The Last Praetorian

by Christopher Anderson

  “Do you really think you could so easily escape my maze?” she asked, slipping into the water without a word.

  Tarion crossed the glade without looking at her and left by another path. Two minutes later, he was in the glade again. Freya was not there. He sighed and took a seat on the stone. There was nothing to do but watch and wait for her to return. After a long numinous moment, her comely head broke the surface. She climbed out of the pool with her gaze fixed on him, approaching like a lioness on the hunt. Freya laid down on the rock, brushing his bare arm in a long, languid, feline manner. Tarion shuddered hungrily at the touch of her naked flesh. That made the guilt inside him almost impossible to bear. He cursed with a suppressed oath, his temper getting the better of him, but she simply laughed and stretched out luxuriously next to him. Smiling at him with eyes as old as the mountains and as young as an innkeeper’s saucy daughter, she displayed her wondrous form brazenly. Beads of water sparkled like diamonds on her taught radiant skin. His expression prompted a purely cat-like smile.

  “Lady Freya, what is it you want with me? You’ve done your best to destroy my family and my life, what is it you want now—my soul?”

  Her immediate response was a frown. “Your soul, oh my how morbid. Do you actually think I’d have any use for it, considering I’m a Goddess and not a Deviltress—or do you think me more Navernya than Syf?” Her voice began with sharp rebuke but ended in a soft purr, as if she found some pleasure in his offense. She ran a sharp nail down the hard curves of his shoulder and chest. Then she playfully twirled a lock of his hair and said, “Perhaps you can be excused. Men are often offended at the honor of being manipulated by the Gods.”

  “Is that how you see it, Lady?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Tarion shot to his feet, stammering, aghast, “You call the ruination of two honest men an honor?”

  “What else should I call it?” she laughed, lying back down on the stone with her hands cradling her golden-tressed head. “Why would I pick any but the greatest mortal men to help combat the Destructor, meaning your father and yourself, of course. I can’t take all the credit. The Wanderer had much to say. He was quite insistent on your father. I had my doubts because of your father’s overt sense of propriety, but the Wanderer was right—duty won over self, thus your father restored destiny. Now it is your task to complete it.”

  “So you expect to possess me as you did my father?” Tarion turned away, furious, unable to look the Goddess in the eye. The nerve, the arrogance and the deceit of these Gods; it was too much! “You are truly a Goddess of Odin’s heart, Freya!”

  “You are truly your father’s son, Tarion; but you are wrong if you think I or the Wanderer possessed him.”

  Tarion whipped about. “What do you mean?”

  “Come now,” she got up and waded into the pool again. Her expression was one of imperious disappointment, as though he was supposed to be able to read beneath the lairs of immortal intrigue. “Your father was too strong for possession as are you. Of what purpose would it serve us to possess either of you and overcome your innate talents?” She glanced at him and her eyes flashed. “You were chosen because of your power Tarion, not your weakness.” Freya waded into the waters until she was neck deep. Inwardly Tarion breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could concentrate.

  “I refuse to believe that my father left my mother of his own volition,” he told her, standing defiantly on the bank.

  “Certainly it wasn’t his idea!” She pouted in a scolding manner, and added, “It was not your father who was possessed there but the emperor. King Alfrodel was too strong to possess, but his prejudice for mortal men made him easy to cajole.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we needed to get the Wanderer back to Midgard—have you heard nothing of what people have told you?” She gave a severe sigh of exasperation. “Really Tarion, you are focusing on the minutia when you of all people should be aware of the reality of our plight.” She stared at him beneath perfectly furrowed brows. “If the Destructor wins then none of this makes any difference. Even the memory of your Imperium will be lost forever. His dominion will be absolute and eternal.” She closed her lovely eyes and turned away from him. He expected her to show some sign of remorse; he was mystified and disappointed. Freya motioned for him. “Come and attend me Tarion. Your self-righteous pride has given me a headache. I require a back rub.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It is neither a trick question nor a request Tarion,” she told him sharply.

