You did not think such a legendary place arose by the same means as ordinary nations, did you? Atlantis was a dream made real, brought into the world at the very dawn of Man’s journey into wisdom. It was the greatest working of the dream shamans, when their art was at its height. Before Man’s dreams were broken, filled with nightmares of failure and disaster.
I thought I’d understood why Hecate had sent the groves my way, but suddenly I suspected a whole new dimension to her schemes. How many people were there who knew things like that, even in the vaguest terms? And Alanna had been there to see it happen.
You and I are going to have a long conversation about that sometime soon, I said. But first, I’d better take care of some more immediate issues.
The rod didn’t seem to have any spells running that would affect someone just by touching it. So I pulled it out of the soil, and took it with me as I lifted into the air. It was a long walk to the wall, and I didn’t intend to spend that much time in this poisonous environment.
Flying over the wall didn’t seem like a smart idea, though. A place like this must have ways to deal with flying enemies, and I didn’t want to find out what they were the hard way. So I set down in front of the gatehouse, and looked for a way to get someone’s attention.
The main gates were thirty feet wide and probably twice that tall, covered with big plates of iron riveted to some internal framework I couldn’t see. There were no sentries visible atop the wall, either. But there was a postern gate, a heavy iron door of normal size set into one of the leaves of the main gate.
I strode up to it, gathered a little force magic in my hand, and rapped my gauntlet against it with the strength of a troll. Each contact made a thunderous booming sound, and I was amused to note that my knuckles made tiny dents in the surface of the door.
A metal cover slid aside, and a pair of wild eyes peered out through a vision slit. “What? There’s someone in the wasteland? Who’s there?”
“I’m Daniel the Black,” I declared. “Odin brought me here to complete a task of wizardry, and he told me to come here for assistance.”
“Who? What? I didn’t hear anything about this.”
“It’s a long way to Odin’s hall, and I’ve only been here for a few minutes. The messenger probably hasn’t gotten here yet,” I guessed. “Open the door.”
“Open the door? To some stranger from the cursed waste? I think not!”
I rolled my eyes. “Open the door, or I’ll open it myself. The Allfather will forgive me for wrecking a door or two, but then you’ll have to deal with the curse billowing out through the gap in your wall. Have you seen how it kills men? It’s not an easy death.”
“Hah! No warrior of Valhalla fears death, wizard. We face it every day on the fields of honor. Now hold your horses while I check this out. If your story is true I can find out easily enough.”
The cover slid back over the vision slit, and I could barely make out a rattle of mail as the man moved away.
Stupid warriors should have more respect for my wizard, Alanna grumbled. That door is hardly warded at all. I bet you could bring it down in moments.
Probably. But I think I’ll try a more subtle approach.
I put my hand on the door, and reached out with my force sorcery. Pulling, pushing, feeling which parts moved and which didn’t. Aha. There was the bar. Did it slide? No. Lift? Yes!
I levitated the bar, and pushed the door open. On the other side was a small alcove in the body of the main gate, which turned out to be a couple of feet thick. Oddly enough there was no one there.
Prompted by some contrary impulse, I stepped through and closed the door. A couple of seconds to replace the bar, and I nonchalantly leaned against the inside of the door.
The wall must have been absurdly thick, because the space behind the gate felt more like a tunnel than a room. But again, the design was quite odd. There was another huge set of doors at the far end of the tunnel, but they were barred from this side. Looking up I could see murder holes in the ceiling, but there was also a ladder leading up to a trapdoor.
So, the wall was supposed to stop people from going through in either direction?
I could easily see why Odin would want to keep people away from the Sunspire. Secret weapons are a lot less useful if your enemies know you have them, and there’s no telling what kind of trouble someone could cause by tampering with it. But why the inward-facing defenses? Was he worried about something coming out of the spire?
That was a cheery thought.
