by C. L. Werner
Tyr shook his head. “More like a mine,” he said. He took a few steps forward. Faintly, he could hear voices. The gruff, brutal tones of fire demons. “Guards up ahead, at any rate.”
“Are they waiting for us?” Lorelei asked, an edge of dread in her tone.
“I don’t think so. No, they’re too inattentive to be waiting in ambush,” Tyr assured her. “It sounds like only two of them. If Sindr had set an ambush for us, she’d use a lot more warriors.” He glanced over at Bjorn. “There’s no telling how many turns are between us and them,” he advised, noting the curve in the passage. “We might have to move quickly to keep them from getting away if they spot us before we can reach them.”
Bjorn ground his teeth. “Just show me where they are,” he snarled, fingering his axe.
“Don’t get ahead of me,” Tyr cautioned him. He nodded to Lorelei. “Just in case it is some sort of ambush.”
The Asgardians crept down the corridor, the voices and the sound of work growing more distinct. Tyr began to hope that they’d be able to catch the fire demons unobserved with the way the corridor continued to twist and turn. Then they rounded a final bend and saw a long tunnel before them, as straight as an arrow. There was a good thirty feet between themselves and the fire demons who swung around to glare at them.
“So much for doing things the easy way,” Tyr swore as he charged into the guards. He’d underestimated their numbers as well. It wasn’t two fire demons, but four who stood in the tunnel. They weren’t expecting trouble, however, and lost precious seconds reaching for their weapons. Tyr closed with the first of his enemies before the demon had a chance to do more than raise the spiked mace he’d snatched up from where it was leaning against the wall. A slash to the head and the guard sprawled on the floor.
Bjorn was less lucky when he engaged a swordsman. The obsidian blade was firmly in the fire demon’s grip when he swung at him with his axe. The two weapons clashed in a display of sparks, and a savage struggle ensued. Back and forth the two strove against one another, until finally Bjorn was able to drive his enemy back against the wall. The sudden contact with the rough rock jarred the guard for a heartbeat. His defense faltered and, in that instant, the wolfhunter’s axe bit into him. Bjorn barked with triumph as his foe wilted to the ground.
Tyr contended with the remaining fire demons. One chopped at him with a glaive, but he ducked beneath the cleaving edge to stab the guard in the chest. A kick to the leg sent the dying enemy pitching headlong, and he lunged past the falling body to meet the sword of the last adversary. The Aesir’s might swatted aside the fire demon’s parry and left him exposed to Tyrsfang’s gleaming edge.
“My mistake. Four guards,” Tyr said as he turned from his last foe. The puzzle of why the fire demons had fought instead of trying to run was solved when he looked down the passageway. He’d thought there must be another bend up ahead. In that too, he was mistaken. The corridor didn’t turn again. There was nothing, only a wall of raw rock.
Clustered about at the end of the tunnel were four short, long-limbed people arrayed in the most pathetic rags. Their skin was burned and blistered, their hair and beards scraggly and unkempt. Tyr knew them to be dwarves, but never had he seen a dwarf in such a condition as these. He noted the chains that hobbled their legs, the picks and hammers locked to the manacles around their wrists. He felt pity for them as they stared at him with empty, passionless faces. How long had these dwarves been Surtur’s slaves?
“Jormungand gnaw Surtur’s bones!” Lorelei cursed. Tyr swung around, relieved that she too was outraged by the treatment of the dwarves. She wasn’t looking at them. Her eyes were locked on the end of the tunnel and the evidence of recent construction. “The filthy giant has been expanding his stronghold! What good is a map if everything’s been changed!”
Bjorn moved over to console her. “The fragment of Twilight can still guide us,” he reminded her. The withering look she turned on him made the huntsman flinch.
“These tunnels are piled one over the other,” she said. “I can find the direction we need to take, not which corridor will take us where we need to go.” She flicked her finger against the box in annoyance.
Tyr shook his head and approached the dwarves. “Don’t be afraid. We’re friends,” he told them. He knew they should be able to understand. The Allspeak rendered the Asgardians able to converse with any sentient people in the Nine Worlds. The dwarves just kept that same blank look. Not even the merest hint of emotion crossed their faces.
