by C. L. Werner
“None,” the smith said. He jabbed a thumb at one of the lifeless sentinels. “Those were set here to watch the dwarves who labored over Twilight, to guard against sabotage. In his arrogance, Surtur never believed anyone could be so brazen as to enter his stronghold and try to steal the sword.” Nilfli waved his hand at the mold. “You’ve but to reach in and pluck it out. It was made to resist the hand of Surtur. There’s no fire that can warm it unless it has been anointed with the proper unguents first. Don’t be daunted by its size, for just as the fire giant can expand and reduce, so too must his sword. Twilight will alter to suit the one who holds it.”
Tyr sheathed Tyrsfang and stepped toward the forge. “It will need do so only one more time,” he vowed. “After that, no other hand will touch it.” He could feel the wickedness of the sword when he came close to it, sense its destructive malignance. Twilight was a weapon made for no other purpose. A blade to bring annihilation to gods and mortals.
“Stop!” Lorelei called out. Her face was filled with concern, her eyes at the verge of tears. She came toward Tyr and laid her hand on his arm. “Let me weave a spell to protect you against the sword’s malice. I should not bear it if anything were to happen to you now, at the moment of your great triumph.”
“My courage has brought us this far,” Tyr said, patting her hand, feeling energized merely by her touch. His injuries from the sentinel faded from his awareness. All he could think of was her and how pleased she would be when he brought their quest to an end. “My courage is enough to see us through to the very end.”
“Is my courage any less than yours?” Bjorn growled. Despite his wounds, he raced to the forge. There was a desperate, feverish look upon his face as he stared at them. His eyes were filled with devotion when he looked toward Lorelei and the most bitter jealousy when he gazed at Tyr. “The honor is mine!” Bjorn insisted, reaching into the mold.
Tyr knew the wolfhunter wasn’t thinking clearly, that the only thought in Bjorn’s mind was to impress Lorelei and earn her favor. The realization gave him momentary pause, for hadn’t his own mind been filled with the same obsession? In the moment it took him to reconcile the thought with his emotions, he lost any opportunity to stop Bjorn. The huntsman’s hand closed about Twilight’s raw tang and raised the weapon from its mold.
Nilfli cried out as the sword shrank to fit Bjorn. Sight of the evil blade raised high was too much for the smith and with a scream he ran from the forge, striking at a section of wall that pivoted inwards. Tyr had only a momentary glimpse of the dwarf as he fled down a dark tunnel.
Tyr could see the reason for Nilfli’s panic. It was written across Bjorn’s face. The huntsman’s expression was consumed utterly by murderous bloodlust, a twisted malice that went beyond the frenzy of a berserker or the savagery of a beast. It was a face that didn’t merely want to kill but needed to. He knew he was looking upon the power of Twilight. Bjorn wasn’t wielding the sword… it was wielding him!
A maniacal laugh like nothing he’d ever uttered before spilled from Bjorn’s lips, and the huntsman sprang forwards. Tyr moved to intercept him, to keep his crazed friend from inflicting harm on Lorelei. He started to draw Tyrsfang, but Twilight’s power lent Bjorn a strength and speed he’d never displayed before. The evil weapon smashed into him, splitting his armor and throwing him across the room. Tyr landed in a crumpled heap, his body racked with agony such as he’d never imagined.
“Run!” Tyr shouted at Lorelei. He strove to crawl toward her, to at least distract Bjorn long enough so she could get away.
Lorelei didn’t move. She just stared at Bjorn, and a cruel smile formed. The mania slipped away from the wolfhunter as though a veil had been lifted. He blinked in confusion, but when his eyes focused on Lorelei, the consuming ardor instantly returned to them.
“Enchantress.” Tyr spat the word. As he did, his own ardor for Lorelei evaporated. He was aware now of the magic she’d gradually woven to snare both of them, a magic so strong that its hold over Bjorn was mightier than Twilight’s murderous urgings. Lorelei had made a great show of relying upon the devices Amora had left her while letting them forget that in one arena of magic she surpassed even her elder sister, the dark art of enchanting the minds and hearts of others and using their devotion to make them her slaves.
