It’s painted with the designs and curtained with the rich fabrics of dawn lit Prin. Now it’s rare for the Yellow Robes to journey to Muspellheim. In the days of the First Dark Empire such a thing was not unusual. The panniers on their animals look heavy with treasure. “Some of those who lead the beasts wear the garb of far off Kara Khitai. Strange.” “Strange indeed,” Surt responded. I couldn’t quite make out his face no matter how hard I tried.

And that one who rides alone, that one in black. Those guards, for instance, and that big wagon. Rich, yes, but there’s something strange about this caravan. “This one will make us all rich men.” Borr nodded his blond head and grunted agreement. His strange southern accent and soft deep voice were a murmur barely discernible above the constant hot sigh of the west wind that “This is what we’ve been waiting for, Skullcracker,” he declared. Surt’s black eyes sparkled in response to the greedy smile that curved Borr’s lips. Once certain they were well below the line of sight of those on the other side of the ridge, they scuttled quickly to the bottom of a narrow ravine, where a group of men awaited their return. Satisfied, their eyes met in mutual agreement and slowly, cautiously, the men lowered their heads and began to crawl backward down the slope. For long minutes the two lay there, unmoving except for their eyes, which took in everything, cataloging, counting, and evaluating. Full, sensual lips, dry and badly cracked, could barely be seen in the midst of his beard and mustache. The nose was broken and twisted to the left. Two cold blue eyes stared from a light skinned face that was peeling and sunburned. A braided beard and mustache, equally blond, covered most of his face. Blond hair, bleached almost white on top, hung past his shoulders in several braids. His huge, muscular form was covered with a filthy beige robe, that reached to just below his knees. His hair was the same midnight hue as the long robe that covered his body. One was dark and slender, narrow of face, with an aquiline nose, thin harsh lips, and liquid black eyes. THE VIGRID I Two men lay just behind the crest of the ridge, hidden by the jumbled rocks and twisted scrub that crowned it. TWILIGHT OF THE GODS: THE FIRST NAME By Dennis Schmidt This book is dedicated to Freyja.

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