“You waste your time with them,” Lorelei declared. “Any boldness they might have had has been seared out of them by the fire demons.” Her expression darkened. “When their masters find them, they’ll tell them we were here.”
Tyr returned her dark look with one of his own. “The fire demons will know we were here when they find the dead guards,” he said. When Lorelei expressed such ruthless thoughts, it was hard for him to reconcile his affection for her with his conscience. There shouldn’t be a way to harbor such conflicting sentiments at the same time.
He shook off his reservations about Lorelei and focused instead on the dwarves. “You’re free,” Tyr told them. He brought his sword shearing down through the chains that hobbled their feet. Still there was no reaction from the prisoners.
“Lorelei’s right,” Bjorn called out. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Wasteful or not, I’ll see them free,” Tyr vowed. He turned his attention to the manacles, working the point of Tyrsfang under the hasps to break them one after the other. “Besides, if we’re lost then there’s no advantage to be had by haste. We don’t know how to get to the forge.”
Tyr’s words finally had an impact. One of the dwarves reached out and laid a calloused hand on his arm. “I can show you,” he stammered, his voice creaking as though it was seldom that he spoke. The other dwarves slowly nodded their heads. “Sometimes they set us to work there instead of digging tunnels.”
Tyr laid his arm on the dwarf’s shoulder. “You’ve been there, then? You’ve seen Twilight?”
The dwarf shivered and gave the sword a different name. “I’ve seen Odinsbane,” he whispered.
Twenty-One
The dwarf’s name was Grokrim, and with his guidance the Asgardians were able to retrace their steps and find the turn they should have made earlier. This part of the stronghold, it transpired, had undergone much expansion over the years since the dark elf spy was here. As much as her knowledge of the map had helped them earlier, in this part of the fortress Tyr knew they could no longer depend on Lorelei. A situation she only reluctantly accepted.
“Do you think we can trust these dwarves?” Lorelei whispered to Tyr when she thought she could do so without any of them hearing. “They might betray us to curry favor with Surtur.”
“I think they’ve been in Muspelheim long enough to know the fire giant better than that,” Tyr said. “Surtur doesn’t reward those who do him a service, they simply avoid being punished for failure.” He shrugged and nodded at the pumice walls, thinking of the many turns and junctures they’d passed. “Besides, I don’t see we have much choice in the matter. It’s either follow Grokrim or wander this maze until the fire demons find us anyway.”
Lorelei took little solace from the stark assessment, but it was clear she saw the logic in it. Instead of raising new concerns about the dwarves, she focused on what they would do when they reached the forge. “Twilight is certain to be protected,” she said. Her hand patted the satchel hanging from her shoulder. “I’ve only a few spells left. We’ve consumed the best of Amora’s devices. If the forge is too well defended, I’m not sure I can render much help.”
Grokrim stopped and turned, his eyes filled with fear. Despite her whispers, the dwarf had heard everything she said. Tyr guessed that captivity in the fortress had honed his senses to a razor’s edge. “More than guards, maybe,” Grokrim muttered. “Surtur sometimes visits the
forge. A great black throne sits facing the kiln, and he will spend hours, even days, there, watching the flames lick across Odinsbane.”
Tyr’s heart pulsed with a mix of fear and excitement. It might yet come to pass that he would face Surtur in battle. He looked over at Lorelei, then fixed Bjorn with a commanding stare. “Should the fire giant be there, I’ll handle him. You two get Twilight and get away.”
Panic showed on Lorelei’s face. She pressed close to him. “You mustn’t,” she objected. “You’d certainly be killed!” The concern in her voice made Tyr’s heart beat still faster.
Bjorn barked an ugly laugh, jealousy in his eyes. “You think you’d last a second against Surtur?” he scoffed. “They say the fire giant is a thousand feet tall. That when he fought Ymir the heavens themselves shook in awe of him.”
Tyr favored the huntsman with a thin smile. “I don’t know if Surtur is a thousand feet tall or not,” he said. He gestured at the confined tunnels around them. “But I do know if he dwells in this place then he must bring himself down to a less formidable size. Just like Sindr, he wears the shape that best suits his needs.” He turned back to Grokrim. “Well, what about it? How big is the fire giant when he visits the forge?”
