An instant later the other elves were fleeing too. Gurthrunn’s sudden arrival and furious assault had been too much for them and they were running through the trees screeching and screaming in terror. Gurthrunn crashed through the undergrowth in pursuit, roaring again as if calling the dark elves to turn and fight him. None would; they ran on even faster as he charged after them.
Moving over to Hild, Anna pulled her to her feet and then went to help Ellette, relieved to see that the little girl’s arm wound was only a scratch and that nobody else was hurt. All of them, including Anna herself, were shocked by what had happened. They had heard stories of battles as told around the fire on a winter’s night. Such tales were exciting and heroic, but they never mentioned how afraid the warriors were in a battle, nor how terrifying fighting could be.
Gurthrunn returned after a short while and stomped through the brambles towards the children. He came straight to Anna.
“Do you have the horn?” he asked without any introduction or comment.
Finding that her throat was still too dry to speak, Anna simply nodded.
“Come!” he ordered and continued to march towards the fort, then turned and followed its base, making for the entrance away to the south. The children stared after him, each of them suddenly afraid of the mighty dwarven warrior.
“It is all right, you are safe,” Raedann said as he saw their expressions.
“But ... but did you see what he d-d-did,” Hild stuttered.
Raedann put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What do you expect? Gurthrunn is a dweorg. He is not human, but take heart, child, he is a fearsome enemy of the dark elves and of those who set themselves against the Aesir - against the gods in Asgard. Long ago the gods trusted his race to create their greatest treasures - the Brisingamen of Freya, the hammer of Thunor and the spear of Woden, and many others. They do not merely forge the artefacts; they maintain a link to them. They will guard them ferociously. Or, when they feel that one has been misused or stolen, they will stop at nothing to recover it.”
Anna’s hand drifted to the horn at her belt and Raedann, seeing the gesture, nodded. “Yes, Anna, I mean the horn .... Come, let us follow him,” he added with no further explanation.
Feeling suddenly dizzy, Anna swayed on her feet. If Raedann was right then the horn was not just a pretty object of value, but something that had been made for and used by the gods. So how had it got here and how had it ended up in the Roman villa? With these questions echoing through her head, she stumbled after the traveller, wondering what new secrets the day would bring.
Gurthrunn was waiting for them at the bottom of a path that led upwards into the fort. The fort itself was built up in three levels, each one smaller than the one below: concentric circles one on top of another. Raedann had told them that in those distant days when the old people lived here, the hillside would have been bare and from its heights an ancient chieftain could have looked out on the surrounding lands and watched an enemy army approach. Today, a forest had grown up around it and the trees hid much of the fortress. The fort’s fences had long since rotted away leaving only mounds of earth, yet it was still steep-sided and the only easy way in was by the path. This cut through the first embankment and then circled the fort a quarter of the way round, before passing through another cutting on the east side of the second level.
Gurthrunn paused here and went over to the edge of the outer embankment to gaze down into the woodland. Anna realised he was looking at the spot where they had earlier fought the svartálfar and it must have been from this height that the dwarf had jumped to join them. It looked a long way down. The trees below were quiet and other than the bodies of the three dark elves they had killed in the battle, there was no sign of the enemy that had pursued them. Even the ravens seemed to have disappeared.
Gurthrunn grunted and without a word led them through the cutting and onward, making another quarter turn to the left, to a point high above where they had first entered the fort. A further gap in the embankment here provided a way into the third and final level.
Here there stood a small, round hut amongst the crumbled foundations of a dozen more. The single intact building had obviously been built in more recent times as the timbers did not show much sign of damage by rain or wind. Smoke spiralled skyward from an opening in the thatched roof. The dwarf opened the door and beckoned them to enter
The interior was gloomy and it took a few moments for Anna’s eyes to adapt to the half light. A flame flared up over the embers of a fire in a pit on the other side of the room. Gurthrunn had lit a taper from the fire and now used it to ignite a candle lamp. He placed the lamp upon a table to the side of the hut and then gestured that they should all sit on benches on the opposite side.
“I forget just how poor human eyes are in the dark. We dweorgar prefer gloom to the bright light of day, but I know that your type likes light. Come, sit and we shall eat some roast fowl I caught earlier and drink a little mead.”
The roast birds had been hanging over the embers cooking slowly all day, the dwarf told them, suddenly talkative despite his earlier gruffness. He cut the birds in half and handed a portion to each of them. As she bit into hers, Anna realised how hungry she was: they had not eaten all day. The meat was delicious. The mead that Gurthrunn poured into each of their drinking horns was just as sweet as the honey from which it was made. For a while the only noise was the slapping of lips, slurping of mead and contented groans.
“Now then,” Gurthrunn said after they had eaten. “Let me just pop a couple of logs on the fire and then we can talk. You will be wanting to know about that horn I daresay.”
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Anna nodded, pulling the horn from her belt and examining it again in the flickering firelight.
“What is it? Raedann said it was made by your people for the ... well, the gods. Is that true?” she asked the dwarf.
