The Sword of Surtur

by C. L. Werner

  Bjorn almost beamed with gratitude as he tucked his axe under his belt and took up his bow. He glanced back once at Lorelei and then set off at a jog across the burning plain. Tyr wanted his friend to get far enough away that they’d be able to react to any danger he discovered before it was upon them, yet not so far that they lost sight of the huntsman.

  “He’s most eager to help,” Lorelei said as they watched Bjorn.

  “He’s young,” Tyr replied. “The young are always eager. They haven’t let cynicism rot their enthusiasm. They haven’t seen enough of life yet to be jaded by its disappointments.” He gave her a sharp look. “I think he’s smitten with you.”

  Lorelei laughed. “I think half the men I meet are smitten with me, whether I encourage them or not.”

  Tyr’s expression grew more severe. “Don’t encourage him,” he cautioned. “Remember that he’s young and the young are more easily injured by such things.”

  She touched her fingers to her lips and held them against Tyr’s chest. “For your sake, I promise this.” She lowered her eyes and her voice grew soft. “My own heart is already swayed by another.”

  Tyr thought of her long pursuit of Thor, but the way she spoke now made him doubt it was his brother she was referencing. For a moment he wondered, but he quickly dissuaded himself of the thought. Gently he drew her fingers away. “We need to start after Bjorn before he gets too far away,” he said.

  Lorelei gave him another of her enigmatic smiles. “You know best what needs to be done,” she said. “I can only point out the path. It is you who must show the way.”

  Nine

  Hours passed, and the infernal land of Muspelheim grew, to Tyr’s mind, only worse. Even for an Aesir it was an effort to sustain his lungs with the searing air. His shoulders were blistered by the cinders that drifted down from the sooty sky, the smell of his own singed hair was ever in his nose now. He suspected Lorelei had some sort of enchantment that reduced the malignity of the atmosphere for her, as her hair and skin bore no blemish from the flaming rain. He didn’t ask her about it, however. If it was any kind of magic she could or intended to share, certainly she would have offered to extend its influence onto her companions. Perhaps, he considered, it was a finite resource and to bestow it on them all would stretch the sorcery too thin to be of use to anyone.

  Bjorn was maintaining the same loping trot regardless of what Muspelheim threw at him. Whether his boots carried him over a blasted plateau of black sand or over rugged ground strewn with volcanic rock, he didn’t let his pace falter. Tyr was impressed by his endurance, for he knew his friend was used to the wintry forests of Varinheim and must be feeling the withering attentions of Muspelheim even worse than he was.

  The range of grim mountains seemed just as distant as ever, something that made Tyr’s heart heavy with frustration. “Surtur is of the race of giants,” he said to Lorelei. “The fire giant, they call him.”

  “This is well known,” Lorelei replied. “Of old it is said he fought Ymir and in their struggle they created the Nine Worlds.” She gave him a curious look. “You speak as though it is important that he is a giant.”

  “It is,” Tyr said. “Whether in Jotunheim, Niffleheim, Asgard, or Midgard, giants favor mountains to make their homes in.” He gestured with his shield at the distant peaks. “I think the shard is leading us to those. I think that is where Surtur has built his stronghold.”

  The theory was obviously not to Lorelei’s liking. “Then we’ve much farther to go,” she said with a sigh.

  “And just as much ground to cross on our return,” Tyr reminded her. “Only the going back will be even harder. So far, we’ve not run into any of Surtur’s fire demons, but they’re certain to pursue us after I’ve wrested Twilight from their master’s grasp.”

  Lorelei frowned at his statement. “Perhaps there will be no need to face Surtur,” she said. She winced when she saw the surprise her words provoked. “Is it so very important that you fight the fire giant as your brother did Ymir?”

  Tyr couldn’t hide the disappointment the question provoked. Of course it would be a proud moment to return to Odin’s hall and proclaim such a mighty feat. Then it would be Thor who would be envious of him for a change. At the same time, there were more important concerns than his own pride. “Whatever promises the surest way to take Twilight,” he said. “If it can be done without alerting the fire giant, so much the better.”

