The Abomination of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Omagh by this time had begun to see the world as Alchemist saw it: As a place filled with fools and worthless vermin. A place that needed to be cleansed. And with the Heart Tree, it was to be made possible.

  Under Alchemist, Omagh had been reborn. He saw things now more clearly, realized that his early life had been foolish and for naught. And so, he gave up his old name, and took on the nickname of Old Monk, one that the initiates at the stronghold liked to call him.

  He enjoyed being called Old Monk. He saw it as a sign of respect. He also liked the new name as it signaled the start of his second life. And now he looked at the Heart Tree, knowing it too was a survivor, like him. Able to grow and thrive under harsh conditions.

  Old Monk walked to the edge of the large stone that overhung the black pond. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and pricked his finger. He squeezed the finger till a drop of blood fell into the pond. He opened the scroll and read the words inscribed on the thin vellum.

  The effect was instantaneous. Before, the black pond had been black, almost reflective. Now it was clear, clear enough that he could see through to the other side. Through the haze he could see someone push their way through until he stood beside Old Monk.

  It was not until the black ooze of the pond streamed down the stranger’s body in thick rivulets and crept back into the pond that Old Monk could see who had successfully passed through the barrier.

  The stranger’s skin appeared paper thin and pale and his blue veins displayed easily. His long hair was snow white and fell about his broad shoulders. He was of medium height. He fixed his pale blue eyes on Old Monk. “Fascinating,” was all he said.

  “You are not elf,” said Old Monk surprise tingeing his voice as he passed the person clothes to wear. The stranger got dressed quickly. Once dressed, Old Monk was impressed with the man’s regal appearance.

  The stranger said: “As to your question; the elves cannot yet pass through this gateway. I can, as I am the Draugr.”

  The color drained from Old Monk’s face. Old Monk found his fingers shaking as he tore open the letter. He found his voice and read the contents aloud.

  The Draugr merely nodded, then said: “I am off for Salgaria.”

  Old Monk shook his head, said: “In the letter I just read, Alchemist asks you to create chaos in Trondheim, not Salgaria.”

  The Draugr smirked, said: “Creating chaos is often done best from a position few would suspect. This will take time. Chaos takes time to build, but once it reaches a certain stage, it will be unstoppable. Trondheim will fall, just as Asgard fell so long ago.”

  And with that, the Draugr walked in the direction of the nearest port to catch a ship to Salgaria.

  Old Monk merely sighed in relief, grateful that the Draugr was not hungry. He made his way back to Alchemist’s stronghold.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Squires Tournament

  At Bringon’s forge, the boys had completed all the orders for the Knights Stable. Bringon inspected the work and marked each with his house symbol.

  Bringon asked: “I suppose you three want to compete in the squire event?”

  The boys exchanged glances of excitement.

  Bringon nodded, said: “Well then, you had better be off. Tryouts for the boys from Trondheim start soon.”

  “Thanks, Bringon!” they yelled as they ran for the fields where the Squires Tournament was to take place.

  All the preparations for the King’s Tournament had been completed as the events would start on the morrow. The stands had been built for the crowds, the shaded pavilions for the royals and other important delegates from other countries. And a special viewing box had been built for King Frederick, his wife Queen Astrid, King Cormac, and his daughter, Princess Margret. Tents had been setup for the royals if they wanted a place to rest during the tournament and did not want to return to the castle.

  The fields surrounding the tournament were a swirling sea of tents, pavilions, colors, and banners. As all horses were kept in the Knights Stable, there was no need to have horse pens beside the tent or pavilion.

  Closeness to the tournament grounds was based on seniority and past performance at tournaments. Those knights who were favored to win an event pitched their tents nearby, while the knights who were young and inexperienced pitched their tents further away.

  The barons pitched their pavilions close to the tournament grounds as was their right. But this year, with the warriors from Aarlund participating, they too had been granted the opportunity to pitch their tent close to the event grounds.