I occupied myself for a few minutes wondering about that, until I heard the rattle of mail approaching again. I looked up to find that a couple of burly men in armor were climbing down the ladder. One was the sentry I’d spoken to earlier, while the other was so massively built that I immediately suspected him of being a demigod. You just don’t see a lot of normal men who are seven feet tall and built like a linebacker.
The sentry reached the bottom of the ladder, and did a double take as he saw me leaning casually against the wall of the tunnel.
“Shit! How did you get in here, wizard? I told you to wait outside the damned door!”
I shrugged. “You’re a fool if you think I’m going to spend a minute longer than I have to out there. Is this the duty officer?”
The larger man turned to me, and I notes an obvious family resemblance to Thor. Same red hair, same nose and jaw, same enormous biceps. But Thor had struck me as a little slow-witted, and this guy’s eyes were sharp.
“I’m Gustav Thorson,” he said, offering me his hand. “You must be Daniel.”
“That’s me.”
I took his hand, and found myself having a flashback to my first boss after college when he immediately went for the knuckle-crusher grip. That might have seemed stupid, since I was wearing gauntlets, but he was easily strong enough to crush normal steel. I could feel the strain on Alanna’s reinforcement magic as he tightened his grip.
He snorted. “Typical wizard, always hiding behind your magic. You should try working out sometime. What are you bothering my men for, anyway?”
“The Allfather gave me a job to do,” I said, ignoring the jab. “But it’s going to take some time. I’m going to need a workroom that isn’t in the wasteland, and someplace to sleep. If there’s a place that isn’t warded I can provide my own materials, but otherwise I’ll be bothering you for a bunch of exotic parts too.”
He finally released my hand. “You really think you can fix that cursed thing?”
“It’s a tall order,” I admitted. “But I don’t think he’s expecting a miracle. I just have to get this rod working again.”
I gestured with the rod. Gustav took a step back, eyeing it carefully for a moment before he seemed to realize it was damaged.
“Useless wizard crap. The Allfather is wasting his time on this. Valhalla has the greatest warriors ever to walk the world. When those monsters reach the Golden Fields we’ll water the crops with their blood.”
“Well, if you can convince Odin of that I’ll be happy to head back home to my wives. But until then he’s given me a job to do, and I’m not going to argue with him.”
He grunted, and turned away. “Come on, then. I’ll figure something out. A wizard in Valhalla. What a joke. Can you even use a weapon? Or is it all magic with you?”
“Not melee weapons. I’m a decent marksman with a gun, but you don’t use those here. It’s sort of like a crossbow, only it shoots a lead ball that will punch right through armor. I did some wrestling too, back when I was young. But when you’re a wizard, the smart way to handle melee combat is to blow everything up and get airborne before someone finds a way through your wards.”
Gustav grumbled something about cowardly wizards under his breath.
“I’ll have to find a band that has room to put you up,” he said. “Not the berserkers, though. That would never work. The regular bands are all bursting at the seams after this year’s harvest. Sappers, maybe? No, wait, you’re the one who keeps blowing things up. The last thing
we need is you making them worse. Wait, I’ve got it. Arnor’s band. They’ve just lost a third of their number to a split, so they’ll have plenty of room.”
He took off abruptly, marching down the tunnel and through the postern gate at the far end. I followed, and found myself in a plaza paved with marble.
“This way.”
I followed him through the streets of a bustling city that I assumed must be Asgard. It was strangely different from any settlement I’d seen before, on either Earth. Unlike normal cities everything was spotlessly clean, and every building seemed to be the work of a master architect with an unlimited budget. They didn’t go in much for fancy embellishments, and the shops and taverns that lined the streets were still built close together like in a medieval city. But they had big glass windows, and greenery growing everywhere. The strangest thing, though, was the way everything looked like it had just been built yesterday.
Oddly enough, most of the shopkeepers seemed to be elves. They had fair skin and golden hair instead of the darker tones of clan Nethwillin, but aside from coloring the two races seemed to have a lot in common. They had the same long, mobile ears and inhuman grace of motion, and the same deceptively slender build. At first glance they seemed fragile, especially the women. But every one of them was armed with at least a dagger, and I suspected they’d be every bit as deadly as my own allies if put to the test.
