The Last Praetorian (22 page)

By the time Hrolf approached Tarion, he was all too ready for some peace and quiet. “Hello, you’ve timed it perfectly. Aubrey has done a job worthy of the best elven healers—and I know what I’m talking about! Anyway, I feel quite whole again. Still, it’s been a long day. I think I’m ready to turn in.”

Hrolf fidgeted and said, “That’s the reason I needed to speak to you, Tarion. I’m sorry, but I promised what I don’t have, it seems. Fact is, all of our guest rooms are full and I was wondering whether or not you had any problem with staying in,” Hrolf hesitated.

The silence grew so long that Aubrey asked, “Well, Father?”

Hrolf beamed with joy, “Yes that was it! I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking Aubrey’s chamber.”

“My chamber?” the girl exclaimed in surprise.

“Aye, lass, you can sleep on the floor in our room.”

“Oh, why don’t you simply sell me along with my chamber? That would be true hospitality, now wouldn’t it?”  

“Aubrey!” Augga said, shocked at the impropriety of her daughter—though she’d have secretly welcomed the idea a moment earlier, assuming marriage came with it, of course. Hrolf could see to that.

“Aubrey, you’ll be comfortable enough on the bearskin rug at the foot of our bed,” Hrolf said forcefully. “I’m your father and I’ve made up my mind.”

“Where will the dogs sleep?” Aubrey asked just as sternly, mimicking her father’s pose with her little fists all balled up on her hips. “I think I’ll take my chances with Tarion, thank you very much, he’s a gentleman—and if he’s not you’ll have strong grandsons who are not so fat!”

#

Tarion couldn’t help but laugh, but it was partly in self- defense. Swiftly, he said, “Don’t worry about me! I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that I’ll be fine right here. I’m dry, with a warm fire and a comfortable chair. Therefore, don’t think twice about me.”

Hrolf and Augga were only too ready to agree to Tarion’s proposition and the mother shooed her daughter to bed before she could say another word to Tarion. Hrolf turned down the lanterns and retired.

The common room sank into red flickering darkness, courtesy of the well-tended fireplace. Deep shadows cloaked the corners. The figures in the faded murals seemed to move of their own accord. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the soft snoring of the few patrons who were either unable to retain a room for the night or already asleep. Tarion settled in by the fireplace. This time he was careful to check the pixie’s niche before reclining. Setris and Dacia weren’t at the table but there was a small door behind it and Setris stepped out with a smile.

“Good evening, Tarion, stuck in the common room, I see?”

“It’s better than Gaurnothax’s cave,” Tarion said, wrapping himself in his cloak. “Still, I’m thinking that may be the best place for me. I’ve caused far too much trouble already and if I haven’t worn out my welcome by now the hour isn’t far off.”

“Listen, Tarion,” Setris said. “Let me make amends for my discourtesy and reward you for your gallantry.”

Tarion glanced up and smiled, “What do you have in mind?”

“We bards never tire of our trade so let me sing you a song. You’re a wandering knight and every wanderer is searching for something. This song helps you find it. It can lead you along the right path, or even call someone to you. It never fails.”

Tarion couldn’t help but smile. “It seems harmless enough. As long as I’m not required to sing along, I’ve no complaint against listening. Sing on!”

Setris began to sing. Tarion closed his eyes, but he didn’t hear the pixie’s lilting sonnet so much as he absorbed it. The notes of the tiny lute plucked his consciousness even as the words of the song morphed into thoughts. Almost instantly, he felt naked, vulnerable and absolutely alone in the world.

Chapter 18:
  Devil’s Play

Navernya watched Naugrathur leave with mixed feelings of anticipation and trepidation. She relished his long awaited dominion. An eternity of power and prestige were hers. Yet she was distinctly aware that she contributed nothing to this victory and she would therefore gain nothing more excepting perhaps the Destructor’s indifference.

A vehement curse interrupted her thoughts. Navernya turned to see Loki’s ageless face white with anger.

