Halfdan stared at the god. He was dressed like the Elves, a huntsman wearing the leather of his prey, but he was armed only with a sword. Otherwise, he only differed by the golden necklace that adorned him, set with many gems. He did not seem tall or strong the way many of the Aesir appeared, but his confidence in approaching Halfdan spoke its own language. “Surrender, berserker, and your people shall live. I make no such promises if you force the fight.”

  An offer made before, and still it failed to tempt. Halfdan’s reply was to swing his hammer, aimed straight at Freyr’s sword; one touch, and it would break, leaving the god unarmed.

  Swifter than Halfdan’s eyes could follow, the blade evaded the head of his hammer and averted the blow. The only thing that saved Halfdan from a strike in retaliation was the short reach of the sword compared to his twohanded weapon, and he swiftly stepped back to evade the sharp steel.

  Again and again, Halfdan struck. He only needed one blow, one tap, and it would destroy his enemy’s weapon. But every time, Freyr’s sword moved in impossible ways, as if it required no hand to hold it. Still he did not wound the berserker, but he forced Halfdan back, step by step.

  “Freydis! Your situation?” he called out, unwilling to look away from his enemy.

  “None left on this side! Ready to leap forward!”

  Halfdan took her meaning; on his mark, she would grab Sif and blink onto the other side of Freyr and his minions, and they could run to freedom. He readied himself for the same action; half a dozen Elves stood behind Freyr, occasionally shooting arrows, but otherwise unable to engage in the narrow tunnel. It would be a long leap, but Halfdan’s powers had continued to grow; he could do it. “Now!”

  Nothing happened, except the gems around Freyr’s neck glowed. “I came prepared.” He smiled, and his sword struck again with sorcerous swiftness, forcing Halfdan back another step. “Last opportunity. Surrender or watch your companions die.”

  Not a chance in Hel. Halfdan kept the thought to himself, busy defending while trying to figure out another way. He had his new powers that could do more than simply enhance his senses. He made a swift movement with his hand, releasing his grip on his hammer briefly, and empowered the gesture with his [Seier].

  As before, it caused only a gem to glow and Freyr to smile.

  Gritting his teeth, Halfdan tried to glance around without removing his eyes from his enemy, hoping to come up with other ideas. He noticed the lamps on the walls, glowing without fire, and his next blow smashed one of them. If fortune favoured them, Freyr did not possess the ability to see in the dark. Retreating, Halfdan destroyed another, and a third, making the tunnel dark while his [Seier] kept him able to see.

  It availed nothing. The sword in Freyr’s hand continued to strike as before, pressuring Halfdan back without ever allowing him a chance to retaliate.

  “Any suggestions?” Halfdan shouted, feeling desperate. No answer came; in fact, he could not tell if Freydis and Sif were even behind him anymore. Had they run away, deeper into the mountain? Not that he imagined they could do much; none of them could defeat Freyr through weaponry, and magic seemed impotent as well.

  He could go berserk and simply charge Freyr; undoubtedly, the god would run him through with that sword, but [Berserker's Rage] and [Pain to Power] would keep Halfdan fighting on long enough that he could introduce his hammer to Freyr’s face. It would most likely cost him his life, but if the god lay dead, maybe the others could escape past the Elves… Halfdan considered that a last resort.

  “Halfdan! The gate, it’s here!”

  Several things fell into place hearing Freydis’ words. These tunnels were not carved by the locals, but the Dwarves, and the Elves did not protect Kvasir’s body, but the gate. That explained why so many stood guard deep inside the mountain rather than the outer entrance; they watched another entrance, the one they expected to be used for infiltration.

  For once, Halfdan dared to look behind him. He saw Freydis, desperately gesturing for him to follow. No sign of Sif; he assumed that she waited by the gate, ready to activate it.

  The tip of a blade slicing his fingers reminded Halfdan of the pressing issue. Returning his attention to Freyr, Halfdan stepped back while renewing the grip on his hammer, ignoring the wounds he just suffered. “Freydis, run!”

