Veil of Smoke
A Loki and Thor Story
Part 1/6
"Nervous, brother?"
"Have you ever known me to be nervous?"
"Well, there was the time in Nornheim . . . "
"That was not nerves, brother. That was the rage of battle."
"I see . . . "
"How else could I have fought my way through a hundred warriors and pulled us out alive?"
"As I recall, I was the one who veiled us in smoke to ease our escape."
The golden head tilts back, and warm laughter fills the fire-lit shadows, inviting them to share his humor.
"Some do battle," he says. "Others just do tricks."
Nornheim was gray.
Crumbling pillars of gray rock. Flat plains traced with whorls of drifting gray sand. Clumps of grayish-green shrubs clinging to life along the edges of charcoal-hued ravines.
Skies the color of ashes. Silvery, scudding clouds.
Gray, gray Nornheim.
Thor fingered the edge of his cloak, and scowled down at its soft, thick folds. Gray, of course. When Loki had conjured it, he'd handed it to Thor, brows raised innocently, and said, "The color of shadows and skulking. It suits you so well." And Thor had frowned, taking it reluctantly from his brother's hands, unable to summon any answering jest.
He pushed the cloak aside; his fingers brushed the heavy, unfamiliar scabbard hanging at his waist, and the lingering tension that had been dogging his heels since they'd entered this Realm slithered up his spine and curled itself into a painful lump at the base of his skull.
"Why don't I have Mjolnir?" he growled. It was not the first time those words had passed his lips that day.
His hand rested, for an uneasy instant, on the hilt of the sword shoved into the scabbard, its weight and balance so different from the Hammer. Around him loomed the slumping, wind-scoured walls of the gully they'd been traversing, walls that had been steadily closing in as the gully's floor had dropped. Thor rolled his shoulders, restlessly, shrugging off the itchy feeling of confinement, tipping back his head. The sky above was a gray scrim of dull light and thin, hurrying clouds.
A few strides ahead, his brother paused, turning his head without really looking at Thor.
"You don't have Mjolnir because it's such a . . . loud object. It bends the currents of dark energy around itself and bellows its presence so belligerently that even the dullest of mages could hear it. And the Queen of this Realm is no dullard."
Thor's lips tightened. "I know that, Loki. I did not require an actual answer."
This time his brother's eyes did reach his, alive with humor. "Of course. Merely making certain," he said.
Ahead, the gully's walls opened abruptly, the gray light brightening over a large, open plain. Their destination, and their mark.
"At last," Thor muttered. This roundabout, back-door approach had not been his choice; if his wishes had been followed, he and his brother would have traveled boldly down the central vale and arrived here hours before. But Loki had flatly refused.
We'll be overrun before we come in sight of the Keep, brother, and you know it. The back way is the only way, through the foothills where no one can see us approaching.
He'd agreed, reluctantly, seeing the wisdom in it, curse it all. But he despised scuttling and creeping; and furthermore how had Loki known of this approach in the first place?
He glanced at his brother now, as Loki eased his way forward and crouched at the gully's narrow mouth. He cleared his throat to ask, but as Loki's head turned to regard him, he brought his cupped fist to his lips and manufactured a cough, instead.
There were some things, he considered, that were better left unknown, where Loki was concerned. Where Loki's magic was concerned.
"Come." A grin flashed across Loki's face, as he lifted one hand in careless invitation. "Feast your eyes upon the enemy, brother."
Thor slipped forward, hunkering down at Loki's side, his gaze sweeping the empty floor of the valley before them and then sliding up the cliff wall to their left. His eyes narrowed.
The sleek, angular towers of the Nornkeep reared their faces far above the plain, the slim, arched windows and weapon-ports looking out over the void with black, soulless eyes. The walls of the castle were fused directly into the surrounding rock, and even from this distance their massive girth made itself felt. There was no discernible entrance.
"A worthy fortress, yes?"
Loki's voice was edged with humor, still, and, as Thor scrutinized the Keep, searching for breachable perimeters and exploitable weaknesses, he felt his heart lift. The gray tension eased, and a sudden grin lit his features.
"Aye."
