The Abomination of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Goran dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Princess Margret knows I am a fake, that I am not the real King Frederick.”

  Cai looked incredulous, said: “How could she possible know? I look at you now and there is no reason to think you are not the real king, except for your voice.”

  “No, you do not understand,” said Goran. “This morning, when we met for breakfast as they had done the previous morning, this time when she looked directly at me she fainted. But before she did, the look on her face was one of confusion, that she could not understand my face.”

  “She just fainted,” said Lars. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “If she tells her father, we are done for,” said Goran. “I am done for,” he corrected, staring into the fire. “This has gone too far. The pressure of pretending to be a king is proving too hard. There is too much ceremony that I am unfamiliar with, and I know I have made mistakes.”

  “People will just assume you are not well, and will forgive you,” said Cai. “Phillius and Queen Astrid will see that all proper procedures are done.”

  “Wait,” said Lars, “what did you do with the Aarlunders?”

  “What else could I do,” said Goran. “I confined them to quarters, claiming that the princess has an illness that could spread, and that we must make sure she is well, before they can attend the King’s Tournament.”

  “That was a mistake,” growled Lars.”

  Goran’s voice rose in fear and anger: “What else was I supposed to do? Have her point at me and say I am a fake?”

  Cai raised his hands, said: “Peace, gentlemen, this actually might work out better than we expected. If Princess Margret does say anything, no one will believe her. I am sure her father and that druid have already advised her of this. No, we will let them out of their chambers, apologize profusely, escort them safely to the quarterstaff tourney, and act as if this never happened. Then tonight, we will have Doshmin and his crew steal into the Aarlund chambers and kill them all.”

  Sakarias shook his head. “But that will start an instant war with Aarlund,” he said. “We did not want to war with Aarlund, we only wanted the peace accord torn up.”

  “Same thing,” said Cai. “Before word travels to Aarlund, we will already be crossing the northern border with our knights.”

  “What of King Frederick?” asked Sakarias. “He is still tied up in my pavilion, asleep due to a heady mix of visionflower and wine. When do we kill him?”

  “Not yet,” said Cai. “Wait until we are on the road again, several days outside Trondheim. We will slay him and drop his body off along the road. We will make it looks as if he was killed by Aarlunders.”

  A small sound made everyone stop, go quiet, and stare at a Tapestry hung on a wall. The Tapestry moved, then an old wizened man walked out from behind it, muttering to himself. He was almost as small as a child he was so stooped over.

  Lars drew his dagger.

  “Put away the knife, you fool,” said Goran. “This old man could not hurt a fly.”

  “He has heard everything,” said Lars still holding his dagger.

  “He knows nothing,” said Goran. “Words go in one ear and come out the other, uninterrupted. He is the father of one of the cleaning maids, which one I do not know. It is said around the castle that this old man got kicked in the head one too many times by the family cow. He is harmless. All he talks about is his old farm. New memories mean nothing to him, he lives in the past. Besides, how would I explain to his daughter that her father died of stab wounds?”

  “Fine,” said Lars, sheathing his dagger. “I just do not like witnesses. And if you ever call me a fool again, it will be you that is stabbed.”

  ***

  The small old man mumbled to himself as he walked along the castle, his back stooped. He spoke about his cows, his favorite pigs, how best to clean out the muck, and generally made no sense whatsoever. He drew pictures in the air with his hands and talked of clouds. None of the castle staff paid him any attention as they were quite used to him by now: he had been wandering about the castle for years. No one quite knew whose father he was, but just that he was harmless and most importantly, never made a mess for someone to clean up. When people did talk to him, he looked right through them and continued doing whatever he was doing as if he had not heard.

  He wandered outside past the guards who gave him no notice. It was if he was invisible. He made his way down some streets threading his way through the crowds. Nobody paid him any attention. He kept on walking and mumbling until he found himself in an antique store where the owner behind the desk was drunk and passed out.

