Freed: (Phoebe Meadows Book 2) Page 10

  “I think I saw that level,” I said, remembering the two elf sentinels. “So, how do we get from here to there now that they’re looking for you? We’re not going to gain access easily.”

  Baldur ran a hand around the back of his neck. The gesture was so like Tyr’s that I sat forward in my chair, but before I could say anything, he answered, “It will take some tricks, but I have a few up my sleeve.” I waited for more. “I know of a room where they keep weapons and some spells. If we can make it there, we have a chance to break onto level five.”

  I blew out a breath as a feeling of hopelessness crept in now that our cover was mostly blown. “I was kind of hoping you’d have more of a slam-dunk plan. Plus, Leela might not actually be on level five, or they might move her before we can get there.” There were so many things that had to be taken into account.

  “There’s no such thing as a sure thing in a place like this.” He chuckled. “To most, this castle is impenetrable, as it’s built deep inside a mountain. It’s actually amazing you were able to get this far. You should congratulate yourself. With your weapons and that cloak”—he gestured to the back of my chair—“you must have some powerful allies.”

  I wasn’t ready to discuss the nitty-gritty of being Odin’s daughter just yet. I wanted to feel him out first and make sure I could trust him. He seemed honest, and he most certainly had a cheerful spirit and a good heart, but we’d just met. I redirected the conversation. “Is the weapons room you’re talking about close to here?”

  “You broke me out of level sixteen,” Baldur answered. “We went up three, by my count, so that means this is level thirteen. The weapons room I’m thinking about is on level ten.”

  “I take it there is more than one weapon cache,” I said wryly.

  “There is one on every level, but only a few contain spells. The dark elves covet spells. Crafting powerful ones takes a long time and effort, so they don’t disperse them throughout all the levels.”

  “How do you know which floor is which? I haven’t seen any markings or numbers.”

  “The elves don’t use our number system. They have their own. If you look closely, there are tiny symbols carved into the stone at the beginning of every hallway, but they are hard to see and only come up about waist-high. Over the years, I’ve gotten good at interpreting their alphabet.”

  I glanced around the deserted guard room. “So you’re telling me this is level thirteen? What are the odds?” I mused.

  He leaned back in his chair, genuine curiosity in his voice. “Why is the number thirteen particular?”

  “In Midgard, it’s a fairly superstitious number. Meaning it’s no coincidence that this level would be the one to be jinxed and not another—”

  A loud noise came from the hallway, and we both leaped to our feet, upending our chairs.

  I had my swords out in less than two seconds, and Junnal was already out the door.

  That had been no Muroidea.

  It’d sounded like a door slam.

  Baldur went first, and I followed, which was silly, because I was the one with the weapons. Junnal moved to the side, and Baldur slipped in front of him. The god was on high alert. He moved with fluid grace, just like Tyr and Fen. His senses were heightened, like any god, and he seemed at ease with the task of discovering what had just gone bump in the night.

  He sidled up to a closed door, his left hand aloft. It was dark out here, the soft light from the torch in the other room barely making it this far.

  We had clearly missed something when we’d entered this level. It’d been a stupid oversight, and one that could’ve cost us. Who knew what was lurking in there?

  I held my weapons out in front of me, both swords poised to strike. Baldur burst through the door, and I came next, spinning past him, my swords arcing down, anticipating something awful.

  I stopped them midair.

  My surprise at discovering what was in front of me could’ve been a deal breaker in the form of a gruesome death by twin sword blades had I not learned to control my swings on a dime.

  There, sitting on the floor, back against the stone wall, was a withered old man with a long, white beard.

  My mouth dropped open as I lowered my swords to my sides while Baldur confronted him. “Who are you?”

  The man appraised us both, blinking a pair of tired-looking eyes, then he turned to Junnal looming in the doorway. He didn’t seem fazed by our presence here at all. It took him some time to answer as he stroked his beard. “I am Callan.” His voice was broken and raspy.

