BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 58

Chapter 58

The wagons rolled through Kopanes with an escort fit for a king. Citizens lined the streets, craning their necks for a glimpse of what the returning warriors had brought. Word had already spread—dwarven steel, rare ores, treasures from Nidavellir itself.

Einar rode at the front beside Thorodd, hyperaware of every eye on them, every whisper that followed in their wake. The king's soldiers rode at the rear, their presence both protection and reminder of the deadline hanging over everything.

Four days… So much to do.

Then Erik's summons would become impossible to ignore.

They reached Bior's compound without incident. The gates swung open, revealing the familiar training yards, the longhouse where Einar had spent countless hours. Hidden from it all was the workshop where Arngrim no doubt waited, possibly with more runes and things to discuss.

"Get these wagons into the secure storage," Bior ordered, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "I want guards posted, rotation every four hours. No one goes near them without my permission or Thegn Einar's."

His housecarls moved immediately, directing the wagons toward a stone building with heavy doors and narrow windows. Einar had been inside once—it was where Bior kept his most valuable possessions.

"Thorodd, see to the warriors," Einar said quietly. "Make sure everyone gets food, rest, and has their gear checked. We lost some shields and weapons in that fight."

"Already on it." The big man glanced at the jarl's hall. "How long do you think he'll keep you?"

"As long as it takes." Einar dismounted, his legs protesting the movement after too many hours in the saddle. "We have a lot to discuss."

"Einar!" Bior's voice cut across the courtyard. "With me. Now."

The jarl's tone left no room for delay. Einar handed his horse's reins to a stable hand and followed Bior into the hall, aware of the eyes watching him go.

***

Bior's private chambers were exactly as Einar remembered: spare, functional, with maps on the walls and weapons within easy reach. The jarl poured two cups of ale from a pitcher, handed one to Einar, and settled into his chair with a sigh that spoke of too many burdens.

"Drink," Bior said. "You'll want some before I get to the bad news."

Einar took a long swallow, appreciating the quality. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that Erik sending his personal guard to intercept you wasn't a surprise." Bior's blue eyes were sharp as they studied Einar. "But first, tell me everything. Start from the moment you crossed into Nidavellir and don't leave anything out."

So Einar did. He spoke of the journey through the portal, the dwarven city of Kvellholl carved from the mountain's heart, and the trials they had faced. The goblin-infested mines, the coordinated ambushes on trade routes, and the discovery of the Broker's network operating across realms.

Bior listened without interruption, his expression growing grimmer with each detail. When Einar described the final task—battling the fire giant Voldrak and his two companions in the volcanic pass—the jarl leaned forward.

"The High King gave you all of that?" Bior gestured toward the secured wagons. "For completing all three?"

"Clearing the goblin mines, securing the trade routes from those Karg-kin bastards, and killing the fire giants." Einar met Bior's eyes. "Three tasks. Each one harder than the last."

The jarl studied him for a moment. "And the cost?"

Einar took a drink, remembering. "Six dead in the giant fight alone. Brought them back with the binding stone, but that doesn't make watching them die any easier." He set his cup down. "Voldrak... that giant wasn't just big and strong. He thought like we do. Planned. Used the terrain and magic against us. Stayed away from their fortifications where we might have had an advantage."

"How'd you kill him?"

"Barely." A slight grin crossed Einar's face. "Used every trick I had. Ballista with poisoned bolts. The dwarves gave me boots that let me anchor to stone—saved my life more than once. Even called down lightning from Thor himself." He paused. "Still almost wasn't enough."

Bior's jaw tightened. "The dwarves lost forty warriors to those giants. You took them down with less than that?"

"Thirty-five made it out alive. The dwarves helped us prepare—fire-resistant coatings, special equipment, tactical advice from their captain who survived the first assault." Einar looked at his cup. "We earned that alliance, my Jarl. Every warrior who fought that day knows it."

"I don't doubt it." Bior took another drink. "Though I suspect there may be more tests to come. The alliance is new. They'll want to see how we honor our word."

"That's what I told them. Proving we can fight together was one thing. The real test comes when we call on them for aid against Ragnarok."

"Smart." Bior's tone shifted. "And this Broker—you're certain it's the same network causing problems here?"

"The branded marks on the bandits who attacked us match descriptions from Nidavellir. The timing was too perfect. Someone knew we were coming, knew what we carried, and wanted to either steal it or stop us from reaching Kopanes." Einar met the jarl's eyes. "My Jarl, I think the Broker has connections in Katanes. Possibly in Erik's council."

Bior's jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against his cup. "That's a dangerous accusation."

"It's the only explanation that makes sense. Someone with access to high-level information, who could coordinate attacks across realms, and with resources." Einar leaned forward. "The king's soldiers arrived at that bridge too conveniently. Either they were being used as bait, or someone in Erik's chain of command is compromised."

