‘Er, no,’ Gwen said, confused. ‘I’m from England.’ Then she remembered that Tanngrisnir had called Earth by the same name.
‘But you are… human?’ the light-elf frowned. ‘And yet you are to marry Prince Helgrim?’
‘I’m as much of a prisoner as you, Ilmadis,’ Gwen told her levelly. ‘But have you never considered escape?’
‘Oh, it is hopeless,’ Ilmadis replied in a dismal voice.
* * * * *
Mist hung over the dark landscape as Gangrel led the others onwards. Grit crunched beneath their feet, and strange rock formations loomed menacingly on either side.
After a journey of some miles, they had reached a vast rock, and Gangrel was leading them towards it. Hal wondered why the old man was heading straight towards a rock face. Then he saw a narrow crack in the lea of the rock, leading into the ground.
Following Gangrel, they squeezed through the crack, and to Hal’s surprise, he found it widening out into a high-roofed cavern. The gurgle of water on rock was audible in the distance, but closer up Hal heard the hissing of snakes.
‘Gangrel!’ he cried, peering into the gloom. ‘Where are you taking us?’
Ahead, the entire floor of the cavern was a mass of writhing serpents; smaller than the snakes that they had seen outside, but still lethal-looking.
‘Courage, Hal,’ the old man replied, looking back at them from the edge of the cavern floor. ‘They will not harm you unless provoked.’
They followed him across the cavern floor, picking their way gingerly through the nest of reptiles. The air was musty with the smell of snakes, and Hal glared in horror at the creatures as he passed among them.
But Gangrel was right; they reached the other side of the cavern without trouble. Here the cavern floor dipped, and a seething, steam-hung stream led out through a narrow tunnel. Gangrel, regardless, was already wading through the water towards it, and the other three followed. The water was hot, though not scalding. It seemed to Hal as if he was wading through some vast hot bath. Sweat poured down their faces as they waded through hot water and steam.
Beyond the cavern of serpents, the hissing and slithering sounds died away. But ahead of them, they could hear a roaring, punctuated by titanic screams that echoed through the passage, shaking the very foundations of the rock. The further they went, the louder the roars and screams grew, and Hal lost any lingering doubts about their location. This surely was Hell.
The fissure widened into a vast and misty cavern lit by the glow of guttering fires, and reeking of sulphur. Directly ahead, a gigantic figure lay bound and fettered to three rocks, one beneath its shoulders, one under its calves, and another under its thighs.
The fettered giant lay beneath another serpent that dangled down from the roof. Venom dribbled down from its open jaws, hissing and roaring and flaming in the close air of the cavern as it spattered down towards the giant. A second gargantuan figure crouched near the prisoner, dim and indiscernible in the choking mist, holding out a bowl to catch the falling venom. But when the bowl brimmed over, the second figure turned to empty it, and the seething venom struck the face of the giant, whereupon the bass roar that rumbled from his mighty chest broke off with an agonised scream, and the entire cavern rumbled.
The four travellers stepped into this frightful scene. Eric and Hal exchanged horrified glances. Tanngrisnir looked on more calmly, but his face was pale. Gangrel, however, showed no fear. He stepped up onto a rock near the fettered giant’s face, and called to him.
Slowly, the giant turned to face Gangrel, and Hal saw a vast, handsome face, marred only by scarred lips set in a bitter sneer.
‘Then is it you?’ the giant rumbled. ‘It has been long and long since you came to taunt me in my woe, Old One.’
‘Long since I felt any need, Father of Lies,’ Gangrel replied harshly. ‘Your sentence is well-merited. You encompassed my greatest loss.’
‘Lies! Vile calumnies!’ the giant roared. ‘I have proof! Unfetter me, and I will prove the accusation false!’ He screamed again, as serpent venom hissed down. ‘Hold that bowl straight, wife!’ he snarled at his companion.
‘I did not come to debate long-settled cases,’ Gangrel replied. ‘I seek knowledge.’
‘When did you ever seek aught else, Old One?’ the giant sneered. ‘What is it you wish to know now?’
‘Tell me what you have heard of Muspell,’ Gangrel commanded, ‘and of Muspell’s ship. I know that you... keep your ears to the ground.’
