Page 5

The next few days passed by without further issues. I went back to work in the stables, but I also went back to my training with the soldiers every evening after work. Lord Juul knew about it, and even came out to watch me some evenings, once or twice in the company of the king. I caught Tarrak’s brooding gaze on me occasionally when I glanced over at him, but soon he’d be smiling at something Juul had said or watching the men spar with each other and back to ignoring my existence.

Pavel knew by this time that I was training again, of course, but he said nothing. I think he was too afraid I’d pack up and leave the Quendi Forest. He needn’t have worried though. Since my disastrous experiment with trying to evoke a rose, I’d decided that what I really needed to pack up was my so-called magic. Except for one more thing that I needed to do.

I couldn’t get the idea of the Sword of Light and the Battle-Axe of Lebor out of my head. It wasn’t even that I wanted them for myself. I wanted to find them and give them to King Tarrak. I thought that not only would that make him admire me and not despise me, but with those weapons, no one would dare attack either the king or Lord Juul and their men again, and the king’s half-brother, Prince Adan, would be once and for all defeated.

For the past few months, Adan and his ogre army had been causing nothing but trouble near the border. Two of the Elven lords who lived near the prince’s land had left their castles, temporarily abandoning them and moving into the palace, along with their families and their servants. The Ice Palace was huge, but even so, it was feeling the strain of so many extra people. I’d overheard Juul and Pavel talking about the necessity of going to war with Prince Adan again soon, and I dreaded the idea.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t eager to go along with them. I would have been, if I thought Pavel would allow it. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t, however. I was old enough now that he couldn’t really stop me, but I thought he would secretly petition the king to find me some other occupation so I couldn’t go along. I knew that the king wanted Pavel as his wizard for his healing skills, his talent with the pipes, and his keen intelligence, so he’d do as he asked in a heartbeat, having little need for a “mortal boy” who was constantly causing crazy disasters and getting underfoot since I’d first arrived as a child.

The problem was that Pavel was no soldier, and yet he accompanied Juul to every skirmish or fight he went on. In a fight with ogres or trolls, especially if it came to close hand-to-hand combat, he would be more of a liability than a help. He would do his best, and Juul would give his life to protect him, but if the worst ever happened and he was killed in battle, I didn’t think I could stand it. He was the only family I had left.

As for Pavel, if Juul was somehow killed, I knew he would die of grief as well. They loved each other so much I think their souls had become intertwined in some vital, daunting, formidable way, and now neither of them could do without the other.

I was determined to get that sword and battle-axe if I could so they’d never have to be separated, or at least not for many years yet. The Elves and Fairies called themselves immortal, which wasn't actually correct. They could certainly be killed in battle, and their lifespans, though really long, weren't without limits. Eventually, Juul would die of old age, but it would take hundreds of years, which meant he'd be without Pavel a very long time. They both obviously knew it but chose not to think about it and focus on the time they did have together. I think it made Pavel even more precious to his husband.

King Tarrak, armed with the Sword of Light, would be totally invincible and his enemies wouldn’t dare attack him. Which meant Juul and Pavel would stay safer. But since I didn’t have a death wish myself, I knew I couldn’t try to conjure up the ghost of old King Gratin at the palace. I had little doubt that this time if I had another epic fail, I’d wind up in the king’s dungeon in chains, just like he’d warned me I would. Yet I still had to find a place to try to summon up King Gratin before Glorfindel beat me to it. I wanted that Sword of Light to give to King Tarrak, and I had no idea what the Fairy prince planned to do with it. He might try to keep it for himself and take over his father’s kingdom. I just didn’t trust him.

I gave it some thought over the next few days and finally decided on an old hunting lodge I’d seen in my travels around the Quendi Forest when I was herding the stags. It wasn’t too far from the palace and was used by hunters and other wayfarers when they needed shelter against the truly terrible weather in the forest or if a traveler simply needed a warm place to spend the night. It would be private, though, and far enough away from the palace if anything went wrong. That meant far from help if a disaster occurred too, but it was time I stood on my own and stopped relying on Pavel and Juul to help me when the worst happened, and at this point, I had to expect that it more than likely would. My magic was apparently Infernal after all and seemed destined to plague me. But that might actually work in my favor when it came to summoning up the spirits of the dead. Up till now I’d been concerned with bunny rabbits and roses, which didn’t seem to lend themselves to Demonic Magic. Calling up long dead corpses though—especially old scoundrels like King Gratin—that just might work.

