A bell rang through Valh?ll, summoning its inhabitants to the mead hall. After a long day of slaughtering each other, the einherjar picked up their dismembered limbs and comrades and returned from the battlefield, their wounds healing. Odin’s chosen warriors among the fallen mortals of Midgard, they worked up an appetite each day and feasted every night. Thanks to the magic of Asgard, never ending rivers of mead and plates of pork flowed, ensuring enough for all; none of the warriors gave much thought to the meek thralls ferrying the beverages and food to the tables.

  The gods joined them, those that lived in Valh?ll. In old times, some claimed to recall seeing many more of the deities often at the table. If so, times had changed, as few of the Aesir graced the hall with their presence. Bragi was one, performing songs as befitted the skáld of the gods. Tyr another, eating with his men that he commanded in battle, should the need arise. But few others. Thor, eldest son of Odin and strongest of the gods, was never seen in Valh?ll anymore. Freya stayed in Folkvang, her brother Freyr on his homestead, and their father Njord by the sea.

  Odin always appeared, though he gave his meat to the wolves resting by his throne or the ravens landing on his shoulders. They whispered to him with hoarse voices, but in the noise of the feast, none but him stood a chance to hear the news they brought. Sustaining himself only on drink, the Alfather sat on his throne, watching his warriors with a steeled eye.

  *

  Meanwhile, two figures snuck through the corridors of the great citadel, able to avoid its inhabitants by using the thralls’ passageways. They followed Kark’s instructions, easily memorised by Sif, ascending higher and higher. As befitted the king of the gods, his dwelling lay in the tallest tower. Fortunately for the would-be thieves and probably by design of the builders, the gate chamber was also in an elevated location on an upper floor. It would be a short journey from one place to the other – provided everything else went according to plan.

  At the top of a winding staircase, they reached a door that looked ordinary in nature, but Sif’s hand shot out to arrest Freydis. “I don’t know if you can see, but it’s full of wards.”

  “I cannot. Are they within your power to remove?”

  The skáld shrugged and exhaled. “We’ll see.” She blinked and added her available Seeds to [Runes are Read]. With all the magical strength she could muster, she held her hand over the wooden boards of the door, in a spot that to others looked no different from the rest. Sorcery illuminated her palm briefly. She winced at the strain, but it proved enough. Having visited four realms and Urd’s Well, the skáld brimmed with power at this point. “There.” The wards dispelled, she reached out and grabbed the handle, only to find it locked.

  “My turn.” Freydis pulled on her belt, allowing her to grab picks sewn onto the inside of the leather. Kneeling down, she made short work of the obstacle thanks to [Never Locked]. A moment later, she cautiously pushed the door open while getting back on her feet. Odin’s chamber lay open.

  *

  In some respects, the home of the Alfather looked simple. A bed, looking no more comfortable than what the thralls slept on floors below. Strange how this piece of furniture, suggestive of something so mundane as the need to sleep, makes the high god seem human, even vulnerable, Freydis thought to herself. A spear, beautiful and terrible to look at, leaned against the wall, next to a chest. The room also had a desk with a chair in front of it, a cloak hanging over its back. None of this raised eyebrows.

  The remainder of the furnishings did. The desk had jars containing claws or eyeballs, bird’s beak and predator’s tooth. Mistletoe grew from the rafters full of white berries. And on a pedestal, a severed head rested. Who, as the intruders entered, opened his eyes to look at them. “Welcome.”

  A start went through Freydis, and she swung her spear around in attack stance until she saw the talking head, which did nothing to dispel her dread. Loki never warned me of this.

  “You must be Mimir!” Sif exclaimed.

  The severed head, his hair so long that it flowed past his chin, closed his eyes and looked like it tried to nod in greeting. “In the flesh. And you’re the skáld.” He looked from one to the other. “Not that I could mistake the two of you.”

  “You know who we are?” Freydis asked. As much as the situation unnerved her, it seemed best to keep him talking; as long as he was making conversation, he was not raising the alarm.

  “Of course. Who do you think gave Odin the idea to let matters escalate until your companion killed Loki and use him to take the deceiver’s place?”

  “That was you?” While asking the question, she subtly moved forward, her spear almost in striking range.

  “You can rest your efforts,” Mimir spoke with an overbearing voice. “No need to skewer me. I have no intentions of revealing you.”

  Caught, Freydis stopped and raised her weapon into the air. “Well, that’s nice,” she mumbled.

  “You’re on our side?” Sif asked. “But you advise Odin! You just said this was your plan!”

  “If he asks, I must advise. Once, unhappy with me, he locked me in a box for ten years. A mind like mine, left in the dark for a decade?” Mimir’s eyes moved from side to side, as if shaking his head. “But my mother taught me that unsolicited advice is rude. If he doesn’t ask, I don’t tell. He suspected Hel might let you leave, and I could have told him Heimdall wouldn’t be enough to stop you.” He grinned. “Unlike the gods, I don’t make a habit of underestimating mortals. It’s amazing how the lack of any autonomy will cure arrogance.”

  “So… you’re on our side?” Freydis asked.

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  “I am on the side of change, whatever it takes.” The head smiled. “Would you mind giving me something to drink? He always forgets to water me.”

  Freydis gave her spear to Sif and picked up a jar of water. With the other hand, she grabbed Mimir’s hair on the back and pulled down, tipping him upwards to let him drink.

  The water entered his mouth and pooled under him, slowly dripping down the pedestal. “Ah. Thank you. For one more favour, I’ll tell you what you came for.”

