BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 036

The royal keep loomed before them like a monument forged by the gods themselves.

Einar had seen many impressive structures in his two lives, but nothing compared to the colossal anvil-shaped spire that rose from the heart of the mountain. Its surface was polished obsidian and steel, catching the light from thousands of runes that pulsed with a rhythm like a heartbeat. The structure seemed to grow from the stone itself, as if the mountain had given birth to it in ages past.

"By Odin's eye," Osvif breathed beside him.

Thorodd said nothing, but Einar noticed his hand tightened its grip on the haft of his weapon.

Yulgas stood before them, his blonde hair braided and his chain armor polished to a shine that reflected the rune light. The mining leader's normally jovial expression was solemn. "Einar Sibbison, you have been summoned by the Stone Father himself. This is an honor few outsiders ever receive." The dwarf's blue eyes met his. "You will go alone. Your pack will wait here."

Einar nodded, understanding the weight of what was being offered. He turned to his companions, seeing both concern and pride in Avitue's eyes.

"Wait here. I'll return soon," he told them.

"You better," Avitue said quietly. "We didn't come all this way to lose you in a throne room."

A faint smile touched his lips before he turned back to Yulgas. The dwarf gestured forward, and four elite guards materialized from alcoves Einar hadn't noticed. Each stood over nine feet tall, clad in armor so black it seemed to drink in the light. Their faces were hidden behind helms carved to resemble ancient beasts, and not one of them made a sound as they moved.

The massive doors before them were easily forty feet tall and carved with scenes of dwarven history. Battles against creatures Einar couldn't name. The forging of legendary weapons. They had found a way to show mountains being hollowed out and cities being born from solid stone. As they approached, the doors began to open without anyone touching them, revealing a hall that stretched beyond what should have been possible given the mountain's size.

Magic. Old magic. I can feel it… It's as if it's so powerful and woven into every stone that this place breathes it.

Einar's boots echoed on the polished floor as he walked. The hall was wide enough for fifty dwarves to march abreast, and the ceiling was so high above that shadows obscured it despite the thousands of light runes that lined the walls. Pillars of stone, each one carved from a single piece of rock and covered in intricate runes, stood like sentinels on either side.

Between the pillars, he caught glimpses of alcoves. Some held statues of dwarves in poses of battle or crafting. Others contained weapons that hummed with power even from a distance. A few held nothing but darkness, and Einar felt a warning that those were best left unexplored.

The guards stopped at a point where the hall opened into a throne room that defied description.

Yulgas placed a hand on Einar's shoulder. "From here, you go alone. Speak truth, show respect, and remember—you stand before one who was ancient when your ancestors first learned to forge bronze."

The dwarf withdrew, and the guards seemed to meld into the shadows of the pillars, far enough away that their presence was felt but whatever might be said couldn't be heard.

Einar took a breath and stepped forward.

The throne room was circular, easily two hundred feet across. The floor was a massive mosaic depicting the Nine Realms, each one rendered in stones and metals that seemed to shift and move in the light. Above, the ceiling was carved to show the stars themselves, and Einar could have sworn they twinkled.

But it was the throne that commanded attention.

Carved from a single piece of mountain, the throne rose thirty feet high. It was covered in runes so old and so densely packed that they formed patterns within patterns, spirals of power that made his eyes water if he stared too long. At its base, massive stone ravens stood guard, their eyes glowing with an inner fire.

And seated upon it was Vetrdur Kvellhammar.

The High King of the Dwarves was over ten feet tall, his frame broad and powerful even in repose. His armor was ancient, each plate etched with runes that Einar recognized as Old Dwarvish, a language few living beings could still read. The metal gleamed like starlight, neither silver nor steel but something between. His hair and beard were salt and pepper, braided with bands of gold and gems that caught the light with every breath.

Against the throne's right arm leaned a hammer that had to weigh as much as Skardi. Its head was the size of a barrel, covered in runes that pulsed with barely contained power. On the left rested a shield as tall as Einar himself, its surface polished to a mirror shine.

But it was the king's eyes that held him. They were the color of molten gold, and they held the weight of ages. Of civilizations risen and fallen. Of mountains carved and cities built. Of wars fought and peace hard-won.

Those eyes studied Einar with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

"Einar Sibbison." The king's voice was like stone grinding against stone, deep and resonant. It filled the chamber without echoing, as if the very air carried his words with reverence. "Son of Sibba, born Magnus in another life. Chosen of Odin. Wielder of a rune I have never seen, named Gungnir's blessing. You stand in the Hall of Stone, before the throne that has not been empty since the First Age."

