‘So Tanngrisnir is now accompanied by another renegade,’ Eikinskialdi was shouting. ‘It does not mean that he is a traitor. We have heard word how Princess Mordis’ cousin, the evil Prince Helgrim, imprisoned her. Now she has joined the side of good.’
‘Who can trust a turncoat?’ Brokk sneered. ‘Who knows when they might betray you? You heard what Tanngrisnir said concerning Althiof!’
‘Then you admit that Tanngrisnir’s tale is true?’ Dvalinn asked slowly. ‘That Princess Mordis has joined forces with Tanngrisnir?’
‘What? Why, clearly,’ Brokk spluttered, disconcerted.
‘So Tanngrisnir is proved to be a faithful servant of Aurvangar!’ Eikinskialdi barked. Brokk fell silent.
Hal seized his opportunity. ‘Look, this really isn’t important!’ He was conscious of the dwarves all turning to look up at him. ‘First off, the swart-elves are planning an attack on you. What are you going do to fight them? They’ve got dragons…’
‘We know this,’ Eikinskialdi interrupted. ‘My warriors attacked Svartaborg. They were defeated.’
‘How can we fight dragons?’ Dvalinn asked quietly. ‘Better to buy off the swart-elves with the gold that is so common in this stretch of the river.’
‘But if we pay them tribute once,’ Brokk argued, ‘we will have to buy them off again and again, until we entirely lose the advantage gained in the days of Lofar, when we seized possession of the river banks. We cannot allow them to hold us to ransom!’
Eikinskialdi spread his hands. ‘Then will your kindred fight?’ he asked with a harsh laugh. ‘For the warrior Sons of Lofar confess themselves beaten, now that the swart-elves can field dragons. The only means I know of to counter this threat lies in the hoard of the Niflungs. And who would dare return to Niflheim to seek it?’
‘Just a minute!’ Hal broke in, impatient. ‘I didn’t come here to listen to you lot bickering. Gangrel - Grimnir, as you call him - wanted me to come here for one reason, and one reason only. You dwarves are the only people who can forge the Runeblade; it’ll be forged by the king of smiths.’
He looked at the three chieftains in turn, so angry at their bickering that he forgot all the dwarves watching him, forgot all self-consciousness. He had failed Gangrel, left him behind - to die, it seemed - in Svartaborg. But he was going to make up for it. If Gangrel had wanted him to become the bearer of the Runeblade, he would do it, even if he didn’t really know what to do. But he needed to convince these dwarves to do their duty.
‘Very well, then,’ said Dvalinn, reasonably. ‘I will set my smiths to work upon it.’
‘Your smiths?’ Brokk spat. ‘In all the worlds, my kindred are the kings of smithcraft! Why should your botchers take on this great work?’
‘Silence!’ Eikinskialdi roared. He turned to Hal. ‘The dwarves agree to forge this great sword. But on the condition that you fulfil a service for us first.’
Before Hal could ask what the dwarf chieftain meant, a messenger came hurrying into the hall. It was unusual to see dwarves moving quickly, and the sight did not inspire confidence. The dwarf waddled to a halt before the Doom-Ring.
‘Chieftains!’ he gasped, his face purple with exertion.
‘Aye, Hornbori?’ asked Eikinskialdi. ‘What is it?’
‘The swart-elves are coming!’
3 COUNCIL OF WAR
The background chatter of the hall ceased. Silence descended, until only the crackle of the hall-fires was audible.
‘What are their positions? Their numbers?’ Eikinskialdi demanded.
‘They have issued out from Svartaborg,’ Hornbori replied. ‘The message came by the beacons. It sounds as if the whole host is on the move - Prince Helgrim’s entire army. They number thousands. Renegade dwarves, trolls, and dragons make up their auxiliaries.’
‘Dragons!’ Eikinskialdi cursed. ‘What can we do against dragons?’
‘Send out messengers,’ Dvalinn commanded. ‘Inquire as to why they ride out in such numbers, and offer them gifts to keep them away from our dwellings.’
‘This is war,’ Eikinskialdi replied. ‘In such time, my authority as war-chief is paramount. We shall not treat with them. As Brokk says, that will only worsen the situation.’
‘The swart-elves are intent on driving us out of their world,’ Tanngrisnir broke in. ‘What need do they have for our gold if they can force us from Aurvangar with steel? Then they would have all the gold they desire.’
