Eye of the Beholder

Prologue

Long ago…

Tyr stood at the edge of the battlefield, appalled by what he saw.

The war was over. The Aesir had won.

There were but six of the Vanir left. Six. Even Zisa—lovely, pale Zisa, Tyr’s beloved wife who had refused to raise a weapon in the hopes that things could be resolved without bloodshed—had fallen beneath Aesir blades.

Now Odin, their conqueror, was asking for an audience with the ruler of the Vanir.

Why? Why had the Aesir done this? The Vanir were peaceful, concerned only with the green, growing things, the tides, the wind and the rain and...

No. Not for that.

Not for the Dökk Alfar.

The Dökk Alfar had only begun to make weapons for those who’d chosen to fight, but it had been too little, too late. Not even the mighty spear they’d crafted for him had halted the tide of the enemy soldiers.

But the potential of the Dark Ones had been there all along for any with eyes to see. It was there in the wonderful toys they wrought, the shining palaces they’d created. All of which had been destroyed by Aesir hands. The shining palaces were crumbled, the gold and silver toys destroyed. Even the land itself had broken, falling beneath the waves under the furious might of Odin and his warriors. Only Vanaheim itself still, home of the Vanir, still existed, defiled by Aesir hands.

The last of the Vanir stood on an alien shore and prepared to meet their fate.

“What shall we do?”

His eyes never left the retreating messenger, yet he answered Idunn’s question as honestly as he could. “I do not know.”

“Shall we meet with him then?”

As always, Frey’s voice was calm. He held his sister Frejya’s hand tight, calming her fears as best he could.

“We have no choice.” Njord’s deep voice rolled over Tyr filled with the chill of the deep ocean.

“No. We do not.” Heimdall’s dark hair blew across his face, his crystal eyes studying the retreating form of the messenger. “Even now, they plot something.” His right hand held his Horn, the silver nails of his left tapping against his leather pants.

Tyr nodded. “I will meet with him.” As if there was any other choice.

The Vanir might be defeated, but the remaining gods would protect what little was left of their world.