The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Farling looked quizzically at Arastead. “Goblins,” said Arastead.

  “Ah, so the defense of Vanaheim takes another unexpected turn,” said Farling. “No wonder the dwarf camp is so quiet, they are being kept in place by an ancient enemy. What price did the goblins extract?”

  “Nidavellir will be split in two,” said Galdr. “goblins and dwarves have always lived in the same realm. It will now just be more official, with boundary lines marked on a map.”

  The sound of fighting became more intense.

  “We can chat about Nidavellir later,” said Farling as he began to run. “Let us gaze upon the frost giants.”

  CHAPTER 82

  The Attack of the Frost Giants

  Urged by Thrymr, Farling watched as frost giants carried boulders and trees and hurled them against the walls of Vanaheim. The boulders splintered as they struck, the runes protecting Vanaheim walls still strong and active, while the tree trunks merely crashed against the wall causing little to no damage as they began to pile up at the base of the wall. The sounds of boulders breaking on the walls reverberated throughout Vanaheim, but no one paid heed. It was as if Galdr, Freya, and Loki were just waiting for the frost giants to exhaust themselves, as if they had been through this scenario before.

  Farling looked out over the frost giants until he saw the frost giant king and daughter. Said: “What madness is this attack? Does Thrymr and his daughter just want to make a show of their strength? Or do they think they will somehow tire out the runes of protection? A strange show of strength.”

  “Should we take the battle to them?” asked Grum, his face flushed with excitement as he gripped his war hammer tightly.

  Farling looked to Cormac, who gently shook his head. “They look to be venting their anger against the wall,” he said. “Their golems were destroyed, their bears and wolves taken, they look to have returned to their old ways, throwing things.”

  “Our weapons were forged to fight frost giants,” Grum said.

  “You wielded your hammer well against the elves, blacksmith,” said Cormac. “Consider your hammer tested in battle.”

  “I wish to test it further,” said Grum.

  Cruithni said: “You may yet.” He adjusted his bow and stringed it. “I see ladders.”

  Farling followed Cruithni’s gaze. Sure enough, frost giants had not merely uprooted trees, but using axe and rope, had fashioned crude ladders.

  Grum asked: “You think those are tall enough to help those frost giants scale this wall?”

  Farling shook his head. “I would have said no,” he said. “But now that the frost giants have built up the ground against this wall with broken stone and splintered wood, I worry they can.”

  Cruithni slapped Grum on his back, then said: “Archer Grum, set aside your war hammer for a moment and help me slow those frost giants that carry ladders.”

  Grum grinned. “Any wagers?” he said.

  “It is not like killing rabbits as we did long ago,” said Cruithni. “Right now we wager our lives, I think that is enough of a wager, Grum, rabbit-slayer.”

  Grum’s grin did not fade as he placed his gloves and war hammer at his feet and strung his bow. “While there is no proper wager, I still wager the ladders I target will not reach the walls,” he said.

  “You are more gambler than blacksmith I say,” said Cruithni. “Have you ever thought of gambling only, hanging up your anvil?”

  Grum chuckled. “My anvil is too heavy to be hung up, so I remain a blacksmith,” he said. “I also enjoy having soot under my fingernails too much.”

  “A shame that being an adventurer does not pay,” said Cruithni.

  “Only if you consider receiving an enchanted war hammer payment, which I will never sell,” said Grum.

  “And if you have children, you can pass it down to the eldest,” said Cruithni.

  Grum chuckled. “But first I must find myself a wife, and being an adventurer, I find it difficult,” he said.

  Cruithni had finished stringing his bow and pulled on it to ready his shoulders and arms. “Perhaps some beautiful wealthy patron will visit your forge and have a daughter he needs to be married,” he said.

  “While I enjoy your tale, I doubt that would ever happen,” said Grum.

  Then Grum ducked as a small rock zipped by an ear. His eyes went wide with the realization of how much that would have hurt had the rock hit him.

  Grum said: “Farling,” his voice oddly calm, “any time you want to use that fancy shield of yours and block those rocks, I would appreciate it.”