Eikinskialdi arose, and paced up and down the dais. Finally, he turned, and rapped out: ‘Tell the warriors to harry the advancing army. Do not engage them in battle, but make lightning attacks on their flanks, withdrawing as soon as they show signs of massing against us. And at all costs, avoid the dragons.’
‘They’re not invincible,’ Hal told him. ‘I killed one before. Stab them in the belly, that’s where they’re weakest.’ He told them about his fight.
Eikinskialdi listened intently. ‘Ensure that this intelligence is passed on to all our warriors,’ he told Hornbori. ‘Immediately!’
Hornbori turned, and rushed from the hall.
‘This is ill news,’ Brokk said. ‘What will you do to defeat them, Son of Lofar? Raiding their flanks will not be enough. Soon their dragon-riders will be flying over Aurvangar. What then?’
Eikinskialdi sat down again, and stroked his beard meditatively. Hal turned to his companions. ‘We should have kept those dragons,’ he told them. ‘If we had, then the dwarves would stand a chance.’
‘If they had not slain us out of hand as we landed,’ Tanngrisnir reminded him. He was watching Eikinskialdi.
The dwarf chieftain rose. He turned to Hal and the others. ‘Before Hornbori entered, I was about to ask somewhat of you,’ he told them. ‘In return for the forging of the Runeblade, I wish you to do somewhat. Know you aught of Niflheim?’
Hal shook his head. Mordis sighed loudly. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘It is the world of mist, and lies south of here. It is the world from which you dwarves came to loot the richest lands in the swart-elf kingdom.’
Brokk grimaced. ‘What attempts had your folk made to mine or even pan for gold?’ he demanded. ‘Sindri, Lofar and Ivaldi seized these lands from you by right of conquest, and put them to better use! Now that you know of their riches, you want them back. But it is more fitting that the dwarves retain them.’
‘You won’t have them for long if you don’t do something about my cousin’s armies,’ Mordis replied snidely.
‘That’s enough of that!’ Hal said angrily. He looked at Eikinskialdi. ‘So Niflheim is where the dwarves came from? What about it?’
‘As has been mentioned,’ Eikinskialdi mentioned, with a glower at Brokk, ‘ages ago, Lofar led a dwarven exodus into this world, fleeing the depredations of the trolls, attracted mainly by the gold-rich silts of this stretch of the Gioll. But not all the dwarves came with him. Those whom we know as the Niflungs, the people of the mist, remained in Niflheim, at Salarsteini by Svarin’s Howe, in the old dwarf kingdom. We have heard little of them for many years. Even then, the trolls were threatening Salarsteini. We fear that the kingdom of the dwarves fell long ago…’
‘But what’s this got to do with defeating the swart-elves?’ Hal had heard quite enough ancient history. More pressing concerns interested him.
‘The hoard of the Niflungs was justly famous,’ Eikinskialdi continued, ‘and I believe echoes of its legend reached even your own world at one time. King Alfrek owned many rich and magical artefacts - helms of invisibility, spears of destiny, rings of power… and the alftarhamir, feathercloaks, magical garments that imbued the wearer with the ability to fly. The Niflungs kept thirteen of these in the Niflung hoard at Salarsteini. If the Norns are kind to us, they will still be thither.’
‘But you said the trolls sacked the old dwarf kingdom,’ Hal objected. ‘Won’t they have taken the cloaks?’
Eikinskialdi shrugged eloquently. ‘We do not know for certain that Salarsteini fell,’ he replied. ‘We have had no con
tact from our cousins for many ages, but who knows? Besides, it is our only chance. If we are to so much as equal the swart-elf forces, we must have aerial troops.’
‘What we need is the RAF,’ Eric muttered.
‘Shut up, Eric,’ Gwen said. She turned to Hal, who was deep in thought. ‘Like he says, it’s our only hope. Unless the dwarves can defeat the swart-elves, they won’t be able to forge the Runeblade. And we must make sure they do. For Gangrel’s sake.’
Hal looked at her with tormented eyes. ‘What if the trolls took these feathercloaks? It’ll be no more than a wild-goose chase...’ He sighed. ‘Very well,’ he told Eikinskialdi. ‘We will go into Niflheim, to Salarsteini. If we can find these feathercloaks, we’ll return at once.’
‘My thanks,’ the dwarf chieftain replied. ‘Meanwhile, my warriors must find some way to delay the swart-elf advance. For the moment, our lightning attacks should soften them, but it is a tactic that will soon become ineffective, as the swart-elves grow to expect them.’
