I’d barely had a moment to think about that prospect before there was a knock at the door. I got up and went to open it.
Twins. A pair of buxom redheads with trays of food, wearing short skirts with scooped necklines that showed off their breasts.
“Your lunch, sir wizard?” One of them said, holding the tray up with one hand so she could brush my arm with her breasts. I stepped back to let her in, and tried to act normal.
“We brought extra in case your familiar wants some,” the other one said. “Do dryads eat human food, Alanna? No one in the kitchen was sure about that.”
Alanna looked from one girl to the other, seeming vaguely amused. “I do,” she said. “I don’t have to eat as much as a human would, but I enjoy the same foods as your warriors. Thank you, Daniel. I hadn’t thought far enough to realize you could make them care about my wellbeing.”
“Just because you’re not technically a guest yourself doesn’t mean we’re going to mistreat you,” the first servant said. “We’re not heartless, you know. Now, just send word if you want anything else. Unless you’d like some special service?” She added suggestively.
“Not right now, girls,” I said. “Thanks for lunch.”
They left in a cloud of smiles and giggles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were just a couple of adventurous girls who were intrigued by their visitors. But I was watching carefully as they left, and once they were out in the hall there was a flash of that same magic I’d seen when Velvet appeared.
Had they teleported back to the kitchen? Or was that what it looked like when hall wenches got uncreated?
“You’re right,” I said. “That’s really creepy when you know what’s going on.”
“Isn’t it? I’m just thankful that my tree is still in Midgard. Any woman who dies in this place is liable to be caught up in that.”
I thought about it as I sampled the meal. It wasn’t Avilla’s cooking by any stretch of the imagination, but it was fairly decent. The bread was fresh, and the beer was simply outstanding.
“I’m tempted to look for exploits in the system,” I mused. “If it’s that good at shuffling traits around, it could probably make an elite spy or battle maid who wants to help us. Only, I’d basically be making someone who’s going to die as soon as I leave. That seems like an asshole move to me.”
“It would be a most horrifying fate,” Alanna agreed. “I suggest you refrain, unless our need is truly dire. Or, perhaps, if you intend to take her with us somehow. They’d simply be ghosts in Midgard, but there are methods of dealing with that.”
“Interesting. I guess they don’t realize what’s happening to them?”
“Of course not. Such knowledge is one of the things the great soup pot discards whenever they return to it. Along with selfishness, jealousy, chastity or anything else that might interfere with their duties. We could tell one, but she’d only remember for as long as she stays manifested.”
“Lovely.”
The more I learn about the gods in this world, the harder it gets to cheer for either side. I couldn’t see supporting Loki when his troops were doing their best to depopulate Europe, but Asgard clearly wasn’t much better. They might even be worse, depending on how you look at things.
“I’m surprised he doesn’t do something like that with the warriors, too,” I said.
“He tried it,” Alanna told me. “A few ages ago, when Rome was young and the Dodecatheon held half of Europe, he copied Zeus’ ancient method of blending souls to make holy myrmidons. But he was displeased with the results. He wanted an army of heroes, men of unmatched skill and valor, not mere lumps of brute force and obsessive obedience. The only way to make such heroes is to start with talented men, and give them centuries of real experience.”
“Like Clan Nethwillin,” I observed.
“Exactly. The Aesir and the Vanir contended with one another for thousands of years, ageless elven skill against human ferocity and numbers. In the end neither side was able to overcome the other, and they decided to make peace and unify their pantheons instead. Valhalla is Odin’s attempt to blend the strengths of the two peoples, and raise an army with human numbers and ferocity that fights with elven skill. Although he is cheating a bit.”
“Oh?”