There were dwarves, too. I caught a glimpse of one tending bar in a tavern we passed, and another riding a large golem that was hauling a wagon full of beer kegs. But most of the people I saw on the streets were humans. An endless procession of grizzled warriors, often accompanied by scantily clad young women. There were no children or old people, which was hardly a surprise. But there also seemed to be a marked lack of men who weren’t warriors, or of women doing anything other than hanging on some guy’s arm.
I was so busy taking in the scenery that was a few minutes before I realized that it was going by a lot faster than it should. One minute we’d be turning onto a broad avenue lined with trees, and a few steps later we’d be approaching the fountain I’d glimpsed blocks away at the far end. It reminded me of the way distance had warped when I traveled to Skogheim with the dark elves, except that Gustav didn’t seem to be controlling it. It just happened whenever I glanced away from the road for a moment, like that was the nature of this place.
Maybe it was. There must be millions of people living in this city, so it had to be huge. Getting anywhere on foot would take forever without some kind of magic.
After a few minutes we left the shops behind, and began to pass an endless procession of buildings that all looked like some modern film director’s concept of a Viking mead hall. Each building was the size of a small cathedral, with a giant feasting hall at the front and an area that was probably some kind of barracks behind it. Most of the halls had their front doors open, and banners hung from poles overhead. Oddly enough there were very few men visible here, and a lot of unaccompanied women.
I considered asking questions, and thought better of it. I wasn’t sure what Odin would expect an ancient Atlantean wizard to know about Asgard, and I was sure Gustav would be reporting on me. The last thing I wanted to do was make a mistake that led Odin to question the assumptions he’d made about me. If he realized I wasn’t an Atlantean wizard after all, he’d want to know where I came from and how I did the things I did. It was a short path from there to discovering that I was Hecate’s champion, which would probably mean a quick execution.
Finally we came to a hall whose banner was a simple black field with a silver crescent moon. Gustav tromped up the steps, and through the door.
“Roofmistress!” He called. “Attend me!”
I caught a flash of magic as I followed him in. Something a bit like what Avilla did when she stepped into the wall of her kitchen, and appeared by the breakfast bar. Only there was something else wrapped up in there, too.
A tall blonde in a knee-length dress materialized out of thin air, and bowed to Gustav.
“How may I serve you, Exalted One?”
“This man is a guest of Valhalla, wench. He’s a wizard, working on a secret project for the Allfather, so don’t ask him any questions about what he’s doing. He’ll need a workroom, a place to sleep, and not too many distractions. Can the Moon Ghosts provide?”
She bowed again. “Of course, Exalted One.”
“Then I’ll leave him in your hands. I’ll leave word with my men to let you come and go as you need, wizard. Try not to blow up anything important.”
Chapter 9
The Roofmistress showed me to a surprisingly roomy suite in the building behind the mead hall. In addition to the usual bedroom and sitting room it boasted an armory, a private bath and most importantly a large workroom. One wall of the workroom had a row of windows looking out over an enclosed courtyard, and there was a big wooden table with a couple of chairs positioned where the light was brightest. Aside from that it was empty.
“Does this suit your needs, sir wizard?” She asked.
“Yes, this will work. Oh, my name is Daniel Black.”
She ignored my hand, and bowed instead. “I am Velvet, the Roofmistress of Moon Ghost Hall. Is there anything else I can provide for you? Food? Wenches? Tools or materials for your work?”
“Lunch would be good,” I decided. I tested my earth magic, and found that there were no wards obstructing it here. “I’ll be conjuring my own materials. I take it the men are out?”
“The Moon Ghosts fight on the fields of valor today,” she said. “I shall introduce you when they return.”
“Sure. Oh, let me introduce my companion. Alanna, say hi.”
