The Mists of Niflheim (The Ragnarok Era Book 2)

by Matt Larkin

  Odin shook his head, the motion clearly paining him. “I didn’t betray you. You never had my loyalty, Gudrun. You truly think I will ever, ever join the Niflungar? Abandon my people, my family, my duty?”

  “I can give you so much—an end to your suffering, the chance at real power.”

  “There is no end to suffering. Not even in death. There is only the struggle, Gudrun. Come with me, come to the Aesir and struggle with us. Or struggle against us—and you will fall.”

  Gudrun crooked a wan smile at the thought. Go with him? Join the Aesir, a sorceress, nigh to a god among them? She could join them in their mad march on Vanaheim, perhaps even claim an apple for herself. With such a gift, she need not uncover Grimhild’s secret to eternal youth. Her name would be feared and worshipped throughout Midgard.

  But then, Odin spoke of family. He had a wife, and if he returned to her, where would that leave Gudrun? As the mistress to the king? No. Gudrun had a family of her own. A father, at least, himself a king more ancient and powerful than Odin. And Gudrun was a princess, heir to her own kingdom, with her own destiny before her, one she would not and could not walk away from. She would not abandon her family’s legacy to become a woman others would call Odin’s whore. She was better than that.

  Kill him …

  She turned away, unwilling to let him see the decision war on her face. She had to appear strong, or he would seize the upper hand again. “Take his spear. Bring him, but don’t harm him any more than you absolutely must.”

  47

  Crouched atop the sloping path, Sigyn stared in wonder at the ruins below. Even given her immortality, she had never expected to see a dragon, dead or otherwise. How much would a creature like that weigh? How much would it eat? Did it truly sleep for years, as legends claimed? Vӧlvur stories said the dragons were the spawn of Jormangandr, the great World Serpent, who slept in the depths of the ocean. If Jormangandr woke, it would herald the end of the world. Sigyn had never believed such stories, but looking at the corpse of a massive linnorm, she had to wonder.

  “Keep the torch low,” Loki said. “You’ll reveal our position.”

  They’d seen those draugar go into the ruins. Loki had guessed the woman must be Gudrun, the Niflung princess Odin had spoken of—not to Sigyn, of course, but he told Loki things he told no other. And Loki, on occasions when she was clever enough to pry them loose, told secrets to Sigyn.

  “How many are there?” Sigyn asked.

  “A half dozen here, more out on the slopes.”

  Wonderful. A single draug was nigh to unstoppable. The dead were, unfortunately, already dead, and it made killing them rather difficult. Sigyn had her bow, but she wasn’t certain she could do much against the undead with it. Loki didn’t even carry a weapon. They were hopelessly outmatched, and sneaking past the undead when she and Loki needed light to see, and the draugar did not, seemed unlikely to end well.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Go back.”

  What? They wouldn’t abandon Odin after coming this far. So … Loki didn’t think Gudrun would kill Odin. That seemed a fair guess—after all, the woman appeared to have some sort of connection to their king, maybe one they could use. Besides, if she meant to kill Odin, she would have done so the instant she found him. But if they left here, Gudrun would just gather her forces and take Odin back to that Niflung ruin. Did Loki think they could sneak in there and save him? Then they might not face the undead, but gods-alone-knew how many sorcerers would stand in their way.

  Loki pushed her back the way they’d come, drawing her out of her musings.

  She lifted her torch higher once they’d made it around the bend. “You’re going to leave him behind.”

  Loki shut his eyes a moment, then shook his head. “No, I cannot risk that. I can’t lose him, especially not to the Niflungar.”

  “You really think they might turn him to serve Hel.”

  Instead of answering, Loki pointed to a level cavern up the slope. “Build a fire. The biggest fire you can. Burn aught you have to.” He stripped off his shirt and tossed it to her. “All the tinder, spare clothes, supplies, everything.”

