‘I know the Nidhogg of old,’ replied Gangrel. ‘I was sure I knew how he would react.’
Hal gazed back down the river. ‘Still, it was a close call,’ he said. ‘That thing could have swallowed us all in one gulp.’
The ship sailed on up the howling waters of the river Gioll. This river was narrower than the Slid, and faster; without the Nidhogg’s aid, progress was slow. The oars threshed vainly at the speeding waters, and they inched their way upstream.
Hal and Eric sat beside the rail, and watched the dark land slip past. ‘What do you think Gangrel means when he says he knows the Nidhogg of old?’ Hal asked in an undertone.
Eric shrugged. ‘He seems to know a lot of odd people,’ he replied. ‘And the more I learn of him, the less I feel I know him. He’s certainly not just the mad old hippie we knew back home.’
Home. Hal had not thought about Irby since meeting up with the others on the strand of corpses. Or… his family…
Seeing Hal’s doleful look, Eric glanced away. His eyes narrowed.
‘Look!’ he said. ‘On the south bank! They’re familiar.’
Hal followed his gaze. Riding alongside them, mounted on what looked like giant lizards, were ten or eleven black-armoured figures that clutched swords and spears.
‘Swart-elves!’ he said. ‘Gangrel!’
He turned to the old man, still standing in the stern. Gangrel nodded. ‘I have seen them,’ he said.
‘They’re following us,’ Eric said grimly.
8 BRIDGE OF DREAD
‘They’re more intelligent than the Nidhogg.’ Tanngrisnir glared at the swart-elves. ‘They know this ship isn’t ready to set sail yet. Come, Gangrel; can we not out-race them?’
Gangrel did nothing, but as if in answer to an unspoken command, the sails boomed again, and the oars quickened their pace. The swart-elves raced along the bank, shouting threats and war cries, brandishing their blades in wrath. A couple had bows, and they loosed arrows at the ship. One sank into the mast, another hit the side mere inches from Hal, who drew back hastily. Soon the gap between the ship and their pursuers was widening, until the swart-elves receded into the murky distance.
‘What are they doing in Hell?’ Hal asked. ‘Don’t the swart-elves have their own world?’
‘Indeed they do,’ Tanngrisnir replied. ‘And this river marks the border between Helheim and Svartalfaheim, as Grimnir said. That was a border patrol. Further south, beyond those high mountains’ -- he indicated the heights that fanged the dark skyline -- ‘lie the Dark Moon Plains, and Sindri’s Hall.’
‘But where is Svartaborg?’ Eric asked. ‘Where is Gwen?’
Tanngrisnir pointed towards the southeast, where the mountains vanished into obscurity. ‘Far from here,’ he told them, ‘at the very other end of the Dark Moon Fells. The Gioll comes down from the mountains there, at the Giallarfoss. That’s where we’ll find Gwen.’
‘Do you think those swart-elves knew who we are?’ Eric asked uneasily. ‘They might report back to base.’
Tanngrisnir nodded. ‘You may well be right, my friend,’ he replied quietly.
‘Then… even when we get to Svartaborg,’ Hal said slowly, ‘they could be waiting for us.’
The ship sailed on far up the river, its crew wrapped in brooding silence.
* * * * *
‘Don’t the dwarves have any way to fight the swart-elves?’ Gwen asked.
Ilmadis looked up. Gwen had been silent for a long time, deep in brooding thought. Now she turned to her companion. ‘They have their warriors, their footmen and cavalry,’ the slave replied.
‘But the swart-elves have these dragons,’ Gwen replied. ‘Don’t the dwarves have any way to deal with them?’ She searched her mind for the right expression. ‘Some kind of anti-aircraft system?’
Ilmadis looked helpless. ‘I know little of warfare,’ she replied. ‘Though legends say that one of the dwarf kindreds have alftarhamir, feathercloaks, like the one Freya uses to fly between the worlds…’
Gwen looked at her, as if about to speak. Before she could open her mouth, the doors burst open and Prince Helgrim strode in. His armour was spattered with mud and blood, his eyes were ablaze.
‘I return!’ he announced.
Gwen looked him up and down. ‘Greetings, mighty hero,’ she replied. Her sarcasm was lost on the swart-elf, who strutted like a barnyard cock.
‘I sent the dwarves fleeing for their rocks and caves and plains of mud!’ he bragged. ‘Tonight there will be a victory feast in the great hall! Soon my armies will ride out to crush the dwarves once and for all!’
