The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  “I do not even see any thieves picking pockets,” said Grum. “You would think this would be the ideal place.”

  “Something tells me they have other plans for their marks,” said Farling. “There he is,” spotting Einar.

  Einar had also seen them and waved them over. Finding a place to talk that was not quite so busy with people took a few moments, but they eventually found one.

  Einar pulled out a rock, rubbed it, and put it on the ground. “There,” he said, “no one will hear our conversation.”

  “What is going on here?” asked Grum.

  Einar grinned and said: “Well, people have a funny way of noticing things. And one of the things they noticed was that a lot of people had started coming down this alley for no apparent reason. And so, Trondheimers being a curious people, they began coming into our store. And, try as he might, the manager of the store could not say no to the prices people were willing to pay for our antiques. As it turns out, we had some rare items. Everything was covered in dust, but some were quite valuable and fetched a lot of coin.”

  Farling asked: “But what about the other vendors hawking their wares in the alley?”

  “Them,” said Einar as he pointed his head at the other stalls, “we charge them rent for their space in the alley.”

  Farling scoffed. “So, you have gone legit?” he asked.

  Einar raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You could say that,” he began. “The coin is decent. The masters of our guild are pleased with the revenue. And as there are portals that connect this guild and the thieves guild in Pitcairn, we use those to trade rare antiques to sell. Well, we sell it for them on commission of course. And Stepon and Jagjord have been ideal ambassadors between our guilds.”

  Arastead now chuckled. “So, you have given up thieving,” he said. “I am shocked.”

  Einar shrugged. “Well, you could say it is just a different type of thieving,” he said. “I mean, the goods we sell here in Trondheim from Pitcairn were all stolen, and the goods we sell in Pitcairn are also stolen, so we still are thieves.”

  Arastead, noticing the prices written on some of the items in removable wax, said: “I would say you are still thieves. The markups on those items is excessive, enough to make any thief blush at the size of the profit.”

  “We are quite proud of the value we add to these items,” said Einar oblivious to the sarcasm.

  “I do not even recognize any young thieves picking pockets in the alley,” said Farling.

  Einar winked. “It would be bad for business,” he explained.

  “I never thought I would see the day when the fabled thieves guild of Trondheim went legit,” said Farling.

  “As long as there is profit, we will provide a service,” said Einar with a grin. “Now, I am sure you three blacksmiths are not here to bargain on a fancy antique chair.”

  “No,” said Farling, “there is something else on which we would like to bargain.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Ogre Mage Fights

  Mage said in his usual rumble: “I heard you are to visit the realm of the dwarves.” He had found Farling and Grum as they walked along a street in Trondheim carrying blood-red armor. Arastead walked behind them at a safe distance.

  “Correct,” said Grum as he shifted what he was carrying. “I just need to drop this off at our forge. Then off to the dwarf realm.”

  “The fabled Graydon Armor,” said Mage as he backed up a few paces and stood near Arastead. “I thought I felt something disconcerting.”

  “Apologies, Mage,” said Farling. “We did not expect you.”

  “You are off on another adventure?” Mage asked.

  “Well,” said Grum, “most likely several adventures, actually. You are most welcome to join us.”

  “I am interested in Nidavellir,” said Mage as his eyes focused on nothing for a moment as if in a dream. “To be more specific, I am interested in meeting the goblin king.”

  “Interesting,” said Grum.

  “Grum uses that word when he wants to appear smart,” said Arastead.

  As he still carried armor, Grum shrugged awkwardly. “It is true. I do like that word. Still, it is interesting Mage wants to meet the goblin king. Have you met him before?”

  “No, but I heard stories,” said Mage.

  “I still think it is interesting,” said Grum. “Really, an ogre wanting to meet a goblin. I would like to be a fly on the wall when they meet.”

  By now they had reached Grum’s and Arastead’s forge. Farling and Grum shrugged off the armor, hid it in a cabinet, which they then locked.

