The Last Praetorian (18 page)

Tarion ran his hand through his hair. “So he’s disappeared into our world
, and I am fated to find him.” He glanced up at the ghost. Alfrodel appraised him with glowing eyes. “Our plight grows worse. Everything I’ve touched has turned to dust.”

“Then you understand my regrets as well, Tarion.” The ghost floated back to the river and waved a transparent hand at the wharf. “Look at this: a mishmash of quays, shops, rocks, weeds and such. In my time—even in your youth—the mortals of the Imperium would never allow such squalor. They had pride in their world. It’s a shame, but I’m afraid the same thing happened to my people under my rule. That’s the hardship of exile and the doom at the end of the world—a doom you helped to bring about.”

 “Me,” Tarion said angrily. “Alfrodel my life has been about stopping it!”

The ghost was silent.

“If you won’t enlighten me, then why are you haunting me?” Tarion was angry now and he reached for the collar of the ghost’s cloak. His hands went right through the apparition.

Alfrodel smiled again in an irritating manner and said, “I have to admit this is the most amusement I’ve had in an age. It’s a tiny bit of revenge for what you’ve put me through.”

“After what you did to me and my family, how can you say I wronged you, Alfrodel?”

The ghost of Alfrodel stooped and picked up a rock. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the stone skidding over the waters. Alfrodel closed his glowing eyes and shook his head, “You’ve no idea how much effort that takes. It’s such a simple thing and yet it’s almost beyond me now. That’s the gift of choice, Tarion. That’s what this is all about.”

“And what do I have to do with that?” Tarion asked.

“With choice—everything,” Alfrodel said and the smile reappeared.

“Does everyone in Midgard speak in riddles?” Tarion asked sarcastically.

“It’s only a riddle if you can’t see the answer,” Alfrodel said. “And what I see, I can’t tell you; I can’t make any sense of it.”

Tarion had enough. He no longer wanted whatever Alfrodel could give him. “Very well, Alfrodel, you win. Nothing you have is worth this. I’ll go see if Loki’s offer is still good!”

“No!” the ghost called and Tarion turned to see Alfrodel flying toward him. The ghost didn’t stop, but leapt within Tarion.

#

Despite his bravado, Loki was concerned. His idea for getting Tarion to Durnen-Gul through guile failed but it was enlightening. Other powers were watching the Praetorian. He’d have to consider them. Still, this was by no means a satisfactory effort as far as the Destructor was concerned. He was mulling over other methods of accomplishing his mission without undue risk when Koth walked in the door.

Koth was a gyran; a half-mortal and half-giant. He wore the yellow cloak and short tunic and trousers of Sunkaron. Five of his compatriots, all mortal men, followed. Sunkaron, once known as Aegyptus, was formerly one of the nine duchies of the Imperium. Now, it was the chief mortal province of the Destructor’s dominion. Still, some things remained normal—trade being one of them.

Koth and his companions exchanged greetings with the locals. Yet Koth had other business and Loki knew what it was: Hrolf’s lovely daughter Aubrey. She had a fiery spirit to match her looks and that attracted the gyran like flame to oil. This was the night he’d propose to her—as he had thousands of nights before. The ending was always the same: Aubrey’s refusal and tragedy.

“Well, I mark there’s going to be a different ending for someone tonight,” Loki leered. “This could be to my advantage.”

“Ho, Aubrey, tell me you’re not going to waste your beauty in this drafty tavern forever!” Koth said, greeting her with a slap on her curvaceous backside—the unwelcome advance elicited a
very unladylike curse from Aubrey. He laughed again and said, “The world is moving on once more, if rumor in the street can be believed. The sunny climes and civilized manners of Sunkaron are best for you. There you can leave this chaos behind and embrace the orderly way of the future world. Come now, what more could you want, unless it’s the opportunity to bear my sons!” Koth and his cronies laughed at his crass behavior and called for ale. Aubrey was unimpressed.

“If that is your idea of a proposal, Koth, then you must get your bravado from the same dung heap as your manners!”