  Freyr only smiled as if staring at a pig he intended to butcher. “I will not let you escape, deceiver. I will not watch as forest and field burn while sea boils.”

  Halfdan saw no reason to retort or interrupt; let him talk all he wanted. The berserker’s sole concern was finding a way to make his retreat. He needed distance, and he could not blink through the air. If the tunnels had any kind of support, he could destroy them with his hammer and cause the ceiling to collapse, but his surroundings appeared entirely solid with no weak points.

  He felt power drain from him suddenly, unexpectedly. In the narrow space between him and Freyr, a bear appeared; he was pushed back by his own fylgja as the massive creature filled the tunnel once again.

  Pain flashed across his mind, and spots appeared before his eyes; Freydis summoning the bear twice in rapid succession took more and more out of him. “Get up!” she shouted, rushing over to help him on his feet. Scrambling, Halfdan managed to rise and follow her lead. His vision remained blurry, and he could barely keep his grip on his hammer, let alone fight. He only knew that somewhere in front of him, his priestess ran for her life, and he followed.

  “Halfdan! Freydis!” The sound of Sif’s voice scuffed against his ears, but it gave him another point of direction. Onwards, their frantic flight continued. It could not be far if Sif had them in her sight.

  Blood filled Halfdan’s mouth, and he nearly choked on it before he spat it out. Spots of pain appeared all over his body. In his haze, it took him a moment to understand. They were killing his fylgja, and he was suffering the wounds. Countless arrows – impossible to miss a creature of that size, and though its fur was thick, it was not armour that could withstand Elven piercing. A deep, stabbing pain in his stomach; a blade embedded deeply.

  The fylgja was spent, he knew; he felt it vanish. Moments later, arrows whistled against them, several striking him in the back. A growling sound reminiscent of a wolf hunting; Freyr on the move, running much faster than Halfdan could in his present state.

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  Yet the fylgja being slain aided Halfdan; his power no longer drained from him, and despite his injuries, he felt his strength was his own once more. For a brief while, at least; blood loss threatened to sap it away again. But he only needed a few more steps… ahead, he saw an unnatural glow that had to be the runes of the Dwarven gate. Behind him, more arrows came, and he thought that he could feel Freyr breathing down his neck.

  The arrows were not aimed at his back anymore, protected by his mail; they struck lower instead, piercing his calf. Halfdan felt himself stumble, one leg unable to bear his weight. In a desperate gamble, he used the other to leap forward, throwing himself on the ground. He heard two outbursts before his vision became dark.

  “Halfdan!”

  “Myrkheim!”

  *

  As darkness remained, it took Halfdan a moment to realise that he was not unconscious, but simply in a space deprived of light.

  “Halfdan, you’re on top of me,” a voice mumbled.

  Blinking, he pushed away, rolling onto his back to let Sif emerge. “Sorry.” Several arrows broke from his movement, caught between the ground and his armour. The one in his calf only pushed in deeper, however, and he grimaced. “Are they coming?”

  “I don’t think they have any who can use the runes,” Sif speculated. “Else they’d have come through already.”

  “Hum, we are ready if they try, hum.” The crunching sound of a troll speaking made several of them flinch, familiar yet unexpected.

  “Good, good.” Halfdan closed his eyes, waiting for his abilities to heal him. “Could someone get the arrow in my leg?” He felt a pair of hands fumble down his legs until they found the offending item. With a quick gesture, Freydis tore it out. He mumbled out a choked ‘thanks’.

  “We should get away,” she suggested. “They might be gathering forces for a pursuit. Even with our friends here to aid us, there’s no need to give them a fight if we can retreat to safety.”

  “Hum, I can carry you.”

  Halfdan opened his eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Pain before indignity. Despite his wounds protesting, all of them still fresh, he was able to get on his feet. “My hammer?” Sif tried to grab it and drag it to him, but she could only lift the haft, and her whole body jerked back as she failed to move it. With a sheepish smile, she held out the haft in his direction, and he reached out to take it with one hand. “Let’s go.”

