CHAPTER 13
The smell of ash and sulfur and seared flesh greeted Loki as he came up the steps from the Weapons Vault.
He let his eyes roam aimlessly around the open chamber, ignoring the sting from the smoke still hanging in the air. The Palace Gates were hardly recognizable now: ruined fragments of stone and bronze and gold. The edges of the walls where the massive hinges had been attached were now only bits of jagged marble and granite, their blackened sides giving way to blue sky hazy with smoke beyond. Masonry and rubble littered the floor, the smoldering ashes of kindled fires flickering quietly in the aftermath of this assault. Huge pillars were cast down and ground into dust as if they had been mere straw.
A part of Loki wished his Fire Demons had not done so thorough a job. He had instructed them to merely force the gates . . . not devastate them.
He stood still for a moment, listening, his senses stretching out in a habit born of many battles fought and many wars won. But aside from the empty crackle of fires and the distant noise of battle beyond the gateway there was not a sound to be heard. The entire Palace seemed . . . almost deserted. As if every living soul had fled before the Fire breaking down the door to their home.
Loki's eyes were drawn then down to the scattered debris before his feet . . . and saw that not all had fled in terror.
Amidst the broken rubble and masonry and fires were blackened masses that could not be mistaken for pieces of ruined walls. On some he saw bits of cloth, frayed and torn by either flames or the sword. On others he thought he saw eyes – open and wide and staring – locked on something he couldn't see. Swords and spears and shields were scattered amidst the slain, some clutched in a death grip of determined soldiers, some lying mere inches from blackened fingers as if their owners had perished with their weapons just out of reach.
But there were some bodies that bore no armor, that carried no weapon.
And these were not soldiers . . . not men of Asgard . . .
Women.
Ten Healers were scattered about the room, as if they had been flung aside when the doors were breached.
A not-so-subtle twinge of guilt and sorrow twisted Loki's stomach. He had never meant for the Healers to be caught in the battle. He had hoped they would merely cast their wards and return to the safety of the Healer's House. He recognized many of the charred corpses as those who had been friends of his wife, protégés just like herself that she had grown to care for over centuries of training together.
He hadn't meant . . .
Resolutely Loki pushed all such sorrow and doubt aside. They were warriors of Asgard in their own right, and they had died defending their home . . . just as he was trying to save his home. Sigyn would understand.
For a brief moment the thought passed through Loki's mind that he should search the slain, see if there be any still living – Asgardian or Fire Demon. But then his urgent quest came to the forefront of his mind. He had no time to sift through the ruin to see which bodies were not entirely lifeless. If he hoped to prevent further destruction then he must return to Muspelheim at once.
He would leave the mourning to those who had reason to mourn.
Before he took one step forward he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor to his left. His hand automatically gripped the hilt of a throwing knife before he realized what – or who – it was. Eldfell, Surtur's lieutenant, stepped through the alcove and into the open entryway.
"Been having ourselves a bit of fun, have we?" Loki called. The Fire Demon grinned wickedly.
"It has been far too long since we have been given leave to play," he replied.
"I ordered you to force the gates, not shatter them," Loki snapped, making his way through the ruined hall. "There was no need to use such force."
"You ordered us to provide you with a distraction, Trickster," Eldfell hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits, "and by Hel, we gave you one. These pathetic guardians were putting up more of a fight than we had at first thought. The only way for us to gain entry was to rip the gates apart."
Loki glanced around.
"Where are the rest of your men?"
A soft hiss like a whispered wildfire escaped from the Demon's maw.
"Dead. They were enjoying their sport a bit too much and were cut down by the Asgardian scum."
"And the sentries outside?"
"Perhaps they might still be alive. They were not as fool-hardy as the rest of the company you chose –"
"Then recall them," Loki answered, dismissing the other's accusation. "I have what I came for and it is time we were on our way."
"You promised us free reign of this realm, Trickster," Eldfell growled, stepping across Loki's path.
