by C. L. Werner
Again, there came a sensation that was so complete that it resonated through every facet of Tyr’s being. This time it was like slamming into a wall, an unyielding barrier that tried to repel him. No, not him, but Nilfli, for the force that strove to rip him from his grip intensified, straining to tear him away.
“You’ll not have him!” Tyr roared into the soundless void. Abruptly, the resistance broke, and he felt himself rushing through a breach between realities.
Tyr knew he was again in a physical domain when he felt solid ground under his feet. He could hear the dripping of water and the squeak of rats. His skin felt cold, chilled by the air around him, an almost rapturous sensation after the inferno of Muspelheim. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a small room, its floor littered with straw. The walls were mortared stone and one end of the chamber was sealed off by metal bars. Beyond, illuminated by flickering torches, was a wide hallway with other barred doors along the opposite wall.
“Where have you brought us?” Nilfli groaned. The dwarf released Tyr’s hand and hurried over to the bars. He clapped one of his calloused hands on the barrier and tested its strength. He shot Tyr a furious look. “Out of one prison and into another!”
“Lorelei’s castle,” Tyr answered the dwarf. He gestured at the barred door. “I expected she would bring Twilight to her refuge, though I confess I didn’t anticipate arriving in her dungeons.”
Tyr’s attention was drawn to a crude wooden framework piled with straw at the back of the cell. A figure stirred there, peering out from the murky gloom with amazement on his face.
“Tyr? By the All-Father, how can this be?” Bjorn asked. The wolfhunter jumped to his feet. The Uru armor had been taken from him, as had his weapons, but the wolfskin cloak had been left to him by his captors, and he hugged it tight around his body. Like Tyr, it would take time to adjust after spending so long in Muspelheim’s heat.
Tyr gave the huntsman a wary look, trying to gauge Bjorn’s mood. Then he threw aside caution and embraced his friend. “I was shown a way to escape Surtur’s stronghold,” he said, nodding towards Nilfli.
“But you botched my instructions,” the dwarf grumbled, tugging at his beard as he moved away from the bars. “I told you to focus on Twilight so we might be drawn to where the sword is. Instead, you were fretting about this idiot and brought us to share his dungeon.” Nilfli kicked at the straw in frustration.
“Twilight’s here,” Bjorn told Nilfli. He stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I brought it across for the witch.” His voice was venomous when he spoke, and he hung his head in shame. “I was so determined to earn her approval I laid the most terrible weapon in all the Nine Worlds at her feet.” He looked up and fixed an imploring gaze on Tyr. “Can you forgive me for being so blind? I forgot my friendship, even came to hate you whenever she offered you a tender word or smiled at you. I was overcome with anger whenever your deeds outshone mine until–”
Tyr shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize. We both fell under her enchantment and she knew just how to play us against one another to suit her plans.” He gestured at the cell. “From this, it seems Lorelei has no further use of you.”
Bjorn’s eyes were like chips of steel. “The moment the Wayfarer’s Mirror brought us back to her castle, she threw me aside like an old rag. She took Twilight from me, and her guards brought me down here.” A flicker of pride worked itself onto his face. “Not without some doing. More than a few of them will be laid up for months from the bones I broke.” Tyr looked over at Nilfli. “That means Twilight is not as far away as you feared.”
“What good does it do us if we’re locked in her dungeon?” the dwarf snapped. He gestured at the bars. “Those are tough enough to defy a giant, the way they’re set!”
Bjorn rose and walked over to the dwarf. “Complain all you like, but keep your voice down. I didn’t injure all of her guards, and some of the ones who are left like to come down here and jeer at me.”
Nilfli gave Bjorn a sour look, but when he spoke his voice was just a whisper. “They’re bound to find out we’re here anyway,” he said. He turned and looked at Tyr. “A fine thing. You’ve made a present to Lorelei of us. Let us get caught without her needing to lift so much as a finger. When her guards find us, she’ll get a good long laugh.”