  “Are you a mage?” Baldur demanded. “You smell like both white elf and magician. I don’t believe I’ve ever scented anything like you before.”

  “Indeed,” Callan answered. “I am both. Some here have given me the moniker whage , for lack of a more unique term. There are only a handful of us in existence. Maybe more or less now.” He shrugged his frail shoulders. “It’s hard to know. Things in the worlds change very quickly, and I’ve been gone for a long while.”

  Baldur dropped to a crouch in front of the elf-mage.

  Well, mostly eye level.

  He was still taller than the wizened old man, his frame seeming massive compared to the older man on the floor. “How long have you been here?” Baldur glanced around the dingy room, full of dust and bones—likely from the carcasses of what I assumed were remains of Muroidea.

  Lots and lots of Muroidea.

  I bit back the bile threatening to ascend and harnessed my swords, taking a good look around. The small room resembled a typical cell. No windows. Stone walls. A small cot. It was less than rustic—it was a hovel.

  “I’ve been a resident of this realm for far too long,” Callan finally answered. His voice was soft and weak, but gaining strength as he continued. “I came to this place to free my king. After he escaped, I was trapped, so I cursed this place. It has been both my refuge and my prison ever since.”

  “Well, this is your lucky day, white elf,” Baldur replied, standing, extending his hand to Callan. “We’re breaking out of here for good, and you are welcome to join us.”

  The mage took Baldur’s hand and stood on wobbly legs.

  His snow-white hair tumbled down around his shoulders. The color and length matched his beard, which unfurled down the front of his body as he straightened, hitting his waist.

  For the first time I noticed his ears were pointed, sticking through the thin tufts of hair. White elves looked nothing like dark elves. They resembled humans in every way, save for their pointy ears and long, extra-skinny fingers. Fingers were almost as bad as teeth around here.

  “That would be agreeable,” Callan said, nodding. “But how are you going to master such a feat? I have been here many long years thinking of doing just that, but these walls are impenetrable.”

  “Can you still kindle magic?” Baldur asked, peering down at the old man, who was at least two feet shorter than the god.

  “Why, yes, I believe so,” he replied, seeming somewhat surprised by his answer. He glanced down and flexed his metacarpals absentmindedly. “But I am not as potent as I once was. I have not eaten a decent meal or felt sunshine on my withered skin for too many years to count. Sunshine is as important to a white elf as breathing.” He took in a labored, shallow breath. “We must have it.” Dark elves turned to stone in sunlight. I’d learned that fun tidbit from Sam. “Without the rays of the sun, we weaken and decay, as I have done. My death would have come shortly, had you not found me, of that I am certain.”

  Stepping forward, I said, “If you help us find the Valkyrie we’re seeking, I give you my word we will find a way to get you home.”

  He appraised me, peering at me with his head angled down, like he had imaginary spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He took a step forward. “You,” he started, “are something entirely different as well.”

  I took an unplanned step backward, surprised.

  “A Valkyrie born to a powerful god and an ancient queen.”

  “A queen ?�
�� No one had said anything about my mother being a queen. “Um, no. I don’t think so. My mother is a Valkyrie, that’s true, but she’s no queen. In fact, we’re a very democratic society.” There had been a lot of voting going on while I’d been living in the stronghold, for almost everything. Other than deferring to Rae on battle issues, they were a pretty fair-and-square, majority-wins kind of group.

  Callan drew close enough to reach out a frail hand. Birdlike fingers curled around my wrist. He immediately closed his eyes, his head dipping backward, his mouth open.

  I felt an unmistakable tug.

  This guy was siphoning energy from me!

  “Hey…hey !” I sputtered, pulling back my arm. “Stop that. You…you can’t take that without asking.”

  Callan did not appear abashed by his blatant grab in the least. Instead, he cracked a grizzled smile. His first. “Ah , that was just what I needed. I, too, can get sustenance from energy, and you, shieldmaiden, have much to spare. I would not have taken, otherwise. You are very powerful indeed.” He rubbed his belly. “It has done me good.”