I began to make my plans. I told Pavel early one morning that I was going hunting after I got off work, and he didn’t seem suspicious in any way, just cautioned me to be careful. All day I thought about the old lodge and sent up a fervent prayer that no one would be there. When I left my training session a little early, I headed straight for it.

It wasn’t large as lodges go, or so I imagined, having little firsthand knowledge of those structures in general. I’d stopped in here a few times before to take shelter for an hour or so, back when I was looking after the rutting stags and a storm had overtaken me. It was a two-story log building, with a highly pitched, tiled roof in the Elven fashion. It had a huge fireplace, large enough that a man could almost stand up in it. There was even a pile of firewood conveniently stacked beside the hearth. It was an unacknowledged rule that whoever stayed there replaced whatever wood they’d used the night before, so it was always available for the next person to use. Usually, there were sacks of beans, some rice and flour, and a few smoked or salt-cured hams or venison hanging on their hooks in the larder, along with a box or two of tea and a few jars of honey. All was left for travelers, and the food was replenished periodically by the palace’s kitchen staff.

Inside the lodge, it was all dark-stained wood with small, narrow windows, much like those in the towers. Perhaps whatever Elf king had the lodge built long ago thought it would be more defensible that way in case of an attack. Typical of the bellicose bastards to think that way.

There wasn’t much furniture—a few chairs scattered around, one or two drawn up by the fireplace. A table with chairs was in one of the corners. I knew that upstairs there was a huge, communal sleeping loft, with straw mattresses rolled up and stacked against the walls to keep the rodents out. One such mattress was rolled up by the fireplace. The last person who used the lodge must have slept there and neglected to put the mattress back upstairs.

I got settled in, made up a big fire to warm the place, and brought in a bucket of water from the well outside. I made myself a cup of tea and a bowl of rice, then sliced off a few small hunks of the smoked ham to mix in with it. It was plenty for me because I was already beginning to get really nervous.

After supper, it was getting so dark I had to light the candle stubs I found all over the front room, and by their light, I looked over the spell to call King Gratin.

The spell required me to call on the “Gatekeeper of the Dead” to convey the message.

“Keeper of The Gate, Lord of Hidden Road, I call on you. I summon you. The Old Ways call out to you. Open the gate between the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead for I would traffic with the Departed.”

Then, according to the instructions I had written down, I would ask the Gatekeeper to bring King Gratin forward. That was all there was to it. I was tired from tossing and turning the night before, worrying about all this and whether or not it might work. I spread the straw mattress on the floor in front of the fireplace and stretched out on it a while, enjoying the comforting popping, crackling sounds of the fire. Since I’d gotten up early that morning and had worked all day, I was tired and fell asleep right away.

I awoke with a start, hours later, and at first, I was afraid I’d overslept and it might be past midnight—the witching hour that seemed to be most appropriate for Infernal Magic. I was stiff and sore and worried that hours might have passed while I was sleeping, but a quick look at the pocket watch Pavel had given me on my sixteenth birthday reassured me that it was only a little past ten. I made my way outside to gather wood to start a fire.

I’d decided to cast this spell outdoors because the last thing I needed was to inadvertently destroy the hunting lodge. Considering my recent failures, I was taking no chances. Using a branch from one of the evergreens, I cleared some snow a short distance from the lodge and laid a fire. I went back in to get a taper to light it with and by the time I came back outside, a gentle snow had begun to fall again. I pulled my furs more closely around me and hunkered down in front of the fire to wait until midnight. I had the flame and the spell—I hoped that was all I’d need. Because now that I knew my magic was Infernal, or at least it was according to Glorfindel, I was pretty sure something could go wrong. Actually, I was about half positive nothing at all would happen, and I could pack up and go home the next morning, but I still felt I had to give it a try.

