Dragonrank master bg-3

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  No answer.

  "Vidarr."

  Still nothing.

  Larson considered. What was it Baldur said? Anyone can communicate with gods. They need only pray in the proper temple… make the appropriate sacrifice. Larson brushed hair from his face. "Oh, no. I'm not going to steal and kill some farmer's pig just to talk to a dead god's father." He slid both hands into his pockets and rubbed the smoothed facets of Silme's sapphire and the rounded curves of Baldur's gem. He pictured the collection plate in the church in New York. Maybe they'll take money. He pulled free the painted stone and pitched it to the shrine. It clicked against the granite, bounced once, and skidded to a stop. "Yo, Vidarr!"

  Larson felt a pressure in his mind. Attributing it to the beer, he shook his head to clear it. But the sensation sharpened and grew more persistent. Larson froze. "Vidarr?"

  The presence in Larson's mind became stronger, then waned again.

  "Vidarr?" Larson tried again.

  Once more, the pressure heightened and dulled.

  "Vidarr! Cut the crap. We need to talk."

  Sullenness trickled through Larson's thoughts. It felt as if his entire mind was pouting.

  Familiar with Vidarr's designation as the silent god and the deity's use of emotion and imagery as a form of communication, Larson sighed. "Look. I'm half-drunk, frustrated, and tired. I saved your life once. You owe me the courtesy of speaking in words."

  There was a long pause. Resignation flowed through Larson's thoughts. Very well, Allerum. A reasonable request. But first, tell me where you got that gem.

  "From a dead god in Hel. Baldur said to remember him to his father.''

  Remorse washed across Larson, as heavy as his grief for Silme. Use your mind, Allerum.

  Annoyed by what seemed like an undeserved reprimand, Larson countered. "What did I say that was so stupid?''

  No, the god amended. I meant you don't have to speak aloud. Just think what you want to say. Remember?

  Right. Sorry. It seemed like an eternity since Larson had carried on a conversation in this manner. Now it felt as uncomfortable as the first time Vidarr had contacted him.

  Vidarr radiated pensiveness. Allerum, wait here. I'm going to leave you for a moment. I have to discuss this with someone. I'll be right back. Before Larson could protest, Vidarr was gone.

  I don't believe this. Larson fumed. A thousand years before the invention of the telephone, and Vidarr just put me on "hold!" He paced an anxious circle around the stone.

  Allerum!

  Vidarr's sudden reappearance in Larson's mind caused him to jump in fright. Don't do that.

  Now it was Vidarr's turn to apologize. Sorry. I've got a task you need to do for me.

  Vidarr's casual assumption that Larson would perform the deed roused the American's ire. In annoyance, he spoke aloud. "I need to do a task for you? First, the least you could do is ask me. I've been out of the army too long to take commands. Second, the last favor I did for you resulted in Silme's death, not to mention pitting me against a god and a dark elf sorcerer/swordsman who tortured me, like a cat does a mouse, before I killed him." He paused for breath. "And third, I called you. Where I come from, that means I get to tell you my demands first."

  Very well. Vidarr seemed appropriately repentant. What do you desire?

  Silme.

  Impatience weaved through Larson's mind. I already told you at the falls. I have no power to raise her.

  I know. But I do. His claim to have more influence than a god offered a smug satisfaction which Larson tried to keep back from his readable thoughts. Hel told us a way to bring Silme back. So far, we've failed. But I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

  Vidarr's reply came in a rush of incredulity. Show me, Allerum. Concentrate on what has happened since I saw you. That'll highlight those instances so I can move to the appropriate portion of your thoughts.

  Larson hesitated. In the past, he had found these mind intrusions extremely discomforting. The manipulation of his thoughts seemed dangerous and obscene. All right. But only for Silme. And don't you go wandering off anywhere else. Cautiously, he plucked the incidents in Hel from his memory. The eager crash of Vidarr through his consciousness made Larson cringe. He felt like a scaled fish, naked, deboned, his very being flayed open for the world to see. When he calculated that the god had spent enough time examining his conversation with Hel, he switched to the near slaying of Bengta at the Dragonrank School.