“Look what Tarion’s done!” he said. “It’s a waste of a good demon, a very good demon, if you ask me! Balthazar was as mean as they come!”

Navernya stepped forward with a smile, “You can change into a jester’s costume as soon as the Destructor returns; I daresay it will be clean enough!”

Loki sneered at her, “He’ll be gone for some time, won’t he? We’re alone then, how romantic!”

Navernya smirked and blew him a kiss. A howling icy wind hit Loki and threw him across the tower. He slid through the arch onto the balcony, bounced over the rail and just barely caught hold the rail before he fell. The Ice Queen laughed and said, “Have a care, Loki, your wit and charm is wasted on me. You’re only alive because the Destructor wants you alive. What he’ll do to you is far worse than what I’d do; I don’t want to miss a single one of your squirming screams.”

Loki clambered back on the balcony and brushed off the frost. “You say so only because you don’t know who we’re up against,” Loki told her. He turned himself into a huge polar worm. Quick as a flash he slithered over the slippery floor and curled around the dainty Ice Queen. His white tongue darted out, flicking her cheek playfully as he squeezed ever so tightly, telling her, “This is no ordinary mortal, Navernya. You’re lucky you didn’t have to face him alone, as I did. I doubt you’d return so comely or cocky!”

“And what do you know of him, Loki?”

Loki looked thoughtful and for once, his voice and manner were sincere. “Not enough, but enough to know he’s more dangerous than he seems. The Destructor fears him; that’s enough for me. No, this one is different.”

“So you say, Loki,” Navernya replied. Then the beautiful She-Devil became a swirling cyclone of snow, leaving Loki grasping nothing but frigid air. She re-appeared by the door and said, “This was fun, Loki, but let me warn you—since we’re both on the same side—if I know anything about our Dread Lord it’s this: our rewards are based on our service not our intentions!”

She left him, chuckling at the thought of Loki’s reincarnation as a jester for the ages in the Destructor’s dominion.

#

Loki recast himself in his normal form and cradled his sharp chin in his long hand. “So, this little misadventure did have profit. The Dread Lord very rarely makes a misstep, but here: Tyr the Wanderer, I didn’t know that.” He thought long and hard, but his thoughts were not at all comfortable. “Yet if Tyr is the Wanderer why does he have a connection to the Destructor? Freya, she-witch though she is, always thought of the two as from the same stock. Is there then a race older than the Gods are? There must be a way to use this to my advantage.”

He was not at all as confident as he sounded. He paced a very tight circle and muttered, “Despite what advantage that knowledge might provide, Navernya is right, damn her. If the Destructor succeeds, as well he might, I will be the last villain who failed him and the last in his consideration for a new world!” He stopped at the corpse of Koth and the demon within. “That is, of course, if I’m the last and greatest villain in his eyes. I must find a new target for the Destructor’s fury.” He gave the corpse a dig with his foot. “The fortunate thing about demons and Devils is the majority of them are stupidly powerful, but also powerfully stupid!” He stepped to the gate, which was still shimmering and changed its course with his powerful, if twisted, mind. Loki stepped through and into a long vaulted hall. Iron pillars joined by iron chains marched on either side towards a high iron throne. A red and black, blotchy, bloated shape with wan yellow eyes sat on the throne.

Loki was instantly surrounded by a guard of tall black demons with sickle shaped hands and barbed tails. They reeked. He waved his hand under his nose and sneezed. They hissed back.

“Your welcome is lacking,
duke Belioch!” Loki called. “Are you still groggy from the Dragonheart’s curse, or is this the usual fanfare you give a peer? I would welcome you better in Pandemonium, if ever you should visit me!” He started toward the throne. The guard followed him closely.

