The Last Praetorian (5 page)

Loki stroked his sharp beard and looked at Tarion
with penetrating eyes. “Did you and Freya have a tryst at any time; she’s amazingly jealous—especially for a woman? I didn’t think you stupid enough to cross her.”

“Of course not,” Tarion insisted, but the
accusation shook him to the core. Tarion knew of Lady Freya in a way few mortals were privy too; he grew up in the company of the Gods. Bilskirnir, Thor’s lodge was his second home. Tarion grew to manhood with the beautiful high-spirited laughter of Freya ringing in his ears—and nothing, not even the darkness of the Destructor—could quench her spirit. He’d always loved her. Tarion loved Freya in that hopeless haunted way of love, pure and absolute, yet ever fated to be unrequited. It was a secret he admitted to no one; hardly even to himself.

What of it, what man wouldn’t be
smitten by her? Freya is all things to all men!

Of course, that only stoked Tarion’s temper. He shoved Loki roughly up the stairs again. “Get going, we don’t have time for riddles about jealous Goddesses!”

Upon reaching the tower door Minerva unlocked it and rushed in. Tarion followed with Loki in his grasp. The emperor took his daughter in his arms, staring at Tarion with disbelief.

“Loki, so you are behind this!” Ancenar and Baruk exclaimed together.

Loki laughed, and nodded with sudden understanding, telling them “Now it’s becoming clear! We have here the Praetorian, the Emperor of the Imperium, the King of the Dwarven Realms and the Lord of the Elves! I love the ironic ways the Norns work!”

“We’re undone my lord
s!” Tarion warned them. “Loki betrayed us and opened the city gate. The Destructor is already within the citadel!”

“We are lost,” the e
mperor groaned, sinking into his chair.

Loki shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Did you really think gates of steel would keep the Destructor out?” An enormous hollow sound rumbled up through the tower. It was as if something beyond imagination climbed the tower stair. “Ah speak of the devil, here he comes!
He’s discovered that the wergild he seeks is not in Olympus nor in the royal treasuries; the Destructor’s source of news must have erred.” He grinned viciously but then Loki’s manner turned grave. “We don’t have much time; let’s get down to business.”

“You’re right Loki,” Tarion said, thrusting the God onto his knees and raising his sword. “You’ll not serve the Destructor in his dominion. I won’t let you profit from our blood!
As soon as he sets foot in this chamber I’ll knock your head into his lap!”

 
“Tarion wait!”
Ancenar
said, rushing forward and holding his arm. He turned to Loki with hard eyes. “What’s your game Loki; you sound as though you meant to come here all along.”

“Not exactly, but I am here and so are you, all of you; that cannot be by accident,” Loki grinned. “There’s only one possible reason. It’s the same reason the Destructor is coming here. By now, he has ascertained where
that
is,” he pointed to a small antechamber at the far end of the tower.

Tarion yanked the God abruptly to his feet and dragged him over to the antechamber. The rest followed. The rulers of the free world and the wayward God stared down at a heavy purple crystal of many facets set on a marble pedestal.

Loki nodded toward the stone. “It’s the Dragonheart he wants. He thought it was in Jupiter’s palace; that’s why he attacked that plane before coming here. When he couldn’t find it, he came thither. That’s the real reason he’s here. The Destructor doesn’t care about Roma. It will fall eventually, but while the Dragonheart exists, it’s a threat to his dominion. He fears that stone and what could be done with it; therefore, he must not get it!”

 
“What do you mean,” asked the elf. “Why should the Destructor want to destroy the Dragonheart? It’s a library; it holds the history of the world—why should he fear that?”

“Tyr made it; it holds
not only the history of the world but the laws of the multiverse, laws the Destructor is trying to wipe clean! Therefore the Destructor fears everything that stone can do—everything!” Loki’
s
thin lips twisted into a malicious grin.

Tarion slapped his blade against Loki’s throat, sending the Trickster into a fit of raspy coughs. “Enough Loki, first you sell us to the Destructor and now you’re trying to help us—what’s your game?”