  Sigyn frowned, but did as Loki asked. Lighting a fire in an ice cave was not an easy task, particularly knowing a small army of the undead was headed her way any moment. No pressure, Sigyn.

  She climbed up to the wider cavern and piled everything she could think of, aught they might possibly live without. It wasn’t exactly going to be a bonfire; they just didn’t have enough to burn. And why did Loki want this, anyway? Did he think more light would give them an advantage? Couldn’t he have just lit another torch?

  She had once seen him draw flame from a fire and hold it in his hand. Could he use that as a weapon against the dead?

  She used her torch to start the blaze. Loki had tossed her even the shirt he’d been wearing, though he set his swan cloak aside. Freyja! Her man was going to catch deathchill like that. Still, she threw the shirt on the fire.

  They were lucky the ceiling here was high enough they needn’t worry about choking on the smoke.

  The sound of heavy footfalls crunching ice drew her attention. The draugar already advanced up the slope, followed by two women. The regal blonde woman must be Gudrun, the Niflung princess. The other walked behind, not nearly as imposing. A servant, maybe? A slave?

  Shirtless, arms down at his side but spread wide, Loki stood in the entrance to this cavern, barring the way. Sigyn rose and nocked an arrow to her bow. What was he thinking? Did he intend to fight the undead with his bare hands? An arrow between the eyes would do more than any amount of flame.

  She advanced slowly toward her lover, watching the tunnel beyond.

  Draugar moved forward, spreading out to either side around Loki. He made no move on them, though, his gaze locked on Gudrun.

  “Leave Odin and be gone, Niflung.”

  The woman was startlingly beautiful, Sigyn realized, with a poise that would have shamed Frigg and sensuality she suspected Freyja herself would approve of. She fairly glided across the floor, meeting Loki’s gaze. “Who are you?”

  “The one you fear.” Loki’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, but Gudrun drew up short as he spoke.

  Behind her, a pair of draugar held Odin up by the arms.

  “I am the Fire Bringer, the first Firewalker, the teacher of men, who brought the first flame to the Lofdar.”

  Loki’s words sent a shiver through Sigyn. What on Midgard was he even talking about? Lofdar?

  Gudrun took a step back, her poise falling away, shaking her head as she pushed the younger girl behind her. “Nonsense. Loge is a myth.” The tremor in her voice betrayed the hint of fear, of doubt, despite her denial. Loge—certainly a name reminiscent of Loki. If not for everything else Sigyn knew of him, she might think it a trick, a play on words.

  But Loki was ancient, more ancient than even the Vanir.

  So why couldn’t he—

  Flames surged past Sigyn, and she screamed as a vortex leapt out of the fire she had lit and surrounded Loki’s hands. They swirled up his arms in spirals that encircled his chest and leapt from one hand to the other.

  Sigyn’s arrow slipped from her fingers and flew wide, clattering off the ice. She paid it no mind, transfixed by her lover. He spun, whipping the fire around him in wide arcs that trailed flame behind him. He flung both arms wide, and a sheet of fire launched forward, engulfing a draug and exploding along the ice wall behind in a curtain of steam.

  The undead fell back from the blaze, but Loki didn’t pause. He continued his arc, and those same flames leapt back to his arms and surged forward, catching two more draugar. They detonated in an explosion that hurled Sigyn off her feet and immolated the undead creatures. Their flaming corpses flailed wildly before falling to the ground.

  The flames had filled the cave with a wall of steam, thick as the mist outside. Sigyn pushed herself up, her enhanced senses allowing her to see through the vapors.

  Gudrun rose to he
r feet, ice crystals forming in her hand. And she hesitated, as if afraid to even try to stand against Loki. She looked back at her servant, then grabbed the girl by the hand. Together, they fled past Sigyn. The Niflung princess spared a glance over her shoulder at Loki as she ran, paying Sigyn no mind.

  Sigyn retrieved her bow and nocked an arrow. She could easily down the woman before she reached the bend in the cavern. More explosions detonated behind her, but Sigyn shut them out. Shut out everything but the sight of her enemy.

