Hammer held ready in both hands, Halfdan skulked through the fortress of Sindri’s forge. He had been doing so for hours now and reached a few conclusions. In general, the place was abandoned. The trolls had not taken up residence here, if indeed they used residences at all in the conventional sense. He had only once had a near encounter, but the sound of debris being cleared had warned him in advance, and thanks to [Blessing of the One-eyed], he had easily avoided detection himself. He did not use the opportunity for an ambush; although he figured that he could easily win, given how he had dispatched the other trolls with his rune hammer, he did not know whether such a fight would alert his other enemies. Exercising caution, he had withdrawn instead and chosen another route through the complex.

  Halfdan had no idea what had brought Loki to this place, or why the trolls performed the labour they did, presumably on his behalf. It made it harder to consider the best next step. Loki might be in the fortress, but he might also be somewhere else entirely, content with letting others work on his behalf without his supervision. Furthermore, if Halfdan went after him, but failed to defeat him… given Freydis’ ability to vanish into shadows, the berserker had to assume that Loki could likewise disappear if given the chance. If Halfdan revealed his presence, but did not take the deceiver down, he would have lost his advantage. No doubt, the treacherous immortal would immediately make use of Sif as his hostage.

  With these considerations, Halfdan decided his best move was to secure Sif’s release first. Only then, hopefully before such an action was discovered, would he move against Loki to finish this. This plan also had the advantage of addressing his greatest concern first, which was Sif’s wellbeing.

  Thus decided, Halfdan continued to explore the complex. He assumed Sif was kept captive somewhere, perhaps under guard, though he would deal with that as needed. The old fortress seemed the obvious place in the city to keep a prisoner, and so he sought a path that led deeper, towards dungeons or anything that served as such.

  *

  After a long, fruitless search, Halfdan had to admit his assumption was flawed. Either the path to his location was blocked by caved-in walls and the like, or the stronghold simply did not possess cells for imprisonment. Given that this structure was more like an enormous workshop than anything, Halfdan had to admit that was perhaps more likely. He had come across plenty of rooms meant for all manner of labour, containing forges, cutting and carving tools, but nothing that showed any signs of recent inhabitation. Quite possibly, he was the first to disturb the dust in centuries.

  Rethinking his assumptions and his plan as a whole, Halfdan wondered what might be better to do. He had explored all of the fortress untouched by the trolls, finding only endless corridors and small rooms. Nothing worthy of note. Either he returned to the sections where he knew to find enemies, engaging them in battle disregarding the risk of discovery, or he left this structure entirely.

  The more he thought about it, the better he felt about the latter notion. Humans needed water and food, and none could be found within this place. Loki might not care about Sif’s needs, but Freydis would not let her perish from thirst. These Dwarves must have had their own water source. Halfdan doubted they would have left the safety of their city to go to the river each time they needed a sip; given their ingenuity, not to mention their seeming fear of venturing outside their walls, he imagined they had some manner of works that led water inside. If he found that, he might also find tracks or anything else to help guide his path forward.

  Leaving a building that Halfdan had never entered proved an odd challenge. It brought to mind another obstacle he would have to overcome – fleeing the city. For all his prowess and confidence, Halfdan figured that fate might not favour him fighting all the trolls he could expect to encounter. In fact, such an event might very well be what the norn had foreseen, carving the hall of Hel next to Sindri’s forge on the rune-stave of his life.

  Or maybe this is just the last great adventure for me, and I’ll escape with nary an issue to live a long, quiet life in Midgard, old and content. At least he could cling to that thought for now.

  To Hel with the nornir, Halfdan told himself. He could not let their predictions cloud his mind. He would plan as if he had never heard or seen anything they had foretold. That included finding a way to escape the city. Since, once he struck to free Sif, the situation might develop unpredictably, not to mention become fraught with danger, it seemed sensible to carry out a cursory exploration of the city beforehand. If nothing else so he knew in which direction to run when the time came for that.

  Having already explored most of the ruined castle, Halfdan went in the direction he had hitherto avoided, the area where he had encountered other lifeforms. Thankfully, the trolls at work had no thought for other concerns, nor did they seem alert. Watching them from afar, staying in the shadows, Halfdan easily found gaps in their routines and places to hide as he advanced. By observing them, he realised they were carrying the debris outside, inadvertently showing him the way. It complicated matters that they were actively using the route he needed, but in some ways, it was better to know of their presence and avoid detection than wander around on his own and blunder into them unexpectedly.

  It did make Halfdan wonder how exactly their senses worked. Although their shapes vaguely resembled humans with limbs, they clearly did not rely on ears or eyes to sense their surroundings. Freydis had given a vague explanation that their connection to the ground helped them, but it had to be limited, considering how close Halfdan could get without discovery. Perhaps it was only in here, the stronghold most touched and shaped by Dwarven hands; they had apparently been able to track Halfdan over many miles outside in the wild landscape.

