Taking another steep between the stone sarcophagi, Halfdan turned his head in every direction. He felt like being engaged in a game of hnefatafl, except he was not the player, but a piece on the board, moving along a square grid until an opposing piece knocked him out. The ring of light emanating from his hammer felt small and vulnerable, as if the darkness itself was his enemy, threatening to swallow him up and suffocate him.

  Halfdan’s foot struck something, and he looked down. A rotting corpse. A Dwarf, judging by the size, and to be expected. Young and male, guessing by the remnants of his beard. The berserker bent down to inspect his remains. His chain shirt lay torn up in some places, suggesting a bladed weapon capable of cutting through steel. His leg had been crushed by a blow akin to what Halfdan’s hammer could accomplish. Plenty of other wounds could be seen as well, and all in all, it gave the impression of an outmatched warrior completely destroyed by a superior foe.

  The sound of metal scraping against stone reached Halfdan, and he quickly stood up. [Keen of Sense] told him the direction, and he turned towards it. He wondered at the abilities of this guardian; clearly it was powerful, but stealth did not seem to be among its skills. He had never fought an artificial foe before; presumably they did not possess gifts the way that sentient beings did. Given the way this steel monster had slain the Dwarf at Halfdan’s feet, it did not require it either.

  The scraping continued. Straining his eyes, Halfdan saw movement in the black. Grey steel, barely visible, but as it approached him, it seemed to take shape as if moulded by the darkness itself.

  A construction towered over him, eight feet tall, made entirely from metal. Runes lay carved into the surfaces. It possessed no head, only a body and four limbs. Two legs that allowed movement, and two arms, though rather than hands, one ended in a long blade, the other in a hammer.

  Bending his neck to look at this monstrosity, Halfdan swore. In the next moment, it attacked.

  *

  For a man of metal, the monster moved quickly. With one step, swift and long, the guardian stood before Halfdan and lashed out with both arms. The hammer came low, the blade high.

  Halfdan had no desire to attempt defences or parries against the blows of such an enemy; thanking [Swifter Than Them], he leapt backwards and out of harm’s way. He understood at once that this would most likely determine the fight. One look at the Dwarven corpse told him that he could not expect to survive the blows from this foe. An injured berserker could fight on, no matter his wounds, but a dead berserker could not.

  Thankfully, killing J?tnar and trolls had been rewarding. Blinking, Halfdan added one of his available Seeds to the skill, increasing it to the fourth rank; the highest it could get for now until he increased all the other skills it depended on. He stepped back, positioning himself in a crossroads of the rows, allowing him room in every direction to manoeuvre. “Come at me then, you big lout,” he muttered.

  The guardian obliged. It stalked down between the stonework holding long dead kings, weapons raised for a strike. Once within reach, it attacked with both. Halfdan evaded and retaliated, smashing the hammer against the elbow joint of the sword limb. He had incrementally more success than his enemy did; while the guardian crushed only the tiles of the floor rather than flesh, Halfdan caused a slight bent to the metal.

  The defender of the tomb whirled around with more speed than should be possible, and judging by how it raised both limbs for another attack, it was not in the slightest troubled by Halfdan’s strike.

  Stepping back, the berserker bought some time while thinking. Using his fury for extra strength was unlikely to help. Even if he used the full might available to him, his blows were unlikely to do enough damage against such a well-armoured foe, and fighting in a blind rage would probably just get him killed.

  He tried again, evading his enemy’s attack while landing another strike against the same spot. In the flickering light from his weapon, he could not tell if the second blow had made significant progress, especially as the guardian would not oblige him and remain still to allow for better inspection.

  Continuously, Halfdan retreated, moving in square circles to avoid a deathblow. He could do this for hours, but it did not seem wise; he had to move perfectly every single time to evade the guardian, whereas the guardian only needed to hit once to cripple Halfdan. That would leave [Berserker's Rage] as his only option to keep fighting, but he had already dismissed that option.

