The Reckoning of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

  Frederick cleared his throat. Astrid patted him on the hand.

  “I am paying attention, dear,” she said. “The magnitude of this situation just feels a little overwhelming. My skills at drawing magic could use some improving.”

  “You will do fine,” he said.

  Astrid chuckled lightly. “I had better not do just fine, I must be great. Margret has tasked me with an enormous responsibility. I just wish Mage was here to guide me.”

  “Odd that he was in many ways to be our enemy. While he would not have kidnapped our daughter, he was complicit, he would have allowed it to happen.”

  “Still, I am glad our daughter is not the Sorceress.”

  “You are strong.”

  Astrid chuckled lightly again. “A good thing, as this will require all my strength.”

  “Is it time?”

  Astrid glanced up at the stars that twinkled in the night sky. A clear night, bereft of the moon whose brightness always made the stars hide.

  She breathed deep and exhaled, standing up. “It is time.”

  Frederick touched the Vorpal Blade sheathed and strapped on his back. “I hope I will not need to use this, but I will defend you no matter the cost.”

  Astrid tenderly rested her hand on top of her husband’s head and kissed him gently on the forehead.

  “You are my defender, you are my champion. Now, no matter what happens to me while I cast the spell, you must not stop me. Promise me you will not stop me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Then stand back, my love, and keep a sharp eye out for our enemies. They might take any form, they might be as small as the most poisonous spider, or as large as the most dangerous dragon.”

  Frederick bowed his head once, then stepped back from his wife until she nodded. He unsheathed the Vorpal Blade, and as his wife commanded, watched for any attack, no matter how small or large.

  In chalk, Astrid drew a large bind-rune in the middle of the floor. Intuitively, she knew this was the rune that represented the Sorceress on both Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent. Once completed, she knelt in the middle, closed her eyes, relaxed, and focused on the magic, imaging the magic of Yggdrasil and the Midgard Serpent as something she could see.

  And then she began to push magic back into the tree.

  And the Norse realms shuddered.

  CHAPTER 84

  The Summoning of the Valkyries

  Jakobus was not pleased, obviously. In the same courtyard in Vanaheim stood Grillsnak. Wisely, he did not stand closely to the dwarf king.

  “Good,” said Galdr, his milk-white eyes unseeing, a raven perched on either shoulder. “There will be peace in the realm of Nidavellir between dwarf and goblin.”

  Jakobus spat on the ground. Bellowed: “While I draw breath, dwarf and goblin will not share Nidavellir!” His voice was so loud Farling and his friends put their hands over their ears.

  Galdr was unmoved by the outburst. “Nidavellir is already a shared realm,” he said. “This formal agreement makes it official. Now, if you would be so kind, King Jakobus, I require both your signature and King Grillsnak’s on this binding document.”

  “Never!” cried Jakobus in a voice so loud it now made Farling’s teeth hurt.

  “You will sign!” demanded Galdr. He stood so suddenly it took the ravens by surprise. They spread their wings and lifted off into the air, settling on the arms of the great chair in the room.

  And in a voice that boomed and echoed in the courtyard, Galdr repeated: “You will sign!”

  The air crackled with tension.

  “Never,” hissed Jakobus. “My people did not wake from a long sleep to be subjected to a division of our realm!”

  “You attacked Asgard!” cried Galdr, his voice now terrible in fury. Jakobus visibly winced under those words. “You brought a great dwarf host into Asgard, my realm, the realm of my father, and you hoped to rule all the realms once you sat on the great chair, Odin’s chair.”

  Jakobus could only mumble: “We never attacked Vanaheim.”

  Galdr’s voice returned to his usual gravitas. Said: “Just because you never attacked does not mean you were not going to attack, else why bring such a great host into this realm. And do not tell me you were going to defend this realm against the elves and the frost giants, else you would have made that intention clear from the beginning. There was no alliance between our realms at the beginning of this battle. Your envoys made no such entreaties. I see it in your eyes, you hoped the elves and frost giants would destroy themselves and each other in the process of tearing down Vanaheim’s walls, weakening or killing me, my brother, and my sister in the process. And the dwarf army would have simply fought the remnants of those great armies and claim the throne of Vanaheim. There is just one grave mistake in your plan, King Jakobus. With no Norse gods in Asgard, this realm would have turned to dust. You would have been king of nothing.”