  “I think it needs a little more protection,” said Arastead as he tapped the cabinet door a few times and murmured a spell. “There, I doubt any could now break into that cabinet.”

  “Agreed,” said Mage. “That spell appears invincible to me.”

  “Good,” said Farling, “as we do not want anyone stealing it before we need it.”

  A voice called from upstairs.

  Mage looked at everyone’s faces as he whispered: “Margret?” Everyone nodded. Then he added: “And is that coffee I smell?”

  Arastead whispered to Mage: “Princess Margret had a falling out of sorts with the queen, so she stays here with us for the meantime.”

  “It is all good,” said Grum. “We sleep down here near the forge, so it is private for her upstairs.”

  “Just like the old days, Grum, when we were apprentices,” said Arastead with a laugh.

  “I am still young enough that it does not bother me,” said Grum with a smile.

  Upstairs, Margret had prepared a large pot of strong coffee. Surprised to see Mage, she found another mug for him and poured coffee for him as well.

  “Princess, really, we can prepare the coffee,” said Arastead.

  “Nonsense,” she began, “an Aarlund princess is trained in many skills, one of which includes making coffee. You have the armor?”

  Everyone nodded. “It is safely locked downstairs behind an enchanted door so that the elves cannot detect it,” Farling said.

  As soon as the words had left his mouth, a horrendous crash sounded downstairs.

  Everyone dropped their coffee mugs and ran down the stairs.

  At who he saw, standing there in his forge, Grum could only mutter: “What?”

  And everyone else was too stunned to speak.

  There, Vorpal Blade in hand, a smashed cabinet behind him, stood the king of the elves, Amaliji.

  “But how?” cried Grum, finding his voice. “I thought if the elves materialized here in Midgard, alarms were to be raised?”

  “They were,” rumbled Mage. “But it appears the elf king has found a way to avoid the alarms.”

  Amaliji laughed. “I have new friends,” he said. “I discovered a new way to travel amongst realms, ways not expected so alarms are not triggered. A shame I will need to take this Graydon Armor, once I defeat you.”

  “It turns out the Vorpal Blade does more than simply lop off heads and limbs as easily as if they were wet noodles,” continued Amaliji. “A shame really. Were you hoping to wear that armor as you fought someone? The Norns perhaps?”

  Margret spat on the ground. “Demon spawn!” she shouted. “You had best pray to whatever gods elves pray to as you are about to meet them.”

  Margret hurled herself at Sundaliji but was stopped suddenly in mid-air. A huge mitt of a hand had grabbed the back of her jacket, stopping her.

  “What?” she demanded. “Mage, what is the meaning of this?”

  In a calm voice he said: “This is not your fight. I destroy the elf king and avenge my family. You four had best be on your way to the dwarf realm.”

  “We can help!” shouted Arastead. “I am a very powerful wizard now.”

  “No,” said Mage, “you may be powerful, but you are still no match for the elf king. Upstairs, now, the lot of you! Arastead, a portal, somewhere, anywhere, far from here!”

  “What of you?” yelled Margret.

  “I w
ill be fine,” said Mage. “I expected this moment for some time now.”

  Amaliji shook his head. Then: “I do not think anyone should be leaving this party. I mean, the ogre and I hardly constitute a party.”

  “Behind me,” urged Mage. “Up the stairs! Now!”

  Amaliji’s eyes narrowed. Said: “Ogre, you have betrayed me for the last time.” And with a speed like a striking snake, he narrowed the distance between them and struck at Mage with a fury.

  Everyone thought for certain that the Vorpal Blade would lop off Mage’s arm. Instead, the sword bounced harmlessly off the bracer that protected Mage’s arm.

  The elf king exclaimed in surprise. “I do not believe it,” he said. “The Vorpal Blade slices through all materials. It sliced clean through the troll king’s neck.”

  Mage snarled: “There is much you do not know of magic in these realms. You are not as powerful as you think.”

  And with those words, Farling felt the familiar pull of the portal rune as the room above the forge swirled before his eyes, disappearing.

