BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 032 -

Einar studied the dwarf who sat across from him. Fotgror seemed more relaxed than any other dwarf he had encountered on this entire trip.  A small pipe filled with some tobacco rested between those large fingers, a small wisp of smoke drifting upward.

Inside Fotgror’s workshop were seven different stone tables, each one piled high with materials, vials that were bubbling, or other concoctions for some magical purpose.  Einar sat in his chair near the fireplace, two soft, plush pieces of furniture that almost seemed out of place in a room that looked like a magical death trap.

“So you don’t know exactly why Thor sent you beyond getting help crafting a weapon or armor for you and perhaps learning how to control your elements better?” Fotgror asked. 

“He said that I would find an ally here and they would help in the fight against Ragnarok,” Einar replied. “There were no specifics given. What did he tell you?”

“That a warrior would appear who would change my mind about what was possible and that I needed to do whatever I could to assist you,” the dwarf stated. Fotgror frowned, tapping the bottom of his pipe against his other hand gently before lifting it to his lips and taking a long draw.  When the Mystic exhaled, the smoke formed a figure Einar recognized immediately.

“Okay, that’s pretty amazing,” Einar said, watching the smoke image of Thor swing its hammer through the air as it drifted upward. “I know it’s more than just how you use your lips.”

Fotgror laughed and nodded. “If it were all in the lips, I’d be pestered even more by the women of this kingdom wanting me to marry someone. No, it’s a combination of fire and wind magic. Once you’ve had a thousand years or so of practice, you’ll be able to do smaller things. After about two thousand years, what you just saw is possible. But you’re not here to learn tricks like this. They won’t help in the fight that is coming. Instead, we need to consider the time you have here and how I can best aid you.”

Fotgror leaned toward the fire and rapped his pipe against the stone side, causing the tobacco and the cherry to fall out. He quickly scraped the pipe clean and set it on a table next to his chair and picked up the journal resting on it.

“The king will want to see you in three days,” Fotgror said. “I’ve spoken with Vrádni and have let him know that I will be taking up some of your time. After the display of power you gave, he didn’t seem as upset as I expected. We’ll need to do some testing with your abilities and affinity. I know that you Vikings have different techniques and ways of channeling the power of the gods, but I’ve been around enough of your kind to have some ideas on how to help with those.

Opening the journal, Fotgror pulled a pen from the sleeve of his robe.  He began writing and talking at the same time. “The items you shared with me are going to be… difficult to acquire, but not impossible. Grohm Mosswalker’s letter carries a lot of weight and the fact that four dwarves have vouched for you all facing a Troll King, combined with your telling of killing it, will add more weight to the scales in your favor.”

The dwarf paused, frowned and then shook his head. “It’s a shame you weren’t able to harvest that troll. Its body would be rich with reagents your kind uses for some powerful runes.”

“It really wasn’t the thing on my mind as I ran from the other twenty or more trolls,” Einar stated. “Now, without having to worry about dying or losing any more of my warriors, I feel that pain.”

Tapping his pen against the journal, Fotgror grunted. “Yes, things mean less when weighed against one's life or their friends and family. A wise dwarf once told me that gold and gems are a very precious thing, but you cannot buy a real family or friend, no matter how many you possess.”

“Do dwarves try to purchase friends and family often?” Einar asked.

The Mystic chuckled and shrugged. “You would be surprised how many dwarves have attempted such things over the years. It’s like a dowry. Just because you pay a king’s ransom, doesn’t mean you get royalty for a spouse.”

This dwarf is hilarious. 

“I think we’re getting off topic,” Einar said. “Not that I don’t mind the life advice from someone with your experience.”

“That’s a nice way of calling me old, but there is nothing wrong with pointing out the obvious,” Fotgror stated. “Still, you are right. It is not often I can sit down and have a conversation with someone and not be concerned with dwarven decorum and politics.  But back onto the topic we were discussing. I’ll need a full day to run some tests and do some practicing with you. You’ll need to make sure to rest well and be prepared for it.” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Einar. “I have no doubt you know what pain is, but bring a healer with you. Additionally, if you wish, you can bring others in your pack who use magic. I could sense three others like yourself, just not as strong.”