Belioch laughed with a gurgling, blubbery resonance. His paunch jiggled in nauseating fashion and the words fought their way out of his swollen throat. “Why do you disturb my repose, Loki and so put yourself in peril? You know how I value my leisure.” Belioch sucked the soul from a wretched inmate. The husk of the unfortunate being collapsed to the iron plates of the floor. Belioch’s guards tore it to pieces and devoured it.

Loki grimaced. Belioch didn’t fear him and rightly so. Despite his slothful demeanor Belioch, Lord of Ferrus, was the strongest of all dukes and Queens of Hell. At one time, he was the Arch-Devil of the Hells. The arrival of the Destructor cost Belioch his crown—an event he’d not forgotten. Belioch thought he kept this secret to himself.

Loki, of course, knew all about it.

“A thousand pardons, great Belioch,” Loki said, “but I come on a matter of great haste and need.” He explained his misadventures with Tarion and the Destructor’s resulting fury.

“And why should I care, Loki?”

“I am a useful servant and the crop of souls in Pandemonium has been especially good this year,” Loki said. He saw Belioch’s interest waning and he got to the barb of his scheme. “I know you can’t be bought, great Belioch, for you are too powerful to care about a poor plane such as Pandemonium. Indeed, I am a poor duke—too poor and weak to seize the ultimate prize of power even when it is within my very grasp!”

“What prize is that?” Belioch said, his fat brows furrowing in feigned indifference.

“Alas, the anthracite throne of the Destructor sits empty,
duke
Belioch,” Loki said, feeding Belioch’s humiliation. “The Destructor,
Lord
of the Nine Hells is busy chasing down this mortal man Tarion. Once he catches the man, as soon he will, he will recreate the world in the likeness of his dominion for all eternity—forever. I had a chance to change that, but, alas, the anthracite throne demands a being of power and I am not that being.” He paused and acted as if he daydreamed, saying, “Think of it! I was but a step away. Could I have taken that seat all of Durnen-Gul and the power therein would have sworn fealty to me! Yet I am not the one; I am but a
duke
and
I shall never be
Lord
of all I survey! Alas!”

Loki’s last lament met with silence.
Duke Belioch and his court had already left. The horns of Ferrus sent a wailing chorus into the fetid airs.

#

Navernya stepped silently from the balcony, a glimmering, graceful form wondrous to behold. She made her way through the dark magnificence of Naugrathur’s tower to her own small chamber. There was a dressing table there with a large ornate mirror. She breathed on the glass. Frost crystallized to an opaque sheen of ice. She spoke a name and the blue visage of a giant filled the mirror. He noted her at once and knelt before her. The flaxen braids of his hoary head nearly touched the floor.

“Well met,
duke Johaan,” she said. “Once you were mighty in the designs of the Destructor and verily you were the lord of all giant clans. Through the cataclysm of Thor’s hammer, your people are now scattered vagabonds, sundered from each other and wandering without lordship. What would you do to have your former station restored?”

“My Queen, my heart is yours. I wait your tasking.”

“Would you be King of the Giants again, Johaan?” she asked.

“That I would, my Queen.”

“Then your task is to search out Tarion,” she said evenly. She saw Johaan turn red. Against his darkening features, a long white scar stood out. It ran up his cheek and beneath the hide patch over Johaan’s right eye. “Yes, Johaan I mean the same Tarion who marred your visage and cost you an eye. I want him. He is in Trondheim and may soon be journeying with Thor through Jotunheim. He is on his way to Asgard. He must not reach the Rainbow Bridge.”

“I have long desired to revenge myself, my Queen. It will be done.”

“Can you waylay him?”

“There is no need, my Queen, for he shall search me out and I will ensure that he finds me.”

“I will expect good news, worthy Johaan.”

“I shall not disappoint you, my Queen!”

Chapter 19:  A Deliciously Damning Enchantment

When Tarion woke up Setris was gone and the inn was a dark hazy place. He felt very weary. Try as he might he couldn’t get his thoughts to focus. It was as if he was now vulnerable, incomplete and lost—it was not a good feeling at all.

