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clumsy attacks coming. You gave yourselves away with looks and gestures.”
    Geir looked abashed. “How, my lord? I barely thought before I launched myself at you.”
    “ Your every movement gives you away. A step here, a glance there. And you attack me as individuals, not together. You will never lay a hand on me like that.”
    His men looked at each with some guilt. They all realized the truth of their lord's admonishments.
    “ Now come at me again. But this time, coordinate your attacks. Look around you quickly, and know what the one next to you and the one next to him is going to do before he does it. Don't wait till an action is undertaken before you commit to an attack. And once you do attack, read the movements of those around you, adjust your plan as you see the battle unfolding.”
    The warriors looked at each other, attempting to read the intentions of the others without giving their own intentions away to their lord. They knew it was unlikely that they would be able to strike him, much less best him, but they would at least show that they heeded his lessons.
    A servant dashing towards him from the keep halted the attack. Tyr held up his hand and the warriors paused, some of them looking relieved to avoid another beating.
    “ My lord, the Allfather summons you.” The servant was out of breath for running to deliver the message. “He has summoned a council at Gladsheim. A stranger has appeared.”
    He eyed the servant carefully. He looked agitated.
    “ What is known of this stranger?”
    “ Little, my lord, save that he is a mason. He has come alone except for his horse.”
    Tyr dismissed his men with a nod.
    “ Send word that I am on my way,” he told the servant, who bowed low and quickly returned the way he had come. Tyr stroked his beard, wondering what this news boded, and why it was important enough to gather the gods at Gladsheim to hear it.

 
     
     
     
    Odin's Sacrifice
     
    Yggdrasil towered over all the Nine Worlds. It had always been, and it would always be. It was so large that its branches brushed the heavens high above, and its roots wound down into the underworld.
    One root delved deep into Niflheim, coursing down into a blackened and foul spring. That land was filled with corpses and decay and the dragon Nidhogg, who spent his days devouring the dead and his nights chewing on Yggdrasil’s root, constantly threatening the life of the eternal tree. From time to time he would cease his gnawing, but only to give insults to the squirrel that scurried up the trunk of the tree to deliver them to the majestic eagle that perched at the top of Yggdrasil.
    Another root wound into Asgard underneath the Well of Urd, where the three Norns resided to decide the fates of gods and mortals alike. The Norns—Urd, Skuld, and Verdandi—would sprinkle the tree with life-sustaining water from the well, countering the evil of the dragon. As shapers of fate, they carved a thin channel into the wood for every being in creation. At the top of the channel, life began. At its end life would cease. Some channels were long, indicating a full life, and others were mercifully short. Such is the way with the fates of both gods and men.
    Yet another root wound its way down into Jotunheim, where the giants dwelled, underneath the Spring of Mimir. Its water would grant insight to any who drank from it.
    Standing at the spring in his gray cloak and with his mighty spear, Gungnir, disguised as a walking stick, Odin lusted for the knowledge he would gain from drinking from the spring. Reaching up he plucked an eye from its socket and tossed it into the waters in exchange for a single taste. Great wisdom and knowledge were now his, but this only caused him to thirst for more.
    He approached Yggdrasil alone and impaled himself upon the tree with his own spear. There he hung for nine long nights, sacrificing his life so that he might rise again and gain the knowledge of what would be. When his ordeal was over, the High One was