It felt odd to approach the walls surrounding what was once Sindri’s forge. The first time, the entire place had seemed so foreboding. A ruined city filled with monsters bigger and stronger than him, in service to the sinister and cunning enemy that Halfdan at the time pursued. Added to that his mistaken understanding of the norn’s prediction, making him believe he would die once he reached this place. The eerie twilight that ruled Myrkheim had not eased Halfdan sense of dread either.

  In contrast, he now walked with ease. The trolls were not the sort to break promises or betray friends. Halfdan had no reservations about entering their stronghold. And whether they would help him or not, he knew that his little band would be safe within these walls.

  They passed the gate to stand in the small courtyard surrounded by the inner fortifications. Their guide stomped one limb into the ground, and all around, the rocks seemed to come alive. One in particular had a long beard of moss, which Halfdan believed he had seen before; then again, it might be a common trait among trolls. He dearly hoped at least some of those present had also been in the forge chamber and remembered who Halfdan and Sif were.

  “Hum, you return,” spoke the bearded troll.

  A touch relieved, Halfdan bowed his head. “We have. We seek your help.”

  Silence followed, though Halfdan could not judge whether his words had caused consternation or if the trolls simply took their time responding. “Tell us what you need, hum.” The monotonous voice did not suggest that any request would necessarily be granted or rejected.

  “I am at war with the gods of Asgard,” Halfdan explained. “Your enemies as well, as I recall, and once the allies of the Dwarves, giving them the power they needed to fight you.”

  “Hum, we remember, hum, hum.”

  “The gods hunt me and my companions. We cannot travel between realms safely as they guard the passages. It was my hope that you, the children of stone and earth, could create new roads for me to use.”

  A low rumbling erupted, words passing between the trolls and unintelligible to human ears. “Hum, hum. You returned the child of the living rock to us, hum. We see you as friend, hum. We see no harm in helping, hum, hum.”

  Judging by the extra rumbling in Mossbeard’s voice, Halfdan got the sense it was not that simple. “But?”

  “For one of us to make such a path, hum, would take longer than all the time we were driven from the home of the living rock, hum. Not a problem for us, hum, but you of the flesh are hasty.”

  Waiting that long would test not only Halfdan’s patience, but also his immortality. “I would need more speed than that, yes.”

  “Hum. It would require most of our people, hum, and long labours far from home.”

  Freydis realised the issue first. “You’re afraid that the Dwarves will take advantage of this and seize the forge. The chamber of your children.”

  “Hum.”

  An obstacle that Halfdan had not foreseen. But he could see a path around it. “What if you had certainty that the Dwarves would stay away? That your home would be safe from any attack?”

  “Hum, we would be glad of that.”

  “Do you mean to destroy the Dwarves?” Freydis asked quietly, though her words were nonetheless heard by their hosts.

  “Hum, they may be our enemies, hum, hum, but it is not our nature to make war. The earth defends itself, hum, but it does not strike the first blow.”

  “I understand. War is not my intention either,” Halfdan reassured them. “I would begin by negotiating with them and gain assurances that they will not strike the first blow either. Not again, at least.”

  “But the fleshlings lie, hum, hum.”

  “We will give them good reason to respect any promises made. If it is acceptable to you, come with me to their city. I shall speak with them, and you may judge whether you trust any agreement made.”

  One more round of rumbling rolled over the yard as the trolls seemed to confer among themselves. “Hum. Yes.”

  Another troll appeared, entering the area beneath the fortifications from within the city. With a squeal, Sif rushed forward to embrace one of its legs. “Rumble!”

  Freydis glanced at the newcomer. “How does she tell them apart?”

  *

  They spent the rest of the day – or night – making mushroom soup, eating, and resting. Sif eagerly related all their adventures to Rumble that they had experienced since leaving Myrkheim. The troll did not respond; in fact, Halfdan could not tell whether it paid any attention to the girl's ramblings, but it did not deter Sif or seem to bother her.

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  Eating his share of the meal, Halfdan surveyed their strange little camp. They had collected some of the vegetation to make a cooking fire; an old helmet served as pot for their soup. The oddity of it all made him smile as he caught Freydis' glance.

  "What amuses my lord?" The teasing tone and title suggested she had likewise taken note of the image they presented, camping in the ruins.

  "I was simply thinking about what I like best regarding this place. This whole realm."

  "Which is?"

  Halfdan smiled again. "No birds." As he lay down to rest, he sank into the feeling that they were safe. There was no need for either of them to act the sentinel, nor for Halfdan to rest seated upright, his slumber so light that any sound would alert him. No, he could allow himself to embrace sleep as deeply as he desired, knowing that a host of trolls protected them while they were vulnerable. Freydis lying down next to him, finding a refuge for herself under his arm, only made his journey to sleep all the speedier.

  *

  When they woke up – what Halfdan decided to call morning, the absence of sunrise notwithstanding – they spent a little while collecting mushrooms despite Sif's protestations, drinking their fill from the fountain in the city, and finding a strong, Dwarven spear for Freydis.

