Once alone, Halfdan picked up the metal haft remaining from his broken weapon. It would serve as a club or short staff; a feeble replacement for what he had lost, but better than being unarmed. With only the company of his thoughts, his suspicions increased with each passing moment. He had let himself lose his biggest advantages, the rune hammer and the element of surprise. He had allowed Sif to return to her kidnapper. And now he waited, left behind, unable to act.

  The last chafed the most. Halfdan could be patient when needed. He could endure long marches, hunger and thirst. But only when he knew it was worth it, that he was moving closer to his goal. That patience would prove its value. In this case, everything might already have unravelled, and he would not know about it until far too late. He paced back and forth in the small room, surrounded only by dead stone.

  Eventually, he decided to relocate. If this was all a mistake, he would not be caught hanging around in the same place. He knew that he had to stay nearby that Sif might find him again, but if he had to show patience, he might as well show caution as well. So he went down the corridor, finding another hiding place. [Blessing of the One-eyed] still helped pull him into the shadows; for a figure above six feet, he was remarkably difficult to notice.

  Deep down, Halfdan knew this was probably irrelevant. The trolls did not seem to use sight at all to orientate by. They knew by the vibrations in the ground or sound travelling through the air. Halfdan was not protected by his skill, but by the trolls being hindered thanks to the Dwarves having shaped this entire place. Still, it made Halfdan feel that he was doing something, anything, and it made the wait a little easier to bear.

  *

  Being surrounded by only silence and darkness gave Halfdan no knowledge of how long he waited. When he heard the sounds of footfall, light-stepped and shuffling, he released a sigh. The odd pair, a troll and a child, had nearly reached him when he stepped out from his hiding spot. “I’m here,” he told them quietly and gestured for them to join him in the room, away from the corridor. Recovered from being startled, Sif followed, as did Rumble.

  “It worked!” she exclaimed with a smile. “I know what Loki’s looking for. A hammer. Sindri’s hammer.”

  “What for?”

  Her happy expression faltered. “I don’t know.” Her mirth returned. “But I know where it is!”

  “You do? How?”

  Sif grinned at this point. “Loki figured there was a gate that leads to Sindri’s secret workshop. He found one not far from here and made me carve a stone that’ll activate it. But it’s not the right gate!”

  “That’s how I entered the city unseen.” Halfdan laughed. “If that’s where he’s going, he’ll be sorely disappointed! But where’s the real place?”

  “There’s another gate. Nobody else saw it because you’re all too tall.” Sif smiled triumphantly. “By the forge, there’s an alcove, very low. The gate is carved into its ceiling.”

  “Hah, clever.” Halfdan stared with pride at the skáld.

  “And it’s given me an idea,” she continued. “We go through the gate, grab the hammer, and leave.”

  The berserker slapped the metal bar in his hand against his open palm. He had wanted to introduce it to Loki’s face, but he saw the wisdom. A fight against the deceiver, Freydis, and any number of trolls was not weighted in their favour. “We leave through the bigger gate, go to Midgard. Leave him stuck here without the hammer, his plans ruined.” Or better yet, he would send Sif through the gate with the weapon while he laid an ambush against Loki, drawn away from his allies. But he knew the girl would not agree to this, so he kept it to himself.

  “Exactly! But we should hurry. Loki will already be on his way back, I’m sure.”

  “Alright.” Halfdan looked up at the troll standing behind Sif, hitherto silent. “What of you? You won’t stand in our way?”

  “Hum. No.”

  Sif smiled yet again. “Let’s go.”

  *

  They crossed the complex, Halfdan following the others a few steps behind, cloaked in shadows. Nobody met them; the trolls were still clearing out collapsed passageways elsewhere, and the living forge lay empty. Once they reached it, Sif went to the alcove and sat down, grinning as she pointed up. Halfdan bent down so far, he almost fell over, and looked inside to see the ring of runes on its ceiling. “I’ll be damned. But how do we activate it? You know the words?”

  “I do.” Sif nodded. “But there’s not really room in here for all of us to travel through.”

  Halfdan looked at the small alcove. He could barely fit into it alone and certainly not together with someone else. “Let me sit inside.” Sif got out, and he climbed in. He had to lie with his knees close to his chin, but it worked. He quickly stepped out again, stretching his back. “I won’t do that longer than necessary. But if I climb inside, can you activate the gate and send me through?”

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  “And how will you get back?” Sif asked. “I guess I could climb in after you.”

  “No,” Halfdan quickly said. “We don’t know what’s on the other side. It could easily be trapped.”

  “Well, I could carve a token for you,” the skáld considered. She looked up at the troll. “Rumble, will you let me have a stone?”

  “Hum. You ask to cause pain to the living rock, hum, hum.”

  “You’ll get it back as soon as we’re done with it. You can cleanse it in the flaming river, right?”

  “Hum. I suppose.” The troll split out a limb from its torso and let a round, smooth rock fall into Sif’s hands.

