BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 55

Chapter 55

The walls of Mighahm appeared through the tunnel's end like an old friend waiting to greet them. Einar felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease as the familiar gates came into view, the intricate stonework a testament to dwarven craftsmanship that had stood for centuries.

"Home," Bartia said quietly from beside him. "Or close enough to it."

The gates began their complicated dance of opening, metal sliding and stone lowering as the guards recognized the caravan approaching. Word must have traveled ahead of them, because by the time the passage was clear, a small crowd had gathered just inside.

A dozen warriors stood at the front, with what looked like half the smiths in the city gathered behind them. Faces turned upward as the caravan rolled through, eyes widening at the loaded wagons.

"They made it!" someone called out. "The Vikings have returned!"

Stefi rode up beside Einar, a grin spreading across her face as she took in the reception. "Seems word traveled faster than we did."

A murmur ran through the gathered dwarves. Some pressed closer, trying to see what the wagons carried. Others hung back, their expressions a mixture of hope and disbelief.

One of the warriors pushed through the crowd, his beard streaked with gray. "Gromm has been waiting for news. He wants to see you immediately."

"Then take me to him," Einar said, dismounting. "But warn him first - we found something in the tunnels. Something he needs to know about."

The warrior's expression shifted. "What kind of something?"

"Tracks. Something large, and something organizing smaller creatures. Vrádni did not recognize them, and he has been tracking creatures in those tunnels for over a century."

The dwarf's jaw tightened. "Come. Gromm needs to hear this immediately."

***

Gromm Mosswalker looked older than when Einar had last seen him. The weight of leadership showed in the lines around his eyes and the way his massive shoulders seemed to carry an invisible burden. But when he heard the news of the alliance, some of that weight lifted.

"The High King granted this?" Gromm asked, leaning forward on his throne. "A full military alliance?"

"He did. When Ragnarok comes, the dwarves will stand with us. With all of us who fight against it."

Gromm sat back, his green eyes studying Einar with an intensity that reminded him of Fotgror. "I have lived a thousand years, Einar Sibbison. I have seen Vikings come and go, most of them making promises they had no intention of keeping. Yet you... you have done what you said you would do. Every time."

"I intend to keep doing so."

"I believe you." The old dwarf's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "Which is why the news you bring about the tunnels troubles me greatly."

Einar had told him everything. The tracks, the fouled cistern, the sense of being watched. The way whatever followed them had circled their camp but not attacked.

"It is patient," Gromm said. "Organized. That speaks of intelligence, not mere beasts."

"We believe it may be connected to a network we encountered in Midgard. Someone called the Broker, who hires creatures and criminals for various tasks."

"The Broker." Gromm's expression darkened. "I have heard whispers of such a thing. Rumors from traders and travelers. If this network has extended into our tunnels..." He shook his head. "I will send word to Kvellholl and double the patrols between here and the capital. Whatever is out there, we will find it."

"I would also suggest warning the outpost near the portal. If this thing is following us, it may try to cross into Midgard."

"It will be done." Gromm rose from his throne, moving with a grace that belied his size. "Now then. You and your warriors need rest and supplies before your final journey. I will have rooms prepared and food brought. You leave at first light?"

"We do."

"Then make the most of tonight." Gromm extended his hand, and Einar clasped it. The dwarf's grip was like iron. "You have done well, Einar Sibbison. Your ancestors would be proud."

"I hope so."

"I know so." Gromm released his hand and turned to Stefi. "See to their needs. And send Bartia to me before she leaves. I would speak with her about what she has seen."

***

That evening, as the pack gathered for what would be their last meal in Mighahm, Stefi found Einar near the wagons. She was carrying a bundle wrapped in oiled leather.

"I will not be continuing with you to the outpost," she said. "Gromm needs me here to help coordinate the increased patrols."

Einar nodded. He had expected as much. Stefi was too valuable to Mighahm to leave again so soon after their extended journey to Kvellholl.

"Before I go," she continued, holding out the bundle. "A gift from the smiths of Mighahm. I had them prepare it while we were at the capital."

Einar unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a set of throwing axes, perfectly balanced, the metal gleaming with a faint blue sheen that spoke of runic enhancement.

"These are beautiful," he said.

"They are practical." Stefi's tone was matter-of-fact, but there was pride in her eyes. "The enchantment helps them find their mark. Not by much, but enough to matter when it counts."

"Thank you. I will use them well."

"See that you do." She hesitated, then added, "When you first arrived, I thought you were like all the others. Big promises, no follow-through. I was wrong."

"I appreciate that."

"Do not make me regret saying it." There was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Kill whatever is following you, return to the dwarven realm, and finish what you have started. We will be watching."

