Loki
There was no time for doubt or hesitation. I gave the illusion spell a push with my mind to set it in motion, releasing my control over its magical currents, and felt an odd surge of affectionate approval. It took me a moment to recognize the source of the emotion as coming from the dragon standing before me. Zir form was different from the one I’d seen most often, but I knew that I would have recognized Sigynazor out of a thousand beings, no matter what shape zie was in. Out of my own confused, conflicting thoughts came a current of tenderness unlike anything I’d experienced before. I kissed the soft curve at the tip of zir muzzle and smiled. “For good luck,” I said, knowing it was inadequate but without time to untangle it further. Zie must have seen it in my aura, though, as zie pressed zir nose to my forehead to return the kiss, then slipped away in Sif’s wake.
I looked back to the square to see Vidar reacting to my illusion exactly as I’d hoped. The flash of what appeared to be the Bifrost activating again caught his attention, and he immediately flew up to investigate. Upon seeing the image of the Destroyer marching towards the town, he called down to Tyr, “We need to deal with this.” Tyr waved his hand in a dismissive response, and Vidar scowled, then flew off into the desert.
I jumped down as soon as he was clear of the plaza, releasing my spell of invisibility and replacing it with an image of my full battle attire, including the cape and helm. As I walked into the town square I considered doing the same for Thor, then decided it would be better not to call attention to him, given his current vulnerability.
“Look at you, the mighty Thor,” Tyr sneered, his gilded short sword pointed unwaveringly at Thor’s chest. “Cast out, stripped of your powers and dressed in the rags of Midgard. You were never fit to rule Asgard. I’m doing our people a favor by destroying you.”
A few days ago, those words would likely have goaded my brother into a fury. I tensed, expecting violent action, but Thor only raised his hands. “Destroy me if you must, but leave these mortals in peace,” he said.
I’m not sure who was more surprised, Tyr or myself, but the fallen king recovered first. “I will burn this hovel to ashes and leave none alive who witnessed these events!”
I moved to Thor’s side. “So, the tales are true,” I said, putting on my most insolent smirk. “You can only bring destruction, and are incapable of understanding or engineering peace.”
Thor jumped a little in surprise as Tyr pointed his sword at me. I knew he would want to draw out the confrontation, rather than destroying me immediately, but I also knew that he had not wielded Tyrfing for a millennium. I suppressed a flinch at the thought that he might discharge it upon me accidentally in his unhinged frenzy. “And who are you to interfere with the business of kings?” he said, glaring.
“I am Loki… Odinsotherson,” I said, with a small bow. “If you would have the throne of Asgard, there is not one you must destroy, but two.”
The sword wavered as Tyr squinted at us. “So, another whelp of Odin appears, to save his litter-mate!” Tyr shouted. His voice carried well despite his age, and I wondered if he had been practicing, or if Vidar had given him magical assistance.
“I come to muzzle an aged hound, and end his pitiful yapping,” I replied, putting a hand on Thor’s shoulder and surreptitiously covering him with the strongest spell of protection I could manage. “Let us leash you again and lead you to your kennel, tail tucked between your legs.”
Tyr’s eyes flashed as he straightened his shoulders. He recognized by the cadence of my speech that I was flyting, delivering the ritual insults that preceded a duel between Aesir nobility. In those contests matching taunts was as important as the fighting, to show one’s clear-headed bravery and cleverness to an audience who would remember the words long after the violence was done, especially since most nobles survived duels and then had to live for centuries with the opinions of their peers dissecting and gossiping over their performance. In this situation, our only audience was a herd of terrified, confused mortals and a powerless Aesir that he hoped to murder. Nobody would know or care if he simply destroyed us without responding in kind.
“You think you can chain me, you womanish whelp?” he growled, lowering his sword. “I have heard of you, Loki the Liar. Your words are but wind, puffing forth from a face fair-cheeked as a virgin’s blush.”
I had to hide a smile as he responded to my challenge. Thor growled and shifted, but I restrained him with my grip on his shoulder. Evidently he hadn’t entirely outgrown the need to avenge insults to his family. While the taunt may have stung before, I now knew the secret of why I had never been able to grow hair on my face, and the knowledge of secrets has always been the most powerful kind. I would never be hurt there again.
On the other hand, much can be learned about a person by how they choose to insult others. I released Thor’s arm and stepped forward, fingers twitching as I began to craft another illusion. “Much the same has been said of your get, little Ragnar, man-child of Asgard,” I said, distracting attention from my gestures with a flourish of my cloak. “Muscles he lacks beneath feast-fattened curves, and his cheeks are as smooth as a maiden’s. Training at arms frightens him with its noise—he makes a fair adorner of benches.”
“My son is no woman, nor a coward!” Tyr spat, his gnarled knuckles whitening their grip on Tyrfing.
I took advantage of Tyr’s anger to cast the spells I’d been holding, and stepped aside, watching him carefully. I was very pleased to see that his attention remained on the illusion of myself I’d created, standing by Thor’s side, and his eyes never moved towards my true, invisible self.
