BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 024 -

“You’ve got his attention,” Bartia said as she watched Einar and the others get ready. “You do realize he is intentionally requesting you come right now and not giving you any more time to prepare?”

The seven who were gathered chuckled, each nodding as they helped one another put on their armor and wiped off spots that needed a little extra attention.

“He’s not the first leader to make us appear on their terms,” Einar said as he gave Avitue’s mail shirt one more check. “Part of not being in charge means you have to be ready to jump when they say jump.”

“Says the one in charge,” Thorodd joked. “But as you might have noticed, he was prepared for this.”

Thorve laughed as the second in command patted her rear.

“Einar told us that we’d be summoned at the last minute, so we’ve kept all these outfits ready.  Now tell me, does Gromm prefer hard liquor or ale?”

Their dwarven ally shrugged.

“He’s kind of… unique. He doesn’t drink a lot because what we have here isn’t considered up to his… taste. With the reduced number of caravans coming through the pass due to the increased dangers, alcohol isn’t often on the wagons. The stuff we brew here… well he doesn’t like it.”

“The red-striped cask,” Thorve said.

Jepi nodded, moved to the side of the room, and grabbed the cask she had mentioned, leaving the green-striped and orange-striped casks alone.

“You… really did prepare. What are in the other two?”

“Trade materials and perhaps another item for when we meet the king,” Einar replied. “I’ve been blessed with warriors and healers who are well informed and able to help make things easier. Now then, in four minutes we’ll be ready to go. Anything else we should know?”

“As I already warned you before don’t comment on his height or size. Bow just a little bit but not too much or he’ll think you're placating him.  Speak straight to the point.  He doesn’t like to spend lots of time in these meetings. Gromm prefers… his alchemy.”

“He makes potions?” Vidar asked.

“Not exactly. Still, don’t talk about that either. He might bring it up and ask for some ingredients when you mention the desire to take the pass and hunt some creatures. Lots of mushrooms and other fungi can be found growing in the caves that don’t grow anywhere else.”

“This should be fun,” Avitue said as she nudged Einar. “A meeting with a city leader who loves shrooms. It’s a shame you didn’t invite a certain man who laughs like a goat to join us. Something tells me they could have lots of talks about those things.”

He smiled and nodded.

Perhaps that’s why he has a few fungi on the list.

***

The sound of scale-worked hauberks clinking as the four mail-clad dwarves led them through the stone hallway sounded like coins in a purse.  

They had entered the Vein gate, the main artery of Mighahm.  

He had been surprised to find that the passage they were in wasn’t just a simple corridor but a hewn canyon of granite, walls ribbed by pillars cut right into the mountains' bones. Every twenty strides, a sconce flared, blue runic light giving off instead of the expected red.  

The air carried a variety of smells: smoke from a forge, pine pitch, or something sweet like it, and a tang of metal that could be tasted on their tongues.

Slowly they made their way to a giant door, made from what appeared to be single piece of basalt.  There were no hinges that they could see, but instead runes carved from bronze spun and the whole slab began to sink into the floor without a sound.

Waiting for it to disappear made them appreciate the view that finally appeared: a broad, octagonal chamber cut inside the mountain.

A single pillar stood in the middle, polished smooth. A vein of green serpentine ran around it, almost making the stone look like a tree trunk.

Mosswalker… now it makes sense.

Stone balconies were set around the room.  In each of them, a dwarf stood, hands resting on the rail.  Some held books and pens ready. 

Einar spotted the wall Bartia had mentioned and saw a pair of dwarves standing near it, hammer and chisel in hand, some dust and rock near their boots, waiting to return to work.

She said the name of every dwarf from this city who has died to the giants is marked there, but that list… is longer than I expected.

Their escort led them around the room, past the pillar, and to a throne that rose from what appeared to be half an anvil.

Upon it sat a dwarf who made all the others look like children. His shoulders were wider than those of two Vikings standing side by side. Every inch of him gave off a sense of power and strength, but his eyes told a different story, matched only by his beard.

There were bags under them and the snow white color of his hair spoke of a dwarf older than any Einar had probably ever encountered.

Eight braids were crafted from his beard, and metal rings with runes were set in each strand.

Next to the throne he sat on was a hammer, larger than the one Orin had returned with.

A thin robe covered the dwarf, pulled tight around his waist and tucked under, showing off calves that had developed from supporting Gromm’s size.  

Two hairy feet were pressed against the stone.

Fifteen yards from the dwarf, their escort stopped, banging the butt of their spears on the stone.

“Gromm Mosswalker! Champion of Mighahm! Slayer of the Southern Giant!”

All the dwarves gathered echoed their voices once, and then no one else spoke as they stood there, gazing upon the leader of this town.

If this is just a leader of here… what must the dwarven King look like?

Taking a deep breath, Gromm sat up, reaching his full height and revealing that he had been slightly hunched over. He easily added another foot to his already giant stature.

He spoke, his voice rumbling like thunder.

“Welcome to the heart of the mountain, Vikings. Tell me, what is it you seek?”

Einar slightly bent his neck and took a single step forward, receiving a few glances from the four escorts who stood off to the side.

“We’ve come to keep our people's promise and fight against the creatures that threaten all the realms.  Ragnarok is coming and we are here to ensure all of our allies know this truth.  I have also come to gather supplies so that we might craft runes to help us fight against the darkness which plagues all realms and equip ourselves with the weapons and armor your people are known for making.”