  Trying to study his enemy, Halfdan looked for other vulnerabilities. The joints had seemed like the only weakness; everything else, the rest of its limbs, the torso, all appeared even and strong. But what magic animated it? Studying its movements, still keeping his distance, he noticed the runes carved into its metal skin. That could hardly be decorative, given what Halfdan had learned about Dwarves and their use of these signs.

  Risking another attack, Halfdan waited, evaded, and moved close enough to smash the guardian on its chest plate. He caused a dent, and for a moment, his enemy seemed to stagger and stutter. Still, it swung around to continue the fight; Halfdan, having moved one step too close to escape cleanly, felt the hammer hand smash into his head.

  The helmet saved his life, undoubtedly, but it was still enough to send him flying against the nearest sarcophagus. Halfdan’s vision blurred, he heard a ringing, and only through instinct did his hands hold on to his weapons. His battle experience screeched for him to move, knowing that it took only a moment for an incapacitated warrior to become a dead warrior, and his enemy would not waste that moment. He rolled away, just as a blade sliced through where his abdomen had been while a hammer crushed the stone where his head had rested.

  Back on his feet, Halfdan stepped back further, anything to buy him time. He nearly stumbled as he moved into another stone coffin. And still the guardian came at him, relentless, metal scraping against the ground each time it lifted one foot.

  His senses returning, Halfdan steadied himself. He continued to retreat, trying to study the terrifying incarnation of steel and death that pursued him. He realised that his latest attack had changed something. With each move from those metal limbs, the runes glowed stronger; he saw lines filled faintly with light, similar to the magic of the gate filling up every branch of the world tree it resembled. Notably, all the runes seemed connected to the torso of this headless monster. Halfdan’s blow against the chest plate had dented it just enough to reveal a light shining behind it.

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  This was a creature made in a furnace rather than born, but its maker was flesh and blood and had to draw inspiration from somewhere. Magic fuelled this being, and it seemed that although made of steel, it possessed a heart all the same.

  At least so Halfdan hoped; getting close enough to strike another blow and find out seemed daunting, considering the last attempt had nearly killed him. But he could only flee in circles around these decrepit Dwarves for so long. And he knew not to underestimate his enemy.

  As it came close to strike at him, Halfdan held his nerves and waited until the last moment. He leaned back in response to its lunges, letting hammer and blade swipe past him, and attacked with another blow straight at the chest plate. As soon as he felt the impact, he pulled back. He moved with enough speed to avoid the hammer that threatened to bash his skull in, and he also evaded the blade – except that he had miscalculated, and while his body escaped any harm, his weapon did not. As he pulled it back, the guardian’s sword sliced through the haft. The bronze head sailed through the air to land on a sarcophagus, its fire still burning.

  Throwing the useless splinter of wood away while retreating, Halfdan grabbed the other hammer from his back. That’s why you have a spare, he thought, keeping his distance while evaluating the damage done. The chest plate was not only dented, but deformed now, though it still remained in place. Another blow or two should be sufficient.

  Striking his new hammer against the edge of a coffin as a test, Halfdan noticed with satisfaction that his weapon crushed the stone to powder. That will do. Now come at me again, you metal bastard, he spoke in his mind, knowing it would accommodate his wishes. And it did, moving with untiring, inexorable speed to strike out at him.

  Halfdan dodged and moved in close – too late he realised that he had done exactly what he claimed he would not. He had underestimated it, thinking it was a soulless piece of armour that repeated the same pattern of moves. As he saw the hammer weapon change direction, he understood his mistake – too late to evade.

  Again, it smashed against his dented helmet, cracking the steel. The awkward angle of the attack had kept the guardian from using its full force, but it proved sufficient. Stunned, Halfdan could not escape in time as the bladed limb punched through his sternum to impale him, penetrating armour and flesh until the tip protruded from his back. With merciless might, the guardian raised him into the air, its sword embedded in his body.

  Gasping for air that would not come, trying in vain to cough up blood, Halfdan understood with perfect clarity that death had come for him. Sooner than the length of a wolf’s howl or raven’s cry, he would be dead.

