Tanngrisnir sighed. ‘Some of them are on our side,’ he replied. ‘Most are indeed our foes. But Hlymir and his mother are our allies.’
Hal folded his arms. ‘So we’ve got to go to the world of the giants, now?’ he asked. ‘How do we get there?’
‘It lies a long way off,’ Tanngrisnir replied. ‘South-east of Niflheim. The river Elivagar will take us to Ironwood.’
‘We’ve got to go back into Niflheim?’ Hal asked with a groan.
* * * * *
‘You leave us so soon?’
King Alfrek sat upon his throne, flanked by Dvalinn and Brokk. He looked down at the companions with an expression of sorrow.
‘And I must beg leave to accompany them, my liege,’ Tanngrisnir added. ‘It is my duty to ensure they pass safely on their journey. My weird has become ensnared with theirs, and I must see this matter through to the end.’
‘Little did I think, when we forged the Runeblade, that we would soon be bidding farewell to so great a warrior,’ Dvalinn said quietly. ‘We had hoped you would remain to speak for your folk.’
Tanngrisnir shook his head. ‘The Sons of Lofar must find another chieftain,’ he replied. ‘My duty lies elsewhere. But might I recommend Dolgthrasir?’
‘Go, then, with my blessing,’ said King Alfrek. ‘For without you, Hal, and your fellows, I would still be a fugitive in the cold wastes of Niflheim.’
Hal shivered involuntarily. Did Alfrek have to rub it in? The king didn’t have to go back there. ‘Thanks,’ Hal replied. ‘Tanngrisnir tells me I must seek my… my weird.’ He put his hand on the Runeblade’s hilt.
‘Farewell,’ the dwarf replied. ‘And remember that Aurvangar will forever welcome you all.’
Half an hour later, the six companions were riding south towards Niflheim, Mordis’ wolves loping alongside.
* * * * *
‘I tell you, he is the enemy of both our peoples!’ Prince Helgrim shouted.
The hall of the trolls resounded to his voice. The troll chieftain stared down at his guest, and curled his lip.
‘But why is it we who do your dirty work?’ the troll chieftain growled. ‘This Hal robbed us of our treasures. He defeated you in battle. But why should the troll-folk risk defeat for such a petty revenge?’
Prince Helgrim cursed, and smacked his fist into his palm. He glared around the filthy hall. Eight swart-elf guards stood at his back, surveying the surrounding trolls with scorn.
‘Can you not see the implications?’ Prince Helgrim demanded. ‘Know you nothing of the Foretelling concerning the wielder of the Runeblade?’
The troll chieftain broke wind noisily, to the delight of his courtiers. ‘We know of these ancient superstitions,’ he rumbled, as the tittering died away. ‘But we set no store in them. We are not like the swart-elves, cowering at every shadow and phantom. If you put your faith in your own might and main, as we trolls do, perhaps you would win more battles!’ Again, the trolls roared with laughter.
Prince Helgrim snarled to himself.
He had returned to Svartaborg to receive short shrift from his father and the swart-elf nobles. Consulting the ancient foretellings had told him that the bearer of the Runeblade - this Hal who had troubled him for so long - would soon journey into the world of the giants. The only path open to him was through Niflheim, and so Prince Helgrim had come here with his retinue to persuade the trolls to ambush Hal. But the trolls were too idle, too indolent and stupid to understand the benefits of an alliance. He drew his sword.
Rushing forward, he took the troll chieftain by the throat, placing his blade across the chieftain’s windpipe. The troll chieftain thrashed feebly. Meanwhile, Prince Helgrim’s swart-elves spread out in a protective ring, menacing any trolls who came close.
‘Listen to me,’ Prince Helgrim said into the troll chieftain’s ear. ‘Do as I tell you and you may live. Tell your folk to obey me in all things.’
Eyes wide with fear, the troll chieftain croaked: ‘Do as he says! Don’t let him kill me!’
* * * * *
The walls of the mist-hung valley clattered to the ponies’ hooves.
‘Remember this place?’ Eric said with a laugh. ‘You lot were hiding over there when I came back with the feathercloaks.’
‘That means we are near Salarsteini,’ Hal said grimly. ‘We must go quietly.’
Tanngrisnir nodded, loosening Helbrand in its scabbard. ‘With luck, the steam will conceal us,’ he said.