He glanced back at Loki, and he saw his own anticipation of oncoming battle mirrored in the sly gleam in his brother's eyes.
"Don't be too eager, Thor." Loki said. "I suspect this endeavor will involve a great deal more subterfuge and much less open blood-letting than you might prefer."
Thor let out a breath, bracing one hand on Loki's shoulder as he leaned out to study the castellated battlements ornamenting the tallest tower. "I'm not a fool, brother. I do realize that it is just the two of us."
"Indeed."
"And within yon Keep lies a force of hundreds."
"Thousands, perhaps."
"Half of which are undying demons."
"That does add a certain piquant flavor to this venture."
"So naturally, of course, we must resort to subterfuge."
"Of course. And naturally subterfuge is your last resort."
"That's why... you're here."
Thor laughed, and rapped his knuckles against the thick leather armor concealed by Loki's gray cloak. Loki's mouth was still for a moment, and then curled upward at one corner.
"Indeed," he repeated, softly.
That's why you're here . . .
But even as he said it, Thor's fingers stroked the sword hilt, and he wished, not for the first time that day, that his mother had made a different decision yestereve . . .
Loki saw the smoke first, when they'd crested the ridge, fat, lazy curls hovering low over the treetops, and Thor, reining Gyllir to a stop beside him, noticed at once the chiseled stillness which was, in his brother, a certain sign of rapt attention.
He followed Loki's gaze, and his own face stiffened. He turned in the saddle, holding up an authoritative hand, and his brow creased when he saw how few of the party remained.
His mother the Queen, followed by a cluster of four or five handmaidens, all of their mounts streaked with lather from the mad, plunging ride. The Lady Sif behind them, her eyes nonchalantly scanning the trees to either side. Beside her, face stern, the warrior Hogun, who turned as well to lift a hand to a figure far in the rear, green cloak flying: the swordsman, Fandral.
And that was all. Thor shook his head, momentarily diverted. "What has become of the rest? Where is Volstagg? We began the hunt this morning with fifty riders!"
His mother smiled gently, as she smoothed one finely-detailed glove further up her wrist.
"The pace you set was very . . . ambitious, my son. I suspect the less enthusiastic ones have long since turned back and are even now ensconced, back in the City, before a comfortable fire."
There was a covert exchange of longing glances among the handmaidens, and the Queen's smile broadened. But then she too noticed the still, set figure of her younger son, and her eyes sobered.
"What is it?" she asked. "Loki?"
Loki shifted in the saddle, his gaze swinging about to meet hers, but before he could speak, Thor gestured forward, and said, shortly, "There's smoke in the air."
The Queen lifted her chin, following the line of his finger, studying it for a moment. She frowned.
"A fire, in the forest? A lightning-strike?" the Lady Sif hazarded.
But Loki shook his head, eyes narrowing. "No. . . there's been no rain . . ."
Without another word, he spurred his horse forward, urging him into a startled gallop. Thor uttered a muffled oath, and plunged after him; they'd rounded a bend in the road and disappeared from sight before the Queen had gathered her reins.
Fandral pulled his horse up in a cloud of flying dust, looked after the vanished princes, crooked a brow, and murmured dryly, "Was it something I said?"
The Queen smiled at him, and then glanced over at Sif, whose mouth slanted into a half-grin as she cast her eyes upward.
"After you, my lady," she said.
The odor of smoke, acrid and harsh, grew stronger with each of the horses' strides. It was not, at all, the warm resinous scent of burning pine, and the Queen's face settled into grave, anxious lines. When at last the forest gave way, and they entered a large clearing, she nodded sadly, unsurprised, at the sight before them.
It had been a small village, but a prosperous one, each of the dwellings backed by a sturdy barn and storehouse. Now they held the torch of their burning up to the sky, twisted columns of smoke and a few remaining tenacious flames. The villagers were gathered in small knots here and there, their faces soot-streaked and hollow-eyed. An old woman crouched in what had been the village square; her arms wrapped around a shivering cluster of children, who clung to her while their wide eyes peered solemnly at the smoldering ruins all around them. A number of shirtless men had formed a long chain, and were drawing bucket after bucket up from the central well, and flinging the water around the perimeter of the village. They had long ceased trying to save the houses; they sought, backs straining, lungs heaving, to prevent the fire's spread into the surrounding forest.