  A human woman. Sigyn had never shot another person before. And this woman, though one of the Niflungar, was still human. At least as human as Sigyn herself. Human enough to care for Odin? Was that their connection? A woman with a heart and a family and goals that were just … different.

  “They are not our concern,” Loki said.

  She lowered her bow to turn back to her lover, who now lifted Odin’s unconscious form in his arms.

  Sigyn tried to form a question but wasn’t even certain where to start. She had seen him hold fire, but this went so far beyond that. Why had he not drawn upon such a power before? Was he so determined to keep the extent of his abilities secret? Why? The only thing she could think of was, by keeping his true potential hidden, he held power even over his allies.

  She rushed after him, leaving the cave. Soot smeared his bare chest, but the flames seemed to have caused no harm to Loki whatsoever. She trotted beside him as he trod down the mountain, taking time to admire the tight muscles of his back and abdomen. The rapid rise and fall of his chest was the only indication his exertions had drained him.

  “How did you do that, with the fire?”

  “Loki is not the only name I have ever used.”

  Sigyn rolled her eyes. If she wanted answers, she’d most likely have to approach them at an angle.

  “Who were the Lofdar?”

  “One of the nine kingdoms descended from Halfdan the Old.” Loki spoke slowly. “They warred with the Niflungar for control of Midgard, warred and won, driving out the Niflungar.”

  Sigyn grunted. So Loki had come to them as this … Loge … and taught them fire magic? Was that it? Was that how they defeated the Children of the Mist?

  “You were a myth to her.”

  “One day, Sigyn, your name will be a myth to others. Your deeds recalled in legend, their truths warped as a dream.”

  She hugged herself. He was right, of course. By eating the apple, by making herself immortal, she had cast herself as a figure others would look to for ages yet to come. They would look to her, to little Sigyn, as a goddess. Her actions would inspire generations. And her mistakes? History would judge her for those forever.

  In such a light, she couldn’t blame Loki for choosing what to reveal with extreme care.

  48

  Beneath Idavollir lay freezing cells. Icicles dangled from the ceiling near iron bars. Thick around as Tyr’s forearm. He’d tried to break them, but the jotunnar must have used it house their own dishonored. As if they knew aught of honor.

  Borr had given Tyr his honor.

  Frigg had taken it from him.

  Just like she’d taken Gramr. Why, why, why? Why had he let the queen claim his blade? She was not meant for her. She was only for Tyr. As Tyr was only meant for her.

  He beat his fists against the granite floor.

  “Where are you?” he mumbled. “I need you. You know that, you know that. I would not abandon you.”

  You did.

  “No! Never.”

  You let her take me.

  “I will find you, I swear it.”

  Zisa stood, hands on her hips, scowling at him. “Now I am left hungry, left to wither.”

  Tyr crawled over to her and threw his arms around her knees. “I’m going to take care of you, I’ll always, always take care.”

  “Tyr?”

  He looked up. Idunn stood on the other side of the bars, eyebrow raised.

  Zisa. Gramr. Both vanished.

  He shook himself.

  Idunn sighed and sat down. Tyr crawled over to where she sat, and she reached a hand through the bars to stroke his knee. “I tried to warn you.”

  “They took her away from me.”

  “Her?”

  “Give her back!” He seized Idunn’s wrist and squeezed until she shrieked in pain.

  Her terror hit him like icy water, and he released her. Idunn scooted away from the bars.

  “I-I …” he mumbled. “Ugh. Where is she?”

  You left me. I’m hungry. You left me to starve.

  Idunn rubbed her wrist and shook her head. “The dverg princes forged nine runeblades at the height of the Old Kingdoms. One blade for each of those kingdoms, one given to a prince to bind them to a pact of mutual benefit. But dvergar are greedy in their craft and prone to wretchedness, eager to punish any they feel have forced their hands. And they cursed so those blades, Tyr. I mean it was subtle at first, as long as the princes held them. All weapons of power are made by forging soul energy, and so they are, all of them … angry, over it. But those runeblades, they affected each bearer differently. This one seems to bring out the worst in any who carry it.”