With difficulty, Tarion stood and followed the wall to the privy. His vision was inexplicably dim and fuzzy. Hopefully, some cold water would end the effects of the pixie spell. Then he’d have few words with Setris! Feeling his way, Tarion made it down the narrow corridor and opened the door. He stepped inside, but he wasn’t in the privy.

The first thing that struck Tarion was the scent of pine and cedar. Considering that he was expecting the close, suffocating vapors of a Norse privy this was a welcome surprise. Tarion’s head cleared. He was in a forest, standing on a path strewn with pine needles. Turning, he saw there was no door behind him, only the path leading back into the darkling woods. With nothing else to do, he went down the path. In a few yards he saw another way crossing the path and then another. After a few more yards, it was obvious: he was in a woodland maze. Tarion walked on. He tried as best he could to stay straight on his original path and after some time he broke out into a secluded glade. There was a small waterfall emptying into a dark pool. Glimmering stars twinkled on the water. The glowing arch of the Godsbridge gleamed fitfully through the clouds.

A seductive silence hung over the place. The smell of wet stone mingled with the scent of trees. For some reason he felt completely at peace and his heart found a measure of rest from its questions. A soft form caught his eye. Across the water, perched atop a flat slab of smooth gray stone, was the naked form of a woman. She was marvelous in shape and presence. Her ivory skin was translucent in the soft radiant air. Involuntarily he took a step toward her—enthralled. She lifted her eyes and captured him with a power beyond any dragon spell. He recognized her instantly: the Goddess Freya.

Here was the perilous, powerful and enchanting daughter of the Hunt. Tarion flushed with embarrassment. He’d never seen Freya in so private a moment, nor did he want to. She was responsible for his loves lost, and worse, the forced divorce of his parents and his disinheritance. He turned away; instantly angry that he found the Goddess beautiful—but he found himself somehow facing her again. Freya sat up and looked at him with an impish smile.

“What’s the matter Praetorian, do you not like the look of me?” Her voice was soft, lilting and sensuous. He found it hard to resist and impossible to ignore.

He averted his eyes even though her voice, an enchantment itself, commanded that he look upon her. “I did not mean to intrude, Lady—” he began, but she laughed and stopped his protestation.

“You don’t intrude, of course. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t desire it.” She laughed again. Her voice was heavy with magic. When she said, “desire” he had to look at her—she commanded it. His eyes rose and there she was, posing like a cat on her rock. She held out an exquisitely perfect finger and curled it slowly inward like a hook piercing his heart. “Come here Tarion; come to me.”

Tarion felt a warm surge of desire course through his body. He took another step toward her, but he stopped and gained control of himself. He turned around and walked back into the forest. After twenty paces, he rounded a bend, congratulating himself for his moral discipline—or was he damning himself for his cowardice—he wasn’t sure which. Either way, Tarion came out of the woods and inexplicably found himself in the glade again. Freya glanced at him with a curious expression, both impish and scolding.

“Do you really think you could so easily escape my maze?” she asked,
slipping into the water without a word.

Tarion crossed the glade without looking at her and left by another path. Two minutes later, he was in the glade again. Freya was not there. He sighed and took a seat on the stone. There was nothing to do but watch and wait for her to return. After a long numinous moment, her comely head broke the surface. She
climbed out of the pool with her gaze fixed on him, approaching like a lioness on the hunt. Freya laid down on the rock, brushing his bare arm in a long, languid, feline manner. Tarion shuddered hungrily at the touch of her naked flesh. That made the guilt inside him almost impossible to bear. He cursed with a suppressed oath, his temper getting the better of him, but she simply laughed and stretched out luxuriously next to him. Smiling at him with eyes as old as the mountains and as young as an innkeeper’s saucy daughter, she displayed her wondrous form brazenly. Beads of water sparkled like diamonds on her taught radiant skin. His expression prompted a purely cat-like smile.