Einar dropped to one knee, bowing his head. Part of him wondered how the dwarven king could know these things, yet now wasn't the time to ask those questions. "High King Vetrdur Kvellhammar, Stone Father. I am honored beyond measure."

"Rise, Viking. Let me see the one who has caused such a stir in my realm."

Einar stood, meeting those ancient eyes without flinching. He knew that respect was one thing, while cowering was another.

A smile touched the king's lips, barely visible through the magnificent beard. "You do not look away. Good. I have no use for those who cannot meet my gaze." The king shifted slightly, and Einar caught the faintest hint of something in that movement. Not pain, but... constraint. As if the throne held him as much as he sat upon it.

"Reports have reached me of your exploits since arriving in my realm. The goblins you've slain. The tactics you've shared with Vrádni and his rangers. The respect you showed to Gromm and his council. Your battle with Akrini in the training pit." The king's eyes gleamed. "You fight with your mind as much as your weapons. That is... unexpected from a Viking."

"The Vikings of old fought with cunning as well as courage, Stone Father," Einar said, using a name he had been told showed reverence. "I seek to remind the Nine Realms of that."

"And remind them you have." Vetrdur leaned forward slightly, his gaze intensifying. "Tell me, Einar Sibbison. In that fight, you used lightning. I felt it, even here, deep in my mountain. The power of Thor flows through you."

It wasn't a question, but Einar nodded anyway. "The gods have blessed me, yes."

"The gods do not bestow such blessings lightly." The king's voice dropped, becoming somehow heavier. "They prepare their champions for great trials. They arm their chosen for wars that will shake the foundations of reality itself." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Ragnarok approaches, doesn't it?"

Einar met the king's gaze. "Yes, Stone Father. Odin himself tasked me with preventing it, or if that fails, preparing the realms to survive it."

Silence filled the throne room. Even the light from the runes seemed to dim slightly.

Vetrdur sat back, his eyes never leaving Einar's face. "For over ten thousand years I have sat upon this throne. I have watched the cycles of war and peace, growth and decay. I have seen empires rise from nothing and crumble to dust. I have witnessed the birth of gods and the death of worlds." His hand gripped the throne's arm, knuckles whitening. "And in all that time, I have never heard of one successfully stopping Ragnarok. Only delaying it."

"Then I will be the first to try, or die attempting such a feat," Einar replied.

A low rumble came from the king's chest. Laughter, Einar realized. Ancient and tired, but genuine.

"Spoken like a true warrior. Thor chose well when he marked you." Vetrdur's expression sobered. "You wish for my aid. For my people to march beside your Vikings against the darkness that comes."

"I do, Stone Father. Though I know such aid does not come freely."

"You understand the way of things. Good." The king gestured, and the runes on his armor pulsed once. "I am bound by ancient laws, Einar Sibbison. Treaties and oaths sworn in ages past that cannot be broken, even by me. I cannot simply send my armies to fight alongside yours, no matter how much I might wish to."

Einar kept his expression neutral, knowing that whatever Vetrdur would determine how successful this journey was. "Then what can you offer?"

"I can assist in small ways. Supplies. Training. Knowledge." The king paused. "But even these small aids require... compensation. Balance must be maintained. Help given must be help earned."

"Name the price, Stone Father. My warriors and I will pay it."

Vetrdur studied him for a long moment. "You have met Stenri Ironpurse, my quartermaster. And Yulgas, who leads my mining operations."

"I have, Stone Father."

"Both have tasks they cannot complete unless they have aid. Tasks that require... different skills. Skills that Vikings possess." The king's eyes gleamed. "Stenri needs aid in dealing with a caravan route that has been plagued by bandits. Not goblins, but something else. Something that has proven resistant to traditional dwarven tactics. Yulgas needs assistance in a mine that has been overrun. Again, not by goblins, but by creatures that strike from the darkness and vanish before my warriors can retaliate."

Einar listened, his mind already working through possibilities. "You want us to clear these threats."

"I need you to clear them. Complete these two tasks, and you will have proven that Vikings and dwarves can work together successfully. You will have shown that your people bring value beyond just strong arms and sharp axes." Vetrdur leaned forward again. "But more importantly, you will have proven yourself worthy of the third task."

"The third task?"

"The true test." The king's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, yet it filled the chamber. "Complete the first two, and I will summon you back to this hall. Then, and only then, will I tell you of the third task. The one that, if successful, will grant you everything you seek. Aid. Alliance. The full might of the dwarven realm standing beside the Vikings when Ragnarok comes."

Einar met the ancient king's gaze. "And if we fail?"