  Tarion undressed, but he felt some of his humor return, if only because of the absurdity of the entire situation. Silently he told himself, “Mother always taught me to respect the wishes of the Gods, but I don’t think she envisioned me skinny dipping with a Goddess!”

  Freya chuckled as if she heard his thoughts. Indeed, she said, “I always loved your mother; there was so much more of me than Syf in her! And you, Tarion, it is long since I heard you laugh sincerely. Now—rub my neck, that’s where the tension is.”

  Tarion climbed into the water and placed his hand nervously on her velvet skin. He massaged the firm muscles of her neck and back. The touch of her silky flesh sent an electric thrill through his body. Tarion started to say something, but he couldn’t remember what they were talking about.

  “There now, this is much less formal and much more comfortable, don’t you agree?”

  “It’s much less formal, but I’m not so sure about comfortable,” Tarion replied, trying to keep his eyes from staring at her lovely form. Even though her back was turned, Tarion had the unnerving feeling that she was aware of his every thought and sensation.

  She turned her head and gave him a sour smile, “I can’t read your mind, if that’s what you’re thinking Tarion.”

  “Really?” he said, not believing a word of it.

  “Really,” she asserted. “Now do you mind using both hands? Just the one is not harmonious; right now I desire harmony above all.”

  Tarion started to show her his maimed arm, but when he lifted it from the water, his hand was whole again. Gingerly he placed it on her shoulder. The sensations ran through his fingers just as they had before Johaan slashed it off. He massaged her shoulders and then moved up her graceful neck. Gently but with growing firmness, Tarion reached beneath her golden tresses and massaged the base of her head. She tilted her head back and grew completely relaxed. “Excellent Tarion, now back to business, I want you to tell me everything that has happened thus far. Pay particular attention to what Loki, Alfrodel and your father said concerning the Wanderer. Tell me everything, even if it seems unimportant.”

  Tarion did as she asked, but when he finished Freya’s beautiful face wore a troubled expression. “If I understand your father and Alfrodel correctly, then I may know where the Wanderer is.”

  Tarion started so violently that Freya winced under his grip. “I’m sorry Lady, but where? If we know where he is my task is almost finished; indeed, you can go to him. You don’t need me!”

  “No Tarion, we need you more than ever,” she sighed, shaking her beautiful head. “This grows more complicated. I thought the Wanderer would be in Midgard, lost in the world as a spirit, waiting for guidance. Apparently, he is not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She glanced at him, her eyes flashing, “I did not tell you to stop Tarion.” He grimaced and continued. She sighed. “It is perfectly clear that the house the Wanderer sought refuge in was in Asgard; the house of his Twain Tyr—it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “How does any of this make sense?” Tarion asked incredulously. “The Destructor, the Wander and the Gods. You deities have sure messed things up. I thought mortals were bad!”

  “You’re closer to the truth than I would care to admit,” Freya sighed sadly.

  “Either way Freya, the Wanderer is already in Asgard; he’s safe. You can go there and retrieve him,” Tarion told her. “That is good news for all of us, wherever he came from. That means all I h
ave to worry about now is rubbing your back—that’s not so bad.”

  “No, that is the worst news possible,” she said sadly.

  “I don’t understand,” he stammered.

  Freya turned and draped her perfect arms around his neck. She kissed him with her perfect lips leaving him breathless. “My poor Praetorian, this does not bode well,” she explained sadly. “It means the Wanderer could not come back to Midgard—the only place of refuge he could seek was Asgard, the plane of the Gods.”

  “But if I find him in Asgard,” Tarion began, but Freya interrupted him.

  “If you can re-open the Rainbow Bridge you will find him in the house of Tyr his brother; rather you’ll find his spirit. It will be powerless to animate itself. Therefore unable to return to Midgard.”

  Tarion knew what she meant, “Asgard is the last surviving plane of the Gods. If the Destructor learns that the Wanderer is in Asgard, he will destroy it. The Wanderer with it. His dominion will be complete.” Tarion shook his head in anger, “Then why seek him out; why am I to find him?”