“Tarion, you know better than anyone that I will play the odds,” Loki explained.
“When the Destructor decided to come himself to Roma your fate was sealed—until I saw the Dragonheart here—along with the only four people in the world who can use it to salvage the day! That cannot be by chance. Thus I will play that card of fate as well.”

“
I’ve no more patience left. What will it do and how do we use it?” Tarion demanded.

“
How do I know?” he coughed. Despite the danger, Loki laughed and pushed Tarion’s blade away from his neck. He dabbed at the wound on his neck with the edge of his cloak and it healed before their eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?” the Trickster said, turning his sharp eyes on them. “What’s the matter with you? Who does the Destructor fear: who is the
only
being the Destructor fears?”

Ancenar scowled, his voice sinking to a harsh whisper. “You mean the Dragonheart can find Wanderer! How Loki, tell us how, for your
sake and the sake of the world!”

“
That’s why you are all here. Only you can activate the Dragonheart!” the God assured them, though it looked as though he struggled with the decision. He paused. His eyes shone with an unearthly gleam. The iron latch rattled in the door. Loki’
s
expression turned gravely serious. “Ask yourselves: do you believe chance alone brought all of us to this particular chamber, at this particular time? Do you think I would have led the Destructor astray and played for time if there weren’t a reason—think! The answer is within you as is the knowledge on how to use the Dragonheart.”

The heavy door groaned against the bolt. Loki looked severely at them. “Enough talk, it’s time for action and it’s time we need! You hold the key to hope, the
four of you!”

“Loki, we have no time for riddles; if you know the answer, what is it?”

“You can’t guess? Maybe you don’t deserve a day of hope,” Loki sighed. “Your fate is your own; I wash my hands of you!” Shaking his head, Loki walked to the balcony.

“No,” cried Diocletian, rushing to the God and clutching at his tunic. “You must save us! I will build you temples in every
imperial city. You will be the patron God of the emperor—just save us!”

 
“Tempting, but no,” Loki said, cradling his sharp chin in his longer fingered hands. “Sorry, the Imperium is down to one city and soon it will be none!” He turned into a hawk and flew off.

Tarion watched him go. “Miserable wretch,” he muttered, turning turned back to Ancenar in defeat. “Like as not it’s a joke to Loki; there never was any hope!”

“Yet there must be something about the Dragonheart—Loki’s is a riddler not a jester!”

“A jester, what did you say Ancenar?” Tarion froze. Instantly the event
fifteen years past came to him, one of the strangest things in his varied and difficult life: the starving jester.

“What is it Tarion?” Ancenar said in earnest.

Tarion shook his head, and said, “I thought it nothing at the time. Maybe not. Fifteen years ago, after the terrible loss of Tarius and Alfrodel at Durnen-Gul, I camped with the remnants of our legions. Having just assumed the mantle of the Praetorian, I had much on my mind. So it was that my men brought a jester, a refugee from a dead king—so he said. It was not the strangest story of those hard times. They caught him skulking about camp begging for scraps, but he asked to see to the Praetorian, for he saw the purple and gold banner pass him by earlier that day. He was a pitiable man, his raiment was in rags and his ribs showed through his stained costume. My men saw no harm in it, so they brought him to my tent.

“
The jester eyed me sharply, too sharply for a lost soul looking for scraps, and said, “Listen my lord to this riddle of ancient times and if you find it fair enough then feed me well enough,” he said, his voice croaking with thirst or mad, grim humor. “For so it is said, that when the Eternal City buckles beneath the Shadow’s boots, so must the Master open Tyr’s wergild so that the Wisest may proclaim what the emperor invokes. Seal the covenant with the blood of the Bravest that which was made by Tyr, to save Tyr.”

Tarion walked
back over to the Dragonheart, aware that this was the moment. He looked to Ancenar, and said, “Loki said the Dragonheart needed all of us: the master smith Baruk to open, the wisest of the Elves to proclaim and the emperor to invoke. I can only assume it’s my blood that will seal the covenant—what covenant?”

The elven lord shook his head. “We know how to use the Dragonheart as a library, but its inner secrets have ever been hidden from us. I can only surmise that is because the genius of the dwarves, Tyr’s beloved folk, has never been used to open the stone.”