  Jakobus grumbled: “At least there would have been no old Norse gods telling dwarves what to do.”

  Galdr chuckled. “As you can see, this old god will still tell you what to do, and I am telling you, sign the document, else I will make you think my father Odin was easy to please,” he said.

  Jakobus gritted his teeth. “I sign this document under duress,” he said

  And Galdr’s voice rose again as he cried: “No, dwarf king, you sign this document because you lost. You gambled and you lost. If you had not brought your army into my realm, our relationship would have been as always. If you had chosen to defend Vanaheim, you would have risen in your standings. But you chose to be hostile to Vanaheim and because of that decision, you pay. The goblin king and his army defended Vanaheim, prevented your dwarves from digging tunnels and undermining the walls of Vanaheim. For that, the goblins gained our trust and now benefit from that agreement. Nidavellir was always shared by your two ancient races, this document just makes it official and makes it legally binding.”

  Jakobus chewed his beard in thought. After a few moments, he walked over to the table and added his signature to the document. “There will never be peace between dwarf and goblin,” he mumbled.

  “Perhaps not,” said Galdr. “But there will not be war.”

  Grillsnak, who had been silent the entire time, signed the document. His face betrayed no emotion.

  “As I said,” began Galdr, “even if you had claimed the great chair in Vanaheim, you would never have ruled Asgard. To rule, you need Gunghir, Odin’s spear. The Norns only listen to he who wields Gunghir.”

  Jakobus spat on the ground, then looked to Margret. “Speaking of which, princess, I demand the return of Gunghir Sister-Spear, princess,” he said.

  Margret stepped forward with the spear. Then: “Granted, but there is just one more thing I must do.”

  And with those words, Margret slammed the butt of the spear on the ground and in a loud and commanding voice, cried: “I call the Valkyries! Return Gunghir to me.”

  And even though Galdr could not see, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

  CHAPTER 85

  Odin’s Shield Maiden

  “To the battlements!” cried Grum. “I want to see the Valkyrie approach!” At the top of the walls, Grum pointed excitedly at some dots in the distance: “There!”

  Everyone looked and far off on the horizon they saw the approaching Valkyrie, each riding a magnificent winged horse.

  The sound of wings beating the air could just be heard. As the moments passed, the sound grew louder and louder. And as they came closer details could be easily seen as the sound of the horses’ wings deafened.

  “It appears Margret is to meet the Valkyrie outside the walls,” noticed Grum. Sure enough, a group was walking away from Vanaheim towards a wide-open field, an easy place for the Valkyrie to land.

  “Let’s follow,” said Farling, “we cannot hear their discussion from here.”

  “Do you think they will fight?” asked Grum.

  “This makes no sense,” said Farling, “as only a Norse god sho
uld be able to hold Gunghir.”

  “On the contrary,” said Arastead. “If Jakobus had stormed Vanaheim successfully and had brought the Norse gods to heel, sitting on Odin’s chair was not enough, he needed to hold Gunghir. And Jakobus, for all his importance in the race of dwarves, is no Norse god. But if he had held Gunghir, and held it not through deception but by acceptance, he would have ruled Asgard and all realms.”

  Everyone was now outside as the Valkyrie began their descent.

  “I think we can walk the rest of the way and not miss anything,” said Farling, noticing Arastead’s strained breathing. Arastead grinned his thanks at Farling.

  As they approached the group, the Valkyrie had landed, their winged horses walking away to graze on any grass they could find, their massive wings folded across their backs.

  “I count ten,” said Grum.

