Halfdan knew that he did not walk astray; his feet followed a paved road ever since the gate, clearly made by skilled hands. It did not fork or disappear, and so he assumed that he would eventually meet those who had created it. But when?
Halfdan was reminded of the underground complex in J?tunheim, walking in a place absent sun. It made it difficult to measure time or how long he had walked; he did not tire easily, and he paid little attention to hunger. He could easily have foregone eating entirely if need be, though the provisions given to him by Utgarda-Loki made that unnecessary. The occasional stream slaked his thirst, and so, the berserker continued walking with little interruption, forced to trust that his path took him where he needed to be, no matter how long that might take.
The darkness shrouded anything more than a few miles away at best; even [Keen of Sense] could not penetrate further with only the glow of moss to aid it. And so when a city came into sight, it felt like it had materialised out of nothing, walls that suddenly rose to a great height before him.
It looked hewn rather than built; the fortifications seemed impregnable. The gate rose tall, several times Halfdan’s height. Seeing the guards in front, half his size, it felt unnecessary.
“Halt! What creature are you?” one of the sentinels called out. The Dwarf was perhaps small in stature, but he wore armour that Halfdan could appreciate, and his spear, as long as the berserker was tall, looked dangerous enough.
Not that he had come to quarrel with these guards or their people. “I am Halfdan of Midgard. I pursue the great deceiver, Loki, who has escaped his bonds. I assume you are no friends of his.”
“Indeed we are not,” said the other guard. “How long ago did he flee?”
“Not long. He arrived in Myrkheim only a day prior,” Halfdan explained. “He travels in the company of a woman and a child, both of my kind, though the latter is his prisoner.”
“Then you won’t find him here. None have entered our city in days. Especially not any of foreign kind or kin.”
“He might have entered on his own in disguise,” Halfdan argued. “He seeks Sindri’s forge.”
The guards exchanged looks and overbearing smiles. “Then he would be a fool to come here, as are any pursuing him.”
Anger flashed across Halfdan’s face. “Explain.”
“The forge of the old master lies many miles from here, in ruins long abandoned by our people.” The guard speaking looked at his counterpart before regarding the berserker again. “But these tidings you bring… you should speak with our king. He will want to hear this.”
It did not sound like an invitation, but like a command. Halfdan did not object, however. He did not wish to make enemies of these people if it could be avoided, and he needed information himself. Perhaps this king could be persuaded to help. “Fine. Lead the way.”
*
Halfdan’s progress through the city caused a stir. Children stared, and the bravest of them ran forward to touch him before being snatched up or arrested by brusque voices. The adults whispered and looked at him with suspicious expression. He was not surprised; they hardly saw many humans, and given his size, he stood out.
In turn, he took in the city as he walked through it. It was densely populated, he noticed. The houses were small, and not just because of the occupants. They stood right against each other, leaving little space for each family. Not a surprise either, given everything presumably was carved out of stone, but to someone used to living in a forest, Halfdan felt suffocated just marching through the streets.
He saw fields as well, growing strange crops in the odd glow of the moss. It seemed that the Dwarves kept everything inside their walls, giving them no need to venture beyond. That explained why he had not encountered any of their people on his approach.
The palace, presumably, was impressive with wide pillars on the approach. Though like the rest of the city, space was an issue, and it still felt pressed together. The guard leading Halfdan bade him wait in the entrance hall while he spoke to his brethren.
His hosts gave him something resembling ale, allowing Halfdan also time to inspect the carvings on the walls. They showed battles, mostly, between armoured Dwarves and the rock creatures he had fought by the gate. Trolls, he realised, seeing their name written in runes.
“The king will see you.” Another guard gestured for Halfdan to follow, which he did. Through corridors and hallways, he reached a small, round chamber with a throne, occupied by a crowned Dwarf.
Halfdan had no experience with palaces – his homeland had none – so he did not know if this was typical or particular to this people. Regardless, while he felt this was meant to impress him, it did not. The king wore jewels, his throne was set with gems and gold, and beautiful carvings filled the walls, floor, and ceiling. Guards in impressive armour stood on either side, as did an aged Dwarf that looked like a counsellor or similar.
But as with the city, the room felt tiny; Halfdan had to bend his neck passing the doorway, and his head nearly touched the ceiling. They seemed a people in hiding, despite all their gifts, and the berserker felt no fear standing before their king.
Stolen story; please report.
“You are the first visitor in centuries,” the king spoke. “Not only that, but from Midgard. I cannot recall any of your people have been to our city before.”
“Glad to be the first,” Halfdan remarked, having no patience for idle conversation. If Sindri’s forge was far from here, he was not interested in wasting time. “You know my purpose, I take it. I pursue Loki, who seeks Sindri’s forge.”
“Yes, yes, I was informed. Frankly, that is of little interest to us.”
“How can that be? Don’t you know the prophecy? The destruction that Loki heralds?” First Utgarda-Loki and now this obstinate little monarch – was Halfdan the only person across the nine realms who cared about their survival?