Loki smiled with evil glee as Aubrey complained to her mother, who in turn complained to Hrolf. Loki, of course, heard everything that transpired.

“Father,” Augga said, with ill-concealed anger, “I’ve had about enough of this ruffian’s behavior. If Koth can’t keep his paws off my girl then I want him out!”

“Now Mother, I’ve no liking for him either, but I can’t banish every patron who shows a liking for Aubrey,” Hrolf objected. “If I did that, we’d have no one left!”

“Hrolf, how am I supposed to get the girl married with Koth all over her?” she retorted. “He’s scared off every prospective suitor in the city. Are you going to doom her to be a spinster, or are you going to do something about it?” When Hrolf made no immediate move to thwart Koth, Augga clapped her hands together. “If you won’t do anything about it, then, maybe you should have this new friend of yours talk to him. He killed Gaurnothax, so putting a gyran in his place should come as child’s play!”

“Mother I can’t ask that of him!”

“Then a spinster she’ll be!” Augga said in exasperation and she stormed off.

Loki’s sharp features glowed with mischief and he drained his ale. Subtly he intercepted Hrolf’s wife. Holding out his tankard for a refill, he said innocently, “Good evening, dear lady and a busy evening we’ve had, what with dragons and gyrans!”

 
    “Indeed, we have, sir, but my mind’s still awhirl. They say time is moving on again and I say what balderdash—as if time itself could stop! Then there’s that dragon, Gaurnothax, who has taken ten years off my life; Tarion from Roma and all the strange talk about him; and now there’s that ruffian Koth!” she sighed. “What’s a mother to do?”

Loki laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and offered her his handkerchief. “There, there my good matron, be at ease! How can I stand by when your lovely daughter is in such straits and I have a solution?” Augga’s eyes brightened and Loki continued. “I think it’s obvious that Koth’ attentions need to be redirected, don’t you think?” Loki waited for Augga to nod. “You’ve already struck the answer, haven’t you? You have a rare wisdom.”

“I do?” the lady blushed.

“Absolutely,” Loki smiled.

“Hrolf never listens to me!”

“Men never see wisdom until they attain my grand age, even when the answer’s right in front of their noses! You are astute: Tarion is the answer to many dilemmas. I shouldn’t say this, but you’ve no idea the worth of that man.”

“A dragonslayer would be very worthy, I should think.”   

Loki laughed, “Tarion, a mere adventurer? Oh, it’s true that he travels under humble guise, but that’s not a tenth of his story. This is not a simple adventurer or ex-legionary; no lass,
 Tarion commanded legions. You might say he is
the
legionary, for he is in fact none other than Tarion son of Tarius, the Praetorian. No greater lord has ever set foot in this hall but for your patron Thor and myself of course.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am, dear lady, I know him well.”

Augga’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Is he rich?”

“Oh quite,” Loki laughed. “He’s also available. Indeed, he might be cajoled into solving this little problem for you.”

“I’m at my wits end, sir.” She clapped her hand over her mouth as if a sudden thought dashed all her hopes. “Begging your pardon sir, but we do here of Roma still, Hrolf coming from the siege and wizardly news and such. I thought the Praetorian, this Tarion if you are correct; I thought he was betrothed to the
emperor’s daughter Minerva.”

“Now dear lady,” Loki smiled, showing all of his bright white teeth even to his molars. “This is Diocletian we’re talking about, the same
emperor that voided the marriage of Tarius and forced Tarion’s father to marry the elven king’s princess Glorianna—Tarion’s betrothed. That wasn’t enough, as after Tarion became the Praetorian, Diocletian feared for his throne. He cut off Tarion’s engagement to Minerva, leaving Tarion with glory, power and wealth but no one to help him enjoy those accolades!”

Augga looked doubtful. “Do you really think he’d be interested in Aubrey—she’s a barmaid?”

Loki’s smile twisted with inner glee and he said, “Since when has station supported love? Tarion finds her comely. He just needs a bit of an extra shove. Aubrey should pay attention to him at every turn and if Koth takes offense—what of it? The problem will then resolve itself!”