  Margret stood nearby. Said: “Grum, stay your bow and arrows. Don your Gloves and Belt of Strength again. Today, you fight frost giants. Farling, you too!”

  Grum grinned broadly as he readied for battle. “Who else ventures with us?” he asked. Several of the ogres yelled agreement. “Then let us send those frost giants back to the realm of ice and snow!”

  As they made their way down the stairs, Grum spied Arastead. Asked of him: “What of you, wizard? Do you join us for battle?”

  Arastead nodded. Said: “You know I always fight by your side, Grum. We were trained by Mage to fight monsters. Although I am just healed, I will do my best. Margret? Do you join us as well, and we shall fight as we did in Alfheim?”

  She held Gunghir-sister spear in one hand. “We fight again, as we were trained,” she said with a grin. “Those frost giants will rue the day they entered Asgard!”

  She called to the were-beasts: “Follow me! To battle!”

  Mage and several ogres pulled gigantic ropes and opened the gate nearest the frost giants. The attackers spilled out under the gate with Grum at the lead, his war hammer ready to strike.

  “Grum, wait for us!” shouted Farling. “We fight as a team!”

  “Follow my lead!” yelled Grum over his shoulder.

  Farling gritted his teeth and ignored the stabbing pain in his side as he tried to keep up with Grum. Where was Grum finding the energy? It was as if the gloves and belt of strength gave him the ability to run faster. Or perhaps he had drunk too much of that potion. Farling unsheathed Flamebringer and grunted, satisfied to see flames dance on the blade. He shifted his shield on his arm, readying it for battle.

  As they ran, Farling watched for any indication the frost giants noticed them, but the frost giants were too intent on their attack, building up enough of a base of rocks and trees on which to place the ladders. Besides, they all seemed to have incredibly bushy eyebrows and could barely see.

  Grum won first strike, his war hammer bringing the nearest frost giant to his knees with one crushing blow. The struck frost giant cried aloud causing the other frost giants to stop. They looked confused as to why one of them had fallen to the ground.

  As always, Yorli acted. “Stop those Midgardians!” she cried. “Smash their bones!”

  The frost giants turned their gaze and lumbered towards their attackers.

  Grum struck another frost giant, and moments later, Farling’s sword bit deep into a frost shin, bringing him down as well.

  “Flamebringer!” cried a frost giant.

  “Dwarf magic!” spat another.

  “Smash them!” shouted another.

  Farling readied his shield anticipating a blow, then out of the corner of his eye, a blur he recognized as Margret jumped into the air. With Gunghir Sister-Spear, she leapt from frost giant to frost giant, stabbing one after another, felling each.

  The were-beasts, loyal to Margret, followed closely behind her, stabbing and striking each fallen frost giant with hammer, sword, daggers, and quarterstaff, keeping the frost giants down.

  “Hey!” cried Grum, watching Margret leave a trail of destruction in her wake, “leave some for us!”

  Farling jumped in front of Grum, stopping a tree trunk with his shield. “My thanks, my friend,” said Grum who then struck the tree trunk with his war hammer, turning it into splinters. The frost giant raised the remaining stump close to his face, confused it was now so small.
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br />   Grum struck the frost giant in the shin, shattering bone. The frost giant dropped the tree stump, and with a groan that sounded like icebergs scraping together, fell to the ground.

  Farling stole a glance at the ogres. They and the frost giants traded blows, but the ogres were outmatched. For all their training, the ogres could not match the strength of the frost giants. And while the armor provided protection against the crushing blows of the frost giants, the armor gave the ogres no advantage against the overwhelming force of the frost giants. Soon, no ogres stood, all were lying on the ground, wounded and dying.

  Yorli barked an order and her two brothers now waded into the battle, intent on stopping Margret. They shoved frost giants aside, until they were face to face with Margret and the were-beasts.

  “Ho, little one,” started one of the brothers to Margret. “Hoist your skirt and run back behind the walls of Vanaheim. Once there, await your doom.”

  “Little beasties,” said the other brother to the were-beasts, “follow your master, and run away before I smash your bones.”

