The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Grum shrugged. “Who is to say they have even noticed the armor is missing?” he asked.

  Margret called out: “Einar is no fool. Even from here, I sense his anger.” As she spoke, the pearl in her circlet glowed faintly.

  “Ah well,” began Arastead, “it is not like we are going to join that guild any time soon.” Upon his shoulders lay a cat, Peg. He scratched underneath Peg’s chin making her purr contentedly.

  “A fine sparring match, Grum,” said Mage. “The ancient Graydon suit of armor does affect wizards, even me. Now, let me retire to my room. This battle wore me out more than expected.”

  Farling asked: “Is your room at the Paupers Temple to your liking?”

  Mage nodded and said: “Sihr and his assistant, Rickters, are most kind. Rickters fashioned a bed that fits my size. The Paupers Temple is a most peaceful place. It is ideal for me to study. But I do miss my library terribly.”

  “We must take you to the thieves guild library,” said Arastead. “There might be some books there for you.”

  “And the library at the Pitcairn thieves guild,” said Margret. “It might have some books of interest for you as well.”

  “You are all too kind,” said Mage. “Now, return the Graydon Armor. We meet again on the morrow.”

  “Mage, I will come with you,” said Arastead. “The Graydon Armor and I need distance.”

  “I, too, will come,” said Margret. “This Graydon Armor is more powerful than I imagined.”

  “Then let us be off,” said Mage.

  Once all the magic users had left, Farling said: “All right, Grum, let us get you out of the armor, return it, then we will get some food.”

  “Are we just going to walk it through the front door of the thieves guild?” asked Grum.

  “Well, we cannot use a portal again, so through the front door we must go.”

  “We should suggest to Master Horund that we found another suit of Graydon Armor and try and get the reward?”

  “You know we are not members of the thieves guild, so we cannot receive any commission from any treasure found.”

  “A shame, as I can only assume this suit is worth its weight in gold.”

  “Which is why we need to return it as it is very valuable for more than one reason, some more valuable than gold.”

  ***

  Between the two of them, Farling and Grum carried the Graydon Armor through Trondheim. Strange looks were cast their way, but no one stopped them or asked what they were doing with the blood-red plate armor.

  Grum said: “I wish we had just used a portal to jump back into the thieves guild.”

  Farling laughed. Said: “You know we would have, except that Einar, or most likely Pressan, figured out that the people who had stolen the Graydon Armor had broken into the guild using a portal, and so they threw carpets over the portal rune, stopping it from working further.”

  “I just hope they have food,” said Grum. “Sparring with Mage always makes me hungry.”

  “I agree with you,” said Farling, shifting the weight of the armor on his shoulders. “I too am quite famished. That was a longer than usual sparring match. Next time, we bring more food and water.”

  “If,” began Grum, “I remember. Honestly, I thought it was Arastead who was to remember details like that.”

  Farling chuckled. “Almost there.”

  “Carrying this armor is almost more difficult than wearing it,” said Grum.

  Farling wiped sweat from his forehead as he shifted the armor again, trying to get a better grip. As he did, he tripped over someone lying on the ground.

  “Whoa!” said Farling, almost dropping the armor. “Stranger, I did not see you there on the ground.”

  The man Farling had tripped over was on his knees, bent over. Farling recognized him as someone who had been walking ahead of him, but for whatever reason, had collapsed to the ground.

  “My head,” was all the man said with a groan thrown in for good measure.

  “What is his problem?” asked Grum.

  “I do not know,” said Farling. He put the armor on the ground to help the man to his feet. “Are you OK?”

  The man lifted his head off the ground and sat back on his knees. Blood streamed from his nose, covering his mouth and dripping from his chin. His eyes could not focus.

  “That must have been one bad fall you had,” said Farling. He found a clean handkerchief and gave it to the man.

  “My thanks,” said the stranger, wiping his face with the handkerchief. “My head is pounding. I do not even remember tripping. I feel ill to my stomach. And my ears, they ring. Do you hear it?”

