The Sword of Surtur

by C. L. Werner

  The wait, however, was not a long one. Tyr suspected Lorelei could have preceded them to the table but had lingered off in one of the halls until they were settled. She made a grand entrance as she swept into the hall. The dress she wore was bright azure, complemented by a belt of gold and a necklace with a ruby set into it big enough to choke a bear. Gold combs adorned her hair, sweeping the scarlet locks away from her powdered face.

  “It gladdens me that you’ve accepted my hospitality,” Lorelei said as she took her seat at the head of the table. She made a little frown when she saw that neither man had started in on his meal. “Oh, you needn’t have waited for me. I know you must be hungry after your hurried departure from Odin’s hall.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Tyr. “You didn’t exactly get a chance to finish your meal.”

  Tyr acknowledged the comment with a wave of his hand. “I’m hungry for the details of your plan to cross the Rainbow Bridge. Other appetites can wait.”

  Lorelei motioned one of her servants to pour wine for her. She lingered over the crystal goblet, watching the play of its ruddy color within the sharp facets of the glass. “I know you distrust me, Tyr. I know my past hasn’t been as ideal as it might have been and I know that my sister’s legacy is still less of a recommendation. But please believe that my motives are pure.”

  “I would very much like to,” Tyr said. “Is there anything you can tell me to lessen my suspicions?”

  “No,” Lorelei said, sipping at her wine. “Indeed, what I must tell you will only make you more suspicious.” She set down the goblet and folded her hands before her on the table. “You’ve asked me how we will get past Heimdall and cross Bifrost? The answer is one that will hardly convince you of my sincerity. My sister has, as you know, taken refuge in this castle with me at times. Some of her arcane apparatus has been left here. Among them there is a certain powder that when cast into someone’s face will make their mind turn back upon itself and forget all that has happened over the previous hour.”

  “This is what you plan to use to get past Heimdall?” Bjorn asked.

  “He will forget we even approached the Himinbjörg,” Lorelei said. When she saw the stern expression on Tyr’s face, she hurried to reassure him. “The powder will do him no harm, only make him forget that we were there. It will hold him immobile for a time and while he is stunned, we’ll be able to cross Bifrost.”

  “Do you think to use this powder on Surtur when we go to steal his sword?” Tyr prompted. His distaste for such a trick was only exceeded by his distaste for leaving Twilight in the fire giant’s hands. In war, the most dishonorable tactics had to be considered if it would ensure victory.

  “Would that I had enough for such a purpose,” Lorelei said. “But my sister left only enough here for us to employ on Heimdall. Even if we were to find another way to Muspelheim, I don’t know if there’s enough powder to affect Surtur. Or even if something like him can be affected by it.”

  “It will need stronger magic than a pinch of powder to fight Surtur,” Bjorn observed between bites of venison.

  Lorelei stared down at the table, a flush rising into her cheeks. “There are other enchantments Amora left,” she confessed. “I haven’t focused myself on studying magic the way she has, but I have watched her at work. I might not be able to conjure the devices she uses to invoke her magic, but I know enough to be able to make use of what she left here.”

  Tyr tapped his finger on the table. “Before we devise a strategy to sneak into Muspelheim, I must know the nature of these devices. How they work. What they can do. How dependable they are.” He could see his talk was making her uncomfortable. “When we cross Bifrost we’ll be entering a hostile land where the very air is an enemy seeking to stifle us. It’s important to know the potential of every weapon at our disposal. That includes the magic you can draw upon.”

  “On your first point I can offer little,” Lorelei said. “I know how to work these spells, but not why they work. To the second, I can say there is much they can do. A veil of smoke drawn from the breath of the dragon Fafnir to hide us from the denizens of Muspelheim. A sliver of ice from the glaciers of Niffleheim that can freeze even a fire demon’s ire.” She paused a moment, weighing her words. “These worked well enough in Amora’s hands. But there is one that even she considered erratic in its moods. The Wayfarer’s Mirror, crafted for her by the dark elves.”

  “What is special about this mirror?” Bjorn asked.