“Thank you,” Einar replied.

Fotgror laughed and shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. If you feel the need to do so afterwards, then it means I didn’t push you hard enough. Next, we’ll need to focus on reagents. I’ll see what I can do about getting Stenri to provide you and your warriors with some new weapons and a few other items to help in the coming battles. The real problem is… you’re all small.”

“Or perhaps you dwarves are just big?” Einar shot back.

“Perhaps. Still, only a few of your warriors would fit into some of the armor our smaller dwarves wear. I’ll ask for a set to be made for you and cover the expenses from my own money–”

“You don’t have to do that,” Einar said.

Fotgror shook his head. “I do have to do this because, first, you cannot afford the cost and second, I owe Thor.  Also the threat of Ragnarok being close seems like a fair investment in my desire to not die in the coming year or two.”

Sighing, Einar nodded. “Thank you then for the gift.”

Grunting, the Mystic shrugged. “When you’re as old as I am, you’ve acquired a small fortune that does nothing but gain a little interest and attract those who want to marry and get to spend it. Better I spend it on something I consider useful instead of a few new homes in the mountain. You wouldn’t believe the prices they ask for some of those carved out sections of stone. I mean, how many rooms does…” The dwarf stopped himself and sighed. “Sorry… once again, I got caught rambling about things I shouldn’t be.”

“I’m not going to complain,” Einar said. “The fact that you can live your life and think about simple things like marriage or buying a new home means there is a hope for the future. My wife and I were discussing the desire to have children, yet both of us know we must make it through what is coming before that dream can happen.”

I still can’t imagine having a child of my own… But doing that would mean we’ve defeated this threat and if we manage to stop Ragnarok, then what? Dawson and Martinez would still need to be saved… could I do that? Would I have to give up this life I have here?

A cough from the dwarf brought Einar back from his thoughts.

“It would appear you’re not the only one whose mind is wandering,” Einar said. 

“You are right, these things are luxuries. Let's discuss the items you need for runes. Give me the top five reagents you desire. I’ll see what I can do about procuring them, but I cannot guarantee success. You’ll need to speak with Stenri and find a way to convince him to trade for many of the other items. The materials you have in the wagon are a good starting point, but you’ll need to defeat a few giants out here if you hope to acquire half of the list you gave me.”

“And I guess that means I’ll need to talk with Akrini about finding these giants and slaying them?” Einar asked.

“You prove your wisdom and the fact that the gods touch you,” Fotgror said. “You might not realize it but I can see the threads that wrap around you. Most people cannot, but there are a few, like myself, who can. The axe you carry has a thread of its own. Its thread is bound to you. Did the King and Queen of the elves tell you how special that weapon is?”

“I’m not sure they told me everything when you ask that question the way you did,” Einar replied. “Do you know something about it?”

Fotgror set his pen between the pages and shut the journal. He then held out his hand, motioning to the weapon on Einar’s hip. “May I?”

Removing the axe from its loop, he handed it to the Mystic.

A small grunt came from Fotgror when the dwarf wrapped his fingers around the shaft.  “Such a nasty thing, but there are reasons why those enchantments are in place. Nothing better than preventing your enemy from using your own weapon against you.”

A large finger traced the axe head, runes appearing in the metal as Fotgror mumbled words that Einar couldn’t make out.

“Yes… This one right here,” the dwarf said, tapping a glowing rune. “This is a powerful mark, one that isn’t used anymore as most elves wouldn’t consider the price worthy of such a thing.”

“What price is that?” Einar asked, leaning forward to study the glowing rune.

“One’s life,” Fotgror whispered.

“Wait, what? Someone died for that rune?” Einar gasped.

The older dwarf nodded. He chewed on his lip for a moment as he continued to inspect the other glowing runes. “Your axe has two lives that have been given for the creation of such a thing. Both were done willingly.  I cannot tell you why or how it was crafted other than that you carry a gift and a burden at the same time.”