"And you will have it, my friend. But not now. Not yet."
"When?"
Loki's eyes narrowed at the other's demand.
"When I say so," he returned coldly.
Without another word he pushed passed Eldfell and strode away from the destruction that lay behind him.
He couldn't think about the past. He could only think about the future.
It was time to return to Muspelhiem.
The last of the Fire Demons were retreating.
Out of the twenty or so soldiers that Thor's army had encountered at the Palace gates only four or five remained. They had steadily been driven back away from the gates and into the streets of the city. Thor knew this was placing the citizens of Asgard at great risk, but there was no time for any other plan to be formed. If Surtur was to be defeated it was imperative that his forces be kept away from the Weapons Vault as much as possible.
But now, Thor saw to his bewildered astonishment, that the remaining Fire Demons were falling back. Not into the city and to the safety of the foothills . . . but back to the Palace.
With a roar Thor tore after them, the remaining soldiers in his company following on his heels. Arrows and spears sailed by overhead, but none seemed to hinder their enemy in the slightest.
Where are they running to? Thor wondered to himself. Surely not back inside the Palace; the guards have not been completely swept away, nor will they be idle in repelling a fresh invasion.
Within moments the Palace gates were once again in sight – or rather what was left of them.
Thor stood for a moment in shock as his eyes took in the huge hole in the walls where the gates had once stood. Smoke and ash billowed out from the breach as if the entire Palace was on fire from the inside.
And hovering just fifty feet or so away was a shimmering, gaping maw that opened onto absolute blackness.
It was there that the Demons were retreating to, not the Palace. They were gathering at that . . . tear in reality, as if awaiting orders –
Out from the Palace then came one of the largest Fire Demons Thor had ever seen save Surtur himself. Even the bright light of the midday sun seemed dim compared to the flames streaming from him, casting a smoldering haze over his surroundings. He caught sight of Thor and the Asgardian army and signaled to his soldiers. One by one, as if they were being erased from reality itself, the Fire Demons stepped into the void and vanished from sight.
And following in the shadow of those giants was one that Thor knew very well . . .
Black hair. Pale complexion.
Emerald eyes . . .
"LOKI!" he cried out. He couldn't help himself. What was his brother doing with these monsters? Surely he wasn't –
The Trickster's head turned, and for a moment his eyes locked with Thor's.
The universe froze, for a fraction of time, as the two brothers regarded each other.
Then a moment later Loki turned away, stepped through the portal – and vanished.
"The coward!" Sif screamed. "No doubt this was his plan; to draw us off and strike from the shadows! Had we been but a few moments sooner I could have exacted payment from his traitorous hide!"
Thor felt his stomach drop to his feet.
Of course Loki was behind this assault. Only Loki knew the secret paths between realms. Only Loki dealt with subtly and deceit. Only Loki had the knowledge of the workings of the Palace and the minds of all of Asgard to know how to distract –
Distract . . .
Without bothering to explain to his friends what was wrong Thor rushed away from them, into the ruined archway and through the devastation that lay within. Mjolnir was useless within the Palace corridors, and therefore Thor could only rely on his tired legs to carry him down into the Vaults. His eyes hardly saw the dead lying scattered around his feet. His mind only barely understood the implications of this lost battle. He was entirely focused on only one thing:
Get to the Weapons Vault!
Thor took the steps down into the long corridor two or three at a time, nearly stumbling at times in his panic.
Loki would not – could not! – have done this thing!
He ignored the smoldering torches lining the narrow passageway, trusting on instinct alone to guide him.
Loki would never . . . would never betray Asgard in this way . . .
He reached the base of the stairs, passed into the wide alcove –
The doors were open.
With numb mind and trembling limbs Thor carefully passed through the huge bronze doors as they stood like silent watchers to the Crown Prince's terror. There was no sign of destruction. No sign of a battle. In fact everything seemed almost exactly as it had just this morning. However Loki – for Thor could think of no other clever enough or foolish enough to dare to come here – had gained entrance, he had done so without raising the alarm.