  “It can,” Lorelei insisted. “Twilight has been broken and reforged many times. Surtur ever seeks to make the sword more deadly for his eventual battle with… your father. When it is being forged anew, his minions kidnap smiths from among the dwarves to labor over the weapon. Dwarves have been disappearing from Nidavellir. That could mean Twilight is once again being worked upon.”

  “So we might sneak into the forge and steal the sword before Surtur knows we’re there.” Tyr found the plot anything but valiant. It was the scheme of a thief, not a warrior. But the thought of what it would mean to Odin if Twilight were brought up from Muspelheim was more than sufficient to overcome his repugnance. Just as he’d agreed to using magic to get past Heimdall, he now agreed to Lorelei’s strategy. “It would have been best if you’d told me this at your castle.”

  “Yes,” Lorelei conceded, regret in her voice, “but I couldn’t take the risk that you’d say no.”

  Before Tyr could speak, his attention was drawn to Bjorn. The wolfhunter was heading into an area of thick fog. The sight set a tremor of alarm rushing through him. Where in Muspelheim could there be moisture enough to cause such a fog? The question vexed him, and his uneasiness only increased when Bjorn walked further and his shape was lost in the thick mist.

  “We need to close the distance with Bjorn,” Tyr said. He started jogging toward the fog, Lorelei keeping pace beside him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, some of his alarm passing into her.

  “I don’t know… yet.” Tyr encouraged her into a brisk run when they still failed to spot Bjorn through the curtain of mist.

  When they reached the fog, Tyr found the answer to at least part of his question. Though it seemed like some sort of mist, there wasn’t any moisture to it, only a bitter heat. Yet it felt heavy and stifling, not dry and smoky like a fume. He thought only a place such as Muspelheim could produce such a contradictory emanation, both humid and parching.

  Lorelei reeled back from the withering miasma. She tried to draw Tyr away. “I have to find Bjorn,” he told her, pulling from her grip. “Stay here,” he added before marching deeper into the fog.

  Every step was more painful than the one that preceded it. Compared to the atmosphere within the mephitic mist, the normal heat of Muspelheim was like a cool spring morn. Tyr felt as though he were being cooked from without and within, each breath scorching his lungs. He could only imagine how Bjorn had been impacted and he bemoaned the foolish bravado that had made his friend press on when he should have relented and turned back.

  “Bjorn!” Tyr called out, wincing as he drew a measure of the searing mist into his mouth. He kept looking at the ground, certain the huntsman must have collapsed under the boiling intensity of the steaming mist. “Bjorn!”

  The sound of footsteps behind him brought Tyr spinning around. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to him that anything might be lurking in the miasma, that some denizen of Muspelheim might use the mist to hide itself while it searched for prey. But the sounds he heard didn’t belong to some monstrous fiend. Instead he found himself looking at Lorelei. It was obvious from her appearance that whatever spell fended off the falling cinders wasn’t doing her any good in the boiling fog. That made him appreciate her following after him even more.

  “Did you find him?” she gasped.

  “Not yet,” Tyr said, shaking his head. “He’s here,” he declared, “and I will find him. I’ll not leave a friend to cook in this inferno.”

  B
old words and a bold intention, but as they continued Tyr thought them foolish. The heat was only getting worse and the deeper they went the more trouble they’d have getting out again. Then a thought came to him. “Lorelei, the ice from Niffleheim! When you used it against the magma trolls it turned the air cool.”

  She reached into her satchel and withdrew the glacial fragment. A dour look crossed her face. “Tyr, I can use this to help us, but without knowing where Bjorn is…” Lorelei shook her head. “He’d take the full brunt of the spell. Frozen as solid as the trolls were.”

  Tyr blanched at the warning. “Keep it ready,” he said. “We’ll wait as long as we can. Until we can endure no more.” He felt the weight of that decision as he moved deeper into the fog. They could save themselves, but doing so would doom his friend.