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  Regardless, Halfdan played it cautiously and kept his distance, ever sneaking his way forward until he reached the outside. Not that it seemed much different; the eerie darkness, only broken occasionally by glowing moss or runes turning it into soft twilight, seemed the same whether indoors or out. It made sense to rely on other senses than sight, and it also helped those with supernatural gifts for hiding. Pleased that he had increased [Blessing of the One-eyed] to the fourth rank, if only so that he could do the same to [Know the Runes], Halfdan ventured into the fallen city.

  The berserker was struck by two observations. Firstly, he was reminded of walking through Dwarfhome. To be expected, given the two cities were built by the same people, but it was eerie just how similar. The same kind of order and meticulous way to lay out the streets and buildings, all constructed in a uniform manner. Secondly, it was desolate. He knew this could be deceptive, of course; a pile of rocks could suddenly stand up and reveal itself to be a troll.

  But like the fortress, the trolls did not seem to have any interest in inhabiting this place. Their slow demolition of the city moved at a glacial pace as well; most of it remained intact, easily allowing Halfdan places to move where their presumed senses could not track him. All the debris carried by the trolls from inside the keep also helped, providing helpful places to hide behind.

  Halfdan had not come far before he noticed a fountain. Placing his trust in [Blessing of the One-eyed], he risked going close to satisfy his thirst. Besides the positives of discovering water, Halfdan assumed this connected to the river outside. Which meant it might provide a path out. Making a quick decision, he waded into the fountain and crouched low, accepting that nearly all of him would get wet. Swiftly, he fumbled around until he found the pipe that the water flowed in from – or out of, perhaps supplying other parts of the city. Regardless, it was only as wide as his hand. Not even Sif could climb into that, and certainly not the berserker.

  With hurried steps, he got away from the fountain and returned to hiding amidst the nearby buildings. Still nothing suggested he had been discovered. The city, as much a mausoleum as the crypt in Dwarfhome, lay in silence. But a solitary shape moved through its abandoned streets, cloaked in shadows and Aesir’s blessing.

  *

  Freydis had not come far into the complex before she encountered her master, emerging from a newly opened wing. “Nothing,” he said in response to her unasked question. “Only mundane tools. I could open a dozen workshops at this point, but the one we actually need is nowhere to be found.”

  Keeping her emotions in check, the priestess bowed her head, which also hid her expression. “I’m sorry to hear that, master.”

  The immortal released a drawn-out breath. “It must be that gate I found. Having a workshop hidden like that fits Sindri’s deceptive nature and low cunning.” He stared into the distance, lost in speculation. “Time for a new approach. Fetch the girl. Bring her to the living forge.”

  “Yes, master,” came the obedient, toneless reply.

  *

  For the second time, Sif was at the mushroom fields. She had been in Myrkheim for a few days now; at least she assumed so, absent any way to measure time other than sleep or hunger. Already, she was tired of the taste of mushrooms, but there was little to be done. She had no fuel to make a fire and cook them in any way.

  Rumble remained her constant companion, answering her many questions about the city and Dwarves – or trying to, often as ignorant as Sif about their customs. The trolls had remarkably little interest in the only other people populating their home, who also served as their ancient enemies. They only cared about defending this place, the home of the living rock, though Rumble refused to or could not explain its nature.

  “Hum, hum. It is life. The beginning. Hum,” was the only reply it gave.

  That satisfied Sif about as much as eating these mushrooms did, but just as with her diet, she had no choice but to accept what was offered to her.

  Freydis appeared. “When she is done eating, take her to the living forge,” she told the troll and disappeared again, back into the fortress.

  “What’s that?” Sif asked, directed at Rumble as her eyes followed the priestess walking away.

  “Hum. You will see.”

  “Alright, alright.” Sif tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. She assumed Loki had summoned her, considering Freydis’ curt behaviour, and any interaction with the deceiver left Sif feeling afraid and anxious. At the same time, anything she might learn could help Halfdan, and it was the only role she had to play. So she jumped down from the debris that had served as her chair. Holding onto one of Rumble’s stony fingers, she followed in the same direction as Freydis.

  Entering the stronghold, Sif’s eyes fell on the glowing runes on the walls that provided illumination. Like those of the gate Loki had shown her, they had been foreign to her at first. But assuming that their power of light was connected to their meaning, she believed that she might begin to understand. Thankfully, her memory allowed her to recall every symbol she had seen in Myrkheim, giving her enough material to work with.

  The young skáld’s mind was busy contemplating the runes when out of the darkness, a hand appeared and tore her away.