Michael Scott - The Magician

A cell phone buzzed, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Machiavelli flipped it open without looking at the screen. He closed it again almost immediately. “All clear. My men have pulled back and there is a security cordon in place around all the connecting streets. No one will accidentally wander into the area.”

“Whatever happens, do not enter the house,” the Disir with violet eyes said. “Once we free Nidhogg, we shall have very little control until it feeds.”

John Dee leaned forward, and for a moment, it looked as if he was about to tap the young woman on the knee. The look on her face prevented him. “Flamel and the children must not be allowed to escape.”

“That sounds like a threat, Doctor,” the warrior sitting on the left said. “Or an order.”

“And we do not like threats,” her sister sitting to the right added. “And we don’t take orders.”

Dee blinked slowly. “It is neither a threat nor an order. Simply a…request,” he said eventually.

“We are here only for Scathach,” the warrior with violet eyes said. “The rest of them are not our concern.”

Dagon climbed out of the car and opened the door. Without a backward glance, the Valkyries stepped out into the first glimmers of predawn light, spread out and moved slowly down the back street. They looked like three young women coming home from an all-night party.

Dee shifted position, taking the seat facing Machiavelli. “If they succeed, I will ensure that our masters know that the Disir were your idea,” he said pleasantly.

“I’m sure you will.” Machiavelli didn’t look at the English Magician and continued to follow the progress of the three girls as they walked down the street. “And if they fail, you can tell our masters that the Disir were my idea, and you can absolve yourself of any blame,” he added. “Shifting the blame: I believe I originally came up with that concept about twenty years before you were born.”

“I thought you said they were bringing Nidhogg?” Dee asked, ignoring him.

Niccolo Machiavelli tapped the window with his manicured fingernails. “They did.”

As the Disir moved down the narrow, cobbled, high-walled alley, they changed.

The transformation occurred as they passed through a patch of shadow. They entered as young women, dressed in soft leather jackets, jeans and boots…and a moment later they were Valkyries: warrior maidens. Long coats of ice white chain mail fell to their knees, knee-high metal boots with spiked toes covered their feet, and they wore heavy leather-and-metal gauntlets on their hands. Rounded helmets protected their heads and masked their eyes and noses but left their mouths free. White leather belts around their waists held their sword and knife sheaths. The Valkyries each carried a wide-bladed sword in one hand, but each also had a second weapon strapped to her back: a spear, a double-headed axe and a war hammer.

They stopped before a rotting green gate set into the wall. One of the Valkyries turned to look back at the car and pointed a gloved hand at the gate.

Machiavelli hit a button and the window rolled down. He raised his thumb and nodded. Despite its decrepit appearance, it was the back gate to Saint-Germain’s house.

Each of the Disir reached into a leather pouch that hung from her belt. Taking out a handful of flat stonelike objects, they tossed them at the base of the door.

“They’re Casting the Runes,” Machiavelli explained. “They’re calling Nidhogg…the creature you released, a creature the Elders themselves locked away.”

“I didn’t know it was trapped by the World Tree,” Dee muttered.

“I’m surprised. I thought you knew everything.” Machiavelli shifted in the seat to look at Dee. In the gloomy half-light, he could see that the Magician was looking pale and there was the faintest sheen of sweat on his forehead. Centuries of controlling his emotions ensured that Machiavelli didn’t smile. “Why did you destroy the Yggdrasill?” he asked.

“It was the source of Hekate’s power,” Dee said quietly, eyes fixed on the Valkyries, watching them intently. They had stepped back from the stones they’d dropped on the ground and were talking quietly amongst themselves, pointing out individual tiles.

“It was as old as this planet. And yet you destroyed it without a second thought. Why did you do that?” Machiavelli wondered aloud.

“I did what was necessary.” Dee’s words were ice. “I will always do whatever is necessary to bring the Elders back to this world.”

“But you didn’t consider the consequences,” Niccolo Machiavelli said softly. “Every action has a consequence. The Yggdrasill you destroyed in Hekate’s kingdom stretched into several other Shadowrealms. The topmost branches reached the Shadowrealm of Asgard, and the roots stretched deep into Niflheim, the World of Darkness.” He saw Dee stiffen. “Not only did you release Nidhogg, but you also destroyed at least three Shadowrealms-maybe more-when you destroyed the World Tree.”

“I didn’t know…”

“You made a lot of enemies,” Machiavelli continued smoothly, ignoring him, “dangerous enemies. I have heard that the Elder Hel escaped the destruction of her kingdom. I understand she is hunting you.”

“She does not frighten me,” Dee snapped, but there was a quaver in his voice.

“Oh, she should,” Machiavelli murmured. “She terrifies me.”

“My master will protect me,” Dee said confidently.

“He must be a powerful Elder indeed to protect you from Hel; no one has stood against her and survived.”

“My master is all-powerful,” Dee snapped.

“I look forward to learning the identity of this mysterious Elder.”

“When all this is over, maybe I’ll introduce you,” Dee said. He nodded down the alleyway. “And that could be very soon.”

The runestones hissed and sizzled on the ground.

They were irregular pieces of flat black stone, each etched with a series of angular lines, squares and slashes. Now the lines were glowing red, crimson smoke coiling into the still predawn air.

One of the Disir used the tip of her sword to move three of the runestones together. A second nudged a stone out of the way with the steel toe of her boot and then dragged another into place. The third found a single runestone at the edge of the pile and eased it into position at the end of the string of letters with her sword.

“Nidhogg,” the Disir whispered, calling the nightmare whose name they had spelled out in the ancient stones.

“Nidhogg,” Machiavelli said very quietly. He looked over Dee’s shoulder to where Dagon sat staring straight ahead, apparently disinterested in what was happening to his left. “I know what the legends say about it, but Dagon, what exactly is it?”

“My people called it the Devourer of Corpses,” the driver said, voice sticky and bubbling. “It was already here before my race claimed the seas, and we were amongst the first to arrive on this planet.”

Dee quickly swiveled in the seat to look at the driver. “What are you?”

Dagon ignored the question. “Nidhogg was so dangerous that a council of the Elder Race created a terrible Shadowrealm, Niflheim, the World of Darkness, to contain it, and then they used the unbreakable roots of the Yggdrasill to wrap around the creature, chaining it for eternity.”

Machiavelli kept his eyes fixed on the red-black smoke coiling from the runestones. He thought he saw the outline of a shape beginning to form. “Why didn’t the Elders kill it?”

“Nidhogg was a weapon,” Dagon said.

“What did the Elders need a weapon for?” Machiavelli wondered aloud. “Their powers were almost limitless. They had no enemies.”

Although he sat with his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, Dagon’s shoulders shifted and his head turned almost completely around so that he was facing Dee and Machiavelli. “The Elders were not the first upon this earth,” he said simply. “There were… others. ” He pronounced the word slowly and carefully. “The Elders used Nidhogg and some of the other primordial creatures as weapons in the Great War to completely destroy them.”