  Okay, now I felt like a guilty hag for denying this man a meal. Jeez.

  He reminded me of my grandpa Meadows, if my grandpa grew his hair out and stopped eating for a few years. Honestly, if I’d been in the same spot—in need of food after so long without it—I would’ve done the same thing.

  “Well…” I cleared my throat, trying to sound like I had everything under control. “In the future, just ask before you take. Once we get to Yggdrasil, you can stock up.”

  “What I took will do for now,” he told me. “It is enough to sustain me for a time.”

  A screech came from outside the cell, a cross between a snake hiss and tiger’s yowl. Junnal lifted his club and headed out the door.

  “I’m afraid they have called in the skogs,” Callan said gravely. “They will do almost anything for magic.”

  “Skogs?” I asked.

  “Lizardmen,” Baldur answered. “They live in this realm, but deeper than the elves. They keep a missionary relationship, nothing more.”

  “Meaning,” Callan added, “they come up to get paid in magic. The elves must shell out much more than they are willing to part with, so they seldom summon them. This proves that you are worth the cost.” He gazed directly at me.

  “They’re not after me. They don’t even know I’m here. When I freed Baldur, I was cloaked.” Oh, no! “I left my lucky charm back in the room. I have to retrieve it.” So stupid.

  Baldur caught my arm as I tried to get by. “It might be best to leave it behind. The skogs will be swarming this level in no time.”

  A loud commotion came from the doorway as Junnal began to engage the threat with his club. They were already here.

  I drew my swords. “I have to try and recover it,” I insisted. “It might be the only way we can make it to the weapons room on level ten without being seen.”

  Baldur dropped his grip and nodded. “I’ll back up the giant while you get it. Hopefully, none have gotten past him.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Callan cackled, looking pleased. “This will be an adventure. My first in years!”

  13

  __________________________

  ____________

  I slipped behind Junnal and raced toward the guard room. I couldn’t believe I’d been so green as to leave the cloak behind! Ingrid would be so disappointed in my battle skills. Rookie mistake wasn’t enough to cover it.

  Once I reached the door, I skidded inside, sliding to a stop in front of my empty chair.

  The cloak was gone!

  “Looking for this?” The voice, which sounded vaguely like an elf with a severe lisp, came from a darkened corner.

  I spun around, my weapons at the ready.

  Then I blinked, not believing my eyes.

  A giant lizard, roughly as tall as a dark elf, stood upright on two feet in the corner, holding my precious gift in its podlike hands. I watched in horror as it lifted the see-through fabric to its two inset nostrils and took a long sniff.

  What in the helllll ?

  “It smells of delicious magic,” it sighed in a voice that held an edge. “The elves cannot touch white elf magic, but we can, and desire it above all else.”

  I shook one of my swords menacingly. “I don’t care if you desire it, you can’t have it,” I told the creepy sniffer. “It’s mine and I want it back.”

  The thing opened its maw, flashing a row of particularly sharp teeth. It snarled and hissed. “If you want it, you will have to take it from me.” It waited a moment, then said, “Or we can make a deal that benefits us both.”

  My eyebrows shot up as Baldur entered the room at a full gallop, coming to a stop right beside me. He wasn’t even panting from the effort.

  Calmly, I stated, without meeting the god’s gaze, “This lizard wants to make a deal with us.”

  The white-elf-magic-loving lizard stepped forward.

  I had to admit it was an interesting creature. It shared some characteristics of an elf merged clearly with a reptile, specifically the kind of lizard that suns itself on a rock, with a long slender neck. It had ears, which looked insane on its long, pointy, scaly reptilian face. It had shoes on its feet, which I assumed were podlike, just like its fingers. It had only four, all of which were still gripping my cloak.

  “State your deal, skog,” Baldur demanded. “And we will consider it.”

  “You will give us white elf magic, and we will help you escape.” Its lizardy tongue came out of its mouth and then popped back in. It was forked. Oh, goody. “A very simple bargain.”