  The mephitic miasma only grew more intense the farther into it they went. Tyr felt it was impossible Bjorn could have come this far and endured so much, however determined he was. They must have passed the huntsman somewhere along the way. Or else there really was some kind of beast prowling the fog looking for prey.

  “Lorelei…” Tyr called to her. He was about to tell her to cast her spell when his eyes caught a dark shape just ahead in the mist. He snapped his mouth closed so quickly he bit his tongue, afraid he’d speak before he could stop the words. He dashed ahead and a sense of jubilation filled him. The shape was Bjorn! The steaming mist had finally exhausted him, but somehow he’d remained standing.

  “Keep him close to me,” Lorelei told Tyr when she joined them. “And keep yourself near too,” she added in a less severe tone. When she was satisfied that both men were close enough to avoid the freezing effects of the ice, she held it before her and made the same arcane gestures with her other hand.

  At once a brisk chill wrapped itself around Tyr. Nothing he’d ever experienced was as luxurious as that icy blast after the sweltering torment of the miasma. He breathed deeply and laughed when he saw frost drift away from his mouth. Bjorn revived, stirring in his arms as the wonderful cold surrounded them.

  Bjorn gazed up at Tyr. For a moment his eyes were unfocused, dazed by his ordeal. Then an awkward smile flickered onto his face. “I think I underestimated how tough this was going to be.” He clasped Tyr’s arm, his expression becoming intense. “You took a risk coming after me.”

  Tyr shook his head. “A risk taken to save a friend isn’t a choice,” he said. “Besides, we’d have needed to use magic to get through anyway.” He gestured to the landscape around them.

  The effect upon the miasma was even more amazing. A great swathe of the fog clattered to the ground, transformed into snow. Tyr was stunned by the incredible sight. Snow in the fiery wastes of Muspelheim. So much of the mist had been frozen that they could see through to the other side.

  “How long will it remain frozen?” Tyr asked.

  Lorelei replaced the ice in her satchel. “Perhaps Amora could tell you. I only know that right now it is the way you see it. Any moment and it could start to melt.”

  “Then let’s get moving,” Tyr said. He held onto Bjorn when the wolfhunter would take his place ahead of them again. “No, we’ll keep together for a time. Make sure that none of us has been unduly affected by this experience.”

  “I’m fighting fit now,” Bjorn insisted.

  “Maybe so,” Tyr said. “But you’ll be even fitter if you take it easy for a little while.”

  Bjorn wrested free from him and started trudging through the snow. He kept his pace slow, so Tyr knew his friend wasn’t trying to put distance between them. He took that for a good sign, but he was disturbed by the sullen look in the huntsman’s eyes.

  “You’ll have to talk to Bjorn,” Tyr whispered to Lorelei. “I’m afraid he’ll push himself too far trying to earn your favor.”

  Lorelei gave him a weary shrug. “If I say anything, it would just make him try even harder.”

  Tyr sighed. He knew how headstrong Bjorn could be. There was too much logic in Lorelei’s argument to discount it.

  Ten

  Bjorn waited for his companions beside a great mound of broken rock. When Tyr approached him, he saw why the wolfhunter had paused. Before them was a deep canyon that stretched away for miles in every direction. The floor of the canyon was pockmarked with craters, many of which flickered with the glow of fires smoldering in their depths. Around, between, and through the craters molten streams of lava crisscrossed the canyon, distorting the air around them with their heat.

  “It’ll be a hard thing getting around that,” Bjorn said.

  Lorelei joined them, once more consulting the sliver from Twilight. “Around or through, we’ve got to cross it,” she said, snapping the box shut and returning it to her satchel.

  Tyr studied the terrain, weighing the value of trying to find a way around against the time that would be lost doing so. “Through is faster,” he declared. He pointed at great slabs of stone that stretched across the lava streams. “It strikes me that there are too many bridges to be some freak of the elements.”

  “Surtur’s minions?” Bjorn scowled at the idea. “If so then we’re well into the fire giant’s territory. We’ll have to be even more careful of his spies.”

