Sword of Doom (28 page)

“It's mine!” cried Godrek. Mad to possess it again, Godrek thrust his sword upward and charged the creature, leaping off the ice and onto the back of its head, slashing at it with the rune sword and bellowing curses. Jörmungandr gave a mighty shake of its head, flinging Godrek high in the air. Godrek screamed, his white cloak flapping like the wings of a dying bird, and fell headfirst into the monster's mouth; the serpent cocked back its head and swallowed him like a clam, letting him slide right down its slimy throat. Again the creature slipped beneath the waves, and Dane sank to his knees in exhaustion. Finally it was over.

Well, almost.

Moments later, the creature ascended again, rising over the ice, its giant head descending toward Dane. Fixed in its gaze, he saw its jaws open, felt its hideous breath blow over him. This would be his final moment of life, he thought. Strange, the peace he felt. The serpent spat something out
onto the ice, and then, opening its jaws wider, it blew out a fierce roar, the force so great, it knocked Dane backward onto the ice. He lay there, looking up at the thing, understanding then that he would not, in the end, be eaten at all. That he had won. And after a final snort of defiance, the serpent sank beneath the waves, taking Draupnir and its meal of Whitecloak with it.

Dane slumped to the ice. Hearing his cohorts cheering Godrek's demise, it was then he saw it, the object lying beside him on the ice. Somehow it seemed a fitting end; there were some things too monstrous even for Jörmungandr to consume. And so, with sad finality, Dane gazed upon the head of the now most definitely dead Godrek Whitecloak, serpent slime dripping down his cheeks, his pale lips frozen in a grisly grimace, those same mad eyes forever open as if staring out in wistful and painful contemplation of the rich life that had so nearly been his.

A
mysterious thing happened when they tried to return to the Isle of Doom.

It seemed to have simply vanished.

The surviving liegemen and those from Voldarstad agreed that if they were to reach home, they must make peace and band together. Firstly, there was the issue of all that gold for the taking. Lut tried to tell them that without the rune sword, entrance to the vault would be an impossibility. But the liegemen, and even Jarl and Vik, said that with such treasure within reach, they had to try. Then a thick curtain of fog had settled in. They rowed and rowed for two days and two nights trying to find the isle again, with no luck. Twice they heard loud splashes and hissing snorts somewhere out in the fog, and once their ship was rocked as Jörmungandr passed under it. Lut concluded that
the monster was either mocking them or warning them that its patience was wearing thin and they should make haste to vacate its realm. There was much argument, heated at times, but in a vote of fourteen to five, it was agreed they must strike for home.

Now, as dawn broke, Dane stood on the prow of the ship as it headed south, relieved to realize that his long nightmare was over. “Drink this,” said Lut, sidling up and handing him a jar of hot barley cider. “It'll put some hair on your chest, and other places, too.” Dane took the cider, smiling, enjoying the sensation of sunshine on his face and the feeling of being alive.

“Did you sleep well?” Lut asked.

Dane nodded. “I dreamed of poor Smek, locked in that vault of gold for eternity.”

“That would have been a fitting end for Godrek. He would've died happy, surrounded by the one thing he loved.”

“What I don't understand,” Dane said, “is if my father knew the rune sword could turn men mad, why did he leave it in the chest and not destroy it?”

“My guess is he left the sword there when he was young, perhaps too young to know that the love he found later with your mother and you would make the temptations of Odin's Draupnir fade from his mind.”

Dane sipped his steaming drink as the ship's prow cut through the water, brought awake by the bracing breeze on
his face. Behind them the morning rowing shift was hard at work. It was great to see the two groups toiling in unison with nary a complaint—just days before, they had been enemies, and all because of the madness of one man. This gave Dane a sobering thought.

“I could've been just like Godrek, Lut. I could've succumbed too.”

“You could never be like him.” When Dane asked why, Lut said, “Because he did not have what you have, Dane. People you love, and who love you.” As if on invisible cue, their attention was then drawn away by more raucous bickering from Jarl and Kára.

“There are many competitors for my hand, Jarl. I suppose you can get in line.”

“What a spoiled, silly girl! Just because I saved your skin, what makes you think I'd want your hand too?”

“Confess it—you love me.”

“You say it first: You love me.”

“No,
you
first.”

“No,
you
first.”

“Say it!”

“
You
say it!”

“Enough!” said Ragnar the Ripper, erupting in anger. “Either profess your love or shut your holes! Keep it up and I'll cut
both
your throats!” That did the trick; they shut up. Everyone on board
knew
they had fallen in love, but both Jarl and Kára were too proud and pigheaded to admit it. So they
each went to opposite sides of the ship and refused to speak to each other, which was a big relief for the crew. Until it began all over again less than an hour later.

