No signal would be given. No rules governed holmganga other than those established beforehand, whether it was a fight to the death or only first blood. This already determined, there was nothing left. Halfdan and Freydis had entered the arranged space; the fight would only end once one of them was dead.

  Halfdan knew he could simply call upon his rage and run straight at her. She might skewer him with her spear – though unlikely, given his Dwarven chain shirt – but unless she struck an immediate killing blow, she would not stop him. He would reach her and with one strike destroy her. What happened after, once his rage made him turn on all the trolls present, was another matter.

  That would be the last resort, however. Halfdan’s skills such as [Wielder of Weapons] along with [Twice the Blow] and [Deeper the Strike] all served him well. Added to that his fearsome strength, swiftness, and unmatched tolerance for pain and injuries, he was by far the greater warrior. He did not have to risk a grievous, potentially fatal wound to win this battle. He had no doubt that Loki would try another trick once the fight was over, and he preferred to have his full strength and wits about him when the time came.

  Freydis lashed out, the tip of her Dwarven spear striking at Halfdan. What would prove stronger when weapon met armour? Hitting his arm, it proved to be the latter, as the tip glanced off his mail sleeve. Halfdan retaliated with a mighty blow that would crush her shoulder and render her invalid.

  She evaded, the powerful hammer missing by an inch. The runes carved along the head softly glowed with light and power, filling grooves that ran up and down the haft. As Halfdan struck again, she leapt backwards, and instead, his weapon struck the ground to tear it open with such force, all those present had to steady themselves or fall down.

  The priestess vanished in shadow and appeared a moment later behind Halfdan, thrusting her spear into his back. Again, the chain shirt held, and he swung his hammer around full circle, forcing her away. She attacked against his legs, but now it was his turn to evade; [Swifter Than Them] proved its worth, and he escaped unscathed.

  She raised her spear, aiming above his armour, but below his helmet; the only vulnerable place on Halfdan where a strong hit would kill, should her steel pierce his throat or face. He stepped backwards each time, fast enough to evade even her quick strikes. The berserker knew better than to take any risk when threatened in the sole spot that could outright kill him. He only allowed her to come closer once she lowered her weapon to threaten his limbs instead, taking the opportunity to step forward and strike with his hammer.

  Her edge ran along his calf, and Dwarven weaponry proved stronger than [Scorn the Steel], drawing blood. Halfdan ignored it; the pain was minimal and the wound too minor to cause hindrance. His own attack failed, as expected; Halfdan was setting a trap with himself as bait.

  Once again, Freydis struck, aiming for the same leg to further weaken it. Halfdan boldly moved forward, knowing he would get hit as before; by using the opening to injure him, Freydis would leave herself open as well rather than retreat in time. She expected that as before, Halfdan’s powerful swings could be evaded.

  Instead, he thrust his hammer forward like a spear, and the head punched into Freydis’ stomach. It lacked momentum to cause serious injury, but it knocked the wind from her, and she staggered backwards. Immediately, Halfdan followed up to attack again, and she vanished in shadows; knowing what to expect, he swung around and pushed out his hammer behind him.

  His weapon hit as before, smashing into her abdomen; already off balance, she fell to the ground. Halfdan moved forward and stepped on her hand, forcing her to drop her spear. Unarmed, she lay on her back, defenceless. Her eyes looked up to find his briefly before she closed them. “Do it,” she whispered.

  Halfdan raised his hammer above his head for a deathblow – and suddenly, his arms felt heavy, unwilling to obey him, yet he could not lower them either. “Enough!” he called out, looking towards the silent ring of spectators, trolls and other beings. “She lost! It’s over!”

  “To the death, berserker,” Loki sneered.

  Halfdan stared at him with intense hatred. He looked back at Freydis in time to see her hand seize the dagger in her belt to draw it. He knew he had to strike now before she did – still, he hesitated.

  Freydis had drawn her weapon with the hilt pointing up, tip down; with a heart-breaking smile, she looked at Halfdan and plunged the blade into her own chest. “To the death,” she mumbled, spots of blood appearing around her mouth.

  “No!” Halfdan shouted, and the hammer fell from his hands. He knelt down, cradling her face. She tried to smile again, to speak, but only blood passed between her lips.

  Whether instinct or [Keen of Sense], Halfdan felt movement behind him of the sorcerous kind. Loki appeared from nowhere, bending down to seize Sindri’s hammer; sneering, Halfdan grabbed it with one hand and lashed out in a blow that would break bone. With a frustrated scream, the immortal deceiver disappeared into the shadows again, denied.

  “He’s gone, hum,” declared the moss-bearded troll. “You won, hum, hum, fleshling of Midgard.”

  Halfdan did not care or pay attention. “I need something to carve on!”

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  Sif appeared by his side, holding a chisel, which he grabbed, though more than that, he needed something with a surface that would hold runes.

  “Material!” he shouted, finding it hard to think. “I need to carve…” His fingers fumbled to grab Freydis’ spear with its metal haft. Using the chisel, he tried to scratch the runes of Eir, but they would not take. “I need… please, something!”

