‘Swart-elves! Attack!’
Hooves thundered across the gravel. Metal clashed, sparks illuminated the top of the boulder, shields groaned, and warriors screamed. Hal scrambled to the top of the boulder. His eyes widened at the sight revealed.
A troop of mounted dwarves was engaged in combat with lightly armoured swart-elf warriors. Already, corpses of both races littered the riverbank. One dwarf swung a two-handed battleaxe above his head; another brandished a sword, dismembering swart-elves left and right. Covering the swart-elf swordsmen were others armed with bows, whose shafts had feathered several dwarves or their ponies.
Hal leapt back down. ‘It’s a slaughter!’ he told the others. ‘The swart-elves are falling, but the dwarves are dying by the second.’
Tanngrisnir hefted Helbrand. ‘Come, then!’ he rumbled. ‘Let us relieve them!’ Hal was about to follow him, when Eric put a hand on the dwarf’s arm.
‘Don’t you see?’ he hissed. ‘This is a chance for us to escape!’
‘What coward words are these?’ Tanngrisnir roared, in the grip of a berserk fury. ‘Battle has begun!’
‘What if Hal is killed?’ Eric insisted. ‘What will happen to Gangrel’s plans then? How will that affect this Foretelling?’
‘He’s got a point there,’ Gwen said. ‘But it does seem a bit off, running out on the dwarves like this.’
‘What loyalty do we owe them?’ Mordis grimaced.
‘Well, we’d better make a decision,’ Hal said. ‘Before the dwarves are all slaughtered, and the swart-elves come looking for your wolves, Princess.’
Eric looked cunningly at him. ‘Don’t you mean you had better make a decision?’ he replied. ‘You’re the leader now, remember?’
Hal was torn. Every instinct told him to rush to the side of the dwarves, to fight beside them, perhaps to die valiantly in their defence. But he had wider responsibilities. If he was to wield the Runeblade and defeat the forces of evil, he couldn’t afford to throw away his life on a mad impulse.
He looked apologetically at Tanngrisnir. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I think Eric is right. Not that I insist anyone comes with me. But my first priority is to go to Aurvangar and see that the Runeblade is forged.’
Tanngrisnir looked grim. ‘Very well, then,’ he said resignedly. ‘I will come with you.’
‘Well, let’s move, then!’ Eric said. With misgivings, Hal rose, and he and his friends scrambled from the hollow.
They reached the crest of the rise, and Hal looked back. In the murk, it was difficult to tell if the dwarves or swart-elves were winning. Steel flashed like lightning, bodies plunged, shouts and screams echoed from the surrounding rocks.
The travellers hurried on through the mist.
The ground grew muddy as they came down the other side of the rise, and the difference between river and land grew less distinct. Mist hung thick over the morass as they splashed wetly through the marl. Again, it became almost impossible to see beyond their immediate position. As a result, they almost stumbled into the guard post before a voice rapped out:
‘Who goes there?’
The travellers halted, peering into the murk. A jagged crag, shaped like a tower, rose ahead of them, indistinct in the swirling fog. Two short, burly, bearded figures stood in its shadow. They seemed to be training crossbows on the travellers.
Hal glanced at Tanngrisnir. ‘I think this is your bit,’ he said.
Tanngrisnir nodded shortly, and drew himself up. He stepped forward.
‘It is I, Tanngrisnir of Aurvangar, descendant of Lofar!’ he proclaimed. ‘I have returned!’
‘Tanngrisnir? We thought you dead. The swart-elves seized the tunnel to Midgard. What happened?’
Tanngrisnir glanced at his companions. ‘Before I make my report, may my fellow-travellers and I receive that hospitality for which our race is duly famed? We have travelled long and far to reach you and we are weary.’
‘Very well,’ said the other dwarf. ‘Follow me.’
Leaving the first dwarf to guard the path, they followed the dwarf up a rough-hewn stair that led up the side of the crag. It ended in a heavy wooden door, which the dwarf shouldered open, his shirt of mail jingling as he did so, to reveal an archway cut into the living rock. He led them through it.
Within was a high-roofed cave, warmed only by a guttering fire in one corner, whose smoke drifted up through a crack in the rock. Two other dwarves were lying nearby on fur-strewn stone shelves like bunks, their rugged, bearded faces illuminated by the flickering firelight.
‘Who are these, Annar?’ one of them asked in a deep, fierce voice, as the travellers entered the cave.
‘Tanngrisnir,’ the dwarf Annar replied. ‘He is not dead! And with him he brings a motley band of humans - and elves - one a swart-elf!’