Baruk stepped up to the stone, examining it closely. The booming of the stairs came closer, closer, but none dared interrupt him. Finally, the dwarf king lifted the stone, and thereby exclaimed, “Ah, there you are!”

His thick yet dexterous dwarf fingers touched many facets in a particular order and in a particular way. That done, he carefully set the stone back on the pedestal. It began to glow with a deep inner purple light.

“The Dragonheart awaits your command,” moaned the stone.

Ancenar
stepped up and laid his hands on the stone and muttered a simple charm, saying, “The stone will reveal this purpose to me.” He closed his eyes concentrating as if listening to some soft elusive words in the wind. At length the stone responded with a faraway voice, “Behold the Dragonheart, Tyr’
s
Truthstone
, to read the wisdom of
all ages, or in need, for the lords of the free peoples to use their endowments to seize the day. Carpe Diem! Set that time with the blood of the bravest—to seize the day until thine desire bears fruit.”

Ancenar
opened his eyes. “The jester, maybe Loki himself, knew this might come to pass. He knew the Wanderer might need time. The Dragonheart cannot stop the Destructor; but it can seize this day until the Wanderer returns!”

 
“Do it Ancenar! King Baruk has opened the stone. You are the wisest; it is for you to proclaim our desire!”

“Carpe Diem!” the elven lord told the stone. “Seize this day until the Prophecy of Alfrodel is fulfilled and the Wanderer returns to the world!”

A harsh laugh sounded outside the door and something struck it. The door creaked, the wood bulging, ready to burst. Tarion rushed to it and threw his shoulder against the timbers. “Now Diocletian; you are the lord of men. Invoke the Dragonheart; do it before it’s too late!”

Ancenar clutched
Diocletian and urged him, “Emperor invoke it, invoke Carpe Diem! Fulfill the Prophecy of Alfrodel!”

The stone glowed and replied, “The
Emperor of Men must invoke the Dragonheart. Carpe Diem, seize the day; seal the covenant with the blood of the Bravest.”

“
Emperor Diocletian, you must invoke it!” Tarion urged. Diocletian stared at him dumbly. Tarion left the door to force the emperor onto the stone. As he did so the door flew off its hinges, flinging him against the wall.

Minerva screamed and ran to
her father as a yellow bearded giant ducked beneath the arch. Dazed by the blow, Tarion scrambled to his feet, but the giant covered the space in a single stride, swinging an enormous axe at him. It shaved an inch from the purple crest of his helm before clanging into the wall, sending shards of marble flying. Tarion swung a backhanded slash at the giant’s belly, cutting the ring mail and creasing the blue flesh.

“Well met King Johaan!” he exclaimed, drawing the edge back and stabbing up at the giant’s throat. The giant king twisted aside, but the dwarven blade cut a deep wound in his jaw. The tip
caught Johaan’s hoop earring, tearing it off the giant’s ear. Johaan cried out in pain but struck Tarion to the floor with his mallet fist.

“I’ll spice my wine with your Praetorian blood!” Johaan cursed.

As the Praetorian and the giant king fought another battle took place across the chamber. Ancenar sought to drag the emperor to the stone, but Diocletian clutched his chair in panic. “Diocletian invoke the spell; the Dragonheart,” Ancenar shouted.

“Today is your day, Diocletian!”
Baruk urged, dragging the emperor to the stone. Diocletian couldn’t resist the dwarven muscle, but he was terrified, crying out, “I will not be trapped within this day of doom for all eternity!”

Tarion rolled up and slashed at the giant’s knee.
Johaan parried the sword with his axe, striking back and making the Praetorian roll out of the way.

Baruk thrust the emperor onto the stone, cursing at Diocletian. “You will doom our world to desolation!
Invoke Carpe Diem!”

Diocletian shrank back from the stone in fear.

“Force him Baruk! Ancenar; I’ve got a giant on my hands!” Tarion tried to hold the giant off, but the confined space worked against him. Johaan got a hold of him and smashed him into the wall.