He led them out of the valley into the warm area of rocks that surrounded the bubbling spring of Hvergelmir. Skirting this, and the steam-shrouded hall on the cliffs above, they headed for one of the many hot streams that trickled through the rocks from beneath the mysterious root structure.
‘This is the source of the Elivagar,’ Tanngrisnir told them. ‘We shall follow this until it becomes navigable. Then we must find some means to sail down it. It will lead into the world of the giants.’
They rode down the bank, unaware that eyes were watching from the misty cliffs above.
‘It is them,’ one watcher grunted.
‘We must slay them,’ another said.
‘Wait for an opportune moment,’ their lithe companion commanded. ‘They are perilous prey.’
* * * * *
The stream raced over the rocks as the travellers followed the narrow valley further north. Other streams came to join it, and within a mile, it had swollen to become a swift-flowing torrent.
But it was cold this far from Hvergelmir, and sleet fell as they rode along. It seemed to Hal unfair that despite the warmth from the hot springs, the climate had not improved the further they journeyed south. It was bitter! He noticed that now even the river was frozen at the edges, and occasionally blocks of ice would break free to rush down the stream.
‘Further south, it widens to become a great river,’ Tanngrisnir told him. ‘Often large blocks of ice still float on its surface. Even in the world of the giants it still contains much ice.’
Eric blew out his cheeks, and rubbed his hands together. ‘I want to go somewhere warm,’ he said. ‘What’s it like in this Muspellzheim place? That sounds hot.’
Tanngrisnir shuddered. ‘I was there once,’ he said stiffly. ‘With my old comrade Hlymir. It is a terrible place, the world of the fire giants. Rivers of fire, great baked deserts of ash … the antithesis of Niflheim, yet no more hospitable.’
‘Not a good holiday destination, then,’ Eric muttered.
Hal was staring up at the cliffs. ‘Did you hear?’ he said as they rode on. ‘Up there.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Gwen said. ‘Who’s going to follow us? We’ve gone a long way past where the trolls live. Most of this place is deserted. Not surprisingly.’
‘We should have flown here,’ Ilmadis murmured. ‘If only we had kept those cloaks… What happened to them?’
‘Alfrek took them, I think,’ Gwen said. ‘They were his.’
‘He gave me the Tarnhelm, though,’ Eric remarked, patting a saddlebag.
‘I smell troll,’ Mordis announced suddenly.
They had come to a wider stretch of river, much as Tanngrisnir had described it. The Princess had halted her pony, and was staring up into the mist. Her wolves growled.
Tanngrisnir peered into the mist, then glanced at the stream. A large chunk of ice tumbled over the nearby rapids. ‘Perhaps this is where we should take to the water.’
‘How?’ Hal asked practically. ‘We’ve got nothing to make a raft out of.’
‘Is no one listening?’ snapped Mordis. ‘I said I smell troll. Do something about it, one of you.’
‘No need to make a raft,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘Hal - go into that stream and grab a passing piece of ice, one large enough to fit us all. We’ll have to leave the ponies, I’m afraid.’
Hal waded out into the stream, gasping at the coldness of the water. Glad he was wearing gloves, he seized at a passing slab of ice. It slipped from his fingers. He cursed, and waited for another.
Jus
t as he was about to grab a huge block of ice, big enough to fit them all, he heard a shout from the bank, and looked up.
‘Trolls!’ Eric was yelling.
‘There! What did I tell you?’ Mordis added, exasperated.
Trolls were bursting out of the mist, racing down the slope. A familiar dark figure wielding a scimitar led them. Tanngrisnir drew Helbrand.
Hal grabbed the ice-raft and held it fast. Ignoring the cold, he waded back towards the bank, dragging the ice against the swift-flowing current. The others were fighting off the trolls. Steel rang, cries resounded from the crags. Hal saw Prince Helgrim at the head of the trolls. Did he never give up?
‘Hurry!’ Hal bawled. ‘I’ve got the ice!’
‘What about the ponies?’ Ilmadis cried.
‘We’ll have to leave them,’ Tanngrisnir shouted. ‘And your wolves, Princess.’
Mordis gave him a glare, and ensured Varg and Ylg were the first to scramble aboard the ice-raft.
Eric and Tanngrisnir fought a desperate rearguard against the trolls, hacking and slashing as Prince Helgrim urged his minions on. Finally, everyone apart from Hal and the two on the bank were aboard the ice-raft.
‘Hurry up, you two!’ Hal shouted, still holding the raft in place.