Or else the guards had all been drawn off by the commotion at the gates.
His footsteps echoed hollowly across the surrounding stone. He reached the farthest alcove from the door –
No.
No. No no no!
The Flame was gone.
Thor suddenly found he couldn't breathe. He dropped to his knee in stunned disbelief, struggling to catch his breath.
Loki – his brother! – had stolen the Flame for Asgard's deadliest enemy.
The Alfather needed to know about this . . . at once.
The Warriors Three and Sif had starred after Thor as he tore through what was left of the palace gates. Though none would voice their thoughts aloud, it was clear that all four of them knew something terrible had happened. Why else would their Crown Prince be so concerned?
But then their own worries came to the forefront of their minds, as the sounds of the aftermath of battle rose to fill the silence left behind by the Fire Demons. Countless wounded lay scattered about them, their cries for aid mingling with the cries of mourning for those that now lay dead before the gates. There were far too few enemies felled in this fight; only two or three Fire Demons were visible.
With a roar of rage and frustration, Sif swung her sword down as hard as she could and began raining blows down on a dead Fire Demon, teeth clenched and eyes blazing with wrath. Finally she brought her blade down across the monster's neck, severing his head from his shoulders. Blood like molten fire gushed out over the ground, pooling on the stone and hardening almost instantly.
"That traitorous coward!" she screamed, whirling back to her companions who had been watching the scene unfold with apprehension. "Did I not warn you?! Did I not say he was a coward and a liar and a usurper?! Do you still hold to your belief, Volstagg? Your belief that Loki will always protect his family?! If he was as noble as you deem him to be, then why this?! LOOK AT WHAT HE HAS DONE!"
Volstagg shifted uncomfortably, for once choosing not to respond, and he glanced around at the carnage all around them with a saddened, almost disappointed expression. That look nearly made Sif sick. How could the fool not see this was Loki's true nature? She had tried to warn them, warn all of them! And this was the result!
She should have killed Loki when she had the chance . . .
"There will be a time to lay blame, Sif," Hogun cut in sharply. "But it is not now. The wounded must be taken to the Healer's House at once. Asgard will never triumph if her warriors are left to bleed to death before her gates."
He was supporting Fandral as he said this, one arm around his waist and another gripping Fandral's arm as it draped over his shoulder. The armor on Fandral's other arm was cracked and ruined, the flesh beneath an angry red. His expression was that of thinly veiled agony, his warrior pride demanding he put on a brave face in spite of the pain.
Sif's anger temporarily softened at her friend's condition. Hogun was right, as always, of course. There would be a time for vengeance later.
Now was a time for healing . . . and a time to mourn those who would never fight again.
A lone figure made his way slowly through the destruction.
His uniform, though streaked with ash and dirt and blood, disheveled and ripped in places, still proclaimed him to be one of the Crimson Hawks, the elite of Asgard's guards. His eyes roved despondently over the rubble, searching desperately for any survivors among the slain.
For nearly an hour he had been out, his commander having sent all able-bodied men to search for any among the desolation still clinging to life.
He had yet to find a single spark of life, and was disconcerted by the destruction such a small number of insurgents could wreak in such a short amount of time.
After numerous hopeful moments dashed, and even more waves of sorrow and disgust and determination, he saw before him the palace gates.
They had been forced open despite the Shielding magic, one of them so warped and twisted upon itself it was beyond repair. The other had been torn free: the hinges, post and part of the surrounding wall still connected and lying a hundred feet or more away from where the gate once stood.
About halfway between the shattered door and the hole it once covered lay crumbling a long bit of stone imbedded with metal for part of the gate. And behind it lay something he had to turn away from at first.
After a deep breath he turned back.