“Of course. In Midgard, a man who trains diligently for twenty years will find himself reaching the limits of his potential, yes? Not so in Valhalla. The magic of this world nourishes warriors, slowly easing the shackles of mortality. Every decade of practice makes them a little better at their art. The axeman grows stronger, and more tireless. The archer’s eyes sharpen, and he can feel how the wind will blow his arrows. The captain grows taller, louder and more inspiring to his men. After a few centuries they can match cold steel against elves in single combat with a good hope of victory, and they never stop improving.”
“I see. Well, that does explain how Odin plans to fight Hel’s army, even though she must outnumber him a hundred to one.”
“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “Their practice battles are quite impressive, but that doesn’t mean the stratagem will work when put to the test. Numbers count, and it isn’t just Hel’s shambling corpses they face. All the frost giants in Jotunheim, plus Surtur's fire giants and the Sons of Muspell? That’s a grim alliance to face, even before you add in Gaea’s creatures and half the Great Beasts. I wouldn’t care to stand on that battlefield.”
She hesitated, and suddenly grinned. “It would be quite a sight to watch, though. Perhaps you could work some secret divination magic, to give us a bird’s-eye view of the destruction? Avilla could make snacks for us to enjoy, as we sit and applaud the slaughter.”
I chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. But in the meantime, I’d better find out what I’m up against here. If we’re lucky maybe the problem Odin wants me to fix will turn out to be in the rod, and I won’t have to deal with the spire.”
“With luck,” she agreed. “May I clothe you again, Daniel? I shall feel better about this fix we’ve found ourselves in if I know I’m guarding you properly.”
“Sure.”
Wearing Alanna’s armor form was oddly intimate. Almost like holding her in my arms, or maybe like being held. Her magic animated the suit, making it light as a feather, but it responded to my intentions as smoothly as my own limbs. The close contact made our familiar bond even stronger, as well.
There, now you may make plans without fear of some god picking at your thoughts, she said through that telepathic connection.
Thank you. Should I really be worried about that?
Few gods have any skill with such arts, she admitted. But some do. I would be shocked if Odin could not at least pick out strong emotions, or thoughts directed at him. Would you like me to show you how to protect yourself?
Yes, that’s definitely going to be high on the agenda. Damn it, I still can’t believe this is happening.
Alanna had been doing a good job of distracting me, but that couldn’t last forever. I sat heavily, and rubbed my forehead. I’d thought I was finally getting a handle on things, and getting myself into a situation where I wouldn’t need to take crazy risks anymore.
Silly me. I’d been sure the gods were too busy with each other to bother with me, but I’d been wrong. Now here I was, shanghaied to Asgard and impressed into Odin’s forces.
I am surprised as well, Alanna said. I never thought the Aesir would do something so outrageous. Daniel, what are we going to do?
I tried to think. Even if I did what Odin wanted, there was no guarantee he’d let me go. He probably had a hundred potential uses for an ‘Atlantean’ wizard, and if threats worked once why not try them again? But escaping from Asgard wouldn’t be easy, and even if I could do it what then? They’d know exactly where to look for me.
First, I need to take a look at this rod, I told her. Before I decide whether I’m going to try to fix this thing for Odin, I have to figure out if it’s even a realistic option.
It certainly wasn’t g
oing to be easy.
The Rod of Devouring was enchanted using completely different techniques than either my own devices, or the examples of conventional wizardry I’d seen. Wizards would normally have to carve runes into an item to enchant it, painstakingly imbuing each symbol with the appropriate magic and linking the whole structure together bit by bit. My own enchantment technique was more a matter of creating a spell with the effect I wanted, and then binding it into an object until it was solidly attached.
The rod, however, was more like a machine than a normal magic item. It was made up of several parts that locked together, including a central core and several sections of protective cover. The core was some silvery metal that was far heavier than steel, covered with an intricate tracery of gold that reminded me of a circuit board. Magic flowed through the traces in complex patterns, emanating from an oddly sponge-like cylinder of darker metal that one end of the core plugged into. The sections of the cover seemed to be made in layers, with its own set of gold tracery protected between two sheets of translucent green crystal. Gemstones were set into the core at various points, and then there was the big crystal at the end. It was a single impossibly huge diamond, polished into a smooth ball instead of being cut into facets like you’d see in modern jewelry.
