

Forger of the Runeblade

Gavin Chappell

Copyright Gavin Chappell 2011

Published by Schlock! Publishing at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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BOOK ONE: FAR FROM THE SUN

PROLOGUE

The last dwarf fell.

His body sprawled across the tunnel floor, blood-spattered, unmoving, joining those of his companions who had struggled valiantly but vainly against the advancing tide of attackers. Around him, swart-elf corpses lay savagely entwined with the fallen dwarves, their white-painted faces set in a collective rictus of hate. The stench of blood hung heavy in the rock-walled passage.

The swart-elf prince's chest rose and fell wildly as he panted for breath. Blood smeared his blade to the hilt. His slain foes lay piled before him. As the clamour of the slaughter echoed and re-echoed from the stone-vaulted tunnel roof, his weary followers took stock of their wounds and their surroundings. It had been a hard battle, and the position they now commanded had cost them dear. But there was no time for remorse. Prince Helgrim strode forward to address them.

'We are almost there!' he cried, his alien, feline eyes slits of cold malice. 'All opposition has been crushed. All our foes are slain!'

One of his warriors, who had been investigating the corpses, looked up significantly. 'I cannot find their captain,' he reported. 'Tanngrisnir is not here.'

For a moment, Prince Helgrim was perturbed. His gaze scanned the surrounding tunnel. Then he shook his head.

'We waste time,' he hissed. 'Tanngrisnir can do little on his own. We have seized the caves his troops guarded. Now let us exploit the initiative we have gained.'

He led his followers at a march up the steeply winding tunnel. They turned a corner, and halted. At the far end of the sand-floored passage, the tunnel ended in a narrow, fissure-like archway down which daylight filtered.

'We have reached the surface,' Prince Helgrim crowed. 'Hurry!'

The swart-elves picked their way across the sandy floor and reached the exit. Half-blinded, they gazed out at the trees that grew before the cave, and the plain that stretched beyond them.

Prince Helgrim made a dramatic gesture. 'Beyond lies our goal!' he cried triumphantly.

1 CHILDHOOD'S END

Hal Dawson stamped down into the kitchen. His mother looked up, brushing back her greying hair.

'Have you mucked out the stables yet, son?' she asked, placing two rashers of bacon on a plate beside a potato cake.

Hal's mouth watered. 'Almost, mum,' he said. She put the plate in front of his father, who was reading the Daily Post after coming back in from the fields. Dawson Senior lowered the paper and frowned at his son.

'"Almost" isn't good enough,' he said. 'I've told you before, get your chores done before you come to the breakfast table.'

A sulky pout on his handsome, open face, Hal stamped back out again.

He crossed the courtyard towards the stables, pausing by the gate for a longing look across the fields that sloped down towards the estuary. Beyond the river, the blue-grey hills of Wales stood dark and dramatic against the morning sky, seeming to beckon him away from the drudgery of farm life towards some wild and incredible future. Clouds piled upon the peaks like vaster mountains, topped by enchanted castles. He stared dreamily into the distance.

A raucous croaking woke him from his trance. He glanced up at the beeches by the stables. A large black bird, a rook or a crow, was gazing arrogantly down at him. It spread its wings with pompous dignity, and flapped off, jeering. He grabbed the pitchfork and started mucking out the stables.

Hal was utterly fed up. Now that he had left school, it seemed that he spent every day slaving on the farm. His dad wanted him to go to agricultural college next year, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life, but he knew that whatever he ended up doing, it certainly wasn't going to include farming; not if he had any say in it. Grumpily, he speared the hay with the pitchfork, imagining it was some monstrous opponent. As soon as he had finished to his own satisfaction, he went back into the kitchen.

'How many times! Clean up after mucking out, Hal!' his mother snapped. Hal cleaned himself hastily in the washhouse, then sat at the table and started shovelling up his breakfast. His father had already finished, and was shrugging into his tattered old coat before he headed out into the shippons. Before he left, he looked at his son.

'And don't forget to have a look at the fence in Rake Hey field,' he said. 'But get that application form filled in first.'

Hal put down his knife and fork. 'I'm not going to agricultural college,' he announced.

'Now, don't be silly, Hal,' his mother said. 'What are you going to do instead? You failed all your GCSEs.'

'Eric's going to art college,' Hal replied. 'So's Gwen. I want to go with them.'

His father looked at him levelly. 'Art college!' he said. 'What's the good of that? You're going to be a farmer, boy, and don't you forget it.'

He strode out. 'I am not,' Hal told the retreating back.

'Don't be cheeky,' his mother told him, rising to start the washing up.

Hal shovelled his breakfast up slowly, gazing out of the window across the cluttered farmyard. Early morning birdsong poured in; a liquid, ever-changing song of joy that was at serious odds with his mood. No one understood him. Why should he go to agricultural college, out in the middle of nowhere in Cheshire, just so he could spend the rest of his life working on a farm? He wanted to do something with his life! Sometimes it felt like he was going to burst with boredom and longing.

He heard a knock at the door. Hal's mother went to answer it. She returned a moment later.

'It's that Litefoot boy,' she said darkly. 'Tell him you're too busy to go out today.'

Hal strode from the kitchen. Eric Litefoot stood on the doorstep, his cunning face alight with mischief.

'Are you coming out, Hal?' He thrust his hands into his denim jacket and grinned cheekily.