  As they joined the group, Loki teased them about how nice it was for them to join. But Farling barely heard the words, stunned into silence by the Choosers of the Slain, the Valkyrie. Each had flawless skin, defined cheekbones, and their white blond hair hung in two long braids down to their waists. Each one’s eyes were the whitest of blue, as if years of flying upon a winged horse had bleached their eye color. Their strong arms and legs were wrapped in strips of tan fabric, outlining their muscles, and leather skirts covered their hips. Decorative breastplates protected their fronts, while each wore helmets that hung low over their eyes and the sides of the helms came down the sides of their faces till they touched the corner of their mouths.

  One Valkyrie stood out from all others. While they were all an impressive height, one was slightly taller than the others: Her helmet more decorative and adorned with feathers, and her armor had more jewels and gold. And in her hand, she held a spear that Farling assumed was Gunghir.

  And when she removed her helmet, Farling could easily see why she was queen of the Valkyrie: her eyes brooked no dissent. She was clearly someone who gave orders and had those orders obeyed.

  She scanned the group as her eyes fastened on Gunghir Sister-Spear, but she said nothing.

  Galdr cleared his throat. Then: “Welcome, Brunnhilde, queen of the Valkyrie, Odin’s Shield Maiden, Chooser of the Slain. I apologize for the state of house, I wish we could offer you—”

  Brunnhilde swung her spear at Galdr, cutting him short. The two great ravens screeched at her.

  She pointed her spear at Margret. Said: “You, daughter of Midgard. How did you know Odin had entrusted Gunghir to the Valkyrie?”

  “I did not,” replied Margret flatly, her tone revealing nothing. “I knew Gunghir was held safely by someone in Asgard. I see how it makes sense that Odin would give Gunghir to you. He knew you would keep it safe.”

  Brunnhilde merely narrowed her eyes at the compliment. “And you know what you must do to earn Gunghir?” he said.

  “I earn it in battle,” said Margret.

  Farling, Grum, Arastead, and the were-beasts all protested but Margret silenced them with a glare. The Norse gods were all oddly silent.

  Around Margret and Brunnhilde, the other Valkyrie formed a wide circle, which everyone else stood outside.

  Grum said: “I wager Margret to win.”

  “Always the betting man,” said Arastead. “You realize, unfortunately, the odds are against her. Brunnhilde has never lost a fight.”

  Grum said: “That is because she has never fought our Aarlund princess,” said Grum.

  Farling added: “And Margret was trained by Mage.”

  “Hush, it begins,” said Sihr.

  Margret and Brunnhilde, each wielding their spears, paced one other about the circle like two stalking wolves, each looking for a weakness, each searching for an opening.

  And it was Margret who struck first.

  Swiftly she sprinted the short distance between herself and Brunnhilde, her spear held in front with both hands as one would hold a quarterstaff. At the last possible moment, she slid her hands down the spear’s shaft till she held it at its base and struck at Brunnhilde, lunging as far forward as she could, body and spear as a shot arrow.

  Margret’s spear tip scraped Brunnhilde’s breastplate as she twisted her body, narrowly avoiding being skewered like a wild boar. As she twisted, she smashed Margret’s spear with all her strength, hoping to knock it out of her hands, rendering the fight over as quickly as it had begun.

  With a flash grin of satisfaction, she saw Margret’s spear hurtle across the ground, clattering.

  But her grin disappeared, as Margret let go the spear and in one fluid motion, daggers appeared in each hand as she kept her forward momentum and leapt towards Brunnhilde.

  Margret was a blur of motion, twin daggers hacking and stabbing at the weak points of Brunnhilde’s armor. Brunnhilde, to her credit, tried her best to strike at Margret with her spear, but Margret was too close for the spear to be effective. Brunnhilde was only able to stop some blows and push Margret back a step, but every time Margret would rush back in, her daggers raining down blows.

  Brunnhilde was forced backwards, blood oozing from several small cuts. Patiently, Brunnhilde waited for an opening, figuring Margret would exhaust herself. Obviously, Brunnhilde was not used to playing defensive in a fight and it appeared to be unnerving her, but she adapted well.