‘Clever you,’ Gwen said tartly. ‘Do you expect me to be impressed? Those dragons did all the work.’
Prince Helgrim threw out his chest. He glowered down at her. ‘Aye, our allies are a great asset,’ he replied. ‘Yet it is I who am commander-in-chief.’ He paused. ‘This was not why I came hither.
‘Winged messengers reached me as I returned to the castle. They bore tidings from the northern marches of my father’s realm. A patrol has seen your friends. They sent a message by the signal towers…’
Unforeseen hope bloomed in Gwen’s heart. ‘My friends?’ she asked. ‘Eric, Hal, and the rest?’
‘Those from whom I took you, aye,’ the prince replied. ‘They were seen sailing out of Helheim in the Ship of the Dead.’
Gwen frowned uncomprehendingly at his ominous words. The Ship of the Dead?
‘Do you mean they are dead?’ she asked. She had thought she had come to accept their deaths, but this came as a shock.
Prince Helgrim shook his head. ‘It seems they have stolen the ship,’ he replied haughtily. ‘How they survived the maelstrom, I know not. Nor know I what they intend. But I have sent a contingent of dragon-riders to ensure they go no further. When next they crew Naglfar will be on the Day of Ragnarok!’
* * * * *
Rounding a bend in the river, Hal and his companions came to a narrows, where the cliffs of a ravine bulked against the black sky on either side. Spanning the ravine directly ahead was a bridge, which glittered gold in the dim witchfire that illuminated Helheim.
Standing upon the bridge, gazing into the darkness, was a tall female figure clad in armour of bronze. As Naglfar swept up the ravine, she turned her skeletal face in their direction.
‘Then is it time?’ Her voice resounded from the rocks.
Gangrel gazed up at her. ‘Of what time do you speak, Modgud?’
The skeletal maiden gazed down at him suspiciously. ‘I know that voice,’ she said. ‘O, whither have I heard it ere now? You are not the helmsman of Naglfar. Who are you? Why should I let you pass?’ She lifted up a spear, and poised it threateningly.
‘I am the helmsman’s brother in blood,’ Gangrel replied. ‘Can a brother not do a brother’s work?’
‘Surely you are of his blood,’ Modgud said, ‘for you sire the same progeny. Falsehoods are his offspring; yours also.’
‘My children are mighty lords,’ Gangrel said. ‘And free; all bar he who lodges with your mistress.’
‘Ah, the fair one,’ Modgud sighed gustily. ‘The bright one who dwells now in the land of darkness, illumines it with his beauty. Long shall he lodge with Lady Hel!’
‘One day shall he return to the lands of light,’ Gangrel warned, ‘when the world is renewed. Let me pass, and that day will be long in coming.’
Modgud was silent for a while, and the ship drew closer. Then she spoke again. ‘Pass, then, Old One,’ she replied, ‘For never do I wish to see the day when your fair son departs this land. I shall not hinder you.’
In silence, Gangrel guided the ship under the bridge.
‘So what do you reckon all that was about?’ Eric asked Hal, in a whisper.
Hal had been confused by the whole thing. ‘I haven’t a clue,’ he replied. ‘Should we ask him?’
He looked at Gangrel, who was still at the helm, his face grim and abstracted. ‘Perhaps another time,’ Eric told Hal. ‘Maybe we wouldn?
??t like the answer; assuming we could understand it.’
Beyond the bridge, the river grew narrower and the current more rapid. Although they remained on the borders between Helheim and the swart-elves’ world, it seemed to Hal that the river began curving towards the distant mountains in the south; the Dark Moon Fells, as Tanngrisnir called them.
The dwarf dozed by the rail. Gangrel still stood untiring at the sweep. Eric’s head was nodding. Hal felt tired, but somehow he couldn’t sleep. The chitinous deck was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t just that. An inexplicable feeling of foreboding gripped his heart with icy fingers.
Of course, the simple fact that he was sailing up a river in the land of the dead, swart-elves infesting one bank and walking corpses the other, might be enough to justify his fears. But it was something less tangible, less clear. He yawned, and tried to get more comfortable. Still sleep eluded him.
Finally, he got to his feet and began to pace the deck. Eric was asleep, and Tanngrisnir snored loudly nearby. Gangrel seemed lost in reverie. Hal went aft, and mooched about the prow.
