Loki (12 page)

Tyr and the remaining Aesir, combined with Einherjar still pouring into Gladsheim, fought on, though weariness and dread replaced the battle lust that usually possessed them. Tyr received a glancing blow that sent him sprawling. He only barely regained his senses before the stone floor where he lay was pummeled with a giant foot. He rolled away at the instant before it struck, but he had no illusions about what would have happened to him had the giant caught him underfoot. He scrambled back and slashed with his sword, cutting through skin and muscle as easily as if he were carving greasy meat. Though the blood flowed freely from this and thousands of other wounds, the giant showed no sign of slowing his assault.

Tyr could not remember the last time he had felt as if a battle was hopeless, as if there was nothing that could be done to defeat an overpowering enemy. He had faced more powerful or numerous enemies many times, but always he had risen to the challenge. This seemingly unbeatable enemy made him wonder if the battle was futile. He fought on still, for he was Aesir, but as he saw the scattered bits of his friends and fellow warriors around the ruined shell of Gladsheim, he realized that this might very well be the end.

* * *

Heimdall was more torn than he had ever been in his long life. He could hear the battle being raged in Gladsheim. He gripped his sword like a vise—it had been loosed from its sheath after the mason had revealed himself—and he paced steadily to and fro at the foot of Bifrost. More than anything he wanted to be there, to add his steel to the battle, but he could not leave his post. It was his duty to safeguard Asgard from any who would attempt to invade from the only possible entry.

What galled him even more was his failure in protecting their homeland. It was he who had let the mason cross. How had he not seen what it really was? How could he be so blind? He could hear grass growing from a league away, but had somehow failed to detect a giant who had walked right past him. And he had done nothing more than banter with him. He cursed himself for a fool and longed to rush to the battle to fight—and perhaps die—with the other gods.

And yet he knew he would not leave. He must trust that they would triumph over this giant, despite his strength and power. This could very well be a ploy to lead him away from Bifrost so that another assault could be undertaken while the bridge was left unguarded. Though it pained him to stand there and observe the battle unfolding from afar, he could do no more than that for now.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a blinding flash of light, followed by the crashing of a thunder clap. As he looked up, dark clouds formed, swirling through the sky. The rain followed. It did not start slowly, but was an instant torrent, soaking Heimdall to the skin and sending rivulets of water coursing across the fields at his feet. He could feel the anger and fury present in every drop that fell, the power surging through the clouds as the lightning flashed again and the thunder shook the earth. He smiled grimly, certain that his mistake was about to be rectified.

Thor had returned.

The rain fell in through the gaping maw that was, until recently, the roof of Gladsheim. The giant was not even aware of the rain, as his slaughter of the Einherjar and his destruction of the hall continued. Broken and mangled bodies lay everywhere in the ruins, yet still the Asgardians attacked, although they might as well have been gnats attacking an ox.

Tyr could nonetheless see some effect of their attack. Frey had put out several eyes with arrows that still stuck out from the giant’s face, although it was difficult to tell if the giant had one continuous face across the whole of his head or if they were multiple faces. Still, too many eyes remained to count, and he could still see well enough to fight. Frey’s sword continued to dance on its own, stabbing here, slashing there, drawing blood wherever it bit into giant flesh. It would occasionally be slapped away, but always returned to do more damage. Sif and Aegir lay amongst the rubble, however, and Tyr was not able to stop his own assault—and defense—long enough to see if they yet lived.

Nearly all his ribs on one side felt broken. His weariness had caused him to react too slowly to a flailing fist the size of a boulder, and the giant had caught him in the side. He had been flung across the room, but his fall had been broken by the mangled bodies of a dozen Einherjar piled haphazardly in a corner. He had gotten up quickly to rejoin the fray, and had felt stabbing pain in his right side. He doubled over and spit blood onto the floor, gathering his strength before charging back to the battle, ignoring the agony of shattered and protruding rib bones digging into his side.