Lorelei turned and glowered at Tyr. “Curse me as you like,” she told him, a sneer on her lips. “Fortune favors the brave.” She ran her fingers down Bjorn’s cheek.
“You’ve bound him with your spells!” Tyr snarled. “Just as you tried to bind me.” He shifted his gaze to Bjorn. “Fight her! The enchantment will weaken if you recognize it for what it is!”
“Of course, in your arrogance you would insist only a spell could make me prefer Bjorn Wolfsbane to Tyr Odinson,” Lorelei said, smiling at the huntsman. “You can’t conceive that he’s the better man. But he is.” She pointed at Tyr. “Kill him,” she told Bjorn.
Bjorn took one step towards the Aesir and then hesitated. Tyr was amazed to see the turmoil on his face. Lorelei’s enchantment had overcome Twilight’s call, but it wasn’t enough to make his friend murder him.
Lorelei noted the reluctance of her swain to act. An edge of fear crept into her eyes and she hurriedly dismissed the command that provoked the conflict lest she lose control of Bjorn. “Leave him,” she countermanded her previous order. “He can do no harm to us here.” She reached into her satchel and drew out the Wayfarer’s Mirror. She turned it away, letting the light from the forge play across it until it reflected on the floor. “Come, Bjorn. It is time we were leaving.”
“Bjorn!” Tyr shouted to his friend. “Can’t you see she’s just using you? She needs someone under her spell to carry Twilight for her so she doesn’t submit to its power! She’ll cast you aside as she did me, the moment she doesn’t need you!”
The wolfhunter turned and gave him a weary look. “I thought better of you. Can you not be happy for me?” Bjorn didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped into the light cast by the mirror. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
“Goodbye, Tyr,” Lorelei said, blowing him a kiss. “You were almost a perfect stooge, but, all things considered, it is better this way. Bjorn will be much easier to deal with than you would be when we reach Asgard.”
Pivoting the Wayfarer’s Mirror, Lorelei stepped forward until she reached the reflected light. For an instant she stood there, then she was gone.
Tyr was alone. Abandoned to Muspelheim and Surtur’s vengeance.
Twenty-Five
Tyr pounded his fist on the floor, staring at the spot from which Lorelei and Bjorn had vanished. The Wayfarer’s Mirror! From the very first she’d intended to use its power to escape Muspelheim, begging that its magic was too uncertain to employ in such fashion merely to deceive them as to her intentions. Another ploy to make Tyr and Bjorn believe she needed them to help her return to Asgard when in truth she needed only one of them. The one who was so under her sway that he would even resist Twilight’s power to obey her.
It was only now when Lorelei was gone that Tyr understood how much he’d fallen under her enchantment. She’d sent her sorcery into his heart and mind, manipulating him just as she had Bjorn. He wondered if it even really mattered to her which of them would secure Twilight for her. All her insinuations, her appeals to his vanity, had been only deceit. She cared nothing for Tyr, she made that clear when she ordered Bjorn to kill him. He marveled at the great regard his friend must have for him that he’d been able to resist that command. He tried to tell himself that if their roles had been reversed, he’d have done the same, but there was no way to be certain. Indeed, even now, knowing how she’d used him, Tyr couldn’t completely banish his feelings for Lorelei. Her affection for him might have been merely deception and enchantment, but she’d evoked something genuine within him. It made her betrayal all the more painful.
Pain raced through more than just his heart. Tyr’s w
hole body was tormented by the wounds he’d suffered, both from the sentinels and from Twilight. It taxed his endurance nearly to the limit simply to stand. He groaned when he thought of the vast network of tunnels winding through the stronghold. He’d have to pick his way through that maze, alone and injured. Even if he made it out of the fortress there would be the trek across Muspelheim’s hostile wastes before he reached the gate again. Nor was he certain he could force his way through to Bifrost. After all, Heimdall had been bewitched, made to forget that they’d passed his post. Unless someone else noted Tyr’s absence and asked Heimdall to use his Allsight to find him, there was no reason to expect the way to be open to him.
First, though, was the matter of getting away from the forge. Tyr knew when the alarm was raised and Surtur’s minions started looking for intruders, this would be one of the first places the fire demons would secure. That they hadn’t already done so was a stroke of luck. He didn’t want to test the indulgence of fickle fortune still further.