  Vidarr scanned quietly for some time before he withdrew. It is good you didn't let Gaelinar kill the sorceress.

  Good for my conscience. Not so good for Silme.

  Not really, Allerum. Taking Bengta's life would not have restored Silme's.

  No? Larson felt as if a great burden had lifted from his chest. But she was a sapphire-rank and a woman who served law. How much more like Silme could a person get? Does Hel expect us to find Silme an identical twin?

  Hel expects you to fail. Vidarr cloaked his emotions with practiced thoroughness. She was deliberately vague, hoping you'd make the precise mistake you did make. You see, Allerum, our Fates control the balance of our world. You could have slain Bengta only if there was a gap. That is, only if it was time for a law-abiding creature of her strength to die…

  Well, of course, but… Larson hesitated, wishing he had never drunk the first beer. This makes no sense, Vidarr. How else can I ' 'open a place'' for Silme? Larson clenched his hands until his knuckles blanched. Don't tell me. It's a "catch-22. "

  Vidarr hesitated, enwrapped in an aura of confusion. Explain.

  Hel had no intention of letting Silme go free. In order to kill Bengta, we needed to "open a place" in Hel by raising Silme. But to raise Silme, we need to "open a place'' on Midgard by killing Bengta. It can't be done.

  On the contrary, Allerum. It can be done and in such a way neither you nor Silme would morally object to the method.

  Excitement swept through Larson. He found himself unable to speak or even compose a coherent thought.

  Vidarr waited patiently.

  How? Larson managed at last.

  I'm sorry, Allerum. I can't tell you.

  What do you mean you can't tell me! With effort, he restrained his anger until Vidarr had a chance to elaborate.

  I can't tell you until you complete my task.

  Your task. Larson felt feverish. Your task! To hell with your task. You know how to save Silme. Tell me. Now!

  Vidarr was mercilessly repetitive. I can't tell you until you complete my task.

  Larson blustered in wordless rage. If Vidarr had stood before him, he would have attacked without thinking. As it was, his fist pounded the shrine stone with enough force to cause physical pain. Larson contented himself with a visual image of his own hands throttling Vidarr. He made no effort to shield the picture from his surface thoughts.

  Very nice, Allerum. Bland indulgence colored Vidarr's reply. But I think it's a sacrilege. An impiety at the very least.

  Larson dropped the concept. I don't care if you are a god. You're a bastard. Silme served you faithfully. She gave her life for your cause.

  She gave her life for all mankind. Vidarr's tolerance waned. My father has several illegitimate children, not the least among them Thor. I, however, am not one. And neither was my brother, Baldur. His reprimand softened. I want Silme back as much as you do. Listen, Allerum…

  Larson broke in. No, you listen. If you wanted her back

  as much as me, no task in the world would come before her. For god's sake, Vidarr. Larson winced, wishing he could rephrase his argument. I rescued you from Loki's spell. You owe me.

  Vidarr's anger echoed Larson's. And I repaid you.

  How? Larson challenged.

  Didn't you even notice? Allerum, I took away your madness.

  Larson screamed in frustration. "Well, put it back!" The absurdity of his own suggestion jarred him to realization. Wait a minute. You're lying. I had a flashback at the Dragonrank school.

  I fixed what was there. I cut the o
dd connections and loops of thought. But I didn't change who and what you are, Allerum. Apparently, you have a tendency to develop this particular madness in certain situations.

  And you keep putting me into those situations.

  Don't blame me. You went to Hel on your own.

  Stalemate. Larson worked the conversation to a different tack. What's so important about this task that you're willing to put it before rescuing Silme?

  Vidarr's emotions slid through a spectrum from relief to discomfort. I can't tell you.

  This is bullshit! You're not going to tell me why I'm risking my life, and Silme's? Forget it, Vidarr. I'm not doing it.

  Wait. Vidarr went utterly still in Larson's mind. Just as Larson thought the god had abandoned him, Vidarr continued. This isn't easy for me. You know I'm not used to phrasing points. I usually communicate only with emotions.

  Larson folded his arms across his chest unsympa-thetically. Go on.