“Lady Freya, what is it you want with me? You’ve done your best to destroy my family and my life, what is it you want now—my soul?”
 

Her immediate response was a frown. “Your soul, oh my how morbid. Do you actually think I’d have any use for it, considering I’m a Goddess and not a Deviltress—or do you think me more Navernya than Syf?” Her voice began with sharp rebuke but ended in a soft purr, as if she found some pleasure in his offense. She ran a sharp nail down the hard curves of his shoulder and chest. Then she playfully twirled a lock of his hair and said, “Perhaps you can be excused. Men are often offended at the honor of being manipulated by the Gods.”

“Is that how you see it, Lady?”

“Absolutely!”

Tarion shot to his feet, stammering, aghast, “You call the ruination of two honest men an honor?”

“What else should I call it?” she laughed, lying back down on the stone with her hands cradling her golden-tressed head. “Why would I pick any but the greatest mortal men to help combat the Destructor, meaning your father and yourself, of course. I can’t take all the credit. The Wanderer had much to say. He was quite insistent on your father. I had my doubts because of your father’s overt sense of propriety, but the Wanderer was right—duty won over self, thus your father restored destiny. Now it is your task to complete it.”

“So you expect to possess me as you did my father?” Tarion turned away, furious, unable to look the Goddess in the eye. The nerve, the arrogance and the deceit of these Gods; it was too much! “You are truly a Goddess of Odin’s heart, Freya!”

“You are truly your father’s son, Tarion; but you are wrong if you think I or the Wanderer possessed him.”

Tarion whipped about. “What do you mean?”

“Come now,” she got up and waded into the pool again. Her expression was one of imperious disappointment, as though he was supposed to be able to read beneath the lairs of immortal intrigue. “Your father was too strong for possession as are you. Of what purpose would it serve us to possess either of you and overcome your innate talents?” She glanced at him and her eyes flashed. “You were chosen because of your power Tarion, not your weakness.” Freya waded into the waters until she was neck deep. Inwardly Tarion breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could concentrate.

“I refuse to believe that my father left my mother of his own volition,” he told her, standing defiantly on the bank.

“Certainly it wasn’t his idea!” She pouted in a scolding manner, and added, “It was not your father who was possessed there but the
emperor. King Alfrodel was too strong to possess, but his prejudice for mortal men made him easy to cajole.”

“Why?”

“Because we needed to get the Wanderer back to Midgard—have you heard nothing of what people have told you?” She gave a severe sigh of exasperation. “Really Tarion, you are focusing on the minutia when you of all people should be aware of the reality of our plight.” She stared at him beneath perfectly furrowed brows. “If the Destructor wins then none of this makes any difference. Even the memory of your Imperium will be lost forever. His dominion will be absolute and eternal.” She closed her lovely eyes and turned away from him. He expected her to show some sign of remorse; he was mystified and disappointed. Freya motioned for him. “Come and attend me Tarion. Your self-righteous pride has given me a headache. I require a back rub.”

“Excuse me?”

“It is neither a trick question nor a request Tarion,” she told him sharply.

Tarion undressed, but he felt some of his humor return, if only because of the absurdity of the entire situation. Silently he told himself, “Mother always taught me to respect the wishes of the Gods, but I don’t think she envisioned me skinny dipping with a Goddess!”

Freya chuckled as if she heard his thoughts. Indeed, she said, “I always loved your mother; there was so much more of me than Syf in her! And you, Tarion, it is long since I heard you laugh sincerely. Now—rub my neck, that’s where the tension is.”

 
Tarion climbed into the water and placed his hand nervously on her velvet skin. He massaged the firm muscles of her neck and back. The touch of her silky flesh sent an electric thrill through his body. Tarion started to say something, but he couldn’t remember what they were talking about.

“There now, this is much less formal and much more comfortable, don’t you agree?”

