Giantfall

by F. A. Bentley

  The inquisitor was wrestling with his own mind. He gnashed his teeth and his eyes darted from side to side. At last, he replied.

  He took a step back towards the blasted safe house door and said, “We’re leaving Smith. Locke, next time we meet, I won’t let you talk your way out of it.”

  You’re making a mistake. Think logically you idiots! There are lives at stake here goddammit. And a dozen more things to yell after them came to mind, but my lips never parted. They’d made up their minds. As their footsteps faded, two sets of supernatural eyes fell on me.

  “Are you feeling better Charles?” Brigitte asked.

  “Mentally or physically?” I snapped, before adding in a gentler tone, “I feel better. You pulled the bullets out cleanly.”

  It was true. I felt ready to fight off another truck load of AK wielding Goblins if it came to it.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  I furrowed my brows and rose up from the bed, shaking the stiffness out of my shoulder.

  “We liberate Jotunheim,” I replied with a grin. “Obviously.”

  Chapter 24

  Jotunheim isn’t exactly a place you can just drive to. You do have to do some driving to get there, but what’s needed to complete the last leg of the journey is magic. Heaps of it.

  There are many planes of existence in the world, and in order to actually Cross Over, you need to be sitting in a place of power. Not quite like a Locus, just a specific place where the walls between planes were uncharacteristically thin.

  Brigitte, in Human form, drove the car past quiet streets I didn’t recognize. She came to a stop in front of a small court wedged between two apartment complexes and parked the car.

  The courtyard was carved out of immense stone blocks, and at the center was an unassuming statue of three men in Viking garb.

  “This is where we’re Crossing Over?” I asked.

  “Nobody knows about this place. Nobody even realizes that this little court is dedicated to Jotunheim, but, if you look closely...”

  I did. What first appeared to be the statues of three men staring down balefully at me seemed more and more peculiar the longer I stared. I noticed details. One of the three looked normal enough, if a bit woodsy with his ax and a branch tied across his chest. But the others? One had icicles clinging to his beard, and the third had blazes bursting about his boots.

  “Frost Giants. Fire Giants. Mountain Giants,” I said to Brigitte.

  She nodded. “Shall we?”

  “Ladies first.”

  Brigitte laid her hands at the foot of the elevated statue, and began chanting in a language I didn’t recognize. Old Norse if I had to guess. As she spoke the incantation, the whole court began to shudder and quake. All at once a bright light blinded me and I felt my essence sucked in.

  Images flashed across my waking sight. A brown barren landscape of empty canyons and chasms. At least, that’s what I thought, until I saw the first branch. Not canyons, but tree roots. An immense, sprawling pile of labyrinthine roots and branches intertwined and knotted as far as my eyes could see. We followed the knots, caught up in a stream of power that lead us on until at last we reached our destination.

  When the world ground to a halt, I found myself on my hands and knees in front of a court that looked exactly the same as the one we left. The only difference was that instead of quaint buildings and dwellings built around it, the place was crowded by giant sized trees.

  How big? Well, a walnut rested by me that was about the size of a basketball. I turned my gaze around the bizarre landscape until I found Brigitte. She was gasping for breath like she’d just finished running a marathon. Her glamour was completely gone.

  “Was there some kind of mistake?” I asked, offering her a hand and (with great difficulty) hoisting the eight foot Giantess to her feet.

  Brigitte shook her head, but before she could reply, a deep voice beat her to it.

  “You’re right where you should be. Good to lay eyes on you again. Both of you.”

  It was Hjelti, looking marginally less bloody than last we met.

  “Brother,” Brigitte called out, crushing him in a bear hug.

  “Business,” I said. “Time is against us here.”

  Hjelti nodded, and led us down a short path through the Giant Woods, until we reached an immense structure that looked like someone overturned Noah’s Ark and turned it into a pub.

  “All the Giants that still have fight left in them are all here?” I asked.

  Hjelti nodded. “And NORN. And some other folks too. It’s a regular dress rehearsal for Ragnarok.”