Instead of just sticking her head out of the armor, Alanna flowed off of me and resumed her usual shape. Velvet gaped at the spectacle for a moment before recovering.
“Greetings, Roofmistress. I am Daniel’s familiar, Alanna. I’m sure the warriors will all have questions, so tell them that yes, I’m a dryad, and no, Daniel doesn’t share me. Daniel, the way Gustav introduced you leaves me as your property rather than a guest, so the hall wenches aren’t going to treat me any differently than your clothes unless you tell them to. Will you please ask them to listen to any requests I might make?”
“Um, sure. Velvet, please treat any requests Alanna might make of you the same as if I was asking in person. Is that alright?”
“Certainly, Daniel. Really, you’ve no need for concern, Alanna. Moon Ghost Hall offers excellent hospitality, and the captain is quite tolerant of oddities. Why, we even have warriors who aren’t entirely human.”
“I’m sure we’ll be astounded by your generosity,” Alanna said dryly. “Run along, then. I need a moment alone with my master.”
“Of course. I’ll have a meal sent up shortly.”
Velvet bowed again, and left the room. As soon as she was gone Alanna shut the door, and shuddered.
“Ugh! So creepy! This place is just as bad as the last time I was here.”
“What’s your problem with Velvet?” I asked. “She seemed nice enough.”
“Of course she’s nice. She’s a jungle cat with its claws and teeth pulled out. No, worse. She’s some horrible zombie golem made of mismatched cat parts, enchanted to purr and do cute tricks on command.”
Zombie golems? She’d looked normal enough to me. “What are you talking about, Alanna? Considering where we are I assumed she’s some kind of ghost or spirit, but I didn’t see a binding.”
“Of course not. What this place does is far worse than a mere binding. The women whose souls end up here aren’t incarnated in bodies like the men, Daniel. They all get melted down into this horrible soup of soul parts, and used to make wenches for the halls. Whenever some warrior looks around for a wench, the magic of Valhalla pours out a measure of soul soup carefully seasoned to his taste, and conjures up a body for it.”
“What? That’s disgusting. Why?”
She sat in one of the chairs, and ran her hands through her hair
. “Because this is supposed to be a paradise for warriors, not for women. I suppose creating enough souls to satisfy them all would be ruinously expensive in divine magic, but this way Odin likely gains power from the whole arrangement. The soul fragments that are useful for making wanton party girls go into the hall wenches, and the rest become fuel for his sacrificial magics.”
My thoughts went to the line of hopeful women we’d seen back at the temple. “Then what about the Door of Devotion? Are they just feeding those poor women into this soul dicing machine?”
“Probably,” she huffed. “Oh, I’m sure those who are truly devoted to a warrior of Valhalla will appear for him. But he’ll be getting his own idealized image of her, with all the parts he didn’t like cut away and some young lover’s eagerness to please stitched in beside her own. The worst part, though, is that she’ll only be here for as long as her man wants her. If his eye wanders to another and he stops thinking of her, then back into the soup she goes.”
I stared at her in horror. “They just get… recycled?”
She nodded. “Waste not, want not. Hall wenches only last for as long as someone wants them. The hall conjures up new ones whenever they’re needed, and pours them back into the pot when the men are done with them.”
“Do the warriors here know that?”
“Those boneheads?” She scoffed. “Hardly. All they know is that Valhalla provides whatever they want on demand. No doubt they think their gods watch over them, or some such tripe.”
“Who runs this… system?”
“No one. Odin formed Valhalla from a stolen fragment of faerie, Daniel. He shaped its rules to suit his purpose, and then froze it like a fly trapped in amber.”
I took the other chair, and rubbed my face. “This is a lot to take in.”
“If you doubt my words, simply think about what sort of wench you’d like to see deliver your lunch. The hall will provide.”
“Anything?”
“Anything it can make with the ingredients in the soup. I doubt there are any faerie ladies or cat priestesses in there, but I’m sure it could manage a credible imitation of Avilla.”
Thrall (Daniel Black Book 4) Page 13