Her sons' horses, white-eyed before the threat of fire but too well-trained to flee, were huddled together under the drooping branches of a gnarled spruce. Frigga swung down from the saddle, and tossed the reins to a startled handmaiden who'd scrambled down to join her.
"Stay with the horses, my dear," she murmured.
"Yes, my lady, but . . . are you certain. . .is it safe?" The girl faltered under the Queen's stern gaze.
"All will be well. Stay here."
The queen strode forward. She was conscious of the stir behind her as Sif and the others dismounted, but her eyes and mind swept the village before her, seeking for some cause to the bitter stench of ill will that hung in the air, thick as the smoke.
The shifting, thready rags of smoke parted to reveal Thor, standing grim-faced in the midst of a clutch of villagers, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands curled into white-knuckled fists. As she drew closer she could hear the disconnected fragments, the voices speaking over one another, desperate for their tale to reach the prince's ears.
". . . out of the shadows, under the trees. We did not hear them coming . . . "
"They were carrying firebrands. They were . . ."
". . . and spears! And their faces were terrible. . ."
A sudden, frightened pause. Nods from every head.
"Terrible. . ." murmured one of the men.
Thor held up one hand, though there was no real need. Their eyes were fastened on him like drowning sailors who've sighted a beacon in the midst of a storm. None of them spared her a glance as she approached, though Thor's gaze slid to the side and rested for a moment on her face as Frigga halted on the outskirts of the little circle. His eyes were bleak.
"What did they look like?" he asked. "How were they terrible. . .?"
"How many are dead?" Frigga interrupted, her soft voice cleaving through Thor's deeper tones.
Startled faces turned to regard her, and then eyes widened as they took in her rich clothing and regal stance. Hands clasped nervously together; necks bent.
"Your dead?" she repeated, her eyes deep with compassion. She flicked a glance at Thor.
"Oh, my lady," one of the men began, and then stopped, the words choked in his dry throat.
"There are. . . no one died, my lady," another finally answered. "They weren't seeking to kill, just to destroy. But. . . " he slowly lifted one hand, and opened it toward a little huddle of people, clasped together before one of the houses. Distantly, Frigga noticed that it was the only structure that hadn't burnt, its colorful yellow walls forlorn and incongruous among the sooty, collapsed ruins that made up the rest of the village.
Frigga inclined her head, the better to observe the ones he was indicating: a young couple, the man holding a sobbing woman, his own eyes dull, his face so drawn that she could clearly see the skull beneath the skin.
"What happened to them?" she asked.
A woman standing at her elbow looked up into Frigga's face and said, "The attackers, my lady. The dark ones took their child."
Past the sharp corner of one of the Keep's angular towers, a warrior appeared, clad in overlapping plates of strangely fluid armor and striding with the singularly aimless purpose that marks the gait of a guard performing his duty and nothing more. He walked to the edge of the large courtyard, and surveyed the open valley before him, and then turned on his heel and returned the way he'd come. A faint hum whistled out from between his lips, a martial, minor-keyed tune.
He did not notice the two motionless forms crouched among the rocks piled at the base of the tower, their gray cloaks indistinguishable from stone and brush.
"There departs a man with no knowledge of how closely he walked with death just now," Loki whispered wryly.
Thor flapped his hand behind him in a swift "be silent" gesture, and then leaned forward, enough to slip his head around the corner of the Tower, and see into the gateyard beyond.
After a long moment, he felt a booted toe prod his calf.
When he looked back, Loki was raising both brows inquiringly.
He lifted one hand, fingers spread, and then thumped his own chest.
Five men.
Loki nodded.
Thor stood, a slow, silent uncoiling, and, filling his lungs with breath, he felt for the hilt and began to draw the sword.
The motion was abruptly halted. He looked down to see two of Loki's fingers pushing the sword back down into the scabbard with a muffled rasp.
He met Loki's eyes, and his brow wrinkled when Loki lifted his chin and shook his head, once, deliberately.