Tanngrisnir and Eric turned, and leapt aboard. Hal scrambled after them, shivering, lying flat across the raft as they floated quickly down the ice-choked river.
Prince Helgrim stood on the bank, a distant angry figure that shook its fist. The last they saw of him, he was turning on his trolls, striking them left and right and trying to drag them away from the ponies.
‘Those poor creatures,’ Ilmadis murmured. ‘The trolls will eat them.’
‘Hal, are you alright?’ Gwen asked. He was shivering uncontrollably as he lay across the ice.
‘He must be suffering from exposure,’ Eric said. ‘Do something, Gwen.’
‘Like what?’ Gwen demanded.
‘Let me!’ Mordis said, pushing her to one side. She began tending to Hal as best she could, under the cramped conditions, chafing his frozen limbs.
Tanngrisnir sat at the edge of the raft, looking back upstream. ‘They’ll be after us soon, no doubt,’ he said.
After a while, Hal sat up.
‘No frostbite,’ Mordis said. ‘You will live.’
‘Freezing,’ Hal stuttered. ‘Where are we?’
‘Look!’ cried Ilmadis.
Coming round a corner in the stream behind them, paddling with their clubs as they sat astride another block of ice, was the group of trolls who had ambushed them. Amidst them was Prince Helgrim, his face grim yet eager.
‘Haven’t we been here before?’ Hal asked deliriously, as the raft swept them on.
The river opened out still further, expanding rapidly on either side until the mist hid the shores. Great chunks of ice floated alongside them, like icebergs. The cold was profound.
‘Where’s Prince Helgrim and his motley crew?’ Eric asked.
‘Still following,’ Gwen reported. ‘They’re paddling. Shouldn’t we be paddling?’
‘With what?’ Mordis asked. ‘Our hands?’
‘It’s just that they’re gaining on us,’ Gwen replied.
The waters spread before them, mist-hung, thick with ice. Behind them, the trolls were growing ever closer.
‘Time to repel boarders,’ Hal cried. He put his hand on the Runeblade and faced Prince Helgrim across the narrowing waters. In the misty distance, a roaring sound grew.
‘O, that it should be hither!’ Prince Helgrim cried, ‘In the waste of waters, on the margins of Niflheim and Jotunheim, we meet in battle. Prepare to meet your doom, Hal!’
The roaring grew louder. It came from up ahead, although its source was hidden by the mist. Hal peered muzzily towards his nemesis. Was Prince Helgrim right? Had they met their doom? The swart-elf and his trollish companions were drawing closer.
‘What I have been through to reach this moment!’ Prince Helgrim exulted, as they drew ever closer to the drifting ice-block and its cowering crew. ‘Yet now you are mine!’ he bellowed, and prepared to leap across.
As he did so, the two floating ice-blocks drifted out of the mist. Directly ahead was the edge of a mighty waterfall. Spray hung in the air.
‘Where are we, Tanngrisnir?’ Gwen shouted.
‘At the very edge of Niflheim, as Prince Helgrim said,’ Tanngrisnir cried. ‘Here the waters of the Elivagar rush into the wider river of the Vimur! Jotunheim lies one way, Midgard the other!’
‘Midgard?’ Gwen asked, as the ice-raft rushed towards the falls.
Prince Helgrim leapt across the gap, landing with a thud on the block of ice. His impact sent a crack shivering straight across it, splitting it into two halves. Tanngrisnir and Hal crouched on one half, with Prince Helgrim standing over them with his scimitar. On the other, larger piece, sat Gwen, Eric, and the others. They watched in horror as Hal struggled weakly with Prince Helgrim on the edge of the falls. Tanngrisnir flailed at the edge of the ice-block, as if trying to paddle them back to safety. The trolls on the other block watched dully as the two enemies fought.
‘They’re going over the edge!’ screamed Gwen. But it was too late. Still struggling, Hal and Prince Helgrim, together with Tanngrisnir, vanished over the narrowing horizon.
‘Hal!’ screamed Mordis.
‘Never mind them,’ Eric said in horror. Their own ice-block was spinning out of control. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the trolls paddling themselves frantically towards safety.
‘We’re going over as well!’ shouted Ilmadis.
The raft lurched, as they plunged over the edge. Eric grabbed at the side, scrabbling for purchase on the slippery ice.
* * * * *
EPILOGUE
The sun shone through the fog upon a drifting block of ice, on which several dark figures crouched. Mist hung on the waters around them. It was icy cold.
‘There’s a welcome sight,’ Eric said, raising his head.