He looked gingerly at the figurehead, which depicted a woman whose body was half-skeleton and half flesh. These people had unhealthy imaginations. Sighing, he gazed towards the distant mountains. Somewhere up there, Gwen was a prisoner of the swart-elves. Assuming she was still alive! Who knew what Prince Helgrim might have done to her, might be doing to her now…
He shuddered. He was getting morbid. Unsurprising, under these conditions.
Mist swirled around the ship, hung dankly on either bank. He gazed up at the black sky, wishing for a star or two; or even a familiar constellation. Where were they? Where could they be, where there were no stars? Gangrel said it was Hell, and that certainly figured. But where was Hell in relation to the world he had known?
This river flowed between two worlds, Gangrel said; the one on the left was Helheim, the one on the right was the world of the swart-elves. He had always thought worlds were divided by space, not by murky and unpleasant rivers. Space! Could that be where they were? Another planet, as he had thought on arrival? But even in outer space, there were stars.
He shook his head. Wherever they were, it was nowhere that people had dreamed of in his own world, his own time. He picked his way back up the deck, eyeing the oars as they moved in uncanny unison. In the stern, Gangrel stood gazing silently ahead.
‘Don’t you want to rest?’ Hal said awkwardly.
Gangrel looked down at him. ‘Rest?’ the old man asked.
‘Yes,’ Hal said. ‘You must be tired.’
Gangrel sighed. ‘I am tired,’ he replied in a soulful voice. ‘Wearied by years of struggle. I crave rest. But were I to relax my vigilance, who knows what chaos would result?’
Hal looked at him worriedly, not quite sure what he was talking about. ‘Everyone needs to rest sometime,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ll take the helm. I can’t sleep. Eric and Tanngrisnir are snoring. Why don’t you lie down and kip? It’ll all look better in the morning.’ He looked up at the black sky. ‘Not that they have mornings round here.’
Gangrel looked down at him. ‘I have brought you to a place beyond your worst imaginings,’ he said quietly.
Hal shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he replied with a forced smile. ‘It’s no worse than downtown Birkenhead on a Saturday night. But isn’t there anywhere better; out there?’
‘Oh yes,’ Gangrel replied. ‘The places we fight to preserve. Vanaheim, Alfheim; Asgard. One day, Hal, you will see Asgard and all this will seem worthwhile. The eternal struggle…’
He broke off, and peered up at the skies above. A whining scream split the night. Hal spun round. Tanngrisnir leapt up, his eyes bleary. Eric rose on one elbow.
‘What is it?’ he asked urgently.
Gangrel thrust a finger towards a group of dots descending swiftly from above. ‘Dragons! Coming from the world of the swart-elves. A sure confirmation of King Hrafnsvart’s alliance with Muspell and the fire giants!’
‘Never mind that, Grimnir!’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘We’re under attack!’
9 THE HOWLING RIVER
‘There’s no escape…’ Hal said, as the dragons swooped ever closer. He could see the swart-elf riders on their backs.
‘Courage, Hal!’ Gangrel reminded him. ‘We’ll find a way.’
‘Take one of these!’ Eric thrust a bow into Hal’s hand. The dragons were almost upon them. Gangrel stood poised with his spear as if it was a javelin. Eric handed Hal a sheaf of arrows.
Blue fire scorched the deck.
Looking up, Hal saw the closest dragon hovering directly above, its wings beating with terrible force, venom drooling from its jaws. Gangrel flung his spear.
It swooped straight at the dragon, sinking into its soft underbelly. With a wailing scream, the creature spun out of control, sending its rider pitching into the dark to crash into the waters with a hiss. Steam rushed up like fog.
Through the steam, Hal saw two more dragons swooping down. He notched an arrow and raised the bow. Squinting, he drew a bead on the closest dragon, which was hurtling towards him, fangs gleaming in its gaping mouth, venom spattering through the air. He loosed. The air hummed, and the dragon jerked in mid-air, to plunge into the river on the far side of the ship.
Eric feathered the next dragon. He looked to Hal with exhilaration and exultation in his eyes. ‘We’re winning!’ he said.
‘Do not be so certain,’ Gangrel said reprovingly. Hal saw in amazement that he had somehow recovered his spear.
Two dragons burst out of the mist on either side of the river, swooping in low, spraying their flight-paths with flammable venom. Tanngrisnir loosed, catching the left-hand attacker in the jaws, sending it spinning to a watery doom. But the other flew straight over the ship, spattering combustible venom as it did so. Too later, Gangrel spun and hurled his spear at the scaly beast. But already, fire was blazing fiercely on the deck, and the mast was burning.
