And Peg ran back and jumped on Arastead’s shoulders.
***
The sun was now below the horizon, its last rays of light still brightened the sky where it had disappeared.
From the porch on top of his house, Reinhardt looked at the sky as it turned a murky black with the stars as bright points of light. He felt a slight breeze. He heard footsteps behind him.
The Salgarian ambassador said: “I have work to do tonight.”
“I suspected as much,” replied Reinhardt. “I see it is now dark enough outside for you to venture forth.”
“Just, but I can feel my strength gaining as the sun's rays disappear.”
“I see you picked up a bauble from some fair or merchant.”
The ambassador played with the thieves guild amulet around his neck. Then: “You could say that. And you could say that things will be very different after this night.”
“I suspected as much.”
“I also picked up a special book.”
Without another word, the ambassador turned and made his way down the stairs. Reinhardt waited until he heard the front door open and close and he could see the ambassador's large frame making its way through the city, lit by the occasional bright light blazing forth from the taverns.
Reinhardt sighed. “This is not going to end well,” he mumbled to no one. Either way things played out tonight, it would be bad for him. Reinhardt specialized in self-preservation and he could see all types of warning signs, urging him to flee. He reflected upon what had just happened, what he knew was going on in the land, the monumental changes in play, and the players that were causing them. He knew himself to be just a small cog in the wheel, which he quite enjoyed, and which he wanted to go on enjoying.
With that in mind, he made his way down to his private room, locking the door. He looked around at all the items he had collected from other countries and sighed again. He knew he would have to leave all of it behind.
Using a strangely wrought key from his pocket he opened the chest at the foot of his bed. He put some items into a bag and tied it shut. He changed out of his High Council clothes and into regular clothes in order to blend in with the crowd.
He made his way into the ambassador’s room. There he found the book of which the ambassador spoke.
“The Book of Princore. That would fetch a hefty price on the black market. Still, it may be more trouble than it is worth.” He dropped the book on the bed.
Throwing the sack over his shoulder, he made his way down the stairs and out the front door, never to visit Trondheim again.
***
Einar was telling Pressan how the meeting with the thieves guild High Council had gone. The council had seemed reluctant at the idea of tripling, let alone doubling, the guards at the main entrance. They seemed unwilling to believe the idea that the thieves guild was under threat. Had it not been impenetrable all these hundreds of years? And as Einar had no real proof of this Draugr, their trust in Einar's order to add more guards was dismissed when put to a vote.
“Have I not brought much profit to this guild?” Einar said. The other High Council members were slow to agree, another sign Einar noticed as being detrimental to his ability to lead. Coups happened often enough in a thieves guild, but typically a thieves guild master was able to remain in that position for his entire career. Still, when a coup did happen, there were strict rules that applied. There had to be a challenge to his rule. Then a vote was put within one week to the guild's High Council. It was during this week that the thieves guild master convinced, cajoled, encouraged, maybe even threatened a little, the other council members to get their votes. Then it was put to a vote, and all members had to accept the outcome. No blood had ever been shed in a Trondheim thieves guild coup and he did not plan on ever changing that precedent.
A loud horn boomed through the halls, raising the alarm.
“To arms!” cried Einar as he ran from the library to the main entrance.
Pressan sat in his chair for a few moments then slowly made his way to his private room. He looked around, a pensive look on his face. As if suddenly remembering something, he reached up on a cluttered shelf, and pulled down a small snuff box. He pocketed the box then made his way towards the room where the Graydon suit of armor was. Pressan knew, once the Draugr sensed the suit's magic, he would be pulled irresistibly to it like a moth to the flame.
And that is where Pressan would make his stand.
***
As soon as he saw the unconscious bodies on the ground, Farling knew the Draugr had attacked the thieves guild.
Silently, with sword drawn, he, Grum, Arastead, and Sihr approached the hidden door. Peg the cat ran along the ground beside them. Farling touched his amulet to the wall and the door appeared.