Long skirts, blackened from flame and papery. He didn't care to speculate on what lay underneath. An arm, burned to black with red beneath, lay over the stomach - which, amazingly, did not appear as badly burned as the arm. The other arm was raised, covering the woman's face, and just as burned as the first.
And peeking out from under the arm he saw a long twisted bit of metal covering a bright purple gem of some kind. He thought it looked familiar . . .
Numerous moments over the past few months of the Alfather's daughter visiting to argue with him. Healers robes flying as she stormed out, a flash of purple within gold at her ears . . .
The burned body of Asgard's healer princess lay before him.
He removed his cape and covered her. Gently he wrapped it around her.
She deserved far more than his tattered cape, he thought, for her sacrifice. But it was all he had.
Carefully, he cradled her body close and rose.
The Alfather needed to see this immediately.
In the aftermath of the assault, the truth of the entire matter came to light.
In his eagerness to bring word to the Alfather, Einarr misinterpreted Heimdal's message to Odin. The poor, frightened boy could not be blamed for his mistake, as it was one that any his age could have made. But Einarr still blamed himself for the ensuing loss and devastation – despite repeated attempts by all around him to persuade him otherwise. Odin had sent his Ravens to Nornheim as soon as the army had set forth, determined to learn of the Fire Demons' movements; the Alfather had not said whether or not they had seen anything in the southern fields of that realm, but it soon became abundantly clear that no Demons were lingering in Karnilla's domain.
But whatever Surtur's purpose was in using Nornheim, he had clearly achieved his goal. When news spread that the Eternal Flame was gone from the Vault, in spite of the shielding magic placed by some of the most powerful healers in Asgard, fear and panic raced through the hearts of Odin's people. And when it became clear that Loki had a significant hand in the planning of this assault, the hatred all felt towards the Lie-smith increased ten-fold.
And the devastation left in Loki's wake went far beyond damaged doors and shattered stone. No less than three hundred Asgardians – soldiers and civilians alike – were found dead or wounded in and around the Palace.
But the greatest blow to all hearts, especially in the Royal Family, was that Sigyn – Healer and defender of Asgard – was found among the dead.
No amount of time or victories could ever amend for that.
That was why the court of the Alfather was summoned again. There were questions to be answered, wrongs to be set right, and all of the attending courtiers knew this. There was no laughter. No idle talk. No naïve veil of peace and safety.
Fear and grief and pain reigned in its place.
The doors to the huge chamber slowly swung open and Odin looked up from his lap. Silhouetted in the light beyond the Throne Room, a tall stately figure strode forward. Straight and proud. Cold and firm. Unheeding of the stares and whispers that arose as they made their way down the open isle towards the throne. Scarlet robes swirled around a regal gait.
Scarlet . . . like the blood of those Asgardians that had perished because of this woman's foolishness.
Queen Karnilla halted just before the first step up to the dais and knelt.
"You summoned me, Alfather. What is my lord's desire?"
"How dare you approach our throne with such guile and pride, Karnilla," Odin growled, refusing to hold back the anger in his heart. "How dare you offer deference and feigned respect when your hands are red with the blood of our people?"
"I fail to see your meaning, Alfather," the Norn queen returned evenly. Her voice was just as cold as ever. Just as cold and uncaring and selfish as –
"Have you not heard of the attack on our realm? Have you not seen the devastation Surtur's devils have inflicted upon Asgard?"
Karnilla did not reply, but there was no need for her too. Odin knew she had seen the splintered gates, the pyres where the bodies of fallen friend and defeated foe alike burned before the Palace grounds.
After a moment, Odin broke the brittle silence.
"You have much to answer for, Karnilla," he whispered spitefully.
"Do I indeed, Alfather?" she returned easily. "Am I to be held responsible now for all of Surtur's assailments? Am I to be blamed for his plots and schemes against your sovereign realm?"
"Do not mock me, Karnilla!" Odin shouted, Gungnir's warning tone echoing across the golden floor. "How comes it that Fire Demons appeared within the boarders of your realm and you said nothing?"