''Course I am,' Hal replied, grabbing his coat. 'Where are we going?' He heard an angry shout from the farmhouse. 'Come on!' he added. 'Run!'

They stopped running when they reached the lane leading into the village. Hal glanced over his shoulder.

'She's not coming after us,' Eric reassured him. 'Hey Hal, do you want to go to Royden Park? Gwen texted me before; there's a fair on, and some guys dressed as Vikings or something.'

'Oh, yeah, okay,' Hal replied, as they slouched down the lane. The summer sun beamed down on the tarmac, but in the shade of the woods it was cool and dark.

He'd heard there was going to be a festival to commemorate the local Viking heritage. The Council had got a bee in its bonnet about the Wirral Peninsula being settled by Vikings back in the Dark Ages, and they had decided to celebrate it with a bunch of grown men dressing up as Vikings and fighting mock battles.

'Gwen's going as well,' Eric added, 'and she said to meet her there.'

Gwen Ramsey was Hal's other best friend. They were all about the same age, and had known each other for years, getting into endless scrapes together, usually through a combination of Eric's cunning and mischief and Hal's madcap spontaneity. Gwen was the sensible one; by their standards, at least. Like Eric, she intended to go to art college.

They followed a winding trail through musty pinewoods before heading out over the heath of Thurstaston Hill. Soon they reached the grounds of Royden Park, a wild, overgrown area of parkland once owned by a local bigwig, but now open to the public. A large field near the mock-Tudor mansion of Royden Hall was the venue for the Viking festival.

The two boys came out of the woods into a bustling scene of festivity. Stalls and tents were dotted about, tourists and locals thronged the grass, and one side of the field was taken up by a roped-off area where various groups of Viking re-enactors, dressed in authentic clothes in the style of the tenth century, were preparing to refight the famous battle. The smell of fresh-cut grass made Hal sneeze.

Hal and Eric listened as a voice over the tannoy told them of how the Viking leader Ingimund fled Dublin after defeat by the Irish and sailed across the sea to Britain, struggling to get a toehold in Wales, then moving on to Wirral. Here he had settled with his people, before besieging Chester and being defeated once more.

'Bit of a wimp, this Ingimund bloke,' Eric commented. 'Didn't he ever win any battles? I thought the Vikings were tough guys.'

'Look,' Hal said. 'There's Gwen!'

She was standing near the ropes, watching as the re-enactors readied themselves for the fray, their armour glinting in the sunlight; a small, pretty girl with flowing dark hair, wearing a long, baggy pullover and a Gypsy skirt. She turned as they approached, and smiled radiantly.

'Didn't think you'd show, Hal,' she greeted him. 'Eric reckoned you'd be mucking out the stables again.'

Hal shrugged uncomfortably. 'Well, I got out of that, didn't I?' he said. Gwen always teased him about being under the thumb of his parents. Just because her mum and dad let her get away with anything...

The re-enactors, divided into two contingents, were glaring at each other across their respective shield-walls, shouting authentic tenth-century insults. The voice on the tannoy informed the gathering crowd that one side represented the Anglo-Saxons who had lived here before the Vikings came, while the other was Ingimund and his Norse warband. The Vikings began banging their swords on their shields.

'I'm bored,' Eric said. 'Why's everyone making such a big deal about the Vikings? You'd think nothing ever happens in this place.'

'It doesn't,' Gwen replied. 'Nothing's happened here since Ingimund's day. But you're right. It brings everyone. Look, it's even brought the goths out!'

She pointed towards a group of skinny, black-clad youths lurking beneath the trees on the far side of the battlefield. They were watching the brewing combat with apparent disdain.

Hal felt a sudden, inexplicable chill down his spine. Sinister as the group looked, he couldn't account for this feeling of mounting dread. As he eyed them, one caught his gaze; a tall youth with long black hair, who wore black sunglasses, white face-paint and black leather with studded wristbands. The guy looked as if he had escaped from some Norwegian heavy metal band, the kind who spent more time murdering each other than making music. But Hal could not understand why his breath was beginning to catch in his throat, and his heart beat wildly in his ears.

The youth turned to his fellows, and pointed directly at Hal. They swaggered across the field towards them, brushing past anyone who failed to move out of the way.

'Oh, and I saw Gangrel before,' Gwen added, gazing towards the re-enactors. 'He said he had some more of his homebrew, and to meet him at Thor's Rock this evening.'

Gangrel was an ageing hippie who lived in a caravan on the edge of the woods. He kept bees and scraped a living selling honey and mead. Partly because their mum and dad had warned them away from him, partly because he was generous with his homebrew, Hal and his friends spent a lot of time in the old man's company. But Hal didn't feel interested right now.

'Come on, let's go somewhere else,' he blurted suddenly. Gwen gave him a sharp look.

'They're about to start the battle,' she complained. 'Aren't we going to watch?'

'What's up, Hal?' Eric added. 'You're as white as a sheet.'

'Come on,' Hal said thickly. The goths, or whatever they were, were closing in. Hal hurried towards the nearby tents, his two friends following, exchanging worried glances.

The pursuers followed them through a maze of tents where guy-ropes stretched in all directions to trip the unwary. None of Eric's or Gwen's inquiries received an answer from Hal. The black-clad youths still trailed them.

'Are they following us?' Gwen asked suddenly.