  “Thank you, you’re the best,” she said, patting the rock creature before picking up a chisel. “I’ll imbue it with enough power to work twice,” she told Halfdan as she began carving runes. “So you can use it to get back.”

  “Good.” Halfdan stared at her as she worked. He could not believe that some weeks ago, she had been ungifted, and now she wielded rune magic. For that matter, he could not believe that some months ago, he had never spoken a word to her, and now he would burn the worlds in Muspelheim’s fire if anyone hurt his child. “You, troll, rock thing.” He cleared his throat. “Rumble. If I don’t return quickly, you take this girl and get her to the big gate. Make sure she gets home.”

  “I won’t leave you,” Sif protested.

  “Promise me that.”

  “Hum, hum. I protect the child, hum. I get it home, hum, hum.”

  That’ll have to do. Halfdan crouched down and reached out a hand to accept the stone. He looked at Sif with a vague smile that belied the sudden spike of concern in his thoughts. The norn’s words kept echoing in his mind. After Sindri’s forge, only the hall of Hel awaited him. Swallowing, he pushed all such emotions from his voice, if not his mind. “I’ll see you soon.”

  The girl flung her arms around his neck in a tight hug. When she finally pulled back, her expression mirrored his, and neither spoke. Taking a deep breath, Halfdan climbed into the tiny alcove again and pushed the stone in his hand up against the rune circle engraved in the ceiling. In a flash of light, he disappeared.

  *

  The familiar darkness surrounded Halfdan. A seasoned gate traveller by now, he knew what to expect. As long as he had firm ground beneath him rather than sinking into water, he considered himself fortunate.

  He did miss his rune hammer, which with a word could illuminate the space; its metal haft in his right hand was a sore reminder. Nothing glowed down here. If the runes of the gate lit up while transporting him in, it disappeared too fast to leave any trace.

  A thought occurred to him, and he spoke out loud, imbuing the word with power, “Sól.” Next to him, a lantern began to glow, and Halfdan smiled to himself that his guess had been rewarded. Even Dwarves needed a minimum of light, and they would not have something so crude as torches or lamps; not when they had better powers at their disposal. Halfdan picked up the source of light. It was a small and thin lantern, since it did not require space for a candle inside its glass panes; instead, it was simply four sides etched with symbols that provided the glow and a ring atop to carry it with.

  Raising it high, Halfdan examined his surroundings. He got the feeling that he was in a small, cramped space. The air was dusty, and while the lantern could not illuminate the whole room, it still felt enclosed. A small sanctuary for the famed Dwarven smith, greatest of all craftsmen. Sif had told Halfdan a little of Sindri back when his name was first mentioned. The berserker had not paid too much attention, but he understood that incredible artefacts had been created by his hand. Halfdan had assumed that Loki pursued some lost item, a weapon most likely, of incredible power.

  Knowing that it was apparently Sindri’s hammer, not a weapon of war but a tool of creation, seemed odd. But who knew what wondrous powers it possessed? Regardless, Halfdan would not allow it to fall into Loki’s hands.

  Continuing his exploration of the hideout, Halfdan saw that one part was occupied by furniture. A desk and a chair in front of it. More than that, someone sat in the chair. Approaching cautiously, Halfdan carefully inched his way around to look at the person from the front.

  The skull of a grinning skeleton greeted him. Knowing what to expect lessened the impact, but Halfdan still flinched ever so slightly. Once his discomfort had passed, he marvelled at how the Dwarf still wore clothes that had not decayed the slightest. Apparently, Dwarven hands could create items that lasted for the ages. Unfortunately, their flesh was not as durable.

  This had to be Sindri, Halfdan assumed, fled to his sanctuary only to die. Turning around from chair to desk, Halfdan raised the lantern again to examine its contents. It contained writing implements with a letter or message written on parchment, as if the smith had sat down to pen a missive and died from the effort.

  More importantly, next to it, lay a hammer. The handle was short, too short even for a one-handed weapon to be wielded in battle. Reversely, the head was thick and compact, too big and heavy compared to the elegant and slender design that was preferred for combat. It was a smith’s tool, and with it, Sindri had crafted the most incredible artefacts. Loki had sought it, but Halfdan had found it. With a broad smile, the berserker placed the lantern on the desk and reached out to grab it.

  A scraping sound interrupted him, like someone dragging a metal edge across a stone floor. Immediately, Halfdan swung around, raising his metal club with both hands. He wondered for a moment if [Keen of Sense] had betrayed him, conjuring up phantom sounds. Everything suggested to him that he was alone, that nobody had entered this chamber for centuries, not since the Dwarf in the chair had died. The musty air, the undisturbed dust, the difficulty in reaching the place, the precious hammer left undisturbed – together, all of it suggested that Halfdan was the first visitor since the city had fallen to the trolls.

  As the scraping sound continued, Halfdan realised the truth a moment too late. Not all things required food, water, or even air. Flesh decayed, but not anything wrought by Dwarven hands. With the lantern on the desk behind him, Halfdan blocked the light from reaching into the room. As he stepped aside, its glow finally fell upon the guardian of Sindri’s forge.