Tanngrisnir bustled forward, holding his helmet by one horn. ‘Hal, you’re bigger than me,’ he cried. ‘Get water. We’ve got to put out that fire!’
As Hal rushed to obey, two more dragons roared down out of the sky. Eric turned on his heel and loosed another arrow.
Leaning over the rail, Hal bent down to the waters. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the clamour of battle right behind him, ignoring the fact that he was a sitting duck for any swart-elf dragon-rider, he filled Tanngrisnir’s helmet with Gioll-water, and heaved himself up.
The fire on deck was roaring now, and Hal gagged at the sickening smell. As he raced forward to put out the fire, Hal saw five dragons now circling above the ship, wreathing it in flame. Eric and Tanngrisnir filled the air with arrows but to no avail. Gangrel stood at the helm again, battling to force the ship out of reach of the onslaught.
Hal flung the contents of the helmet over the blazing deck. He heard a hiss, and steam rose. Hal looked critically at his work. Well, he had put out some of the fire…
‘Get more water!’ Tanngrisnir gasped from nearby. ‘Here! Give me that helmet!’
The dwarf seized the helmet and ran to the side where the rail was lowest. Hal grabbed his bow, and started loosing arrows at the dragons.
By now, only three dragons remained to fight, and they were wounded. As Gangrel urged the ship onwards, Hal saw that they were putting the remaining dragons behind them.
‘Victory!’ he cried. Eric gave him an old-fashioned look.
‘The ship’s still on fire,’ he pointed out.
Hal turned, and choked in the greasy black smoke. Tanngrisnir was flinging the contents of his helmet over the fire, but it had spread.
Eric handed Hal a leather bucket. ‘I found these in the hold,’ he added, waving another. ‘Let’s help Tanngrisnir.’ Hal and Eric leaned over the side to fill their buckets with the cold, dank waters of the river.
A short time later and they had extinguished the fire. But the ship was in a sorry state; its sides scorched and melted, its mast charred. The four
travellers stood in the stern, anticipating a second attack.
‘Why did they attack the ship?’ Hal asked. ‘The Nidhogg didn’t.’
‘Remember those swart-elves who saw us from the bank?’ Eric asked. ‘They must have sent word about us.’
‘So there is no doubt that the swart-elves have allied themselves with Muspell?’ Tanngrisnir asked Gangrel.
Gangrel nodded. ‘It is as we had feared,’ he said sombrely. ‘Alone, neither the fire giants nor the swart-elves pose any great threat to Asgard. But if they have forgotten their ancient feuds and now work side by side, we can only fear the worst.’ He gazed out into the darkness. ‘All we can hope is that the trolls and frost giants remain at odds with them. Were they all to unite, then Ragnarok would surely be nigh.’
‘Well, we’d better make sure that doesn’t happen, then,’ Hal said after a pause. As ever, he had not the slightest idea what Gangrel and Tanngrisnir were talking about, but it sounded pretty bad. ‘Maybe when we’ve rescued Gwen and got to the dwarf realm, things will look better.’
Gangrel laughed. ‘At least one of us is undeterred by the threat of impending doom,’ he said. ‘Your courage grows greatly, Hal. Let us hope it is sufficient to save us from evil.’
Half an hour later, Hal was sitting in the stern with Tanngrisnir and Eric. The dwarf was teaching them how to play a game rather like chess, which he called Hnefatafl.
‘What’s that noise?’ Eric asked, distracted. He lifted his head. Hal copied him. In the distance, he could hear a roaring sound.
‘It’s not the dragons, is it?’ he said.
Tanngrisnir looked up. He shook his head and rose. ‘Worse!’ he said. ‘Look!’
Hal and Eric got to their feet. At the steering oar, Gangrel stared ahead in concern.
A curtain of mist hung across the river ahead, and from this came the roaring, crashing sound of water tumbling over rapids. On either bank, Hal could see that the land was rising as they neared the mountains. The river tumbled over the cliffs, sending up mist in clouds.
‘How do we get through this, Gangrel?’ Hal asked tentatively.
* * * * *
‘Your friends live,’ Ilmadis said encouragingly.
Gwen looked doleful. ‘But not for much longer. They may already be dead.’
Ilmadis gave her a compassionate look. ‘They will survive,’ she murmured. ‘Maybe they will come and rescue you.’