  The boys ran past the Aarlund pavilion but slowed their pace for a closer look. Like the barons’ pavilions, it was a large tent. The fabric looked to be of a material that would stand up to strong wind, rain, and snow. Off to one side outside was a small portable kitchen. They could smell lamb roasting, which made their mouths water.

  The Aarlund pavilion had gathered a large group of watchers and admirers. Now that there was peace between Aarlund and Dennland, some of the people felt it was fine to admire the Aarlund warriors. Not to mention the number of gamblers hoping to see something in the Aarlunders that may give them an edge when placing bets.

  But the Aarlunders had not been seen practicing, so no one knew what they looked like with sword, quarterstaff, bow, or lance. People had been admiring their horses in the Knights Stable and had been trying to determine the power of the Aarlund horses when Jakobus would chase them away.

  As Farling and his friends walked past the Aarlund tent, three Aarlund warriors walked out of the tent’s door. Farling had never seen Aarlund warriors, he had seen Dennland knights, so he had an idea of what a fighting man looked like. And Mantock had been in the army too, which had shaped an idea in Farling’s mind what a Dennland fighter looked like.

  But these Aarlund warriors were unlike any men he had ever seen. They wore shirts without sleeves and the traditional Aarlund kilt about their waists. Their bright red hair was long and flowed past their wide shoulders. Each one had a thick beard that went down and covered their necks. All had deep chests and the muscles on their long arms looked like corded wood and their legs were like tree trunks. All had green eyes that looked calm now, but Farling knew would blaze in battle.

  The Aarlund warriors walked away, the crowd parting around them quickly.

  Grum asked: “Where do you think they are going?”

  Arastead shrugged, said: “Who knows, but I would stay out of their way.”

  Just then, a boy their age walked out of the Aarlund tent. Like the three Aarlund warriors, he had red hair, but his was cropped short and he had no beard. Instead of a kilt, he wore short breeches. And like the Aarlund warriors, he looked fierce and strong. He looked at them with his calm green eyes.

  Grum, who had no problems taking to strangers, said to the Aarlund boy: “We are off to the Squires Tournament. Well, the tryouts at least for the Trondheim boys. Want to join us? My name is Grum, this is Farling and Arastead.”

  The Aarlund boy grinned and said in a thick Aarlund accent: “My name is Conall. What is this Squires Tournament?”

  “Are you good with a sword, quarterstaff, or bow?” asked Grum.

  Conall crossed his arms, said: “I am from Aarlund.”

  Arastead interjected: “My friend meant no offense. The Squires Tournament is an opportunity for squires to try out their sword play, quarterstaff fighting, and archery skills against other squires, so boys around the same age. And if you win an event, you win a bag of coins. Not much, but I never say no to money.”

  Conall relaxed, said: “Ah yes, the Squires Tournament. I did hear of this. Now I understand better. I have not asked permission yet from my uncles, but I think they would say yes. They are always encouraging me to practice my fighting skills, so it would be good to enter.”

  “Uncles,” said Grum. “Well, that explains why they all look the same. I thought they were triplets myself. Well, there are four of them, so whatever that is.”

  “A common mistake,”
said Conall with a grin, “one that my uncles enjoy as they like having fun with it. Cruithni, Tuathail, Eithlenn, and Airthear are their names.”

  “Are all Aarlunders as big as they are?” asked Grum.

  “No, my uncles are known and feared all through Aarlund for their might and fighting abilities. It is rumored that when they were born, the ghost of Odin fed them enchanted mare’s milk that made them grow as big as they are. They even tower over their father and mother.”

  “Well come on then,” said Grum, “the tryouts for the Squires Tournament are about to start. Actually, Conall, you are already a squire or whatever Aarlunders call it, so I think you qualify. But you can still come and watch.”

  Conall nodded. “I am a steward, which as I understand is similar to squire. My uncles left me with nothing to do for the next little while. The cook is okay on his own, my other uncle naps, and I do not know where our druid is, so I think I can go. At least for a short while.”