  Freya looked frustrated as well, but she said, “I can only surmise that you—somehow—will bring the Wanderer what he needs to animate himself; what he needs to face the Destructor again. Therefore you must start toward Asgard. Odin closed the Rainbow Bridge, so you must find a way to open it. Then you must seek out the Wanderer in Tyr’s house.”

  “What then, if the Wanderer’s spirit is too weak to manifest itself in the world this is all for naught!”

  Freya kissed him again, and said, “Sometimes it is not the discovery that brings illumination, it is the journey. Let us hope that is the case.” She reached up and nuzzled his nose with hers. “What’s the matter Tarion? You’re skinny dipping with the most beautiful Goddess in existence and you have an immortal quest before your feet—isn’t that all that a hero can want?”

  Tarion sighed. The last thing he needed was for Freya to be acting like a woman right now—her being a Goddess was quite bad enough.

  She laughed and said, “You put too much importance on the difference between mortals, elves and Gods Tarion. We’re all beings of this world and we’re all, every one of us, children of the Creator.”

  “I thought you couldn’t read my mind.” He took a deep breath and charged up his courage. Taking the Goddesses hips in his strong hands, Tarion pulled Freya to him, leaning forward to kiss her.

  Freya giggled, but Tarion kissed only the air. He opened his eyes and she was gone. Tarion was no longer in the glade.

  Chapter 20: A Foray into the Forest

  The fresh green scent of the glade gave way to an older, heavier smell, altogether foul in comparison. Tarion found himself in the privy, back in Trondheim.

  “Damn, she’s tossed me back in the muck—literally!” He stewed in a mixture of frustrated ardor, wonderment and trepidation. He looked at his hand. It was missing. Nothing had changed. “It was a pixie spell, nothing more.” Grudgingly, Tarion got on with his business and as weariness seeped back into his bones, he returned to the common room. The warmth of the tavern made him even drowsier, so he settled himself in his chair, wrapping the thick cloak snuggly around him.

  As sleep began to envelope him Tarion confessed, “None of this is real. It’s all a product of an imaginative but delusional brain—with some pixie help, I’m certain! Therefore, I’ll have none of it. I’ll plunder Gaurnothax’s cave, collect my fortune and satisfy my parent’s wishes. Then I’ll buy myself a little keep deep within the woods where no one has ever heard of the Destructor, elven shades, the Imperium or Goddesses! Who knows, maybe I’ll even attract a young comely wife. We’ll settled down and have fifteen kids!”

  He awoke to shaking.

  Tarion blinked, looking up to the fresh, lovely face of Aubrey. He yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Then he saw he was in the common room of the tavern surrounded by other patrons who had too much ale to return home. The same must’ve been true for him. His waking mind raced back to his dreams. Guilty, he apologized, “Sorry honey, I didn’t mean to sleep over at your father’s tavern; where are the kids?”

  Aubrey stared at him in disbelief, but then she broke into laughter. “I’d say you’ve been having some pretty interesting dreams Tarion!” She kissed him on the cheek. “Come on then darling and wash up; it’s time for breakfast.” She went away, giggling to herself.

  Miserable, Tarion got to his feet grumbling, “Blasted pixie spell!”

  He shuffled to the door of the inn and stepped outside for some fresh air. It was clear and crisp and he immediately felt better. The morning sun fell brightly on his face. The sun dappled the river and the sea beyond with flecks of silver and gold. Tarion smiled at the change in the weather. His memory of the previous day came slowly back. “It should be a fine day to pay Gaurnothax a visit, but Aubrey’s right. A good breakfast is what I need first.”

  He joined Hrolf and his family. Afterward, Hrolf gave instructions to his staff. In short order, they were ready to leave. Hrolf brought two oxen and a cart and Tarion led a horse. They enlisted Furge, two of his cousins and half a dozen men from Hrolf’s clan to lend a hand, just in case there were any misadventures. Hrolf didn’t mention Tarion’s intention to plunder Gaurnothax’s lair. Dragon treasure was, after all, too much of a temptation for most people to contend with. To Tarion’s surprise, Aubrey wanted to go see the dragon. She would ride the horse and return with her father.