  I'm sending you to retrieve the rod of the first Dragon-rank mage, Geirmagnus. He hesitated in what felt to Larson like uncertainty. But when Larson showed no recognition, Vidarr's confidence returned. Your success would bring Baldur back from Hel.

  Outrage scrambled Larson's thoughts.

  Patiently, Vidarr waited while Larson formed a reply.

  So, you want me to raise Baldur from death while Silme rots in Hell I'd rather die.

  No. No. Vidarr waded through Larson's thoughts in agitation. I never said that. Baldur is my brother. I love him dearly. And yes, I want him back. But not in exchange for Silme, in addition to her. She won't become irretrievable in the few days it takes to obtain Geirmag-nus' rod.

  Repeatedly, Larson clenched and opened his fists, wishing he had something to hit. Silme first. Baldur second. And hold still. You're making me dizzy.

  Vidarr ceased pacing. I'm sorry, Allerum. Baldur must come first. I cannot compromise.

  Why not?

  Because the method you would need to use to raise Silme would mgke the quest for Geirmagnus' rod far more difficult, if not impossible. Vidarr winced. Allerum, stop pushing me. Don't make me lie to you. I could tell you retrieving the rod would bring Silme back. Then you'd run off and get it. Nothing could stand in your way. But I wouldn't do that to you.

  Larson said nothing as he let Vidarr's revelations sink in.

  Vidarr continued. Do you know who my father is, Allerum?

  I can guess.

  He is called by many names, including Smiter, Destroyer, and The Terrible One. He is Odin. And he made me swear I would do nothing else before raising Baldur, the most beloved of the gods, from Hel. For your sake and my own, Odin should never be crossed. Besides, I was telling the truth when I said the method of raising Silme would make the quest far more difficult.

  Larson struggled to salvage his argument. Silme could help us get the rod. You know she'd do anything for you.

  Larson's attempt to stir Vidarr's guilt and loyalty failed. Silme's abilities would not outweigh the dangers of raising her. Allerum, it would be best for us both if you saw the retrieval of Geirmagnus' rod as a means to restore Silme. Dedicate yourself to Baldur as you would to Silme. In truth, their fates are wholly entwined.

  It's not fair! Larson blustered. Why don't you make someone else go after this sorcerer's rod? If you love your brother so damned much, why don't you get it yourself?

  Deep sadness assaulted Larson's consciousness. I would do anything for Baldur. I would die for him, if necessary. But you are the only one I know who could successfully complete the task.

  Me? Larson shook his head. How can that be? I'm a stranger here; an elf not by choice; and, at best, a mediocre swordsman.

  Vidarr went uncharacteristically sullen. I don't have to explain everything to you. You'll have to take some things on faith. Good-bye, Allerum. Vidarr's presence faded.

  Wait! Larson thought desperately. At least tell me where to find this rod.

  Vidarr pressed back into position. Gaelinar will know. Enlist his aid if you still can. He added dryly, You'll need it. And you may want to bring the little foreigner with you too.

  That Shadow fellow? He can help us? Larson's natural curiosity died before a gathering wave of anger. Hey, wait a minute, Vidarr. How did you know about Shadow?

  Your thoughts…

  My thoughts! Larson hissed in revulsion. "You immortal bastard! Is nothing sacred? I asked you to stay the hell out of my memories. It's bad enough you manipulate my mind at will. How dare you…" Larson raged on long after Vidarr had quietly withdrawn from his consciousness.

  CHAPTER 7: Swordmaster

  "The business of the Samurai consists in reflecting on his own station in life, in discharging loyal service to his master if he has one, in deepening his fidelity in associations with friends and, with due consideration of his own position, in devoting himself to duty above all."

  – Yamaga Soko

  The Way of the Samurai

  The autumn sun hovered, a diffuse halo of light just above the eastern horizon; its meager glow sifted through the forest of evergreens. Beside Gaelinar, Al Larson watched Taziar weave a trail between the shadow-splotched boughs and trunks, a full ten paces before them. The needled branches slid easily from the tough, black linen of the climber's clothing. Jabbed and scraped through his thinner tunic and cloak, Larson felt a pang of envy.

  "Why would Vidarr suggest we drag along a foul, filthy bandit?" Gaelinar spoke loudly, oblivious or indifferent to the fact that Taziar could not help but overhear him.