I sat in front of the fire and tried to conjure a picture in my mind of what old Gratin might have looked like, but I couldn’t quite see him. Deciding I needed to quit stalling, I stood up and held out the old pocket watch near the light of the fire. It was two minutes until twelve. I took a deep breath and counted down the seconds in my head. When I thought it must be the witching hour, I held out my hands in front of me and called loudly to the Gatekeeper, my voice echoing eerily through the trees in the icy stillness of the dark forest. I used the words I had memorized from the book.

“Keeper of The Gate, Lord of Hidden Road, I call on you. I summon you. The Old Ways call out to you. Open the gate between the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead, for I would traffic with the Departed. Bring forth King Gratin of Midgard.”

Nothing happened.

I tried it again. This time the flame on the fire blazed up, but nothing else broke the stillness of the night around me. I broke out in a sweat and took a few deep breaths. Then from above me I heard a far distant roll of thunder. Not loud, but long and grumbly.

Something was wrong and I needed to figure out what it was. In the book I had read, it said to call on the “Gatekeeper,” but my magic was Infernal, so perhaps I should call on some demon to help me instead. When I conjured the rabbits, I’d called on Samael. I had looked up the name since and found that he was a fallen angel, and not just any angel but an Archangel. He was a demon and mentioned in the Bible as an angel of death. That seemed appropriate.

One other thing had occurred to me. Both times my magic had worked—with the rabbits and then the thorns—I had cut myself—first on the broken glass and then on the sword. Infernal Magic called for a sacrifice. Could it be the blood had worked as mine?

I pulled out my dagger, cut my finger, and let a few drops of blood fall into the fire. Then I said the spell again, this time using the Demon’s name. “Samael, I call to you. I summon you. Open the gate between the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead, for I would traffic with the Departed. Bring forth King Gratin of Midgard.”

A massive streak of lightning split the sky with a giant rip of thunder. A lightning bolt struck the ground, not ten meters in front of me, and I fell back on my ass, startled half to death and more than a little frightened. A naked old man had suddenly appeared, with smoke swirling up around him. He shook himself like a wet dog and began striding rapidly toward me from across the fire. I scrambled to my feet to face him, taking a few steps backward, and he came right to the edge of the blaze and stared across it at me with wild, burning eyes.

“Who are you ?” he asked querulously, or at least I thought that was what he probably said. He spoke some harsh sounding language I’d never heard before.

I stared at him, and he yelled the phrase at me again, so I answered him in my own language, hoping he’d understand. “My name is Sergey.”

His eyes narrowed and he mumbled something. He looked around himself in confusion and spat out another phrase or two that I didn’t understand. It finally occurred to me that I should have been prepared for this before I summoned up an ancient old king and not just expect him to understand my language or me to understand his. He was still mumbling, and he looked like he had to be freezing from the way his body had started to shake. He was really old too, so I pulled off my fur and offered it to him, holding it out in front of me.

“Here,” I said. “Put this on because you look cold.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and said something else I still didn’t understand. He wasn’t a giant at all, though according to the book and the legend, the king was supposed to have been descended in some way from the legendary Frost Giants. He had black, button-like eyes that shone in his wrinkled, old face and his white hair swept down all the way to his waist. It was straggly and thin and whipped all about his head in the cold wind that was blowing from the North. His beard was likewise straggly and sparse, and his face was angry, no doubt at having been so rudely disturbed and brought to this place.

I held out my fur to him again and tried to speak in as calm a manner as I could. “My name is Sergey,” I said again, a little louder and slower, as if that would help. “Please take this and warm yourself by the fire.”

He snatched the fur from my hands and wrapped it around his shoulders. I could see his hands were trembling.

“You’re in the Elven Forest,” I said softly. “The Quendi Forest. I’ve summoned you with magic to answer my questions.”

“Your questions?” He yelled the words at me, and this time when he spoke, I could understand him perfectly. He was still speaking the same language, I thought, but it must have truly been magic because now I could understand him, as he obviously did me. “Who are you to disturb my rest and ask me anything? Are we in Alfheim then? Are you Ljósálfar ?” He glared at me suspiciously, mentioning another of the Nine Worlds from the old mythology and the old names of the Elves. It meant Elves of Light, which I thought might be the ancient name for the Quendi.

