The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  And with those words, the people previously hidden, appeared. Tucked under each of the brothers’ arms was the Graydon Armor from the Trondheim thieves guild wrapped in layers and layers of cloth.

  “Airthear,” started Mage, holding his head, “you and your brothers, would you be so kind as to drop the Graydon Armor in a pile a few steps away. Actually, many steps away.”

  The Aarlund brothers did as asked and once the enchanted armor was far enough away, all the people that wielded magic breathed deeply in relief.

  As Margret hugged her father, he smiled. Said: “It is good to see you, daughter. While I did not worry about your welfare, I was concerned.”

  Now it was Margret’s turn to smile. “I am glad you were concerned,” she said.

  “Great, more Midgardians,” said Loki in a voice Farling could not tell was sarcastic or not. “More mouths to feed. And to judge by the size of these Aarlunders, we will need to cook a lot more food.”

  Airthear said: “We could always return to Aarlund and let Vanaheim fall.”

  Loki chuckled. “A bluff, and a false one at that,” he said. “Although I do admire your dry sense of humor. You four are warriors, born and bred. That peace agreement between Aarlund and Dennland makes you soft. This battle, these fights under the walls of Vanaheim, will test you as never before.”

  “Good,” replied Airthear. “I see everyone else wears fine Asgard armor. Is there any left in the armory that will fit me and my brothers?”

  “And mine,” chimed Conall.

  Einar said: “If we are handing out exceptional armor, some armor fit for a thief I would not argue against having.”

  Pressan interjected: “A good breastplate for me, as I do not plan to battle unless necessary. I wish to witness this battle and record it for all to read.”

  Grum clapped Pressan on the shoulder, perhaps a little too hard as judged by Pressan’s wheeze. He took his glasses off to clean them.

  “Pure nonsense,” said Grum. “Why, if it was not for the bravery of this spry old librarian, that soul-sucking demon those elves conjured up, the Draugr, well, that demon would have destroyed Trondheim by using the thieves guild’s building as his lair.”

  Farling added: “Not to mention Astrid would have been his demon wife.”

  “A demon dead and destroyed, thanks to the bravery of a librarian,” said Grum.

  Pressan put on his clean glasses. Then: “It is always good to know an enemy’s weakness. And it is always good to have young blacksmiths, a priest, and a princess watching your back.”

  Margret said: “Speaking of weaknesses, it is time we organize for battle. Let us retire now to the kitchens in Vanaheim as we all need to eat and get our strength up, for tomorrow will be exhausting. In the kitchen, we will draw up our battle plans on one of the great tables.”

  As the group walked back to Vanaheim, the Aarlund brothers picked up the Graydon Armor and kept their distance.

  Grum whispered to his friends: “I like Margret, she always remembers to keep us fed.”

  Arastead shook his head. “Why am I still so surprised at what you say, Grum,” he said.

  Grum just grinned in response.

  CHAPTER 70

  Galdr Explains His Plan

  Once everyone finished, the plates and table cleared, Galdr spoke, his milky-white eyes staring off into nothingness while the two great ravens each whispered in an ear. Said: “The elves brought siege weapons imbued with great magic with which they plan to bring down the walls of Vanaheim.”

  A large paper covered the table on which Pressan had drawn the attacking armies and Vanaheim. He drew symbols to represent the elven siege weapons.

  “As well,” continued Galdr, “the elves have legions of light cavalry with swords and bows, heavy cavalry with spears, foot soldiers with pikes, bowmen on foot, and of course, necromancers.”

  “A formidable army,” said Frederick, “and one I am glad did not attack Midgard. They would have taken us unawares. It would have been a slaughter, until we had mustered a force capable of withstanding them.”

  Margret nodded as she said: “But even then, we may not have been able to gather an army large enough to withstand them. They would have surely split the Aarlund and Dennland armies, weakening us beyond repair.”

  The room quieted.

  Galdr added: “Oh, and the elves have brought armored ogres as well.”

