Shivering, Eric drew the rolled-up map from his saddlebag, and inspected it dejectedly. ‘A long way.’
‘How long?’ asked Gwen, her voice sharp.
‘Another day’s journey or more,’ replied Eric. ‘I think we should find somewhere to shelter - and sleep.’
Hal was weary too, but he was not sure he fancied going to sleep in this cold. His eyes searched the dim horizon. Where could they find shelter? There was no hope of them sleeping out in the open in this place - none of them would wake up. He frowned, and rubbed his eyes.
‘What’s that, over there?’ he called, indicating a humped shape a little to the right. The mist swirled around it, but a dim light seemed to emanate from within.
‘Is it a house?’ asked Gwen. ‘I can see a light.’
‘A will-o-the-wisp,’ Ilmadis murmured. ‘Let us not trust it.’
‘I’ll trust anything in this cold,’ Eric said, his teeth chattering. ‘Even if it’s a troll-hole, at least it would be out of this wind. Let’s have a look, anyway.’
They urged the ponies towards the dim mound. On closer inspection, it proved to be a long, low heap of earth, open at one end where a stone lintel framed an entrance from which billowed an unhealthy phosphorescent glow. A will-o-the-wisp, as Ilmadis had said.
Eric leapt down off his pony and went to investigate. ‘Looks alright to me,’ he called. ‘I can’t see anyone about.’
‘Where’s the light coming from?’ Gwen asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘There’s just rock walls. A bit bare. But at least it’s out of this wind. Come on!’
They dismounted, and went to join him. He stood in the entrance, looking within. Hal followed his gaze.
The interior was empty, lit by the unhealthy glow that seemed to come from the rock walls themselves. ‘Some primitive dwarf dwelling,’ Eric speculated. ‘From before they started building places like Sindri’s Hall.’ He led them inside.
There was enough room for all of them, ponies included. Although it was by no means warm, out of the bite and howl of the wind they had a chance to sit down and relax.
‘I think we should stay here,’ Eric suggested. ‘We won’t find anywhere better, I’m sure. Sleep here, and continue in the morning.’ He grimaced. ‘Not that they have mornings round here. But you know what I mean.’
‘Someone should keep watch,’ Gwen suggested.
‘I will,’ Hal said nobly.
‘Take it in turns,’ Eric said. ‘You take first watch, Hal, then wake me. You can be next, Ilmadis, then you, Gwen - what was that?’
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Hal said. ‘You’re imagining things, Eric.
‘I heard something,’ Ilmadis said, her voice tremulous. She was staring down the passage, further into the mound.
‘Didn’t anyone check to make sure this place was deserted?’ Gwen whispered, staring into the darkness.
‘What did you hear?’ Hal asked.
‘Footsteps,’ Eric replied, staring in the direction from which they had come. The floor of the chamber was stone grit. A soft, stealthy crunch of feet came from the darkness.
‘Look!’ Gwen said, pointing at a footprint in the grit. Hal rubbed his eyes. That hadn’t been there before… And then there was another one, closer - and another! They were appearing from nowhere!
Whatever this new threat was, it seemed to be invisible…
7 LAST OF THE NIFLUNGS
‘Mortals?’ The voice came from the air, about three feet above the closest footprints. ‘And an elf! From Alfheim. I thought it was trolls, come to dig old Alfrek out like a badger from his final hiding place.’
Hal looked at Eric. ‘Trolls?’ he asked. ‘No, we’re not trolls. We’re on the side of the dwarves.’
‘You support a lost cause,’ said the voice sadly. ‘Lost long ago, unless Lofar’s folk prospered.’
‘Lofar’s folk?’ Eric asked. ‘You mean the dwarves who went to Svartalfaheim? We’ve just come from here. But who are you? From what you say, you’re not one of them. Are you from Salarsteini?’
The air shimmered before them, and they saw a little figure, a small, white-bearded dwarf who was lowering a glittering golden helmet. He looked at them with tired old eyes.
‘Salarsteini?’ he asked. ‘No dwarf dwells now in Salarsteini. But once I was accounted king over this land. I am Alfrek, last of the Niflungs.’
Ilmadis gasped. The dwarf looked at her. ‘You have heard of me, elf-maiden?’
‘Legends speak of you,’ she replied, ‘and of your hoard.’