“Of course. Battle across the realms, who will be consumed in fire. The sunlit realms, that is. We will be quite safe below.” The king smiled.
Halfdan looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “That’s quite a risk. I don’t recall the prophecy being that specific and precise with its geography.” Halfdan did not actually know; he was only familiar with the bits that Sif had told him. But he figured it best to sow a little doubt.
“Hardly. Besides, the Aesir, whom we assume that you serve, abandoned us. Allowed our enemies to control the gates that we built with long labour, isolating us.” The king’s voice grew angry, and Halfdan wondered if this had been a mistake. In the stories, the gods were always on good footing with the Dwarves, but obviously, relations had changed. “That begs the question, how did you even come here? The trolls have set a watch on the gate to kill the unwary traveller.”
“Not Loki,” Halfdan snorted, “or I would have seen his corpse. They tried with me, but I showed them the error of their ways.”
“You would dare to call yourself a troll slayer?”
Halfdan grabbed the hammer from his back and swung it around, letting its head strike the ground. The guards reacted with alarm, lowering their spears. “With this very weapon.”
The king stared at its bronze head. “Crude. Made by J?tun hand, no doubt. Which begs the question if you are among their kind. Any follower of Loki would be gifted in deception.”
“My king, if I may,” said the aged Dwarf by his side, speaking for the first time. “There’s one way to prove his story, which may also serve our purpose. The tomb.”
Halfdan sighed. He could guess where this led.
“Excellent suggestion. You will prove yourself, so-called man of Midgard. If you are true, we will send you to Sindri’s forge with gifts and our blessings,” the king declared. “If not… nothing lost on our side.”
Halfdan could guess that he would lose plenty, on the other hand. However, he had no choice. He was in foreign lands with no knowledge of where his destination lay, and if he refused their king, none of the Dwarves could be expected to help him. “What must I do?”
“We have a problem that requires a great warrior,” the king said. “But I am tired. Handle it, Alviss.”
The counsellor bowed his head. “Come along, man of Midgard.” He crossed the room, taking Halfdan by the arm to lead him away. “You shall be given a chance to rest and recover your strength. You will need all of it to face the guardian of the kings’ tombs.”
“The what?”
*
The odd trio walked through what seemed a wilderness, if Myrkheim could be said to possess such features. Animals were conspicuously absent, and only sparse vegetation besides the glowing moss could grow. Nonetheless, Sif eventually noticed that the path beneath their feet had changed from rocky terrain to what had once been a road. It was difficult to tell, as the paved stones had been broken as if someone deliberately sought to destroy any sign of civilisation. Had this been among the upper realms, grass and plants would have overtaken it, completely hiding any sign of the road; here, Sif could still tell it apart from the natural surrounding rocks and that they followed it. It was not hard to guess that it would take them to Sindri’s forge.
Lacking any skills to strengthen her senses, Sif noticed the suddenly looming building very late. It appeared to melt out of darkness with walls that rose far beyond her height. The broken path led directly towards the construction, which had a curiously large door. “Wait here and guard her. I don’t need her interrupting me,” Loki commanded, and Freydis bowed her head. Leaving the two behind, the deceiver entered the gate alone.
*
Beyond the gate lay a circular square, surrounded by further walls. A defensive measure allowing archers on the surrounding fortifications to attack those that breached the gate. Loki strode into the middle and looked up at the battlements. “I am Loki, nothing else to my name, but that should suffice! Children of the earth, I seek to speak with you!”
A rumbling sound came from all directions. The walls, already damaged in many places, seemed to come alive. Battlements moved and gaps appeared as the trolls woke from their sleep. Although not exactly uniform, their shapes looked humanoid, though rather than heads, many had something resembling a face set lower, between their shoulders. “Hum, hum,” spoke one of them. Glowing moss covered him below the crack that served as his mouth, giving the impression of a beard. “Why have you come to our home?”
“Within lies a weapon I must acquire,” Loki explained. “It will allow me to strike a blow against the Aesir and destroy them once and for all! The Dwarves, your ancient enemies, will be left without their strongest allies.”
“Hum. The fleshlings already cower before us, abandoned by the Aesir. They have not threatened us for centuries.”
“And should the Aesir return? How many of your kind will lie destroyed by Thor’s hammer? Forged in this very place by a Dwarf. What will happen should the Aesir decide they once more desire the weapons and tools created by your foes?”
“Hum, hum. Why would such a change happen?”
“Because I’ve fled,” Loki admitted boldly, “and the Aesir must take action. Now, you could take me prisoner and hand me over to those who slaughtered your people in great numbers – or you could aid me in their destruction, ensuring your survival in the world to come.”
“Hum. We must discuss, hum, hum.” Any semblance of language spoken in other realms disappeared. Noise like the earth tearing ensued, no different than the sound of an avalanche. After a while, the moss-bearded troll spoke again. “Hum. You may enter. But cause no damage beyond what the fleshlings have already done.”
Loki smiled and gave a deep bow. “It shall be as you desire.”