  Realizing her spear was at best useless in this type of fight, Brunnhilde with a well-placed kick managed to get enough space between her and Margret, dropped her spear and drew her short sword.

  The sound of the fight now changed as Brunnhilde’s short sword struck against Margret’s daggers. The clang and clash of metal upon metal became a new sword song, a strange weird rhythm of sound, not unlike a forge where a blacksmith strikes the anvil with hammer, but much faster, its speed almost difficult to comprehend. And throughout, Margret’s and Brunnhilde’s breaths came in quicker and shorter gasps.

  Brunnhilde hissed through clenched teeth: “Yield, Midgardian! It is impossible to defeat me. I am Valkyrie. I have never lost.”

  But Margret only whispered: “I will never yield.” And her dagger blows continued in their pace of speed and strength. “Gunghir will be mine, and you will bow to me!”

  “Never!” cried Brunnhilde.

  And just when it looked as if the fight would never end, it was over. Their fight took them back and forth across the pitch, each pushing the other forward, then playing defensive as the other attacked. Forgotten by Brunnhilde, but not by Margret, two spears lay on the ground. And while Brunnhilde always stepped over Gunghir, she had forgotten about Gunghir Sister-Spear.

  As Brunnhilde put a foot back to brace herself against Margret’s incessant rain of blows, her foot landed directly on the middle of the spear, her ankle rolled and twisted.

  Brunnhilde’s ankle made a popping sound and her eyes went wide in sudden pain.

  Her balance lost, she stumbled and, in a heartbeat, one of Margret’s daggers was at her throat, gently pushing against the skin.

  And Margret said in a calm yet triumphant voice: “Yield, queen of the Valkyries. Yield and give me Gunghir, for today I earned it.”

  Brunnhilde’s eyes closed briefly in defeat. “I yield,” she said, her voice still strong. “Well fought, child of Midgard. I see much has changed in the Norse realms.”

  “And much still will,” said Margret as she helped Brunnhilde to her feet. “Sihr is an excellent healer, he should be able to help you with your ankle.”

  “A son of Midgard helping a Valkyrie, by Odin’s beard, will wonders never cease,” said Brunnhilde.

  By now, everyone had crowded round, congratulating Margret.

  Farling raised his voice above the din. “Now that you hold Gunghir, what is your command?” he said.

  Margret’s eyes flashed in response, then bellowed: “I call the Norns!”

  CHAPTER 86

  Chaos and Order

  Frederick stole glances at his wife, making sure she was safe, worried someone—or something—had discovered a way around his guard.


  By now, beads of perspiration crowded Astrid’s forehead, running down into her closed eyes. She ignored the irritation so deep was her mystical trance.

  She rocked gently back and forth, mumbling under her breath so quietly Frederick could not make out the words.

  Frederick sniffed the air. Something was different. His body tensed as all his senses became hyper-charged, straining to determine the change. Was there a creature nearby? Was a storm approaching? Even the Vorpal Blade in his hands felt different, as if it was vibrating ever so slightly from some strange frequency.

  Astrid’s breath became heavier as she struggled to breath. Her face became redder and redder as her sweating stopped. Frederick reached out a hand towards his wife and could feel the heat radiating from her.

  She will burn up. She must have so much magic passing through her that she is overheating. He knew she had used fire to burn those assassins to death, really what was the difference? I cannot let my wife die.

  “Astrid!” he cried, reaching his free hand towards her.

  He jerked his hand back. It was as if he had touched a blacksmith’s forge. He stared at his hand, the hairs on his knuckles singed clean off.

  “No! Astrid! No!” he screamed as loud as he could, but it was if all the waves of heat buffeted his screams away so that Astrid could not hear. She rocked back and forth, still murmuring, as if she had not heard her husband’s loud protestations.

  “Ouch!” he cried as the Vorpal had become too hot to hold all of a sudden. But the Vorpal Blade was one of the strongest magical blades in all the realms. It would be attuned to the chaos and order of the Midgard Serpent and Yggdrasil. Magic was leaving the realms, and it was taking everything with it.