Baldir BW XXXVIII

Baldir sees the lined face of an aging Norse warrior reflected in gently rippling water. His long white hair is neatly plaited and held in place with bejewelled platinum filigree, which weaves into his beard and holds it firmly despite the strong wind that carries a flurry of snow about him. With furrowed brow, leaning forward from a stone perch he stares intently into a rock pool at his feet. Still hunched forward, in a pose that accentuates both his physical and mental prowess, he looks up into Baldir’s eyes.

“Come and see,” he says gently as if it were perfectly ordinary to be communicating with someone in a dream, “there is much to learn here.” Seemingly taking a few paces forward, Baldir climbs the gentle, rock-strewn slope before looking down into the pool before the old warrior. The waters gradually clear from the centre outwards showing first an image of a palantir glowing faintly purple, before revealing the half-lit face of an oriental man.

“This is indeed an honour my Lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man says, speaking directly into the orb. The light emanating from the globe is insufficient to enable him to discern the dimensions of the space into which he looks, seemingly unnoticed.

“We have need of your assistance, as I once assisted you.” Despite its obvious confidence, the female’s voice, which barely carries into the space, is weak and distorted. The man leans even closer to the orb, “What can I do for you Inwe?” he asks without hint of doubt.

“There is much we need and you know that it is also in your interest to help us; we need you to send more forces south – our plan seems to have unravelled,” the disembodied voice rises in both pitch and strength as she continues,

“we have been blocked, they guessed our treachery.”

“You continue to have my support my Lady – at least my plan worked well.” The oriental turns away from the orb as if to conceal his expression, whilst lighting a long clay pipe, “the Dwarves no longer have a queen.”

“Oh? Is she with our mother?”

“No, she is well hidden – I will extract her symbiont first,” Baldir sees the man’s eyes twinkle, as the splint touches the dry weed in the pipe.

“That will be the end of her. How will you do it?”

“That I was going to ask you…Didn’t that happen to your mother?”

“By Hel’s will, yes. Meghan was old and ineffective; our Lady saw more potential in me.”

“So, what price, Inwe? I can get you more Gith to strengthen your fleet and deliver more bushi, now they no longer need to protect me.” He pauses to let the message sink in and elicit a response; when none is forthcoming, he continues, “In return, I need assistance with the extraction and knowledge of the necromantic arts.”

“Arrgh, to the heart of it then Malor,” the voice seems nonplussed, “Now is not the time. We have to face the threat that comes from the Efferedil – have you not seen? Nega has come to the forest!” The man again draws on the glowing pipe, turns to face the Palantir and points at it to reinforce his barely concealed anger, “With respect Inwe,” he begins, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “once we have the powers that our enemies possess, we can exert greater authority on the Prime and begin to ensure our influence is felt further afield – do not limit your vision for our Lady!”

“Ahah, then you wish to create a Lich for yourself with a corrupted symbiont?” her voice taunts.

“Why shouldn’t I? Think of the shock to the Gods – this sylph was donated by Thor himself!” Another fiery glow illuminates the Oriental’s face as he draws on the pipe before continuing loudly, “Inwe what will it take to get this done?” the Oriental’s question carried sufficient smoke to shroud the Palantir. “The Great Battle will soon be upon us and we must help our Lady secure the souls she needs. Do not underestimate your foe, there is fight left in them and they have powers both arcane and other-worldly.” With no sign of irritation or indignation the smooth voice nevertheless carries menace, “I have considered carefully this battle and have not underestimated their strength. You must keep your word and your nerve Iki-san, otherwise we will fail. We must have your full strength brought to bear from the North; our Lady expects it also.”

“I will provide what support I consider necessary; in return, I expect the knowledge you so jealously guard!” His smoky retort is almost a rant.

“I see,” Inwe keeps her composure, “you would remake the dwarf, corrupt the symbiont and expect her to walk the Prime doing your bidding. No doubt the hidden dwarven rings would adorn her fingers as you take up the others. And what of the Sword – Rakos ¬– would that also be hers?”

“Why does that concern you? The Sword was destined to be unmade in any case – keep it separate, I say; your puppet can keep Fastlor and mine, Rakos.” Calmer now, the Oriental is making his case plainly. More sparks illuminate his expressionless face as he listens intently, trying to detect a weakness.

“Dispatch your forces and bring the dwarf to me…”

“I will not come to your lair, as a fly to a spider; let us meet on neutral ground.” It is Inwe’s turn to let her emotions show in her voice, “Are you scared Iki-san?” she taunts again, “of a helpless, little she-elf…”

“Not of you, no, of your creation, perhaps…”

“Would you risk delivering her to one of my sons?”

The Oriental’s tone was sharp, demanding, “Our Lady’s eyes are on this Inwe, the deed is done with her blessing and I am to benefit - not you, this time.”

Changing the subject, Inwe continues, “What have you done with her beast?”

“Our Lady introduced it to Garm,” the man chuckled.

“And how did you orchestrate that?”

The vision fades leaving Baldir with the image of Malor’s smiling face as he takes a last draw on his pipe.