The giant cursed his inquisitor, but answered: ‘Muspell is said to be massing his armies, as is Prince Helgrim of Svartaborg. Muspell’s ship lies in the boatsheds of Hel, nine leagues hence. Almost complete.’ He looked cunningly at Gangrel. ‘Dead men’s nails come cheap this season. But why ask me? All know that you know all, Old One.’
Gangrel shook his head. ‘Not all,’ he replied. ‘None know all bar the Norns themselves. And they tell me only what they wish me to know. Thanks for your words, Father of Lies. I shall weigh them well, and see if it is truth or falsehood that makes them so heavy. Farewell.’
Gangrel leapt down from his rock, and splashed towards the arch. Behind him, the giant roared:
‘We will meet one last time, Old One! I shall steer Muspell’s ship, and my son will avenge my suffering! You are doomed, Old One!’
He broke off abruptly and screamed as his companion’s bowl spilled over, and venom sizzled down his face like hot fat. Bewildered and horrified, Hal followed the others from the cavern.
The rock shook around them.
6 SHIP OF THE DEAD
‘Who was that?’
Hal turned to Gangrel as they came out of the tunnel into the misty air. The old man returned his gaze calmly.
‘Who chained him up?’ Eric added. ‘And why?’
‘I fettered him,’ Gangrel replied quietly. ‘He worked me great woe. Come now, we have no time for discussion.’
Gangrel swept away across the rocks, and the others followed, wringing out their wet trouser legs as they went.
‘Tanngrisnir, do you know anything of this?’ Eric asked, as they followed the old man. ‘Hey, who was that guy back there? That giant…’
‘He has many names,’ the dwarf replied. ‘The Foretelling of the Norns says that he will be the steersman of Muspell’s ship - the Ship of the Dead - on the Day of Ragnarok.’
‘What day?’ Hal asked.
‘The end of the world,’ Eric said. ‘Remember? Gangrel told us about it.’
‘All right, so where are we going?’ Hal asked the dwarf. ‘If you’re so clever…’
Tanngrisnir shrugged. ‘I know little,’ he replied. ‘But from our enigmatic companion’s conversation, it seems we go to the boatsheds of Hel, nine leagues hence. There the Ship of the Dead lies at anchor.’
‘The Ship of the Dead?’ Hal asked.
‘Gangrel said we’d be going by ship…’ Eric said.
‘Come on, let’s catch him up!’ Hal said excitedly. He bounded off after the striding figure ahead. Eric and Tanngrisnir followed less enthusiastically.
They caught Gangrel up at the crest of a ridge. The old man stood atop an outcrop, surveying the dark land below. Hal reached his side, and followed his gaze as Eric and Tanngrisnir scrambled up to join them.
‘There lie the boatsheds of Hel,’ Gangrel said sombrely, indicating a distant spot on the murky horizon.
Below them was a plain, a vast, sterile waste of boulders and cold grey sand, where mist swirled eerily. The ridge on which they stood curved away on either side in an irregular crescent that dwindled into the distance, ringing either side of the wide plain. The plain itself ended far ahead, at the edge of a murky river that plunged down the hillside and threaded in the direction of the ocean, on the skyline.
A building, or a complex of buildings, stood on the strand. Hal could see a number of ships in the waters nearby.
‘That’s where we’re going?’ he asked. He scanned the plain. ‘It’s a long way.’
/> ‘Almost nine leagues,’ Tanngrisnir murmured. As far as Hal could work out, a league was about two or three miles.
‘How do we get down there?’ Eric asked.
‘This way,’ Gangrel said. He led them quickly down a winding path so narrow Hal had not noticed it.
The path led them down the side of the cliff, winding back and forth down the basalt face. The icy wind sliced at their numb bodies as they scrabbled down the ledge. After a quarter of an hour, much to their relief, they reached the base of the cliffs, where grey shale and grit stretched into the murk. The wind had dropped, and they began to cross the dead plain in silence, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps.
Visibility was limited. Clammy mist and fog hung in curtains on either side, although Hal could see no water nearby. Eric suggested the mist was there simply ‘to be nasty.’ They walked for a long time.
‘When we reach the boatsheds of Hel,’ Gangrel told them later, in a more voluble mood, ‘we must rush the main shed, and seize the Ship of the Dead; Naglfar.’