  A troll towered over the kneeling berserker and extended a limb, from which a smooth, flat pebble fell down to land before him. With trembling hands, Halfdan carved the runes yet again and found the stone soft as leather. “Eir,” he mumbled, imbuing the token with all the power he could. Pulling the dagger in her chest away, Halfdan placed the stone on the wound and Freydis’ hands atop, holding them in that pose; if he let go, he knew they would fall away. On the other side of the fallen priestess, Sif stood with tears descending her face.

  The rune token glowed with power, and with a gasp for breath, Freydis opened her eyes. She took in air avariciously, wheezing, but alive, and the light of the stone disappeared. Realising he still held her hands, Halfdan removed his, and her fingers fell away to reveal a grey, dull pebble. “You’re a strange sort,” she mumbled with a weak and bloodied smile. “Whoever heard of a berserker that cures rather than kills?”

  “There’s just me, I reckon,” he admitted. He grabbed the stone, got up, and lowered a hand, which she took, letting him pull her up to stand. This done, he presented the used rune token along with the other carved stones in his possession, handing them to the moss-bearded troll that had given him a piece to carve. “Thank you.”

  “Hum. You are friend to the living rock. We help our friends, hum, hum.”

  Halfdan picked up his hammer. “And what of Loki? Where’s that deceitful bastard?”

  “Hum, he fled. We shall look for him, hum,” promised the moss beard. All as one, the trolls began to leave except for Rumble.

  Freydis knelt in front of Sif, bring them close to eye level. “I’m sorry,” she spoke faintly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t…” Her voice became inaudible, trailing off.

  “I forgive you,” Sif declared stoically. “Because I know it’s what Halfdan wants. But don’t do it again.”

  A half-choked chortle escaped the former priestess. “I won’t.” She rose once again and glanced at Halfdan. “I know where my loyalties lie.” She took the sling tied to her belt, once confiscated from Sif, and returned the weapon to its owner.

  “Perhaps you can enlighten us on Loki’s plans.” Halfdan raised the hammer in his hand. “Why did he seek this?”

  “It looks strange,” Freydis muttered. “I thought it was a smith’s tool.”

  “It changed,” the berserker admitted. “There was a… well, never mind. I had to fight and use it, and it changed shape into this.”

  She gingerly let a finger run across its head. “It’s responded to you, bound itself to you. I wonder if its abilities have changed as a result. Loki sought it for a very specific reason.”

  “What is it?” Sif asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.

  “Anything made by this hammer’s blow can be unmade by it,” Freydis explained. “And many other things too.” Halfdan thought about the guardian and how a single touch had made it fall apart. “Deep in Asgard, the wolf Fenrir is imprisoned by a Dwarven-made chain. Unbreakable even by the wolf’s great strength or any weapon. Except that.” She nodded at the hammer.

  “He needs it to unleash Fenrir for Ragnar?k!” Sif exclaimed.

  “Exactly. It is an important piece of the prophecy. Loki is the wolf’s sire, and in the final battle, it will eat Odin, giving him vengeance.” Freydis looked from one companion to the other. “Without this, his plans will fail. You have dealt him a crushing defeat.”

  Halfdan shrugged and placed the weapon in its strap on his back. “All in a day’s work,” he remarked casually. He knew that the danger was not over, and he could not let his guard down. But this was a victory better than he had dared to believe in, unseen and unhoped for. Loki’s plans were thwarted and the scoundrel in flight. He had defied any prophecy that Sindri’s forge would be where he died. Sif was safe, and Freydis… was on the side where she belonged. Halfdan had lived most of his life alone, but after a taste of companionship, he was not ready to resume that life.

  “It’s never day here,” Sif reminded him. “If anything, it’s in a night’s work. A very long night.”

  “And after such a night, I’ve earned rest!” Halfdan declared with mirth in his voice. He felt exuberant, as if a font of emotions had erupted. “I’m exhausted, and while that’s hardly a new sensation, I do believe that for once, I deserve some proper sleep.”

  “Hum, you may rest,” spoke Rumble, and the sudden appearance of its voice made Halfdan start. Strange how one might forget about the presence of an eight foot tall rock that could move and speak. “You are declared friends of the living rock, hum. We shall watch, hum, hum, and none may harm you here.”

  “Do not underestimate my former master,” Freydis warned the troll and the others. “His ability to move unseen is near impossible to guard against.”

  “My brethren send word, hum,” Rumble replied, not explaining how that worked. “He has fled, hum, hum, towards the gate. Hum, even now, we hear his footsteps hurrying away.”

  Part of Halfdan wanted to pursue; catch up and crack his skull open, remove the threat. But his demands for rest had been earnest. He had not slept since leaving Dwarfhome, and he had fought two battles since then, not including this last bout against Freydis. Trying to track down someone so notoriously slippery as Loki while exhausted seemed a poor choice. He could easily walk into a trap. “Very well. Let’s get some rest. You must be tired too,” he said, looking at the others. Sif had also had some long days – nights – and Freydis had just healed from a major wound. “Something to eat wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

  “Hum, I will take you to the fields and watch, hum, while you eat and sleep,” the troll promised.

  “We accept,” Halfdan replied. “Thank you… Rumble.”

  Sif pulled a face. “Urgh, not mushrooms again!”