Fotgror flipped the axe and handed it back to Einar, handle first. “Know that what you are holding cuts deeper than it should because of the lives that were given for this blade to be forged. Real magic, strong magic, costs blood, sweat, and lives.” The dwarf cleared his throat. He slid his hand up the sleeve of his robe, fingers moving around, and finally pulled the fist back, clenching something.

“What I hold here is something similar to what you possess. I cannot give it to you… It is a gift… my mother gave me.” The dwarf’s voice cracked as he spoke the last words. Slowly, Fotgror turned his fist over and opened his hand. A simple, golden ring, resembling a wedding band, rested in his palm.

“I’m assuming she gave her life for a reason?” Einar asked.

Fotgror sniffed, wiping his nose with his other hand, and then nodded. “She was about to pass on. My mother… she lost both of her legs from the knees down due to a pair of trolls. They ambushed her, and yet she slew them both.  She then used her own magic to cauterize the wounds so that she wouldn’t bleed to death.  For a week, she crawled up the shaft she had been mining in, finally coming across another dwarf and was whisked to the capital for healing.”

It took a few deep breaths before the Mystic could continue. “She lost some fire in her soul that day. While many called her a brave warrior, others called her a fool. Each knows the dangers of mining alone, and yet so many dwarves do such a thing, hoping to find ore, gems, or something rare that will change their life and their families forever. She found that… her wound cost her the will to live.”

Einar watched as the dwarf stared across the room, his eyes unfocused as Fotgror spoke.

“I was studying magic. There had been many moments when I was on the verge of quitting, yet she wouldn’t let me. So many times, I wanted nothing more than to stop my studying and return home and take care of her. I knew she hated being the way she was, and the legs that had been crafted for her made her feel… wrong. There had been a year of us fighting, me telling her I wouldn’t let her live like that, and her telling me I was a fool to worry about her.”

A few tears rolled down the dwarf's wrinkled cheeks, vanishing in the white beard. “I didn’t realize what she was doing all that time for the last few months of her life. My mother had convinced a blacksmith who wanted to make something worthy of bragging about. She gave him that. She sacrificed her life for this ring.”

Eyes that looked lost turned back to the gold band in his hand, and Fotgror sighed. Slowly, he picked up the ring and slid it over his finger.  As it moved against flesh, the gold band expanded, finally forming a perfect fit upon the dwarf’s finger.

“She believed I needed to focus on my magical studies. She… always believed I’d do something important.” Fotgror closed his eyes and lifted his hand to his lips, kissing the ring. “I can feel her when I wear this. Somehow she gave me a gift that is both a blessing and a curse.”

Opening his eyes, the Mystic’s silver eyes almost seemed to glow. “Einar, you need to understand that there will come a time when some will sacrifice everything for you because they believe in what you are attempting to do. The weight of it will seem impossible to carry, and the desire to toss away what was given will be there, but let me give you the greatest wisdom I possess.”

Fotgror leaned forward, his massive body looking ready to fall out of the chair as he drew near to Einar. “Honor their sacrifice and their belief in you. Those who are willing to die for what you are doing deserve for you to know how committed they are to you and your task. No matter how heavy it might feel, let their sacrifice give you the strength to endure what you believe is impossible.”

Einar sat there, his chest aching as the words being spoken to him at this moment stripped away all the walls he had built. 

Every death of those under him hurt. Being willing to sacrifice Osvif had been painful, even knowing that death wouldn’t be the end. It was why he had taken risks and sacrificed himself those few times.

Geiravör basically said this same thing… Skardi saw it… I need to see it.

“Thank you,” Einar said slowly. “I needed to hear that more than I want to admit.”

Fotgror chuckled and then leaned back in his chair. “I have seen many who wear the mantle of leadership struggle under its weight. You appear to have surrounded yourself with good men and women. Trust them to help carry the weight and honor their sacrifice by living and stopping Ragnarok.”

Einar nodded, knowing that anything he said right now wouldn’t do justice to the truth he had just heard.