Before I could answer, he yelled again. “I accepted your fur so you may ask one question of me. One only! Do you accept my bargain?”

“Yes, of course, but...”

He nodded. “Good. Freely made and freely accepted then.”

“But I have more than just one question.”

“Freely made and freely accepted!” he yelled back at me, spittle forming on his lips and his face a savage mask. He stepped toward me, right onto the embers with his bare feet, and he never so much as flinched.

“I heard you. Yes, yes, all right. Freely accepted. But I’m the one who summoned you, so you’re supposed to answer all my questions.”

He folded his wrinkled arms across his bony chest. “No.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Who says I have to?” He glared at me. “Are you a demon?”

“Uh, no, I-I don’t think so.”

“Then why should I bother to oblige a mere human like you?”

I didn’t expect that question, and for a moment I couldn’t think of a single reason why he should. He took advantage of my silence to yell at me again. “Ask your question so I can be on my way!”

“All right. Where did you hide your Sword of Light?”

He looked surprised and took another menacing step toward me. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? You want my treasure. I’m supposed to simply tell you where it is because you gave me a fur to wrap around myself?”

“You made the bargain!” I shouted, giving it back to him. “It was up to you to set the terms. I want that sword. It’s not doing you any good hidden away while you’re in…wherever it is you are. You’re not coming back for it someday, you know. Soon the weapons will just be forgotten, along with your name. Wouldn’t it be better for me to find them for my mighty king to use?”

“Humph.” He sneered at me, looking totally unconvinced. “You mean to try to make me believe you don’t want them for yourself?”

“Myself? No, I want the weapons for the king of the Quendi Elves.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why is that? Whoever owns my sword and my battle-axe will become the most powerful ruler in all the world. Invincible in battle.”

“I have my reasons, old man. Now you made a bargain to answer my question, so answer. Where did you hide the Sword of Light and the Battle-Axe of Lebor?”

“I said I’d answer one question. That’s two. Which one do you want to know?”

I huffed out an irritated breath. This man must have Elven blood in his veins to be so infuriating. “The sword. Tell me where you hid the sword.”

“Humph. First, I have to make sure you’re worthy. Tell me why you’re willing to give them to this king of yours and not keep them for yourself.”

“That wasn’t part of our bargain, but I do it mostly for my brother, if you must know. He’s the king’s wizard and married to an Elven lord. His fate is inextricably tied to both of theirs.”

“Pah! Wizards don’t fight wars. If your husband’s brother dies in battle, your brother will be free to move on and go back to his own world.”

“But he wouldn’t. You don’t know him, or you’d never say that. He and his Quendi lord have true love between them. I do this for my brother and for my king, so he can defeat his enemies and become invincible. That will keep my brother and his lord safe.”

“Are you so sure?”

“Yes, of course. The king is a fearless warrior and magnificent in battle.”

“Oh, is he now? And what might this mighty king’s name be?”

“His name is King Tarrak, and he’s supreme ruler of the Quendi Elves,” came a smooth, confident voice from behind me. His tone was almost conversational as Tarrak strode casually forward into the light of the fire. “I am sometimes called the Ice King.”

I whirled around so fast I stumbled and would have fallen if his strong hand hadn’t shot out to grab my arm and keep me on my feet. I could see perhaps ten of his men standing behind him in the shadows of the trees, all of them grim-faced and bristling with weapons.

“K-king Tarrak,” I cried out.

“I saw the fire and overheard the two of you talking about this bargain of yours,” he said, addressing King Gratin. “Do you and this-this Necromancer have a bargain?” Tarrak gave me one quick, unreadable glance. “Will you honor his terms? Will you tell him where the Sword of Light and the Battle-Axe of Lebor are hidden?”

I followed his gaze back to the old king’s face, but I didn’t like the sound of what he’d said. Nor did I like the contemptuous way he looked at me or the name he’d called me. I was no Necromancer . Admittedly, it must look bad to come upon me in this place at midnight, conversing with a long-dead king, but I had to try to explain to him the difference between Necromancy and Conjuration.