  “We’ve run that risk from the moment we entered Muspelheim,” Lorelei said. “Surtur might be too confident in the ability of his trolls to keep back any intruders.”

  “Just the same, we need to be cautious,” Tyr took up Bjorn’s argument. “These bridges are the first evidence of construction we’ve seen. Until we have reason to think otherwise, we need to assume the builders are near.”

  “Do we go around?” Bjorn asked.

  Tyr cast his gaze across the canyon, now trying to spot any outpost where sentries might have been placed. He focused on those vantages that would make the most tactical sense to place sentinels. He didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. The far side of the canyon was an even better prospect. From there an observer could watch them as easily as they could see the canyon floor from this end.

  “That would mean time.” Tyr shook his head. “The more time we spend trying to reach Surtur’s fortress, the greater the risk of discovery. We might be exposed crossing that desolation, but the time we save will lessen our risk overall.” He gave Bjorn a frank look. “Neither choice is a good one, it is simply deciding which carries less danger.”

  “Then if you think the direct route is better, that is what we’ll do.” Lorelei shifted the satchel on her shoulder and came to the edge of the canyon. “There seems to be some sort of path over there.”

  Bjorn looked to where she pointed. “It looks to come up to this level a couple hundred yards to the right.” He removed an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow. “Stay here and I’ll see how it looks.” There was eagerness in his step as he set off. Tyr knew his friend was hoping to redeem himself from the near disaster in the steaming miasma.

  “Just scout,” he told the huntsman. “Should you find that guards have been set, come back and tell us.” Bjorn made no reply to Tyr’s words.

  “You don’t think he could handle a few guards?” Lorelei wondered as she watched Bjorn stalk towards the trailhead.

  “I worry he might not get them all,” Tyr stated. “If guards have been left here to watch the path, we can’t let any of them slip away and give warning.”

  Tense moments passed while Tyr and Lorelei listened for the least sound that might indicate that Bjorn had been spotted by some sentinel on the path below. When he dropped below the lip and started down into the canyon, Tyr was even more keyed to the possibility of conflict. Minutes passed and no sound rose from below. Finally, Bjorn popped his head up and motioned for them to join him.

  “There are tracks,” Bjorn reported, pointing at marks in the scorched dirt. “Something that walks on two legs. Bigger than a man but not as heavy as a troll.” He scratched his beard and
added, “I don’t know how recent they are, but it looks like this trail has seen a lot of use.”

  “All the more reason for haste,” Tyr said. “We move down and across the canyon before whoever is using this path comes back.” His decision made, he put action to words and started off down the side of the canyon wall. Lorelei and Bjorn followed his lead. At each bend in the trail Tyr almost expected to see fire demons lying in wait for them. Strangely, he regretted it when his worry didn’t manifest. At least a fight would have relieved the anxious expectancy that had sunk its hooks into him.

  They reached the floor of the canyon without incident. Bjorn waved his hand at the far wall, picking out for Tyr a trail climbing up it that was very much like the one they’d just left. “No need to consult the box,” the huntsman said. “Until we’re out of the canyon there’s only one way to go.”

  “I suppose you know the best way across?” Lorelei asked, a trace of irritation in her tone.

  Bjorn pointed at tracks in the dirt. “We keep following these. Whatever they did to get across, we just keep in their footsteps.”

  Tyr would have suggested the same strategy. When campaigning in enemy terrain, it was usually helpful to follow a foe’s example. “You’re better at tracking,” Tyr complimented his friend. “Take the lead.”

  The bottom of the canyon was even more unforgiving than it had seemed from above. The creatures in whose footsteps they followed had picked their way around the worst of the craters and rock piles, but even so there were many places where, to keep on their track, the Asgardians were forced to climb into holes that reeked of sulfur and scramble up heaps of jagged stone.

  Finally, they reached one of the bridges across the lava streams. Closer to the span, Tyr could see that it was unquestionably carved by tools. Rough and raw as it was, the causeway was still an artificial construction, recalling to him the menhirs and megaliths erected by the people of Midgard.