BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 59

Chapter 59

The first day began before dawn.

Einar woke to find Thorodd already in the training yard, running the warriors through drills. Not the casual practice they had done on the road, but proper combat training. Shield walls, flanking maneuvers, coordination under pressure.

"We got sloppy," Thorodd said when Einar joined him. "That fight on the bridge showed it. We reacted well, but we should have been ready before they even emerged from the tree line."

Einar watched Hallad work with three younger warriors, teaching them how to hold a defensive position against multiple attackers. Skardi was demonstrating proper hammer techniques to Bodalf, who was struggling with the weapon's weight.

"We got complacent," Einar agreed. "Nidavellir was controlled chaos. Underground, confined spaces, known objectives. On the road, we let our guard down."

"Won't happen again." Thorodd's voice was flat. "By the time we leave for Katanes, this warband will be sharp. Ready for anything."

A figure approached from the gates. Leif, the young officer from Erik's guard, was still wearing his armor despite the early hour.

"May I join you?" he asked, directing the question to Einar but his eyes on the training warriors.

"Your men as well," Einar said. "If they're willing."

Leif nodded and whistled. His soldiers appeared from where they had been quartered, moving with the discipline of a king's guard but the eagerness of men who wanted to prove themselves.

"Pair up," Thorodd ordered. "One of mine, one of theirs. Learn each other's styles. When we march to Katanes, I want us moving as one unit."

Einar watched as his Vikings and Erik's soldiers began the tentative process of working together. There was wariness on both sides, but also curiosity. They had fought together once. That counted for something.

"Your second knows what he's doing," Leif said quietly. "Most warbands don't train like this."

"Most warbands don't need to." Einar glanced at the young officer. "They're not trying to change the world. They're just trying to survive in it."

"And you? Which are you trying to do?"

"Both." Einar met his eyes. "The question is, which side are you on when it comes time to choose?"

Leif didn't answer immediately. He watched the training for a long moment, his expression thoughtful.

"I serve the king," he said finally. "But I swore an oath to protect Midgard... Between two warriors and no one else…Sometimes I wonder if those two things are still the same."

***

Arngrim had transformed the storage building into a makeshift workshop. Tables were covered with materials from Nidavellir, sorted and cataloged with a precision that would have impressed the dwarves themselves.

The fire giant hearts sat in a place of honor on a velvet cloth, still glowing with inner fire. Around them were arranged various other reagents, tools, and half-finished runestones.

"You're drooling," Einar said from the doorway.

"Bah!" Arngrim didn't look up from the piece of mythril he was examining. "I'm allowed to appreciate quality materials. Do you know how long it's been since I had access to ore this pure?"

"Tell me what you can do in four days."

The rune crafter set down the mythril and turned, his expression becoming serious. He pulled out a piece of parchment covered in notes and calculations.

"Priority one: enhancement runes for your core fighters. Thorodd, Osvif, Hallad, Skardi, Avitue. I can create intermediate-tier runes that will boost their effectiveness by fifteen, maybe twenty percent."

"How long for each?"

"Six to eight hours if I push. Call it a day per warrior with preparation and etching." Arngrim tapped his list. "That's three days minimum. The fourth day, I'll work on something for you."

"For me? I already have—"

"A rune that makes you a target," Arngrim interrupted. "That lightning-fire-ice combination? Every mage in Katanes will sense it the moment you channel wyrd. Erik will know exactly who and what you are."

Einar felt his stomach tighten. He hadn't considered that.

"So what do you propose?"

"A masking rune. Nothing fancy, intermediate-tier at best, but it will dampen your wyrd signature. Make you harder to read, harder to track." The old man's eyes gleamed. "You'll still be powerful, but you won't be advertising it to every mage in the capital."

"Can you make it in time?"

"If I don't sleep, don't eat, and you keep everyone else out of my workshop?" Arngrim's goat laugh echoed through the storage building. "Then maybe. But I'll need Bior's etcher, and she'll need to work through the night on day three."

"I'll make it happen." Einar looked at the fire giant hearts. "And those?"

