Halfdan knelt to cradle Freydis’ head from where her lifeblood leaked away. Why didn’t she wear a helmet? There was nothing he could do. He possessed no elixir to heal nor skill to undo injury. His own ability, [Mend Your Wounds], only worked on himself. He flung the rune hammer in his hands away; for all its enchantments, it was worthless. Its carvings served only to hurt, and the symbols had no power to heal.

  Yet seeing the engraved hammer head as it landed in the ground, Halfdan remembered a tale told by Sif of a warrior poet from the land of ice, who had carved a rune-stave and used it to heal a sick woman. Closing his eyes, he looked at [Know the Runes] and saw the trail of light that connected it to [Mend Your Wounds]. Could the two be united?

  Halfdan looked around frantically. He was in Myrkheim with not a tree in sight. He would need something else. His eyes fell on the very rock that Freydis had struck; her blood had painted it red. Let life-taker be life-giver, the berserker thought, hoping this choice of implement would lend strength to his undertaking.

  Carefully moving her head to lie in his lap, he picked up the stone with one hand, his dagger in the other. Praying to the gods, he scratched the name of Eir, goddess of healing, into the rock. Blinking, he spent his Seeds from killing the trolls to strengthen [Blessing of the One-Eyed] and afterwards [Know the Runes], making the skill as strong as he could. Finally, he whispered the name, imbuing the rock and runes with all the power he could.

  *

  Freydis blinked repeatedly before her eyes finally stayed open. Above her was the vaulted ceiling of Myrkheim. Her hands were interlaced on her stomach and held something sticky. Bowing her head, she glanced down to see a rust-coloured rock in her grasp. Warmth streamed from it into her skin, making her fingers tingle.

  “Best you keep your grasp on it,” a voice spoke. “If it’s worked so far, let’s not interrupt it.”

  Following the sound, Freydis looked to her right and saw a berserker standing, leaned over a two-handed hammer. “How long was I gone?”

  “A while. Who can say in this sunless land? Long enough that I doubted it would work.”

  Holding up the rock, Freydis saw the runes scratched into it, and she lay her head back, returning the stone to its position on her stomach. “I remember you attacked my leg. Not that I hurt my head.”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t intentional. Your leg is probably broken, though maybe the stone will heal that too in time.” Halfdan crouched down next to her, the haft of his weapon now alongside him to allow that he leaned his cheek against it. “Why didn’t you run?”

  “Why didn’t you let me die?” Her green eyes locked onto his. “Same answer, I bet.”

  He sighed. “What am I to do with you? I can’t let you live, and I can’t let you die.”

  “You leave me here. You’ll have a head start. Enough to sneak in, free Sif, and make your escape.”

  He gave a bitter laughter. “And then? Your master proceeds with his ambition, and Midgard burns to the ground?”

  “It won’t be like that.” Lying on the ground made it awkward for Freydis to shake her head, but she did her best. “There’ll be upheaval and destruction, but the strong shall pull through, and a better world awaits us. Better worlds, even.”

  “I wish I could believe as you do. But I’ll never trust a man whose first action was to deceive me, and his second action was to place a knife against my child’s throat.”

  It was Freydis’ turn to sigh, though it could not be heard. “You spared me, and I’ll give you this in return. A chance to save Sif undetected. I pray you take it and flee through the gate, far, far from here.”

  No chance of that, but Halfdan would not discard intelligence about his enemy. While it was possible that Freydis sought to deceive him, he doubted it. If she wanted him dead, she would not have met him in open combat, but attempted an ambush instead. “Fine, tell me.”

  “The trolls are connected to the land. They sense through it, same as a wolf might smell the scent of prey on the wind. But their connection is broken where the land has been touched by tool,” she explained.

  Halfdan glanced at the remnants of the Dwarven road he had been following. He understood now why it had gradually become broken up, returning to its natural state. It was not ordinary decay, but deliberately done that the trolls might restore their control over the land.

  “Yes, that’s how we knew to intercept you here. And if you approach Sindri’s forge, they’ll know. And next time, they won’t send two, but twenty.”

  It made sufficient sense that Halfdan believed her. “What do I do?”

  “Enter the river. The water confuses their senses. It runs close to the city, once supplying it with water. When you reach it, you will be safe. The city itself is still mostly carved and thus beyond their connection. Thankfully for you, the trolls are a people of infinite patience – they are not in a hurry to restore the land much beyond its natural pace.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Halfdan bowed his head. Assuming this was true, she had given him a chance to reach the city unseen. The rune stone in his pocket would even let him avoid any guards posted by the gates; not that he saw any reason to inform Freydis. He glanced at her leg; perhaps it would heal thanks to his rune stone, but regardless, he would have a head start. “If we meet again, I can’t promise leniency a second time. Not if you stand between me and what I must do.”

  “I know. Once, I had your clarity of purpose. But task after task… the things I had to do to secure Loki’s release.” Her voice grew weary. “It wore me out, making me hollow. And so when I met you and the little skáld, there was space for you to sneak in.” The priestess of Loki smiled without mirth. “If you are not careful, warrior of Odin, that’ll be your fate too. Do not trust the immortals, Halfdan. We are pawns to them.”