He threw a grim look at his friends, who looked equally determined and scared.
Inside was the aftermath of a battle scene. Bodies lay strewn everywhere. Groans and whispers of pain could easily be heard.
Farling whispered: “A one-sided fight.”
“Do you think we will find the Draugr among the bodies?” asked Sihr.
Farling shook his head, said: “No, we will not. He single-handedly beat all the thieves in this guild. He is more powerful than I thought. Swords will not hurt him. But he did seem to fear the war hammer. Grum!”
“I am right here, no reason to yell,” replied Grum.
Farling said: “You need to get the war hammer and bring it to our fight with the Draugr.”
“You know Jakobus has no intention of easily parting with that weapon.”
“Then you must do your best to convince him otherwise.”
Arastead interrupted, said: “Tell Jakobus that the Draugr has invaded the thieves guild and that if he makes this place his home, he will be unstoppable.”
Grum grimaced. Then: “I do not like running from a fight.”
Farling winked, said: “No one will ever say you did. Do not worry my friend, I am sure we will leave plenty of the Draugr for you. Now go! And run as if the Master of the Hunt’s hounds nip your heels.”
“I hope to see you still standing when I return,” said Grum.
“I hope as well,” said Farling, “now go!”
With a friendly wink, Grum turned and ran.
***
“So, you are all that stands between me and a Graydon suit of armor; an old, broken-down man. This is how they defend it?”
Pressan had dismissed the guards when he had come down the stairs, telling them to fight elsewhere. He had let them keep their rings, the ones that opened the doors to the Graydon suit of armor, as the magic of the locked doors would slow the Draugr.
Pressan calmly said: “You will not wear the Graydon suit of armor.”
The Draugr loudly chortled. Then: “How will you stop me, old man? I just bested the entire thieves guild. Now, I will kill you slowly, then I will rip this door to shreds. I will find a new champion to wear the armor, and then using this hidden building within this city, I will be unstoppable. I will be able to wreak havoc and cause untold chaos upon the land. I will make this land ready for The Return.”
“The Return?”
“Yes, you old fool. Have you not felt it, the change in the air? The elves are preparing to come back, to sweep clean this land, to purify it of your mistakes.”
“Impossible.”
“Nothing, old man, is impossible for the elves. Their lore and knowledge run so deep and is so formidable that the Unbreakable Barrier they were exiled behind hundreds of years ago will not stand. Already they have found weaknesses in it, enough to let me free and prepare the land for them.”
“You will never have the armor. You will be defeated.”
Draugr now laughed as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard. Then: “Me? I am impossible to defeat. I am unstoppable. And I am merely the vanguard in a vast army.”
“How can the elves pass through the barrier?”
“You think there are no more believer
s on this side, no one who does not know that the elves are in the right, that this is their land to do as they please? Old man, for someone who reads books, you know nothing. There are powerful forces in play that have been chipping away at the Unbreakable Barrier like drops of water on a stone. Even the stone yields to the power of time. And we have time. All the time in the world.”
“Who is helping you?”
“You ask too many questions, old man. But since you amuse me, and since you will die, I will tell you. He goes by many names, but you may know him simply as Alchemist. His abilities rival the wizards and druids of old. And he is evil and cunning beyond your ken. How else do you think we are this close to The Return and no one yet has discovered us? The elves will sweep over this land like fire in a dry forest, consuming all, leaving nothing in their scorched wake. Oh, they may keep many as slaves, but those will wish they had perished in the purifying flames of The Return.”
“The Norse gods,” Pressan murmured, “the gods, they know. They have started to come back to help the people of Midgard.”
The Draugr looked perturbed. Then: “Yes, but they are coming back too slow and they are too few. Only one has returned, Freya, and she is weak. There will not be enough of them when the wall comes down and the elves sweep the land. But I grow weary of this talk. I want to gaze upon the Graydon armor again. I have not seen one in so long. I thought they were all destroyed. Move aside, old man.”
“No!”