“He fled from your scheme to put him on the throne,” I said, projecting my voice from the illusion as I moved stealthily around Tyr’s side. “He ran straight to me, spilling all. Ragnar was so frighted of your plans for him that he wept, and begged me to save him.”
Tyr’s grip shifted, and I tugged on the magical currents, encouraging him to words instead of actions. It was only a subconscious suggestion, but he was well primed to receive it. I needed him to hold his fire until I was in position behind him.
“Ill-forger, cease, or face Tyrfing’s wrath,” he said, straightening his spine. “You lie to turn me against my son. He will heed the call of power, and when you are both dead, he will rise to the throne, his rightful place. My blood in his veins will show the truth!” Tyr’s face was red and his voice rose as he lost the rhythm of the flyting cadence. If this had been a public duel in Asgard, as far as any noble spectators were concerned, he would have already lost.
“Your blood?” I asked, my illusion showing a mockingly curious expression. It was a little odd to watch myself over Tyr’s shoulder, but I didn’t let that distract me as I channeled yet more magical energy to charge the daggers in my hands. “I remember the gossip… Thyra was fond of both of Bor’s sons. Perhaps Ragnar, too, is my brother?” I readied myself to strike as the former king stiffened. “Odin took your hand, your throne, and your wife, casting you out to rule a ruined world—”
This was, by far, the most challenging feat I had ever attempted: maintaining a credible illusion of myself, projecting a steady stream of carefully barbed insults from my illusory self along with a web of magical manipulation designed to direct his anger and attention, while wrapped in a cloak of invisibility and attempting to sneak behind my opponent as I empowered my daggers with enough force to put him down in one strike. It was a true test of my skills, and in spite of the circumstances I found myself somewhat enjoying the experience.
So of course my brother had to ruin the whole thing.
Tyr’s bellow of rage interrupted my speech as he stabbed his sword at my illusion. Over his shoulder, I watched as Thor threw himself in front of the blade. The energy discharged by the weapon was strong enough to have briefly incapacitated him when he was at the height of his powers. The inadequate shield I’d put across Thor’s body was instantly shredded like tissue. Reduced to the strength of a mortal, the impact of the blow picked him up and threw him across the street, to crash into the side of a metal carriage and crumple to the ground.
I don’t know what noise I made, but it left my throat raw and torn. In front of me, Tyr flinched away from the unexpected presence behind him even as I plunged my knives into his back, one on either side of his spine. The sword flew from his grip as he twisted, reaching fruitlessly for the handles of my weapons. I shoved him to the ground as I raced past him, arriving at Thor’s side at the same time as his human lover, and we knelt on either side of him.
“You know I use illusions, Thor, you know that,” I babbled as the mortal gently cradled his bleeding head. I put my hand over the gushing wound in his side, willing it to heal even as I felt his life pouring out between my fingers. “You didn’t think I’d be so stupid as to put myself in danger like that, did you? You never think!” At my frustrated shout I felt the woman flinch and glanced up, to see terror and grief in her expression that mirrored mine.
“Didn’t think,” he mumbled, his uneven breath hitching in his chest. “Safe now?”
I looked back to the collapsed form of Tyr, still weakly trying to pull the knives out of his back as the crowd of mortals began to rise, looking around in bewilderment. I’d charged the weapons to a fairly low power, hoping to take him home alive, but I found myself completely unconcerned if he bled out in the street. The battle outside of town was still raging, but it didn’t seem important enough to mention at the moment. “Safe enough,” I said, looking back down at my brother.
Thor lifted his free hand towards the mortal and she caught it, letting him stroke her face and smudge her tears. “’He went consenting, else he was no king.’ Mother… told us that story, remember?” He grimaced, struggling not to cough. “I know now. This is—what she meant. Rule well, brother. Live long, sweet Jane.” He exhaled, a strange, wet whistling sound, then lay still.
“No,” Jane said, still holding his hand. “No, you can’t. Don’t do this. Please.” An older man walked up behind her and put his hand on her back as she bent over the limp body, shoulders shaking. I gently placed Thor’s other hand on his chest, then sat back on my heels, staring blindly at the blood that covered my hands and arms.
A high-pitched sound was building across the desert. In a few seconds it had pierced the sounds of battle still raging outside the town. I blinked, looking in the direction of the sound, and saw what looked like an explosion on the horizon, far past Vidar’s fight.
“Jane,” the older mortal said, gripping her shoulder and tugging, as a line of white clouds fountained up into the sky. “Jane, we have to go now.”
“I can’t leave him!” she cried, but by then she had also heard the noise and looked up. The line slowed, and seemed to be arcing—racing straight in our direction.
“We can’t help him now, Jane, we have to go!” The older man pulled her up and dragged her away several steps.
