The Last Praetorian (29 page)

She looked at Tarion
. There was real regret in her beautiful blue eyes. “You see, Tarion, he is coming back to destroy the Destructor, nothing more. There will be no Wanderer after that. There is no Freya and the Wanderer.” She smiled at him. “I am a vain Goddess who demands to be loved and adored Tarion. I have chosen you; that’s all there is to be said on the matter. I suggest you get used to the idea.”

Tarion sat silently, wondering how he got himself into this.

 “There, now that’s settled,” she smiled, lightly chiding him. “Don’t look so glum! It’s not everyone who is spoken for by a Goddess!”

“That doesn’t solve the riddle,” Tarion told her seriously. “What was in the Brisling diamond you gave my father? The Wanderer obviously expected something within it that would restore his power. What was it?”

Freya drank her wine. “I don’t know,” she said, but then she made a face as if something pained her. She got up and paced the room. Eventually Freya turned back to Tarion. “I can only guess that it was his Lifethread that was kept within the Brisling diamond. We all have one; God or goblin, and we cannot exist as whole beings without them. When the Destructor slew the Wanderer at the court on Aesir he took the Brisling diamond. Fenrir then took the Wanderer’s hand. The Wanderer was certain—I don’t know why—that his Lifethread was in the diamond. That is why I took such risks to regain it. When I did find it I gave it to your father on the Wanderer’s advice.”

“How did you get it back Freya,” Tarion asked, his heart in his throat.

The Goddesses smile showed the strain of the memory. “I captured Navernya and took her place in the Destructor’s court. Thereon, I seduced Naugrathur and gained the diamond.” Her voice was hard as she laughed, “You see, none of us are above being ill-used in this adventure—even me. We are truly equal, Praetorian.”

“I’m sorry Freya,” Tarion told her
. He meant it.

“Not as sorry—or baffled—as I was when the Wanderer came through the gate of Limbo to face the Destructor and there was nothing inside the stone.” She looked frustrated and angry. “It was a terrifying moment, for the Wanderer was wholly exposed. He hadn’t foreseen that; yet how and why he was able to take refuge in the House of Tyr I still do not understand.”

“I think I may know why,” Tarion said. Freya’s beautiful brows rose, questioning him. “Loki told me the Wanderer was one of Odin’s brothers in truth, twins, the Twain. Therefore if one of the Twain was Tyr the other must be just like him—is that why you dated one and hated the other?”

“
How positively presumptuous of you Tarion!” Freya exclaimed. “When I said we were equals I didn’t mean
that
equal!” She relented and sat down again, tapping the table with her nail. Finally, she mused, “There are no temples to Tyr in Midgard anymore. His house in Asgard would be the only sacred place able to house his spirit.”

She looked at Tarion with glowing eyes, and said, “That explains why he assumed his Lifethread would be in the Brisling diamond.” Freya reached within her gown and drew out the Brisling necklace. It sparkled as if the master smith plucked eight perfect stars from the night sky and placed them in eternal silver. There were eight stones, but nine settings; one was missing.

Tarion drew out his diamond. It was the missing stone.

“You see, the Brisling Necklace is a fraud; it was not made by the dwarves, although they had no problem taking credit for its craft. The Wanderer told me he was of ancient stock, older than the Gods
—Villi and Ve—I have my doubts. It was the Wanderer who forged the necklace even as he forged the Crown of Mimir. That alone tells me they were not of the Gods, Titans or Giants. Even Odin at his zenith did not have the craft for those wergilds. Therefore, his diamond was the perfect repository for his Lifethread—at least so he must have thought.”

Tarion asked the obvious question. “Where is the Lifethread of
the Wanderer then?”

She turned her hard blue eyes on him, and said severely, “In Tyr’s hand no doubt; that is, in the vault that is Fenrir’s stomach! I can think of no safer place unless it’s in Karkedon’s gut. There can be no doubt. When the Destructor cast the Wanderer into Limbo it was without his Lifethread; it must be in Tyr’s hand.”

“That is a problem,” Tarion told her.

 
“You’ll have to find a way to get it Tarion,” Freya said firmly. “Afterwards you need to take the road to Asgard. You must get the Wanderer’s Lifethread to him.”