  CHAPTER 46

  A Child is Born

  Amaliji stepped back a few paces. “Ogre, shall we step outside?” he asked in an oddly courteous voice. “This space is quite limited for our purposes.”

  “I think it would be best,” said Mage. “There is an area in front that should suit our purposes.”

  “After you.”

  Mage walked outside. Amaliji followed.

  Upon seeing an ogre and an elf, the people in the Hive needed no further encouragement. Everyone became scarce, hid behind doors, and awaited the fight with bated breath.

  Unsheathed, the Vorpal Blade lay loosely across Amaliji’s shoulder as he paced in a tight circle.

  “The problem with you ogres,” he began, “is that you never properly knew your position in society. You think you should have ruled Alfheim. But the elves would never have subjugated themselves to ogres. Vile bunch of creatures. You ogres did come in handy though. An ogre shield wall destroyed our enemies. And if any ogres died during battle, then no loss to the elves. And the tournaments! Ogres against monsters. Some of the most splendid shows the elves ever witnessed. I made some good coin off those tournaments as I was quite good at predicting the outcome of the battles. But you, of all the ogres, you refused your position most of all. You were to help the elves kidnap the Sorceress child. And you were to train her, raise her to bend the magic of Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent to her will. And when she was old enough and powerful enough, she was to help the elves take Asgard and the elves would have finally ruled all the realms. Even the Norns would have respected—no, feared her. Instead, I find you here in Midgard helping the people here. You know they are weak and ineffectual. They used to have an army of wizards but no longer. It is only by blind luck they have been able to block my efforts to burn this entire realm to the ground, enslaving any who lives.”

  Mage shook his head. “You should not underestimate Midgardians, especially the ones I trained in Alfheim,” he said.

  “A couple of blacksmiths and a princess. Pathetic. They lost the battle against the troll king. It was only by my good graces that I killed Grendel and saved their worthless lives.”

  “And later, as I recall, it was the princess that fought you and pushed you back, stopping you from kidnapping Queen Astrid.”

  Amaliji bristled at the memory. “She took me by surprise. She is quite fast, I must admit. That enchanted circlet she wears gives her great powers.”

  “And she has grown more powerful since last you fought. You will not find her easy prey.”

  “Well, once I kill you, I will track down those blacksmiths and the princess and will kill them.”

  Mage laughed.

  The elf king dropped his sword so that the tip stuck in the ground. His eyes narrowed. “I amuse you, ogre? I do not know if I can ever remember hearing you laugh, ever.”

  “You are amusing, elf king, and so I laugh. You spent far too much time in your realm listening to your advisors who only tell you what you want to hear. You really should travel to other realms more often and open your ears. Oh, and listen instead of talking all the time. You really are tiresome.”

  “Perhaps you are right. I do have things to do, so let us get this fight over and done with. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  But before they could fight, the sound of temple bells rang clearly. A cheer rose from the people of Trondheim.

  Amaliji’s face was confused. “Before we battle, tell me, ogre, as I am curious. What do those bells signify? Why do the people cheer?”

  Mage laughed.

  “I do tire of your mirth, ogre. Now, what do you find so funny?”

  “A birth, elf king, a very special and royal birth. Queen Astrid has given birth to a daughter. The Sorceress lives. And you will never see her, I swear, by my wife and daughter.”

  With that, Mage charged.

  Amaliji raised the Vorpal Blade just in time as Mage’s daggers struck. Blue sparks flew and the air smelled of acrid smoke. Mage struck again and again using his great strength to beat down on the upraised Vorpal Blade, preventing Amaliji from using the Vorpal Blade to its full advantage.

  Amaliji cursed under his breath. “Enchanted weapons, my blade cannot break them!”

  Mage muttered an incantation.

  Tendrils of smoke appeared from the ground and curled about Amaliji’s legs. Mage muttered another incantation and the smoke turned solid. With a burst of effort, Mage dealt a terrific blow then stepped back.