Again, the Norn Queen said nothing. Odin's patience was beginning to wear thin.
"I cannot imagine the presence of a score of Surtur's soldiers passed into your realm unnoticed. You have ever been vigilant in protecting your people, Karnilla, and that is to your credit. But to knowingly and willingly allow such an enemy to pass within your midst –"
"Take care with your words," Karnilla hissed, eyes narrowing at the ruler of the universe that towered above her. "Let it not be said that the Alfather accuses anyone of allying themselves with the Flames of Muspelheim."
"I see no evidence to the contrary!" Odin roared. "No move was made against you! No forced march on your lands, no slaughter of your people, no sign of any form of resistance! You did not protest Surtur's presence in your fields and mountains, and you did not hinder his retreat through Nornheim! Every shred of evidence suggests that this was the mark of a conspiracy, not that of a threat of destruction!"
"I did what I deemed to be right for those under my protection!"
"Do not insult me with your excuses and your lies," Odin warned. "However noble you believe your intentions to be, nothing can be regarded higher than the stability of Asgard . . . and through her Yggdrasil itself."
"A serf I may be under you, Alfather, but I am not to be held a slave to your own designs and ambitions."
"You owe Asgard fealty, Karnilla!" Odin bellowed.
"We have given you what we owe, and more!" she shouted back, fists clenched at her sides. "Would you, Odin Alfather, not do everything in your power to protect those under your leadership? If you were given a choice between death and life would you willingly give your people up for slaughter?"
"No king who wished for the goodwill and protection of his people would stoop so low as to commit treason!"
"Treason?!" she screeched. "Is it treason to choose your own realm over one that has never done aught for you? Is it treason to give your own people a chance in exchange for people who have never lifted a finger in your defense?"
"You are quick to forget deeds of the past," Odin replied harshly. "Asgard has risen to your defense time and again, saved your people from disaster and you yourself from death on more than one occasion."
"That is the past, Alfather," the scarlet woman bit back. "You did not summon me here to speak of long-forgotten promises but to speak of present misdeeds and scorn."
"No, indeed. You were summoned here to give an account of your betrayal!"
"If it were not for your silence," Thor broke in, in a voice half-strangled with hate and grief, "many a brave Asgardian soul would still be with us this day. Hundreds of wounded and dying would be alive to this day . . . and my sister would be standing in this assembly!"
Odin stopped his son with a raised hand.
"Your treachery has cost Asgard greatly . . . has cost me greatly . . ."
Here the first whisper of regret passed over Karnilla's eyes. But briefly.
"The Realms will suffer for such a loss, certainly, but can you value a single life as more valuable than an entire Realm, poor as it may be to you?"
"When that life is tied to Asgard's salvation, then yes."
"What do you mean by that, Alfather?"
"Only that there are many things even the Queen of Nornheim has no knowledge of."
What happened to Sigyn... could yet bring about Asgard's ruin. Odin knew that Loki had never agreed to the ruse for his love of Asgard or his duty. His only goal in all this was to protect those few who mattered to him.
If Loki had Sigyn and his son to return to then Odin had no fear of his wayward son straying from the set plan.
If he should find them . . .
"Your betrayal will not be forgotten, Karnilla," Odin growled. "Go. We give you leave to depart our court and our realm. But know that as you return to your realm you leave behind you any hope for protection under our rule. As of this day, Nornheim will be regarded as a tool under the heel of Surtur himself, and any actions taken by you or your people will be seen as suspicious. And if ever I discover that your armies are amassing beyond our northern boarders, you will be treated as an equal enemy with Muspelheim."
There was a deadly moment of silence. Karnilla seemed to become a frozen statue of rage and disgust. Then the next moment a scarlet cloud was billowing passed the fearful, accusing eyes of the Asgardian court.
The huge doors slamming shut behind her seemed to cut to Odin's soul.
Another ally lost.