Thor straightened his shoulders. He splayed his fingers further, directly in front of Loki's face, and jerked his head toward the gateyard.
Loki's expression did not change, but his hand moved in a gesture so emphatically graphic that Thor was obliged to clamp his teeth shut in order to contain a shout of laughter.
Loki spun and stalked off along the wall, his concealing cloak making the movement seem like a random breeze ruffling the rocks themselves.
After a moment, and a longing glance back into the gateyard,-yes, indeed, still only five-Thor followed, and when they'd reached a niche, a junction of two walls that offered concealment, he reached out and pulled Loki to a stop, and hissed, "I take it you have some different scheme in mind?"
"And which of my very subtle hints has given you that acute insight?"
"All of them." He sighed. "And it's a clever plan, is it?"
"Well, whether it be clever or no, I'll allow to judge for yourself, but it does possess one cardinal virtue."
"And that is?"
"Silence."
Thor spread his hands. "Loki, there were five of them. We could have taken them easily. And silently."
"Could we? In an open courtyard, with no cover for our approach?" He flicked a finger against the scabbard at Thor's waist. "As you have been muttering under your breath all this day, you don't have Mjolnir, so our armory is thinly stocked with projectile weapons."
He raised his hands, and for a moment a wicked, winking blade appeared in each of them, and then flickered out of existence once more. "I can take two, but as they fall, and you sprint across the yard, twirling your sword between thumb and forefinger, and launch yourself at one of the remaining . . ."
Thor's face creased into an offended grimace. "Twirling?"
" . . . and I conjure more blades to remove the other two. . ."
"What? Since when in any battle do you take four enemies to my one?"
". . . I think you can clearly see that there are many moments, in the spaces between all of these valiant actions, where one or more of our hapless foes might be able to sound an alarm."
Thor tilted his head, skeptical reluctance writ large in every angle of his body.
". . . Thus making your frontal assault far too risky a plan." Loki finished, eyes glinting.
Thor's shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug that indicated clearly his opinion of risk.
Loki rolled his eyes skyward. "Oh, no doubt, I heartily agree. But we are not risking our own bodily wellbeing, Thor. We are risking the child's."
Thor's face fell, slightly. "True."
"You hadn't forgotten the child, had you? The sole purpose that we stand here in the lee shadow of the Nornkeep, attired so very inelegantly?"
"No, of course I hadn't forgotten. So be it, then. How do you propose that we breach this fortress?"
"Four options are open to us. We can, as you suggest, throw ourselves at the portcullis and trust to our skill and all the gods of battle that one of the gatekeepers doesn't manage a scream for help. . . "
Thor scowled.
"Or we can go over the wall. Or under it. Or through it. Quietly."
"I'm eager indeed to hear how you plan to take us quietly through a wall."
Loki grinned. "Watch and marvel, brother."
He canted his neck, studying the rim of the tower, far above. The battlement was lined with small dark forms; when one of them stirred, fluttering its wings, Thor realized they were birds, live creatures rather than carved ornaments: doves, each garbed in a robe of pearly gray feathers. Loki contemplated them, so still for so long that at last Thor tired of it and growled, "I'm watching, brother, and yet, strange as it may seem, not marveling."
A smile eased the lines around Loki's eyes.
Then he pointed, with his chin. "Look."
A restless shudder through the line of doves, a swift shadow sweeping over them, and in a sudden disordered burst they took flight. A harsh cry pierced the sky's vault.
Thor squinted up into the gray light, until a movement snagged the corner of his eye, and he lowered his gaze to see Loki standing, eyes closed, one hand raised, fingers curling and uncurling in a clawed, beckoning gesture. Thor eyed him for a moment, and then retreated, several steps, his body braced against his own uncertainty, his mind scrambling backward through memory of past battles. Had he ever seen Loki use that gesture before?
But whatever he might have anticipated, it was not the small, sleek form that soared out from behind the Keep's looming bulk, gliding in slow circles, ever closer: a brown-feathered falcon, with a soft white breast.
Loki's hand dropped and his eyes opened, as he murmured, "Kvethja, haukr."