“Y-your Majesty, I…” I tried to explain, but he ignored me, shooting me a look that warned me to shut my mouth if I knew what was good for me. He stepped around me and pushed me behind him, putting himself between me and the dreadful spirit of King Gratin. I glanced back over my shoulder at Tarrak’s soldiers watching us so intently. Their faces, as they stared back at me, didn’t give me a good feeling either, even though I recognized one or two of them and had sparred and trained with them in the past. Lord Juul wasn’t among them, and I began to feel more than a little afraid.

The term Necromancer referred to someone who practiced Infernal Magic. They summoned demons and bad spirits for magical gain, such as to acquire riches, to find lost things, to bewitch and enchant, or to cause misfortune to happen to others. My heart sank as I realized that was exactly what I had done. I wanted to acquire the sword; I wanted to find something lost and secure a treasure. And oh God, my magic was Infernal—Glorfindel himself had said so. Dear Lord. Would Tarrak just execute me on the spot, or would he take me back to his dungeons to do it at his leisure? Would he burn me at the stake or slowly torture me to death?

Old King Gratin began to speak then, and I spun back around to peer past Tarrak’s shoulder and listen to him.

“I am a king,” Gratin said. “A king always keeps his bargains.”

“Pray tell this human then where you hid your fabled weapons.”

“How do I know he’ll keep his end of the bargain and send me back if I answer him? I might roam the world forever as a hugr , never reborn and never finding any rest.”

“He’ll keep his bargain and return you to wherever you came from.” He glanced back at me unsmilingly. “Or I will kill him here and now with my bare hands and let his blood run out on the ground at your feet.”

I’d heard the Elves use this expression before, and I had never liked it much. Still didn’t.

Tarrak looked me dead in the eye then, his blue eyes as cold as the snow that was still pelting down on me and sliding down the back of my shirt. I swallowed hard and returned his gaze, determined not to be the first one to look away.

Old King Gratin interrupted our stare down. “Is your king correct, human? Will you release me if I tell you?”

“Yes. I give you my word.”

And I meant it too. It’s just that I had no idea how exactly I was going to do that. I hadn’t gotten that far and hadn’t learned the spell to return a spirit to wherever it came from. It was another serious oversight, I realized. I’d do it though, if it was the last thing I ever did. And from the look Tarrak was giving me, it might well be.

“All right then,” Gratin replied. “The Sword of Light and the Axe of Lebor are in Svartalfheim,” he quoted. “In the cave of Ludimarien. Past the royal passage three, five steps in and there you’ll be. There the trail will soon begin, but not until the spell is cast. The demon's child will come at last. As the smoke clears, the shades will appear. They guard two paths so you must heed them well, for one will lead you to heaven and the other to hell.”

He smiled and inclined his head. “Solve my riddle and get yourself to Svartalfheim to find my beautiful sword and my battle-axe.”

I took an angry step toward him, or I should say I tried to. Tarrak’s arm came across my stomach like a band of steel, holding me back. “That’s not part of our bargain!” I shouted at Gratin. “You never said I had to solve some insane riddle first.”

He shrugged. “You never specified. Now send me home, on the honor and the word of your sovereign.”

“Very well then,” I said, feeling fury surge through me. This old devil had tricked me, and I had walked right into it like a fool. I pointed my finger at him. “But you cheated.”

Gratin lifted one shoulder as he gave me a smug, self-satisfied smile, and I glanced up at Tarrak to see him still watching me with a gimlet eye. I sighed and turned to face Gratin. “Give me back my fur at least.”

Smiling a little and showing his rotten teeth, he shook his head. “No. It was part of our bargain.”

I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster. “The one you cheated on. Keep it then. It probably stinks of brimstone now anyway,” I taunted him. “It stands to reason that a being like you would be in some version of hell. I wonder why you’re so anxious to return there.”

He didn’t reply but regally drew the folds of my fur more closely around him and sniffed at me in disdain.

Raising my arms toward him, I did a minimal spell, still angry about the trick. “Go back then, dishonest spirit, to where you belong. Go home now; begone, begone.”

Yes, it was terrible, but I hoped it would do the trick.

Spoiler—it didn’t.