  I honestly though he was over-exaggerating until he threw open the door and led me into the main hall.

  Believe me when I say that I’ve been to my share of crazy parties in my day. And what I laid eyes on was very damn well near the middle of my top ten list. And that’s saying something.

  It looked like a rogue’s gallery by way of western spittoon, except instead of revolvers and ten gallon hats, everyone was wearing skull caps and had huge axes swords and spears. There had to be more than fifty of the Giants armed to the beards in sight.

  I gawked at the gathered forces until Hjelti led us at last to a table that seemed comically small compared to the giant sized scenery around us.

  “All the pieces are finally here. Now the question is, how do we want to play this?”

  I recognized that voice, and to my surprise found Mist the Valkyrie in full battle regalia drinking from a flagon of mead at the far end of the table.

  “Mist, did the Gods have a change of heart?” I asked her, as Hjelti took a seat and bowed his head graciously to a tired old Giantess that was sitting opposite to me.

  Mist smiled in response to me, before gesturing to the seat. I took it, and Brigitte took the one next to me. “You could say that.”

  “So,” began the crone across from me, “Let us get down to it. Ludir has already spoken of our advantages, and of our disadvantages. All that is left is the gambit. ANd that, we leave to you.”

  The old crone turned to me. Eyes squinted and waiting patiently. I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

  “You can’t tell me that I’m the best schemer here.”

  The Giants seated at the table cast glances at each other before their stares fell upon me once more. The crone spoke anew.

  “It is a matter of honor. The Vetti had every chance and possibility to overcome us with ease, and yet they had been hounded and foiled time and again not by a Giant, but by a mortal warlock. It is not that we have no great minds, Charles of Midgard, but that your mind has been a blade that has cut through Vetti plans time and again.”

  “It’s nice seeing you make friends,” Lis said, appearing at my side dressed like a damn Pagan enchantress. “Charles of Midgard.”

  I ignored her stifled laughter at my new name.

  “I’ll come up with something you can sing about later,” I replied to the gathered Giants, “I promise.”

  Murmurs of approval resounded around the table as I turned to Lis.

  “Bait and switch,” I said.

  “Risky,” she replied, dragging her fingers through her hair. “It’s going to cost lives. But I can’t think of anything better. No time to play guerilla warfare. No chance of the Goblins being any less disorganized than now either. It’s the best shot we’ve got.”

  “You read my mind,” I said, clearing my throat and addressing the assembly once more.

  “The plan I have in mind will be costly. It will mean the sacrifice of many giants.”

  Bellows echoed from around the table, demanding I spill the beans.

  So I did. “The Vettir aren’t used to winning. They’ll be full of pride and complacency. Drunk on victory, they will think us desperate. So we will give them a desperate attack against the main gate while a strike team sneaks in from behind and cuts off the serpent’s head. However,” my voice trailed as I got to the hard part of my hastily hatched plan.

  “However?” B
rigitte asked.

  “With only a few Locuses remaining, you will all be weak and vulnerable. Easy pickings for Goblin gunners. There would be no return from this attack. We’re going to be gambling all our eggs on one basket, and if that team fails...”

  “Then we’ll be done for good,” Hjelti finished.

  I nodded.

  The old crone coughed at the center of the table. A loud hacking cough that drew all attention to her. I recognized the subtle yet polite respect that the other Giants paid her.

  Lis noticed too. She leaned down to my ear and whispered, “If you guessed that she’s a genuine Norn, then you’re right.”

  The Norn, not an agent of the organization, but a true arbiter of Nordic fate, withdrew from her robes a covered pile of rags, and slowly removed them.

  I blinked in surprise.

  “Would this make your plan any more viable, Charles of Midgard?”

  Chapter 25

  The battle cry of nearly a hundred Jotun warriors deafened me just as patiently waited, back pressed to the city’s outer wall. The attack on the main gate had begun, and that meant we had work to do.