'Quick!' Hal said suddenly, spotting a tent up ahead with an open flap. Their pursuers were out of sight. 'In here!'

As the shout of the embattled re-enactors rang back from the surrounding trees, and the clang and clatter of metal on metal and wood on wood drifted across the field, the three teenagers vanished into the musty gloom of the tent.

An eerie voice hailed them, as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness. 'Do you come seeking visions of the future? Cross my palm with silver, if you wish me to tell your fortune.'

Hal looked round. It was immediately apparent that they had stumbled into a fortune-teller's tent. Oriental rugs were strewn across the floor, and a woman in gypsy clothes sat at a table, gazing into a crystal ball. Beside it lay a pack of Tarot cards and a bag of runestones. The air was heavy with the smell of joss-sticks.

'Sorry,' Hal said. 'We came in here by mistake.'

'Come on, Hal,' Eric said. 'What's up with you? Let's leave.'

'I want to see the battle,' Gwen added.

Hal swallowed. He peeked out through the tent flap, and gulped. Their menacing pursuers were standing less than ten yards away, looking around uncertainly.

'Er, alright,' Hal said suddenly to the fortune-teller, ignoring his friends. He sat down at the table.

'Cross my palm with silver if you wish to see the future,' the fortune-teller prompted him. 'That's fifty pence, hun.'

Hal scrabbled in his wallet while his two friends looked on, bewildered by his behaviour. He dropped a fifty pence piece in the fortune teller's palm.

She bit it, and tucked it in her waistband. Then she reached for the bag of runestones, and cast them. With her eyes raised towards the tent roof, her ringed fingers scrabbled for three runes, and placed them in a row on the table. She lowered her eyes, and pointed to each rune in turn.

'This, dear, is Isa,' she said, indicating the first, a single vertical line. 'It represents the past.'

'What does it mean?' Hal asked reverently. He didn't believe this mumbo-jumbo, but the woman's hushed voice was mesmerising.

'A time of stillness in your life,' she said. 'Nothing seems to happen, and yet forces are at work beneath the surface.'

Hal frowned. That seemed strangely apt. 'And the second?' he asked.

'This represents the present,' the fortune teller replied. 'It is Ehwo.'

The rune looked like a letter 'M' to Hal, but he said nothing, looking expectantly at the woman while Eric and Gwen fidgeted uncomfortably. 'It signifies a transformation of the self; new attitudes, a new home, new goals and steady progress in life,' she told him.

Hal digested this thoughtfully. A new home? Sounded promising.

'What about the last one?' he asked, thoroughly absorbed. It resembled a cross, with the horizontal piece at a slight angle.

'This is Naudiz,' the fortune teller replied. 'It represents the future. It speaks of sorrow or distress that clouds reality. You will be driven by something from the past. But you will require caution to succeed in any venture.' She frowned suddenly. 'Beyond that I can sense.... something... Something evil...'

'Evil?' Hal gulped. The tent was silent as the fortune-teller stared down.

'Oh, come on, Hal,' Gwen said impatiently. 'She's told you your future. I'm bored. Let's go somewhere else.'

Absently, Hal rose. 'Evil...' he muttered, and shambled from the tent.

As the teenagers left, the fortune teller continued to stare in silence at the runes. Suddenly, she shivered.

'We missed the battle, thanks to you,' Gwen grumbled, as they made their way back through the tents. To Hal's relief, the black-clad youths had gone, but Gwen and Eric were thoroughly disgusted with him.

'Sitting round in some stuffy tent while Mystic Meg talks rubbish,' Eric grumbled.

The re-enactors had finished mock-slaughtering each other in the name of heritage; now they were standing in groups as members of the public wandered up to ask idle questions about their armour and weaponry.

'Why hasn't your helmet got horns on, then?' Eric demanded of one Viking, a short, weedy man with a receding chin. Hal was sure his friend knew the answer full well, but just wanted to annoy someone.

'Ah, well, son,' the re-enactor began, 'it's a myth, about Vikings having horns. I mean on their helmets. Back in the Bronze Age, however...'

'Can I have a look at your sword?' Hal interrupted the flow. He had never seen a sword so close up. Unwillingly, the man handed it over.

'Be careful...' he gulped, as Hal whirled round, pretending to decapitate an opponent. 'Look, let me show you...' He gave Hal a series of tips for successful Dark Age swordplay. Hal flourished the weapon dramatically, and the re-enactor cringed.

Suddenly, Hal stopped dead still, the sword still raised. Across the grass were the black-clad figures he had fled from. Their eyes fixed on him, as he stood there, sword raised.

'So now you think to fight us, boy?' their leader sneered in a thickly-accented voice. 'You are green, untried; unfit to fight Helgrim, Prince of Svartaborg! One day we may meet on the field of combat, but what honour would I gain for striking down a defenceless boy? Greater glory would be mine if I slew you as you rode to fulfil your weird!'

'Come again?' Hal said faintly.

'Prince Helgrim!' another protested. 'Show not such scruples now! I say strike him down! He is the one in the Foretelling! Slay him now ere he slays our dark master, and then the forces of chaos will reign supreme!'

The re-enactor watched the developing drama uncertainly. 'Look, put the sword down now,' he said, wagging a finger at Hal. 'You'll have someone's eye out.' But Hal was deaf to all entreaties as he faced the black-clad figure. 'I'll call the police,' the re-enactor added.