Hal realised that Annar had not noticed Mordis beforehand. The dwarf’s voice rose with outrage as he saw the Princess standing among the others. Her wolves growled low in their throats.
‘The Princess is a renegade,’ Tanngrisnir said placatingly. ‘She fled her own people to join us.’
Throwing back his fur mantle, the third dwarf rose. In the light of the fire, Hal saw he was a ferocious-looking bearded dwarf with long, braided black hair, wearing furs and leathers. He stared at them with piggy eyes.
‘And who are your other companions?’ he asked fiercely. ‘Tanngrisnir, we know you. It surprises me to see you still alive after your command were slaughtered. But who are these lofty fellows?’
Tanngrisnir seemed perturbed by this unfriendly reception. ‘This is Hal. He is the one spoken of in the Foretelling; the bearer of the Runeblade,’ he said, indicating the youth. The dwarf looked at Hal with a suspicious eye, but said nothing. ‘The others are his companions from Midgard, or encountered during the journey,’ Tanngrisnir added. He named each in turn. ‘We go now to Sindri’s Hall where the king of smiths will forge the Runeblade. The swart-elves are in alliance with the fire giants, and the Day of Ragnarok looms. We travelled with Grimnir himself before we lost him.’
The more Tanngrisnir revealed, the more the dwarf on the bunk remained silent, staring in an unfriendly manner at the travellers. Finally, he spoke. ‘Where you found these vagabonds and wanderers I do not know, Tanngrisnir. But know this.
‘Your name will gain no favour in Aurvangar. You betrayed a sacred trust, laid upon us by the wizard Grimnir. We had thought you died valiantly, resisting Prince Helgrim’s attacks. Now we know otherwise. Do not think that you will escape your doom with spurious claims of journeying with Grimnir, or of accompanying the wielder of the Runeblade. Your conduct dishonours the Sons of Lofar. I must demand you and your companions give up your weapons and accompany us to the Doom-Ring in Aurvangar. There you will be tried and sentenced for dereliction of duty.’ The dwarf glanced at Mordis. ‘And since you journey with swart-elves in these warlike days, treachery may well be added to your crimes.’
Tanngrisnir looked in silence at the dwarf. Slowly, sadly, he unbuckled his sword and flung it to the floor. He motioned the others to do the same.
2 SINDRI’S HALL
Unwillingly, one by one, the others gave up their weapons. Now the dwarf who had questioned them rose, stretching his stocky frame. ‘I am Dolgthrasir,’ he said, ‘captain of this outpost. It’s my duty to take you to Aurvangar.’
He barked orders to his companions. They found ponies for the travellers and set out, with Dolgthrasir at their head and Annar as rearguard. Hal learnt that their path led them across the mist-hung morass, due south.
‘Well,’ he said, peering through the mist ahead, ‘at least we’re going where we wanted to.’
Tanngrisnir gave him a sour glance.
Eric looked quickly at the two dwarves guarding them. ‘Why don’t we make a break for it?’ he whispered. ‘There are only two of them. You don’t want to be put on trial, do you, Tanngrisnir?’
Tanngrisnir frowned. ‘It would be dishonourable to flee them,’ he replied. ‘Besides,
Hal is right. We are going where we intended. It is imperative that Hal goes to Sindri’s Hall and receives the Runeblade. What happens to me is of little account.’
‘Rubbish!’ Gwen said fiercely, riding beside him. ‘You’ve helped us. It wasn’t your fault the swart-elves defeated you.’
Tanngrisnir looked more sombre than ever. ‘According to the code of my warrior kindred, I should have remained with my fellows; died with them.’
‘Why didn’t you, then?’ Eric asked brightly.
‘Eric!’ Gwen remonstrated.
‘No, Gwen; Eric is right to ask,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘And others will ask the same. When I saw the swart-elves were slaughtering us, I resolved to follow them, learn what they intended to do in your world, and to foil it somehow, if I could. But I lost them in the bright light of Midgard, wandered lost and alone for days until I encountered you.’
‘Since when you’ve helped us, like Gwen says,’ Hal replied. ‘Helped me! The bearer of the Runeblade!’ His chest swelled with pride.
‘Which hasn’t even been forged yet,’ Eric carped. ‘Still, if it is going to be made, we’ll have to get Tanngrisnir out of trouble first.’
‘Aye, we owe it to him,’ Ilmadis said. Hal looked at her. She looked self-conscious. ‘Without him - and all of you - I would still be a slave of the swart-elves.’