  This, Halfdan believed without reservation. But he did not do any of this for Odin’s sake, but for his own. “Farewell, Freydis.” He slung his hammer over his shoulder and walked in the direction of the river, avoiding any lingering glances that might undermine his determination. She raised her head, watching him walk away, until at length, she leaned back again, still clutching the crimson rune stone in her hands.

  *

  The newly named Rumble crossed the dead city with Sif on its arm, carrying her back after Loki’s interrogation. She wondered if her surroundings were truly abandoned or if what looked like a caved-in wall was actually a troll at rest. It was hard to tell how long ago the Dwarves had fled. The corpse she had just seen suggested many years, but she wondered if they should be measured in decades or centuries. The trolls seemed uninterested in the city itself now that they had taken possession of it; then again, Sif had only seen a small part of it, and she could not know if they were busy doing gods knew what elsewhere.

  They arrived at the same small house that had kept Sif captive before; she suspected the troll simply brought her here out of habit, as it seemed to have no strong opinions other than its simple duty to watch over her. A rumbling, this time from her stomach, reminded Sif that she had other concerns than Loki and imprisonment. “I’m hungry, Rumble,” she said. “And thirsty. Gods, so thirsty.”

  “Hum, fleshlings can last days without water. You’ll be fine, hum, hum.” The troll sat down on the floor, which meant its limbs seemed to return to its shape, making it a large block of stone.

  “Maybe Dwarves can, but I’m from Midgard, I’m not like them!” Sif exclaimed, suddenly worried that she would die from thirst simply because a troll could not tell mortal people apart.

  “Hum. You are of Midgard? Hum, hum, they are taller, so the old songs say. You are like the fleshlings of here, hum.”

  “That’s because I’m a child!” she explained, indignant. “And why I actually need food, so I can grow. Hopefully.”

  “Hum, hum. You are a child?”

  “Yes!” Strictly speaking, having received her gift, Sif did not consider herself a child anymore. But trying to explain the finer nuances of human society to a troll seemed unnecessary, and proclaiming the status of childhood probably worked in her favour at present. “Yes, I’m just a child, and I’m thirsty and hungry.”

  “Hum, hum, hum. I will take you to water.” The troll’s shape cracked again, acquiring limbs and this time what might resemble a head, giving it a human form. It reached out its arms and waited as Sif climbed aboard. Carefully, it carried her away.

  *

  Soon after, they reached a fountain that still flowed with water. The troll put her down, and she bent over the edge to drink. She wondered what the source of the water might be. She figured the Dwarves had the ingenuity to create plenty of ways to ensure their city had freshwater. More importantly, a way in could also work as a way out; Sif knew how to swim. But she would need to find an unguarded moment. Her newly struck friendship with Rumble could only take her so far.

  “Hum, is your thirst satiated?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Hum, good, hum. I will take you to food.”

  Sif had to wonder what that meant; did trolls eat anything? Rocks, perhaps, or moss. They were living creatures, after all, and from what she understood, they were born somehow. Regardless, she could not imagine their diet would suit her. At the same time, she was a skáld and eager to discover an answer. “Thank you.” She climbed into Rumble’s arms again.

  *

  This time, the troll carried her much further away. While the fountain had been placed by a central square in the city, they now moved beyond, approaching the wall. Here, more moss grew, casting more illumination. This part also seemed less hewn, less constructed, though not because of the trolls destroying the structures; squinting into the dark, Sif realised that this district had never been built to the same degree as the others. And finally, as they came close enough, she understood why.

  She looked out at fields where large quantities of mushrooms grew. The landscape looked wild now, but she could imagine more orderly rows back when the Dwarves tended to them. Half-broken stone fences also suggested pens for animals. This was the city’s food supply, clearly.

  Cautiously, Sif approached the nearest cluster of mushrooms. Her mother had sometimes taken her foraging in the forest, but she did not recognise any of this. “Is it – are you sure it’s safe to eat?”

  “Hum, yes. The fleshlings eat these without harm, hum.”

  “Right, but I’m not… what’s good for a Dwarf might not be fine for me.”

  “Hum, hum. I would not let you come to harm.”

  Despite all her misgivings about trolls and their knowledge of human survival, Sif was persuaded by the troll's certainty. She reached out, plucked a mushroom, and placed it in her mouth.

  It was a strange texture to chew, but the taste was not unpleasant. Quickly, hunger defeated any lingering caution, and she continued to eat her fill. When she finally stopped, the troll regarded her with the stone cropping that served as a faceless head. “Hum, is your hunger satiated?”

  “Yes, thank you, it is.” Sif plucked a few more within reach and stuffed them into her clothing.

  “Hum, good. Little fleshlings must eat to grow, hum.” Rumble reached out its arms, and Sif climbed into its grasp again. “The little fleshling should sleep, hum. Rumble will keep safe, hum, hum.”

  As if the word summoned the sensation, Sif felt drowsy and yawned. Being carried by the troll through the city caused a gentle motion, like she was being rocked back and forth; it took only a few blinks of the eye before she was fast asleep.