“That smells awful,” Osvif declared as he pinched his nose.
“It’s good practice for you,” Ragna replied, snapping his fingers at the younger Viking. “Now get back to work, and don’t stop until I’m certain you’re out of wyrd.”
Grumbling, the newest user of fire moved back into his position, raised both hands, and focused on sending another jet of flames upon the chunks of flesh that had been hauled off to the edge of the pass.
“Makes me glad I’m a wind user,” Avitue joked, elbowing Einar in the side. “Seems unfair you’re not having to help out.”
“Well, I’ve proven I don’t need the practice. Still, we can’t leave this here to rot.”
She nodded, seeing the frown on her husband's face.
“It’s just a day. Who knew it would take this long to harvest such a thing?”
“No one,” he replied. “If this is a small one, we’re going to have to be more selective I down the road for the next ones. Even worse is the fact that Jepi and his pack are gone, taking the items back to the fort. That takes us down to three packs.”
“But helps us find out if perhaps a spy or saboteur is still in our midst?”
Einar bobbed his head, watching as his childhood friend practiced under the tutelage of the older rune caster.
“It can’t be a coincidence. The poisoning attempt and the ballista not working are too much simply to overlook.”
“And you’re certain that Guat is behind them?”
He checked to ensure it was still the two of them, and nodded.
“Someone is threatened by me and what we are doing. They are emboldened, it would appear by having him on their side. This leads me to the question of who. The simple choice is too obvious. Koigrim would seem like the one first to be suspected but others could be making moves as well. From what Arngrim has told me there are many inside the king’s council that want power and control. If someone had succeeded in poisoning me, it would do a lot of things, one of which could be to force the King to respond. What Erik might say or do is anyone's guess, but his reaction and how it was handled would also potentially shake up those around him. If he did any kind of real investigation, that is.”
Avitue leaned her head back and laughed.
“When did the warrior from my home village become one who understands such matters and intrigue? Perhaps I should get one of my sisters to hit me in the head with a rock.”
Grabbing her, he pulled her close and brushed a finger along her cheek.
“I would rather not mar such a beautiful face, especially since we both know you’re so hard-headed the rock would break.”
Her fist hit his stomach, bouncing off as she growled.
“Careful husband, you might find out how hard-headed I can really be,” she winked.
***
“Your fight was interesting,” Bartia stated as the caravan of Vikings moved toward the exit of the pass. “In the open we try not to engage with them as the giants are too strong and we rarely carry weapons designed to fight them. If a team has been dispatched, they’ll at least come with special crossbows similar to what you use for spears.”
“How big are these crossbows?” Einar asked.
“About four feet long. They fire a special tip that is designed to twist and burrow. As I’m not one gifted with the art of smithing, I’m uncertain how they are created but upon striking their target, they drill into the giant, causing the wound to bleed and puncture pretty deep into them.”
“Can you kill one by simply bleeding them out?”
She shrugged and shook her head side to side.
“Yes, but it takes forever. The truth is you’ll have ten to fifteen dwarves shooting them from all the different sides. We aim to hit vital spots, causing more damage and allowing the other dwarves to engage as the giant is weakened. Unlike the one you just faced, the real problem is the giants who wear armor and carry shields and real weapons.”
“The smart ones,” Avitue chimed in.
Their dwarf nodded, frowning as she rode between the pair.
“I have not faced one yet, but the stories are told to help prepare us in case we find one. A single giant has slain over fifty warriors before, stomping them out while eating the bones of my fallen allies before heading off to cause more problems.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Something that can kill fifty dwarves and live…
Einar considered what Scrombles had told him, but the information the dwarf had shared didn’t go into actual tactics. He had stated those were not something he could share and hearing Bartia talk about it made him wonder if she might get in trouble for doing so.
“Yet they stay away from the major cities because of the defenses?”
She nodded, scratching her beard a little.
“The walls or mountains can withstand any rock or tree they throw at them. Sure they can damage the countryside and cause problems with the farms, but doing so also puts them at risk as an entire city might send out over a hundred dwarves. Those odds are not good for the giant even if it will cause many to die.”
“What about magic?” Avitue asked. “You dwarves have magic.”
“Not like you’re thinking,” Bartia informed her. “As I said before, our magic lies in our armor and weapons. Inside each of us is a power that is conveyed through that which we carry. No runes can be imbued in our bodies, but we can imbue magic into the items we wear. It’s like…”
The dwarf leaned over toward Einar and pointed at his axe.