"Then you will die trying, as all great warriors do." Vetrdur's expression softened slightly. "But I do not think you will fail, Einar Sibbison. The gods have placed their faith in you. Thor's lightning runs through your veins. And..." The king gestured to Einar's hip. "That blade you carry. Sága's Gift. The elven queen does not bestow such weapons lightly. Even she recognizes the danger of what approaches."

Einar's hand moved unconsciously to the sword's hilt. "She does, Stone Father."

"Then we are in agreement." Vetrdur settled back on his throne. "Complete the tasks for Stenri and Yulgas. Prove yourself and your pack. Then we will speak again of alliances and the future."

Bowing his head in acknowledgment, Einar reached into the pack at his side. His fingers closed around the object he had been saving for this exact moment.

"Stone Father, if I may. I brought something. A gift, freely given with no expectation of return."

Interest flickered in those golden eyes. "A gift? From a Viking? This I must see."

Einar withdrew the cask carefully. It was small, barely larger than his fist, but the wood was ancient and dark, bound with silver bands. Runes covered its surface—not dwarven or Norse, but something older. Something from a time when the first humans learned to ferment and create the waters of life.

He approached the throne slowly, each step measured. The stone ravens at the throne's base seemed to track his movement, their glowing eyes following him as he climbed the steps carved into the throne itself. When he reached the level where the king sat, Einar knelt once more, holding the cask up with both hands.

"I have been told this is from a time before my ancestors learned to write. Before the first Vikings sailed the seas. It has been passed down through families, kept hidden and protected, aging for longer than most kingdoms have existed. The one who acquired it for me knows your people well, and I would hope that he has told the truth." Einar's voice was quiet but clear. "Mead, Stone Father. Made from flowers that bloom once a century, mixed with honey from bees that no longer exist, and touched by magic that has been lost to time. There are perhaps five such casks left in all the Nine Realms. I give you one freely, as a sign of respect and hope for the future."

For a long moment, Vetrdur simply stared at the cask. Then, slowly, his massive hands reached out and accepted it with a gentleness that seemed impossible for someone his size. The king's fingers traced the ancient runes on its surface, and something flickered in those molten gold eyes—recognition, perhaps, or memory of a time long past.

"This is a gift worthy of gods, Einar Sibbison." The king's voice was softer now, thick with an emotion Einar couldn't quite name. "A treasure beyond measure. You honor me, and through me, all my people."

The king cradled the cask in one hand and extended the other toward Einar. Not to pull him up, but in a gesture of equal standing. Einar reached out and clasped the offered hand, feeling the incredible strength restrained within that grip. They remained like that for several heartbeats—warrior to warrior, leader to leader—eyes locked in mutual respect.

"I will complete your tasks, Stone Father," Einar said, his voice carrying the weight of an oath. "This I swear on my honor, on the name I carried in my first life, and on the name I carry now."

"I believe you will." Vetrdur's grip tightened once more before releasing. "When you have done so, return to this hall. We will open this cask together and drink to an alliance I hope will endure for ages to come. One that will see Vikings and dwarves standing shoulder to shoulder against the darkness."

Einar descended the steps backward, unwilling to turn his back on the ancient king until he had reached the floor of the throne room once more.

"Go now," Vetrdur said, settling the cask carefully beside his throne. "Speak with Stenri and Yulgas. Learn the details of what they need. Prepare your pack." The king's hammer and shield seemed to lean closer, as if acknowledging the moment. "And Einar? Do not die. The Nine Realms need warriors like you in the days ahead."

"I'll do my best to oblige, Stone Father."

A rumble of laughter followed him as he turned and walked back down the hall. The guards emerged from the shadows, falling into step around him. Yulgas waited at the massive doors, his expression curious.

As the throne room doors began to close behind them, Einar glanced back one final time.

The High King of the Dwarves sat upon his throne, the ancient cask resting beside him. Those golden eyes met Einar's across the distance, and in them, he saw something that gave him hope.

The doors closed with a sound like thunder, and Einar let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Well?" Yulgas asked, his voice carefully neutral. "How did it go?"

Einar looked at the dwarf and smiled. "I think we just made history."

"Good," Yulgas replied, a grin spreading across his bearded face. "Because we're going to need every bit of luck the gods can give us for what comes next."

As they walked back toward where his pack waited, Einar's mind was already working through the challenges ahead. Two tasks to prove themselves. A third that would determine everything.

And somewhere, in a throne room deep in the mountain, an ancient king held a cask of mead and the chance for an alliance that might just save them all.

The real fight was about to begin.