"I intend to."

Stefi nodded once, then turned and walked away, her armor glinting in the forge-light. It was the closest thing to affection he had ever seen from her.

***

The road from Mighahm to the outpost took two days. Two days of open terrain, rocky passes, and swampy lowlands, of watching the treeline and listening for sounds that did not belong.

The tracks appeared again on the first day. Fresher this time, made within hours of their passing. Whatever was following them had not given up. If anything, it was getting bolder.

"It knows we are leaving," Thorodd said as they examined the prints. "It is getting closer because it knows its chance is running out."

"Or because it wants us to know it is there," Avitue countered. "To make us afraid. To make us careless."

"Then it has failed," Einar said. "We are not afraid, and we are not careless. We are Vikings, and we have faced worse than shadows on a road."

He meant it, but the words were as much for himself as for them. The not knowing was the hardest part. Fighting an enemy you could see was one thing. Fighting something that refused to show itself was another entirely.

They pushed on, the wagons creaking under their loads, the horses growing nervous as the day wore on. By nightfall, they had covered more ground than expected, but the mood in the camp was tense.

"One more day," Osvif said as they ate. "One more day to the outpost, then another to the portal, and we are back in Midgard."

"And then what?" Skardi asked. He was sitting on his wagon again, one hand resting on the fire giant skull. "You think whatever is out there is just going to let us walk through the portal and wave goodbye?"

"I think it will not attack us in dwarven territory," Einar said. "Too much risk. The outpost has warriors. If it wanted to strike, it would have done so already."

"And once we are through the portal?"

"Then we will be in Midgard, where we know the land and have allies of our own." Einar took a bite of his food, chewing slowly. "Whatever comes, we will face it. That is what we do."

Skardi grunted but said nothing more. The truth was that none of them knew what would happen once they crossed back. They could only prepare and stay vigilant.

That night, the tracks circled their camp again. Closer this time. Close enough that the sentries could almost feel the eyes watching them from the darkness beyond the firelight.

But still, nothing attacked.

***

The second day came, and the sky was gray and the land was quiet. The pack moved with purpose, everyone eager to reach the outpost and the portal beyond.

Einar rode beside Bartia for much of the morning. The dwarven warrior had been quieter than usual since leaving Mighahm, her eyes often distant.

"You are thinking about what comes next," he said.

She glanced at him, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Because I am thinking the same thing." He adjusted his grip on the reins. "We have accomplished much here. But the work is not finished. It is barely begun."

"How many more realms?"

"At least two more alliances. Maybe three. Vanaheim, certainly. And then..." He paused. "Jotunheim."

Bartia let out a low whistle. "The frost giants. You do not start small, do you?"

"I cannot afford to. Time is not on our side." He looked at her. "When we return to Nidavellir, I hope you will be here."

"Where else would I be?"

"I do not know. But things change. People change. I have seen it happen."

Bartia was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I made you a promise when this began. By my axe and hammer and with my word, I bound myself to you and the tasks you undertook. That promise does not end at the portal."

"I know. But I release you from it nonetheless. You have fulfilled your duty and more. Whatever you do now, it should be your choice."

She snorted. "You think I follow you because of a promise? I follow you because you are worth following. Because what you are doing matters. Because when Ragnarok comes, I want to be standing beside the warriors who fought to stop it, not hiding in a mine hoping it passes me by."

Einar felt something warm in his chest. "Then I am honored to have you."

"You should be." There was a grin on her face now, the first he had seen in days. "I am an excellent warrior."

"That you are."

They rode in comfortable silence after that, the weight of what was to come feeling somehow lighter.

***

The outpost appeared in the late afternoon, its walls a welcome sight after days of open tunnels. The guards on duty recognized Bartia immediately and began opening the gates before they even reached them.

"Bartia Shatterplate!" one of them called down. "Back again? Did you miss us that much?"

"Like I miss a stone in my boot," she called back. "Now open the gate before I come up there and open it myself."

Laughter came from above, and the gate began to rise. The caravan passed through into the outpost's courtyard, where a handful of dwarven warriors waited to receive them.

The outpost commander was a grizzled dwarf named Hurgrim, his beard more gray than brown and his left eye covered by a leather patch. He listened to Einar's report about the tracks with a grim expression.

"Gromm sent word ahead," Hurgrim said. "We have doubled the patrols and closed off some of the side passages. If anything tries to follow you through the portal, it will have to go through us first."

"I appreciate that."

"Do not appreciate it. Just make sure what you are carrying gets to where it needs to go." Hurgrim's single eye swept over the loaded wagons. "A lot of dwarven work went into those supplies. It would be a shame if they ended up in the belly of some beast."