Mordis, riding on her own nearby, her wolves follow at her ponies’ heels, looked at them all disdainfully.
In the mist to either side of the path, Hal began to notice low, humped buildings. Up ahead, larger constructions of stone were visible. A gleaming light filtered through the haze.
Gwen squinted towards the source of the light. ‘Is it the sun?’ she asked, longingly. ‘Is it the sun, at last?’
Dolgthrasir, riding a little ahead of them turned in her direction. ‘You won’t see Dvalinn's Doll, as we call the Sun, in these dark lands,’ he told her gruffly. ‘The light you see ahead is that of Sindri’s golden hall. There lies our destination, the Doom-Ring of the dwarves.’ He rode on.
Small, stocky figures were occasionally visible in the swirling mist. The travellers passed a mound from which came a glow of fire, and the repetitive tap of a hammer.
‘Sindri’s sons,’ Tanngrisnir said with a scowl. ‘Smith-folk.’
‘You don’t sound as if you like them,’ Gwen said questioningly.
Tanngrisnir shook his head. ‘My kindred have long been at feud with them,’ he replied.
‘Your folk are the warriors, then?’ Eric asked. ‘And you don’t get on with the smiths?’
‘Don’t we need them to forge the Runeblade?’ Hal asked, with a start. Dwarven politics were starting to look as complex as those of the swart-elves.
‘Two smith kindreds dwell in Aurvangar,’ Tanngrisnir told them as the ponies plodded on, ‘The Sons of Ivaldi and the Sons of Sindri. Long, long ago the god Loki brought about a contest between the two kindreds to forge the treasures of the Aesir.
‘The Sons of Ivaldi, Dvalinn and his brothers, made the Hair of Sif, the Spear of Odin, and the Ship of Frey. The Sons of Sindri - Eitri and Brokk - forged the ring Draupnir, the boar Gullinbursti, and Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer.
‘Loki wagered his head that Sindri’s sons could not forge greater treasures than their rivals. Through a trick, he escaped beheading, but Brokk sewed Loki’s lips together. That kept him quiet for a while.
‘But since then, the two smith kindreds have been at feud. My folk, the descendants of Lofar, valiant warriors all, have always favoured the Ivaldi kindred. But the feuds still tear the dwarf-realm apart, and leave it open to the attacks of the swart-elves.’
Eric rode on in silence, next to the dwarf. ‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘This sounds really promising.’
The Hall of Sindri swam up out of the mist, and the travellers fell silent. Gold glittered from its mighty door-pillars and from the gables that rose above the door as they rode slowly towards the Hall. Gold shone from its roof-shingles. Gold inlaid the writhing carvings that decorated its walls. The Hall was at least thirty feet high, and it towered over the other dwarf dwellings that dotted the muddy plain. The travellers rode towards the great doorway.
Dwarf-guards stood to attention on either side of the arch, out of which spilled a red-gold light. They wore armour of burnished brass, fantastically worked, and carried halberds with which they blocked the travellers’ path.
‘Who goes there?’ the captain of the guard barked.
‘It’s Dolgthrasir, of the Sons of Lofar,’ Dolgthrasir bellowed. ‘Bringing Tanngrisnir, as a prisoner.’
‘Tanngrisnir?’ the captain cried. ‘Then he is not dead! But you hold him prisoner? And who are these who ride with him? One of them is a swart-elf!’
‘They’re his companions,’ Dolgthrasir told the captain. ‘Tanngrisnir’s been wandering, it seems. I take him now to be judged at the Doom-Ring.’
The dwarves removed their halberds from his path, and Dolgthrasir led them into the hall.
Within was a wide, open space, warm after the chill of the plains, flanked on either side by hall-pillars that gave on to smaller chambers. Fire-trenches led up either side of the hall, the ruddy light glinting from the gold that ornamented the pillars and rafters. The ponies’ horseshoes struck sparks from the flagstones.
Up ahead was a ring of stones, beyond which three dwarves sat upon a dais. A throng of dwarves busied themselves about the hall. Within the ring of stones stood a black bearded dwarf, flanked by guards.
‘… not murder, but fair and lawful killing,’ the dwarf was saying to the three dwarves upon the dais. ‘Haugspori’s grandfather slew my great uncle!’
‘Then if it was lawful killing,’ said the central dwarf, ‘pay the mulct decreed by the council, and have done with your whining. More important cases await us!’