I stood up, staring at the object flying towards us, then grinned and turned back to the other two. “He may be beyond our help, but his star still shines!” I ran towards them, catching them up before they could flinch and carrying them several yards away, half-turning before setting them down and putting my arms around each of their shoulders, just in time to see the handle of Mjolnir smack into Thor’s waiting, upraised hand.
Before our eyes, Thor’s mantle of immortality was restored—even his armor flashed back onto his body as he held his hammer aloft, wreathed in lightning. I might have rolled my eyes at his theatrical pose, but given the circumstances I rather felt it was justified.
“Oh. My. God.”
I smirked at Jane. “Not yours yet, but you’ve certainly made a good claim to him so far.”
I didn’t hear any response she might have given me as I doubled over, falling to one knee on the pavement. From the link Sigyn had given me, I could tell that the dragon had just been badly wounded, and lost zir fight with Vidar. “Thor!” I struggled to gather energy to myself, through the haze of second-hand pain and exhaustion from everything else I’d done. “Thor, he’s coming back!”
He glanced back at Tyr’s motionless form, then looked questioningly at me. I waved in the direction of the desert, and Thor turned just as a huge blue-gray dragon rose up, arcing over the buildings on the edge of town and hovering before us on massive, outspread wings, while the crowd of mortals around us screamed and tried to flee in renewed panic. The magical currents began to warp, twisting towards Vidar as he prepared to cast a spell of devastation. I knew that he would not waste time grandstanding like Tyr had, but would put all his strength into wiping us out with a single blow.
The monster opened his gaping maw, and we could see the flames burning deep inside. Vidar meant to destroy us with magical dragon’s fire—what he undoubtedly felt would be a fitting end. I had put up a shield, but it was weak, even as I was still trying to channel energy into it with a frantic certainty that it would not be enough. Staring into the burning darkness, I caught a streak of light out of the corner of my eye, almost too fast to follow. There was an explosive impact, and I blinked. When I opened my eyes, the dragon was still hovering on a cushion of magical support with an expression of profound surprise on his face. Through his open mouth, I could see the blue sky of the desert behind him. His eyes rolled back and his body collapsed to the ground, then collapsed further into that of an Aesir with a ravaged head, as the last of the magic Vidar had been controlling was released.
Thor watched Vidar’s body as his hand reached out to catch Mjolnir’s return, ready to strike again if the Aesir gave any sign of life. Releasing the shield spell, I stood up, feeling a surge of disoriented, pained relief. It took me a few moments to realize that the sensation was coming from Sigynazor, and I looked up to see zir in near-Aesir form, staggering into the town square with Volstagg’s support, while Hogun and Fandarel half-carried Sif. All of them looked exhausted, battered, and triumphant.
I took a step towards them, but froze when I heard an alarmed shout. Whirling around, I saw that Tyr had crawled to where Tyrfing lay, the fingers of his artificial hand almost touching the sword’s golden hilt. Without thinking, I flicked out a knife and pinned his hand to the ground, then darted forward and scooped up the weapon, ignoring his agonized scream.
The world seemed to withdraw from around me as I stared at the sword. Strange, subtle thoughts flickered through my mind, not quite too faint and quick for me to detect. My awareness of them seemed to spark a reaction, and the thoughts grew stronger. Memories were called up, scenes were imagined, my responses examined and judged. I realized I was being tested. The skin where I gripped the handle flashed blue, then back to that of an Aesir, and I knew the secret of my ancestry had been uncovered. In my alarm and confusion I would have dropped the weapon, but my hand would not release its hilt. Then, in the space of an indrawn breath the onslaught stopped, and I heard something like a click in my mind. Tyrfing seemed to open up, coming alive with magic that revealed a web of information and abilities.
“I think it likes you,” Thor said, startling me out of my reverie. He had one arm around Jane’s waist, but raised Mjolnir in his other hand, grinning widely. As he did, I felt a resonance between it and the sword I held, as well as a fainter echo from farther away. I concentrated on this echo and realized Odin—my father—had awakened, and was holding Gungnir. For a moment I felt his surprise tinged with pleasure as he understood who was holding Tyrfing. While I was relieved to know he was recovered, I also still felt the anger and confusion towards him that hadn’t resolved since our argument in the armory. In response to my half-formed thought, Tyrfing narrowed the thread of communication between the weapons so that I was only vaguely aware of the other two.
Volstagg released Sigyn, who seemed to fall forward, transforming in an instant into zir natural form. There was some more shouting and alarm from the mortals at seeing a second dragon appear in their midst, but it seemed halfhearted and quieted quickly as they realized the new dragon was a friend of the people that had saved them. Sigyn limped to my side, and on a barely-understood impulse I touched zir with the tip of Tyrfing, sending magical power streaming through the weapon. Just as I had hoped, the additional energy helped speed up the dragon’s regeneration, and zir wounds healed as I watched. Zie straightened up and smiled at me.
We all looked around at the sound of screeching tires, to see a stream of black-suited warriors emerge from a newly arrived fleet of vehicles.