‘What if you send out, say, half your forces to meet them in the middle of the plains?’ Eric suggested suddenly. ‘Fight a pitched battle, then retreat and lead them away from Aurvangar for a while - long enough for us to get these feathercloaks. Then they can retreat towards Aurvangar – hopefully, the swart-elves will find it tough going over these muddy fields - where the other half of your force can encircle them. Then in comes the aerial division.’
Gwen looked admiringly at Eric. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said. Hal nodded. He was unaccustomed to such earnestness from Eric.
Eikinskialdi nodded ponderously. ‘A good battle plan,’ he said, and Eric grinned. ‘You are clearly a seasoned general!’
Eric shrugged. ‘Just played a few strategy games on my computer,’ he muttered, embarrassed.
‘News from the front!’ Another dwarf messenger came rushing in. ‘Dragons have wiped out almost all our forces! They were prepared for our attacks, and pursued the raiders with dragons. Barely any survive!’
He stood gasping in the centre of the hall, gazing up at Eikinskialdi piteously. The war-chief took the news calmly enough. ‘We must readjust our tactics,’ he said. ‘Tanngrisnir!’
‘Aye, chief?’ asked Tanngrisnir.
‘It is time for you to wipe out the blot on your honour! Go to the barracks and gather enough troops to keep the swart-elf army occupied. Take Dolgthrasir with you, as your lieutenant. Then ride out and meet them in the plain. Follow your human friend’s plan.’
‘Aye, chief,’ Tanngrisnir replied. He turned, gave a curt nod to Hal and the others, and then bustled hurriedly from the hall, followed by a glowering Dolgthrasir.
‘Brokk, Dvalinn,’ Eikinskialdi commanded, ‘get your folk to start producing arrowheads, spearheads, and the like. We may well need to call on every able-bodied dwarf in Aurvangar to stave off this incursion. And while you’re about it, prepare to forge the Runeblade.’
‘That honour should be mine!’ Brokk hissed.
‘My people are the greater smiths…’ Dvalinn countered quietly.
‘Cease arguing and get to work,’ the war-chief barked.
Favouring him with resentful looks, the two chieftains rose from their seats and went to muster their folk. Soon the hall was bustling again, as the dwarves prepared for war.
Hal, Gwen, Eric, Ilmadis and Mordis - and her wolves - were left alone. Eikinskialdi approached them. ‘You see how urgent it is that we have these feathercloaks?’ he asked.
Hal nodded. ‘Certainly. We’ll go to Niflheim at once. But you must tell us how to get there.’
Eikinskialdi nodded. ‘Follow me,’ he told them, and led them into a curtained side-chamber off the bustling hall. Within was an oaken desk, covered with parchments. The war-chief opened a drawer, and produced a scroll.
‘This is a map of the worlds inhabited by dwarf-folk,’ he told them, as it cracked and crumbled in his hands. ‘It is ancient - once it belonged to Lofar himself. It is doubtless out of date. But it shows Aurvangar, and it shows Salarsteini. Look.’
Hal bent over the crumbling old parchment. The map was faint, and the crabbed writing seemed to be in runes of some kind, but he recognised the Dark Moon Fells, and the River Gioll winding through the plains. A little picture of a hall marked Aurvangar.
‘Follow the line of the River Gioll to the south,’ Eikinskialdi told him. Hal did so, and saw that it led straight out of the circle that represented Svartalfaheim, and into another world - that of Niflheim. This seemed to consist chiefly of mountain ranges. They surrounded a large wellspring from which flowed many rivers, including the Gioll. But Eikinskialdi was pointing at another hall, which overlooked the wellspring at the point from which the Gioll flowed.
‘Yonder lay Salarsteini in days of yore, near the wellspring Hvergelmir and beneath the northernmost root of Yggdrasil, from whence flow the rivers of the worlds,’ the dwarf rumbled. ‘What is there now, we cannot say.’
‘What’s this about trolls?’ Eric asked, looking over Hal’s shoulder.
‘The old dwarf kingdom was plagued by troll raids for much of its history,’ Eikinskialdi replied. ‘They sailed up the wide, icy waters of the Elivagar from Jotunheim, and the dwarves marched valiantly against them on many occasions.’
Hal saw a little picture of a fleet of galleys manned by hideous monsters, sailing down the rivers towards the wellspring. At the very edge of the map, he saw a range of impossibly high mountains.