Angrily, the dwarf turned, and flung a pouch of gold at another dwarf waiting nearby, then strode from the ring. As the three dwarves on the dais spoke to each other in muted tones, Dolgthrasir leapt down from his pony, flung the reins to a dwarf servant who rushed forward, and strode towards the dais.
‘Who are those three?’ Gwen asked.
‘On the dais?’ Tanngrisnir asked. ‘They are the chieftains of the three main kindreds: Dvalinn, of the Sons of Ivaldi; Brokk, of the Sons of Sindri; and my chieftain, Eikinskialdi of the Sons of Lofar. They sit in judgement over our people.’
‘Chieftains!’ Dolgthrasir roared. ‘My humble apologies for breaking in upon proceedings thus, but I bring news of the gravest import. Tanngrisnir has returned!’
Eikinskialdi, the central dwarf, looked down at the captain. He was a fat, black-bearded fellow dressed in green and yellow. ‘Tanngrisnir?’ he rumbled. ‘But rumour said that he was slain, and all his warriors with him! The swart-elves hold the tunnel to Midgard. Where is he?’
‘Step forward, Tanngrisnir of the Sons of Lofar,’ called a dwarf-herald. His face white, Tanngrisnir got down from his pony, and crossed the floor to Dolgthrasir’s side.
‘It is Tanngrisnir,’ said the chieftain to Eikinskialdi’s left, a squat, swarthy dwarf with huge black eyebrows. ‘Back from the dead! What means this?’
‘Let us hear his account, Brokk.’ The third dwarf chieftain was a white-bearded ancient who wore a ceremonial blacksmith’s apron. ‘How come you to Aurvangar, Tanngrisnir?’ he asked, raising his voice.
Tanngrisnir looked soberly at the three chieftains. ‘The swart-elves attacked our stronghold in the tunnel, Dvalinn,’ he replied. ‘Prince Helgrim himself led them. They were too strong for us, although we slew as many as we could. They overwhelmed us.’
‘And yet you survived,’ Brokk said quietly. ‘How was that?’
‘The attack was clearly significant,’ Tanngrisnir replied, ‘since it was led by Prince Helgrim, second most important person in the swart-elf kingdom. When I saw we were outnumbered, doomed, I concealed myself…’
‘You hid from them?’ Brokk demanded.
‘Let him spea
k,’ Dvalinn said softly.
‘I concealed myself, and trailed them through the tunnel to the entrance to Midgard,’ Tanngrisnir replied, his voice rising. ‘Then, in the bright light beyond, I lost them. I wandered alone and friendless in Midgard for days ere I encountered three humans, who are among my companions. Then Grimnir himself appeared.’
‘Grimnir?’ Eikinskialdi leaned forward. ‘You have been with Grimnir? Long has he been absent from our halls.’
Tanngrisnir continued with his story. The dwarves listened intently, and Hal found himself subject to many penetrating and appraising stares when Tanngrisnir identified him as the future bearer of the Runeblade. Only one other of his companions attracted as much attention - Princess Mordis.
‘How do we not know that all this is not a lie?’ Brokk asked, his crafty eyes flickering from Tanngrisnir to the swart-elf. ‘You could have gone over to the swart-elf side! These humans might be no more than dupes! Only you survived Prince Helgrim’s attack. You say you lost Grimnir in Svartaborg. Most careless. And you gained a princess of the swart-elves, no less!’
‘His words ring true,’ Eikinskialdi rumbled. ‘You forget, Tanngrisnir is a great hero! His exploits have been sung in many a hall throughout the worlds.’
‘Loki was once considered a great hero among the Aesir,’ Brokk replied cunningly. ‘Yet he joined the side of chaos. Let us not forget, in these exploits of which he brags Tanngrisnir was often accompanied by Hlymir, one of giant race!’
Tanngrisnir growled low in his throat. ‘My old comrade Hlymir may have been a giant,’ he replied. ‘But he was a storm giant, a sworn foe of the frost giants of Utgard, and an outspoken ally of the Aesir!’
Hal turned to his friends. ‘It looks like there’s more to our friend than we’d guessed,’ he whispered, as the dwarves continued to debate. ‘He’s never mentioned this Hlymir before.’
‘These dwarves are a quarrelsome bunch of windbags,’ Mordis said.
‘I wish they’d get to the point,’ Gwen said. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be here so Hal can get this Runeblade forged?’
‘That’s right,’ Eric said. ‘Hal, tell them!’
Hal looked at the arguing dwarves. He opened his mouth to break in on their wrangling, but then closed it again, feeling inadequate, as the argument reached a new level. Would he ever find a chance to get a word in edgeways?