  Larson sighed. Only fifteen minutes from town and already Gaelinar's trying to goad Shadow to attack him. "I don't know." Annoyed with the prospect of having to deal with feuding companions and still bitter about Vidarr's secrecy and intrusion, Larson did not care if Taziar or Gaelinar found his tone insulting. "That's only one of a zillion questions I wish I'd asked Vidarr while I had the chance. Maybe this rod thing's hidden in a place too small for us to reach. Maybe we have to steal it." He dismissed the subject with a flick of his hand. "You're the one who knows about the rod. You promised you'd tell me what you could. So what is it we have to do?"

  Gaelinar stared after Taziar, ignoring Larson's query. "There's a saying where I come from: 'Meet a man once, it's a chance. Meet twice and it's coincidence. The third time, you must embrace him or slay him.' To happen upon Shadow in the tavern seems unlikely enough. But to discover him snooping around our camp just when we're planning our journey? The dishonorable rodent owes us an explanation."

  Taziar froze in his tracks. "The 'dishonorable rodent' would appreciate it if you would stop speaking to him in the third person." He turned to Gaelinar. "And I wasn't snooping. I was taking a walk."

  "In the dark?" Gaelinar snorted. "And you just stumbled upon our camp by accident?"

  Taziar shrugged. "However it happened, you and Allerum invited me along. If you want me to leave, say so. I'll gladly trail you unseen."

  Larson kicked a dead branch at his feet, wishing his companions would stop bickering and continue walking. Time is of the essence. The delay turned his mood cruel. Maybe I should just have let Gaelinar kill Shadow at the Dragonrank school.

  Gaelinar's tone carried a hint of threat. "You may find tracking us more difficult than you think."

  Taziar met Gaelinar's glare with a triumphant grin. "I didn't have any trouble following you from the school. Shall I stay or leave? I'll abide by your decision."

  Gaelinar's nostrils flared. Otherwise, his bland features betrayed no surprise or anger. "Stay. An enemy within sword range is safer than one concealed. But I warn you. If you try to kill Allerum or me, you will find us stronger than you can handle. If you take anything belonging to us, if you betray us at any time, you will die in the most horrible fashion I can design."

  Taziar's blue eyes narrowed in offense. "In my life, I have killed only twice. Both times, my hand was forced; and never, before or since, have I had to do anything so vile." His fingers curled at his sides. "I'm not an enemy. What is in your best interests
is in mine as well. And if I wanted something you carried, I would have it already." He spun on the balls of his feet and returned to his path, shoving branches aside with a new violence.

  Relieved to continue their quest, Larson trotted after Taziar. He suppressed the urge to question the thief's motives for tailing them, not wanting to incite another argument. Instead, he attempted to distract Gaelinar. "It's time, now. Tell me about Geirmagnus' rod."

  Gaelinar walked beside Larson, his attention still fixed on Taziar. "Geirmagnus was the first and most powerful Dragonrank Master. His estate still stands, a day's travel south of the city of Rajarkmar. Some say removing his rod from its resting place will restore life to the dead god, Baldur."

  Larson creased his forehead. "That's common knowledge? ''

  "For almost a century."

  Confusion rode Larson. "But if Baldur is as well loved as Vidarr tells me, why hasn't anyone retrieved the rod yet?"

  "Many have tried. None have succeeded."

  Larson brushed dried needles from his hair, concerned by the multitude of potential barriers to completing Vidarr's task and obtaining the knowledge he needed to rescue Silme. "Why has no one succeeded?"

  Gaelinar turned his gaze to Larson. "To tell you would doom you to failure, too."

  Curiosity piqued, Larson pressed further. "How could that be?"

  Larson's insistence strained Gaelinar's patience. "To answer your second question, Allerum, I would obviously need to address the first. As I said, that would assure your failure."

  It makes no sense. How can knowledge doom me to failure? I would think ignorance would prove far more dangerous. Larson kept the comment to himself, not wishing to further antagonize Gaelinar. "But exactly what is…" He adopted the melodramatic tone of a bad Shakespearean actor. "… the rod of Geirmagnus?''