Tournament of Thieves

4

Midgard passed beneath Loki as he headed in the direction of the mountainous region bordering the land of the mortals. He had an idea of where the thief could be, in a location all but hidden from Hlidskjalf.

The thief had to be in Jotunheim.

Where else? Loki had crossed Midgard off his list, as well as Nidavellir, Svartalfheim, and Alfheim. Odin could see into those worlds fairly well, and his ravens could gather whatever he couldn't see. No self-respecting thief would hide there, unless they were an idiot.

That left Muspelheim, Niflheim – with its section of Helheim – and Vanaheim, as well as Jotunheim. Those worlds tended to be more distant from Hlidskjalf and the ravens. But Loki could discount Muspelheim and Niflheim from his list. He didn't think the lands of fire and ice had much use for Brisingamen or Freya.

Which left just Jotunheim and Vanaheim. Vanaheim, Freya's birthplace, had sent her to Asgard, along with her brother and father, as one of the hostages to ensure peace after the war between the Vanir and the Aesir. Why would a Vanir want to steal Freya's necklace? It was a slight possibility, but Loki decided to focus on Jotunheim. Especially the region around Utgard, the main, mysterious fortress of the giants. Hlidskjalf would definitely not be able to see into Utgard.

Loki's plan, then, was to head into Jotunheim and find Utgard. It seemed like a pretty foolproof plan, except for one fact.

He had no idea where Utgard was.

Nobody knew. He and Thor had been there once, but the king, Skrymir, used magic to hide the fortress from the rest of the world. Not even Odin could penetrate the thick runic magic protecting Utgard. And the location was impossible to locate.

Nevertheless, that had to be the location of the thief. Where else could they hide from Odin?

Okay, there were other places to hide, but only a few beings knew of them – beings like Loki. So Jotunheim seemed his best bet to look for the thief of Brisingamen.

As Midgard sped past, Loki began to make generalizations about the thief. They had to be male, because they were making demands for Freya. Magic or shape-shifting powers were required to sneak past Heimdall and into Freya's hall Sessrumnir, so they had to have those skills. Which just gave him further evidence for the thief being in Jotunheim: giants were shape-shifters, and some, especially those in Utgard, had magic.

Loki thought back to the time when he had stolen Brisingamen. He had been commanded by Odin to steal it, and using his shape-shifting, he had been able to slip into Freya's hall and creep into her bedchamber undetected. She had been wearing her beloved and dearly paid for necklace about her neck. Lying on her back, with the clasp under her neck, Loki had been unable to take it without disturbing her.

Loki had glanced up with a ghost of a smile on his lips. Harnessing his shifting power, he had become a flea to irritate Freya enough to cause her to roll over. As he had assumed his regular form, he had gently opened the clasp and slipped the necklace off of her, placing it carefully into his pocket.

As the trickster had turned to leave, he had glanced down at the sleeping Freya. My, was she quite the beauty. But at the time, Loki had just shook his head and smiled at the thought of his Sigyn, who, with her sense of compassion, was ten times more beautiful than the love goddess.

Funny, he had never told his wife that.

Loki had turned the necklace over to Odin, who had used it to force Freya to start a war between two Midgardian kings as punishment for the price she had paid. When her task was completed, Freya had returned to Asgard, humiliated, and Odin had returned her precious necklace.

But now it had been stolen again. And nobody had seen anything. It reminded Loki way too much of the time when he had taken it. Only Odin and Freya knew what he had done. Who else was capable of pulling off a stunt like that?

Although Loki had no clue who was behind the theft, he did know that there was a pretty good chance they'd be at Utgard, in Jotunheim. So there he would go. At least, as soon as he could find it.

The border of Midgard and Jotunheim was approaching swiftly below, and the Elivagar River marking the boundary passed by beneath him. Loki was just contemplating where he should start his search when a flash of pain lit up his wing. The trickster let out an anguished cry as he rapidly lost altitude, his right wing trailing uselessly behind him as he spiraled towards the ground. Glancing behind him, Loki winced to see the arrow sticking through the middle of his wing, blood spattered over the feathers.

Thick trees loomed before Loki and he screeched as he crashed into them. He fell through the branches and hit the ground hard, skidding across the rough ground. A sharp stone slit his face open and his injured wing was caught between an upraised root and a thick rock. The trickster was jerked to a violent stop.

Loki gritted his teeth against the pain and twisted to see the extent of the damage. Willing himself to change back into his human shape, the falcon cloak fell off from around his shoulders, the feathers muddied. But his injured arm still remained a wing; the cloak was being prevented from falling off by the arrow that had pierced him. Loki reached for the arrow and managed to get a lopsided grip on it. With a yank, he tore the arrow through the feathers and flesh. Snarling, he discarded the arrow as the feather cloak fully fell off his arm and gingerly sat up, withdrawing his limb from between the root and the rock.

Ripping the arrow out had enlarged the wound, and Loki hissed with pain as he gently probed the tear with his fingers. The wound went through his whole arm, the arrow having scraped the bone and tore the muscles in passing, and his ripping it out hadn't helped much. Blood was dribbling out of the wound through both openings. He would have to somehow fix it up before moving on.

Just as he thought to ask himself the question of where the arrow came from, a tall, broad figure appeared silently and swiftly from the dense woods around him and kicked him strongly in the chest. The trickster flipped over from the force of the kick, using his good arm to balance himself into a sort of defensive, ready position.

As he looked up into the face of his attacker, holding a longbow with a broad-headed arrow on the string, he decided that it was this being who had shot him.

And when he peered into their face, he realized that they would be very tempted to finish him off here and now.