"Those," Arngrim said reverently, "are for later. When we have time to do them justice. Creating an epic-tier rune requires weeks of preparation, the right etcher, and conditions I can't replicate here in four days."

"Keep one safe for me. When this is over, when we've dealt with Erik and the Broker—"

"I know, I know. You'll want something legendary." The old man's expression softened. "And you'll have earned it, boy. You'll have earned it."

***

The second day brought visitors.

Traders, merchants, and warriors all found excuses to stop by Bior's compound. Some were genuine well-wishers, congratulating Einar on the dwarven alliance. Others were clearly fishing for information, trying to learn what resources he had brought back and what his intentions were.

Einar handled them all with practiced diplomacy, revealing nothing of value while gathering everything he could about the situation in Katanes.

The picture that emerged was troubling.

"Erik's son is getting worse," one merchant told him over ale. "The boy can barely speak anymore, and when he does, it's nothing but screams and nonsense. Some say it's a curse, others say it's just the weakness of his blood."

"And the succession?" Einar asked carefully.

The merchant glanced around nervously. "No one speaks of it openly. But everyone's thinking it. Erik has no other children. No clear heir. When he dies..." The man shrugged. "Chaos. The jarls will fight for the throne, or Erik will name someone from his council."

"Someone like Koigrim."

"Maybe. Or someone else entirely." The merchant leaned closer. "Word is, Erik's been looking for someone younger. Someone strong, with connections to the gods. Someone who could unite the realm under a new banner."

The implication hung in the air between them.

After the merchant left, Einar found Bior in the training yard, watching the warriors spar.

"He's going to offer you the throne," the jarl said. "Not now, not directly. But he'll test you, see if you're ambitious enough, loyal enough, controllable enough."

"And if I say no?"

"Then he'll try to break you. Make an example of what happens to those who refuse the king's favor." Bior's voice was matter-of-fact. "Erik's getting desperate. His son won't survive, his council is fractured, and the realm is starting to fragment. You represent hope, change, and divine favor. He'll either use that or destroy it."

"There has to be another option."

"There is." Bior turned to face him. "You play the game. Accept his hospitality, show respect, let him think you're considering his offer. Then you leave Katanes with your warband intact, your alliances secure, and your freedom preserved."

"That's a dangerous game."

"All games with kings are dangerous." The jarl's eyes were hard. "But you're good at dangerous games, Einar. You've proven that in two realms now. Time to prove it in your own."

***

By the third day, the enhanced runes were ready.

Einar watched as Thorodd received his first, an intermediate-tier strength enhancement that made the big man's already impressive power even more formidable. The etching ceremony was quick but intense, Bior's etcher working with a smile at getting to infuse runes like these..

"How does it feel?" Einar asked after Thorodd stood, testing his new strength by lifting a training weight that normally required two men.

"Like I could tear down a wall with my bare hands." Thorodd's grin was fierce. "This is... this is what we needed."

One by one, the core warriors received their enhancements. Osvif's agility, Hallad's endurance, Skardi's raw power, Avitue's speed. Each one emerged from the etching chamber changed, stronger, more confident.

The rest of the warband got runes from the stockpile that Arngrin had made while they were trying to win the dwarves over.  For three days, they worked Hilde as much as they could. She didn’t complain, knowing the power she was granting the warriors and the experience she was acquiring in a single moment.

That evening, Leif approached Einar in the compound's main hall.

"My men and I have been talking," the young officer said. "About what we saw at the bridge. About the Broker, about the corruption we suspect in the council."

"And?"

"We want you to know that if things go wrong in Katanes, if Erik tries something... we're with you. Not against the king, but for what's right. For Midgard."

Einar studied the young man's face, seeing the sincerity there, the internal struggle between duty and conscience.

"That could cost you everything."

"So could doing nothing while corruption eats away at the realm from within." Leif's jaw was set. "My father served Erik with honor. I won't dishonor his memory by serving corruption and lies."

"Then you have my thanks." Einar clasped his arm. "And my word that I won't waste the trust you're placing in me."

"We leave tomorrow?"

