. “Or not paying if you get your way.”

  Althyof took a step closer to Prokkr and glared up into the master smith’s face. “Should we discuss it outside?” Menace dripped from his voice, and a small, crazy smile flitted on his lips. “I throw you, I pay nothing per can. You throw me, we negotiate further.”

  “Ha! You throw me, and the cans are yours, but if I throw you, you pay one quarter bag.”

  “Acceptable,” said Althyof.

  “Fellas, listen—”

  “Shh, Hank. We’re negotiating,” said Althyof with a secret smile. “Smith? After you?”

  The wrestling match was short, and I left Nitavetlir with free ammo for life.

  Twenty-five

  We didn’t want to risk taking one of Meuhlnir or Veethar’s existing proo to the Herperty af Roostum and emerging outside in the middle of Hel’s army, or somewhere far away from the parts we knew—or being accosted by more Great Old Ones—so I grabbed the hook of the proo we’d used to get there and spun it so it terminated in the room we’d slept in the first night before the battle with Vowli, except focused on the time right after I’d seen Luka traipsing through the halls of the place. I felt confident I had a grasp on that room, and as I twisted the proo to my purposes, only the doubt that I might inadvertently get the time scale wrong nagged me. But there was nothing I could do about it—I lacked a meaningful understanding of the mechanics of the damn things. Are they wormholes? Warp tunnels right out of Star Trek? Magic doors similar to those in the Dark Tower series from Sai King? Or giant wardrobes with secret ways hidden behind the clothes? I had no answers to those questions, and only two ways of educating myself were open to me—Bikkir and his pompous sesquipedalian nature or asking Kuhntul and hoping she’d give me not only a straight answer, but a serviceable one.

  The silvery light splashed on the walls of Veethar’s Vault of the Preer, and I glanced at my diminished party. “We could take the long way.”

  “What, go back through to Vefsterkur’s place in Niflhaymr, sneak out of the city and traipse across that icy desert, take Luka’s proo back to the cabin on the mountaintop, spend a few days walking back to Yarl Oolfreekr’s place, and finally back through that proo to the Rooms of Ruin? Are you kidding?” Jane asked with a smile twitching on her lips.

  “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds a little silly.”

  “Only a little?”

  I grinned and waved my hand at the proo I’d manipulated. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

  “Looks more like a bunch of spilled silver paint, but whatever. I’m not going first, bozo. That’s your job.”

  “How did I know you’d say that?”

  She treated me to the full, ten-thousand-watt “Jane’s so great” smile. “It’s because I’m so wonderful. Plus, I trained you well.”

  “Yes, dear,” I said and laughed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Krowkr’s expression as he watched us flirt. It was a strange mix of jealousy and awe until he caught me watching him—at which point it all turned into a blush, and he found something interesting to look at on the ground. “It’s okay, kid. She’s awesome, and everyone knows it.”

  Krowkr nodded but kept his eyes down.

  “But…I’ll tell you the same thing I told Mothi Strongheart.”

  “Yes, Yarl Hanki?”

  I fought a sigh. Will I ever be just a man to him? “Don’t make me break your legs.”

  He looked at me askance, a troubled expression creeping over his features. “Yarl Hanki, I would never—”

  “He’s kidding, Krowkr,” said Jane, turning her ten-thousand-watt smile on him.

  His eyes bounced between us as if at a tennis match, me pretending to glare at him, her smiling.

  “Before we go,” said Yowtgayrr, “I’d hear the tale of Krowkr’s reasons for visiting Yarl Oolfreekr.”

  With a grunt, Althyof nodded. “I agree.”

  Just like that, the light atmosphere dissipated. I nodded to the Viking. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

  “Gentlemen, I really think—” began Jane.

  “No, I should tell it.” Blood blazed in the young man’s cheeks. “I…I’m not proud of—”

  “No, let’s start with what you did, and then move on to the justifications,” said Al
thyof.

  “We—my brother and our lifelong friend—wanted to… Yarl Oolfreekr had a reputation as a berserker, as an oolfhyethidn, a wolf-warrior—”

  “Yes, yes,” snapped the runeskowld. “We do speak the language. It’s ours, after all.”

  I put my hand on Althyof’s shoulder. “Let him tell it in his own way,” I said.

  Krowkr gulped a breath. “We were… We weren’t successful. Owfastr and I, we came from…er…from modest beginnings. Our father died a few short years after my birth, and our mother never married again. Her heart was forever our father’s. Our friend, Skatlakrimr, he was better off, but with him, it was never enough. He craved respect, he wanted to be important.”

  Althyof grunted.

  “We’d been a-viking, more than once, in fact, but things didn’t go our way. It was nothing as bad as you might expect. We weren’t cowards, it was more poor luck than anything. We’d be in the wrong boat and get blown off course, only to arrive after the battle. Or we’d search for plunder on the wrong side of the village first. Things like that.”

  “And that led you to decide to become oolfa?” asked Yowtgayrr in a flat, emotionless voice.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. Skatlakrimr began to speak of it last summer, at the end of our raiding season. He went on and on about the amount of respect paid to Yarl Oolfreekr. Skatlakrimr told us stories about Oolfreekr challenging rich landowners and other yarls to duels. The yarl fought for years, up and down the coast. He made so much money from his schemes that he hadn’t been a-viking for years and years. No one dared challenge him, no other yarl dared attack him, though he had fewer and fewer karls and thralls each year. Skatlakrimr idolized this man he’d never met, and I fear now that the tales told of Oolfreekr may have been aggrandized.”

  “And? After Skatlakrimr told you these tales, you still sought the man out?”

  “Truth be told, Oolfreekr and the Briethralak Oolfur never held my interest. But Skatlakrimr was our friend, and we listened to his tales. My brother, Owfastr, the one Luka murdered, he saw the romance of it—the mystery of it all excited him.”