  “Good, it will be fun,” said Grum as all four of them ran to where the tryouts were to be held. When they got there, the area was crowded with boys from Trondheim.

  Crawly, an older squire who oversaw the event, stood on a small wooden box so that he could be seen and heard above the crowd, and in a raised voice, said: “Quiet, quiet!”

  Once the din settled down, he continued: “Signs are up marking where the tryouts will be held. If you are trying out for the sword tournament, it is over there,” and he pointed at a crudely made sign with a sword painted on it. “Quarterstaff, over there,” and he pointed at the quarterstaff sign. “Archery, over there,” and he pointed at the bow and arrow sign. “Remember, you can only tryout for one tournament.” A small groan went up from the crowd of boys. “I know, I know, you are all experts in all three.” The crowd laughed appreciatively. “But, that is the rule. Makes it fairer for you boys too as you would not want just one boy winning all three. There are squires at each event who will be acting as judges. And remember, no cheating! Anyone caught cheating is automatically disqualified. Okay then, off you go!”

  The crowd of boys jostled and bumped each other as they separated into three groups and made their ways to their chosen event.

  Conall asked: “Which event are each of you in?”

  “Sword for me,” said Farling.

  “Quarterstaff,” said Arastead.

  “Archery,” said Grum.

  “But you did not bring your weapons?” said Conall.

  “Weapons are supplied,” said Grum. “That way, it is fairer. Cannot have some boy who can pull a composite bow competing against boys who are just using normal bows.”

  “Not mentioning any names I see, Grum,” said Arastead.

  Grum merely smiled, said: “And with the swords, they just use blunted ones and wear padded leather armor. Stinky leather armor as they have been using it for years. But with the blunted swords and armor, nobody gets hurt. Well, you can still get hurt but at least you are not missing an ear or a finger.”

  Arastead asked Conall: “Which event do you want to watch?”

  “Well,” began Conall, “I am most interested in watching the sword tryouts. My uncles think I am most promising with sword, although I enjoy quarterstaff and archery as well. I will just walk around and watch all three.”

  Grum nodded, said: “Sounds good. And afterwards, let us get a bite to eat together. I know a good pub where the food is excellent and not pricey.”

  “You do not think there will be any problems that I am from Aarlund?”

  “No worries, we will take care of you.”

  “You will be fine,” said Arastead. “There is peace between our two lands now. Maybe you will get free drinks even. We will go to a nice pub too, not some place where all they do is pick fights.”

  “That eliminates all the pubs I know,” said Grum. “Let us hurry,” he added as they ran to their events.

  ***

  Afterwards, they walked Conall to the Aarlund tent.

  “A fine tryout, if I do say so myself,” said Grum. “I think that was harder than years past, but still good that I made it through on archery. I look forward to competing against some actual squires.”

  Arastead smiled, said: “Yes, I was going to congratulate you Grum on winning the archery event, but I see you already did.”

  Farling said: “And congratulations to you, Arastead on making it through on quarterstaff.”

  “And you too, Farling. Well done in the sword tryout. You may want to clean up soon as you smell quite bad from that used leather armor.”

  Farling looked surprised, said: “Really? Maybe the smell will scare away others.”

  Grum chuckled, said: “Perhaps, but it will first scare us away. So, Conall, looking forward to competing in the Squires Tournament? Looks like you might compete against Farling. That would be a good match to watch.”

  Conall nodded, said: “It would be a good fight if I am up against Farling. He is a strong fighter. I hope we do as I would enjoy it. A strong challenge.”

  At the Aarlund pavilion, Conall took them to see the cook. The cook sliced off big pieces of meat and the boys ate it gratefully.

  “My compliments,” said Grum. “That is some of the best roast lamb I have ever eaten.”

  The old cook grinned, said: “You Dennlanders need to learn how to cook. You need food that sticks to the ribs on cold nights, fills you up for long travels and for battle.”