 
“Then I had better leave,” he sighed. “After today I’m certain the people of Trondheim can’t get rid of me soon enough.”

Freya glanced toward the window. Tarion followed her eyes. Something was glinting off the glass. Freya rose and looked out.
Her eyes suddenly grew wide with alarm. “It looks as though I’m not the only guest this evening! Look!”

T
arion turned around and looked through the barred window. Beyond the glass was a mob bearing torches. Tarion opened the window and heard their shouts and curses—his name was prevalent.

“Didn’t I tell you they’d be mad?” Tarion exclaimed, jumping up and barring the door.

“They didn’t waste any time finding you, did they?” she said, but her voice sounded more amused than troubled.

A flash of sparkling dust appeared at Tarion’s shoulder. It was Setris. “Hello, Tarion!” he said and then he saw Freya. He bowed low. “I had no idea you knew Lady Freya!”

“Not now, Setris, I have several score angry people at my door.”

“Several hundred, I should say, at least,” Setris told him. “That’s what I came to warn you about.”

“How did they find me, only you and I know about the keep?” Tarion rushed up the stairs, but he stopped suddenly and turned around. “Setris, what have you done?”

The pixie wrung his hands and said, “Well, when Karkedon went after you I figured you’d come here—where else were you to go? So, I tried to get anybody I could find to come and help. I seem to have miscalculated their intentions.”

“Who did you tell?”

“First, just the Captain of the guard and the townsfolk, then I went straight to the
duke and last to Hrolf,” Setris told him. “Hrolf’s gathering what people he knows and is coming to help. The townsfolk don’t seem as eager to help as I hoped and the duke—“

“Yes?” Tarion asked.

“The duke seemed to be stuck on Gaurnothax’s treasure trove,” the pixie said. “I’m not sure what the townsfolk mean to do.”

Tarion ran up the stair and out onto the balcony. The crowd was already pounding on the front door. A little beyond the door they formed a circle. In the center of the circle was a burly man holding an executioner’s axe.

“I’d say they want something more than my treasure,” Tarion said. The crowd saw him and they hurled a flurry of curses at him.

“What is it you want?” Tarion called down.

“We want your head!” they shouted. “You brought the Destructor on us! You nearly destroyed our town!”

“I led the Destructor and the dragon away from Trondheim!” Tarion protested. “Had I known you’d be so appreciative I’d have left them there; then where would you be?”

“Come down, or we’ll break the door down!” they called. Tarion backed away from the rail and said, “That’s gratitude for you. They’re convinced I brought the Destructor on them!”

“Well, you did,” Freya reminded him.

Unable to open the door by key, hammer, or charm some men were chopping down a tree for a battering ram.

Tarion groaned, “How did I get in this mess?”

“I’d say it was because you didn’t listen to me,” Freya told him. “You might be safely on our way to Asgard by now.”

“I thought I did listen to you.”

“Obviously you did not.” Her brows arched dangerously over her beautiful eyes.

Setris turned to them, a queer expression on his little green face. “Are you certain you two aren’t an old married couple?” After a withering glance from Freya, Setris backed off. “I’m sorry I said anything; don’t mind me, I’m just a pixie!”

“Why don’t you go down there and sing them all to sleep or something?”

 
The tree gave a great creaking, splintering sound and fell with a crash. The townsfolk stripped the tree of its branches and swiftly shaped the log into a conical ram. A robed man bent over the end of it. Lights and sparks sputtered from the end of the tree.

Freya laughed and pointed below. “Oh look, the mage formed the head of the ram into your likeness, in iron too—that’s a tricky spell. It’s a very handsome ram, Tarion, do come and look!”

“Thank you, but why don’t you step away from the rail, it looks like they have archers down there as well.” He grabbed her and took her back into the keep. Two arrows whizzed by his head in answer.

“Oh don’t worry about me, they love me!”

“Then tell them to go home!”

“Tarion, I don’t think they have homes anymore; that’s why they’re here!”

Tarion growled and slumped against the doorframe. “I’d love to go to Asgard and find out what this is all about but I don’t think I’ll have the chance!”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Freya exclaimed.

