PROLOGUE
Odin raised Gungnir again, holding it as a shield between himself and his enemy.
Flames were trailing from his armor, from his robes, living rivers of fire that were devouring the Alfather from the outside in.
His arms shook as if his staff had become a heavy burden, the weight of centuries of bitter rivalry turning a weapon into a hindrance.
A roar like wildfire, enraged and consuming, shook the very air.
Another assault. Another desperate parry.
The end was near.
The Alfather stumbled to his knees, catching himself before he fell, pushing his tiring body up to meet yet another attack.
But to no avail; the very next blow seemed to shatter the earth itself and drove the Alfather to the ground.
The enemy was poised above him, ready to kill, ready to bring the downfall of many.
One more strike. One more sword thrust. That was all it would take.
But perhaps there was still hope . . .
Odin looked to the shadows where a faint silhouette lurked just out of reach. There, hidden from the sight of the enemy, was perhaps the one thing that could save the life of the Alfather, the lives of the innocents of Asgard, of the Nine Realms.
A savior . . .
Or a traitor.
An ally . . .
Or yet another enemy.
A shield to defend all that was good and pure . . .
Or a sword with which to bring about the end of time.
The threads of Fate were winding themselves together, twisting and weaving in and out of hope and horror.
Two futures now intermingled. One of triumph . . . and one of tragedy.
Both were poised, ready to be cut, or ready to be chosen.
Fire and Rage roared again, sword raised high, the blow falling.
Falling.
Falling . . .
A terrified scream shattered the vision. It took less than a moment, one horrifying moment, for her to realize the scream was her own.
A large hand clasped her arm so suddenly she started away as if she had been stung. For a moment she struggled against her unseen assailant just as she had struggled to wake herself from the nightmare –
"Frigga, what is it?" a voice demanded.
A strong voice. A comforting voice. One that she knew.
Odin . . .
With sobs of relief she let herself collapse into her husband's protective embrace.
For a time there was nothing to say, she because she was too frightened and he because he was too busy calming her fears. He cradled her against him like a frightened child, warding off the lingering clutches of her dream with the warmth of his arms. Frigga cried against his shoulder, for once allowing herself to spend every drop of strength reliving the dream again. If she emptied her sorrows without restraint perhaps they would fade without a struggle . . .
When she had quieted, when her mind and body had ceased trembling from the ordeal, it was only then that Odin pulled away to look into her tear-stained face.
"Frigga, what is it?" he asked again, hands still on her arms.
A shuddering breath seemed to shake her to her soul.
"Asgard is in danger."
Silence.
"My queen, I know it is useless to ask, but what – "
"Do not ask," she admonished, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. "Do not ask me to tell you something that is beyond my power to speak of. I can only say that Asgard . . . that you . . . are in danger."
His good eye was watching her intently.
"The Eye has awoken again." He said this with no fear, with no concern. Only with grim, sorrowful certainty. She nodded.
His brow furrowed in thought.
"If you have seen Asgard in danger, then there might still be time to defend her. Perhaps –"
A loud bang on the bedroom door startled them both.
"Enter!" Odin called sharply.
The large doors swung apart soundlessly to reveal a single palace guard. Immediately the man knelt, armor connecting with the marble floor with a sharp snap.
"Alfather, the Vanguard has just received an urgent message."
His head came up, eyes grim, jaw set.
"Alfheim is under siege."
A wave of cold dread swept over Frigga, and for one horrifying moment she believed she would faint. Blackness seemed to drape itself across her vision, and it was only the strong arms of the Alfather that kept her from swooning.
"When was this message received? Who brought it?" Odin barked.
"The Gatekeeper Heimdal turned his gaze upon Alfheim and saw a great army approaching the fortresses of their king. Fire Demons were rushing towards their strong places, led by one larger and more powerful than the rest." He paused. "It was Heimdal who sent word to us, and now I to you, Your Majesty."
"Summon the court!" the Alfather roared, springing up and away from his frightened wife. "If Surtur has regained his mortal form, we must go to the aid of Alfheim quickly. He must not recapture the Eternal Flame! If once his prize is removed from the Light Elves he will trouble them no more."
"Shall I muster the armies of Asgard?" the man asked expectantly. Odin paused, thinking hard, then finally shook his head.
"No. We must avoid open battle if we can. I will send someone to Freyr's aid." Now dressed and armed, he waved to the guard impatiently. "Go!"
The man saluted, letting the doors swing shut behind him.
The booming echo of those doors was like the toll of doom in Frigga's heart.
Asgard's twilight had come.
She would live –
Or she would burn.