  The old man continued to mumble incoherently until he walked through the curtains leading to a room at the back. There, he pulled an amulet out from under his ragged tunic and touched the wall with it. Instantly, a door appeared.

  Inside, two guards had weapons drawn pointing at the old man.

  “Pressan begs permission to enter the Trondheim thieves guild, Master Horund.”

  “Do you have anything to declare?” said Horund as he wrote down Pressan’s name.

  “No. Where is Einar?”

  ***

  Pressan found Einar in one of the meeting rooms conferring with other masters of the Trondheim thieves guild. Pressan rapped on the open door.

  “Come in, Pressan,” said Einar. “We were just finishing.”

  The other masters rose and left the room leaving Pressan and Einar alone.

  “I bring news,” said Pressan as he told Einar everything about what he had heard.

  Einar frowned, said: “I always suspected those barons were up to no good. But even this is beyond expectations. They have really outdone themselves. I did not think they were able to pull something like this off. An impersonator sits the throne of Dennland, impressive. And Doshmin from Pitcairn is in Trondheim. A very courageous move—but stupid.”

  “Quit admiring their work,” admonished Pressan. “We need to rescue King Cormac and Princess Margret and their people from the castle.”

  “No, what we need to do is find Doshmin, who did not inform us he is in town, and who is not paying us tribute.”

  “Would you get past all those silly rules and thieves guild regulations and think ahead. If we rescue the king and his daughter, you will see great profit. And, you will rob Doshmin of further profit as he will not collect on the murder fee. Not to mention preventing a war between Dennland and Aarlund.”

  “I see your points. And they are not silly rules; they are written down in our charter. Now, how do you propose we rescue them?”

  “Same way you stole a kiss from that visiting queen.”

  “Ah, yes, the hidden passageways. I do not want a sudden sword thrust from King Cormac in my belly as he probably is suspecting a hidden attack.”

  “Yes, we will need to get word to them that they will be rescued tonight. Let me think. Who do we know that is friends with King Cormac?”

  Einar snapped his fingers. “I know: Farling, Grum, and Arastead are friends with the nephew of those great Aarlund warriors.”

  “Ah, good.”

  “So, we talk to them, then they tell the nephew what is going to befall their beloved princess and king, and then he gets word to the princess, or the king, or the druid, one of them.”

  “So, once we rescue King Cormac, how do we rescue King Frederick?”

  Einar grinned as his eyes misted over at the prospect of earning several rewards. “One king rescue at a time, my friend. One king rescue at a time, my friend.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The Quarterstaff Event

  Farling woke to the sound of the rooster. He looked over and saw Grum and Arastead getting up. He followed them to the bucket of water where they washed their hands and faces.

  Grum nodded at Arastead, said: “We should spar with you after we break our fast.”

  And, as suggested, after the quick breakfast, Farling watched as Grum and Arastead went back and forth with their quarterstaffs. Farlin
g had never seriously used a quarterstaff before and was impressed at both their level of skill.

  As before, Bringon let them go to the King’s Tournament. The boys yelled their thanks as they ran towards the tournament grounds.

  Once they were on the tourney grounds, Arastead asked Grum: “So, who are you going to bet on today?”

  “The Aarlunder,” said Grum. “Although, based on his brother’s performance yesterday in the archery event, I suspect the odds will be quite low. Still, a doubling of your coin is better than nothing.”

  The sun was slowly making its way up in the sky as they made their way over to the quarterstaff event. As before, the event was crowded with people.

  Grum glanced over at the royal pavilion. “I do not see Princess Margret and her father,” he said.

  “Strange,” said Arastead, “as they should all be there. Perhaps they caught King Frederick’s cold and are too ill to attend.”

  “Perhaps,” said Farling, “perhaps they will just simply turn up later.”

  “Let us find Conall and watch his uncle compete,” said Grum.

