Gateway to Nifleheim

by Unknown

  “Tonight marks the fifth night since the sounds were first heard. The rumors making their way through the Dor have grown worse, and taken on a life of their own,” said Claradon. “People are saying that father is dead—killed by whatever is making that cursed noise. They say the Dor is next; that we're all doomed. The people are beginning to panic.”

  “Bah,” spouted Ob as he rose. He stood on his chair’s high footrest and pounded his small fist on the table. “Who cares what them folks say; they don't know nothing from nothing. Your father is alive,” he said, his voice wavering and his face contorting as he tried to stay his emotions, “until I say he's not. Do you hear me, boy? We will be going to them woods and we will be bringing him back, I say. Him and Donnelin, Stern, Talbon, and the rest.” Quaking, he sat back down, and loudly blew his bulbous nose into his handkerchief.

  “The circle,” said Gabriel. “Where in the forest is it?”

  “Two hours ride through the wood, nearly due west,” said Claradon.

  “Near the old stone ruins?” said Gabriel.

  “It must be close, but the men say they didn't come across them.”

  “Those ruins,” said Tanch, “There's nothing there but a few scattered pillars of some peculiar black stone, and one crumbling building that looks like an old temple. To what forsaken gods, though, who knows? Sir Gabriel, you'll remember, we rode out there together once—must have been six or seven years ago. You spent half the day studying the ruins.”

  “He rides out that way all the time,” said Ob. “Odin knows why.”

  “The woods are quiet,” said Gabriel. “Helps me think straight, which I need to do to keep you lot out of trouble.”

  “That one time was enough for me,” said Tanch. “That wretched place made my skin crawl. And it wasn't just me; we had a terrible time keeping the horses calm near there. I can’t imagine why you would go back. As I recall, there is no game to be found within a mile or more of the ruins, which is why we never hunt out that way. The whole time we were there, I felt as if we were being watched by someone or something unseen, something sinister—as if the place was haunted.”

  “Bah,” said Ob. “Don't start spouting fairy stories, Magic Boy. I have no interest in hearing about boggles, sprites, bugbears, and such. We get enough of those from Donnelin. Ain't no such thing as hauntings or forest faeries. Spirits and such are nothing but bunk, bother, and bad digestion.”

  “I'm not saying it was haunted, Ob. I'm just saying that's what it felt like when I was there.”

  “How would you know what a haunting felt like, when there’s no such thing?” said Ob. “It makes no sense. Pluck the wax back out of your ears and I bet I can see clear through to the other side.”

  “So who is doing the wailing?” said Dolan before Tanch could fire back.

  No one responded; no one had an answer.

  Theta leaned forward and spoke in a strong, measured voice. “Speak more of these ruins, Gabriel.”

  All eyes turned to the foreigner and then to Gabriel.

  Gabriel hesitated for some moments before responding. “Par Tanch is correct,” he said. “It is a dark and evil place. The ruins are ancient.” He stared across the table at Theta for several seconds, seemingly considering whether to continue. “I believe they were not volsung made.”

  Theta nodded.

  “I'm doubting that, Gabe,” said Ob. “Dwarves and gnomes don’t build in the woods. Elves and smallfolk don't work much in stone, and lugron and their kin don't have the brains. It's you volsungs—your ancestors anyway—that had to make it; there is nobody else it could've been.”

  “What about the svart?” said Tanch.

  Ob’s eyes narrowed to slits and his next words came through clenched teeth. “Best not to speak of that lot, especially around me.”

  Tanch rolled his eyes and shook his head. Theta glanced down at the war hammer that hung from his belt.

  “Who cares about the darned ruins anyways?” said Ob. “All I care about is what happened to our people. Let’s keep our focus on that. They must've been ambushed. That's the only way that patrol could've been defeated or captured to a man.”

  Tanch shook his head. “Between the wizards and Brother Donnelin we had a formidable magical force in the field that night. Such men cannot easily be overcome.”

