Page 56 of The Magic of Vanaheim
“Magnus’ Needle. It’s a white tower high in the mountains, said to be magicked into existence by Magnus himself.”
Stunned into silence, Håkon could only gape at his husband.
“And then there’s Nóatún, my uncle’s fortress, in the middle of the sea. I want to explore its dark alleyways with you whenthe autumn mist creeps up from the water, and when we get cold enough and hungry, I want to show you this little bakery in the lower town. Theymake the best pastries I’ve tasted in all of Vanaheim.”
Håkon felt lightheaded.
“I want you to taste the best food and drink my realm has to offer. And if you allow me, I’ll bring you flowers, jewelry, the best swords, and the fastest horses. I want to dress you in the most precious fabrics and—”
Talvinen shifted his weight while he spoke and gesticulated animatedly.
Håkon sensed the surface of the mound move a split second before a gaping hole opened up beneath his husband. Yelping in surprise, Talvinen vanished into the darkness beneath him.
“Talvi!”
Before he could think about his actions, Håkon was on his knees. He scrambled on his belly to the edge of the hole, peeking down into the darkness anxiously. For a second, he couldn’t see a thing besides dust and darkness, but then a flickering light came into existence and he found Talvinen sitting in a pile of rubble several meters below and grinning up at him.
“Didn’t see that coming.”
Talvinen was way too cheerful for a man who had just fallen down a hole into a tomb.
“Hurry. Get out of there.” Håkon’s heart was racing. What if Talvinen’s inadvertent fall had woken the inhabitants of the mound?
“Yeah, just a second. I need a rope or something.” Talvinen looked around searchingly.
“Can’t you just weave aseiðr?”
Laughing, Talvinen took a step deeper into the burial chamber. “First of all, this place is saturated with the magic ofthe burial rites. It makes it much harder to cast a spell. And second, flying is more difficult than it might seem.”
“I don’t want you to fly, you idiot!” Håkon tried to hide his concern with anger. “Can’t you just conjure up a rope?”
A deep rumble echoed through the burial chamber. Turning around, Talvinen tilted his head.
“Or leap. You have to come up here!”
“Wait a second. What’s that?”
The rumbling was louder now, a sound that made the tiny hairs on Håkon’s forearms stand up.
“Talvi!”
Håkon jumped into the hole beside Talvi. He landed in a crouch amidst broken grave goods. The strange dry odor of decay clogged his nose, making it hard to breathe. Rising to his feet, Håkon drewIsbaniin the same motion. The floor beneath him was made of wooden tiles, like a long ship’s deck, and slightly sloped. Peculiar.
“Stay behind me.” Talvinen drew his sword, too.
There was something moving around in the darkness. Its growl reminded Håkon of an angry bear woken from hibernation by a lost wanderer.
“Is there another way out?” Håkon hissed.
“Usually, all entrances are sealed when the burial is completed. But I guess we could reopen one of them if we must.”
“Who dares to disturb my rest?” The voice was like grating stones; as if its owner hadn’t uttered a word in centuries. Adraugr. A damned mound dweller. Håkonknewit.
“I’m Talvinen, the son of the Queens Ahti and Vellamo.” Talvinen still sounded so unconcerned.
“And I’m Håkon Bloodaxe, his husband.” No way would Håkon allow Talvinen to become the sole focus of the mound’s undead inhabitant and thus invite its wrath alone.
Talvinen made a sharp gesture with his hand, and the small light he had conjured up suddenly shone brighter. It illuminated the expanse of the enormous mound. Håkon had seen wealthy men being laid to rest with gifts to carry into their next life. Weaponry and armor. Clothes and food. Bulls and horses. Sometimes even their thralls were killed and buried with them, to serve their masters even in death. But the splendor of this monarch’s burial was beyond Håkon’s wildest imagination.