  “No,” said Farling, casting a questioning look at Grum, who merely shrugged.

  “I do not hear it either,” said Grum.

  “No, but our friend does hear it,” said Farling.

  “I did not know he is now our friend.”

  “Not this friend, our other friend, our friend from our forge, you know, the one with the cat.” Farling glared knowingly at his friend.

  “You mean Arastead?”

  Farling chuckled, then shook his head. “Yes, Grum. I was trying to be subtle, my mistake. I did mean our friend, Arastead. You know how this armor makes him feel.”

  “Nose bleeds, ringing ears, sick to his stomach.”

  “And do you notice anything similar about this man?”

  “Oh!” said Grum, his voice now excited. “He must be like Arastead.”

  “You mean a blacksmith?”

  “No. Honestly, Farling, sometimes you are quite thick. I mean like a wizard.”

  “I was teasing, but I see teasing and subtlety do not work on you sometimes.”

  “Never, actually.”

  Farling shook his head, a smile on his face. “Can you carry the armor?”

  “You mean all of it?”

  “Yes, Grum. All of it. We need to get some distance between this armor and this wizard.”

  “Where are we going to take him?”

  “Where else? The guild, where we introduce him to Pressan and Einar. It would be good to have another wizard with us.”

  “I hate to interrupt,” said the man on the ground, as he continued to clean his face, “but I am feeling quite sick. If the red armor is the cause of my illness, then yes, some distance between it and me would be appreciated greatly.”

  “Fine,” said Grum, picking up all the armor as he started walking towards the thieves guild.

  Once Grum was far enough away, the man spoke. “I am feeling better. What is that armor?”

  “Magic,” said Farling as he grabbed him by an arm and hauled him to his feet, pulling him towards the Trondheim thieves guild.

  ***

  “Anything to declare?”

  “Yeah,” said Grum, “this Graydon Armor. I just found it lying around.”

  Horund, the usually calm and collected bookkeeper, opened his eyes wide in amazement.

  Grum looked at the guards and shrugged his shoulders. “I know I am not a member of this guild, but is there any reward money for finding it?” he asked.

  Horund coughed politely in disbelief. “I will make a note of it in my ledger.” His hand shook ever so slightly as he wrote.

  Grum nodded. Said: “You do that, Horund, you do that. I will take this armor to the library as I expect to find Einar and Pressan there, as that is where they are most of the time.”

  And Grum made his way towards the thieves guild library, still carrying the armor.

  Soon after, Farling appeared in front of Horund. Beside Farling stood a disheveled man, holding a bloody rag to his nose.

  “Names,” said Horund.

  “You know my name,” said Farling.

  “Name,” said Horund, irritated.

  Farling sighed. “My name is Farling Jordheim and this is my guest.”

  “Name of your guest,” said Horund as he scribbled Farling’s name in the ledger.

  “Funny,” began Farling, “I do not know his name. Wizard, w
hat is your name?”

  “I cannot remember my name,” the wizard stuttered. “I must have hit my head and forgot.”

  Horund sighed loudly, obviously not pleased with recent events. Said in a stern voice: “Lying is not tolerated within this guild. Lying outside, well, that is a different matter. But inside these walls, there are no lies. Name?”

  “Gorund,” the wizard stammered.

  “As I said before,” started Horund, “there is no lying in this guild. Here, hold this stone in one hand and state your name.”

  The wizard tentatively took the stone from Horund and held it. He looked nervously at the guards who stared intently at him, hands on their weapons.

  “Name,” said Horund firmly.

  “Goran,” said the wizard as if his name had been forced out of him.

  “Ah, there, that is much better,” said Horund, writing the name in his ledger.

  “And are you a wizard?” asked Farling, taking advantage of the stone.

  “No,” said Goran between clenched teeth. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

  The guards unsheathed their short swords and approached Goran.

  “If you are not a wizard,” added Farling, “then why does the Graydon Armor affect you?”