  “She’s hungry!” He lunged forward and grabbed the bars, though his grip did not quite encompass them.

  Idunn shook her head. “You’re not listening to me. I know the blade makes you feel powerful … I mean it does make you powerful. But if you can’t let it go, it will cost you everything you still value in your life. Can you not see what it’s doing to you?”

  Lies. Lies. She wants me for herself.

  Tyr growled at Idunn. “She is … helping me. Unlike others.”

  The Vanr groaned. “I am trying to help you, Tyr. I’ve spoken to Frigg on your behalf, tried to explain the curse. But she sees that as all the more reason to keep you bound. She won’t kill you, but neither will she let you go. Still there, is hope. In time, I think might be able to—”

  “Get me Gramr.”

  “No, Tyr, I can’t do that. I would not, even if Frigg would allow it. Having that blade will only—”

  He roared at her, and she backed further away, shook her head. “Tyr.”

  “Please … Give her to me. I cannot lose her. Not her!”

  Kill her.

  No! Not Idunn. Never Idunn.

  You love her more than me.

  “That’s not true!” he shouted.

  Idunn opened her mouth. “What’s not—”

  “I love you more than anyone!”

  The Vanr worked her mouth into a crooked smile. Sad smile. “You mean that?”

  “Of course. Gramr, I need you. Come back to me.”

  Idunn sighed, a shudder taking her. Then she shook her head and walked away. Twice, she turned to look over her shoulder.

  “Come back!” Tyr roared at her. “Come back! Bring her to me!”

  I am so hungry.

  Tyr beat his fists against the bars. Again and again. Until they bled. Until his bones cracked.

  The bars did not break.

  I am … hungry …

  49

  Though Gudrun did not fear to travel alone—what Niflung would?—she called several more draugar to her as escorts. It was just a precaution. She had no reason to fear that man. Clearly he was a sorcerer, but Loge? No. That was impossible. The fire priest would have died centuries ago. Wouldn’t he?

  But then, how old was her father, really? How old was Grimhild?

  The ways through the mountains were long and tedious, even to one who knew the secret tunnels beneath them. Gudrun felt she’d been walking through such ice caves for an age. Odin had rejected her—again—and worse still, she had lost him. Thanks to his unexpected ally, he’d escaped. Gudrun had failed, and miserably so. One advantage to keeping to the ice caves, though, was the mist didn’t seep far into the underground tunnels. Maybe Grimhild couldn’t find her and Hljod down here.

  She’d have to do something to appease the woman, something to make up for her failure. Certainly she couldn�
��t let Grimhild kill Odin, but something else, aught that might avert the queen’s wrath, because if Grimhild returned, and Gudrun gave her naught, Irpa would become the least of Gudrun’s worries.

  Fool child … afraid of her mother …

  Her breath had grown out of control, turning into such gasps that a draug turned to look at her. She had to get hold of herself.

  “How much farther?” she snapped at an undead warrior.

  “At your pace … an hour.”

  Hel, Gudrun hated the hollow, raspy voices of these things. Why had she even bothered to ask? Trying to distract herself by talking to the dead?

  We are all dead … here …

  “Are you all right?” Hljod whispered, as if the draug wouldn’t hear the echoes off the ice walls.

  Gudrun patted the girl on the shoulder. “A minor setback.” Actually, it was a fairly major one. Gudrun had never given much consideration to Odin’s allies, other than that thrice-damned wife of his. But he had a Vanr among his people, and now this man claiming to be Loge.

  She needed to get this over with. Ve had become her only remaining asset. The Troll King had done well enough, so far, and his people could move about the mountains freely, even as they still laid siege to Idavollir. All she needed was to break the Ás fortress before Odin reached it, and thus ensure he had nowhere left to turn save her. Or did she yet fool herself?