Nearby, Ilmadis stirred. ‘The Fair Wheel!’ she cried. ‘Are we near Alfheim? We have entered the worlds of light!’
‘The sun!’ Gwen said.
Mordis scowled, and hissed like a vampire.
They had survived their trip over the falls, somehow clinging hold of the ice-block, retaining their grip when it bobbed back out of the water at the bottom. Even Ylg and Varg had survived, though wet and bedraggled. But they had seen nothing of Hal and Tanngrisnir.
Since then, they had been drifting through chill waters where icebergs floated on either side. On they had drifted, hoping to sight land, but to no avail. Slowly, it had grown lighter.
‘I don’t think we’re in Niflheim anymore,’ Gwen murmured.
‘And we are surely far from my world,’ Mordis spat, screwing her eyes up against the sun’s dim light. ‘That cursed glow does not penetrate to Svartalfaheim.’
‘Before he… left us, Tanngrisnir said that the river led to the world of the giants,’ Gwen said. ‘But he said it also led to… Midgard.’
‘You mean our world?’ Eric asked.
‘Do you think this is Midgard?’ asked Ilmadis, disappointed. ‘I had hoped it was Alfheim. But I am happy for you if it is your home, Gwen,’ she added loyally.
Mordis made a noise of disgust.
‘I’m promising nothing,’ Eric said. ‘And even if it is Earth… it’s a shame Hal isn’t with us to see it.’
He gazed out over the misty waters. Where was Hal now? Was he dead? Had he killed Prince Helgrim? Had he reached the world of the giants? Maybe he was receiving the training Tanngrisnir had spoken of.
For now, however, it seemed that the rest of them were out of the adventure. Eric considered his friends one by one: Mordis scowling in the sunlight, playing disconsolately with the ears of her two bedraggled wolves; Gwen staring at the new world of light that surrounded them; Ilmadis at her side, smiling fondly at her friend.
Was this the world of men, as Eric’s recent acquaintan
ces called it? Or was it some other, more hostile world, where the perils they had faced before would remain their lot?
And what of Hal?
In silence, they drifted across the waters.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gavin Chappell was born in northern England and lives near Liverpool. After studying English at the University of Wales, he has since worked variously as a business analyst and a college lecturer. He is the author of numerous short stories, articles, poems and several books.
Already published:
Celtic Dawn
Wirral Smugglers, Wreckers and Pirates
The Sword of Wayland
The Work of Wayland
The Bones of Wayland
In production:
Bearer of the Runeblade
Wielder of the Runeblade
Going Underground
The Doom of the Norns
Street Fighting Years
* * * * *
Read on for an excerpt from BEARER OF THE RUNEBLADE
* * * * *
PROLOGUE
He was wandering again.
As Frigg walked through her halls that glittered in the watery light of morning, her face was sombre, her mouth a hard line. It had been long since her husband departed from Asgard; long since his presence had filled her halls with shimmering joy. He was wandering.
As she paced gracefully towards the hall-gates, her maid Fulla appeared at a side-door.
‘My lady, queen of Asgard,’ Fulla said with a formal curtsey. ‘Do you go without?’
Frigg inclined her head. ‘I am resolved to go up onto Hlidskialf this morning,’ she replied.
Fulla curtseyed again. The golden band she wore about her beautiful brow glistened in the dawn light. ‘Shall I accompany you?’ she asked.
Frigg shook her head. ‘I shall go alone,’ she replied. ‘I hope to scan the world for sign of my husband.’
‘My lord Odin has been away for many months,’ Fulla ventured.
Frigg nodded wordlessly. ‘Await my return,’ she said at last.
Outside her hall, the morning sun was fresh and bright, slanting down through the pines that surrounded the fens amongst which Frigg’s halls were built. A stone-paved roadway led through the trees, and she took this.
The air was warm and scented. High above the chilly worlds of ice and darkness, in the beaming light of the Sun, the woods and plains of Asgard were a temperate paradise. The Aesir had built their many dwellings in clearings and along the banks of streams and rivers. As Frigg walked alone up the winding road of Himinveg, she passed many palaces: Thrudheim, where the coppery tang of thunder hung in the air; Ydalir, down in a valley of yew-trees; Sokkvabekk, where Saga’s hall stood among the flooded banks of the River Rennandi; Gladsheim, near the centre of Asgard, and Valhalla, where her husband’s elite warriors fought mock-battles in the eaves of their mead-hall.