  Unseen beneath the wooden battlements festooned with the blood red flags of the Goblin invaders, I watched the Vetti gunmen stationed by our little section quickly rush towards the gate, spiteful cackles rising from among them.

  The distraction was working perfectly so far. I dashed to the side of the wall, flung a grappling hook up over top the battlement, and motioned for the others to get climbing.

  Hjelti went first, armed and ready for war. Behind him followed Brigitte, wearing a brown hooded cloak over a chain mail shirt. The armor looked like it was struggled to keep her bust in check.

  I quickly banished the thought of Brigitte’s breasts with a quick shake of my head and climbed up. Just behind me came the two remaining Giants on the team. Both were long bearded and full of scars.

  That was the entirety of our elite strike team. It felt more like a gang of drinking buddies sneaking onto private property to commit some mildly illegal shenanigans. Now that I thought about it, our objective wasn’t going to be that far off from such a description either.

  The way through the Jotun-sized city was smooth and uneventful. I didn’t even see a Goblin until we reached the rear of the main hill fort. If we retook this, the Vettir would have their grip on the city shattered.

  Until we got inside the fort though, I was essentially on my own. Four giants had enough trouble sneaking around Jotunheim without having to silence sentries or rag tag stragglers behind the main Vetti forces.

  I gulped as I planted my back to the main hill fort. It was going to get dicey from here on out. Just past the corner I could make out a pair of guards, Kalashnikovs in hand.

  This was going to be different than back in Grafmir’s woods. The roles had reversed. I was prey then, killing only when necessary, with escape the only objective in my mind. But here? Here, I had to get serious.

  Here, I got to play the assassin.

  I confidently slipped out of my hiding spot the moment I saw weakness. One of the Vettir turned the corner to relieve himself right on the fort wall. Before the remaining guard could respond, I manifested like a ghost from around the corner, jammed my wand sword into his chest, and then neatly decapitated him as he bent over in agony.

  Over to the other fort edge I stalked and waited to spring an ambush just around the dead corner the Vettir had turned past to relieve himself. The moment he returned, I cut him down as well.

  So far so great.

  Hjelti cracked open the main entrance a little and let me slide through. I cut the chains holding it shut. The tiny crack the chained doors had allowed was too small for a giant to squeeze past, but to the Vettir it was like a two lane street.

  Not anymore. The giant cat was out of the bag. I signaled for the Jotun to hide just outside of the entrance as I scouted out the main hall. I hid behind an immense stone next to a pillar, and peeked past to see if I could find anything out of place.

  Empty. Nothing at all. Where was Rurik? Where were the Vetti chiefs? The hags? The defenders?

  I finally noticed the defenders when the boulder I hid behind drew in a deep, ragged snore.

  My eyes widened in recognition, and I drew in a steady breath to keep from acting rashly.

  Trolls. Whether the Vetti or Rurik himself had bargained them to his side didn’t matter. What mattered was that to dispatch them quick and clean, we’d have to strike carefully.

  There were three ‘boulders’ in the room, each about the size of one of the Jotun, though their skin was made of hard stone. It’d take a hundred years to kill them with a hatchet.

  “Which is why we’re going to go for their heads,” I whispered to the others once they’d gathered around.

  “Then we’ll be free to lock this place up, set up NORN’s little surprise, and watch the fireworks.”

  Hopefully rumors of Trolls regenerating heads were over-exaggerated.

  The Giants took up positions around the sleeping bruisers and raised their axes high for a single lethal strike. I wonder if this is how Odysseus felt when he put out that Cyclops’ eye.

  I let my hand fall, and as it did, three thwaks resounded through the hall, followed by the sound of three rocky heads hitting the floor. The stony bodies shuddered, then went inert, crumbling and cracking to gravel.

  Perfect, I thought. At least until the sound of bones breaking reached my ear.

  The largest of the Trolls rose from where he had slept, one hand itching at the neck stump of his first head, and his second head baring its teeth.

  “That hurt,” the Troll snarled.