  *

  Walking with an open wound in his calf was hardly a pleasure, but [Mend Your Wounds] was strong enough to heal him even as he moved about. Making their way down the mountain, once again surrounded by the eerie landscape of Myrkheim, Halfdan tried to focus on what lay ahead rather than miss the lush forests of Alfheim; for all that he had felt in danger their entire time in that realm, he had nonetheless delighted in traversing the woods.

  Nine bones were his, along with nine spells. Only the runes remained. That and unlocking the remaining ranks of his [Seier]. His [Unbridled Fury] was at sixth rank and needed to reach nine. Blinking, Halfdan examined his tree and noticed that he had received another Seed of Power. Either from fighting the Elves, or perhaps like his priestess, he was rewarded for a successful infiltration. Regardless, he immediately spent it to increase [Unbridled Fury] and thereby allow [Seier] to reach seventh rank. As much as it hurt the berserker to admit, he had to concede he needed magic more than anything else. Not only for the ritual to unleash Ragnar?k and threaten Odin into submission, but also to go up against the gods in a fight and win. Whatever magic Freyr had possessed, he had been stronger than Halfdan, and it nearly cost them everything.

  Nine runes, two Seeds, and they could move to the next part of the plan. They could take the fight to the gods.

  *

  It was not a comfortable trip back to Sindri’s forge for Halfdan – besides the ache from moving, it slowed his healing ability and reopened his injuries – but they reached the ruined city in peace, none pursuing them, and he could sit down and rest.

  Once they had received water and something to eat, courtesy of the helpful trolls, Halfdan looked at his companions. They needed to discuss what came next. “The runes. I need to learn their power.”

  “Do we know which runes specifically are needed?” asked Freydis.

  “Nine of them, I’d wager a horse that it’s the runes for each of the nine realms,” Halfdan considered.

  “I can teach you those!” Sif exclaimed.

  “At this point, I think I’ve seen them often enough to write them in my dreams.” The berserker gave a resigned smile. “What I need is the skill to fill them with power, like I once had.”

  “When you were still Odin’s man,” his servant remarked.

  “Yes. I doubt he’ll let me have it again.”

  “Can’t I just do it?” the skáld asked. “You do the other bits.”

  Halfdan shook his head. “I’m Loki. The ritual is mine to perform. It’s my fate, not yours.”

  “How can you acquire the knowledge of runes? It’s only granted to Odin’s servants, or those with the right gift,” Freydis pointed out, glancing at Sif.

  “I suspect I must do what Odin did when he first learned them.” Halfdan looked at Sif as well.

  “Well, I know the story, but it doesn’t sound like something you can do…”

  “Why not? Tell us.”

  The skáld cleared her throat. “In the shadow of Yggdrasil, Odin made a sacrifice of himself to himself. For nine days, he hung, dead, until he tore himself from Hel, wresting the knowledge of the runes from death.”

  Freydis shook her head. “Ridiculous. What is that even supposed to mean?”

  Halfdan knew. “It means that knowledge powerful enough to rule or end all the worlds does not come easy.” While the skáld had spoken, an image had appeared in Halfdan’s mind of Odin, hanging by the neck from a tree branch with a wound deep in his side. Whether born of Sif’s power or brought to him by Loki’s memory, he could not say, but he knew what it meant. What was required of him. “I must do the same.”

  “I suppose at least we know what to expect in Hel.”

  Halfdan looked at Sif first. The skáld knew his true meaning; the despondent expression on her face revealed as much. He caught Freydis’ gaze. “This time, I have to go alone. I must do what Odin did, what he faced. Else I won’t be his equal – I won’t be a threat.”

  “What do you mean?” asked his priestess.

  “If I want the runes, the power, I must be worthy of it. I must survive the trials that Odin did.” Halfdan took a deep breath. “I must die.”