BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 56

"The world snapped back into focus as Einar stepped through the portal, and for a moment, his body remembered every other time he had crossed between realms. The familiar jolt of cold, then heat, then the strange pressure that made his ears pop and his teeth ache all hit him at once before fading into nothing.

Midgard.

The air was different here. Lighter, somehow. Less dense than the mountain-filtered atmosphere of Nidavellir. He took a deep breath and tasted the familiar scents of grass, distant rain, and the faint hint of smoke from some far-off hearth.

Ahead of him, his warriors who had crossed through before him were already spreading out, securing the perimeter. Thorodd was directing the placement of the wagons that had come through, his commanding voice carrying across the clearing. The big man spotted Einar emerging from the portal and nodded, signaling that the area was secure.

Avitue appeared at Einar's side, having crossed through just before him. Her hand found his briefly before she moved to help organize the shield maidens.

"All accounted for," Thorodd called out as the last wagon rumbled through the portal behind Einar. "No complications on this side."

Einar moved immediately to higher ground, his eyes scanning the tree line and the rolling hills beyond.

"Anything?" Thorodd asked, moving to stand beside him.

"Not yet." Einar kept his voice low."

Osvif followed, then Hallad, then Avitue, each of them taking a moment to orient themselves. The wagons came through next, pulled by the sturdy dwarven horses they had been gifted, their wheels crunching on the packed dirt of the cleared area around the portal stone.

Einar moved immediately to higher ground, his eyes scanning the tree line and the rolling hills beyond. 

"Anything?" Thorodd asked, moving to stand beside him.

"Not yet." Einar kept his voice low. "But those tracks in the tunnels... whatever was following us didn't just vanish. If the Broker's network extends across realms like we think it does—"

"Then they'll have friends waiting here," Thorodd finished. 

Hogni appeared at Einar's side, having materialized from somewhere in the tree line without anyone seeing him approach. The scout's face was grim as he nodded toward the road leading away from the fort.

"I did a quick sweep while the wagons were coming through. Nothing close, but..." He hesitated. "The road's been used recently. More traffic than I'd expect this far from any town."

"How recently?"

"Within the last day or two. Multiple horses, heavy loads. Could be merchants, could be something else."

Einar exchanged a look with Thorodd. Two months early. That was their advantage. No one should know they were coming back yet, which meant any unusual activity on these roads wasn't because of them.

Unless it was.

"Get everyone organized," Einar said. "We move in ten minutes. I want outriders on both flanks and Hogni ahead. We're not stopping until we have to."

***

The wagons formed a line that stretched back further than Einar would have liked. Six of them, each loaded with treasures that would make any bandit's mouth water—dwarven steel, rare ores, gems that caught the light and threw it back in fractured rainbows, and enough runecrafting materials to outfit an entire warband.

We're a target. A big, slow, obvious target.

He walked the length of the caravan, checking the lashings, speaking with drivers, and making sure everyone knew their position in case trouble came. His warband moved with practiced efficiency, the bonds they had forged in Nidavellir evident in every coordinated action.

Thorve sat in the lead wagon beside Thorodd, who held the reins. She caught Einar's eye as he passed and gave a slight nod—their healer was ready if needed.

Avitue fell into step beside him as he made his way back to the front of the line.

"Three days," she said quietly. "Maybe four with the wagons slowing us down."

"Three if we push. The horses can handle it." He glanced at her, noting the slight furrow between her brows. "What's on your mind?"

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the road ahead where it disappeared into a stand of thick-trunked oaks.

"I was thinking about what comes next," she said finally. "After we reach Kopanes. After we deliver all of this to Bior and deal with whatever Erik has planned."

"Vanaheim," Einar said. The word felt heavy on his tongue. Another realm, another set of challenges, another step closer to whatever Odin had in store for him. "We need more allies. The dwarves are with us now. If we're going to have any chance against what's coming—"

"I know." Avitue's hand found his, her fingers interlacing with his own. "I wasn't questioning the mission. I was thinking about... other things."

He looked at her then, really looked, and saw something in her expression that made his chest tighten. Hope, maybe. Or fear. Perhaps both.

"Avitue—"

"Not now." She squeezed his hand once, then released it. "We can talk when we're home. When we're safe." A small smile touched her lips. "I just wanted you to know it's on my mind. That I'm thinking about the future. Our future."

Before he could respond, Thorodd's voice cut through the air. "We're ready! On your word, Thegn!"