Tyr renewed his attacks, feeling his will slip away as he became more and more enraged. He no longer fought with precision and strategy, but instead with animal ferocity and savagery as his steel slashed and cut, sending blood splattering throughout the ruins of the devastated hall. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that this was a last, desperate attempt; that abandoning his normal tactics was the refuge of a warrior fighting his last battle. Only the sudden flash of bright light and the crack of thunder overhead halted his change into pure berserker.

He looked up into the stinging rain, past the giant, to see a figure fall from the sky and land on its head. Even through the pouring rain Tyr could see the spark of lightning in Thor's eyes. He felt hope renewed and retreated from his berserker rage, once more falling back into his old tactics, his every thought focused on how he could give Thor the advantage he needed to kill this giant.

Tyr leaped up and grabbed hold of the giant’s torn pants where they dangled in ragged strips near the floor. He pulled himself up while avoiding flailing arms and grasping hands. The giant’s body shook, and Tyr was nearly thrown in the process, but he managed to climb up to the giant’s waist.

Around him the scene was chaos. Einherjar still attacked, mostly with no effect, and the giant still rained blows down on them, killing them by the dozens. The rain pouring in made the footing treacherous, although only for the Asgardians, as the giant had too many legs to lose his balance. Arrows flew all around him, and some nearly scored hits on Tyr while they sped on their way to burying themselves in the giant’s thick hide.

Tyr steadied himself as best he could and looked up to see Thor struggling to stay on the giant’s head. One hand gripped a fistful of the giant’s hair and his knees were dug in, the constant whipping threatening to send him flying at any instant. Tyr drew his sword back and mustered all the strength his body would give before driving it up to the hilt into the giant’s abdomen. There was an unholy scream of pain, and Tyr felt something grab him and rip him off the giant’s body. In one violent motion he was thrown into a remaining section of ceiling, breaking through timber and slate, and he landed onto the wet roof amidst the debris falling all around him.

He rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up to his knees, the rain threatening to send him skidding to the distant stone floor. He looked down at the battle and spied where he had stabbed the giant, his sword hilt gleaming through the rain. But his attention was more focused on what was happening on the giant’s head.

Tyr’s action had given Thor an opportunity. Thor was on his feet, one arm wound tightly in the giant's hair, and positioning himself for attack. Dozens of hands rose up to swat or grab Thor away. Some were avoided as the Thunderer yanked the giant head around to serve him, much like he might yank the reins of an unruly steed. Others met Mjolnir, Thor’s massive strength channeling through the hammer and crushing giant bones with ease, breaking fingers and snapping wrists and arms.

Each blow from Mjolnir sent a thunder clap reverberating through the ruined hall, sending shudders through the bodies of the Asgardians. Tyr dug his hands into the roof and held on tightly, lest the force of Thor’s blows send him sprawling across the roof and onto the ground below.

Lightning flashed again and again above their heads, and the storm increased its fury. The giant’s flailing became more and more desperate. Tyr recognized that the tenor of the battle had shifted. The giant's actions became more frantic, his inability to dislodge this demon from his head fueling the fear that was now driving him. Yet it seemed there was nothing he could do against Thor.

Mjolnir rose up high and came crashing down directly onto the giant’s forehead, the cracking bone louder than even the thunder that accompanied it. Again Mjolnir rose, and again it fell. The giant screamed in rage and pain as the blood ran down his misshapen face from the massive dent in his head where hammer met skull. A flailing hand reached up and grabbed hold of Thor, attempting to pull him off, but Thor’s grip held. His feet came out from under him, but he held onto the twirled locks of twisted and bloody hair with a death grip.

The giant, caught up more and more in a blood rage that ignored everything but the need to get this impossible attacker off, latched onto Thor with several more arms and pulled. Thor’s grip would not loosen, however, and as the giant pulled, a chunk of hair and scalp ripped free from his head, dangling from Thor’s vise-like grip. Blood poured down the giant’s face, and a scream of rage ripped from his multiple mouths. Still, Thor was now dislodged and caught in the grasp of the giant.