  “I am an illusionist, sister-magic to wizard.”

  “Well,” said Horund, “it is probably best you meet the master of this guild. Guards, accompany young Farling and our illusionist to the library. And give me my stone back.”

  ***

  “Einar, you must give credit where credit is due,” said Pressan.

  Einar’s face was a red blotchy mess as he said in an angry voice through gritted teeth: “Pressan, I will not credit Grum and his friends with stealing from this guild! One does not steal from this guild, ever!”

  Pressan, as a response, merely removed his glasses and cleaned them, hoping to calm the situation. “Are you not curious how Grum and his friends stole the Armor?” he said, inspecting his glasses, then began cleaning the imaginary dust once again.

  “I am still fuming about the armor going missing in the first place. I know it was a portal of some sort.”

  “And are you not pleased he returned the armor?”

  Einar sighed loudly as the color of his face became more normal. “Yes, of course I am pleased the armor is returned. But how many people saw it? It is supposed to be a secret.”

  “And tell me, young Grum,” started Pressan, putting his glasses on. “Tell us why you stole the armor.”

  Grum shrugged then asked: “Before I tell you, is there any extra food lying around?”

  “Of course,” said Pressan, putting his clean glasses on. Pressan got the attention of one of the old librarian helpers who nodded and toddled off to the kitchen.

  “The food will be here shortly, Grum,” said Pressan. “Now, tell us why you took the armor.”

  “You mean stole the armor,” said Grum with a wink at Einar whose face went a few shades darker. “Well—”

  Before he could explain, Farling, Goran, and the guards from the main entrance walked into the library.

  As soon as Goran approached the Graydon Armor, his nose bled again and he bent over in pain.

  Farling said: “Grum and I found an illusionist. You may want to move the armor back to its usual hiding place before it bleeds Goran here to death.”

  Einar nodded towards the two guards who picked up the Graydon Armor and took it away. As soon as the armor was far enough away, Goran recovered, though his face remained pale.

  “So, who is this?” asked Einar.

  “Grum and I were carrying the Graydon Armor through Trondheim—” began Farling.

  Einar groaned. “Move this story along!” he blurted.

  Farling ignored Einar and continued: “—when we discovered someone affected by the armor. I thought it best if we brought him here, thinking he would be useful in fights. But it turns out, he lied about his name to Horund, so it appears there is more to Goran the illusionist than meets the eye.”

  Pressan stared at Einar, then said slowly and deliberately: “Why is that name familiar?”

  Einar grimaced. Said: “You know him, Pressan, you must surely know him. You may not have met him, but you have the honor of meeting the illusionist who pretended to be King Frederick when the barons attempted their coup.”

  With a flourish of one hand and a slight bow, Goran said: “At your service.”

  Einar scoffed then coolly said: “I would not be so self-assured. There are still many people not pleased with you. I am sure many of them still want your head.”

  “As do I,” said Goran. “I still want my head to be attached to my shoulders, thank you very much.”

  “Good,” spat Einar, “then you will do as you are told. You will give us that pendant or whatever it is that helps you change your appearance.”

  “I would prefer to keep it. Besides, it will not work for anyone else. Let us negotiate.”

  “You are not in any position to negotiate. Besides, what do you have of value to me?”

  “Information.”

  “You need to sell it to me better than that.”

  Goran lowered his voice. “Valuable information as it may save Queen Astrid,” he whispered.

  Einar held out his hand. Said: “That is nice. Now, the amulet.”

  Goran removed the necklace and reluctantly handed it to Einar.

  By now, the guards had returned from dropping off the Graydon Armor.

  To them, Einar said: “Take this charlatan to a jail cell. Give him food and water. He may be here awhile.”

  The guards nodded and led Goran away.

  Einar then turned his steely gaze on Grum and Farling. “Now, you two, back to the subject of the Graydon Armor,” he said.

  “It was my idea to steal the armor,” said Grum. “Ogre Mage wanted to spar with me, and so I wanted to see what the Graydon Armor would do in a fight against a wizard of Mage’s level.”