“What now?”

“You’ll have to find a way to get into Asgard first. Odin closed the Rainbow Bridge remember?”

“Wonderful, just wonderful,” Tarion sighed.

The crowd hefted the Tarion’s head ram. It gave a loud crunch as his face hit the door and Tarion couldn’t help but wince. They swung it into the door again and again, but the door held. After a score or so swings the door wasn’t even dented and they gave up.

“That Idjar’s spell is potent; it’ll take more than that!” Setris said with interest. The townsfolk piled wood at the door and brought torches. Setris wiped his brow and said, “That, on the other hand, just might work.”

Tarion sighed, “I hope you can disappear when you need to.”

“Stop worrying, Tarion,” Freya told him. “You’re the greatest hero of the age; the Norns won’t let you die at the hands of a mob.”

“That’s comforting,” Tarion grimaced, watching the crowd light the wood at the door. The flames roared to life and smoke curled about the balcony, but the door seemed unharmed. “You know, if that’s true they’re not doing themselves any favors,” he grumbled, as he retrieved the torch that one of the more exuberant members of the crowd threw at him. He put the fire out and shouted down at them, “What’s burning me out going to do? I’ve already done you service. I killed the monster that lived here and slew Gaurnothax for you! Doesn’t that count for something?”

The mention of the dragon reminded the townsfolk of the dragon’s hoard. They began clamoring for the location of the lair and the treasure.

“Now they want gold,” Tarion said.

The townsfolk demanded fifty chests of treasure in exchange for Tarion’s life. Freya shook her head and said, “Oh my, they’re greedy aren’t they? Well, that’s what dragon treasures do to people. Such wealth is best left to dragons; there are far fewer problems when people don’t have that much gold. Now what was I saying?” She took a sip of wine; apparently, she was not very concerned with the mob trying to burn them out. “Ah yes, Asgard and the Rainbow Bridge. You need to find a way to re-open it.”

“What? Oh, the bridge—and if I can’t?” asked Tarion.

“Then you have to wait for Odin to open it, or come down,” she said, taking a seat in the comfortable chair by the balcony door.

“I’m depending a lot on the AllFather it seems—too much.”

The burning wasn’t working. The door wouldn’t catch fire. Whether Keaorn laid enchantments on it or it was a durable wood Tarion didn’t know, but the townsfolk abandoned the blaze and began to build a rude ladder with the intent on storming the balcony.

“You’re probably right,” Freya admitted. “It’s best not to give father the upper hand in anything if you can help it. That gives me an idea; we might be able to accomplish both things at once!”

“I’m listening,” Tarion said, ducking out of the way of two arrows that splintered the smooth paneling of the wall.

“You might try Heimdal
l’s Horn,” Freya mused. “He was the watchman of the gate of Asgard and the Rainbow Bridge. Unfortunately, his horn was lost when he was slain on Vigrid, but it wasn’t destroyed.”

“Where can I find it? I assume it’s easily accessible, perhaps in Durnen-Gul, or one of the Nine Hells?”

“Oh no,” Freya exclaimed. “You can’t take something from the etherworlds, like Asgard, to the netherworlds or Durnen-Gul. It’s here in Midgard. The Horn was lost when Johaan the Giant King slew Heimdall on Vigrid. It would be in Johaan’s palace in Jotunheim.”

Tarion shook his head in disbelief, but as the makeshift ladder, really the tree they used as a battering ram with notches cut in it, thumped against the rail he went back outside. He pushed the tree off the rail. It slid down the side of the keep and it and the three climbers fell to the ground. He turned back to the Goddess. “Fine,
I’ll pay Johaan a visit.”

 
“It’s on the way to Asgard,” she told him. “Don’t worry; you don’t have to storm the palace by yourself! Thor knows Johaan well enough.”

“He’s welcome to join me; who knows, maybe the Thunder God can talk some sense into these people. They’re persistent, I’ll give them that much,” Tarion said incredulously. The townsfolk were raising the tree again, this time the archers covered them. Several arrows skipped around the rail. “This couldn’t possibly get any worse!”