  “Could its magic be depended on, we’d have no need of troubling Heimdall or crossing Bifrost,” Lorelei said. “It might transport us wherever we wished to go within the Nine Worlds.” She shook her head. “But Malekith’s elves are treacherous and so too are the gifts they bestow on their ‘friends’. I wouldn’t want to rely on the mirror, but if we were hard-pressed it would offer the possibility of escape from Muspelheim.”

  Tyr took a swig of ale and wiped the foam from his chin. “If the mirror is as untrustworthy as you say, then it must be a last resort.” He smiled at Lorelei. “The other magic you speak of is certain to be useful. It will only bolster our chances of success to have them at our disposal.”

  “There is more,” Lorelei said, looking across at each of them in turn. “My castle’s armory is well supplied. You could both of you benefit from a coat of mail. A shirt of chain crafted by the dwarves that resists even the hottest flame. A breastplate forged by the giants that is impervious to the most crushing pressure. There are weapons too–”

  Tyr interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “My sword is weapon enough for me,” he said. “But we will accept the hospitality of your armory. It will spare us returning to the city and risk others learning of our intentions.” He laughed and clapped his hand down on the table. “All of that can wait! Watching Bjorn gorge himself on these victuals has become more tortuous than anything I expect to find in Muspelheim! Let’s eat before he finishes what’s on his plate and starts raiding mine!”

  Lorelei laughed at Tyr’s joke. For a moment her eyes met his and there was in them an unexpected warmth. The instant was fleeting, the connection broken almost as soon as he became aware of it. Lorelei lowered her gaze and focused on her plate. Tyr didn’t ask her about the interest he thought she’d shown. It was just possible he was mistaken and that it was merely his imagination that had created the impression.

  “We’ll need more than your sword,” Lorelei finally said. “It will take the tactical prowess for which the God of War is so famed.” When she returned her attention to Tyr, the warmth was gone, subsumed by a stony resolution. “We can depend only upon our own resources. There isn’t anyone else we can call to for help.”

  Tyr nodded. “Because of the great danger, I am certain Odin would try to stop us.” His slapped his hand against the table, causing the cutlery to rattle. “But the very danger is why this could work. Surtur would never expect so small a group to trespass into his domain, much less try to steal Twilight. Surprise is a potent factor in our favor, one that cannot be underestimated.” He smiled as he thought about the advantage. “Yes, I think we stand a very good chance, more than those who would dissuade us would credit us with.”

  Tyr raised his stein and saluted Lorelei and Bjorn. “To Twilight’s last hours in Muspelheim,” he toasted. “May the fire giant’s sword never return to his hand!”

  Six

  The renowned Rainbow Bridge that connected the Nine Worlds projected outward from the very edge of Asgard, just beyond the walled city of the Aesir. At its foot, connecting it to the realm, was the dome-shaped bastion of Himinbjörg, home of Bifrost’s guardian, the Vanir Heimdall.

  Tyr felt uncomfortable as he approached Himinbjörg, a feeling that owed nothing to the thick breastplate he wore, or the heavy shield tied to his left arm. He had the utmost respect for the unwavering loyalty of Heimdall. Tasked by Odin to guard Bifrost, the sentinel performed his duty with an indefatigable sense of purpose. He’d stared so
long upon the Rainbow Bridge that now his eyes could peer into other realms, his gaze augmented by the mighty powers of Mimir, observing those Asgardians he concentrated upon. It was that power which made it so necessary to employ the sorcerous powder on him. Even if they did bluff their way past Heimdall, all it would need would be for him to concentrate on any one of them to discover where they’d gone and what they were doing. Tyr’s worry was that his father would find out and Odin would try to stop him. Or, worse, venture into Muspelheim to save him. Should that happen, he would be responsible for provoking the battle between Odin and Surtur instead of preventing it. The prophecy was vague on precisely when Ragnarok would unfold, and even the best tactician in Asgard couldn’t repulse an attack if he didn’t know when it would be unleashed. The nebulous ways of divination always ran the risk that by trying to avoid an outcome, one would ensure it came to pass. Tyr couldn’t take that chance, so, as distasteful as it was, they had to employ Lorelei’s magic.