  “Maybe some force fell on them quickly, before they were able to mount a defense,” said Ector. “Maybe a whole horde of lugron came down from the north looking for plunder and prisoners to ransom.”

  “Doubtful,” said Ob.

  “Lugron don’t make sounds like we've heard,” said Gabriel. “And Stern and his rangers would not easily be taken unawares. There is more to this than a simple ambush, and we’ve seen no evidence of an invasion.”

  “Is it possible that those flashes and explosions were spells thrown by the enemy, against our patrol?” said Claradon.

  “Aye, maybe that could be,” said Ob. “That would mean a magical ambush. But Aradon is no fool; I doubt he would walk into such a thing, and Talbon would have smelled it coming from a league away.”

  “Who would have the power to mount such a magical attack?” said Claradon.

  “Not many,” said Tanch, “but the mystic arts are so hidden these days, it’s hard to say who and how many know its secrets—and of those few, how many have real power.”

  “We have our share of enemies, same as any noble House,” said Ob. “It’s doubtful any of them would act against us directly, but there are rogue wizards and mercenary companies for hire for the right price. Anyone could be behind it.”

  “Are you saying that there are mercenary companies that have wizards in their employ; true wizards?” said Tanch.

  “Aye, there are a few,” said Ob.

  “Scandalous,” said Tanch. “Shocking. Our members would never work for mercenary companies—I can’t believe this.”

  “Not every wizard got their training at your pretty tower, you know,” said Ob. “There are other sources of such knowledge.”

  Tanch looked surprised.

  “We will not find any answers sitting here,” said Ob. “None at all. We need to get our behinds out there.” He looked over at Gabriel. “Only question is—who and how many is to go?”

  Gabriel paused for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. He turned toward the younger Eotrus. “Ector,” he said, “you are needed here.”

  Ector grumbled and clenched his jaw, but offered no protestations.

  “You must take command of the Dor, and try to quell the panic of the people,” said Gabriel. “They need to see your face and hear directly from you that everything is under control. They need to know that the Eotrus family is with them and that they’ve not been abandoned.” He shifted his gaze to Claradon. “Claradon, in your father's absence, you are the acting Lord of the Dor. The expedition is yours to command.”

  Claradon’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. “But I thought since you are here—”

  “Unless he defers command to the Dor's Castellan,” said Ob. “Which he does, and I hereby pass it to you, weapons master—and there will be no more debating about it. We can't fool around with this one, it's too darned important. In a standup battle, either Claradon or I could lead, but that's not what we have. There's something odd about this whole business, what with the wailing and the circle and such. It's just not natural at all. I hate to admit it, but it does stink of sorcery, top to bottom.” Ob turned to Claradon. “In this, the only man amongst us that has the right experience to lead is Gabriel. He must take command.”

  “I agree,” said Claradon quickly. “Sir Gabriel, you can handle this much better than I. You must lead us. I don't have the experience.”

  Gabriel stared down at the table for several seconds. “For good or ill, it is your place to lead us, Claradon, not mine. But Ob's points are well taken. Aradon's life and that of every man on his patrol, and perhaps more than that, may well depend on our course. For that reason only will I agree to this.
”

  He stood up. “We will take two squadrons of knights equipped with full battle gear and heavy horse. Ob, you will choose them and captain the squadrons. Be sure to include Glimador and Indigo—as they're among my best students. And Artol and my squire, of course, will accompany us. The rest of the garrison will remain to defend the Dor. Par Tanch, since matters arcane are involved, you will come with us as well.”

  Tanch's face blanched.

  “Ob—you will need to choose your squadrons quickly, because we’re gathering in the Odinhome in an hour to vow our paths. Make sure that the men you select are there—every one. Claradon—in Brother Donnelin's absence, I trust that you will lead us in prayer.”

  “I will; I can do that.”

  “Good,” said Gabriel. He turned to the group. “Have your gear ready—we will leave at dawn. I know it won’t be easy, but once we’re done at the Odinhome, do your best to get some sleep, as much as you can before dawn, for tomorrow will be a long day.”