The bird alighted on a nearby shrub, and cocked its head askew, haughty displeasure in its bright, black eye.
Loki laughed softly, and crouched down, to meet its gaze at its own level. "My apologies," he said. "It was an abrupt summons."
The falcon adjusted its wings, and clicked its hooked beak. It stared unblinkingly into Loki's eyes, and Loki stared back, his face settling into a blank expressionless shell.
Thor shifted his weight. An uneasy vision swirled behind his eyes, an image of his father bent motionless to peer into the eyes of a large raven; it melted and merged with the sight of Loki and this falcon, and before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice saying, "Has Father been teaching you . . . "
Loki looked up at him, his eyes swimming back from some great depth.
". . . how to speak with birds?" Thor finished. He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly foolish.
Loki straightened, tilting his head mockingly. "Do you truly think that I am communing with this dull creature?"
Thor pursed his lips, considering. "Yes?"
Loki merely raised a brow, though a tightness in the muscles of his neck, and a ripple along his jawline, gave hint that perhaps he was suppressing a smile.
"To what end did you command it?" Thor crossed his arms over his chest.
Loki glanced down at the bird, his face softening. "One does not dictate to a falcon. One can only . . . make a polite request."
"So you were speaking with it."
Loki shook his head, regarding Thor with an exaggerated expression of deep pity. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."
Thor threw up his hands and turned away, but he glanced back in time to see a swift grin split Loki's features as he flicked two fingers toward the falcon, up and outward. The bird exploded into flight; in a few moments it was a dark speck lost in the expanse of gray sky.
Thor sighed. "And now I suppose we must wait patiently for its return?"
"Courage, brother. It won't be long, I assure you."
Thor lowered himself to the ground, back against the wall, and said, "By this point, Loki, we could have subdued the gate guards, located the child, freed that same child, and be hastening back toward Asgard. At the very least. And all very quietly. We would not have disturbed so much as a hair on a demon's head."
Loki sat beside him, shaking his head. "No, we couldn't. As well you know."
Thor didn't answer. He picked up a stone and turned it over and over in his fingers, before squeezing it tightly in a coiled fist. "You're right, you know."
"Am I? How delightful. What am I right about?"
He tossed the stone away. "I despise subterfuge."
Loki smiled. "If it is any comfort to you, I surmise that you may have some opportunity to vigorously hack a few demon-guards before this day is through."
They were silent; both heads, light and dark, tipped back to scan the horizon, both sets of ears straining for the faint cry that would herald the falcon's return.
Loki drew his knees up, suddenly, and leaned upon them, and muttered, "I hope that Mother is . . . well. I wish that this mad endeavor had not required her aid."
Thor turned to him, eyes troubled. "It is truly so dangerous? What she's attempting?"
"Not always. But it may be." Loki stretched out a hand, studying his own fingers. "Using the Sight to search the present is difficult and wearisome. To use it to delve into the past is . . . well, the Sight strives always to pull the Seeker in after itself."
"It sounds dangerous."
"Yes."
"But Mother is a very skilled Seer."
"Oh, yes. Very."
Thor saw, behind the careful wording of Loki's speech, the uneasiness shadowing his eyes. His heart labored, for a few beats, burdened with the knowledge of his brother's fear.
And then, in the distance, the sound of guttural voices and hooves clicking sharply against rock.
"Damn," Loki hissed.
In the space of a breath, Thor slid his back up the wall and regained his feet. At the edge of vision, he saw the flash of a blade appear in Loki's hand.
Another breath. A loud guffaw, the creaking of a leather saddle. Hoofbeats, nearer now.
A sidelong glance at Loki, who shrugged.
"We cannot allow the Keep to be alerted to our presence," Loki whispered.
"Right. Do you have any subterfuge applicable to this situation?"
"Nothing comes to mind."
Around the curve of the wall, three of the armored guards appeared, mounted on three giant, equally-armored horses. As he drew his sword, Thor watched with grim amusement as their mouths fall open.
"Open blood-letting, then?" he murmured.
The fierce call of the returning falcon sounded in the sky above, as Loki hefted his dagger and answered, "So it would appear."