‘And they might be at Salarsteini now?’ he asked.
Eikinskialdi shrugged again. ‘The fate of the old dwarf kingdom is a mystery. Some moralists say they were eaten up by their own greed for gold. Be that as it may, they concerned themselves less and less with Aurvangar. If it was the trolls who destroyed them, then doubtless they were the victims of their own greed. The dwarf instinct to hoard treasure is second only to that of dragons. Yet alas, as a folk, we lack the fighting strength of dragon kind. This is why the swart-elves ride against us now.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Hal said quickly. ‘So we follow the Gioll up into the mountains until we reach its source. Salarsteini is nearby.’
‘Aye,’ Eikinskialdi replied simply. ‘I will provide you with provisions for the journey. You must be as quick as possible. Tanngrisnir will not be able to stave off the swart-elf advance indefinitely.’
Hal studied the map, his mind working furiously. Although the future remained in doubt, at least he knew what he had to do now. Go to Salarsteini, find these feathercloaks - assuming they were still there - return to Aurvangar, and help the dwarves defeat the swart-elves. It was a chance for victory. But so many factors were heaped against them.
They knew almost nothing of the territory into which they were going. They might meet trolls, who sounded pretty unpleasant. The feathercloaks might have been looted long ago, and if so the journey would be wasted. Besides, even if they returned with these magical cloaks, would that really tip the balance in the dwarves’ favour? Thirteen winged troops on the dwarven side. How many dragons could Prince Helgrim field? Hal had a sneaking suspicion that it was rather more than thirteen, despite their little dogfight on the way. All this, for one simple goal.
‘What about the Runeblade?’ he asked at last.
Eikinskialdi shook his head. ‘Our smiths must forge more everyday weapons now,’ he replied. ‘If we are to fight off the swart-elves, we will need every warrior we can get, and they require weapons. Besides, the heat of battle is no place for an undertaking such as the forging of the Runeblade. However, I have told Brokk and Dvalinn to set their minds to it. As soon as they have the chance, they will begin work.’ He looked sombrely at them.
‘This oncoming battle may very well be the first in a vast war of cosmic implications,’ he told them. ‘The swart-elves are in alliance with the fire giants. If this sets a precedent, the frost giants and the trolls might join them. Ragnarok looms. You, Hal, will be our champion. The forging of the Runeblade is imperative. But before that, we must defeat the sw
art-elves! Go to Niflheim, and find the feathercloaks. Save our realm from destruction, and then you may go on to save the worlds.’
4 THE JOURNEY SOUTH
The swart-elf host surged across the Dark Moon Plains.
Dragons flocked in the skies above, scanning out the land ahead. On either wing of the host, the swart-elf cavalry rode giant lizards, while foot soldiers marched in columns between them; mail-clad swart-elves, their faces painted corpse-white; renegade dwarves in half-armour, and brutish, primitive trolls. The crags boomed to the tramp of their marching feet.
Prince Helgrim rode in the midst of the host, his retinue surrounding him. He surveyed the ranks of his army, smiling cruelly. News of Mordis’ flight had disheartened the rebels and his loyalists had soon put down the revolt in Svartaborg. Although the patrols sent to track his cousin down had not returned, Prince Helgrim now had sufficient troops to crush the dwarves utterly, and force the survivors from Svartalfaheim! The upper Gioll, with its gold-rich silts, would be theirs for the taking. And this push was only the beginning. Soon all the forces of darkness and chaos would unite against gods, elves, and dwarves, and conquer all the worlds!
But they must fulfil the words of the Foretelling. He had told his men to be extra vigilant during the attack. They must find Prince Helgrim’s bride, and return her to him. The war would go very badly if they did not realize the Foretelling of the Norns in every particular.
* * * * *
‘So, Eikinskialdi believed your tale, Tanngrisnir.’
Dolgthrasir walked at Tanngrisnir’s side as they made their way past Sindri’s hall towards the barracks. He gave Tanngrisnir a fierce stare.
Tanngrisnir returned the look. ‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘For it is truth.’
Dolgthrasir growled. ‘I think our chieftain has made a mistake, entrusting you with the army,’ he replied. ‘You may have a hero’s reputation, but I for one have doubts about you.’
Tanngrisnir halted. ‘It is good that you are so frank. But I assure you - I may have failed the dwarf nation once. But I will not do so again. I shall lead us to victory, if it is possible.’