  Everyone’s eyes turned towards Mage, who rumbled: “I worried as much. Knowing what I do of the strategies elves use when they attack, the ogres—my ogres—will attack first. It will be a straightforward charge, one meant to strike fear in any defender. An ogre assault, with their great drums sounding, is a sight to behold.”

  Cruithni snorted. “Mage, do not get all dreamy on us,” he said. “If you cannot turn those ogres to our side, we will slaughter them one way or another.”

  Deep in thought, Mage nodded, his eyes unfocused. He tapped his lips with a finger while he worked out his plans.

  “I will turn them to our side,” he said after a moment. “How the elves control them, I will need to find out, and destroy or remove it.”

  Galdr nodded. Then: “The elf siege weapons need to be destroyed. I suggest Arastead destroy them, but their necromancers will fight with magic. I suspect the elf necromancers will hang back from the battle and protect the siege weapons while also adding any magic they can to the rocks their siege weapons hurl at our walls.”

  Arastead nodded. “I will still do what I can,” he said as he petted Peg who was chewing on a fish tail.

  Galdr said: “Good, now, the Graydon Armor that has been brought, we must use it to its full potential. We will use it against the elf necromancers as they once used it against the wizards of Midgard. Who will wear it?”

  “I will,” said Grum, taking a step forward. “I have worn it before when I sparred with Mage. I know how effective it is against wielders of magic.”

  Galdr nodded once. “I thank you for your bravery, Grum,” he said, “but I should have suggested a name. You, blacksmith, with your war hammer and your Belt and Gloves of Strength, you are best suited to fight frost giants. You fought them before, you shall fight them again.”

  “OK,” said Grum dejected, “but who will wear the armor? Farling, with his sword and shield is also best suited to fight frost giants, by the way.”

  Farling nodded in agreement. “I want to fight those frost giant brothers again,” he said, “so I do not need the Graydon Armor. Who do you suggest, Galdr?”

  “Magnus, Master of the Hunt,” was Galdr’s answer.

  Magnus genuinely looked surprised. “I am honored,” he said. “I have no love of elves for it was they, through their manipulation of the frost giants, that brought pain and suffering on my one true love, Freya. I will repay that debt with elf armor.”

  “Good,” grunted Galdr.

  “But will the armor fit?” asked Magnus. “Blacksmith Grum mentioned he wore it, and if you may have noticed, he and I are different builds.”

  Grum burst out in laughter at the formality of Magnus’s comment. “Magnus, it is almost a shame your enchanted horn shattered,” he said.

  “Imagine that,” said Galdr, his voice excited as he shifted in his chair causing the ravens to re-adjust their grip on his shoulders. “You have given me an idea, blacksmith.”

  “You are welcome, I suppose,” said Grum looking confused.

  “Portals this close to Vanaheim are extremely tricky,” said Galdr. “And everyone will be expecting them as well and so will have set up charms and other traps to prevent portal jumping. But if I can recreate the Master of the Hunt horn, I may be able to recreate some of its powers, especially the ability to move at great speed. Magnus may be able to surprise the elf army with any who follow in his wake.”

  “Wait,” said Grum. “You mean to say, you, Galdr, and your brother and sister, will not be fighting by our side?”

  “No, blacksmith,” said Freya, “as we mentioned before, we are abo
ve the fray. We assist where we can. I will enhance any healing abilities Margret and Sihr need. Galdr will enhance Arastead’s abilities, and Loki, well, he will enhance his thieves where he can.”

  “Unfair, sister, and cruelly spoken,” said Loki. “I help all warriors, not just thieves, with their stealth skills. As well, I should be able to enhance their co-ordination. They will be able to fight as they have never fought before.”

  Freya allowed herself a small grin. “I am sure whatever you may contribute will help, no matter how small the contribution,” she said.

  Loki clutched his chest feigning a heart attack. “Sister, you wound me with your words,” he said. “Fine, dear sister, I will see what else I may be able to do to make them all better, more extraordinary, even the ogre.”

  Now it was Mage’s turn to look unimpressed. “The day I need help from the Trickster is the day I return to Alfheim,” he said.