The jarl was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he set down his cup.

"Erik's council has been... problematic for a while now. Koigrim especially. He's been pushing to cut ties with other realms, arguing it makes us dependent. Your alliance with the dwarves undermines his position, gives me leverage, and proves him wrong." Bior's eyes narrowed. "Men like that don't take kindly to being proven wrong."

"You think he's the Broker?"

"I think he's involved with something that goes deeper than trade policy. But proving it?" Bior shook his head. "That's another matter entirely. For now, we focus on what we can control. The materials you brought—I need a full accounting. Everything."

Einar pulled out the list he had prepared during their journey. "Dwarven steel ingots, enough for at least twenty weapons. Rare ores, mythril, adamant, and some others I don't have names for. Runecrafting materials that Arngrim will want to examine. And this."

He withdrew a smaller pouch and placed it on the table. Inside were three fist-sized gems that caught the lamplight and threw it back in fractured colors.

Bior's eyes widened. "Fire giant hearts… Crystallized."

"The High King's personal gift. He said they're rare, even in Nidavellir. Perfect for advanced fire runes or certain enchantments."

"Do you have any idea what these are worth?" Bior picked up one of the gems, holding it up to the light. "Arngrim will lose his mind when he sees these."

"That was the idea." Einar allowed himself a small smile. "One's for you. One's for me. The third is for whatever the warband needs."

The jarl set the gem down carefully, his expression shifting into something that might have been pride. "Well done, Thegn Einar. Better than I dared hope when I sent you into that portal. You've brought back more than materials—you've brought back proof that the old alliances can be rebuilt."

"If we can keep them." Einar's smile faded. "Erik's summons changes everything. If he decides to confiscate these materials—"

"He won't." Bior's voice was almost a growl. "Not while I'm still Jarl of Kopanes. These materials were earned by warriors under my command, gifted by the dwarven High King as part of a diplomatic alliance. Erik has no claim to them."

"And if he disagrees?"

"Then we'll have bigger problems than a summons to answer." The jarl stood, moving to one of the maps on his wall. It showed Midgard's kingdoms, the territories controlled by each jarl, and Katanes, the capital. "Erik's been consolidating power for years. Reducing the jarls' independence, centralizing control, and cutting ties with other realms. An alliance like this threatens his narrative."

"So he'll try to break it."

"He'll try to control it. Which means controlling you." Bior turned back to Einar. "When you go to Katanes, you're walking into a political trap. Erik will offer you something… a position, resources, or recognition. In exchange, he'll want your loyalty. He'll want this alliance to flow through him, not me."

Einar felt the weight of that settling over him. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you'll need to be very careful about how you phrase that refusal. Erik doesn't take kindly to defiance." Bior's expression was grim. "But that's a problem for four days from now. For today, we have work to do."

***

Einar studied the workshop, wondering if Arngrim was always this orderly or too lazy to change things. The stone walls lined with shelves holding jars of reagents, workbenches covered in tools, and in the center of it all, were as he had left them. Arngrim was bent over a piece of stonework, muttering to himself.

"Don't even think about interrupting," the rune crafter said without looking up. "I'm at a delicate stage, and if you make me mess this up, I'll—"

"Dwarven runecrafting materials," Einar said. "Including three fire giant hearts."

Arngrim's hands froze. Slowly, very slowly, he set down his etching tool and turned. His eyes were wide, his bushy eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.

"You're joking."

"Would I joke about something like that?"

"Three?" Arngrim's voice cracked slightly. "Three fire giant hearts? Crystallized?"

"From giants over thirty yards long. We fought them in Nidavellir's forges." Einar couldn't help but grin at the expression on the old man's face. "Want to see them?"

Arngrim made a sound that might have been his goat laugh or might have been choking. He practically ran to the door, yanking it open.

"Where? Where are they? If you're lying to me, boy, I swear by all the gods—"

"Bior's secure storage. Along with enough materials to keep you busy for the next year." Einar followed him out into the courtyard. "Dwarven steel, rare ores, reagents you've probably never even seen before."

The rune crafter's pace increased until he was almost jogging, his age forgotten in his excitement. Einar had to lengthen his stride to keep up.

"Tell me you didn't trade for them," Arngrim said. "Tell me these are ours, free and clear."

"Gifts from the dwarven High King himself. Part of our alliance."

"Alliance." Arngrim shook his head. "You actually did it. You walked into Nidavellir and convinced the dwarves to work with us."

"We earned it. Cleared their mines, secured their trade routes, faced down fire giants in their forges." Einar's grin widened. "I might have almost died doing it."