Chapter 14:  Revelation

“What did you do that for?” Tarion asked Alfrodel angrily, but when he opened his eyes, the ghost wasn’t there and he wasn’t at the riverside.

He stood inside a mighty woodland hall. Gilded pillars supported a lofty roof of carved beams and crystal panes. There were no walls. The manicured forest was as much a part of the hall as the beautifully worked wood and stone. As if to emphasize this, a clear stream ran down the center of the hall forming a clear pool at one end. Reflected in the pool was a raised dais of turf. Upon the dais was a gilded throne. The throne glittered in the beams of sunlight. It seemed to float on the slight morning mist wafting through the hall, lending the elven place an element of mysterious splendor.

“I’m sorry, King Alfrodel, what was that?” asked a smooth, powerful voice. Tarion turned to see an elf of dark complexion and penetrating eyes standing next to him. It was Ancenar. The elven lord looked at him, prompting Tarion to stop and look at his reflection in the pool. He was in the body of Alfrodel. This must be one of the elven king’s memories. He straightened and glanced behind.

With him were many other fair folk. Tarion said nothing, but continued walking, feeling as if the dream carried him along like a raft on an ocean current. He crossed the stream over a small bridge and as he reached the throne, the elves bowed to him. Tarion sat down. Ancenar and his peers began to report the events, rumors and business of the Tulari. At length, Tarion understood this was Alfrodel’s life. He followed Alfrodel’s existence and through him experienced the orderly world of the elves. It was a blend of mysticism and power wondrous to behold. He watched ages of history in short clips of memory, until the coming of the exiled Gods. Among the Gods, Alfrodel was closest to
Tyr the Wise, a God of powerful intellect and deep understanding.

“Follow me, King Alfrodel,”
Tyr said, “and I will forge the elves into the beacon of the new world with you as the torch bearer!” Tyr swayed Alfrodel and the elves waxed in new splendor even as darkness spread outside their borders. When Odin’s daughter, Freya, exposed Tyr as Naugrathur the Destructor, Alfrodel knew Tyr betrayed him. Though false, Naugrathur nevertheless enticed the elven king.

“Follow me still, Alfrodel, for what I said as
Tyr is also true from the mouth of Naugrathur. The time of the Gods is over. Eternal order and absolute law await us in this new beginning. Under my dominion you shall be the light of the world!”

Alfrodel cursed Naugrathur and refused to serve him. War followed. For all his courage, Alfrodel’s realm fell along with the realms of men and dwarves. At last, Alfrodel conceded his pride and joined with men, dwarves and Gods to meet the Destructor on the field of battle. The free folk endured a crushing defeat and Alfrodel fled east with the last of his people.

It was on a dark day on that dark journey when Flavius Aetius the Conqueror, the greatest of Naugrathur’s mortal lords, trapped Alfrodel and the Tulari in a high mountain pass of Fell Jormungand, the spine of Midgard. Aetius’ renegade legions overran the hastily formed elven line, trolls captured Alfrodel’s daughter and heir, Glorianna and all seemed lost. Then a chorus of brass horns rang out in the mountains. The knights of the Imperium rode to the rescue of the elves. At the last possible moment, Tarius Praetorian and his knights lowered five hundred steel tipped lances and clove through the black host. Tarius fought through the vanguard of Hell until he came face to face with Aetius himself. A great fight ensued. Aetius fled using his dark sorcery, though it cost Tarius his hand. As Tarius saw to the safety of the elven king, his son Tarion came up with the Praetorian legions and crushed the black host. The resourceful Tarion also noted giants, trolls and goblins escaping into the mountains with a captive. He gave chase alone, pursuing them to the lair of Morax the Mountain King. Tarion slew the dragon, escaping through many perils with Glorianna.

Even Alfrodel couldn’t ignore the nobility of Tarius and his son
. Ever after, the Praetorian had his ear. They were of like mind. Tarius counseled revenge and an aggressive campaign against the Destructor. This fit Alfrodel’s desires perfectly and Tarius Praetorian found favor over even the Marshal Ancenar and the perilously powerful Goddess Freya.