What kind of future might they have? Dane wondered. Kára had grown up a lot since their journey had begun, yet too often still believed the world revolved around her. Of course, so did Jarl. All things considered, they were perfectly matched, although Dane foresaw hand-to-hand combat for the mirror and hair combs.

And what of Dane's future with Astrid? She was standing at the ship's railing, looking vexed, peering at the skies as if waiting for a lightning bolt from Thor, although the weather was clear and cloudless. He wanted to ask why she wore such a worried look, but Lut told him to let her be. She needed to be alone with her thoughts. Dane could not escape the nagging sense that something was wrong, but for now he would follow Lut's advice and not press her in the matter.

 

The trip back to Skrellborg was a peaceful one. In Utgard Dane was delighted to hear that Thrym had been elected leader of the frost giants and had forged a peace treaty between troll and giant. Thrym proudly showed off his spacious new home with plush, wall-to-wall frost and introduced them to his new girlfriend, Glacia, who served them a delicious meal of berry-flavored sleet.

At the troll village they learned there were plans to erect
a monument to honor Jarl the Fair for his brave action in saving troll lives in Utgard. Such was Jarl's desperate need for accolades that even though he despised trollkind—or “the maggoty fur balls,” as he called them—he eagerly agreed to make a personal appearance in their village come spring. Klint, the raven, who had had a brief fling with a female raven in the troll forest, decided to rejoin Dane's troop. There were a lot of ruffled feathers and squawking when Klint flew the roost, but it seemed that he, like Jarl, was not fond of life in the proximity of trolls.

They arrived in Skrellborg to much cheering and acclaim. King Eldred welcomed them on the steps of his great lodge hall. For the safe return of the princess he generously awarded one thousand pieces of silver to the people of Voldarstad; for Godrek's head he gave one thousand more. As chief elder of Voldarstad, Lut graciously accepted the gifts, promising that part of the funds would be spent building a private outhouse for each village family, complete with his and hers seats.

As before, a great banquet was held to honor the heroes. Dane was asked to regale the packed mead hall with the tale of their thrilling quest. Instead, he turned the floor over to his friends. Fulnir hissed and made scary faces, playing the part of the fearsome Jörmungandr so well that some small children ran from the room screaming. Drott drew hearty laughter portraying Fulnir snarling, biting, and scratching during his
varúlfur
transformation. William too gave a hair-
raising performance depicting his narrow escape from the jaws of the giant glowing insect. And Rik and Vik wrestled and head butted, giving a lively performance of Thrym's victory over Hrut. Topping off the entertainment, Ragnar gave a reading of his epic poem that told the story of the Isle of Doom, Draupnir, the mountain of gold, and Godrek's demise. When he finished, the room exploded in applause and Ragnar's eyes filled with tears, so touched was he by the people's appreciation of his creative skill.

The king was so impressed by Ragnar's story, he offered him the title of liege lord plus all of Godrek's properties. Ragnar thought for a long moment, then said he was greatly honored by the king's offer but did not want to be a warrior any longer. All he desired was a small piece of land where he could retire, raise prize pigs, and indulge in scholarly pursuits. Eldred granted his wish.

The prize of the evening, Dane thought, was seeing Drott and Fulnir surrounded by adoring girls. In telling their stories, they had not tried to hide who they were. They proudly announced their names to all, Drott the Dim and Fulnir the Stinking, and carried themselves with confidence and good humor. The result was that the people naturally liked and respected them, as Dane knew they would.

In the wane of the evening, Dane was summoned to see the king. He was led into the royal chambers and the door closed behind him. Eldred wore a grave look and bade Dane
sit in one of two high-backed cedar chairs that stood before a warming fire. Dane sat, but the king remained standing, his back to Dane, staring in silence at the fire. Dane said nothing, having learned that a king should not be prompted by a lesser's queries but rather only speak when he bloody well chose to.

“There is something of a delicate matter I need to discuss.” The king turned to face Dane, his brows low and knotted. “About the future of my kingdom. Your friend, the one they call the Fair One?”

“Jarl?”

“Yes. My niece tells me he…well…for some inexplicable reason she has lost her heart to him. Does this Jarl return her feelings?”

“I believe he does, my lord,” said Dane.

“But he's bigheaded, is he not? A braggart? Much given to shows of vanity and smugness?”

“At times he's guilty of self-worship, yes. But he is a fine man; he'd make a fine husband in time, too, if that's what you're asking. For though he may have his faults—as do we all—he does not lie, my lord, and his bravery knows no bounds. He would die to protect anyone he loved; I trust him with my life.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said the king, somewhat annoyed by Dane's defense of Jarl. “So the man is of recommendable character, fine, fine. But you? What about you, son?”