Grokrim whispered with the other dwarves before offering an answer. “Always he comes clad in a frightening aspect, the fury of the mountain hissing around him like a cloak. Looking at him, the power and strength is obvious. As to his size, the throne is built to seat someone ten times as tall as a dwarf, nor is there room to spare when he sits there.”
“That would give him a height of fifty feet,” Lorelei estimated, worry in her voice.
“A far cry from a thousand,” Tyr remarked. He glanced at Bjorn and raised his left arm. “I’ve met bigger foes,” he said.
“But who’s going to tie Surtur down for you?” Bjorn replied. At once the wolfhunter’s face went pale, shocked by the slight that had left his own mouth. Tyr saw him start to say something more, perhaps by way of apology, but when his eyes drifted to Lorelei, he held his tongue and bitterness crawled back onto his visage.
“The denizens of the stronghold are enemy enough, old friend,” Tyr cautioned Bjorn. Whatever Bjorn’s reasons, however blinded by emotion, the insult had pierced him like a dagger. “Don’t seek to make more.” He shifted his gaze to Lorelei, then back to the huntsman. “If you insist, then wait until we’ve seized Twilight and are on our way back to Asgard before you force the issue.”
“I’ll wait,” Bjorn promised. “By the conditions you’ve named.” His hands clenched into fists at his side. “But I’ll not wait long.”
It pained Tyr to see Bjorn’s anger and to know it was focused on him. Yet he knew there could be no compromise with the delusion that fed such hostility. The love of Lorelei was something the huntsman wouldn’t give up, even if it was an illusion that existed nowhere except in his own mind. Time was the only cure for the lovestruck, and right now there simply wasn’t enough.
“Lead on, Grokrim,” Tyr instructed the dwarf, turning from Bjorn. Whatever hostility, whatever delusion, he knew the wolfhunter would hold to his word. “Let’s find this forge and take our leave of Surtur’s domain.”
By Tyr’s estimation, several hours had passed since he’d released the torrent of lava that carried off Sindr and her entourage. It was more difficult to evaluate the distance they’d covered since then. The tunnels were a winding, confused maze, passing over and through each other, sometimes swelling to massive heights, at others becoming so low that only the dwarves could walk in them without bending their backs. Always oppressive, the heat rose and fell as they marched through the corridors. Sometimes the walls glowed with the heat they exuded, at others they were cool enough to touch without burning the skin.
As the journey stretched on, Tyr expected to hear alarm bells ringing. He was confident that Sindr had suffered no harm in the molten flood. He didn’t know how far the surge had swept her away, but he anticipated that once she returned the stronghold would be put on alert. Patrols would rove the tunnels, hellhounds loosed to run the intruders down. He almost welcomed the onset of these inevitable attacks, for then at least he’d be spared the tension of waiting for the blow to fall.
Yet with each moment they remained undiscovered, Tyr knew they got closer to the forge. He wondered again if Sindr hadn’t guessed their purpose, if the reason why there were no guards hunting for them was because she’d held them back to lie in ambush at the forge. It would be in keeping with what he knew of her cruel mind to hatch such a plan. Let them come within a hand’s breadth of victory only to snatch it away from them at the last instant.
“The forge is up ahead.” Grokrim stopped and turned to Tyr. He pointed to a branch of the tunnel to their right. The passage grew both broader and higher in that direction and there was a flickering glow playing across it in the distance.
“You sound as though you aren’t going any farther,” Lorelei accused the dwarf.
Grokrim bowed his head. “We haven’t the courage,” he admitted. “There was a time when we would’ve helped you against the fire giant, but that was long ago.”
“You’ll have to come with us,” Tyr told Grokrim. “We won’t have the time to come looking for you after we take Surtur’s sword.” He noted the blank expression of Grokrim’s face, saw it repeated on the visages of the other dwarves. “You have to stay with us so we can rescue you from Muspelheim.”