He dreaded to think what else could go wrong now . . .
Deep in the heart of Muspelheim, word had spread among the soldiers that gathered before the gates of Surtur's fortress. The few demons that had returned from the assault were quick to spread tidings of their great victory over the Aesir, and how the Flame of their master was finally returned to him, and the reforging of Twilight had begun.
Leaning against one of the cavern walls amidst the boisterous celebrations, Loki could not help but smirk as he heard the loud-mouthed creatures boasting in their glorious deeds. It never ceased to amaze him how a simple tale could so quickly spiral out into something so outlandish one had to be either stupid or drunk to believe it.
These soldiers were both.
He preferred not to participate in their revelry. He needed the distance to think and to plan his next move . . . and it also created a way for him to better appreciate the idiocy of Surtur's pets.
But Eldfell's loud, raucous story drew Loki's attention in spite of himself. The lieutenant of Surtur's army was spinning a wild tale of the first assault on the gates of the Palace, how weak the Asgardian defenses had been, how easily they had broken through.
Loki pushed away from the wall and made his way a bit closer so he could hear better.
Then he saw.
A glint of gold reflected in the torch light at his right ear.
A flash of vibrant purple . . .
He pushed down the instinctive urge to rush forward.
"Is that a lady's earing?" he chided instead.
Don't think. Don't let them see…
Eldfell turned from his companions to regard the tiny Trickster behind him.
"And you would know eh, Trick-tongue?" he jeered. "Aye. Snatched it off one of those scurrying trollops when we first broke into the palace."
Loki's eyes narrowed, caught a glimpse of a tiny serpent winding itself around the jewel . . .
"So," he said conversationally, "what did you do with this 'scurrying trollop'?"
The demon let loose a sound like the roar of a wildfire – laughter.
"You'd appreciate this, Trick-master: I let her beg for mercy. I heard her sobs – how she had a child, a husband, family. So I gave her mercy . . . burn something fast enough and they never feel it!"
He gave the Trickster a hearty pounding on the back that made Loki grit his teeth from the wave of heat and strolled away laughing.
Loki watched him leave, a frozen pit growing in his chest.
His mind flashed back to the devastation he had seen before the gates of the Palace. The bodies that had lain scattered over the burning stones. Soldiers and Healers mingling together.
Twelve Healers.
The same as those that placed their wards about the doors of the Vault.
Sigyn . . .
She was . . .
No.
No no no no NO!
He had done all this for her! So she would be safe!
Loki slowly walked away from the revelry, forced his steps to be slow and measured, forced his legs not to rush away as quickly as his heart wanted him to.
He waited until he had locked himself deep within a corner of the caves. Waited until none would hear or feel or see past the layers of shields he placed…
And screamed his anguish to the unfeeling, echoing stone.
It was a rare day that Pepper was allowed a few quiet moments to herself. Between her two boys - a son and a husband - it had been rare even before they gained a temporary addition. Not that Vali himself required much handling... but he did often inspire her own son to-
"Mom? What's wrong with Vali?" Howard asked suddenly.
Pepper looked over to see the young Asgardian kneeling on the carpet, as if he had tripped. But the paper-white color of his face –
"Vali, what's wrong?" She was instantly kneeling next to him, wondering if she should call for help. The boy looked so pale and sick . . .
"It hurts," he murmured, curling up into himself, a look of uncharacteristic pain on his face.
"What hurts, Vali?" she asked gently.
Not that she could help much. No one knew enough about Asgardian physiology to be able to do anything if something was wrong with him –
"Here," came the small answer. Vali's finger was touching . . .
His heart?
"Right here," he confirmed miserably. "It hurts . . . just like Father hurts . . ."
Bewildered, Pepper looked up at Tony, saw the same baffled expression.
"Vali, I'm sure your father's fine," she assured him.
The tiny black-haired head shook slowly.
"No. Father's hurting . . . why can't someone make it stop?"