Alfrek grimaced. ‘Speak not to me of my hoard,’ he growled. ‘I lost that long ago - to the trolls. Now they squat in Salarsteini, as they have for many years, and my treasures are theirs.’
‘You were king of the dwarves back when Lofar led his people into Svartalfaheim?’ Eric asked.
‘Aye,’ Alfrek replied. ‘Long ago. Does their colony prosper?’
Hal shook his head. ‘Right now it looks like it’s going the same way your kingdom went,’ he said urgently. ‘The swart-elves are attacking. They want to kick the dwarves out. That’s why we’ve come here…’
‘For aid?’ Alfrek asked. ‘You’ll find none in Niflheim. Swart-elves mass against the descendants of Lofar, eh? The dwarves are under attack in every world they settle. And here, in our homeland, is naught but troll-infested waste land.’
Hal looked down at the ancient dwarf-king. ‘How did it happen?’ he asked. ‘How did the trolls take over?’
Alfrek put his head in his hands. ‘Their raids grew and grew in ferocity. And after Lofar’s folk left us, we were weak. The trolls came not to raid, but to settle. They razed dwarf settlements, defeated dwarf armies, finally laid siege to Salarsteini. When they burst into the halls of stone, my dwarf-berserkers died in legions, but to no avail. The trolls ransacked the place, slew everyone - except me.’
‘How did you escape?’
‘My courtiers demanded I save myself,’ Alfrek replied. ‘I donned the Tarnhelm, the helmet of invisibility here’ - he indicated the helmet he held - ‘and fled to find aid. But all the other dwarf strongholds had been sacked and taken by the trolls. My people were vanquished - wiped from the face of Niflheim. And the trolls reigned in barbaric majesty.
‘Ever since, I have wandered across my world, searching desperately for survivors - knowing in my heart that I am the last of the Niflungs. I have searched for many years, and found no one until today. But you are not my old subjects.’
Hal looked at the old dwarf, his heart aching. The troll invasion must have been three hundred years ago. Had Alfrek been wandering this dismal land for all that time?
‘And the trolls have your treasure?’ asked Gwen.
‘Aye - much good it does them,’ Alfrek replied.
Gwen looked significantly at Hal, and he wondered what she was driving at. Then he realised.
‘Of course!’ he said. ‘King Alfrek, we came here on a quest….’ He explained the situation, and the old dwarf-king listened attentively.
‘The alftarhamir,’ Alfrek murmured. ‘Aye, they formed part of my hoard. Even now, they may lie in the treasure-vaults beneath Salarsteini. But the trolls dwell in my old capital. It would be suicide to go thither.’
‘But without the feathercloaks, Tanngrisnir and all the others will die!’ Gwen said.
‘And the Runeblade will never be forged,’ Hal added sombrely.
‘Are they so deadly, these trolls?’ Eric asked. ‘We fought some on the way in. They weren’t so difficult to defeat. All it took was cunning. They’re strong, these trolls, but not too bright.’
‘It will take more than cunning to enter Salarsteini,’ Alfrek replied. ‘I returned thither once, many years ago. Even wearing the Tarnhelm I was afraid. Countless numbers of trolls dwell there - too many to be defeated by cunning…’
‘The Tarnhelm,’ Eric said thoughtfully. He looked at the helmet in Alfrek’s hands. ‘Does it truly make you invisible?’
In answer, the dwarf-king put it on. He shimmered, and disappeared.
Eric looked at the others. ‘Perhaps you could sneak into Salarsteini, Alfrek,’ he said, when the dwarf reappeared again. ‘Perhaps you could take the feathercloaks.’
Alfrek shook his head stubbornly. ‘I vowed never to return,’ he replied. ‘The bones of my people still litter the halls where the trolls feast in squalor and splendour. I could not return to the place of my greatest defeat.’
Eric bit his lip. He gazed covetously at the Tarnhelm. ‘Maybe…’ he said tentatively, ‘maybe you could give it one of us …?’
* * * * *
For the moment, the fighting had ceased.
Dwarf and swart-elf faced each other across a corpse-strewn field. The battle for the narrows had been long and inconclusive. Tanngrisnir had thought it would continue until the last of his dwarves was slain - that it would have to. They could retreat no further without giving the swart-elves an open road into Aurvangar. They had to defend this position, alive or dead.