'Hal, what's going on?' Gwen asked. 'Who are these weirdoes?'

Prince Helgrim turned to her. 'Ah, and the Foretelling speaks of you, too,' he said quietly. 'One day you shall be my queen...'

Gwen put her hands on her hips indignantly. 'Oh, will I?' she asked. 'We'll see about that!'

'Slay Muspell's bane now, prince,' one of Prince Helgrim's companions urged. 'Slay him and his trickster companion, and take your bride! Fulfill your weird!' Tempted, Prince Helgrim took a step forward.

A voice rang out across the field: 'Leave them!'

Hal turned to see a wild figure striding through the assembled tourists, who clearly thought this confrontation was part of the entertainment.

'Leave them, prince of the swart-elves!'

Hal recognised the one-eyed old man approaching; it was their friend Gangrel. As he came closer, Prince Helgrim and his followers scowled.

'By the fires of Muspellzheim, I should have seized my chance!' Prince Helgrim said. 'Come! Let us go! We cannot face Grimnir.'

Prince Helgrim and the others strode hurriedly from the field to applause from the spectators, vanishing into the darkness beneath the trees.

'Give me that thing!' the re-enactor said, wresting the sword from Hal's nerveless grasp. 'I don't know what that was about, but I've half a mind to report you to the police!' Fuming, he walked off.

'Gangrel!' Gwen said joyfully, giving the old man a hug. 'What was all that about?'

'"Helgrim, Prince of Svartaborg"!' Eric said scornfully. 'Who does he think he is?'

Hal turned questioningly to Gangrel.

The old man was over six foot tall, with tough, weather-beaten features, a long grey beard and hair growing halfway down his back. He wore a hooded blue coat despite the summer heat, and his single eye glittered with vitality.

'Well?' Gwen asked.

'There is much that I must tell you,' Gangrel said heavily. 'I had intended to enlighten you all one day, yet Prince Helgrim has forced my hand.' He looked keenly round the field. 'Not here, however, and not now. Return to your own homes. You should be safe there for the moment. I will ensure that Prince Helgrim and his fellows keep away for the time being.

'Meet me at Thor's Rock tonight,' he added mysteriously. 'Then I will tell you all you need to know. But for now, farewell.'

The old man turned, and strode across the field.

Hal was in trouble when he got home.

The moment he got in, his father demanded to know why he had not finished his chores before gallivanting off with his friends. Hal said, 'Well, I can do them now I'm back, can't I?'

'I did them when you were out,' his father snapped.

'Well, what's the problem, then?' Hal demanded.

His father's face suffused with red. 'Go to your room!' he bellowed.

A while after suppertime, a clatter of gravel against his bedroom window alerted a morose Hal. He opened it and looked down into the courtyard, where a familiar figure greeted him.

'Eric!' Hal hissed. 'What are you doing here?'

'Aren't you coming?' Eric hissed back. 'We're going to the Rock, remember?'

Hal looked agonised. 'I can't, I've been grounded.'

Eric grimaced. 'What?' he said. 'Don't you want to find out what's going on?'

Hal shrugged. 'Yeah, but...'

'Just climb down the drainpipe, then,' Eric replied. 'Like you always do.'

Hal sighed.

A few minutes later, they were heading down the lane towards Gwen's house, on the edge of the village.

'What d'you reckon Gangrel's going to tell us?' Hal dabbed at his face with his handkerchief. A close encounter with a climbing rose on the way down had left his nose scratched.

'I don't know,' Eric replied. 'Usual crazy stuff he comes out with, I expect. Wizards and dragons, and all that.'

Hal shrugged. Gangrel's stories did tend to be pretty wild: too much LSD in the sixties was Eric's theory, although the old man got upset if they doubted him. Hal secretly half-believed him, but he would never admit it to Eric.

They stopped outside Gwen's house. 'Here we are.' Eric threw some gravel at her bedroom window. After a few seconds, she appeared, and opened it.

'Are you coming?' Eric hissed.

With rather less reluctance than Hal, Gwen scrambled out of the window and shinned down the drainpipe.

'Quick,' she whispered. 'Before my mum and dad cotton on. They think I'm working on my portfolio for Art College.' They hurried down the road.

Shortly afterwards, they reached a gate at the edge of the heath. A path wound up the hill between thickets of silver birch, coming out beside a stagnant pond. Beyond this, the sandstone sloped down again into a large natural amphitheatre, dotted with small birch trees and dominated by a massive sandstone rock about thirty feet high. This was Thor's Rock.

According to local folklore, this had once been the heathen altar of the Vikings, where they offered up sacrifices to the old gods: the red sandstone had run with the darker red of blood. Serious historians scoffed at the idea, but the locals flocked to the Rock, despite its creepy reputation. It was the venue for daytime family outings and nocturnal teenage parties, for pagan marriages and Midsummer Morris dancing: as beloved in the twenty-first century as it had ever been in the days of the ancient Norsemen.

As Hal and his friends crossed the sandy space, two black birds - crows, perhaps, or rooks - flew down from the trees and settled on the Rock. The three teenagers scrambled up a winding path.

'Greetings.'

Hal started as Gangrel's voice floated down to them from above. He looked up to see the old man standing at the top of the Rock.