Gromm’s head slowly moved up and down, his green eyes studying them for a moment.

“Surely you would prefer weapons crafted by elves. I have heard how they can destroy that which you boast about needing.”

Before he could respond, the oversized dwarf waved a massive hand at Einar.

“I know of the weapon you have. For the King and Queen to have given it tell me that you have convinced them of what is coming. Unlike many dwarves, I have lived longer than most. To say a thousand years is nothing is not a boast. I might live another five hundred or a thousand if Ragnarok does not come or a giant does not strike me down.

“Stefi told me of the trap you laid and spoke of your cunning mind.”

A small snort came from Gromm who smiled for just a second.

“Orin… his temper and greed were his undoing and you led him like a bull with a ring in their nose. Still it pains me to hear that you so easily destroyed that which I would not have bet on.

“That shows the gods are with you. No Viking in so long has shown the power you possess and it has been far too long since your people have come here to help.  Even your current King has failed to come in… what you call a generation.

“One loss doesn’t mean an entire realm should sit by and do nothing.  My people have suffered due to your King’s inaction. Yet here you stand and from what I have learned, you have an ally that supports you back home.”

Einar knew his expression had changed, his head had tilted slightly and it caused Gromm to chuckle.

“There is only one Viking who carries honor among my people and his laughter in turn makes us all laugh. Only one who is partnered with him would have a mind as sharp as his.  Besides, I can see the tattoo on your face and know what it does. Tell me does–”

“Please don’t say his name,” Einar blurted out. “He wishes to keep that a secret.”

A slight frown came, and the nearby guards shifted slightly at his outburst.

That massive hand began to stroke a few of his beard braids and Gromm nodded slowly.

“That would make sense. I could see how sharing his name might cause… problems in your realm. Very well, Einar Sibbison, I shall not speak his name. Now tell me, what do you need from me before you leave for Kvellholl and seek out the Stone Father?”

“I know your blacksmiths are low on ore to make us weapons and armor. Even worse I plan to leave in three days for the capital. I know the pass is dangerous but we are also going to seek out some of the monsters that threaten all those who travel.”

“Are you asking for an escort?”

Gromm’s face was like stone, unmoving as he waited for an answer.

“No. While I would not turn one down, I would prefer not to ask you to reduce the number of warriors who defend your city. It pains me to see so many names on the wall, knowing more are added too often.”

Einar saw a slight shift in Gromm’s stature as the dwarf’s face softened just a little.

“Any help you can give with maps or locations of the creatures we seek would be appreciated. If you are willing, Bartia Shatterplate has promised to guide us to the capital and back.”

“So you do not desire for me to open up my forge and dump out the ore and metal I have there at your feet and promise it to you?”

Einar smiled and shook his head.

“I would gladly trade for ore or metal and pay for weapons and armor but I would not dishonor you or myself with such a request.  If one chooses to give something freely it is because they feel so inclined to do so.”

“And yet I can see a cask in one of your Vikings’ arms. Is that a gift or simply a means to gain my favor?”

“The Viking whom you and I both know of told me before I set out that I should bring a gift to give to any city leader or the King.  Some might bring gems or gold, but he told me that while many enjoy those things, there is something even greater to any dwarf who knows what real alcohol should taste like.  In that cask is one of the finest ales brewed from my Jarl’s private brewhouse. It is a gift. I expect nothing in return except to hopefully be able to tell both men that you found it to your liking.”

A smile formed and Gromm motioned with a few fingers.

Einar turned and took the cask Thorodd held, moving to where the dwarf sat, holding out the wooden container.

Gromm used both hands and took it, holding the cask up to his nose and took a deep breath.

His smile grew, and, setting the cask upon his legs, he took out what had to be a dagger or a sword for a Viking and plunged it into the top.

Without waiting, he upended it, gulping the liquid that flowed, not a single drop escaping the massive pair of lips that gripped the wood like a lover.

Seconds passed and soon Gromm lowered it, wiping his lips with his arm before letting out a belch that vibrated throughout the room.

“Now, that is a fine ale!”

He tossed the cask to the floor and stood, finally revealing his true size, basically twice Einar's height.

“Scribes, prepare a map for these Vikings and ensure they have a rune forged-lantern for every cart!”

Dwarves in the balconies began to write and Einar didn’t dodge the giant hand that came at him, patting his shoulder like a child might their father.

“Einar Sibbison, please tell that goat laughing Viking he still owes me for –”

As Gromm spoke, Einar winked, unhooking a pouch he had tied behind his back.

“I’m not sure what’s in here, but he told me someone might mention he owed them something. You’re the first and this is the only thing he gave me so hopefully no more dwarves come collecting.”

Gromm roared with laughter, pinching the tiny pouch between his two fingers and studying the leather container.  

“Still sealed… tell me, do you know what is inside?”

Shaking his head, Einar shrugged. 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about our common friend, he does a lot of weird things. Sometimes it’s better for me not to know.”

Still smiling, Gromm lifted his robe, thankfully wearing some shorts underneath it and tucked the pouch in a pocket.

“Tell him thank you. I shall enjoy this greatly. Now then, let’s get you and your men back to your place. I now have somewhere I need to be.”

The sound of four spears tapping stone signaled their time to exit and Einar once more bent his neck.

“Thank you again, Gromm Mosswalker. May your hammer always strike true and your veins run deep.”

“By Thor’s cracked anvil… you really did learn from him!”