Voices reverberating through the great burial chamber brought Halfdan back to the land of the conscious. As he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, he was reminded of all the torment he had put his body through. The wound gained when the guardian skewered him still persisted, if slowly healing. Accepting that every move currently only caused pain and probably delayed his mending, Halfdan leaned against the nearest stone coffin.
“This one,” spoke a voice that he belatedly recognised as belonging to the Dwarven king. “Hurry!” The sound of a lid sliding away could be heard, followed by a triumphant outburst. “Hah! Look at this!” Craning his neck, which still sent a pang of pain through him, Halfdan saw what his half-sized hosts were up to. From the open grave, they removed several fearsome-looking weapons. “That one next!” the king continued, pointing at another.
Halfdan finally understood why the guardian had begun to attack all those entering the tomb. It had not been some error in judgement or magic gone wrong; on the contrary, it had faithfully executed its task. He looked at the ruined remains of the metal giant. “Sorry, lad. But you were in my way.”
“My king, the warrior of Midgard still lives,” said another voice that Halfdan knew belonged to Alviss. The counsellor looked around the corner of a sarcophagus to see the aftermath of the battle. “What do you wish done?”
“Oh, someone take care of him,” came the absentminded reply. Some of the guards coughed nervously. “I meant look after him! Hammer and forge, how ungrateful do you consider me to be? Take him to a guest chamber, let him rest.”
“Of course, my king,” Alviss replied with a relieved voice. He gestured for a guard to help him; together, they grabbed Halfdan by the shoulders, and despite his weak protestations, preferring to stay where he was, they hauled him out of the tomb.
*
Halfdan was returned to the chamber where he had previously rested, serving the same purpose again. He did not sleep exactly, but his mind drifted away repeatedly until another stab of pain brought it back. Once he felt up for it, he examined his gift again. He only had one Seed of Power available, having spent most of them upgrading his skills in succession just to strengthen [Mend Your Wounds].
Unfortunately, while his healing ability was more powerful, it did not ease any the discomfort he felt during the process, but at least he was alive. In addition, his foundation, [Unbridled Fury] was now at fifth rank; besides allowing all other skills to also reach the fifth rank, it directly increased his abilities that dealt with strength and rage. With all the troll fighting that Halfdan expected he would face, that would help.
As he finally gave up on rest, he sat up on his cot and looked around. The berserker realised that his armour was gone; the Dwarves must have removed it as they helped him to his chamber. He did not have his weapon within reach either, which unnerved him. Thinking back, he recalled the bronze hammer’s haft breaking, but a new one could be fitted, surely. Or he would take the other weapon with him, which was also gone.
“Once more back with us,” Alviss spoke, entering.
“As you can see. Where are my things?”
“A warrior’s hand ever reaches for his weapon.” The Dwarf smiled. “Worry not, my friend. Your chain shirt is being repaired, and we will give you a new helmet to replace the other. As for weaponry, I persuaded our king to part with this.” He motioned for a servant to enter, who came carrying a great hammer in both hands held out. “You are the first outside our people to be allowed this weapon.”
Standing up, Halfdan reached out and grabbed the proffered item to let his eyes run over it. As he grabbed it, he felt a tingling sensation, and somehow, he knew this to be an artefact of power. Specifically, that it was a [Rune Hammer].
Alviss smiled seeing the spark of energy that had shocked Halfdan’s fingers. “I knew you would be worthy of it.”
Halfdan examined the weapon. A metal handle, probably hollow – Halfdan hefted it a few times, finding it surprisingly light. But his attention was really on the head, which was stone rather than metal and carved with delicate rune work, which made a mockery of his own primitive scratches he had inflicted on his bronze hammer. He would need to experiment, but inwardly, the berserker smiled. With a weapon like this, no troll, J?tun, or gods-damned deceiver would stand in his way. “Tell your king my thanks.”
“I think it best not to remind him,” the counsellor admitted, and he sat down on Halfdan’s cot. He gestured for the servant to leave them, which the latter did. “You probably deduced the real reason that the guardian turned on us.”
“I noticed.” Halfdan looked down at his guest, towering over him. Realising that at least this Dwarf had shown him courtesy, he sat down next to him. “But it is none of my business.”
“If your destination is Sindri’s forge, you should know the lay of the land. And also why we asked you to risk your life.”
The berserker was not keen on wasting time with Sif in enemy hands, but any knowledge of what lay ahead might prove worthwhile. All manner of dangers might hide in the soft darkness of Myrkheim. “Very well.”
“Long, long ago, we ruled this realm,” Alviss began to explain. “Our skill as smiths was unrivalled, and we built our cities across Myrkheim, safe and strong. Trolls and their ilk were nothing but a tale to frighten children.” He sighed. “But our alliance with the Aesir faltered as they retreated to their realm and no longer granted us the gift of rune powers. The gates we had built with such toil and cunning, we could no longer use. Our best weapons, such as the one you hold now, were no different than ordinary arms. And the trolls, having waited for centuries in the deepest and darkest parts of Myrkheim, returned.” Sorrow passed over the Dwarf’s face. “They drove us from our cities, one by one. All we have left is this, our first and oldest home. For centuries, we have rarely left its walls. The trolls kill us on sight, and they have an uncanny ability to know our every move.”
Ominous to hear, and it did not bode well for Halfdan’s ability to find Sif unseen, should the trolls be working with Loki. Given one of them had guarded the gate and attacked him, he considered that a certainty.
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“Our king is desperate for any reversal of fortunes. So he desired the old weapons, buried with our heroes and beyond our ability to create now with the loss of the old forges.” Alviss gave a bitter smile. “Whether we can wield those weapons to any greater effect is another question. But that is our cause and concern. There is one thing you should know, though.”
“Which is?”