  Einar gasped in surprise. “Do you know how long we have been hiding that armor in the basement of this guild?” he asked.

  Grum shrugged nonchalantly, obviously not concerned about being in trouble.

  “Let me just say,” and Einar’s voice was full of menace, “A. Very. Long. Time. It is a good thing you are not members of this guild, else the punishment would be harsh.”

  “A good thing then,” said Grum breezily.

  Einar leveled his gaze at Grum, not pleased, as his tone obviously had little to no effect on Grum as Grum just continued to smile broadly.

  Pressan chuckled lightly. “So, tell me, Grum, how was the Graydon Armor in battle against a wizard?” he asked.

  “Well,” began Grum, “first, it is really heavy. I have never sweated so much as I did fighting Mage in that plate armor. You may need to wash it.”

  Pressan coughed lightly. “Wise advice,” he said. “But in a battle against Mage, was the armor effective?”

  “Well, it did weaken him,” admitted Grum.

  Now it was Farling who coughed lightly. “Grum is being his usual modest self,” he said. “I watched the sparring match. Grum has never done well on his own against Mage. None of us have. We have only been able to fight Mage when we fight as a group. Otherwise, it is no contest. But, Grum, wearing the armor, fought Mage to a standstill—a first.”

  “I am impressed,” said Einar despite his anger. “After all these years, the armor is still effective.”

  Pressan nodded. Said: “Magic does not degrade in enchanted weapons. Grum’s war hammer, Farling’s sword, Margret’s circlet, all still imbued with magic through and through after all these years.”

  On the wall a bell sounded.

  Einar said: “I am requested at the main entrance. Wait here a moment.”

  After a short while, he returned, Mage, Arastead, and Margret walking behind him.

  Einar waited until everyone settled. By now, food had arrived, and everyone filled their plates as they teased Grum to remember to share
.

  Pressan said: “Welcome Mage, Arastead, and Princess Margret. We were just discussing the Graydon Armor, how it went missing, how it was returned, and how it fared in a fight against a wizard.”

  “My thanks,” said Mage. “And such a wondrous guild you have. The Graydon Armor is very powerful elf-magic. I sparred with elves, I watched my ogres spar elves, but I have never felt so weak as I did when Grum wore the armor.”

  “All very interesting,” said Einar, “but we cannot expose the armor to the world again. Some people can detect the armor, even across realms.”

  Mage asked: “Where is the armor now?”

  “Hidden,” said Einar in a tone meant to end discussion.

  Margret noticed Einar’s tone and changed the subject. “Einar, speaking of detecting magic, the amulet you have in your hand looks very familiar. How did you come across Loki’s Amulet of Deception? It gives the wearer the ability to change their appearance, but not their voice.”

  Einar nodded. “You are right, princess, it is the same,” he said. “Farling and Grum managed to catch Goran, the illusionist.”

  Margret gasped in astonishment. “How is that? And why would Goran be so stupid as to stay in Trondheim.”

  Everyone shrugged, not knowing how to answer.

  Then Grum explained how they had brought Goran to the thieves guild, causing Farling to chuckle. “I can add nothing to Grum’s story,” said Farling.

  “Where is he now?” asked Margret.

  “Safe in one of our jail cells,” said Einar.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure he is still safe in one of our cells? Yes.”

  “I would not be if I were you. If I may be so bold, could someone please take me to the cell where this illusionist is being held?”

  “Of course, princess. I suppose everyone would like to see the illusionist? Fine, follow me.”

  Einar led the group down several empty corridors. At the end of one, he pulled a key from a pocket and unlocked the door, revealing a hallway with several jail cells on one side.

  Asleep on a stool was a guard. Einar kicked the stool out from underneath him. The thief woke with a start and was on his feet in an instance.

  Farling looked down the row of jail cells but they all appeared to be empty. He looked at Grum and Arastead who both shrugged.