  The last member of the party was Setris, the pixie. “Good morning, sir,” he said, as he hovered next to Tarion’s face. His wings made a slight buzzing sound. It was higher in pitch than a bee but much more pleasant than a mosquito. “I hope you remember me from last night?”

  “I do indeed, Setris. Thanks to you, I had an interesting night of sleep, or lack thereof. Pray never do that again!”

  “Sorry, but the spell only showed things within you; I didn’t make any of that up Tarion.”

  Tarion sighed and relented, “There’s no chance of you making up what I saw; that’s for sure. Alright, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s what I can do for you, Tarion, in a manner of speaking; for the right price.”

  “Oh, you mean the boots,” Tarion said, embarrassed that his poverty prevented even considering such a thing.

  “They would be of the finest quality,” Setris assured him. “I want to follow you around today in order to see what sort of use you’d give them. There’s no use crafting a piece of apparel without taking the user into account, I always say.”

  “I’ve no doubt they would be magnificent, Setris, but I don’t have anything to pay you with,” Tarion told him firmly.

  “I’m certain you’ll have plenty; that is, if it’s Gaurnothax’s lair you’re seeking.”

  “Let’s be quiet about that,” Tarion said. “All right, but I’ve no guarantee it’ll be enough to match the quality of your craft.”

  “So long as you’ll agree to purchase a pair of boots, I’ll take the risk,” Setris said.

  “Better agree on a price beforehand, Tarion,” Hrolf advised.

  “Very well, what’s a good price?”

  Hrolf thought it over and said, “At least ten times an expert cobbler’s rate, or a hundred times a street-bought pair. That would be twenty coppers for the one and twenty silver pieces for pixie craft.”

  “Is that good enough, Setris?”

  The pixie wrung his hands, “Well, that would be my standard rate, but I’m thinking you’re going to be extra hard on them, wrestling dragons and demons and such. The spells are not cheap, mind you. I couldn’t do it for less than five gold pieces worth of dust, but I’ll throw in a pair of gloves as well with the same quality and enchantments!”

  “I only need a single glove, but if I am so fortunate to find that much, then we’ll call it a bargain,” said Tarion.

  Setris assented and they started down the street. The pixie began the task of minutely studying the way Tarion used his feet. Some of this he did by flying close
to the ground and observing the man’s strides, but for the most part the pixie rode the boot as a man would a horse and either watched the scenery or snored.

  They passed the gate at about eight in the morning. The sun was shining through swift moving clouds and the morning was cool but not bitter. The oxen plodded along slowly and Furge and his cousins politely curtailed their strides to keep from outpacing the company, humming one of their native tunes.

  A fresh carpet of snow covered the road. The woods were silent. Tarion felt the desire to talk to Aubrey, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound trite and forced. She didn’t seem to be in a talking mood anyway and that was troubling; it meant she was thinking.

  He recalled the dreams of the night before. Were they perhaps real? If so, would he see Freya again? He hated to admit it, but he hoped so. Try as he might, Tarion couldn’t get the enchanting image of the Goddess out of his head. Silently, he rebuked himself. “The Goddess Freya is having tea with Odin and doesn’t have a clue that I’m having lurid day-dreams about her!”

  Tarion tripped and fell face first in the snow.

  The party stopped and Hrolf helped him up. “You drank a powerful lot of ale last night.”

  Tarion shook his head and inspected the road where he fell, but there wasn’t a branch, stone or pit to trip him up. He looked around. All right perhaps it was real my lady, but why me?

  Why do you think, it’s all about the Wanderer!

  Of course, meaning I’ll wander blindly to Asgard even if it kills me!

  Light musical laughter echoed in his head. It only made things worse.

  He was heartily relieved to reach the dragon. The summit of the road looked markedly different from the previous afternoon. It snowed during the night and the road was serene and quiet. Gaurnothax lay undisturbed. The snow wrapped his long serpentine shape in a funeral shroud of pure white.