Apparently, Vidarr did not recognize the tenuousness of Larson's trap. Discomfort shot through his reply, and he seemed on the edge of panic. Allerum. Calm down. We can discuss…
Spasms racked Larson's material form, and he feared he might be having a convulsion. The momentary redirection of his thoughts blurred the mental walls. Rage warred with the threat of defeat.
Allerum?
Quickly, Larson refocused his mind. The walls wavered, then grew more visible. Anger speared through him. Now! He shouted with such directed fury, fire splattered the ground at Vidarr's feet.
Vidarr lurched backward with a startled cry. All right. Stop! I'll tell you.
Now. Larson managed to insist. The effort of that single word nearly drove him to unconsciousness.
Vidarr hesitated only a second, but it dragged like hours. Now, the god agreed reluctantly. But you're making a mistake.
Larson's concentration snapped. The wall dissolved. Pain crushed down on him, well beyond the bruises Fen-rir had inflicted, and it sapped his remaining strength. Voices wafted to him, drowned by a harsh ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes. His bleary gaze registered little. He lay on the ground. Gaelinar knelt at his side, speaking softly and incomprehensibly. "A minute," he forced himself to say. His tongue felt twisted and heavy.
Gaelinar fell silent.
Larson concentrated on a thought. Vidarr?
I'm still here. The god amended, Actually, I'm no longer inside your mind. I'm communicating through a probe.
Larson was careful not to reveal any information about his mental trap; it would not do to reveal the difficulty of its construction nor the frailty of his barrier. Explain.
Explain what?
Larson felt weak as a rag. What the hell is a "probe?" And how do I free Silme? Even as he asked, Larson wished he had reversed the order.
When we communicate telepathically or I just need to read some surface thought or a memory you've highlighted for me, I use a magical, mental link to do it.
Vidarr paused, as if waiting for some indication Larson understood the concept. When he got none, he continued. In order to manipulate your thoughts, spark old memories, or fight Fenrir, I have to actually enter your mind. That's why I could have taken physical damage from the wolf. Do you understand?
Yes. Larson lied. His mind felt fuzzy, and he needed to consider Vidarr's descriptions at a more opportune time. And Silme?
Vidarr hesitated.
Larson could raise no more than a faint spark of anger. The truth, Vidarr, or I swear Baldur will rot in Hel.
In his weakness, Larson could not read Vidarr's intentions. Allerum, you promised.
So did you, Vidarr.
Only under duress.
Oh! Larson tried to work sarcasm into his reply. And my vow was obtained in good faith? Quit stalling and tell me how to free Silme.
Very well. Vidarr's mental words grew so soft, Larson had to strain to discern them. To bring Silme back to Midgard, you need to open a place for her. You must keep Chaos and Law in balance.
Larson struggled against unconsciousness. He felt drained, body and soul. Tell me something I don't know.
Allerum, think. Annoyance increased Vidarr's volume. The Fates will allow you to kill a man only if his time has come to die. You can't ' 'open a place for Silme'' by slaying a servant of Law. You have to balance her resurrection with the resurrection of a tool of Chaos…
… of similar strength to Silme. The revelation lent Larson a second wind. So, I have to find a Chaos-serving, sapphire-rank Dragonmage who died some time in the past.
Again Vidarr hesitated, apparently grappling with a decision. Allerum, for some reason, you're not thinking clearly. Eventually, you're going to figure this out, so I might as well take credit for telling you. Do you recall the dead in Hel?
Larson nodded, not wasting the effort of retrieving the memory.
Vidarr continued. Then you know that the longer they remain in Hel, the less human they become. Gradually, they lose all sense of self. The sorcerer you raise with Silme cannot have died too long before her.
Despair filled Larson. I have to find a sapphire-rank mage who died about the same time as Silme? Is there one?
Vidarr radiated exasperation with such intensity, Larson acknowledged it even through his failing perceptions. Your slaying of the god, Loki, tipped the world's balance toward Law. Hel is of Chaos. Therefore, she must be willing to compensate Silme's freedom with a Chaos-serving sorcerer somewhat more powerful than Silme.
Suddenly, everything came together. Bramin! God, Vidarr! You're talking about Bramin. An image came, unbidden. Again, Larson saw Bramin's features, sharply defined and slender with a deadly, sinuous grace. He stared into eyes as red as Fenrir's but flashing with an evil which defied the ages. Bramin's dark elf father had stolen the virginity from Silme's mother by rape. The cruelty of townsfolk and Bramin's demon breeding had trained him to hate, and the Dragonrank teachings gave him the power to turn his bitterness into violence. Worse, in addition to having mastered Dragonrank sorcery to its highest level, Bramin was also a swordsman of superior talent.
Vidarr's manner became soothing. So you understand now why I couldn't tell you how to free Silme earlier. Bramin would stand against your quest. He might prove powerful enough to prevent you from retrieving Geir-magnus' rod. Surely, you understand why you must revive Baldurfirst, while you're still unopposed. Then you can raise Silme and Bramin. Vidarr's words came faster, and Larson thought he detected a note of nervousness. Do it in that order, the only logical way, and I'll aid you against Bramin as much as the laws which govern gods allow. He waited.
A red curtain of fatigue blinded Larson. His thoughts stumbled through mist, and it took every last vestige of energy to form a coherent answer. Vidarr, I'm going to
Hel. Darkness descended on Larson, and a long time passed before he knew anything more.
Larson awoke to the gray haze of evening. He rolled to his back, braced for a barrage of pain. But he felt only the dull ache of his injured ribs and hip. Sleep had healed the fog of his mental battle, and, though it taxed him in mind and sinew, it seemed to have left no physical aftereffects.
Gaelinar took a seat next to Larson and set a handkerchief full of berries in the elf's lap. "Are you well now, hero?"
Larson stretched, though the maneuver sent berries tumbling onto his breeches. "I feel great." He considered his conversation with Vidarr. Was it all a dream? "Gaelinar, I think I know how to get Silme back."
Gaelinar studied Larson curiously. "Are you certain?"
Larson popped a handful of berries into his mouth, their taste an equal mixture of sweet and sour. "I believe so. We have to return to Hel and ask its queen to release Silme and Bramin together.''