Tyr looked around the cell. While the corridor outside was well lit, in here it was dark and filled with shadows. “That depends if they find out we’re here on their terms or on ours.” He pointed at Bjorn’s cloak. “I’ll need to borrow that. I’m going to set a trap.” He nodded to each of them in turn. “You two are going to be the bait…”
Twenty-Eight
Tyr lay beneath Bjorn’s wolfskin, curled on the floor in the deepest shadows. His sword was drawn and lay on the ground beside him with straw kicked over it. He doubted the deception would survive close scrutiny, but from a distance he might pass for nothing more than Bjorn’s cloak thrown on the floor. And if anyone came close to get a better look it would be precisely what he wanted.
Bjorn and Nilfli slipped into their roles the moment they heard a door open and footsteps in the corridor. “I want to know how you got in here,” the huntsman barked, his voice loud and angry.
The dwarf, when he replied, also did so in a tone that would carry. “To tell you that would be to let you know how you can leave,” Nilfli wheedled. “I’ll not be doing that unless you agree to pay my price. Show me that gemstone again.”
The footsteps broke into a run, and it wasn’t long before a man appeared outside the cell with drawn sword. From beneath the wolfskin, Tyr recognized Lorelei’s castellan Gunter at the door, his face contorted with confused outrage.
“You!” Gunter snarled at the dwarf. “How did you get in there!”
Nilfli turned and smiled at Gunter. “Your prisoner offered me a sapphire big enough to choke on if I tell him that.” His tone became unctuous. “What kind of counter-offer will you make me? Rubies? Diamonds?”
“Steel!” Gunter growled, brandishing his sword in one hand while he inserted a key into the lock with the other. Nilfli’s brazen avarice had whipped the man into a rage. Though Tyr thought he had no choice except to act as he did even if he were thinking more clearly. If he left to get help, the dwarf might spirit his prisoner away through whatever hidden door let him into the cell. He’d no way of even guessing Nilfli was as trapped as Bjorn was.
“Now we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Gunter vowed as he threw open the door and stepped inside. He menaced Bjorn and Nilfli with his sword. “Back against that wall.”
Tyr waited until Gunter was a few steps away from the door before springing into action. The jailer’s face went ashen when he rose up from the floor and threw aside the wolfskin. Before he could recover from his shock, Tyr sprang at him. Tyrsfang cracked against the man’s hand, rapping the knuckles with the flat of the blade. The blow was still delivered with enough strength behind it that Gunter’s fingers were broken, and his sword clattered to the floor. Bjorn sprang in and grabbed up the weapon while Nilfli wrapped his arms about Gunter’s legs before he could try to run.
“It looks as though your mistress didn’t tell you to expect me,” Tyr said. He lifted his sword and poised it at Gunter’s throat. “Where’s Lorelei?”
Gunter swallowed and licked his lips anxiously. Fear dripped off him, but his commitment to Lorelei remained firm. “I… I won’t betray my lady. Do what you want, but I won’t talk.”
Nilfli stepped back, his gaze fierce as he regarded the jailer. “I can make him talk, Tyr Odinson.” He drew back his sleeve and displayed the ugly brand left there by Surtur’s fire demons. “I don’t think this one would’ve lasted an hour once he was turned over to Sindr’s care.”
Tyr shook his head. “We don’t have an hour.” In a blur of motion, he whipped his sword around and drove the hilt against the side of Gunter’s head. The man collapse
d to the floor, stunned by the blow. Tyr chuckled to see the surprised expressions Bjorn and Nilfli gave him. “What? He said he didn’t want to talk.” He gestured to the huntsman. “Take his livery and whatever else you can use, then bind and gag him. We’ll let him take your place for a while.”
“And what then? We get clear of this castle and warn Odin?” Bjorn asked.
“There isn’t time for that!” Nilfli argued. “You can’t leave Twilight in the possession of this witch a moment longer! There’s no knowing what kind of evil she could put it to.” The smith thumped his chest. “I’ve worked on that sword long enough to know its power. Surtur used some of his own essence to bind that blade to him and magnify its strength. I tell you, you don’t know the awful things someone could use it for.”
“Nilfli’s right,” Tyr said. “We caused this. We’re the ones who have to put an end to it.” He shook his head and locked eyes with Bjorn. “That isn’t pride speaking, but necessity. Lorelei was cunning in her scheme to steal Twilight; it would be reckless to think she didn’t already have a plan for when she brought the sword back to Asgard. We have to find out what that plan is. Then we’ll know what we need to do to stop her.”