“My lord?”

“Please, enough with the humility.
You
inspired confidence in your cohorts. You led them. When the chips were down, you gave them strength.”

“Strength? No, that's what they gave
me
. Without them—”

“Come now! I hate modesty! It all too often beclouds the true mettle of a man.” The king sat and abruptly bent forward so that his eyes were but inches from Dane's and his stare bored into him. “I heard the stories, Dane. Frost giants. Trolls. Ghostwolves. Man-eating insects. And Jörmungandr itself! You led them through it all. That's why I want you to go back.”

Dane was gob-smacked. Was he hearing correctly? He had just returned from a nightmare and Eldred wanted him to go
back
?

“Take as many men and ships as you want. I'll give you half of all the gold you return with. Half! And when you return, I will appoint you prince and heir to my throne.”

Dane didn't know what to say. This was lunacy.

“Do you feel no loyalty to
me
? Have you no sense of duty to enrich the one responsible for giving you the rune sword in the first place?”

“My lord, even if I
did
want to return, there's no guarantee we'd even find the isle again. We tried for two days. And without the rune sword to unlock the treasure—”

“We can dig our way in!” the king snapped. “I'm offering you my kingdom and you give me excuses? You, Dane the Defiant, son of Voldar the Vile, have the temerity to stand there and reject the riches I bestow on you?!
GIVE ME ONE REASON WHY YOU DO THIS!
”

Dane looked the king straight in the eye, showing not a flinch in the face of his outburst. “Because,” said Dane calmly, “I
am
the son of Voldar the Vile, and the village he built is where I belong. With the families I love and have sworn to protect.”

The king's stare continued to bore into him. Dane began to panic. Had his boldness been an irrational miscalculation? Dane was relieved to see the king sink back in his chair with a sigh. The king's anger seemed to melt away as tears welled in his eyes. Eldred sat up and grasped Dane by both shoulders, saying, “I'm so happy to hear you say that, son. My friend Voldar rejected wealth and power as well. He found the secret to happiness…and so shall you, my boy. So shall you.”

 

Days later, when at last they reached home, they were given an even more tumultuous welcome, received with hugs and kisses by the villagers of Voldarstad and given a grand celebration. Everyone gathered on Thor's Hill behind the village, the place where Thor's Hammer had fallen to earth. Dane and his friends who together had
braved the long road of adversity stood in front of the assemblage as Gorm the Grumpy came forth.

“I have an important announcement!” Gorm announced.

Dane saw that Gorm's expression was slightly less grouchy than normal, perhaps because he had just learned of the new outhouse he was to receive.

“It is my pleasure to announce that the elders of the village have decided that on this spot where we stand, a runestone is to be erected to honor the courageous men and women who stand before you! Their names and deeds shall be carved into a great slab of granite so that for all time those who pass here will know of their exploits! Fellow villagers, be proud! For I give you…the Rune Warriors of Voldarstad!”

The villagers cheered. Dane saw tears streaming down his mother's face, and this brought thoughts of his father. If only Voldar had lived to see his own prophecy come true…his son
had
become a Rune Warrior, just as he had once predicted. Dane had been tempted by the rune sword's call of greed, but like his father, he had come to realize that love was infinitely more valuable than soulless glitter.

Later at the village feasting, Dane sat before the great outdoor fire, his belly stuffed with fine food and drink, watching the festivities with bemusement. Amid a crowd of local girls, each one more adoring than the next, Fulnir and Ulf were drumming a table with their hands and singing a
heroic war chant, clearly enjoying the attention. Kára and Jarl were a very cozy-looking couple, Jarl so entranced with her, he gave scant notice to Rik and Vik, who were drunkenly arm-wrestling each other at the far end of the table, drawing an even larger crowd.

Dane realized he felt completely at peace, save for the one thing he cared for most: Astrid. During the whole trip back, she had said very little, busying herself with taking care of the others, showing special attention, it seemed, to everyone but Dane. Now, with his back to the fire, watching the festivities, he scanned the crowd, searching for the one face that would truly make him smile: hers.

There! He saw her standing alone on the far side of the crowd, statuesque and stoic, her beauty still a powerful piece of poetry. He smiled and waved, but she was too busy watching Drott performing handstands on the dance floor to notice. For a moment he too watched the silly performance, and when he looked back, she was gone. He soon caught sight of her; she had turned her back on the revelers and was threading her way past the perimeter of torchlights, disappearing into the darkness. Why was she walking away? Where was she going? Something about the way she had looked, the finality on her face, had seemed disturbing.