"At first light. The journey to Katanes will take two days if we push. That leaves us arriving with a day to spare before the four days are up."

Leif nodded. "Then I'd better prepare my men. This won't be like escorting merchants or patrolling trade routes."

"No," Einar agreed. "It won't."

***

The fourth day arrived too quickly.

Einar spent the morning overseeing final preparations. Weapons were sharpened, armor repaired, supplies loaded. The warband moved with the efficiency of warriors who knew what was at stake.

That evening, as the sun began its descent, Arngrim summoned him to the workshop.

The rune crafter looked exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, his hands trembling slightly. But his expression was triumphant.

"It's ready," he said simply, holding up a small runestone. It was gray, unremarkable, the kind of thing that wouldn't draw a second glance. "The masking rune."

Einar took it carefully, feeling the subtle thrum of wyrd within. "Where does it go?"

"Your back, between the shoulder blades. It'll sit over your heart, dampening the wyrd signature that radiates from your core runes." Arngrim gestured to the etching chamber. "Hilde's waiting. This won't take long, but it will hurt."

"They all hurt."

"This one especially. You're dampening something powerful, and your body won't like it at first. Give it a day or two to adjust."

The etching chamber was small, lit by rune-lights that cast strange shadows. Hilde waited with her tools, her bald head marked with the ritual paint of her craft.

"Strip to the waist and kneel," she said without preamble.

Einar obeyed, feeling the cool air against his skin. He heard Hilde move behind him, felt her fingers trace the spot where the rune would go.

"This will anchor deep," she said. "Breathe through it."

The first touch of the etching tool felt like ice and fire simultaneously. Einar gritted his teeth as Hilde worked, her movements precise and unhurried. The pain built slowly, a pressure that seemed to push against his very core.

He focused on breathing, on the rhythms. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Find the center, let the pain wash over it without drowning it.

Time lost meaning. Minutes might have been hours. Finally, Hilde stepped back.

"It's done."

Einar stood slowly, feeling the new rune settle into place. It was strange, like wearing a cloak made of shadow. His wyrd was still there, still powerful, but muted. Hidden.

Arngrim was waiting outside the chamber with a small mirror. "Look."

Einar turned, craning his neck to see the new rune etched between his shoulder blades. It was simple, elegant, a pattern of interlocking circles that seemed to shift when he looked at them directly.

"Beautiful work," he said.

"Functional work," Arngrim corrected. "It'll keep you alive in Katanes. That's all that matters."

Rune of Masking (Back) Intermediate

5% Bonus to Perception 

Level 1 - 3% Bonus to Perception

Einar dressed and turned to face his old friend. "Thank you. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet." The rune crafter's expression was serious. "Come back alive, boy. Come back so I can make you that legendary rune you're going to demand."

"I'll do my best."

"Your best had better be good enough." Arngrim's goat laugh followed him out into the courtyard. "The gods didn't bring you this far just to lose you to politics!"

That night, Einar stood in the compound's courtyard, looking up at the stars. Tomorrow they would leave for Katanes. Tomorrow, the real test would begin.

Footsteps approached. Bior, moving with the quiet grace of a warrior despite his size.

"Can't sleep?" the jarl asked.

"Too much to think about."

They stood in companionable silence for a moment.

"Whatever happens in Katanes," Bior said finally, "remember this: you've already accomplished more than most warriors achieve in a lifetime. The dwarven alliance alone will change everything. Erik can't take that away."

"But if he tries…"

"Let him try." The jarl's voice was hard. "You're not alone in this. Unnulf supports you. I support you. The dwarves support you. Even some of Erik's own men are starting to question his judgment."

"Change is coming," Einar said quietly. "Whether we want it or not."

"Then we'd better make sure it's the right kind of change." Bior clasped his shoulder. "Get some rest, Thegn Einar. Tomorrow begins the next chapter of your story. Make it a good one."

The jarl walked away, leaving Einar alone with the stars and his thoughts.

Somewhere in the compound, his warriors slept, as ready as they could be.

And tomorrow, they would march into the lion's den, together.