  “Why would you broker this deal with us?” Baldur argued. “You are the agents of the dark elves and owe us no allegiance.”

  The thing shook its head. “We are not anyone’s agents,” it spat. “The dark elves have not called us from the depths to do their bidding in years, and when they do, they never pay the price we demand. We owe them nothing, and we are interested in forging another deal—with you—for this.” It shook the sheer fabric, its nostril slits flaring.

  The sounds of scuffling in the hallway ceased, and Junnal’s heavy footfalls came to a stop by the door, the slow patter of older feet shuffling right behind.

  “He speaks the truth,” Callan commented as he came into the room. “The dark elves congratulate themselves on not paying their full retainer every time.”

  “How can we trust that the skogs will do as they say?” Baldur asked. “I am not familiar enough with them to know if they will honor their end of the bargain.”

  “The lizard can start by giving me back my cloak,” I said. “Then we can go from there.” I gave it a pointed look. “If you don’t, we know you will honor nothing.”

  The thing clutched it tightly for a moment, seeming reluctant to give it up, then thrust it forward, dangling it like a fish on a line. “I will keep my word,” it claimed. “But if you do not, we will hunt you down and destroy you.” He finished on a snarl-hiss lisp.

  Well, then.

  I walked over and snatched the cloak back, tucking it under my arm, then went to stand next to Baldur. I leaned in, trying to look smooth, like I knew what I was doing. “How do we get our hands on white elf magic?”

  Baldur shrugged. “It’s not that hard to procure if you have powerful allies in other realms with means. It would not be so difficult.” He arched a knowing eyebrow at me and then Gundren.

  Point taken.

  My mind rushed to Ingrid, Tyr, Fen, and possibly Huggie. If they were still talking to me when this was all over, they would help. Leela’s life was priceless, worth all the white elf magic we could amass. It made me feel emboldened. “If you help us free the Valkyrie we’re looking for and see us safely out of this realm, the shieldmaidens will gladly pay any price you ask.” I addressed the lizardman. “Do you know where this particular shieldmaiden is?”

  The thing nodded. “Yes, she is heavily guarded, and they know you come for her.”

 
Me specifically? Or was it lisping in general terms?

  I forged on. “Once we have her, will you be able to get us through their barriers and blockades and back to Yggdrasil?” I asked.

  “Yes, there is no question.” The lizard was supremely confident. “But doing such a thing will cost you seven caskets.”

  Before I could answer, Callan sputtered, “Seven! That’s highway robbery! This mission is only worth five at the most! You rob us blind.”

  Caskets? I had no idea what the skog was talking about.

  “The price is seven,” it insisted. “This mission will be fraught with peril. We risk much by helping you.”

  Before I could ask for more specifics, like what a casket was, Baldur said, “You don’t risk that much. Dark elf magic doesn’t harm you, and your reptile numbers exceed theirs. The elves aren’t fighters, they are craftsmen. The price should be five, as the mage said, not seven.”

  They were bickering over the price of rescuing my mother!

  I couldn’t care less if it was five, seven, or twelve. “I don’t know what a casket is,” I interjected, “but I agree to pay seven. We’re short on time here, and the Valkyries will honor any bargain I strike.” I certainly hoped and prayed they would. “Leela’s life is worth it.”

  Baldur leaned in. “He is asking for seven large chests filled with white elf magic. It will be tough to procure, but not impossible.”

  Our heads met in the middle. “How large are we talking?”

  “Big.” Baldur chuckled.

  “We don’t have a lot of choices at the moment.”

  He addressed the lizardman. “Looks like you have a deal, skog. Free the Valkyrie, lead us all to Yggdrasil, and you will get your chests filled with magic.”

  The lizard nodded its reptilian head once.

  I swallowed, hoping I’d made the right deal.

  If the Valkyries refused to pay, I’d have to find a way to honor my end of the bargain. But on the flip side, I’d have my mother there to help me.