Valkyrie 02 - Dead Embers by T. G. Ayer

Author:T. G. Ayer [Ayer, T. G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781622537983
Amazon: 162253798X
Publisher: Evolved Publishing
Published: 2012-08-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

A murky, insipid twilight shrouded our arrival; the strange moon, a thin, hazy sliver, hung low in a burnished sky, furtively peering down on us.

I stared into the gloom, pulling my jacket close against rude fingers of cold. Vague, shadowy shapes promised a dense forest of wooden-fingered trees ahead, spreading out far into the distance. I swallowed hard, unable to make out an easy path through the menacing black forest. Flicking Mika a beckoning glance, I slipped between thick tree trunks and wended my way through the growing darkness.

I spent the next few minutes dodging broken branches that I could have sworn reached out to tug at my hair, or weaved and swayed just to hinder my progress. At last, I ducked around the final tree and let go of a breath I hadn't realized I'd held all the while.

Surveying the area, I was supremely relieved to find a wide clearing at the foot of a monstrous granite mountainside made of night and shadows. Even the sparse moonlight failed to reflect on its rocky face.

Mika poked a finger into my arm and pointed ahead. Straight across the clearing, and carved into the base of the dark mountain, sat a gigantic doorway, like the shadowed stone jaws of a sleeping granite beast.

I studied the monstrous entrance. A towering lintel curved at the top of the arch, edged all the way around by a thick strip of carved letters. Ancient Norse again. I squinted, trying to make sense of the words.

When Mika jabbed me in the ribs and pulled me down, I scowled at her, only to quickly realize my error. In my fascination with the dwarfish inscriptions, I'd stepped forward, away from the cover of the trees, without realizing. "Careful!" Mika whispered, her words edged with a guttural growl. Though still annoyed, I mouthed an apology.

Together we scrutinized the terrain and planned our approach. A pair of huge, dark granite doors filled the entrance, very much shut to the world. The doors towered, carved into the shape of two large, rough trunks. It would've been easy to believe the ancient Swartelfheim builders had taken two monstrous trees and turned them to stone before using them as doors. Amazing sculpting skills. I was very impressed.

So impressed, I almost missed the guard.

Almost.

The crunch of stones beneath his thick boots drew my attention to him. Short, squat and roped with muscles. For a brief hysterical second I imagined this miniature, manlike creature pumping iron in a fancy New York gym. Glistening with sweat on his hairy body, wearing too tight gym shorts and grunting loud enough to draw annoyed stares. Too funny.

His entire demeanor screamed don't mess with me—bow and arrow at his back, daggers dotting his belt, even the hilt of a short spear sticking out of his little boot. He twisted in place, facing the opposite doorpost, then made a short march across.

Even blanketed in darkness, pockmarked with shadows, his face troubled me: heavily jowled, bushy haired, fat and sad. Yes, a sadness definitely creased his lumpy face.

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