But the swart-elf losses had been as great. Now Prince Helgrim’s folk had withdrawn to the edge of the narrows, to make camp on the plain beneath the hills. Half a league of twisted corpses, dwarf, elf, troll, pony, and dragon littered the area between the lines, which were marked by opposing constellations of campfires.
‘We have beaten them off for the moment,’ Dolgthrasir said, looking at Tanngrisnir with renewed respect.
Tanngrisnir walked away to inspect the dwarven defences, to ensure the wounded were tended and the battle-weary received their well-deserved rest.
‘They will attack again,’ Tanngrisnir said, ‘As soon as they have finished licking their wounds.’
‘Which gives us time to do the same,’ Dolgthrasir grunted, hurrying to keep up with him.
Tanngrisnir turned to look at him. Their brief victory had certainly altered Dolgthrasir’s attitude to him, but he was less impressed. For the moment, they had kept the swart-elves at bay. But another attack would be much harder to resist.
He kept this to himself. It would be better for morale if his warriors believed they stood a chance against the swart-elf army. He paused to inspect a wounded dwarf, whose face was badly burned despite the tar-soaked jerkin he wore. He turned to the dwarf physician beside him.
The physician shook his head. ‘No hope for him,’ he told Tanngrisnir in an undertone. ‘Those dragons are deadly.’
Tanngrisnir nodded quietly, and walked on.
‘We slew many of their dragons,’ Dolgthrasir growled, as Tanngrisnir continued in silence. ‘They are not as great a threat as they seemed.’
Tanngrisnir looked at him from under his bushy brows. ‘But we would be at a greater advantage if we had aerial troops,’ he said. ‘It is two days yet before my comrades are likely to return from Niflheim - assuming they succeed in their quest. Until then, of course, we must hold off the swart-elves as best we can. But if they redouble their aerial assault, we will be greatly disadvantaged.’
They had reached the edge of the camp, where dwarf sappers and engineers were busily digging and fortifying a ditch that cut directly across the narrows.
‘Good work,’ Tanngrisnir told them. ‘When our foes attack next, they will find this a stumbling block.’
‘Will they attack, now we’re dug in?’ Dolgthrasir asked.
‘They must attack,’ Tanngrisnir replied. ‘If they think to wait until we attack them, they are mistaken. The longer they wait, the longer we will wait. This is a defensive war, captain. They can beat upon our defences time after time, but nothing will induce us to face them at a disadvantage.’
Dolgthrasir studied the ditch and palisade. ‘Then they must burn their way in,’ he said darkly.
His gaze turned to the skies ahead, where black-winged reptile shapes turned and wheeled.
‘War-leader!’ shouted a dwarf from a lookout post. ‘The swart-elves are massing again.’
Tanngrisnir looked out towards the plain. It was true; the swart-elves had rearranged themselves into columns and squadrons. Their lizard-riders and dwarf-cavalry drew up on their wings. The swart-elf foot and the troll shock troops stood before them. Overhead, the dragons were forming themselves into aerial divisions.
‘Prepare for attack!’ Tanngrisnir shouted. He cursed to himself, and looked at Dolgthrasir. ‘I had not thought they would take such little time to regroup. Muster the troops. We must withstand this assault.’
The dwarf camp was a scene of confusion as they prepared for the attack. Out on the plain, the swart-elves began to advance.
* * * * *
Niflheim was cold, dark, and silent. The companions rode up its barren, mist-hung valleys, between knife-sheer mountains whose precipitous slopes vanished into the roof of fog. Rested, and with Alfrek to lead them now, they made good progress. The dwarf sat behind Eric, peering out now and then to direct them.
‘I have journeyed through all these valleys,’ he told them. They were pausing for a rest in the lea of a massive boulder, fallen aeons ago from the towering cliff above. ‘I know every path and way.’
‘How far to Salarsteini?’ asked Gwen, huddled beside him.
‘A few more leagues,’ Alfrek replied. He indicated the narrow stream in the valley below. ‘As you can see, the Gioll is near its source.’
Hal stared down at it. The waters, though shallow, seemed to bubble as they flowed. He mentioned this.
‘The stream grows warm as we come closer to Hvergelmir, the wellspring from whence it flows,’ Alfrek explained. ‘There the water boils before growing colder as it wends its way through this icy land.’
‘Hot springs,’ Gwen murmured. ‘Like Yellowstone Park. Are there any geysers?’