  She presented a starkly different appearance than she had either at their dinner in her castle or their meeting in the Greenfirm. Lorelei wore armor that had the pebbled pattern of snakeskin but the hardness of diamond. She said it was shed from the ravenous Nidhogg, the fierce dragon who gnaws the roots of Yggdrasil, a gift to her by an adventurer whose name she no longer remembered, a failing of memory that Tyr found disturbing. A satchel slung over her shoulder held the various arcane devices her sister had left behind. At her waist was a long dirk of Uru metal, a provision Tyr had insisted upon. In case both magic and companions failed her, he didn’t want her to be defenseless. An Uru dagger in its gizzard would soon settle any fire demon.

  Bjorn had liberally availed himself of the proffered armor, though he presented a strange appearance in the coat of dwarven mail when he still had his wolfskin cloak drawn up over it. Tyr had joked that more than ever his friend looked like he was trying to fight his way out of the animal’s belly. He still carried the tried and trusted axes that had served him so well in Varinheim, but to them he’d added a hunting bow and a quiver of arrows from Alfheim. As he put it, he wanted any enemies to know they were in a fight as early as possible.

  The city walls loomed behind them as Tyr and his companions approached Himinbjörg. The bastion’s inner gate stood open. He could see through to the edge of the realm and the starry void beyond. The brilliant hues of the Rainbow Bridge shone in their chromatic panoply, stretching away into the infinite. Standing upon Bifrost was a towering figure wearing a horned helm and leaning upon a massive sword.

  “We must bide here a moment,” Lorelei warned Tyr when he would have marched ahead. “Too soon and we may leave evidence of what we’ve done. The powder will remove his memories of the past hour, but not those of anyone he may have spoken to.” She turned her head and judged at what point they would have been visible from Himinbjörg. Tyr knew she’d been making careful calculations as they walked.

  “How long must we wait?” Bjorn wanted to know. The wolfhunter had never ventured from Asgard before and with Bifrost so near Tyr imagined that excitement was rushing through him, more intoxicating than the strongest ale.

  “Not long,” Lorelei decided. She gave each of them a severe look. “You’ll have to talk with Heimdall. Distract him so I can cast the powder in his face.” Her hand brushed the satchel she carried. “Ten minutes, no more. Otherwise there’s a risk he will remember that we approached Himinbjörg and wonder what happened to us.”

  “If that happens, he is certain to divine where we’ve gone,” Tyr said. “I’ve no liking for this trick, Lorelei, but there’s no choice if we’re to see this through.”

  “There’s no turning back now,” Lorelei emphasized. “Once we’re upon Bifrost you must keep to the fiery bands of color and focus your minds upon Muspelheim. Keep that focus, and the gate will be open to us.”

  Bjorn nodded his understanding. Tyr had made the journey before, though usually it was to Midgard or Jotunheim. He knew how easy it was to lose the concentration needed to cross. An undisciplined traveler might walk the Rainbow Bridge forever if they forgot where they were going.

  They started down across the rocky ground toward the bastion’s open gate. Once they stepped within Himinbjörg, the sentinel on the bridge turned around. Tyr was a tall man, but Heimdall loomed over him, his height magnified by the horned helm he wore. The Vanir’s black beard spilled down across his armored chest while his hands clasped the pommel of the great sword Hofund, an Uru blade capable of harnessing the cosmic energies that swirled about Bifrost. From his belt swung the Gjallarhorn with which he would alert Asgard to threats moving across the Rainbow Bridge.

  “Hail and well met, Heimdall the Vigilant,” Tyr greeted the sentinel.

  Heimdall regarded him for a moment with his gray gaze before responding. “Well met, eldest son of Odin,” he said at last. His gaze shifted to Tyr’s companions. “The Lady Lorelei and Bjorn Wolfsbane.” He nodded to each in turn.

  Bjorn started at the mention of his name. “You know me?”