It was a far different experience than the last time Tyr had walked the halls of Lorelei’s castle. Then he’d been an honored guest, now he was a slinking intruder. The role reversal was striking. Creeping up from the dungeons, concealing themselves every time they heard a servant moving about, there was little resemblance to that first visit.
“We’re in good practice for this sort of thing,” Tyr told his companions as they ducked into a lumber room to hide while several servants walked the corridor outside. “Though we can be grateful she doesn’t have any hellhounds sniffing around.”
Bjorn smiled. “After Muspelheim, that cell I was thrown in was sweet as a palace.”
“Fine of you to joke,” Nilfli griped, acid in his tone. He fixed Tyr with a sullen gaze. “If you’d done as I said, we’d have been brought right to Twilight.” He flicked Bjorn with a calloused finger. “You could’ve gotten him free any time.”
“You do realize I have a sword now?” Bjorn warned the dwarf.
“I’ve been dragged before Sindr,” Nilfli bragged. “After seeing the First of the Flames, I’m certainly not going to tremble because a pup has gotten his hands on a knife. Keep it up and I’ll take it away and–”
“Enough!” Tyr came between the two. “We’ve enough problems without you antagonizing one another. None of us wants Lorelei to make use of Twilight, so let’s stop arguing and work towards finding out what her scheme is.”
Nilfli pulled at his beard. “If you’d just done as I said…”
“We’d have appeared right where she’s keeping Twilight.” Tyr repeated the dwarf’s complaint. He tapped Nilfli with his metal cup. “Have you considered that we don’t know what she’s done with the sword? We might have emerged into a sealed vault without any chance of escape, or in a room filled with guards. She might have spells warding Twilight that would destroy us the moment we tried to take it… if we even dared to try.” Tyr didn’t need to repeat the evil weapon’s own malefic influence. Both he and Bjorn had felt it at work. Nilfli, laboring over it for so long in the forge, must surely have noted its dire energy.
However, the dwarf was less intimidated by the sword’s power than by the question of where it was being kept. “I’d take my chances,” he declared. “Whatever else happens, we can’t let Twilight be used by the witch. The damage she could cause is beyond measure. No, to stop her, I’d readily risk my life.” He frowned and tugged again at his beard. “More than I already have,” he added.
“Finding Lorelei is the first step to finding the sword,” Tyr said.
Bjorn lifted his head, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. “Venison,” he said after a moment. He opened the door just a crack to watch the hall. “Five servants carrying platters of meat and victuals. At a guess, I’d say Lorelei’s entertaining more than a few guests.”
Tyr remembered the dinner she’d laid out for them and the ostentatious display she’d arranged to impress them. It would seem she was using the same tactic again. He wondered if her dinner guest was Thor, if the net she’d cast had already ensnared his brother.
“Let’s follow them,” Tyr decided.
Nilfli caught at his arm. The dwarf’s fingers felt hot on Tyr’s skin. “You don’t know that she’ll have Twilight with her even if she’s there. It isn’t the kind of sword one wears to dinner.”
“She’ll be there,” Tyr assured Nilfli. “It won’t matter if she doesn’t have Twilight with her, because if there’s one person in this castle who knows where it is, she’s the one.”
Bjorn’s eyes turned cold. “I’ve a lot of things I’d like to discuss with Lorelei.”
“First we find Twilight,” Tyr said. “There will be time enough for her to answer for her misdeeds after the sword is secured.”
The last of the servants was just turning the corner at the end of the hall when they emerged from the lumber room. They cautiously made their way down the corridor and around the bend. “I’ll lead the way,” Bjorn told them. “If they catch me, they’ll think I escaped the cell on my own. They won’t know the two of you are even here.”
The wolfhunter slipped around the corner. A moment later his hand beckoned to them. Tyr and Nilfli followed, turning into another passage. Bjorn ranged ahead again, determined to keep the servants in sight. Soon the need for tracking them became unnecessary as they came into a part of the castle they recognized from before. The way to the dining hall where Lorelei had feted them was known to both Tyr and Bjorn.