‘How will we know which one’s which?’ Eric asked, practically.
‘Naglfar is made of dead men’s nails,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘True, Grimnir?’
‘That is true,’ Gangrel replied. Eric made a sound of repugnance.
‘Easy to recognise, then,’ Hal said. A thought struck him. ‘Is that what the giant meant, about dead men’s nails being cheap?’
‘He meant that the doom of Ragnarok is near us,’ Gangrel replied. ‘The forces of chaos are on the brink of unleashing their armies; and their navies. The Ship of the Dead is the flagship of Hel’s undead fleet. Unless we can halt their advance, all the worlds will be destroyed.’
‘We’ve got to stop them!’ Hal said.
‘We will set them back a little if we seize their ship,’ Tanngrisnir said.
‘My plan precisely,’ Gangrel replied. ‘And Naglfar will speed the first stage of our journey to Sindri’s Hall; where another weapon in the war against chaos awaits its forging.’
‘Do you mean this Runeblade?’ Hal asked. Gangrel nodded. ‘But what do we do then?’
‘That remains to be seen,’ Gangrel replied. ‘No more discussion now. We are almost there.’
Another mile and they were nearing the cliffs. The silent ocean lay before them, but they could see that the boatsheds below were an anthill of activity. Among the buildings, thin-limbed beings scurried about with jerky, insect-like movements. As the four travellers drew closer to the cliff edge, Hal gasped.
‘Those things…’ he said. Eric nodded queasily.
‘To be expected, in the world of the Straw-Dead,’ Tanngrisnir reminded them.
‘But it’s impossible,’ Hal said. He gazed down at the horrific scene.
The workers among the boatsheds were animated skeletons.
* * * * *
‘What if we knocked out the guard?’ Gwen said suddenly.
‘Ma’am?’ Ilmadis said, looking up at her. She was sitting on the bed while Gwen restlessly walked up and down.
‘Knock out the guard!’ Gwen repeated. ‘It works in all the films. We wait until the guard comes, with food or whatever, then I hide behind the door and knock him out when he comes in. Then you put on his uniform and pretend I’m your prisoner… and we escape like that.’
Ilmadis looked at her fearfully. ‘But surely they would know that neither of us were swart-elves,’ she replied. ‘And why would the guard come here in the first place?’
‘Well, to feed us, like I said,’ Gwen replied. But the plan, which had seemed such a good one when it had occurred to her, sounded silly now she had said it aloud. ‘All right! If you’ve got a better idea…’
Ilmadis spread her arms helplessly. ‘Perhaps…’ she said tentatively, ‘perhaps it will not be so bad a life, being queen…’
‘I’m not marrying that creep!’ Gwen flared.
‘… better than being a slave,’ Ilmadis added hollowly.
Gwen regretted her temper. She sat down beside the elf. ‘You just wait,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ll find a way out. I’ll free you.’
Ilmadis looked at her with such an expression of hopelessness that Gwen looked away in confusion. Restless, she jumped back up, and went to the window.
Below, the plains of Svartalfaheim were dark. By craning her neck, she could just see the swart-elf town at the foot of the castle. Thin, remote voices drifted up on the wind. Figures marched back and forth along the narrow, winding streets. Across the plain, long lines of cavalry and infantry were converging on the town.
The swart-elf armies were gathering.
‘Ma’am!’
Gwen leapt down and turned to Ilmadis. ‘What is…’ she began, but the elf-girl put a finger to her lips.
‘Listen!’ she hissed. Footsteps rang in the corridor outside.
‘Is it the guard?’ Gwen asked. Ilmadis shrugged.
Gwen sprang to one side of the door. She listened to the approaching footsteps.
‘All right, Ilmadis,’ she said to the girl. ‘You just sit there. When the guard comes in, try to distract him.’ She hunted round, wishing she had something she could knock the guard over the head with, but the room was distinctly lacking in blunt instruments.
The footsteps clattered to a halt outside the door.
Gwen leant back against the wall, feeling the rough stone ice-cold against her skin. She felt a tightness in her chest, and inhaled hoarsely. What if the guard heard her breathing?
A key scraped in the lock.
Gwen pressed herself harder against the wall, as if trying to burrow herself into it. Too late, she saw the torch on the wall; she could have used that to knock out the guard. Too late!