  “I may have to visit some pubs up in Aarlund if the food is like this,” added Grum.

  Just then, one of the Conall’s uncles appeared, the one who had been napping.

  “Where have been?” he asked of Conall.

  “This is Farling, Grum, and Arastead,” said Conall ignoring the question. “This is my uncle, Airthear. He is usually not this grumpy, but he did just wake up.”

  Airthear grinned ruefully, his hair a mess while creases in his face from his pillow were still evident, said: “Apologies, boys. My nephew, Conall, is right. I suffer from headaches and need to nap often. My mood can often be cranky, but I mean nothing by it. Friends of Conall are always welcome. My nephew is a good judge of character. Now, Conall, you will need to say goodbye to your new friends. We are to accompany our king and Princess Margret, so we need to wear our finest.”

  All the boys shook hands with Conall and left to go watch King Frederick’s speech.

  Airthear watched them depart, said: “Do not get too close to them, Conall. These Dennlanders cannot be trusted.” He walked back inside the tent.

  Conall just gently shook his head in disbelief, then followed his uncle into the tent to get changed.

  ***

  Grum asked: “Did you notice that Meanog, Slofar, and Brascan were missing from the Squires Tournament?”

  “I did notice,” answered Arastead. “For all their talk, they sure did pass on the event. I guess their blacksmith did not give them time off to compete.”

  “How much longer till the king’s opening speech? Those slices of cooked lamb have only whetted my appetite. I am still famished.”

  “I think we still have time to get some more food at the Bull & Cow pub.”

  Just as they finished their meal at the Bull & Cow, a fanfare of horns sounded.

  Arastead commented: “That’s the 10-minute warning for the king’s opening speech. Let us go.”

  And they threw enough coins on the table to cover the cost of the meal.

  As they approached the area outside the king’s balcony, Farling started to feel a little claustrophobic. It was the largest gathering of people he had ever seen. And while he had been at some small tournaments outside Jordheim, all those paled in comparison to the King’s Tournament. Here, everything was larger, brighter, louder.

  The crowd, upon seeing the king’s trumpeters assume their official place on top of the wall, roared in excitement. The horns blasted the triumphal overture that cut through the noise of crowd. But it was not until King Frederick made his appearance that the crowd quieted down.<
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  Not able to hear the king from where they stood at the back, Grum asked: “What is the first event again tomorrow?”

  “Archery,” said Arastead. “Why does the tournament always start out with the most boring tournament?”

  Grum chuckled, said: “You will not get a rise out of me. Archery still represents the pursuit of excellence and is the choice of the aristocracy.”

  “I agree completely,” said Arastead. “The uncoordinated aristocrats who cannot lift a sword, let alone spin a quarterstaff, always seemed most interested in archery I have noticed.”

  Farling grinned as Grum and Arastead continued trading barbs. He tried in vain to hear the king’s speech but gave up after a short while. The crowd that was close enough and could hear clapped, whistled, and roared at all the appropriate places.

  Then the crowd went silent.

  “What is going on?” asked Farling.

  Grum who had the best eyesight of the three, said: “It appears King Frederick and Queen Astrid are to give gifts to King Cormac and Princess Margret.”

  Everyone started to murmur and whisper excitedly. Applause soon followed.

  “What gift was given?” asked Farling.

  “From what I can see,” said Grum, “King Frederick gave King Cormac a sword. Now Queen Astrid gives a gift to Princess Margret.”

  The crowd murmured then applauded.

  “Queen Astrid has given a beautiful circlet to Princess Margret,” said Grum. “It looks wondrous upon her fiery red hair, as if it was always meant to be there. Well, I think that is it. Time for the opening ceremonies.”

  The king finished and the traditional good-luck white doves were released from their cages. The birds flew up in a great arc then headed over the tournament grounds on their way to the forest. King Frederick waved to the crowd and the crowed waved back as they continued to make a great deal of noise.