  The question brought a gusty laugh from Heimdall. “There is no Asgardian who I haven’t seen during my long vigil,” he said. “I may never leave my post, but not so my vision. When you hunted the rogue wolf Frosthowl, I observed the deed. Your courage stood you in good stead after the beast broke your axe and you brought it down with the splintered heft.” He nodded at the pelt draped over Bjorn’s back. “I see you continue to wear his skin. A fine trophy and well earned.”

  Bjorn basked in this compliment from the mighty Heimdall. “Frosthowl was a worthy foe. There are times I regret killing him, but he’d gone fierce and mean, slaughtering man and animal alike for the sheer pleasure of it. For the sake of the villages that shivered when his howl filled the night, I had to take up the hunt.” He glanced over at Lorelei. “They called me the greatest huntsman in Varinheim when I came back with his pelt.”

  “I understand there are more wolves than people in Varinheim,” Lorelei said, irritated by his boasting… or that he’d drawn Heimdall’s attention to her. Tyr tried to divert the Vanir’s focus.

  “There was a feast to celebrate Thor’s victory over Ymir,” Tyr said. “I was surprised you allowed him to pass you to undertake such a reckless venture.”

  It was the right subject to occupy Heimdall with. His expression darkened and his voice lowered to a grumble. “Your brother misled me as to his intentions. He was meant to journey to Midgard, not Niffleheim. It was to undertake this supposed task that I allowed him onto Bifrost, not to seek the King of the Ice Giants.”

  “Odin was pleased with the results,” Tyr pointed out. “My brother returned with a tuft from Ymir’s beard.”

  “Had he not borne such a token I should have barred him from returning to Asgard,” Heimdall stated. “But I knew that because Thor was successful that Odin would overlook his foolhardiness.” Again, the Vanir gave Tyr a studious look. “The All-Father is wise, but his heart exults in brave deeds and causes him to quickly forgive boldness when it is triumphant.”

  Tyr smiled at the comment. He hoped Odin would be as quick to forgive this journey into Muspelheim when he brought back Twilight and laid the fire giant’s sword before his throne.

  “The All-Father wrested the souls of the brave from Hela that they might dwell in the golden halls of Valhalla rather than the gloom of Hel,” Tyr said. “He has ever been eager to exalt those who have courage in their hearts, even when he must steal them from the realm of the dead.”

  Heimdall leaned forward on Hofund’s pommel. “My eyes can see Hela in her dark palace. She considers that Odin has poached what rightly belongs to her. It’s a point of contention that festers like an open wound.” He arched an eyebrow. “Thor was fortunate not to draw her notice when he went into Niffleheim. What brings you here, God of War? You would be well advised not to follow your brother’s path. Thor has tested the luck of the Aesir enough for quite some time.”

 
Tyr shook his head. “I’ve no intention of visiting Niffleheim,” he said, grateful he could tell the sentinel the truth. “Even if you’ve forgotten, I can’t help but remember it is at the gate of Hel that Garm is kept. Perhaps I must feed the hound’s jaws at Ragnarok, but I’ve no intention of hastening our meeting.”

  “To know the doom of tomorrow is both blessing and curse,” Heimdall said. He started to say more, but at that moment Lorelei interrupted him.

  “All-seer, you’ve yet to ask me why I wish to cross Bifrost,” she said. When the Vanir turned towards her, Lorelei blew the powder cupped in her palm full into his face.

  For just an instant, Heimdall reeled back and started to raise Hofund. Anger was on his face, but it dripped away like wax from a candle. His expression became blank, his eyes glazed and dull. The great sword hung slack in his hands.

  “Quickly!” Lorelei snapped at Tyr and Bjorn. “We have only a matter of minutes before he will recover. By then we must be through the gate and away in Muspelheim. Otherwise he is certain to spot us on the bridge and follow us with his realm-piercing gaze.”

  Lorelei had no need to further emphasize her point. All three of them rushed past the stunned Heimdall and out onto the colorful beams of Bifrost. The solidified light that composed the Rainbow Bridge always felt strange under Tyr’s feet. It was like trudging through shallow waters, a resistance without solidity, cool and crisp as it rushed about his boots. There was no sensation of support beneath him, only a nebulous impression of buoyancy. Crossing the span was neither walking nor swimming, but a fusion of both.