“Your weapon resonates with magic. I can sense it. The boots you wear are barely alive with any real power, but that weapon stands out like a light in a house when I’m close. I knew it was strong when we fought, but a tool is only as good as the one who wields it. You, Einar, make that tool even more dangerous with the power I now realize you have.”
She reached over he shoulder and pulled the hammer that Scrambles had given her before they left.
Pointing at it she showed the markings that decorated the shaft as well as the hammerhead.
“Each of these is crafted by a smith who knows how to take the essence of their own life and mix it with the materials of all the realms. Together, those things form an object far stronger and more powerful than just any of the weapons your Vikings carry.”
“But none of those items will work for us?” Avitue asked.
“Not unless they craft it for you,” Bartia replied. “It’s like Thor’s hammer. It has power in it, magnified by his own strength. Can someone else use it? Well, that is a question many have debated, but it was set with a barrier. One must be worthy of being able to wield it. Like Thor’s hammer, most dwarven weapons carry a similar thing, making it so only dwarves can channel the power that is set inside.”
Tapping the foot-thick metal head, their dwarf grimaced.
“How you were able to slice one of these in half was… impossible. Many attempt to break or damage a dwarven weapon but that is no small feat. Even a giant would do little beyond snapping a wooden shaft. Crushing the metal to bits would require strength most don’t simply possess. For you to have done what you did… proved how strong you really are.”
Einar sat on his horse, studying Bartia’s expression. Her lips were pursed, and she appeared to be chewing on one. Her eyes were narrowed, and she studied him as her finger continued to tap the hammerhead.
“Is that why you were willing to join us?”
Chuckling, she nodded.
“There are stories swirling around our realm about you now, thanks to the elves who showed up with goods to trade after so long. I… considered it simple foolishness but having witnessed firsthand your actions and strength, there is a hope inside me that we might finally take back that which has been stolen from us. I’m just sad that it cost me and the crafter of my weapon to do so.”
“Because few weapons are being made?”
Turning her attention to Avitue, Bartia shook her head.
“That hammer being destroyed was felt by the smith who created it. If what I have learned about your kind is true, those runes inside you can break. Correct?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“And the pain is overwhelming?”
Wincing, Avitue let out a long sigh as she nodded.
“Somewhere that weaponsmith felt a pain few rarely ever experience. I do not doubt that it brought them to their knees. Hopefully, they were not smithing at the time.”
“Forgive me,” Einar said. “I didn’t know.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she replied. “As you said, you didn’t know and it took me seeing it to realize that perhaps that old fool, Scrombles, is right. For one to show up and easily cut a dwarven weapon in half is a sign of how dark things really are and the need we have for Vikings to help.”
Clearing his throat, Einar kept his eyes focused on the hammer head that was still facing him.
If their magic lies in the items they create, how much power and what kind of items had to be consumed to make the famed equipment of the gods?
Over and over, the stories he had heard and the songs the skalds had sang played out, each one making it hard to believe what kind of power was consumed in the crafting of weapons each god wielded.
Gungnir… Freyr’s sword… Mjölnir… how many others are just as powerful?
Einar the felt a thread of dots connecting in his mind as those thoughts played out.
Loki… what kind of weapon is he after? How powerful could that thing really be?
“Are you alright?”
Looking up at Bartia, he nodded.
“Yes, sorry I was just wondering about the weapons the gods of Asguard carry and what was required to craft them.”
A loud howl of laughter came from their dwarven friend, and she shook her head. With ease, she slipped the large hammer back over her shoulder into the straps that held it.
“Only a few could answer that truthfully and those who know won’t share. That kind of power has not been spent or invested in so many generations of dwarves it is impossible to know for certain,” she replied, wiping a tear away. “It would take the King agreeing for such kind of power to be used up, drawing from all dwarves who were willing to make such a wonderful thing. That bastard Loki has still not properly paid for what it cost our people to make Mjölnir but that is not my place to talk about.”
Clearing her throat, Bartia pointed at the path they were moving along.
“We need to prepare. From here on out, anything can and will come at us. There are three days before we reach another section of land that will be dangerous. Perhaps it will go without conflict. Perhaps it will not.”
Avitue began to chuckle.
“You obviously don’t know my husband well enough then. Everywhere he goes seems to have conflict.”
Both women laughed as Einar rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn’t argue against that.