I’d never seen such complicated magic. I sometimes used computer programming as a metaphor for my own work, but this reminded me more of the circuit design that goes into making computer chips. As mana flowed through the tracery it formed patterns that created spell effects, but there were all sorts of complicated feedback loops and control switches in there. My mana sorcery fed me a steady stream of hints and little insights as I studied it, enough that I was pretty sure I could figure out how it all worked if I wanted to. But most of it was so alien that reverse engineering it was going to be a slow process.
Well, except for the power source. It only took a few minutes of puzzling over that thing before I realized that I was looking at a matter to mana converter, just like my own power stones. That was why it looked so odd. Even sitting unused most of the time, thousands of years of maintaining the enchantments in standby mode had eaten away about twenty percent of the power source’s mass.
No wonder people kept mistaking me for an Atlantean wizard.
There was something odd about the way the power enchantment worked, though. It was a lot more complicated than my own version, and it wasn’t at all obvious why. It had some pretty elaborate safety features, but the business part of the spell was like one of those Rube Goldberg inventions where you have a million unnecessary steps between the start and finish. Each individual step was an example of flawless precision engineering, like a fine mechanical watch. But I could have gotten the same effect with about a hundred times less complexity.
Were the Atlanteans trying to keep people from reverse-engineering their magic? Or had their wizards made some kind of status game out of seeing who could make the most complicated enchantments?
Looking over the rest of the device made me doubt both of those theories. I could identify parts of the magic on the cover sections as structural reinforcements, spell barriers and other defensive enchantments, which probably explained why this thing was in such good condition. But the parts I could understand all looked like sensible designs. They had that same quality of precision engineering, but not the extra complexity.
I looked at the power enchantment again, and frowned.
It was almost like whoever designed it didn’t understand what it was doing. Like they’d build hundreds of completely unrelated power source enchantments into the same device, most of which didn’t actually work. There were whole sections that seemed to be inert, and others that expended an impressive amount of energy doing nothing in particular, as far as I could see.
But maybe that just meant I didn’t understand what it was doing. Considering how impressed everyone was by the Atlanteans, they probably knew more about magic than I did.
Thankfully, it was probably a moot point. That part of the enchantment seemed to be perfectly intact, so the problem was probably somewhere else. There were several complicated links to what was probably the spire, one of which seemed to be damaged. The top third of the rod held what looked like a whole library of offensive and defensive spells that could be channeled through the diamond, but that setup was also damaged in several places.
It would take a few days of careful analysis before I’d feel comfortable trying to change anything. But the damaged sections looked relatively comprehensible. Thanks to my mana sorcery, it probably wouldn’t take more than a week to repair the thing.
Is that the plan, then? Alanna asked. Shall we bow down to the might of Asgard, and deliver unto Odin a weapon that will aid him in destroying his foes?
I’m not too happy about that idea either, I assured her. I’m tempted to sabotage this thing so it blows up in his face when he tries to use it. But Asgard is already looking like the underdog in this fight, and if Loki wins too decisively we may all get eaten by monsters. I’m going to have to think about this.
I glanced out the window, and found that the sun was dropping towards the rooftops.
First, though, I’d better take care of some immediate issues, I said. I need to make a good impression on our hosts, and considering what I’ve seen of this place I think that calls for a few personal alterations.
The last time I’d used flesh magic to enhance myself I’d still been pretty new at it, and I hadn’t wanted to change my appearance too much anyway. But Asgard seemed to follow the old MMO rule that the more important someone is the bigger they are. My natural six foot height might look impressive in Kozalin, where the men seemed to average around four inches shorter than that. But every man I’d seen on the streets of Asgard was built like a linebacker, and I don’t think there was a single one who didn’t tower over me.