They were in a corridor that ran along the backside of the dining hall. Bjorn reached an oaken door just as it swung open and a wine steward stepped into the passage. The wolfhunter caught the man and smacked his head against the door as it closed. The stunned man slumped to the floor, and Bjorn swung him to one side. Tyr and Nilfli joined him at the door and listened to the voices seeping out from behind it.
“… this is the chance you’ve been waiting for, Gnagrak.” Lorelei’s voice was strained with a note of exasperation behind it.
“Seems to me that I’m taking all the risks.” There was no mistaking the deep, growling rumble of a troll’s voice. “You get to sit back and look pretty while my warriors do all the fighting.”
“I’ve already taken my share of the risks, Gnagrak,” Lorelei retorted.
“Prince Gnagrak,” the troll snarled at her.
“Really? I understood that King Geirrodur refused to acknowledge you. That’s why you can use my help.” Lorelei’s tone was commanding now, clearly irritated with the troll’s pretensions. “There will be little fighting for your followers to do. Just enough to lure Thor into the trap.”
“So you can crown yourself Queen of Asgard,” Gnagrak scoffed.
“And so you can become king in the Realm Below,” Lorelei returned. “We’ve both of us much to gain…”
Tyr had heard enough of their plotting. It didn’t concern him what the rock trolls did in their internal power struggles, but he wasn’t going to have his brother ensnared and his father deposed by Lorelei’s intrigues. Surprise was the best tactic to employ right now. Confront their enemies where they thought themselves secure. Driving his shoulder against the door, he burst it from its hinges as he stormed into the room.
“Whatever your plan, Lorelei, it ends now!” Tyr shouted, holding his gleaming blade high. His voice echoed through the vast dining hall, scattering servants with its ferocity.
The creatures seated around the table didn’t scatter. Tyr’d heard only Gnagrak, but the supposed prince wasn’t alone. Ten other rock trolls were around the table. A glance at Lorelei showed she hadn’t brought Twilight with her to dinner, but the trolls had most certainly brought their weapons. The instant they saw Tyr, they kicked away their chairs
and produced a vicious assortment of blades and bludgeons.
A shaggy brute with a scarred face and an oversized tusk drew a flail from his belt. From the purple cloak and many rings that circled his fingers, Tyr thought this must be Gnagrak. When the orange-skinned troll spoke, the voice was the same.
“The deal was for one Odinson,” Gnagrak snarled, glaring across the room at Tyr. “This one is going to cost you extra.” He waved his flail and the other rock trolls surged forward. “Take the Aesir, and she didn’t say anything about being gentle with this one!”
Twenty-Nine
Rock trolls charged toward Tyr, thundering across the hall like a herd of mastodons. Goblets and bowls shattered on the floor as the vibrations from their advance pitched them from the long table. Tapestries shook from their fastening and crumpled at the bases of the walls. Few in Asgard could stand unflinching before a troll attack.
Tyr was one of those few. Instead of waiting for the trolls to reach him, he dashed forward to meet them. His bright sword flashed out and hewed the head from a massive hammer one of the creatures swung at him. The warrior stared at his broken weapon in shock, then went careening into one of the walls when Tyr smashed his head with the flat of his blade.
A second troll tried to chop at him with a huge axe, raising it in both hands for an overhead blow. Tyr dodged the brutal attack and thrust up into the warrior’s chest, piercing the scale armor and the thick hide beneath. The enemy stumbled back and clutched at his wound before toppling to the floor.
More trolls converged on Tyr, goaded on by Gnagrak. “Kill him! A barony to the one who brings me his head!”
Tyr’s tactic of keeping the trolls fixated on himself now bore rewards. By rushing forward to engage them, he’d given Bjorn and Nilfli the opportunity to dash into the room and give the enemy another surprise. The wolfhunter struck at a warrior trying to flank Tyr on his left, wounding the foe before he could get into position. The dwarf scurried towards the table, the axe dropped by one of the fallen trolls clenched in his hands. He ran at one of the warriors rushing toward Tyr, holding the axe lengthwise like a pole. Instead of chopping at the creature, he scurried between the enemy’s legs and tripped the troll with the breadth of the axe. The heavy table was knocked over as the bulk of the unbalanced warrior slammed into it, throwing candles and plates of food in every direction.