'Where did you spring from?' Eric asked.

Gangrel smiled enigmatically, and offered a hand to help Gwen up. The two boys joined them shortly after.

They sat on top of the Rock, looking out over heather slopes and thickets of birch. Darkness was fast descending as Gangrel shared his home-brewed mead with them.

'Time quickens its pace, and soon the end is upon us all,' he began, staring southwards. Cirrus clouds criss-crossed the dark blue of the sky, resembling the branches of some vast, unimaginably distant tree.

'Yeah, but what's going on?' Eric asked.

'Who were those people before?' Gwen added.

'The men in black?' Hal asked, and she nodded.

Gangrel shook his head. 'Not men,' he stated. 'I should have warned you of them long ago, but I thought we had some years yet. Beware Prince Helgrim,' he added. 'I pursued him and his folk until they sought refuge; they fear me, and rightly. Yet I cannot keep them at bay forever. They will kill you if they can. You especially, Hal.'

A shiver ran down Hal's spine again.

'Why me?' he asked in a low whisper. 'What have I done?'

'It is not what you have done. It is what you might accomplish. They fear that more than they fear me.'

'Who are they?' Gwen asked. 'If they're not men.'

'They are swart-elves,' Gangrel replied. 'Their home is far from the Sun.'

Eric snorted. 'Is this another one of your crazy stories, Gangrel?' The old man fixed him with his single eye.

'Shut up, Eric,' Hal snapped. 'Tell us more, Gangrel. Why do they want to kill us?'

Gangrel was about to reply when two black birds swooped down out of the gathering murk. He stared at them in silence as they strutted up and down, cawing raucously.

'Gangrel?' Hal asked. The old man held up a hand for silence.

The birds flew off. Gangrel rose abruptly.

'I must go,' he said, his voice suddenly urgent. 'Would that I could stay to defend you, but I am needed elsewhere. Fear the swart-elves, and Prince Helgrim most of all. Flee them!'

'Where are you going?' Hal asked in anguish. 'What are we to do?'

'Do you know Alderley Edge? Meet me there in three days,' Gangrel said. 'I will explain all when I see you again. For now, farewell.'

The old man strode away down the Rock.

'He's really lost the plot, now.' Eric's voice broke the ensuing silence.

Hal shook his head. 'He seemed so sincere,' he said, then frowned. 'But I didn't really follow him.'

'He tells us we're all in danger, and then walks off without another word,' added Gwen fiercely. 'How do you like that?'

'It must be something more important even than this,' Hal said slowly.

'Oh, come off it, Hal,' Eric sneered. 'You didn't believe all that, did you? It's just another one of his crazy stories. He's a good laugh, okay. But you can't take him seriously.' He swigged some mead. 'Good homebrew, though,' he added.

Hal scratched his head. 'What about those swart-elves?' he asked.

'Swart-elves? Swart-elves my...' Eric began scornfully.

'You have to admit that was more than just one of Gangrel's stories,' Gwen interrupted.

'So are we all going to Alderley Edge, then?' Eric jeered.

'Oh,' Hal said, his face falling. 'I can't do that. I'm grounded.'

'Exactly,' Eric replied. 'Forget it. It's all rubbish. Crazy old man.' He shook his head. 'I'm off,' he added, getting to his feet.

'So am I,' Gwen added, looking half-apologetically at Hal. 'I'll be in trouble if my mum and dad find out I've sneaked out. Even they won't put up with that.'

Hal sighed. He had not really understood Gangrel's story, but the old man had seemed so sincere. Still, maybe Eric was right.

The three teenagers parted in the lane leading to the farm. It was dark now, and Hal was more worried about what would happen if his parents had discovered his absence. The summer night was warm, and as he hurried away, Hal's thoughts were far from Gangrel's words.

It came as a shock to him when he turned the corner and saw two dark figures in the lane outside the farm. He ducked back into the shadow of a towering gorse bush, and then peered out again.

In the moonlight, he recognised them: two of Prince Helgrim's followers. The two black-clad figures were watching the building expectantly, as if waiting for something. All Gangrel's wild words came whirling back into his mind, setting it into turmoil.

Were they waiting for him? As he scanned the surrounding area, he caught sight of more dark figures crouched by the bus-stop on the other side of the lane... and further away, near the crossroad.

A twig cracked beneath his foot. One of the dark figures at the bus stop stirred. Hal leapt into the shadows and watched as it produced a long, curved blade from beneath its cloak. Its companion spoke to it in a guttural tone. It scanned the darkness and Hal quailed.

He heard a noise from the gorse bushes to his right. A bird hopped out and pecked at the ground. The figure shook its head, and hid the blade.

They weren't going to beat him on his own ground, Hal thought. He knew all the ins and outs of the area. He crept back down the road, crossed it in the shadow between two street lamps, and scrambled over the nearby fence.

Beyond it was a stand of woodland that led to the field beside the farmhouse, where they kept chickens. The undergrowth was thick, and brambles snatched at his ankles as he forced his way through the wood, but he was sure no one would be guarding this route...

He halted, and squatted down, shaking. Another dark figure was standing no more than ten feet away, at the edge of the trees, surveying the farmhouse. Hal's heart hammered furiously.

From here, he could see the path across the fields. More dark figures were waiting there, studying the building. Waiting for him. They had covered every way in!