Eric broke in impatiently. ‘According to the map, Salarsteini is on an outcrop near the river’s source.’ He glanced at Alfrek. ‘Which is where you’re going to give me that helmet, right?’
Alfrek glanced at the Tarnhelm, which hung from his belt by rawhide cords. ‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘And when we are done, you will take me to my people in Svartalfaheim.’
Hal touched Eric on the shoulder and drew him away. Once they were out of earshot, he leant over, shivering in the cold.
‘How do we know we can trust this dwarf?’ he asked. ‘Remember Althiof? And Eikinskialdi?’
Eric nodded. ‘These dwarves drive a hard bargain,’ he replied. ‘It’s like an obsession with them. But Alfrek hasn’t asked for much. We’re going back to Svartalfaheim anyway.’
‘I just wonder what he plans to do there,’ Hal said. ‘He’s lost his kingdom. Does he hope to get another one? What will Eikinskialdi and the rest think about that?’
Eric patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’ve spent too long among dwarves,’ he replied. ‘You’re starting to think like them. Remember, I’m the devious one. Don’t trouble yourself with this kind of thing - just look handsome. Leave thinking to me.’
Hal thumped him half-heartedly.
A few hours later they rode on, following the rapidly narrowing Gioll-stream, which began to give off definite warmth, like a hot bath. It was incredible to think that this narrow, sulphurous trickle gurgling among the rocks was the same mighty river that marked the border between Helheim and Svartalfaheim - up which they had sailed for much of the way, in the Naglfar. They had come a long way from there, Hal thought as they rode up a slope. They passed through a narrow valley, and halted.
Before them was an expanse of rocks. A huge grey root-like structure grew out of the cliffs and stretched across the valley; beneath it lay a hot spring that bubbled and boiled and steamed at they watched. Hal remembered what Eikinskialdi had said about the “root of Yggdrasil.” Narrow streams steamed as they threaded the rocks on all sides, like the one they had followed up the valley; each one disappearing among the steam-hung crags in a different direction.
Alfrek cursed. ‘Back!’ he hissed. ‘We’re here! Sooner than I had remembered. Ride back into the shelter of the rocks!’
A c
old wind howled mournfully, and the curtains of steam parted to reveal a great stone building perched on the cliffs above. A winding road led to a gloomy, dilapidated hall of stone. Hal’s blood froze as he saw trolls patrolling the ramparts that surrounded the building.
Hurriedly, they rode back into the shelter of the valley. ‘I thought you knew this place like the back of your hand,’ Eric said, as they halted after about three hundred yards. The steam had hidden the hall again, but the companions knew that their enemies were close.
‘What if they saw us?’ Ilmadis asked. ‘We must find somewhere to hide.’
‘Ilmadis has got a point,’ Gwen added. ‘We don’t want to have to fight off hundreds of trolls at this point in the game.’
Alfrek’s face was pale. ‘It is long since I returned to my royal seat,’ he said thickly. ‘The grief still haunts me.’ He looked at Eric. ‘Now is the time for the light-footed, and the light-fingered. Take my helm, and go!’
Eric accepted the Tarnhelm gingerly. He had coveted it ever since he realised its properties, but now that it was his, he felt overawed. Then he grinned.
‘See ya later,’ he said, and placed the helmet on his head.
He was amused to see his companions’ looks of surprise as he vanished before their eyes. Gwen looked straight through him. Hal looked at his shoulder, and said:
‘Goodbye, Eric. If you haven’t gone already.’
Eric smirked. The things he could get up to now! But serious matters were afoot. Time for him to get going. He hurried up the mountain trail.
Reaching the head of the valley, he ventured forward, circling the great root and the bubbling wellspring and casting about until he found the path up the cliff towards the hall, now hidden again in the steam. His heart in his mouth despite his invisibility, he hurried up the path.
It opened out on top of the cliff. To his left were ramparts of hewn stone, upon which marched the savage figures of trolls - so close, and yet they had no idea that he was near. He hurried towards the gates of the hall, and entered.
Within, he found a scene that seemed like a twisted mockery of Sindri’s Hall. Evil-faced trolls squatted on benches along either side, lurking in the shadows of hall-pillars as they feasted on indescribable morsels. Scattered about the place were broken pots, torn cloth, rumpled tapestries, and dismembered skeletons - squalor indescribable. Filth and soot streaked the walls; the air was heavy with vile smells.