Einar held Avitue's gaze for a moment longer, a thousand unspoken words passing between them, and then he turned and raised his hand.

"Move out!" he shouted.

***

The first day passed without incident, though that did nothing to ease the tension that had settled over the caravan like a physical weight.

They made good time through the early miles, the road well-maintained and relatively straight as it wound through gentle hills covered in late-summer grass. The weather held clear, the sun was warm without being oppressive, and the horses pulled their loads with the steady determination that dwarven breeding demanded.

But Einar couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

He found himself scanning every tree line, every hill crest, every shadow that seemed just a little too deep. Hogni ranged ahead and reported back regularly. It was the same thing, nothing, always nothing. Still, the scout's jaw was tight, and his eyes never stopped moving.

"You feel it too," Einar said when Hogni returned from one of his sweeps.

The scout nodded once. "Something's out there. I can't see it, and can't find its trail, but..." He shrugged, his hand resting on the knife at his belt. "Instinct doesn't lie."

They made camp that night in a defensible position—a clearing backed by a rocky outcropping that limited approaches to two directions. Guards were posted in shifts, fires kept low, voices kept lower.

Einar sat with his back against a wagon wheel, watching the darkness beyond the firelight. Somewhere out there, Hallad was on watch with two others, their shapes barely visible as darker shadows against the night.

"You should sleep."

He looked up to find Thorleif standing over him, the older warrior's face lined with fatigue but his eyes sharp.

"Can't," Einar admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I see those tracks in the tunnels. Whatever made them—"

"Might not even be here," Thorleif said. He lowered himself to sit beside Einar with a grunt that spoke of too many years of hard fighting. "Could be we're jumping at shadows. Wouldn't be the first time a warband came back from a successful campaign seeing enemies everywhere."

"You don't believe that."

"No." The older man was quiet for a moment. "But I've learned not to borrow trouble before it arrives. Whatever's coming, we'll face it. That's what we do." He glanced at Einar. "That's what you've taught us to do."

Einar snorted softly. "I've taught you? You've been a warrior longer than I've been alive."

"Aye, but I've never led men the way you do. Never made them believe they could do impossible things and then proved them right." Thorleif's voice held something that might have been reverence, or maybe just the quiet respect of one fighter for another. "We walked into Nidavellir with nothing but guts and your plan, and we walked out with a dwarven alliance that hasn't existed in generations. That's not nothing, Einar. That's something the skalds will sing about."

"If we live long enough for them to hear about it."

"Then we'd better live." Thorleif clapped him on the shoulder and stood. "Get some rest. I'll take over here."

Einar wanted to argue, but his eyes were already growing heavy, the exhaustion of the past weeks finally catching up to him. He nodded and found his bedroll, though it was a long time before sleep finally claimed him.

When it did, he dreamed of fire giants and shadows, of tunnels that never ended and eyes watching from the darkness.

***

The second day brought clouds that rolled in from the west, heavy and gray and promising rain that never quite arrived. The air grew thick and humid, pressing down on them like a wet blanket.

Midmorning, Hogni came riding back at speed, and Einar's hand went to his axe before he could stop himself.

"Tracks," the scout said as he reined in beside Einar's horse. "Fresh ones. A group of riders passed this way, moving fast, maybe two hours ahead of us."

"How many?"

"Hard to say. They stayed on the packed road, making it hard to get a clear read. At least ten, maybe more."

Thorodd urged his horse up beside them. "Ten riders moving fast ahead of us. Could be a coincidence."

"Could be," Einar agreed. "But I don't like coincidences. Not with what we're carrying."

He thought about the options. They could push harder, try to catch up, and see who was ahead of them. They could slow down, put distance between themselves and whoever was in front. Or they could keep their current pace and be ready for whatever came.

"Keep scouting," he told Hogni. "I want to know if they stop, if they turn off, if they do anything at all. And I want to know about it before we get there."

The scout nodded. In a few minutes, he was on a new horse, disappearing ahead in seconds.

They pressed on.

The road narrowed as it entered a stretch of forest, the trees pressing close on either side. Perfect ambush territory, and everyone in the caravan knew it. Hands stayed close to weapons, eyes stayed on the shadows between the trunks, and conversation died away to nothing.

They made it through without incident, but the relief was short-lived. As they emerged from the tree line, Einar saw what lay ahead and felt his jaw tighten.