“The first Dwarven city that fell to the trolls was the very same that held Sindri’s forge. It is their stronghold now. If that is your destination, you will need your strength and that hammer, Halfdan of Midgard, and even then, it might not be enough.”
The berserker shrugged. “It’ll have to do.”
*
Eager to resume his journey, Halfdan persuaded Alviss to let him leave without further delay. The counsellor took Halfdan personally to the city gates after also providing him with supplies. Standing outside the walls, Alviss pointed in one direction. “Sindri’s forge is many miles inwards.”
“Inwards? What, is that north?”
The Dwarf smiled. “In a land without sun, we have no north or south. There is inwards, going deeper into the cavern that is our home, and outwards, moving away from the centre. But follow the old Dwarven road that leads from our city, and you will not go astray.”
“Very well.” Slinging his hammer over his shoulder, Halfdan bowed his neck. “Thank you.”
“One more thing.” From a pocket, Alviss withdrew a round stone covered in runes. “This may aid you.”
Accepting the rock, Halfdan stared at it. “What is it?”
“The main gates to Sindri’s forge will be watched closely. But if you approach the city from the outwards direction, you’ll find a small gate that allows travel inside. Once, our people used it to flee from the city. Now it may serve as your path inside. The stone works only on the outer gate, alas, so you must find its counterpart to use the inner gate for your escape. Or brave the main gate.” The Dwarf exhaled. “I can offer you no further aid, man of Midgard. May your weapon never break.”
Halfdan bowed his head once again. “And yours.” Looking into the distant darkness that covered the realm of Myrkheim, including his goal, the berserker stepped onto the ancient Dwarven road.
*
Still with an unconscious Sif over his shoulder, Loki returned to the Dwarven city of Sindri’s forge with his priestess in tow. Outside the gate, he picked up a spear leaning against the wall and threw it to her. “Found this in the armoury for you. The trolls will pick up our interloper’s trail. He must have gotten lucky against one, but should his luck persist against two, I expect you to shift the balance.”
Freydis caught the spear and bowed her head. From the nearby cliff, two trolls stepped forward, as if the rock itself detached two specimens. Together, the trio hurried away in outwards direction.
Proceeding into the city, Loki became aware of his captive waking up as small fists began to beat against his shoulder blades. As he pulled her in front of him, he grabbed her throat with one hand and squeezed. “If you even try to use your galdr on me, I will gladly return you to the land of sleep.”
As she ceased to resist, he finally put her down and pushed her ahead of himself. They entered the nearest house, which consisted of a single room, entirely devoid of furniture.
A troll appeared to block the doorway. “It’ll keep your company. Don’t bother with your sorcery – your little screeches can’t hurt stone.” Loki’s delight was evident in his tone, and with a smirk, he left, leaving Sif alone with her new jailer.
She stared up at the creature, trying to inspect it, but barely any light reached her. Surrounded by darkness, watched by a terrifying monster, the girl hugged her knees and tried to fight back the tears. Where was Halfdan?”
“Hum, you leak water.”
Startled, Sif looked at the troll again. She knew they could talk, but still, she felt like a pebble on the road had just begun conversation with her. “So?”
“Hum, hum, fleshlings die when liquid leaves their body.”
“Why do you care?”
“Hum, I am here to guard you. If you die, I have failed in my task, hum.”
“If I were dying, what would you do about it? Take me to a troll healer who knows how to treat a human’s wounds?”
“Hum, we have no healers. We come from rock and return to it, hum, hum.”
Sif narrowed her eyes that still produced tears. She could faintly see the shape of the troll, but it carried none of the glowing moss, hence the darkness in the room. She wondered if that said anything about their age, the presence or absence of the moss – Loki had wanted to speak with their elders, so presumably, they had different ages. “How do you come from rock? Are you just pebbles that decide to grow?”
“No.” The brief answer, devoid of the characteristic noise the trolls usually made, surprised Sif enough to stop her crying. “Deep in the living rock, hum, we are born,” her captor finally said, speaking again. “That is why we are here. Never again will we let the fleshlings drive us away, hum, hum.”
With the nose of a skáld, Sif smelled a story. Besides distracting her, she understood there might be an opportunity to learn more about her surroundings and jailers, which could be useful. In addition, learning was a skáld’s prime motivation. “Can you tell me more?”
“Hum, I can. Long, long ago, we lived in peace in the dark lands. The children of the living rock made friends with the fleshlings, hum, and all was well. But only our eldest, so few of them, remember this time, hum, hum.”
Focusing her eyes, Sif saw cracks moving in the square form that was the troll’s body, acting as its mouth.
“But the fleshlings made a pact with the gift-givers. It made them strong, hum, strong enough to seize our home and the living rock, hum, hum. Our people fled to the edges of the dark lands and hid, becoming one with the stone, hum. The fleshlings tamed the living rock with metal and tools, hum, hum, hum.”
The troll’s voice carried an even tone at all times, but the increased rumbling suggested agitation. Despite this, it did not move from its spot in the doorway, and Sif did not feel threatened.
“Moss grew for a long time as our elders waited, hum. At last, the gift-givers left, and the fleshlings were weak, hum, hum. Our people attacked, hum, and took back our home, hum, hum. They unchained the living rock, hum, hum, hum, and it gave them children.”
The troll fell silent. Despite the general lack of emotion in its voice, Sif recognised an eager storyteller; someone who had a grievance and was keen to tell others about it. Guessing by how it spoke, she judged this to be one of the younger trolls, those born or made after their people retook this city. Though what the living rock was, or how it worked, was a different matter, and she sensed that it was a sensitive topic that she should be careful to ask about. But also, perhaps, it was a vulnerability. Either way, learning more about it, seeing it with her own eyes… that seemed like something that would reward a skáld, growing her power.