  After a few minutes of searching, they found him and his uncles, one holding a quarterstaff.

  Arastead noticed crossed arms and fierce looks, asked: “Do his uncles look more formidable than usual, or is it just me?”

  “Probably the Dennland food disagrees with them, come on,” said Grum as he approached Conall.

  “Hi, Conall,” said Grum. Conall’s uncles glared at Grum, causing Grum to nervously gulp.

  Conall greeted his friends. Then, turning to his uncles, he said something in their language, and they all relaxed.

  “Let us walk just a bit away,” said Conall. “My uncles are all a little excited this morning and more tense than usual.”

  “What is this we heard about a raven visiting your pavilion?” asked Grum.

  “How did you know about that?” asked Conall.

  “Word of it is spreading through the crowd like wildfire,” said Grum. “People are saying all sorts of crazy things.”

  “Was just a raven that got lost and was hungry,” said Conall. “I fed it and it went on its way.”

  “See, I told you, Grum,” said Arastead. “It was nothing, just simply a lost raven.”

  Grum ignored Arastead, asked: “I understand Aarlunders can talk to ravens, is that true?”

  Conall grinned. “Yes, Grum, all of us can talk to ravens. As a child, if I was to be late for a meal, I would just tell a raven who would tell my mom. It is very handy sometimes.”

  “You are putting me on, right? Right?”

  “Of course he is teasing you,” said Arastead. “Talking to ravens, what is next?”

  “Talking to bears,” said Farling.

  “That too,” agreed Conall.

  Arastead asked: “So, is your uncle as good at quarterstaff as your other uncle is at archery?”

  “Even better,” said Conall.

  “Oh good, I will be back,” said Grum leaving to find a bookie.

  Farling confided to Conall: “I noticed your princess and king are not sitting in the pavilion. I hope they are okay.”

  “Yes, one of King Frederick’s pages told me this morning that the princess has fallen ill and that her father is staying with her. The druid as well.”

  “I hope she gets better soon. I would not want them to miss anything.”

  Grum came back smiling as a horn sounded announcing the start of the event.

  “Good luck to your uncle,” said Grum.

  “Thanks,” said Conall as he went back to help Tuathail with the quarterstaff event.

  “Let’s get a better spot,” said Arastead. “I want to watch and learn from the Aarlunder’s technique.”

  From nowhere, a hand pulled on Farling’s sleeve, causing Farling to demand: “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Easy, Farling, I just need a word with you,” said the stranger.

  “Now how would you know my name and what business do I have with you?”

  The stranger’s voice dropped to a whisper, making it hard for Grum and Arastead to hear. “Einar wants to talk with you and your friends.”

  Farling shook himself loose. “He has a funny way of asking for an audience.” He said to Grum and Arastead: “We had better follow.”

  The stranger brought them to a small tent where an elderly tailor was darning socks. Farling, Grum, and Arastead sat on the empty stools. The tailor looked up.

  “Einar,” they whispered as one, recognizing the thief.

  “Impressive disguise,” said Farling. “None of us recognized you.”

  Einar smirked, said: “If you join the thieves guild, you will learn the art of disguise. Now, I need your help.”

  Farling shook his head, said: “Well, it is going to cost you.”

  “You do not even know the job; how can you negotiate on the fee?”

  “All I know is that you stole something from us, and any chance I can make you pay, I will.”

  “Fine, what are your terms?”

  “Fifty-fifty,” said Grum jumping in.

  “A hard bargainer you are,” said Einar. “But not even close. More like 95-5, where I get 95 and you get the rest. Even then I am being more than generous.”

  Arastead said: “Tell us the job, then we negotiate the fee.”

  “Now that is more like it,” said Einar. “A man who wants all the facts before discussing the costs. But first, I need this conversation to be more private.”

  Einar placed an odd shaped rock in the middle of the table and rubbed it a certain way. “There, now we can talk.”

  “What is with the rock?” asked Grum.