The door rumbled slowly open, blocking Gwen’s view of the entrance. She held her treacherous breath, and glanced over at Ilmadis, sitting on the bed and gazing wide-eyed in shock at the open door.
‘Where is she? Have you not prepared the human girl for her nuptials?’
Gwen leapt out from behind the door, and flung herself at the swart-elf, bowling him over. He fell to the floor in a clatter of armour, and Gwen leapt astride him, searching round for something to brain him with.
He looked up, scowling, and Gwen gasped. It was Prince Helgrim!
Rushing footsteps from the doorway and a shriek from Ilmadis alerted Gwen. She turned to see swart-elf guards bursting in, levelling pikes at her. Beneath her, Prince Helgrim laughed.
‘Do not slay her!’ he cried. He seized Gwen’s wrist, flung her to one side, and rose in one fluid movement.
‘By Hel, she is eager for my embrace!’ he crowed, and his guards laughed. Gwen looked up from the floor.
‘That’s the last thing on my mind,’ she spat.
Prince Helgrim ignored her. He glanced at Ilmadis. ‘Out!’ he barked, seizing her and flinging her towards the door. The swart-elves hustled the slave into the passage beyond.
The door slammed shut.
Prince Helgrim turned to Gwen. He extended a hand. Gwen batted it away and rose, brushing herself down. She halted as Prince Helgrim gripped her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.
‘And now we are alone, my dear,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Again!’
Gwen returned his gaze with naked terror.
* * * * *
‘Okay then,’ Hal was saying. ‘So we get aboard the ship. Who knows anything about sailing?’
‘I do,’ Gangrel replied.
‘As do I,’ Tanngrisnir added. ‘Have you already forgotten our journey here?’
‘This is a ship, not a boat,’ Eric said. ‘Surely a ship needs a bigger crew than four people.’
‘Naglfar is no ordinary ship,’ Gangrel said. ‘Once we are aboard it will be a simple matter to sail her. But first we must get to her without being detected.’
‘Down there?’ Eric asked. He shivered, watching the distant skeletal figures as they scurried about the buildings.
‘Come on, then,’ Hal said, and led them down the cliff.
/>
As they came closer to the boatsheds, they began to move more stealthily, dodging from one outcrop to the next. The walking skeletons seemed to lack any intelligence, going about their tasks mechanically, like robots. However, Gangrel was certain that others would be in the vicinity, who would pose greater problems.
There were four boatsheds; the largest and furthest away being where the old man thought they would find the ship. As the four travellers crept through the shadows in the lea of the first shed, Hal saw that each building was directly at the edge of the strand, standing over a pool or inlet in which the boats lay at anchor. A few others bobbed out in the waters, or lay on the osseous shingle.
Skeletons strode about on either side, bony feet clicking like castanets as they clattered over the skulls that littered the beach. The four travellers sneaked round the first boatshed, keeping in the shadows. Occasionally, parties of skeletons would clatter past, eye-sockets staring emptily into the middle-distance. Although terrifying in appearance, they seemed to pose no threat to Hal and his companions.
‘Watch out!’ Eric hissed. ‘Look!’
A serpent was slithering down from the nearby cliffs. It halted about a hundred yards away from the crouching figures, raising its blunt head and tasting the air.
‘Does it know we’re here?’ gasped Hal. Tanngrisnir hefted Helbrand. The snake slithered on across the bony strand, towards the largest boatshed.
‘Between us and the ship…’ Gangrel cursed.
‘What now, Grimnir?’ Tanngrisnir asked. Gangrel seemed uncertain.
‘It didn’t see us, did it?’ Eric said. ‘I reckon we keep going.’
Cautiously, they followed the serpent. It whipped through an archway on the leeward side of the boatshed, and vanished into the gloom.
‘It’s in there,’ Hal said. ‘It might ambush us!’
Eric shook his head. ‘There’s no other way,’ he said. ‘I reckon we follow, and trust to luck.’ Tanngrisnir grunted dubiously, as if he thought this unduly optimistic.
‘Come, then,’ Gangrel said firmly. They approached the arch.
As they came closer, figures moved in the gloom within. At first, Hal thought they were more skeletons, but as they stepped out into the comparative light of the beach, he saw that they were something else.