His price for it? A gazilliondollars in gold, because evil fathers don’t take American Express.Long story short: Alderman took the cursed ring. The only thing that could dothat was the Skofnung Stone in Mr. At the time, we’dbeen more focused on stuff like, oh, saving Blitzen’s life. He’d tried to warnus that the ring would only bring misery, but had we listened? Nooooo.

On our last visit, Hearth and I had stolen a hoard of goldįrom a slimy old dwarf, Andvari, including the little dude’s cursed ring. “This destruction is the ring’s fault.”In the harsh warm light, it shouldn’t have been possible to get a chill. If so, it couldn’t have happened to a vilermansion.But still…I didn’t understand how the place could have been so thoroughlydestroyed, or how quickly such a suburban paradise had turned into this creepywilderness.“We only started it.” Blitzen’s face was again covered by netting, making itimpossible to read his expression. I supposed it waspossible we’d caused a fire to break out, too. The last time we fled Alfheim, we’d been pursuedby evil water spirits and elfish police with guns, not to mention Hearth’s maniacal father.We may have busted a few windows in the process of escaping. “Did we do this?”I felt more amazement than guilt. Glinting in the sun, they reminded me uncomfortably of T.J.’ssniper glasses.I turned to my friends. Only two picture windows remained intact, their glass panes smoked brown aroundthe edges from the fire. Kudzuvines had completely overtaken the right side, growing so heavy that the roof had cavedin. The left side ofthe complex had collapsed in a heap of rubble, girders, and charred beams. The pungent smell of scum from the swanlake came wafting through the gates.The half-mile driveway was littered with white feathers, possibly from theaforementioned swans bones and tufts of fur that might have once been squirrels orraccoons and a single black dress shoe that looked as if it had been chewed and spitout.At the top of the hill, the once imposing Alderman Manor lay in ruins. Since our last visit, the grass had grown high and wild in the rich Alfheimlight.

That simple warning-step inside theseboundaries and you’ll die-was much more sinister.My gaze wandered over the grounds, which were roughly the size of the BostonPublic Garden. On either side of the gates, nailed to the brick columns, werematching yellow signs with glaring red letters:PROPERTY OFF-LIMITSBY ORDER OF ALFHEIM POLICE DEPARTMENTTRESPASSERS WILL DIENot prosecuted.

Magnus ship of the dead