Fleeing when the Asgardians fought among themselves, Nilfli had left the secret door open behind him. That would be a starting point, Tyr decided. He didn’t know how many denizens of the fortress knew about the dwarf’s escape route, but he was betting it wasn’t general knowledge or it would have been sealed up.
Tyr struggled back to his feet. Clenching his teeth against the pain that flared through him, he slowly made his way towards the door. Each agonizing yard of progress felt as arduous as the scorching plains of Muspelheim. Only the Aesir’s firm resolve kept him moving. The determination that he would somehow make it back to Asgard and set everything right.
Nilfli’s door was still dozens of yards away when the sound of baying hellhounds reached Tyr. He could hear the excited snarls of the fire demons commanding the dogs as the beasts picked up the scent. In a few moments the patrol would reach the forge. In his condition, Tyr didn’t know how much of a fight he could give Surtur’s minions, but he knew what the end result must be. To remain at liberty and have any chance at all, he had to reach the secret door.
Blood streamed from Tyr’s wounds as he forced himself onward. He defied the torment that racked his body as he drove himself across the forge. Yard by yard, the door drew nearer. So too did the sounds of his pursuers. The baying had become frantic, he could picture the hellhounds straining at their leashes, trying to slip free of the fire demons and run their prey down. Any moment and the dogs’ handlers might do just that and set the pack on him.
The closer he came to the door, the more Tyr pushed himself. To be undone after he’d exerted himself to such effect was too terrible to contemplate. He had to succeed. He wouldn’t allow his struggle to be in vain.
With a last lunge, Tyr threw himself forward and toppled into the tunnel behind the door. The noise of the patrol was louder now. Any moment and they would be in the forge. If they saw the open door he’d be caught. He rolled onto his side and kicked out with his legs, driving his feet against the portal. It spun about on its pivot, locking into place with a barely audible click.
As the door shut, all sound outside became muffled. Only when he pressed his ear to the rough pumice could Tyr hear the fire demons and hellhounds as they entered the room. He had to strain to make out the shouts of the guards as they found the sentinels destroyed and Twilight stolen. There followed the awful moment when his trail of blood was discovered, and a hellhound began to snuffle at the other side of the door.
Tyr crawled away from the portal and drew his sword. Whatever enemy was first through that door wouldn’t have long to regret it.
“You can put away your sword, Tyr Odinson.” He spun about to see that he wasn’t alone in the tunnel. Nilfli was at the mouth of a small niche cut into the side of the wall, a stone jar clenched in his hands. He nodded his chin at the door. “That’s dwarf work, and only a dwarf can find it once it has been shut. The fire demons will give up after a time and try to figure out some other way we escaped from the forge.”
“My companions did just that,” Tyr told Nilfli. “Lorelei used a magic mirror to create a portal to Asgard.”
The dwarf shook his head. “And they left you behind.” He tutted.
“Had you closed the door, I would have been finished,” Tyr said.
“I lingered here to do just that,” Nilfli replied, “but when I saw your distress, I left the door open and went to fetch this.” He held out the jar. “We’re both fortunate you gained the tunnel before the guards arrived.”
“What is that?” Tyr asked, pointing to the stone jar.
“Your wounds will need tending.” Nilfli tapped the vessel’s side. “In here is a salve we use when Surtur’s minions become too enthusiastic about disciplining us. This concoction has saved the lives of many dwarves.”
Tyr hesitated for a moment to let the dwarf approach. After the way he’d fallen for Lorelei’s deceit he was alert for further treachery. Then he considered that Nilfli had given him no reason to distrust him. The smith had been chained to the forge, a slave of Surtur. Had he wanted to, he could have closed the secret door behind him and left the Aesir to be captured by the fire demons. That would have allowed Nilfli to strike against Tyr without exposing himself to any chance of reprisal.
Tyr set his sword down on the ground beside him as Nilfli came forward and removed the stopper from the jar. A musky, pungent smell rose from inside it. The dwarf dipped his fingers in and removed a blob of grayish paste. Tyr undid the clasps of his breastplate and let it slip away. Exposing his injured side, he winced as the stinging unguent was slathered across his wound.