  “Should we leave sooner?” said Claradon. “Tonight, I mean?”

  “The Vermion is too thick and the footing too treacherous to venture through in the black,” said Gabriel. “Ector—if there is no word from us by midday, the day after tomorrow, send word to Lomion, Kern, and Doriath Forest, beseeching them each for aid. You will also send scouts and ravens to each manor, keep, town, and hamlet within our demesne, instructing them to prepare for battle or to flee to Lomion City or to the Dor. Understood?”

  “Understood,” said Ector.

  “Perhaps I should stay behind and assist young Master Ector,” said Tanch. “What with my delicate back and such I may not be of much—”

  “We need your skills, wizard,” said Gabriel. “You're going.”

  Tanch slumped back in defeat.

  Gabriel's gaze, and then everyone else's, shifted to the two foreigners.

  “I will accompany you,” said Theta before any could address him, “and Dolan as well.”

  “I thank you, sir,” said Claradon, “but you are a guest here, this isn't your fight. Don't feel obligated.”

  Theta cut Claradon off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. “I will accompany you.”

  “Then you have my gratitude.”

  Theta nodded.

  VI

  ON MAGIC AND MUMMERY

  As the men filed from the room, Theta motioned to Claradon to remain. He walked over as Theta gathered up his equipment.

  “That's quite a shield,” said Claradon as he moved in to get a better look. Theta held it out for inspection.

  “Nearly all steel and a heavy gauge,” said Claradon as he looked it over, a surprised look on his face. “Very heavy gauge,” he said, running his fingers along its length. “I’ve never seen a large shield made entirely of metal. Even a man your size can’t hold such a thing for long—it must weigh at least fifty pounds. No offense, but it just doesn’t seem practical.”

  “Try it,” said Theta, passing it to him.

  Claradon grasped it, his eyebrows rose, and he smiled. “What a wonder. It’s so light. What kind of steel is this?” he said, as he maneuvered it around. “It's not even half the weight of mine.”

  “The plates are three times as thick as those commonly used in shield work,” said Theta. “They are made from a rare alloy that is five times as strong as standard steel, but only a fraction of the weight.”

  “You could win wars with an army equipped with these,” said Claradon, a look of wonder lingering on his face.

  “I have,” said Theta with a smile. “Your wizard was reluctant to speak of magic,” said Theta. “Tell me why that is.”

  “In Lomion, it's considered improper to speak of things arcane.”

  “That much is clear,” said Theta. “My question is why?”

  “One reason being, most folks believe magic is no more than mummery. The greater reason being, it's illegal to publicly practice the true arcane arts. The crown and the council take a hard stance on this, even more so in recent years. Those who violate the edicts face ostracism at best, or imprisonment or exile if things go against them. I gather that in your lands such is not the case.”

  Theta nodded. “Why do your rulers fear magic so?”

  “A good question, often asked in private by those of us who know the truth of things—but one never adequately answered. Perhaps it’s because they can't fully control magic or those who weave it, so instead they suppress it and seek to deny its very existence.”

  “With your laws as they are, how is it that you have a House Wizard?”

  “Ah, well—being a wizard, or rather, proclaiming yourself a wizard is not illegal and never has been. On every street corner in the great cities of the realm, there are those who call themselves wizards, sorcerers, or seers, but they are charlatans all. They trick the unwary and unwise with sleight of hand, and fool the foolish with palm readings, astrology, and other such bunk. As far as the common people know, that’s all there is to magic and wizards.”

  “So your government has done its job well.”

  “They have, and have been doing so for generations. All that the common people know of true magic comes only from legend and superstition. We Lomerians are a superstitious people you see, so many fear those tales, and the olden magic and those who weave it. It's better to believe only in the card tricksters and their ilk, or so they think.”

  “So they think your House Wizards are no more than well-dressed street hawkers?”

  “Aye.”