  But Margret brandished Gunghir Sister-Spear above her head in reply. She cried: “Beware, sons of Thrymr! This is your final warning. Return to Jotunheim, else meet your doom—by my hand.”

  The first brother chuckled. “Daughter of Midgard, with my bare hands, I have bested frost dragons, snow wyrms, and great white bears,” he said. “Scars from those great battles etch my body like a story. Bards have written songs of my battles.” He shook the great club in his hand. “Sadly, you will not hear the song of this battle as crows will feast upon your flesh.”

  “I fear no frost giant,” said Margret, “not even sons of Thrymr.” Her voice rose so it could be heard above the battle din. “This is your last warning!”

  “And this is your last,” growled the brothers.

  “Then meet your doom!” cried Margret.

  Beornheard, the strongest of the were-beasts, cupped his hands together. In a blur of motion, Margret planted one foot in Beornheard’s hands, and with a great yell, the were-beast threw her high into the air.

  The frost giant brothers grunted in surprise. They raised their clubs in defense, but were too slow. When she reached her highest point, Margret saw a flicker of fear in their eyes as she fell upon them.

  “For Midgard!” she screamed.

  And with a great Aarlund war cry, she hurled her spear at the closest frost giant. Caught unaware by the speed and surprise of the attack, the frost giant could not block the spear. It struck him in the neck and he fell to the ground, one hand trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from his neck.

  Margret had been thrown towards the frost giants and as she fell towards the ground, she landed on the injured frost giant as he tumbled backwards.

  She ran up the frost giant’s torso, while the were-beasts distracted the brother. She pulled her spear from the frost giant’s neck while blood seeped between his fingers as he glared at her.

  She pointed the spear at the frost giant’s face. Said: “You, your brother, sister, and father and all your other brethren, will return to your realm.”

  Then Margret jumped off the frost giant and brandished her spear at Yorli. Then: “Take your injured brother home to Jotunheim and leave Vanaheim, never to return.”

  Yorli’s face contorted in rage. “You will not ruin this day!” she cried. She unsheathed her sword and swung it at Margret.

  The pearl in Margret’s circlet glowed bright red as she easily dodged the gigantic sword. Yorli attacked again, this time chopping down with her sword. Margret raised Gunghir Sister-Spear above her head, blocking the blow. The force brought Margret to her knees but no further.

  Yorli, thinking she was winning, leaned heavily against her sword. “I will crush you,” Yorli said through gritted teeth. “You will not thwart my dreams!”

  Margret saw Grum and Farling moving forward to help. “Stay back!” she yelled. “I will end this fight on my own!”

  And with a cry of effort, Margret twisted and pushed Yorli’s sword aside, the tip of Yorli’s sword digging into the ground. And, quick as a heartbeat, Margret pulled her arm back and threw her spear at Yorli’s neck.

  But instead of piercing Yorli’s neck, in mid-air, a hand grabbed the spear, stopping it.

  Margret crossed her arms across her chest and sighed loudly. “Loki, I should have known,” she said.

  Loki suddenly appeared looking almost embarrassed as he handed the spear back to Margret. “I think you proved your point, princess,” was all he said.

  Yorli sheathed her sword, her face contorting through many emotions, from fear, to anger, to silent rage. “This will not be forgotten, Midgardian,” she said. “We may leave Asgard, but we will not stay in Jotunheim.”

  “Then know this, daughter of Thrymr,” said Margret. “From this point forward, I will be known as the Bane of the Frost Giants. My name will strike fear in your clans. Parents will use my name to make children eat their greens and do their chores. Attack what realms you choose, but know this: You do so at your peril.”

  Farling watched as the frost giants walked dejectedly back to their camp, Loki and Yorli talking heatedly for many a step, then Loki stopped and returned to Vanaheim by himself. The rest of the frost giants packed their things and marched slowly towards the gateway to their realm.

  Farling said: “Grum, there were some good fighting moments, were there not? It just seemed once Margret joined the battle, no one was left to fight.”