Grokrim shook his head. “The time for that too is past. We’ve been too long under the fire giant’s boot. Our honor is withered. Were we to return to Nidavellir, we would see our shame reflected in the eyes of every dwarf we met.” He nodded to the other dwarves. “No, it is here we stay, but if you can steal Odinsbane from Surtur, then at least we’ll know we’ve helped strike back at the fire giant.”
Tyr started to argue, to try and break the dwarves of their morbid fatalism, but Lorelei motioned him away. “When the mind of a dwarf is set, even the All-Father can’t change it. You’ll never convince them they’re not responsible for being captured. They’re ashamed they’ve let themselves be slaves and lacked the courage to die fighting.” She sighed and made a helpless gesture with her hands. “They still lack that courage. Let them be. They’ve helped us, but they have to find the ambition to help themselves. Even my magic can’t give that to them.”
“You could still fight,” Tyr told Grokrim. “Losing a battle doesn’t mean losing the war.”
“We’ll remember your kindness,” Grokrim said. He and the other dwarves turned away and started back up the tunnel. “We’d only be in the way, and concern for us might distract you. If you would do something for us, then fulfill your quest and hurt Surtur where he will feel it the most.” The dwarves hastened away into the sweltering maze.
“They want to get away quick so when the trouble starts they don’t get caught up in it,” Bjorn commented.
“Don’t judge them too harshly,” Tyr advised. “We don’t know what they’ve gone through, or how long they’ve had to endure the chains of Muspelheim.” He wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “How much valor would you have left after years locked away down here? No, Grokrim took risk enough just showing us the way. Let’s prove his trust in us wasn’t misplaced.”
Twenty-Two
Cautiously, the three Asgardians made their way down the tunnel, each step bringing them nearer to the flickering glow and the rising heat. Faintly at first, then louder, the sound of metal striking metal reached their ears. Bjorn wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air. “Even in Muspelheim, it seems a forge carries the same smell,” he said.
Tyr’s fingers tightened about his sword’s grip. “Remember, if it proves that Surtur is there, leave the fire giant to me. Your role is to seize Twilight and escape.” He waved his arm to stop the objection Lorelei was going to raise. “This is more important than glory and pride. Without Twilight to wield, Surtur won’t be able to carry
out his part in the prophecy. We’ll have changed the doom that menaces Odin at Ragnarok.”
They crept onward, listening for any sound that would betray the presence of Surtur. There was nothing. Only the steady clamor of metal against metal. As their advance continued, the passage turned. Before them, closing off the way ahead, was a set of enormous doors fashioned from the same red metal as the shields the guards on the bridge had carried. The portals were sculpted into the semblance of leering, fiendish heads, horns protruding from their foreheads, fangs jutting from their jaws, lupine tongues lolling from their mouths. The flickering glow they’d noticed from afar was seeping out from beneath the doors, a fiery haze that crawled along the walls like mist. The sound of hammer striking metal was even more distinct now, making it obvious to Tyr that its source was just on the other side of the barrier.
“You’re the strongest,” Lorelei told Tyr, provoking a scowl from Bjorn. “You’ll have to smash open the doors.”
Tyr shook his head. He had an idea why Lorelei wanted him to execute the task and why she’d put it in such terms as to feed Bjorn’s jealousy. If he forced the doors, then the wolfhunter could rush past him. In his current temper, Bjorn would be certain to make straight for Surtur. By default, Tyr would have to secure Twilight and escape with it. “The door may not be locked,” he said.
“We have one chance to surprise whoever is inside,” Lorelei replied. “If they hear us fiddling with the latch to see if it is locked, we’ll lose that advantage.”
Tyr still didn’t like it, but he knew there was logic in what she said. He nodded his head and gave Bjorn a reminder. “The fire giant is mine.” The huntsman gave him an indifferent shrug. Tyr knew it was the only kind of answer he’d get from his friend.
Steeling himself, Tyr drew close to the doors. When he was ten yards away, he broke into a run. Tightening his grip on his sword, he drove his left shoulder into the metal panels. He could feel the impact shudder through his body. There was the sound of tortured mechanisms bursting apart, the clatter of pins and catches scattering across the floor. The doors were thrown inwards, banging back on their hinges. Tyr stumbled forwards several paces before he regained his balance.