 
“Stay, Alfrodel and keep your strength intact,” Freya told the king. “We shall have need of you, for this struggle is beyond elves, men or Gods. Fate tasks the Wanderer. Be patient and keep your people and places safe and whole until they meet.”

Alfrodel had no faith in exiled Gods, but Tarion lost hold of the elven king’s history. It was difficult to concentrate on anything but the beauteous Goddess that was Freya. Even through Alfrodel’s prejudiced eyes, Tarion was smitten all over again.

At length Alfrodel refused all counsel but that of Tarius and his son. He vowed, “Every ounce of my being shall be spent toward the end of the Destructor! Nothing and no one shall dissuade me—not kin, not the forces of Hell, not even the last strength of the Gods. Such is my oath onto the ending of the world.”

The vision faded with the words and Tarion was back on the riverside looking at Alfrodel’s ghost. “What was that about Alfrodel?” He was confounded. “What point are you trying to make. I know of your life, none better. Although I’d never seen your woodland halls, you can’t think I didn’t appreciate what you had lost.”

“I showed you my life up to a singular point, Tarion; the point where everything changed.” Alfrodel’s eyes glowed. “It should mean something to you, because at that point your life changed as well. You’ve always held it against me that I withheld my daughter’s hand. Because of that, you lost your family, your inheritance and your future. You laid that burden on my conscience.”

“I know of that now Alfrodel and I free you of that guilt—it was Freya.”

“Yet I’ve lived with that blame silently, Tarion, and think it not a small twist of the knife that your misfortune has caused me agony in my living form as well as this shade,” Alfrodel said. He turned away. “It was my nature to hold mortals in disdain. Your father changed that. I respected him and I saw nobility in him—and in you. I would have been proud to place the hand of Glorianna in your worthy care. It was not to be. Two beings more powerful than me interceded for their own purposes.”

“Two, who was there other than Freya,” Tarion demanded.

“The Wanderer,” answered the King.

Tarion stood aghast—why?

“Freya gave Tarius a singular crystal,” Alfrodel said. He smiled as Tarion’s hand crept to his pouch. “Yes you bear the crystal now. It had an unwholesome effect on Tarius, allowing the Wanderer to manipulate him from Limbo. The more Freya counseled against action the more Tarius counseled action—they knew in which direction I would sway! So I went to Durnen-Gul and there I died, but I died for the purpose. With Death’s sight I saw the Wanderer and I knew him.”

“You saw the Wanderer—who is he, how do I know him?”

Alfrodel’s expression became ever more haunted. He said, “As I told you before, he was faint; hardly to be discerned against the oblivion that was Limbo. Yet I caught a spark in him that was not mortal.”

“The Wanderer is an elf?”

“No, but he is an immortal who took refuge in mortality—who I cannot say—but he is one of the old Gods. There is no doubt in my mind, for he was the member of the Norse Pantheon most beloved by the elves. He held the laws of the world on the balance of his scales; he will control Ragnarok and the rebirth of our world.”

“You’re speaking of Tyr, the God of Justice,” Tarion stammered.
Nothing made sense now. “That’s the Destructor; Tyr of old controlled the laws of the world.”

“The world is old Tarion and it years for rebirth. If Tyr lives
in the Destructor it will be remade under his dominion; if not, it will be remade under the Creator’s mandate of freewill. If the wanderer triumphs the Destructor may rule for a day, a year or an age but his rule will inevitably end.” Alfrodel sighed and closed his eyes, as if the effort to speak was draining him. Indeed, Tarion could barely see him now, glimmering softly in the night. Alfrodel opened his eyes. “Tyr holds the laws of the world in his hands.”

Tarion took out the Brisling diamond and held it up to the light of the Godsbridge. “His strength was within the stone, but when he tried to retrieve it from my father, he couldn’t—the stone was empty.” He put the diamond back in his pouch. “Do you have any idea what could have been carried within the diamond?”