The Draugr reached out and with one hand and grabbed Pressan about the neck, then easily lifted Pressan off the ground.
The Draugr chuckled, said: “Why, old man, you are as light as a feather. I am almost afraid if I did feed off you, all I would taste is dust.”
And faster than the eye could follow, Pressan opened his hand and blew fine powder into the Draugr’s face.
The effect was instantaneous.
The Draugr’s face contorted in pain and rage as he roared: “What did you do to me, old man?”
“Silver powder,” gasped Pressan, “your one weakness. Your lungs and eyes are filled with silver.”
The Draugr screamed again, then threw Pressan like a rag doll against the far wall. Pressan collapsed in a heap and did not move.
The Draugr labored for breath as he felt every piece of silver in his nose, back of his throat, and deep recesses of his lungs. His eyes burned in irritation and he began to weep black tears.
“Nice trick, old man,” hissed the Draugr, “but not enough to destroy me.”
The Draugr began pounding on the doors that protected the Graydon suit of armor. The door hinges creaked in protest but the charms on the doors held, for the moment.
The Draugr hissed: “Blasted doors, protected by magic. I knew I wanted that war hammer for something.”
***
Farling glanced at his friends: Arastead with his quarterstaff, Sihr with his Staff of Freya. And he noticed Arastead’s cat paced the ground staying close to Arastead.
Arastead said: “It is a shame Princess Margret and Nas are not here. With them, we may have tipped the balance in our favor.”
Sihr nodded, said: “It would have been good, but perhaps useless.”
Farling grimaced, said: “Well, they are not. Now, let us see if we can find Einar.”
They cautiously tread the corridors and halls of the thieves guild. But all they saw were fallen thieves and all they heard were groans of pain. Of Einar, they found no trace.
The sound of banging, as if a battering ram was being used on a castle’s gates, brought them all up short.
“What is that sound?” said Arastead.
“Sounds like the Draugr is trying to take down a wall,” said Farling, gripping his sword tighter.
Sihr tilted his head, trying to hear better, said: “Or, trying to knock some very heavy doors open.”
Arastead slapped his forehead. Then: “I think I know what doors the Draugr is trying to break. Farling, remember how Pressan showed us the Graydon suit of armor.” Farling nodded. “I think the Draugr sensed the armor’s magic as soon as he entered the guild and went straight for it, destroying everything and everyone in his path.”
“I think you are right,” said Farling.
And in few moments, they stood at the open door that led downstairs to the Graydon suit of armor. The reason for the sound of hammering on doors could now plainly be seen. From their vantage point, they watched as the Draugr pounded his fists on the doors causing them to sag under his assault. In between his bouts of rage, they could hear the Draugr muttering to himself.
Farling whispered: “Sounds like he is injured. Perhaps the thieves hurt him more than we know.”
Arastead said in the same low tone: “I see Pressan crumpled up against one of the walls. Perhaps he caused some great injury to the Draugr.”
Farling grunted, said: “Pressan? He is an old man. What would Pressan do, give the Draugr a paper cut from one of his books?”
“What should we do?” asked Arastead. “Should we wait for Grum?”
“We cannot allow the Draugr to gain access to the Graydon armor,” said Farling. “If he wears it, he will be near invincible. We cannot wait any longer.”
“Then we fight?” asked Arastead.
“We fight.” Farling’s face hardened and he gripped his sword even tighter. He led the way down the stairs, his shield held high.
At the bottom of the stairs, the Draugr stopped and turned, facing the three young heroes.
He said: “Oh good, more lambs for the slaughter.”
“These lambs may have sharper teeth than you think,” said Farling bravely.
The Draugr sighed, said: “Well, let us get this over as quickly as possible. I have some armor I need to steal, a hidden thieves guild I need to clean up, and a queen I must marry.”
Sihr blinked in recollection. Then: “I recognize you and your voice. You are the Salgarian Ambassador.”