  “Well, then, ogre,” said Loki, “pack your bags because you will be visiting Alfheim soon.”

  “What of us?” asked Liulfr, changing the subject. “My brothers and I took an oath to protect Princess Margret. We must be by her side, fighting with her, protecting her.”

  “This battle will be most tricky,” said Galdr. “Obviously it will be tricky, but rare it is that there as so many armies in one battle. If all attack simultaneously, I fear we may be finished. But if we stagger the fights in any shape or form, we gain an edge.”

  Margret looked incredulous. “You would have me fight frost giants,” she said.

  “At first, yes,” said Galdr. “I may be able to enhance the abilities of our young were-beasts to hold sway over the great polar bears and massive wolves. If were-bear Beornheard and were-wolf Liulfr can influence the bears and wolves to their side, they might be able to have them attack the frost giants, slowing and blunting their attack while the frost giants deal with their rogue bears and wolves.”

  “And what of me?” asked Frederick. “It is not often I engage in battle without forming all the battle strategies.”

  “While your Aarlund men have no weapons of magic,” began Galdr, “you, King Frederick, have a most powerful blade. The Almuric Sword, fabled and powerful, easily destroys magic. It may act as a shield against magical attacks and will destroy anything made of magic.”

  Frederick grunted. “Like the elf siege weapons, those are made of magic,” he said.

  “Precisely,” replied Galdr.

  “And what of the dwarves?” asked Farling. “I fear we forget them and I fear we forget them at our peril.”

  “The dwarves, thankfully, fight defensively,” said Galdr. “They are of the mind that a strong defense is a strong offense. We will always keep one eye on them, for I do not trust Jakobus. His is as any realm: If he can gain an advantage during this great battle, he will for the sake of his realm.”

  Arastead looked confused. “But what advantage does he hope to gain?” he said.

  “That I do not know,” said Galdr, “although he may have given some clues during his talk outside. Now, once night falls, Mage, I believe, you are up first?”

  Mage nodded. “The ogres will turn else die in the process.”

  Cruithni chuckled. “I hope it does not come to that,” he began, “but I like your dedication.”

  Then Mage grunted, looked surprised as if a revelation had just dawned on him. Said: “I think I have just had an idea that just might work,” and he explained his plan.

  And once Mage finished, everyone nodded approvingly, wide grins on their faces.

  CHAPTER 71

  A Spy in the Elf Camp

  The elf strode purposefully through camp.

  He nodded to elves of equal rank and saluted elves of higher. Nothing about his appearance cast any suspicion on him. His armor was polished enough, neither too much nor too little. His white hair was in a long ponytail, traditional for an elf warrior. And his build was like all other elves: wide of shoulder, slim of waist. His height as well was average, not too tall or short.

  But if anyone had noticed, when he walked, his footprints sunk deep in the ground, much too heavy for an elf his size and stature. Luckily for Mage, no one cared to look at his footprints as everyone was more interested in his rank.

  He had borrowed the necklace of illusion from Margret. It had been a last-minute decision, but he figured now at least he had a chance. He could have covered himself in darkness charms, worn one of the elf cloaks, used more magic from Galdr to muffle the sound of his steps, and much more to infiltrate the elf camp. But Mage had wagered that it was best to walk through the camp as an elf. And since he had lived with them for years, he was able to mimic them in every way.

  Still, as he made his way towards the pit where the ogres were kept, he noticed the proliferation of tents and elves.

  It had been easy at first to avoid bumping into other elves, but now it became more difficult as the paths between tents were often quite narrow and other elves were moving around, alert for battle.

  Still, he found a way without causing attention to himself, appearing to walk with purpose, when really, he was walking to avoid confrontation.

  And after an agonizing few minutes, he found himself standing on the lip of a wide and deep pit, staring down at his fellow ogres.