“These tunnels… they’re some kind of refuge for your people?” Tyr asked, trying to keep his mind from his own pain.
“The fire demons can’t watch us all the time, and not all their chains are so cleverly wrought as those that bound me to the forge,” Nilfli said. “Over hundreds of years dwarves have excavated many bolt holes under Surtur’s very nose. The whole stronghold is honeycombed with secret passages and hidden rooms. Some are stocked with useful supplies.” He dipped his hand back into the jar and applied more of the salve. “Sadly, few who escape into these refuges remain long. Either they weary of hiding and scrounging and return to their chains or else they try to leave the stronghold and strike out across Muspelheim.” The dwarf’s eyes gleamed with pride. “I did so once. I made it as far as the sulfur lakes of Dyre before the fire demons caught me.”
“And the secret has been held all these years?”
Nilfli’s expression grew grave. “Even under torture no dwarf would betray his fellows.” He drew back the sleeve of his tunic and exposed a hideous brand on his shoulder. “Sindr gave me that, and worse, when she interrogated me.” His hands tightened into fists. “But I told her nothing no matter what she threatened to do.”
Tyr could well imagine. The dwarves had a reputation for stubbornness that was exceeded only by their fame as craftsmen. Once a dwarf’s mind was settled to some course it might as well be cast from stone. “If the secret has been kept, then could we escape the stronghold the same way you did before?”
The dwarf pulled at his beard and studied Tyr for a moment. “Perhaps we might do better,” he said after a time. “The salve should heal your hurts, and I know where we can lay our hands on some stonebread to recover our strength.” Nilfli pointed at Tyrsfang. “A remarkable sword. A blade strong enough to withstand the molten heart of Surtur’s sentinels. Could it stand even greater heat, I wonder?”
Tyr reached down and lifted the sword. Already he could feel his pain lessening as the gray salve did its work. He smiled as he turned the gleaming weapon back and forth. “This was made from one of Fenris’s fangs. No force could destroy the Great Wolf, neither is there a power in the Nine Worlds that can destroy its tooth.”
Nilfli’s eyes gleamed with admiration for the weapon. “Then there might be a way,” he said. “But first I would know why your companions deserted you
when they returned to Asgard.”
The request wasn’t an easy thing for Tyr to answer. He had to confront how he’d been exploited and deceived, manipulated by Lorelei to suit her own ambition. He understood now the gambit she’d used, her enchantments befuddling both him and Bjorn so they would unwittingly do her bidding. Though Bjorn had left with her, Tyr knew his friend was but another disposable pawn to be discarded once she had no need for him any longer. Lorelei hadn’t changed at all. She was still intent on securing Thor as her husband. With Twilight in her possession, she’d finally have the tool she needed to bind him to her. Just as Tyr had risked all to secure Surtur’s sword to protect Odin, so too would Thor sacrifice everything if it meant their father could escape the doom foretold for him. Jealousy of his brother had played its part in bringing him to Muspelheim. Now concern for his brother made Tyr desperate to return to Asgard.
“I fell for Lorelei’s deceit and only by undoing what I’ve done can I rectify that wrong,” Tyr stated as he finished explaining to Nilfli the treacherous turn his quest had taken. “My family is endangered by her ambition, for I think she’ll not be content merely to be wife to Thor. Through him she would proclaim herself Queen of Asgard were something to happen to Odin… and with Twilight in her grasp, she has the weapon to bring my father’s ruin.”
The dwarf shook his head. “It is a grim business. This witch has surely caught you in a twisted web.” He clapped his hand on Tyr’s shoulder. “But there may be a way to spoil her scheme. There’s a way to leave Muspelheim without crossing the Rainbow Bridge.” He pointed at the ceiling above them. “Within Surtur’s castle burns the Eternal Flame, the First Fire shed when he did battle with Ymir at the dawn of time. The fire giant can’t make use of it because it is a part of himself, but he has sent his agents into other realms by means of that sorcerous flame.”
“Are you saying we could pass through this Eternal Flame?” Tyr asked, hope swelling up inside his breast.