Being a wizard was already going to make me an object of suspicion to my hosts, but I could at least avoid the puny weakling trope.
The flesh shaping was a lot easier to control than the last time around. Over the course of maybe half an hour I added three inches to my height, and filled out the rest of my frame in proportion. I wasn’t interested in the burly weightlifter look that seemed standard here, preferring the build of a serious martial artist instead. But I bulked up my arms and chest a little more than I normally would have, just to make sure they’d notice I had some muscle on me.
When I was done my shirt had gone from loose to pretty tight, but I could still fit into it. Alanna ran her hands over my chest appreciatively.
“Very nice,” she purred. “Perhaps you could keep this form when we return home?”
“Oh, do you like big guys?” I asked. Then I noticed that I wasn’t looking as far down to talk to her as I’d expected, and frowned. “Did you get taller too?”
She grinned her big, teeth-baring smile. “I can’t have the men thinking I’m some helpless little hall wench, now can I? Or did you mean to wear me?”
“No, I think coming to dinner in plate armor would send the wrong message. Wow. You look like some kind of amazon goddess.”
At five foot four Alanna had looked like a cute teenage athlete. With another six inches she looked like she ought to be playing some superheroine in the latest comic book movie. She’d done more than just getting taller, too. She looked stronger than before, and harder. Not bulky like a female weightlifter, but inhumanly sleek and toned.
“Ah, so you like strong women?” She teased.
“Yeah, you could say that. I guess you’re getting the hang of using my flesh sorcery. Or have you always been able to shape your human form?”
“Somewhat, but not like this. My form is a manifestation of how I see myself, and that can be a difficult thing to change. I don’t look too old, do I?”
If she’d claimed to be twenty-one back home, I would have checked her ID. Her face had aged a couple of years, maybe, but no more than that.
“Hardly. Is that something you worry about? I
t always surprises me how young dryads look, but most of them seem pretty young mentally too.”
She gave me an astonished look. “Why, Daniel, why would a woman ever want to look older than she must? Youth is a great part of beauty, and every woman wishes to be desired.”
A rush of noise from downstairs interrupted me before I could formulate a reply. Voices, and a lot of boots tromping over wooden floors.
“Our hosts have returned,” Alanna said. “Shall we go down and greet them?”
“Sure.”
I found one of the twins from before standing in the hall when I opened the door. She flashed me a smile.
“Oh, good. I was just coming to get you. Ready to meet the captain?”
I was expecting a bunch of Viking warriors, but the crew I found filing into the mead hall shattered those expectations instantly.
Yes, they were a bunch of burly fighting men. A fair number were even blond, although most had black or brown hair. But their equipment was considerably more sophisticated than the chain mail and axes I’d been picturing. Their armor combined quilted gambesons with bracers, breastplates and helmets of dark metal, all covered in turn with loose tunics and cloaks dyed in forest camouflage patterns. The bows they carried were small enough to be handy in confined spaces, but monstrously thick. Heavy-looking war hammers hung from their belts, and quite a few of them carried some sort of short-hafted halberd as well.
There weren’t nearly as many of them as I’d expected, though. Just a couple of dozen men, most of whom looked pretty beaten up. They were in a foul mood, too. They handed off much of their equipment to the crowd of young women who had gathered to greet them, and stomped across the hall to take their places at the table. The women seemed used to this, and rushed to bring out mead and food.
Velvet met the biggest of the men at the head of the table, and bowed. “Welcome home, my captain. Another thankless battle today?”
“That idiot prince led us into another ambush,” the man grumbled. “The battlegroup lost two bands of heavy infantry before he even understood what was happening. Then the snot-nosed brat gets the bright idea of sending us to assault the enemy flank, and doesn’t bother checking the terrain first. We met their cavalry in the middle of an open field, and by the time we fought our way back to the woods their rangers were well placed to harry our retreat.”
Thrall (Daniel Black Book 4) Page 14