I cast a glance over at King Tarrak, who stood there looking at me with a jaundiced eye. I broke out in a sweat and cleared my throat. This time I truly did try my best to send the old king on his way. I lifted my arms, closed my eyes, and put everything I had into it.

“Oh, spirit of King Gratin, from far, far away. Go back to whence you came. Do not stay!”

Still nothing happened, and now old King Gratin was frowning, his bushy white eyebrows meeting in the middle over his beaky nose. He was beginning to look worried. Tarrak blew out a long, impatient breath beside me.

“Give me a second, please, Your Majesty. I-I can do this. Let me try again.”

Tarrak spoke up in a low, menacing voice, “Do not test me, boy…”

“No, no, I’m not. I’m trying; I swear I am. Let me do this again. Please.” I took a deep breath and faced Gratin again.

“Ancient spirit, go to your rest. Go away from this place at my behest. Leave, desist, and do not stay. Ancient spirit, just go away!” I had my arms in the air again, and my eyes tightly shut, mostly because I couldn’t bear to look, but as the last words rang out and nothing happened, I felt a pinch of cold steel at my throat.

I gasped and my eyes flew open as a strong arm went around my waist, pulling me tightly against the king’s side. It felt almost like a lover’s embrace—if the lover meant to slit your throat and carve his name in your heart. King Tarrak put his cheek against mine and his lips were only a breath away.

He moved so his lips were almost touching mine and whispered to me, holding his dagger to my throat. “I grow weary of this, mortal boy.”

I was afraid to nod, but I stammered a reply. “I-I’m t-trying, Your Majesty. I s-swear it.”

“Try harder.”

I panicked a little and when I did, I pressed hard against the knife at my throat, so a little trickle of blood ran down my neck. Tarrak gasped at what I had done and pulled his knife quickly away. I said the first thing that came to me then—the only thing I could think of. I shouted out the words…

“Samael, help me! Tili tili boom! Ribi, ribi, la! Ribi, ribi, tili, tili boom!”

A huge clap of thunder sounded overhead, and old King Gratin just winked out of sight. One minute he was standing there snarling at us, and the next instant he was gone, as if he’d never been there at all. Relief washed over me so powerfully that my knees went weak, and I sagged against the king.

It was truly a measure of how far gone I was. He pushed me away, probably in disgust, grabbed my wrist in a steely grip, and twisted me to face him.

“Who is this demon you called on, mortal? Who is this Samael and this other one—this Ribi Tili Boom? Tell me now or else.”

“What? No, Sire, it’s not a demon. Well, Samael might be. But the other isn’t a person at all.”

“What are you talking about? What does this Ribi Tili Boom mean then? Is it a curse?”

“No, Sire. I swear I have no idea what it means. I found it in a book when I first came here, and it-it sounded good to me. It worked for me when nothing else did.”

“How did it work? You made one mess after another.”

“Oh. Well. Yes, that’s true. But I was able to evoke things out of thin air. To make something from nothing at all. Like with the-the rabbits and the thorns. Pavel said it was magic.”

“Why are you using evil spells to call up corpses? This is Necromancy, plain and simple, and punishable by death.”

I stood there, my mouth opening and closing, but I found I had absolutely nothing to say in my own defense. It had started as a conjuring, and I had only reverted to Infernal Magic when nothing else seemed to work. I thought there was little to no chance he’d understand my reasons behind all of this. His men inched forward behind him to guard his back, and they readied their swords and gave me grim looks of disbelief and skepticism. Mistrust was written in every hostile line of their bodies. The look in their eyes was almost feral, and I couldn’t see this ending in any way that would be favorable to me.

I had one chance and I took it. With one last desperate gasp, I wrenched my hand away from the king’s and then turned and ran for my life. Or I should say, that was my intention. I hadn’t made it more than four or five steps when I was tackled from behind and hit the ground hard. A big body landed on top of me, knocking the breath clean out of my lungs. I lay like a landed fish, desperate for breath, as spots began to dance in front of my eyes. I tried to raise myself up on my elbows and felt a crashing, painful blow to the back of my head. Consciousness fled from me in a startled panic, and everything faded abruptly to black.