  Freydis let him gently down and put the jar away. “Which is?”

  “Gag me and turn me to face the wall. When he finds out the hammer is stolen, I’d like some plausible deniability as to why I didn’t raise the alarm.”

  A reasonable request. Freydis cut some cloth from the cloak on the chair. “As you wish.”

  Mimir closed his eyes and tried to do his nod again. “In the chest. The one to my left against the wall. It’s outside my field of vision, but I saw him walk towards it with the hammer.”

  “Much obliged.” Freydis gagged the head and turned him around to face the window. A mumbled thanks came in response. “Sif, do you see any magic?” Digging out her picks again, Freydis knelt down and studied the chest.

  “No. If there’s anything like that, it’s not visible.”

  Nodding to herself, Freydis carefully inserted one pick and began to manipulate the tumblers inside. Strangely, [Never Locked] did not help her. She felt no guidance that usually came from the ability.

  Pulling back, she examined where the lid met the lower part of the chest. It closed together perfectly, as if nailed shut. Suspicious, Freydis reached one hand over and took hold of the lid from the opposite side of the keyhole. It opened up easily. A clever trick, disguising the back as the front with a false keyhole, but it would take more to fool a priestess of Loki.

  Inside the chest lay, strangely, a hoard of identical golden rings. More importantly, on top of them, Sindri’s hammer, reverted to its old shape. Triumphantly, Freydis grabbed it and got up. “We got it!”

  Sif slapped one hand over her mouth with an amazed expression. “We are good at this!”

  A bell rang, loud enough to reach them even here, and Freydis knew this was not another summons to the evening meal. She quickly stuffed the hammer into her belt.

  “That would be the alarm,” came the muffled explanation from Mimir.

  “Toss that spear and run!” Freydis yelled at Sif, who complied, throwing the weapon in her hand away and bolting out of the chamber. Before following suit, Freydis grabbed the spear from Odin’s chamber instead, the instincts of a thief too strong to ignore. Quickly, she caught up to the skáld; together, they ran for their lives.

  *

  The bell continued to ring, each tolling fateful. All of Valh?ll awakened to a singular purpose, searching for the enemy. Freydis knew that the gate chamber would be the first thing they secured in the case of enemy infiltration, even without the corpse of Heimdall as an obvious reminder. In her years as Loki’s devoted, she had experienced plenty of narrow escapes and near misses – but never with a twelve year old in tow.

  Sif ran in front, being the one who knew the directions through the servant corridors. “Faster!” Freydis urged her. Every moment counted, and even carrying a spear in one hand, Freydis was on the girl’s heels.

  “I can’t run faster!” came the complaint.

  “You can, and you will!” the priestess roared, channelling Halfdan as best she could. “How much longer?”

  “Just – around – the corner,” Sif panted.

  “Ready your spells for the gate,” Freydis commanded her, “and whatever else may be in our way!”

  The skáld did not reply, saving her breath.

  The pair burst through a door, entering the main hallway on the floor. Freydis recognised they had come this way earlier, led by Kark; the gate chamber lay just down the corridor. However, both she and Sif had stopped in their tracks. Ahead of them was not only their destination, but a score of einherjar, armed to the teeth. Behind them, taller and radiating power, stood a one-armed god that she knew to recognise as Tyr. He did not wield a weapon, but his warriors instead, giving a simple command, and the einherjar charged.

  Sif released her galdr of confusion, and the attack halted as the warriors could not tell friend from foe.

  “Hearken to me, warriors of Asgard!” Tyr shouted, and his booming voice cut through the skáld’s song. “Do not let the feeble magic of this skáld take root in your minds! Know your enemy!”

  His words had the desired effect, and the confusion was lifted; once more, they turned towards the intruders rather than each other.

  A prayer escaped Freydis’ lips, and [Most Favoured] activated. A terrifying bear appeared in front of them, large enough to defend the entire hallway. The first of the einherjar screamed as great claws tore their bodies asunder, and for a moment, their charge was held back.

  But Freydis knew it was borrowed time. More and more einherjar arrived; soon they would outflank them, coming from behind. And she suspected that the fylgja could not be summoned for long, either. She could only think of one solution; whether it would work remained to be seen.

  “Be ready to run,” she whispered as she leaned down, draping one arm around Sif. Blinking, she saw two available Seeds; a reward for completing her patron’s task to steal the hammer, possibly an extra for the daring theft of Odin’s spear. In any case, she placed both in [Deceiver’s Gift], strengthening it to new heights. “I pray this works,” she mumbled, and the pair vanished.

  Freydis had never used her ability to bring another along, nor had she ever cleared such a large distance as necessary here. They appeared, just on the other side of Tyr. Surprised, the god swung his arm around at the presence he suddenly felt behind him, but as his limb was missing its lower half, he hit only air.

  The intruders ran into the gate chamber, leaping towards the ground and landing on the circle. Sif screamed a word, her hand placed against the runes. With a flash of light, they fled from Asgard.

  *

  Halfdan felt his presence disappear abruptly from the hallway. This time, it had not been the end of the fight or the strain breaking the connection. He might have feared it meant Freydis’ death, the sudden severance of their activated bond, except he had seen her vanish with Sif and appear again down the hallway. So he knew. His priestess had disappeared from the realm, thus banishing his presence in the form of the bear as well.

  The imprisoned immortal would have thrown his head back in glee if it did not already touch stone. Instead, he let out a resounding laughter. Soon, he would be free.