Alfrodel shook his head and there was a strange light in Alfrodel’s ghostly eyes. Then he turned away. “My death was required. The Wanderer could not come back to Midgard of his own volition. Yet what it was your father carried I cannot say.”

“Where did he take refuge; in what place could the Destructor not destroy him?”

Alfrodel’s eyes narrowed. He whispered as if afraid that others might hear him. “I do not know. I fear to guess. The elves fear dealing with the Gods—especially this one. Long ago, before the elves slept, the Creator himself took a hand in the world and the pantheons of men and elves were now superfluous—confusing rather than illuminating. Tyr disagreed. The Creator exiled Tyr from his Pantheon. Who knows what terrible roads he’s wandered since then?”

Alfrodel shook his ghostly head
. Tarion’s eyes fell. He must have read the frustration on Tarion’s face, for he laid a ghostly hand on the man’s shoulder. It was cold and forlorn.

“I valued and respected you in life Tarion. I would have been proud to call you son. It is up to you to ensure that our world does not pay for the failure of the Gods and that your father, your mother and I did not die in vain. The Wanderer is out there waiting for you to find hi
m; bring him his strength, his resolve. How that is to happen I do not know; that’s up to you, the hero of the age!”

Alfrodel
smiled, but just as quickly, his visage turned serious. “Yet beware the powers that have a stake in this—specifically Freya. She is perilous! Freya does not care for you or your fate. She wants the Wanderer back.” Alfrodel smiled an unpleasant smile and spread his arms out wide. “The Gods use Kings, emperors and Praetorians as pawns in this game of theirs—and maybe there are right to do so. I could not stop the Destructor and neither can you. Only the Wanderer can stop him. So why should Freya or any of the Gods care whether our lives are ruined or not—their concern is the Destructor.”

“This is worse than any betrayal of Loki! I refuse to be a part of it! This cursed thing has cost me my family and my future, but nothing else, I swear it!” With all his might, Tarion cast the diamond out into the dark waters. It disappeared into the stygian night. His jaw set in grim satisfaction, Tarion spat into the ocean. “If the Wanderer wants his crystal back let him search for it at the bottom of the sea.”

Out of the darkness, something small and bright whistled through the cold sea air. It struck Tarion on the chest, knocking him down. He groaned in pain. The diamond sat on his chest. It chimed with a low, dangerous tone. Alfrodel laughed.

“I don’t think you have any more control over this than I or your father did, Tarion. It’s beyond you.”

Tarion got up and took the stone in his hand. The chain was unbroken. Reluctantly he put it back in his satchel. “Then I too am cursed by the Gods; but I won’t let it control me.”

“Set aside your mortal pride!” Alfrodel warned. “Make no mistake Tarion, if the Wanderer does not return to Midgard all of us, living or dead, are doomed. His dominion will be eternal. The Creator will not interfere with the house we ourselves built. Therefore darkness will reign until he decides to remake the universe.”

Tarion resigned himself to the fate of his father. “What am I to do?”

“You hold the key within you, Tarion. The Wanderer chose you and your father because of your strength and character—do not abandon what you are. Yet know that whatever life you decide to lead, however happy you may perchance be for a moment in time, it is not your fate to enjoy it beyond that moment.” Alfrodel began to fade. “I’m sorry Tarion; I would that you were in Tiron now, and that I was visiting my daughter’s children. That is an idyll for the next existence perhaps, but only if the Wanderer triumphs. Remember, this is his battle, not yours. Farewell!”

Alfrodel faded into the night and was gone.

Tarion stood there deep in thought, trying to quell the doom in his mind. He raised his eyes up to the heavens and whispered a prayer for guidance, but against his will, the haunting image of Freya’s beauty came into his head. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to have any part of her. As if in answer, the swift waters of the sea rose up to drown her image. He smiled to himself, thinking the Goddess would not approve, but waters came through her features and after him. A wave reached out like a giant black hand, engulfing him and dragging him into the depths.