Everything Gangrel had said was true! And now that the old man had gone, the swart-elves were waiting to ambush Hal. Why? The question screamed itself out in the silence of his mind. Why did they want to kill him?

He would have to be calm. What should he do? He couldn't go home. Even if he broke through the cordon, the swart-elves would follow him, kill him; maybe kill his mum and dad, too. Did they know he was not at home?

He would have to go away. If he stayed here, he would be endangering his family. Where could he go?

Gangrel would meet them at Alderley Edge in three days. Until then they must run and hide.

He would have to catch up with Eric and Gwen.

Like a shadow, Hal slipped through the trees, heading back the way he had come.

2 INTO THE FOREST

Eric swung round in panic at the sound of running feet. Gwen turned her head swiftly. They had reached the edge of the woods, where the road crossed the brook and the fields began. The lights of the village were visible up ahead.

A sprinting figure burst out into the open. Eric tensed, ready for flight or fight, then relaxed. Gwen gasped.

'Hal! What's up?' she said.

'Swart-elves!' Hal panted. 'Waiting for me... At the farm...'

Gwen and Eric exchanged glances. 'Maybe it would be better if we didn't go home...' Gwen said darkly.

'We'll just be putting our families in danger,' Hal gasped.

Eric was briefly silent, and then he nodded. 'Alright, I'll accept that something strange is going on,' he said. 'And you're right; none of us can go home now. I don't know if I believe half of what Gangrel said, but something is going on.'

'What are we going to do, then?' Hal asked.

'Go to the cave,' Eric said decisively. 'If we're going to avoid them, it'll mean heading through the fields past the old hall, then crossing the main road. But we can do it.'

The cave Eric was talking about was in a dell on the far side of the main road, near the disused railway line and the meadows that sloped down to the river estuary. Hal and his friends had spent the odd night sleeping there before, for a laugh. But this time it was grimly in earnest.

'We'll get up at the crack of dawn,' Eric added, leading them quickly up the lane, 'and catch the bus to Chester. From Chester, we can cross the Cheshire Plain to Alderley Edge. And when we see Gangrel again, he'd better have a good explanation waiting.'

They hurried along the dark lanes of the village, taking a path into the fields near the old hall. Abandoning the path, they circled a herd of sleeping cows and climbed over a gate. It led into a field of stubble where a stack of hay-bales towered against the night sky. From here, the moonlit estuary was visible, mirroring a narrow line of streetlamps on its further bank. The Welsh mountains were black against the stars and the night wind blowing up from the estuary was chill. As Hal followed the dark shapes of his friends, he remembered the morning, when he had looked longingly out across the river, hoping for adventure. Had he hoped too hard?

They crested the ridge on the far side of the field and scaled another fence before coming down to the edge of the main road. Swiftly crossing it - it was currently devoid of cars - the three teenagers climbed a gate in the hedge on the other side. This led into an open field, at the bottom of which lay a ditch. Leaping across this one by one, they found themselves on a muddy path. They turned left and followed it through the fields.

Within a few minutes, they reached the little wooded valley, and blundered their way down the dark path through the trees. An owl hooted off to the left: 'Just for effect,' Eric muttered.

The stream trickled over a small waterfall, and the cave was in the hollow valley below, a jutting outcrop of sandstone a short way up the slippery slope. In the darkness, it was difficult to find. Without the moonlight they would have never got there.

'Here we are.' Eric flung himself down on the fire-blackened rock. 'No signs of pursuit. We'll kip here, and then continue in the morning.'

Hal and Gwen sat down. A cool breeze was stirring the branches, and Hal shivered. He had never anticipated setting out so unprepared, when he dreamed of adventure.

Gwen lay down beside him. Eric, who could sleep anywhere, was already snoring. Hal looked out across the little valley. It was silent, except for the soughing of the wind, and occasional indeterminate animal noises. The acrid smell of smoke came from somewhere to the north.

Again, dread seized him. He lay down on the hard sandstone floor of the cave, but sleep evaded him for a long time.

'Crack of dawn, you said!'

Hal's gummy eyes opened. The sun dappled the valley floor below. He sat up, stretching and yawning. His mouth felt as if a small rodent had nested in it.

'I was asleep, wasn't I?' Eric was saying. 'Anyway, now even Hal's awake.'

Hal looked up to see the pair bickering by the cave mouth. Their hair was in disarray and their clothes were rumpled. So were Hal's, for that matter.

He rubbed his eyes. 'Weren't we supposed to be up at dawn?'

'Don't you start,' Eric growled. 'Gwen's been grouching since she woke me.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's only ten o'clock. The next bus to Chester will be leaving Heswall in about twenty-five minutes.'

'Come on, then,' Hal said, rising and brushing himself down. 'Let's get moving.'

As they headed across the fields towards the main road, Hal noticed black smoke billowing from the direction of the heath. It must be another fire, he thought. In the summer, the dry gorse went up every few weeks.

They reached the bus stop on the outskirts of Heswall, a small town south of Irby, and waited for the Chester bus. When it finally arrived - late, as usual - the driver glanced at their rumpled clothes with amusement.

'Been rolling in the bushes, have we?' he asked. 'You kids!'

The bus trundled lazily through the rolling countryside, passing wood and field and marsh, stopping to pick up passengers in every sleepy village of neat stone cottages, every twee, well-groomed rural housing estate. By the time Hal and his friends had reached Gibbet's Cross, the junction near the Wirral border, the little bus was packed with teenagers and pensioners.