  Too late, Amaliji realized he could not move his legs. “A cute trick, ogre. But a useless one.” He waved his free hand over the smoke tendrils and spoke a counter spell. His legs now moved freely. “I expected better of you, ogre.”

  Mage laughed. “A simple test. One you passed. How about this for a test?”

  Mage uttered a different incantation. The ground between them shuddered as the earth formed into bricks, which then lifted and floated above the ground. And with a flick of his wrist, Mage sent the bricks flying at Amaliji.

  Amaliji swung his sword in a great arc, smashing as many of the bricks as possible, but a few made it past his defense and struck him, causing him to grunt in pain as he was driven back several steps.

  “More cheap magic,” said Amaliji, his voice full of scorn.

  “I would not want this battle to be finished too quickly, elf king.” He began to start another incantation, but this time Amaliji rushed the ogre hoping to not let him finish.

  But when he struck, the Vorpal Blade bounced away harmlessly as if it had hit an unseen barrier.

  Frustrated, Amaliji struck again and again, hoping the magic of the Vorpal Blade would cut through. Instead, he found himself gasping for breath, momentarily tired from the exertion.

  Mage smiled, pleased at how well his shield made from tightly wound air had proven so strong. And as he saw sweat appear on Amaliji’s brow from the effort, he waited until the Vorpal Blade dropped slightly, then punched Amaliji in the face—hard.

  Amaliji’s head snapped back violently, blood gushing from a broken nose. He stumbled and wiped his face, shocked at the blood he saw. “Well, this fight is not going as I expected.” His calm voice unnerved Mage. “Still, it has been entertaining and illuminating as well. I always thought you to be a strong fighter, but I was not aware you held so much back. I should have guessed. Now, on to something more important to my realm.”

  A portal rune appeared under Amaliji’s feet. As the portal rune activated, he waved good-bye at Mage, who, frantic at seeing the portal rune appear, had thrown his daggers at the elf king, hoping to slay him before the portal rune fully activated. But instead of striking the elf king, the daggers passed harmlessly through the air where Amaliji had once stood and instead struck the wooden wall directly behind and buried themselves up to the hilt, such was the force of the throw.

  Frantically, Mage looked around. Looking up and seeing the bells in the temple, he grimaced, his face a m
ask of cold determination as he called aloud a spell. A portal rune appeared under his feet and he disappeared.

  CHAPTER 47

  Frederick Loses a Hand

  Once the swirling stopped, Mage gathered his bearings. He was in courtyard of Trondheim Castle.

  From a bag, he brought out a small stone statue of a bird. He breathed onto it and mumbled an incantation. Now, in his hand, instead of a stone statue, he held a live bird.

  “Find the elf king, find Amaliji,” he instructed. The bird nodded in acknowledgement, spread its wings, and flew off, confident in its bearings.

  Mage ran after the bird as it flew down halls and up flights of stairs.

  In a few moments Mage ran past a dead guard where he recognized the unmistakable signs of a Vorpal Blade injury—the guard’s arm had been cut clean off at the shoulder, cauterized at the stump. The expression on the dead guard’s frozen face was one of surprise, shocked to death that his arm had been severed.

  And as Mage followed the bird, he passed yet more dead guards, all missing either limbs or heads, such was the force of the blows and the magic behind the Vorpal Blade.

  Soon he heard the clash of arms and as he rounded a corner he saw Amaliji fighting several guards.

  And King Frederick.

  As Mage watched, Amaliji expertly slew the guards.

  And while Frederick fought valiantly, his sword was no match for the Vorpal Blade. As the magic blade easily cut Frederick’s sword off at the hilt, the Vorpal Blade then cut off the King’s sword hand cleanly at the wrist.

  Frederick could only stare at the stump of his arm, his mouth open in surprise as no sound emanated from his lips.

  “Now, if you would be so kind as to step aside, King Frederick,” Mage heard Amaliji say, “there are matters I must attend to in the room behind you.”

  “Never,” Frederick said through gritted teeth.

  “Then so be it,” said Amaliji as he readied for a killing thrust.