  “And I gather that that isn't the case.”

  “Indeed, it is not—at least not amongst the great Houses. Our House Wizards are chosen from those most singular few that belong to the Order of the Arcane. They are learned in the true mysteries of the magical arts of thaumaturgy, divination, sorcery, necromancy, and other such esoteric fields of study. Many of their members can command fantastic magics and enchantments to accomplish all manner of wondrous deeds. Par Talbon, our House Wizard, is such a man, as is Par Tanch.”

  “The wizards are sworn to never publicly use their skills, save in the defense of their master’s life, or by order of the Crown. They may not even cast their magic in self-defense. Even in defense of their lord there can be repercussions, if the need for its use be not so great. Rare it is that such oaths are broken, and on those occasions when magic is used, the authorities quickly cover up the incidents and remove the evidence, the government long ago having decided that the common people must never know of such things. For good or ill, that is the way of things.”

  “And which is it, good or ill?”

  “Ill, I would say.”

  Theta nodded. “Magic is a dangerous thing. There is wisdom in limiting its use.”

  “A sword is a dangerous thing too,” said Claradon. “Yet used wisely, it’s a valuable tool.”

  “True, enough,” said Theta. “Can only those Lomerians in the Order command the magical arts?”

  “Some few members of certain militant orders are trained in the ways of magic, but their command of the arts is typically far more limited than members of the Arcane Order.”

  “I take it that these knights are under the same restrictions regarding using their arcane skills.”

  “They are.”

  “You have such skills,” he said in a manner that could easily have been mistaken as a question, though it most certainly was a statement.

  “I do,” said Claradon, not quite holding back a grin at Theta's insight. “As you've no doubt already discerned, my brother and I are knights of the realm of Lomion, each holding membership in one of the militant orders. I serve the Caradonian Order of the Knights of Odin, and they afford me the title of ‘Brother’. We are a religious order and perform various duties typically carried out by monks and priests. Ector and my brother Jude are members of the Tyrian Order, whose patron is Tyr, god of justice.”

  “I have not met Jude,” said Theta.

  “No, he and Malcolm, my youngest brother, are in Lomion City, o
ur capital, on House business.

  VII

  THE ODINHOME

  Ob carried a small lantern to guide their way, as he, Theta, and Dolan quickly walked toward the octagonal building the Eotrus called the Odinhome. In many ways, the Odinhome was the heart of life at Dor Eotrus. By design, it was a spiritual place of worship, but in practice, it was also a hall for fellowship, storytelling, and debate, and often, for feasting and drinking. It connected one to the past, through traditions and ritual, through ancestors and the gods.

  “We don't got no grand cathedral as do some Dors and them big cities, but our worship hall is better than most by a good stretch,” shouted Ob so that he would be heard over the wailing. “And that’s no accident. Like most folk in the provinces, we respect the old ways and take our religion seriously. Not like them fancy city folk what lost their way and don’t believe in nothing anymore.”

  “The Odinhome is the only big building we got what is mostly made of wood. The rest are stone, slab to peak, but don’t let that fool you. We build them all to last up here in the North. Storm or siege, fire or axe, it don’t matter none, what we build endures whatever needs enduring.”

  “You see them fancy double doors?” he said as they approached the Odinhome’s entrance. “Stout oak, six inches thick and banded in cold-forged iron. Take an army to pound them doors down while we rained death on them from on high,” he said, pointing at the battlements more than 25 feet up. “There be seven sets of doors just like these spaced around the building—one for each of the gods.”

  “Aren’t there more than seven gods?” said Dolan.

  “You ask a lot of questions, fella,” said Ob as he gave Dolan the eye. “I can hardly get a word in with you jabbering all the time. Don’t know how you tolerate this fellow, Theta.”

  “He can cook,” said Theta.

  Ob nodded. “That explains it. Half the servants we got burn the water and boil the toast. Stinking bumpkins,” he said as he lifted his wineskin to his lips for a goodly swallow.