They entered Chester after about an hour's journey. The bus drove under the Northgate and headed down the main street, turning into the bus station just before the town hall.

The three teenagers got off the bus and headed for the railway station. They hurried through the bustling, old-fashioned streets, with their incongruous mix of the archaic and the ultra-chic, weaving in and out of businessmen and tourists. Hal had often gone to Chester with his parents when he was younger. Hollyoaks it wasn't, but he had always enjoyed visiting the old city. He felt a twinge of guilt. By now, his mum and dad must be wondering where he was.

Hal and his friends had to wait about half an hour for the train, during which time they quietened their grumbling stomachs with over-priced sandwiches from the station shop. Once he had placated his belly, Hal found his conscience grew equally troublesome. He phoned home, but he got no reply.

'Were they out?' Eric asked, as Hal put his mobile back in his pocket. Hal gave him a perturbed look.

'No dialling tone,' he replied.

The Knutsford train pulled into the station, and they hurried over to Platform Six to board it. Hal dismissed the mystery as the train left Chester and chugged happily through the suburbs. Children waved at them from a playground as the train passed; the embankment grew thick with trees on either hand, and suddenly they came out into farmland and open countryside.

The Cheshire Plain rolled before them, verdant and beautiful beneath the blue summer skies. The smell of grass drifted in through the windows.

'How far is it to Alderley Edge?' Gwen asked.

'A fair way,' Eric replied. 'We pass through Delamere Forest first, then get off at Knutsford and go the rest of the way by bus. Alderley Edge is right on the far side of the Cheshire Plain, near the foothills of the Pennines.'

Hills were visible in the distance to the north as they passed fields of cattle and small villages, riding stables and muddy paddocks. More hills appeared in the south, but Eric told them that Alderley Edge was still a long way off.

The train chugged on across the plain. Rolled up bales of hay dotted the fields, resembling enormous cheeses. A church spire was visible in a nearby valley. The terrain became steeper and hillier before they pulled into Mouldsworth Station. Sheep dotted the hillsides. The forest loomed up on the horizon.

Soon ranks of trees were on either hand like dark green walls. Bracken swathed the embankment. Eddisbury hillfort was briefly visible through the trees; the pylons that topped it resembled the towers of some science fiction city. Then the trees swallowed it up.

Hal had been sitting on the seat across from Eric and Gwen. Suddenly he gasped, and his eyes widened, as he looked over their shoulders.

'What is it?' Eric asked sharply, turning and staring down the train. He gulped. Gwen turned.

'Oh, no...' she murmured. 'When did they get on?'

Making their way down the coach behind them were six or seven dark-clad figures with white-painted faces and dark sunglasses. Arrogance was visible in their every movement.

'What are we going to do?' Hal said, sweating freely.

Gwen shook her head. 'I don't know...' she admitted.

'Here!' Eric cried suddenly. He leaned out and operated the emergency cord.

With a screeching of tortured machinery, the train halted in a cutting deep in the forest. Passengers glared angrily at Eric. The ticket inspector strode down the gangway towards them, his face set with anger.

The door at the other end of the coach swung open, and the swart-elves burst in. Prince Helgrim strode at their head. The ticket inspector came to a startled halt as Prince Helgrim drew a glittering sword from beneath his cloak.

'We've got to get out of here!' Gwen cried.

'Quick,' Eric said. He smashed the glass that covered the emergency opening device. The doors swished open.

The three teenagers tumbled down onto the track. In the coach, the swart-elves were forcing their way through a milling throng of passengers.

'Up here!' Eric grunted, leading them at a stumbling sprint up the overgrown embankment. As they reached the top, where a wire fence marked the edge of the trees, Hal looked back.

The train still stood in the cutting. The swart-elves had leapt down onto the track, their cloaks swirling around them, their swords and axes glittering in the sunlight. Their leader, Prince Helgrim, pointed up at the fugitives.

'After them!' he shouted harshly. Hal, Gwen, and Eric vanished into the resin-scented depths of the trees. Deep into the murky woods they halted, and peered back in the direction of the railway line. 'Are they still following?' Gwen gasped.

Eric shook his head. 'Maybe we shook them off.'

Hal snorted. 'Unlikely,' he said. 'I think we should get going. How far is it to Alderley Edge now?'

'On foot? A long way,' Eric said bitterly. 'Get moving.'

Although there was no visible sign of pursuit for the rest of that day, Hal felt eyes watching him from beneath the trees as they followed the winding forest paths. Maybe they had shaken off their pursuers, but Hal could not believe that he and his friends had escaped so easily. After all, the swart-elves had trailed them from Wirral to Delamere without revealing themselves.

With a certain trepidation they camped near the edge of the dark forest. Eric argued that since Alderley Edge was still a fair way off on foot, and Gangrel would not be there for two more days, they might as well remain in cover for the night. They had eaten nothing since leaving the station, and it was with empty bellies as well as anxious minds that they fell asleep.

Morning broke with a light mist over the forest, through which they picked their way, still cold and hungry and aching from their second night out in the open. By lunchtime, they had left the forest far behind them, hitchhiking across the Cheshire Plain to Knutsford, an old-fashioned town where every other place was a wine bar or an antique shop. Gwen gave it as her footsore opinion that the place could safely be described as 'quaint'.