Without hesitation, Thor flung Mjolnir from his hands. The hammer smashed into the giant’s face and he reeled with the force. Lightning crashed down, striking the hammer, and Tyr saw Thor’s features lit up, his red beard giving the brief impression that his face was on fire. Mjolnir, glowing red-hot, returned to Thor’s outstretched hand, and he sent it out again, once more smashing into the giant’s head. Smoke rose up from where it hit flesh, and there was a hissing as the rain cooled down the boiling skin.

With Mjolnir back in his hands, Thor struck the wrist of the hand that held him with a blow that shattered bone, and he was dropped to the floor below. Through the pain and blood-haze the giant lunged down at Thor, rage and desperation fueling his desire to kill this creature who continued to cause him pain.

The rest of the Asgardians, inspired by Thor’s onslaught, pressed their attacks. The giant contorted his body to rain blows down on Thor, and he was beset upon by Einherjar swarming over him like ants, stabbing and cutting every available surface. The remaining Aesir struck the giant in the most vulnerable areas they could reach.

Thor twisted out of the way of many of the fists and arms that sought to crush him, but Tyr could see through the rain and flurry of blows that one had struck him, even as Odin had been struck down. The hand came up again and again, smashing down upon Thor’s position, and others followed, the giant ignoring all enemies save this one massive, red-bearded Asgardian who thwarted him.

As the giant turned to his other attackers, Tyr’s eyes went wide. Through the haze a sole figure stood, a glowing hammer in hand and his eyes shining like lightning. The Thunderer had been struck dozens of times by this thing that had felled Odin with one blow, yet he stood, rage evident on his bloodied features even from Tyr’s position on the roof.

Thunder cracked even louder than before as Thor raised Mjolnir high above his head. There was a moment where Tyr could feel the hair on his arms standing on end, the crackling energy in the air nearly visible. Thor’s cry of fury drowned out even the thunder shaking the room, and a massive bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky, catching the giant full force with its power.

Tyr shielded his eyes from the blinding flash, but not before he saw the giant’s dozens of limbs raised to the sky, caught in the destructive power coursing through his body. Einherjar were flung from him, instantly killed from the force of the bolt. Even the Aesir who still stood were caught in the backlash from the giant, either frozen in mid-stride or on their knees in agony, while tendrils of Thor's lightning reached out from the bolt that held the giant frozen in place with its surging energy.

The bolt retreated, and the giant crashed to his knees. Again the Thunderer’s cry of fury issued forth. Mjolnir held high, once more lightning crashed down upon the giant, sizzling flesh and exploding eyes from their sockets. The remaining wall nearest the giant exploded with the force of the lightning stabbing down from the sky. Tyr was far enough away that he was not caught in the bolt’s thrall as much as those who were nearer, but he still felt the tendrils of power reaching for him, sending pinpricks throughout his body. While he wished he was closer to be able to rejoin the fray, there was a small part of him that was grateful that he did not feel the full unleashing of the Thunderer’s power.

Thor seemed to grow larger as he held Mjolnir high over his head, the energy crackling around him like a living thing. His face was plastered with the fierce and unmistakable look of conquest.

The lightning died out, but the giant remained on his knees; still alive, although his breath came in ragged gasps. His flesh sizzled and was charred black over most of his body, and blood ran like rivers from his wounds. Still, he was not down, and his size and ferocity had proven a match for the Aesir so far. Tyr wondered how the battle might have gone had Thor not shown up when he did.

The giant stared at Thor with his multiple remaining eyes. His face contorted into a grimace that appeared to be a mix of rage and pain, and his mouths opened wide as a scream of anger issued forth. Impossibly, he began to rise to his feet. Thor gritted his teeth and threw Mjolnir with every iota of strength he could muster.

Tyr had heard many legends of Thor’s strength. It was said that Thor had reeled in the Midgard Serpent while fishing one day, and only the treachery of a giant had set the beast loose. Thor was even supposed to have survived a battle with Old Age herself, a foe that defeats all.