  “It is a charmed rock that prevents people from listening in on our conversation. It effectively puts up a wall around us that stops our words from passing through.”

  “Convenient for a thief,” said Farling.

  “Convenient for anyone,” said Einar. Then he told them everything he knew about the barons’ plans.

  Farling scoffed: “You do not even have a fee for this job.”

  “I am doing it for free, so fifty-fifty of zero is zero,” said Einar with a laugh.

  “Rats,” said Grum.

  “Just fame and glory,” said Einar.

  “Let us go find Conall,” said Farling.

  “Then come back and tell me how it goes,” said Einar. “Oh, and slide me some coins and I will give you some fixed socks as I need to look like I am an actual tailor.”

  “Grum, use some of your winnings,” said Arastead as Grum sullenly slide a coin across the table.

  “These socks had better be darned well,” said Grum.

  “I need to borrow that stone,” said Farling as Einar handed it over reluctantly.

  ***

  At the quarterstaff event, they watched the Aarlund warrior win another event. Once it finished, they waved Conall over.

  “We need to find a secluded spot,” said Grum.

  “No,” hissed Farling, “it would be better if we just talked with Conall as we always do, not separate from everyone else. I suspect there are eyes on us as well.”

  Conall looked surprised. “What do we need to talk about?”

  And they told him they knew, including everything Einar had just told them.

  Conall nodded silently while they told the story. When Farling mentioned the circlet, Conall nodded.

  “Everything you told me lines up with everything I know. Now, what was that about the circlet Princess Margret wears?”

  Farling dropped his voice even lower. “Her circlet gives her the ability to see through illusions. That is how she knew an imposter sits upon the throne of Dennland.”

  Conall nodded in agreement, said: “What must I do?”

  ***

  Margret and her father had been allowed to leave their chambers shortly before lunch, so they had been able to attend most of the King’s Tournament. But there was no sight of the fake King Frederick at the royal pavilion. They watched th
e quarterstaff event narrow down to fewer and fewer contestants, until it was the Aarlund brother, Tuathail and Sir Vergas, winner of last year’s quarterstaff event.

  With a blast of his whistle, the official started the final match.

  The two fighters circled each other, following each other’s moves, waiting for one to strike first. Without warning, as if an invisible line had been crossed, Tuathail struck, using his long reach to try and score.

  But Sir Vergas was too experienced and blocked the blow. Then the two fought without pause, their quarterstaffs a blur, the sound deafening. The younger clansman was hoping his speed and endurance would win the match, but Sir Vergas, though older, was able to block all the attacks, and keep Tuathail at bay.

  Every time points were scored by either fighter, the crowd cheered wildly. Then, without warning, Sir Vergas slipped, and tried to regain his balance. Tuathail, seeing an opportunity to win the match, instinctively went in to score, his quarterstaff held high. But at the last possible moment, Sir Vergas twisted, and landed a blow on Tuathail’s leg, and the points scored on that touch were enough to win the match.

  The crowd exploded with cheers.

  The official blew his whistle, ending the match. Both fighters shook hands.

  Tuathail grinned: “A fine move, fully unexpected. I will have to use it up north; no one will be able to defend against it.”

  They bowed in front of the royal pavilion, while the official raised only Sir Vergas’s hand in the air. Ser Vergas was allowed up into the royal pavilion to be greeted by everyone.

  Afterwards was the Squires Tournament, where Arastead made it to the finals, but lost. Still, he was happy with his performance, but disheartened at losing the winning purse.

  As the sun set, Farling and his friends made their way to the Aarlund pavilion. There, they greeted Conall loudly, and talked of visiting a pub. They made their way through the tourney grounds and headed towards the pub they had visited before. Once inside, they made their way quickly to the kitchen, and out the back door. All the while, shadow figures Farling knew were thieves guarded their moves, making sure no one followed.

  They quickly made their way to the thieves guild.