The Draugr laughed, said: “Finally, someone recognizes me. I wondered who would be the first, and the prize goes to the young priest here with the fancy staff.” He paused as he looked at Sihr. “That is a special staff; I can feel the magic resonating from it from here. Where did you get that staff?”
Sihr raised himself to his full height, his eyes ablaze. Then: “I was chosen by Freya, Goddess of Wisdom, to carry her staff in the land. I am her hero and I will see an end to you.”
“Brave words, young priest.” The Draugr took one menacing step forward.
Sihr yelled: “I have fought your darkness before, Draugr. I cleansed Queen Astrid of your poison. I will now cleanse the land of you!”
The Draugr’s eyes narrowed. Then: “Impossible. I may not have been able to finish draining the queen of her essence, but she would have turned into a follower eventually.”
“No,” mocked Sihr, “your evil magic is not all powerful. We saved the queen, she is healthy and whole. You on the other hand, will not be so lucky. I see you are broken. And I see black tears on your face. You are hurt. You are weak.”
Absently, the Draugr wiped his cheek with the back of his hand and stared at the black stain on his hand.
“That foolish old man,” he muttered. “I should have known it was a trap. I will not go so lightly on you three.”
Sihr raised his staff above his head and cried a spell in the First Tongue.
At first, the Draugr seemed hurt by Sihr’s spell, but then shook it off, said: “You are still too young and too inexperienced to hurt me with that spell. You may have been able to cleanse the queen of my poison, but you cannot cleanse me the same way.”
Arastead, emboldened by Sihr’s attack, opened the bag of salt he had brought and threw the salt at the Draugr.
The Draugr sniffed the air, said: “Salt will not hurt me.”
Arastead muttered a spell while at the same time Peg’s eyes flashed eldritch green. As the salt settled on the Draugr, smoke began to rise.
The Draugr roared in unexpected pain: “Enough!”
> And he charged Farling, who met the attack directly while Sihr and Arastead stood behind.
To the surprise of the Draugr, instead of knocking Farling over, he bounced backwards off the shield. Looking slightly dazed at the unexpectedness of it all, he shook his head to clear it, then threw a punch at Farling.
Farling saw the punch coming and raised the shield. Again, instead of hurling Farling against the far wall, the Draugr’s fist bounced off the shield, doing no harm.
“A magic shield…” started the Draugr then leapt backwards trying to avoid Farling’s deadly slash with his sword.
The Draugr stared at the new rent in his clothes. He chuckled. “You may have some fancy items of magic, but it will not help you.”
The Draugr pounced again. Farling raised his shield. But instead of a punch, the Draugr grabbed the edges of the shield and lifted Farling off the ground. Desperately, Farling stabbed the Draugr and felt the sword wrench from his hand as the Draugr threw Farling against a wall.
In disbelief, the Draugr stared at the hilt of Farling’s sword that protruded from his side.
Before the Draugr regained his senses, Sihr lunged forward and just grazed the hilt of Farling’s sword with his staff. As the staff touched Farling’s sword, Sihr cried aloud a spell.
The Draugr reacted as if struck by lightning. Incredibly, he managed to grab Sihr’s staff and wrench it from Sihr’s hands, throwing the staff away. The Draugr then set his teeth and pulled out Farling’s sword.
But before he could finish, Arastead’s quarterstaff crashed onto the Draugr’s head causing him to momentarily stop what he was doing. Farling, who had now recovered, ran forward, and slammed the top of his shield under the Draugr’s chin. The Draugr’s head violently rocked backwards as he lost his balance. Seizing the moment, Farling grabbed the hilt of his sword and kicked the Draugr in the stomach, helping Farling wrench his sword free of the Draugr.
The Draugr stared at his opponents. His skin still smoldered from the spell Arastead had cast.
Above the rim of his shield, Farling stared at the Draugr. Arastead’s legs were braced wide, his hands holding his quarterstaff, ready to attack. Sihr had retrieved his staff. From the safety of Arastead’s shoulders, Peg hissed menacingly.
The Abomination of Asgard Page 30