A bridge. The main crossing over the river that flowed down from the northern highlands, cutting across their path to Kopanes. There was no way around it—the banks were too steep and the water too deep for the wagons to ford.

And on the far side of the bridge, Einar could see figures waiting.

"Thor's bloody hammer," Thorodd breathed.

Einar raised his hand, bringing the caravan to a halt. He studied the distant figures, counting heads, noting positions. They weren't trying to hide. If anything, they were making sure they were seen.

"Not bandits," Osvif said, moving up beside him. "Bandits would have hit us in the forest, not waited in the open."

"No." Einar's voice was flat. "Look at the armor. The way they're positioned." His eyes found the banner that flew from a pole at the center of the group, and his stomach sank. "Those are the king's men."

Silence fell over the caravan as the implications settled in.

"Erik," Thorodd growled. "How did he know? We're two months early. No one should have—"

"Someone knew." Einar's mind was racing. The Broker's network. The tracks in the tunnels. The increased traffic on the roads. It all connected, and none of the connections were good. "Someone's been watching us. Tracking us. They knew we were coming before we even stepped through that portal."

"So what do we do?" Avitue asked.

Einar looked at the bridge, at the king's men waiting on the other side, at the treasure-laden wagons behind him. He thought about the other crossing they had avoided weeks ago, the southern route through the forests that had added days to their journey and nearly gotten them lost near the barrier.

There was no avoiding this. Not anymore.

"We talk," he said. "We find out what they want. And then..." He let out a slow breath. "Then we see what choices we have left."

He urged his horse forward, Thorodd and Osvif falling in beside him. Behind them, the caravan waited, every warrior tensed for violence, every hand ready to draw steel.

The bridge was long, maybe sixty yards from bank to bank. Einar stopped at its midpoint, and a moment later, a single rider emerged from the group ahead and started toward him.

The man wore the livery of King Erik's personal guard, his armor polished to a shine despite the dust of the road. He was young—younger than Einar had expected—with a face that might have been handsome if not for the hard set of his jaw.

"Thegn Einar Sibbison," the soldier said. Not a question.

"That's me."

The soldier produced a rolled parchment from his belt pouch and held it out. "By order of King Erik, you and your warband are summoned to appear before the crown in Katanes. You are to come immediately, without delay."

Einar didn't take the parchment. "On what grounds?"

"The king does not explain his orders. He issues them." The soldier's eyes flicked to the wagons behind Einar, to the treasure that glinted under the canvas coverings. "Your... cargo will be escorted as well. For safekeeping."

"Safekeeping." Thorodd's voice was low, dangerous. "That's what we're calling it now?"

The soldier's hand moved toward his sword hilt, then stopped when he saw Osvif's smile. It was not a pleasant expression.

"These materials were given to us by the dwarven High King," Einar said. "They are the foundation of an alliance between Nidavellir and Midgard. An alliance that benefits all Vikings—including King Erik."

"Then I'm sure His Majesty will be pleased to hear about it. In person." The soldier held out the parchment again. "This is not a request, Thegn."

Einar stared at the rolled document, his mind churning through possibilities. Refuse, and they would be fighting their own people—the king's guard, no less. Accept, and they would be walking into whatever trap Erik had prepared.

There's something else going on here. This is too convenient, too perfectly timed. The Broker...

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound from behind them—a shout from one of his warriors, followed by another, then more.

Einar wheeled his horse around and felt his blood go cold.

Figures were emerging from the tree line they had passed through not twenty minutes ago. Dozens of them, moving fast, weapons drawn. Not the king's men—these wore mismatched armor and carried the look of men who killed for coin.

Bandits. Attacking from behind while they were caught at the bridge.

"Thorodd!" Einar roared. "Get the wagons across! Now!"

The big man was already moving, his horse thundering back toward the caravan. Einar turned to the king's soldier, who was staring at the emerging attackers with an expression that looked genuinely surprised.

"Either help us or get out of the way," Einar snapped. "Decide fast."

The soldier hesitated for only a moment, then drew his sword. "My orders were to bring you in alive. Hard to do that if you're dead." He whistled sharply, and the king's men on the far side of the bridge started forward.

It wasn't trust. It wasn't even an alliance. But right now, it was enough.

Einar drew his axe and turned to face the oncoming wave, his runes already beginning to glow as he reached for his wyrd.

Time to see how deep the Broker's network really went.