  There were 30 ogres in the pit all chained to posts Mage knew had been driven so deep in the ground as to be near impossible for the strongest of ogres to pull out. These posts ringed the bottom of the pit, which was about 20 feet deep. And in the middle of the pit was a huge bonfire that cast off such light as to make it hard for the ogres to sleep. But the real reason for the bright bonfire was to make it easy for the elves to guard and watch the ogres as the brightness allowed few shadows and it was easy to see an ogre’s slightest movement.

  For each ogre there was one elf guard, each guard staring down intently, ensuring the ogre assigned to him did not escape. Other elves would walk to the lip of the pit, stare down for a moment or two, curious about the ogres, then leave and melt into the darkness of the camp.

  A murmur of voices behind Mage caused him to turn.

  Striding towards him was Amalaja, elf-queen. With her were her usual coterie of bodyguards, sorcerers, generals, and lady maids. Even this late at night, there was no tiredness in her eyes and her gait appeared strong. Mage had watched her spar with her husband using swords. She had gone round for round, toe to toe with her husband, until they were both drenched in sweat. And so Mage knew the sword she wore was not solely for decoration.

  Mage bowed, as any elf would do, and moved to one side allowing the queen and her group space.

  Amalaja stared into the pit. The elf captain charged with guarding the ogres appeared at her side and immediately went to one knee. She acknowledged him with a nod and he rose.

  “My queen,” said the captain.

  “Have the ogres been fed?” she asked.

  “Yes, My Highness, their usual amount.”

  “Double their rations as I want them strong.”

  “Your will,” he said as he clamped his left fist over his heart and made to leave.

  “And captain,” she added. The captain turned and bowed awaiting his orders. “Do not add any more wood to the fire. I want these ogres to get some sleep. They need to be rested for tomorrow’s battle.”

  “Your will,” he said with another nod. He turned and left, barking out orders to his guards.

  By now, Mage had walked to the other side of the pit. He had not been comfortable being that close to the queen. He had heard stories of her and he worried that she would have been able to pierce his illusion if she had concentrated.

  As he watched the queen and her entourage from afar, he breathed a little easier. Neither the queen or her sorcerers had looked askance at him.

  Then, as he watched, she unsheathed her sword and jumped down into the ogre pit. She landed on her feet lightly as if the long drop had not caused her any effort.

  Mage could not help himself, his mouth hung o
pen in shock. He closed it with some effort as he watched, unable to tear himself away.

  By now, the captain of the ogre guard had made his way down and kneeled beside his queen.

  Mage could hear every word as not an elf dared breath or make a sound.

  “Captain, who is the strongest?” she asked.

  The guard pointed at a particularly large ogre. Mage remembered him of old and remembered his feats of strength.

  She immediately walked up to that ogre, unafraid.

  “Choose your weapon, ogre?” she demanded in a common tongue.

  “Hammer,” he grunted unimpressed at speaking with the elf queen.

  She nodded at the captain who barked an order, and, in a few moments, an ogre-sized war hammer was lowered into the pit. The captain brought it over.

  “Leave it near the fire,” commanded Amalaja. The guard did as told. When he returned, she ordered him to free the ogre of his locks and chains. He found the right key and soon the ogre was rubbing his wrists where the shackles once were.

  Without a word, the ogre walked over to the bonfire and picked up the war hammer. He gripped the shaft, twisting his hands to get a better grip.

  “You know the rules, ogre,” said Amalaja. “As my husband did before me, he would fight the strongest of the ogres before battle. If you defeat me, you and your ogres are free to go. And if I defeat you, your ogres are the tip of the spear in tomorrow’s battle.”

  Mage knew this ritual, favored by her husband, but had not thought Queen Amalaja would replicate it. Of course, King Amaliji had never lost a battle. Mage realized Amalaja was to fire up her elves’ bloodlust and ready them for battle, just as her husband once did.

  “Trant Bonebreaker,” the ogre said, unasked. “Ogres will sing my name about how I freed the last of the ogres from the tyranny of the elves.”

  Amalaja shook her head. “No voices will be raised in song,” was her reply. “And if your women were here, they would only gnash their teeth, beat their chests, and wail to the sky as your blood seeps into the ground.”