His face illuminated by a faint golden glow from the horn, he nodded. “Yes. We made many such items in the days when the worlds were young and the gods young too. The gods desired the strength and the wisdom to govern and what we forged for them helped them in those tasks. They loved the magical things we created and guarded the artefacts carefully. Yet there are those amongst them who are jealous, who would take from them all that they could: their lives and their power as well as their possessions. One of their own - the God Loki - has ever been envious of the other gods and has always worked to bring them down, stealing what he could and harming them. For his crimes Loki was imprisoned by Woden until the end of time, and yet he still interferes and plots and he has servants who would do his bidding and try to free him.”
Gurthrunn got up and finding a stave used it to poke the fire into life. As the embers glowed and ash flew up into the air, he used the metal rod to point at the horn.
“That is the horn of the God Heimdall, the gatekeeper of the gods. With it one can open and close gateways between Asgard and Midgard. Indeed, it can open up the pathways between all of the Nine Worlds. That is a power all the treasures have, for that is how the gods are able to move amongst the stars when mere mortals cannot. Each treasure has its own unique power. The horn can also summon forth an army to fight at its wielder’s command. As such it is a potent device and in the wrong hands would be devastating.”
Anna’s hands shook as she held the horn. It hardly seemed possible that it had been held by a god; that a god had put it to his lips and blown into it!
“What ... I mean, how did it get here?”
“That was Loki’s doing. I told you that he has servants. He can be charming and persuasive when he wants to be and many beings have fallen under his spell. Many have been promised wealth and power if they will help him to overthrow the other gods. Mortals mostly, but immortals too: beings like Valkyries.”
“The riders of the gods?” Wilburh said.
The dwarf nodded. “Indeed. Those that choose who will live and die in battle and then carry the souls of the slain to V
alhalla to feast with Woden. That at least is what they are supposed to do. A noble task indeed. But some of the Valkyries were dissatisfied. Loki whispered in their ears and promised many things and some listened to him and agreed to serve him. One day they rode into Asgard and stole many of the precious items we had made for the gods. They took them and hid them amongst the Nine Worlds, ready for the day their master would use them.”
“I don’t imagine the gods were very happy about that,” Raedann commented, his eyes bright with excitement as he listened to the tale. Anna could imagine he was making up a new story to tell on his journeys.
Gurthrunn shook his head solemnly. “No, they were not. Furious would be a fair word to describe them. A battle ensued between Loki and the gods. Loki lost and he and his followers were imprisoned deep in the dungeons of the underworld. But the items were still lost and Loki and his helpers refused to say where they were hidden.”
The dwarf fell silent, gazing into the glowing embers of the fire. After a moment he continued, “Many items had been stolen, including the Brisingamen of Freya, Woden’s spear, Thunor’s hammer and the horn of Heimdall. The gods came to us - to the creators - for help, believing that since we had made the treasures we could perhaps track them down. We were tasked to locate the items and bring those who stole them to justice. That is what I am doing here in Midgard. It is the reason I am living in this hut.”
“So the horn was brought here by one of Loki’s followers?” Hild asked, hardly daring to look at the dwarf, of whom it seemed she was still afraid. “That is why you are here - to find it?”
Nodding, the dwarf pointed again at the horn. “One way that we track the treasures down is to listen to tales about magical items. I came across one such tale told in the taverns of Rome. It seems that when the Romans were living near here one of them went digging in an ancient barrow a few miles north of Scenestane. He wrote a letter about it to his brother back in Italy, saying that he had tried to open the sealed door to the barrow, but found that whatever he did he could not get it open. His tools would break and snap. He almost gave up, but then he came across a number of holes around the back of the barrow, probably dug out by a badger. Although the animal had long since gone, its sett had weakened the surface and there had been a cave-in. The Roman dug his way into the barrow from that side and found himself breaking into an underground chamber. In it he found precious coins and gems and ... a horn. It was a golden horn of great beauty. Yet when he blew it the Roman could not get any note from it. He took it home and everyone in his family had a go, but no one could get even a squeak out of it. He promised to bring the horn on a visit to his brother, but he never returned to Rome. The story goes that one day there was a terrible earthquake and the villa collapsed. Soon afterwards the Roman army in Britannia marched away to their wars and abandoned the country and so no one ever repaired the villa.”
“But that was hundreds and hundreds of years ago,” Anna remarked looking wide-eyed at the dwarf and wondering just how old he was.
“So you came here looking for a ruined villa?” Lar grinned, “Rather a lot of them about here aren’t there?”
Gurthrunn grunted. “Indeed. So I discovered. I was beginning to search them one by one when to my surprise, last night I heard a sound clear across the valley. I knew that the horn had been found and it had been sounded. Now all I had to do was track it down.”
“Several of us tried to play that horn,” Ellette said peevishly, “but only Anna could get it to sound. Why was that?”
Gurthrunn fiddled with his beard as he seemed to ponder the question. “The horn is magical, child. We designed it to be used by gods and also by one type of person in moments of great need. A mortal might be able to get it to sound, might be able to use it, if they were the right type.”
“What type?” they chorused.
“A champion: a leader of warriors in battle - a captain.”
There was a sudden silence as they all stared at Anna. She looked around at their astonished faces then down at the horn and then back up again.
“Me?” she asked in a small voice.