“It’s much less formal, but I’m not so sure about comfortable,” Tarion replied, trying to keep his eyes from staring at her lovely form. Even though her back was turned, Tarion had the unnerving feeling that she was aware of his every thought and sensation.

She turned her head and gave him a sour smile, “I can’t read your mind, if that’s what you’re thinking Tarion.”

“Really?” he said, not believing a word of it.

“Really,” she asserted. “Now do you mind using both hands? Just the one is not harmonious
; right now I desire harmony above all.”

Tarion started to show her his maimed arm, but when he lifted it from the water, his hand was whole again. Gingerly he placed it on her shoulder. The sensations ran through his fingers just as they had before Johaan slashed it off. He massaged her shoulders and then moved up her graceful neck. Gently but with growing firmness, Tarion reached beneath her golden tresses and massaged the base of her head. She tilted her head back and grew completely relaxed. “Excellent Tarion, now back to business, I want you to tell me everything that has happened thus far. Pay particular attention to what Loki, Alfrodel and your father said
concerning the Wanderer. Tell me everything, even if it seems unimportant.”

Tarion did as she asked, but when he finished Freya’s beautiful face wore a troubled expression. “If I understand your father and Alfrodel correctly, then I may know where the Wanderer is.”

Tarion started so violently that Freya winced under his grip. “I’m sorry Lady, but where? If we know where he is my task is almost finished; indeed, you can go to him. You don’t need me!”

“No Tarion, we need you more than ever,” she sighed, shaking her beautiful head. “This grows more complicated. I thought the Wanderer would be in Midgard, lost in the world as a spirit, waiting for guidance. Apparently, he is not.”

“What do you mean?”

She glanced at him, her eyes flashing, “I did not tell you to stop Tarion.” He grimaced and continued. She sighed. “It is perfectly clear that the house the Wanderer sought refuge in was in Asgard
; the house of his Twain Tyr—it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“
How does any of this make sense?” Tarion asked incredulously. “The Destructor, the Wander and the Gods. You deities have sure messed things up. I thought mortals were bad!”

“
You’re closer to the truth than I would care to admit,” Freya sighed sadly.

“Either way Freya, the Wanderer is already in Asgard; he’s safe. You can go there and retrieve him,” Tarion told her. “That is good news for all of us, wherever he came from. That means all I have to worry about now is rubbing your back—that’s not so bad.”

“No, that is the worst news possible,” she said sadly.

“I don’t understand,” he stammered.

Freya turned and draped her perfect arms around his neck. She kissed him with her perfect lips leaving him breathless. “My poor Praetorian, this does not bode well,” she explained sadly. “It means the Wanderer could not come back to Midgard—the only place of refuge he could seek was Asgard, the plane of the Gods.”

“But if I find him in Asgard,” Tarion began, but Freya interrupted him.

“If you can re-open the Rainbow Bridge you will find him in the house of Tyr
his brother; rather you’ll find his spirit. It will be powerless to animate itself. Therefore unable to return to Midgard.”

Tarion knew what she meant, “Asgard is the last surviving plane of the Gods. If the Destructor learns that the Wanderer is in Asgard, he will destroy it
. The Wanderer with it. His dominion will be complete.” Tarion shook his head in anger, “Then why seek him out; why am I to find him?”

Freya looked frustrated as well, but she said, “I can
only surmise that you—somehow—will bring the Wanderer what he needs to animate himself; what he needs to face the Destructor again. Therefore you must start toward Asgard. Odin closed the Rainbow Bridge, so you must find a way to open it. Then you must seek out the Wanderer in Tyr’s house.”

“What then, if the Wanderer’s spirit is too weak to manifest itself in the world this is all for naught!”

Freya kissed him again, and said, “Sometimes it is not the discovery that brings illumination, it is the journey. Let us hope that is the case.” She reached up and nuzzled his nose with hers. “What’s the matter Tarion? You’re skinny dipping with the most beautiful Goddess in existence and you have an immortal quest before your feet—isn’t that all that a hero can want?”