  [Berserker's Rage] would not save him from this. Mindless fury could not deny death its due. So Halfdan did the only thing available to him. He reached out to grab the deformed chest plate and tear it away.

  It revealed the stone heart of the guardian, inserted into its body like a gem set in a ring and covered with runes to power it. Reaching out to the nearest coffin, Halfdan grabbed the bronze head of his destroyed hammer where it lay. It still burned with the runic fire he had given it, and as his own [Know the Runes] was ranks higher than [Laugh at Fire] or [Enemy to Sorcery], it burned his hand black.

  Already overwhelmed with pain, Halfdan ignored the damage to his hand. He thrust the burning hammer head into the guardian’s stone heart and watched the runes come into conflict. The stench of burning flesh was joined by the smell of hot metal. If the guardian had possessed a face, perhaps it would have expressed surprise. Instead, all of its limbs lost strength, and it fell backwards, arms spread out.

  That included Halfdan, still impaled on its blade. With his last breaths and a blink of the eyes, he used his Seeds, old and newly awarded for this victory, to increase in rapid succession [Unbridled Fury], then [Keen Sense], and finally as the last in the chain, [Mend Your Wounds]. Using his legs, he kicked against the metal body to push himself away, feeling the blade slide out of his gut. Having done all he could, Halfdan abandoned his tenuous grasp on consciousness and allowed the darkness to swallow his mind. As the last thing, the flames on the bronze head died out.

  *

  Sif ran as fast as her legs allowed. She knew that even with a head start, she could not hope to outrun Freydis. But she also knew that Halfdan was on his way to save her, which meant he had to be chasing them, following the same trail; with a little luck, he was close enough that Sif would reach him first before Freydis reached her.

  Sprinting through the strange landscape, Sif glanced over her shoulder and saw nothing except the Dwarven city vanishing into the distant dark. She was still learning how her galdr worked; opportunities were few to try it. She had an intuitive understanding though that in time, she could do far more to her enemies than the momentary incapacitation that she had used on Freydis. Sif knew it would not last that long, but she hoped that it would at least take the deceitful priestess a while to recover. Every moment spent on her knees gave Sif time to find Halfdan.

  Without warning, arms appeared around Sif to catch her and lift her up. Appearing from the shadows, Freydis covered the skáld’s mouth with one hand. “Enough! Cease your struggles! Do you know what Loki will do if he discovers you tried to flee?”

  Sif’s only answer did not come from her tongue, but her teeth, as she bit Freydis’ hand. Startled, the priestess pulled her hand away on instinct, giving the skáld her opportunity. As the skill said, [Galdr is Heard]. The terrifying screech brought Freydis to her knees again, releasing her hold on Sif, who did not waste a moment to flee.

  She only made it nine steps before another appeared from darkness. Seizing her, Loki placed the girl in a stranglehold. Mute sounds issued from her throat, but no air went the other way, and she could not use her skill. The sands of the hourglass passed, one by one, as the deceiver kept her in a chokehold until at last, Sif’s mind sank into oblivion.

  Slinging the unconscious girl over his shoulder, Loki stared at his priestess and began walking back towards the Dwarven fortress. “On your feet.”

  “Yes, master,” she mumbled, recovering only to hurry after him. “Forgive me.”

  “I have no interest in forgiveness.”

  “Of course not, master.”

  He sighed. “Freydis, you did all I asked, and you released me from my prison. I am not ungrateful. But the task ahead of us… there is no room for failure or that your heart grows soft. Can I still rely on you?”

  “Yes, master, you can.”

  “Good, as I have another task for you. The watcher at the gate is dead, but the trolls have no knowledge of our berserker’s whereabouts, which means he’s gone to Dwarven lands.”

  “What do you command?”

  “Deal with him. We know his approach, coming from Dwarfhome. The trolls will know his progress once he is in the living lands again. Have them distract the warrior and kill him.”

  She bowed her head, walking alongside him. “It shall be as you wish.”

  “I expect nothing else.”