  “She fights well,” said Grum. “Too well, I fear.” He looked around, making sure they were alone on the ramparts. “I enjoyed the battle, and I may lose my sense of self when I fight, but Margret has become almost something of a killer.”

  “Agreed,” said Farling. “Her time amongst the assassins taught her well, almost too well. Then again, I think you are just jealous of her fighting prowess. We could not have stopped the frost giants without her.”

  “Most definitely,” said Grum.

  “And what of the elves?” asked Farling.

  By now, Arastead had arrived. Said: “The elves, like the frost giants, slink back to their realm. They drank too deeply from the cup of defeat.”

  “And so we have won?” asked Grum. “Will there be a feast?”

  “For once, I am with Grum,” said Farling. “I am starving.”

  Arastead chuckled. “There is still the matter with the dwarves,” he said. “Jakobus has been invited to parlay.”

  “Wear something over your ears,” said Grum. “Something tells me the dwarf king will not be quiet.”

  CHAPTER 83

  The Norse Realms Shudder

  “Astrid, My Queen, when should you start?”

  Astrid and Frederick sat on a bench in Freya’s old temple outside the great forest. Reconstruction work had begun, but as it was now night, and so the workers were home. She looked around at the work and allowed herself a small smile. At least something was being built, something important, something good. It may take the workers years to complete, but then it would once again be a place of worship for followers of Freya: clerics, druids, healers, and the like. It would be a place of knowledge, a place where Freya’s followers could share wisdom, help initiates to learn, help followers to better their skills. Followers of Freya channeled the energy of Yggdrasil, would learn the runes carved on the tree, would learn when those runes were at their strongest, their weakest, when to cast certain spells, and, most importantly, when not to cast.

  Now, Yggdrasil represented order and while order in the world was a noble goal, chaos too had to be represented. And represented it was in the realms by the Midgard Serpent, whose entire length crossed over into all realms, like the roots of Yggdrasil, which the Midgard Serpent constantly gnawed.

  And she, the Sorceress, could pull and weave together runes from both Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent. For this ability, she was cursed, cursed to be targeted by those realms who saw the Sorceress as the savior of their causes, as the one who would end o
ne rule and herald a new one.

  But Princess Margret, who seemed altered after her imprisonment by the assassins guild, had convinced Astrid that her Sorceress powers could be used for good. With the All Father gone, it had taken many, many years for the realms to compete for rule over all realms. And while she had been prophesied to lead the elf realm to greatness, it had not come to be. Even the Norns had begun to meddle, more than they used to, and it was those Norns who feared the Sorceress above all things. Odd that the Norns would fear something that they could most likely prevent from happening. Were not the Norns responsible for weaving the Tapestry, beginning someone’s line, taking the measure of him or her, and then ending it? Why could they not prevent the Sorceress from every being born? It did appear that while they could not prevent a Sorceress from being born, they could try and kill her. And so the Norns had secretly, for many years, supported the assassins guild of Trondheim with the sole purpose of waiting for the arrival of the Sorceress, and killing her before she became too powerful.

  There was more to it, she was certain. Perhaps the assassins would not have killed her, but, like the elves, had wanted to use her for their own purpose. That purpose may have been dictated by the Norns, but Astrid was certain there was more to this mystery than met the eye. But then, remembering how the assassins had tried to kill her in the thieves guild, threw a bucket of cold water on that thought. The assassins wanted the Sorceress gone, the Norns wanted the Sorceress gone, but why?

  She worried about Margret. The assassins had changed the Aarlund princess. Her thoughts now were dark, almost paranoid. But so much had happened recently, that Astrid could not dispute Margret’s claims. Beings she thought mythical, mere figments of the imagination, had been brought to life. And so Margret’s thoughts on the Norns, while in some ways sounded fantastical, also made sense given everything they had experienced.

  Frederick waited several minutes then repeated his question. Astrid shook her head as if waking from a long sleep. The past year had felt like a dream, so much had happened. And now they had a daughter, a baby, kept safe in Trondheim Castle, by legions of guards, and, unbeknownst to those guards, many thieves, who kept to the shadows and the rooftops, to keep an extra eye out for danger.