"They will not."

"See that they do not." He turned and began barking orders to his warriors, organizing the defense of the outpost against threats that might or might not come.

Einar watched him go, then looked at Bartia. This was where they would part ways. She would return to Mighahm while he and the pack crossed through the portal to Midgard.

"Walk with me," he said.

***

They stood near the outpost gates, the road to the portal stretching out before them. The rest of the pack was busy preparing the wagons for the final leg of the journey, giving them a moment of privacy.

"You know," Bartia said, "when Scrombles first sent me to guide you, I thought it was a punishment. Babysitting Vikings who would probably get themselves killed before we reached the first mine."

"And now?"

"Now I think it was the best thing that ever happened to me." She met his gaze, her brown eyes serious. "I have seen things I never thought I would see. Done things I never thought I would do. I watched you kill fire giants and earn the respect of the High King. I saw your warriors die and come back to life. I learned that Vikings are not what I thought they were."

"We are exactly what we are supposed to be," Einar said. "We just forgot for a while."

"Then do not forget again." She reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out something small, holding it out to him. "For you. So you remember your time in Nidavellir."

It was a ring. Simple iron, unadorned, but when he took it, he felt the faint pulse of magic within.

"My father made it," Bartia said. "Before he died. It is not much, but it carries his blessing. Wear it, and a small part of Nidavellir goes with you."

Einar felt the weight of the gift, understanding what it meant for her to give away something so personal. "I cannot take this. It belonged to your father."

"You can and you will." Her tone brooked no argument. "He would have wanted it to go to someone who would use it well. Someone who fights for what matters." She paused. "Someone who fights for all of us."

Einar slipped the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, the metal warm against his skin. "I will honor it. And him."

"I know you will." Bartia stepped back, squaring her shoulders. "Now then. Enough of this emotional nonsense. You have a portal to cross and a realm to save. Get moving."

Einar laughed despite himself. "Is that how you say goodbye?"

"It is how dwarves say goodbye. Quick and to the point. None of that drawn-out Viking weeping."

"Vikings do not weep."

"I have seen Thorodd after too much ale. You definitely weep."

He laughed again, and she joined him, the sound echoing off the stone walls. When the laughter faded, he held out his arm in the warrior's grip.

"Until we meet again, Bartia Shatterplate."

She clasped his forearm, her grip strong and sure. "Until we meet again, Einar Sibbison. Try not to die before then."

"I make no promises."

"I know." She released his arm and stepped back. "That is what worries me."

Einar held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned and walked toward where the pack was gathering. He did not look back. Looking back would make it harder.

***

The journey from the outpost to the portal took most of the day. The terrain shifted as they traveled, the enclosed tunnels giving way to rocky passes and eventually to the swampy lowlands where they had first arrived weeks ago.

The pack was assembled and ready. Wagons had been checked and secured. Weapons had been inspected. Everyone knew their place in the crossing order.

The portal stood where they had left it, its blue-white light swirling against the backdrop of massive trees and murky water. The air was thick and humid, a stark reminder of how different this place was from the dwarven halls they had grown accustomed to.

Avitue appeared at his side, her hand finding his. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Liar." But she was smiling.

Einar raised his voice so the pack could hear. "We cross in order. Thorodd, take the first group and secure the other side. The rest follow as planned. Stay alert once we are through. We do not know what waits for us in Midgard."

"What about whatever is following us?" Jepi asked.

"The dwarves will handle it. Our job is to get these supplies home safely." He looked around at his warriors, seeing the tension in their faces, the readiness. "We have done what we came here to do. The alliance is secured. The supplies are loaded. All that remains is to deliver them. Let us finish this."

A murmur of assent went through the pack. Thorodd gathered his group and moved toward the portal, pausing at the threshold.

"See you on the other side," he said, then stepped through and vanished.

One by one, the groups followed. Warriors and wagons disappearing into the swirling light, crossing the boundary between realms in an instant.

When it was his turn, Einar took one last look at Nidavellir. The massive trees, the murky water, the strange insects that buzzed at the edges of their camp. It was not a beautiful place, this portal clearing, but it marked the boundary of a realm that had given them much.

He thought of Bartia, back at the outpost, watching the road they had traveled. He touched the ring on his finger, feeling the faint pulse of magic within.

Midgard waited. Home waited. Whatever came next, they would face it.

Einar stepped through the portal.

The familiar shock of cold, pain, and energy washed over him, and then he was through. The air changed instantly, crisp and clean compared to the humidity of Nidavellir. The light of the Midgard sun fell upon his face, and the sound of his warriors calling out to each other filled his ears.

He was home.