"Almost… Of course you survived." The old man's tone was fond despite his words. "You have a talent for dying in spectacular ways, but a pity none of these was worthy of your death.."

They reached the storage building. Bior's guards stepped aside when they saw Einar, and the heavy doors swung open.

The wagons were lined up inside, their contents partially unpacked and organized on tables. Arngrim stopped in the doorway, his eyes moving from crate to crate, table to table, taking in the wealth of materials spread before him.

"By Odin's beard," he whispered. "This is... this is..."

For once, the rune crafter seemed at a loss for words.

Einar picked up the pouch containing the fire giant hearts and held it out. "These are what I really wanted you to see."

Arngrim took the pouch with trembling hands. He opened it, and the glow from the gems lit his face like a bonfire. His eyes glistened—with tears, Einar realized with some shock.

Then came the goat laugh that Einar had missed so much.

"Do you know how long I've dreamed of working with something like this?" The old man's voice was thick. "Forty years! Forty years of making do with inferior materials, of watching my best work be limited by what I could acquire."

He carefully withdrew one of the gems, holding it up to the light streaming through the narrow windows.

"With this," Arngrim said quietly, "I could create something legendary… well, not legendary but epic. A rune that would make your lightning-fire-ice combination look like a child's toy."

"Then make it." Einar gestured to the other materials. "Use whatever you need. We've got work to do, and not much time to do it."

Arngrim looked at him, the gem still glowing in his hand. "Erik's summons."

"Four days from now. Which means we need to get the warband equipped, prepare for whatever's coming, and figure out how to navigate the political mess waiting in Katanes."

The rune crafter carefully returned the gem to its pouch and tied it shut. "Then we'd better get started. I'll need to examine everything, create a priority list, see what can be done in four days versus what will take longer."

"Make the list today. Tomorrow, I want you working on runes for the warband, anything that will give us an edge if things go bad." Einar met the old man's eyes. "And Arngrim? Save one of those fire giant hearts. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

"For you or for Bior?"

"For whoever needs it most when the time comes."

***

Einar found Avitue on the edge of the training yard, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and red. She had cleaned up, changed into fresh clothes, but he could still see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand rested on her sword hilt, even in this supposedly safe place.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, moving to stand beside her.

She shook her head. "Too much has happened. Too much is still happening. Every time I close my eyes, I see those bandits coming out of the tree line, and I wonder what we're missing."

"We're not missing anything. We just don't have all the pieces yet." Einar reached for her hand, and she let him take it. "But we will. The Broker made a mistake by attacking us directly. Now we know what to look for."

"Do we?" Avitue turned to look at him, her green eyes searching his face. "Or do we only know what they wanted us to know?"

The thought had occurred to him, but hearing her voice it made it more real. "You think the attack was a message."

"I think everything is a message with people like this. The timing, the location, the fact that they attacked while Erik's men were there to see it." She squeezed his hand. "Someone wanted to show you, wanted to show all of us, that they can reach us anywhere."

"Then they succeeded." Einar was quiet for a moment. "Earlier, on the road, you said you were thinking about the future. Our future."

Avitue's expression softened. "I was. I am. But now..."

"Now it feels like that future is even further away," Einar finished. "Like every step forward brings three new problems."

"Yes." She turned to face him fully, both her hands now holding his. "But I'm not giving up on it. On us. Whatever happens in Katanes, whatever Erik wants, whatever the Broker has planned—I'm with you. We face it together."

Einar pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers. "When this is over, when we've dealt with Erik, with the Broker, with whatever comes next, I want to talk about that future properly. About what we both want."

"A home," Avitue said quietly. "Children. A life that isn't just about the next fight, the next quest, the next threat."

"Is that really possible for someone like me? For us?"

"I don't know. But I want to find out." She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "After Vanaheim. After we build these alliances, strengthen the warband, and prepare for whatever Ragnarok brings. Then we'll have earned it."

"Vanaheim." The word felt heavy. Another realm, another set of challenges, another risk of death. "We don't even know if the Vanir will listen to us."

"They will. Because if you can convince stubborn dwarves to forge an alliance after generations of isolation, you can convince anyone." Avitue smiled, and it reached her eyes. "You have a gift for this, Einar. For bringing people together, for making them believe in something bigger than themselves."

"I just do what needs to be done."

"That's what makes it work." She kissed him, brief but intense, a promise and a reminder all at once. When she pulled away, her expression was determined. "Four days. We make the most of them. Then we deal with Erik, and after that..."

"After that, we plan for Vanaheim. And the future." Einar pulled her close again, watching the last of the sunset fade into twilight. "Together."

"Together," she agreed.

They stood there as darkness fell over Kopanes, two warriors holding on to each other and the fragile hope that someday, somehow, they would have more than just the next battle to look forward to.

But first, they had to survive what was coming.