  One of the Jotun was limply held by the neck in his other hand. With a rumbling roar he cast aside the dead giant and charged.

  Hjelti leaped to the attack, placing his shield between the immense Troll and the rest of us while the remaining giant circled around behind the monster.

  Axes cleaved into rock hard flesh, and the Troll thrashed in fury, flinging both giants around like children’s toys. I didn’t think we’d fight anything stronger than Giants. My mind raced for a solution when the Troll’s eyes fell on Brigitte. I called out a warning, but she didn’t budge.

  Eyes closed, lips wavering, Brigitte didn’t move until the Troll was one step away from crushing her like a twig.

  At the last second she reached out a long wispy arm, tapped the Troll on the forehead, and the (formerly) two headed monster’s eyes widened in shock as a dumb smile widened on its lips.

  “Mm,” it mumbled, sitting down with an earthshaking crunch. It gleefully reached down to the ground as though to pick something up.

  It wrapped its hands around what appeared to be thin air, raised its hands to its mouth and crunched down on what I realized must have been an illusion of a delicious Troll-sized sandwich.

  In a split second strike, Hjelti brought his ax down right on the back of the beast’s neck.

  Surprise flickered onto the Troll’s face for a moment, before it crumbled to rubble.

  “Quick thinking,” I said, smiling to Brigitte.

  Trolls were almost impossible to fight head on. But their foggy brains and dull wits made them child’s play for an illusionist.

  “Good work,” Hjelti managed, breathlessly.

  The ghost of a smile played on Brigitte’s lips. “A girl has her ways. Let’s get it set up.”

  “Dead center of the hall,” spoke the remaining Jotun elite. “And we wi--”

  The Giant’s words were cut off as huge slavering jaws snapped close around the back of his neck. With a practice twist, what appeared to be an immense wolf tore out the Jotun’s throat from behind and let the warrior fall face down in a pool of his own blood.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. The wolves had betrayed us?

  “You’re on our side,” I began. “Why would Grafmir work for Rurik?”

  “Grafmir?” asked the mangy wolf, rising monstrously onto its back feet.

&nb
sp; It walked around awkwardly before muscles shifted, bones settled, and the beast turned into what looked like a Jotun sized werewolf.

  “You have me all wrong, Human.”

  The gigantic werewolf sat down and crossed its legs upon the blood stained floor. As it did, once more its shape shifted to resemble that of a gray bearded giant wearing the tattered skin of a black wolf.

  I felt cold sweat stain my brow as recognition ignited in my mind. Jotun renegade. And a powerful sorcerer by the feel of him.

  The renegade Giant sneered maliciously. “I only answered the call of Rurik the Red to make sure that he keeps doing what he does best: Bringing chaos and misery to my world, as he has done to yours for generations.”

  Chapter 26

  Every supernatural favored elements depending on their origin, upbringing, and lineage. I had skill in arcane magics, for example, Brigitte exemplified the illusion born of cold air, and Lodri most likely refined his enchanting through earth magics.

  The problem with the Jotun sorcerer was his seeming mastery over multiple elements, and he wasted no time bringing them to bear.

  With a flick of his wrist and a booming word of power, he flicked his hands out to Hjelti and Brigitte before either could react, encasing them in cages of ice. Without pause for reprieve, he let out a bestial roar, and threw his hands out towards me.

  You’d be surprised how underrated quick thinking is as a defense mechanism. The moment I realized no magic had erupted from the renegade’s hands, I sensed something amiss and leaped to the side.

  Not a split second later, the pool of blood on which I stood erupted in a thousand meter long needles of focused blood.

  Blood magic. Frost magic. And metamorphosis. He must be using perverted nature magics for sure. That was the source of his power.

  “Little man of Midgard, how long will you last? How much faster are you than a wolf?” the dark druid asked, before shifting into the form of a werewolf with an ear piercing howl and leaping towards me.

  Think fast or die. Where was his weakness? Blood, frost and animalistic magics had weaknesses of their own, but all three together covered up for each other spectacularly.