  Once ready, they set out with a number of trolls following them. Halfdan was not sure of how many exactly; they did not form any ranks or move at an even speed, but spread out and wandered off, occasionally rejoining the group. Not that it mattered; one would be sufficient to act as witness, and Halfdan felt convinced that it would not come to a fight. There was knowledge in both what the nornir had told him, but also what they had not told him. Then again, on their first visit, Urd had admitted that death could come unforeseen and lay low even the most promising fate. But given what Halfdan carried on his back, he felt convinced that Dwarves would listen to reason. And if not, to threats.

  *

  The walls of the Dwarven stronghold looked as foreboding to Halfdan as the first time he had seen them. Back then, he had approached them without knowing if he would find friends or foes on the other side. This time, he knew to expect the latter, which made for a less cheerful reunion; on the other hand, the army at his back and the weapon on his back made the prospect less daunting.

  They walked along the road; or rather, Halfdan and his human companions did. Made from carved stone, it was anathema to the trolls, who spread out and walked on either side. Still, their approach was plain to see from afar, and as they came near the city, they could spy frantic activity on the walls. Most likely, this was the first time in their history that the trolls had come this close and that the Dwarves felt under immediate threat.

  "Who are you to approach our gates in this manner?" a voice cried out from atop the walls.

  "I am Halfdan," came the reply, "and not long ago, you receive me in your city. I did you quite the good turn, if you recall."

  "No less than what you received," the Dwarven herald retorted. "Food and shelter, weaponry and guidance. You feign friendship, and now you stand before gates with an army of our most hated enemies? Explain yourself before our arrows fly!"

  "I worry little about your arrows, thanks to the strength of the mail I wear." Since it was of Dwarven make, Halfdan assumed they would respect it, and it gave him a modicum of joy to point out the origin of his well-crafted armour. "But I do not come to you as your foe unless you desire it be so. On the contrary, I have come to broker peace between you and the children of the living rock."

  "A fancy name for mindless stone," sneered his counterpart on the wall. "What peace can be made with such as them? Are we to make friends with the mushrooms that grow in our fields next?" Raucous laughter ensued, though Halfdan suspected it masked a nervous mind.

  "If you wish." Halfdan's curt tone of voice made it clear how amused he felt at the jest. "I only care about this. The place you know as Sindri's forge, it belongs to the children of the living rock in perpetuity. You will never seek to recapture it or assault it. You will stay within your lands. If you do this, you need not fear any threats either. You will be left in peace, as will your children."

  "Or what? Who are you to dictate such terms? You, who come as a beggar to my door twice now!" This was a different speaker; Halfdan recognised it as being the king, not his herald. Indeed, he spotted the monarch peering over the wall at the odd gathering before the gate. Next to him, another Dwarf, the King's adviser, whispered into his ear. Whatever he said, it did not find purchase, as the king gestured for him to step back.

  "I am Halfdan the berserker, inheritor of Loki's power, and wielder of the Heart of Yggdrasil," came the cold response. Judging by the murmur rising from the walls, his words had the intended effect, and the noise rose to a clamour as he unclasped the hammer from his back and held it in both hands. "As for your initial question, 'or what', this will be my answer should you harm the people I count as friends." He stepped forward swiftly and swung his weapon to strike the gate. Wrought from strongest steel, it nonetheless was subject to the power of the artefact. Forged by Dwarven tool, it now fell to the same. With a thunderous crash, it fell to pieces.

  Halfdan stepped back and looked up. "If you give me cause, I shall return with every child of the living earth in my wake. With one blow, your walls shall shatter to dust. I will drive you from your home, leaving nothing but ruins, and you shall rue the day you ever doubted my resolve. That is all." Demonstratively, he turned on his heel, showing them his back, and walked away.

  *

  It was another long march back to Sindri's forge; Sif soon slept, cradled by Rumble's arm. Freydis fell into step next to Halfdan, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "A bold move. I know little of Dwarven tempers, but they seem to me a people both stubborn and prone to ire. You did not fear they would rain arrows upon you or take the destruction of the gate as such an insult, only blood could wash away?"

  "All very possible," Halfdan admitted. "But I possessed certain knowledge to give me confidence."

  "Which is?"

  Halfdan smiled. "The norn did not know that I intended to go to Myrkheim because she could only predict my journey when it brought death. Her ignorance concerning my future actions in Myrkheim suggested that no deaths would result thereof."

  "You place great faith in her answers."

  "All of this is happening because of the faith placed in predictions. If so, we might as well make them work in our favour."

  "And the trolls? Have they likewise been swayed by your powers of persuasion, do you think?"

  "We'll find out when we’re back, I reckon."

  Halfdan was right; once they had returned to Sindri's forge, the elders declared themselves satisfied by Halfdan's demonstration of strength and friendship, trusting that this would keep the Dwarves in check. Without further delay, they left to dig the tunnels that would lead to the other realms.