Halting at the 'White Lion' - by local standards a relatively inexpensive establishment - they rested their weary feet and ordered sandwiches.

'We could have planned this expedition more carefully,' Eric said, checking his change. 'I'm running out of cash.'

'How far to Alderley Edge?' Hal asked. Food put a different perspective on things, and he was beginning to feel optimistic. In the corner of the bar, the television was chuntering away to itself. The local news came on.

'Only seven miles,' Eric was saying. 'We can get the bu...'

He broke off, staring up at the TV screen. Hal followed his gaze.

It showed footage of a blazing building. A farm. Hal's parents' farm.

Urgently, he rose and turned up the volume.

'... fire-crews were called to the scene but too late,' the commentator was saying in tones of professional solemnity. 'No survivors were found at Dawson Farm. However, nothing has been found of the son of the couple killed in the fire, and two teenagers from the nearby village, known to be friends of the boy, are also missing. A police spokesman described events as "extremely suspicious", and urged the three teenagers to give themselves up for questioning.' School photos of Hal, Eric, and Gwen flashed up on the screen. 'Police advise members of the public to avoid them at all costs, since they may still be dangerous.

'In other news today...'

Horrified, Eric turned the sound down. He turned to Hal, who was staring numbly into space.

'Mum... and dad...' he choked. He had not spoken to them since the row last night! Now they were dead. Dead. The word seemed meaningless. He put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook.

'Hal!' Eric said urgently. 'Snap out of it!'

Hal raised a miserable, tear-streaked face. 'Don't you understand?' he mumbled. 'They're dead. They're both dead...'

Eric's eyes were compassionate, but his words were hard. 'Did you hear the rest?' he demanded. 'The police reckon we did it. They want us for questioning.'

'But we didn't do it...' Hal mumbled. 'We've got to tell them...It must have been Prince Helgrim! He attacked the farm while we were gone.' He remembered the smoke-trail he had seen when they went to catch the bus.

Gwen's eyes were wide. 'Hal, we don't have an alibi,' she said shakily. 'If we go to the police and say "Swart-elves did it, officer," they'll lock us up for sure! Probably in a secure unit!'

'Come on,' Eric said decisively. Hal looked up to see the barman watching them. He was reaching towards the telephone.

'Hurry!' Eric added. He bustled them from the bar.

They headed out across the plain. The dim, blue-grey shapes of the mountains began to march across the eastern horizon as they forced their way, with growing misgivings, down a path overgrown with nettles, thistles, brambles and every other plant designed to impede human progress. The great white dish of Jodrell Bank radio telescope glittered in the sun. In the middle distance, they glimpsed the humped shape of the Edge.

The Edge - the hill for which the village was named - was famed in tale and legend for its connections with magic. An ancient king slept beneath it, surrounded by his loyal knights and guarded by a wizard, awaiting the day when they would rise to do battle once more against the powers of evil. Other tales whispered of strange creatures dwelling in the ancient copper mines that honeycombed the rock.

Hal walked with the rest, but his mind was elsewhere. He felt strangely numb, anaesthetised. The deaths of his mum and dad seemed unreal. They couldn't be dead! He would sooner give credence to Gangrel's crazy tales than believe that his mother and father were... dead.

But they were. And the clearest thought in his mind was that he had left them in anger. He had run away, abandoning them to be slaughtered by the swart-elves; thinking that they would be safe if he fled, that he would draw off pursuit. But the swart-elves must have attacked regardless, only discovering his absence too late.

Why did they want to kill him, anyway? Why could Gangrel not have warned him that they would attack the farm? And why had the old hippie gone off like that, leaving them to fend for themselves?

Near evening, the three teenagers reached Alderley Edge, and they hurried down the wide main street despite their aching legs, eager to find cover. Two or three times during their journey, they had been forced to hide in hedgerows or undergrowth while police cars passed on the main road, and once when a helicopter thundered overhead. They had seen no one else during their journey, and kept as much as possible to remote field-paths, though these always seemed to end abruptly whenever they started leading the fugitives in the right direction.

'We've got a day to wait,' Eric said, as they sat resting in a field off the Macclesfield road, on the far side of the small but severely gentrified village. The slopes of the Edge itself were behind them. 'Gangrel will turn up tomorrow.'

'Why didn't he give us better directions?' Gwen complained. 'Bit vague, isn't it, "Alderley Edge"? And we can't stay in the village because...' She broke off, looking at Hal, who remained quiet.

'We should find somewhere to sleep,' Eric said, breaking the silence. Hal looked out over the plain. Far in the west, the sun was setting. Home lay in that direction, but could they ever return?

'We could go up onto the hill,' Gwen suggested. 'Then we'd have a better view of the area, and be able to see anyone coming; Gangrel or the swart-elves.'

'Okay,' Eric replied, rising wearily to his feet.

He led them up along a path that led through woods and fields before crossing the Macclesfield Road. A signpost by a lay-by read "To the Edge". This led them along the side of another field before it opened out at the edge of a cliff.

From here, they could see the tree-swathed slope below, and in the distance the plain misting off into the haze, and the mountains beyond.

'We just need somewhere to spend the night,' Eric said absently. 'There's meant to be caves all over this place. We'll try and find one before it gets dark, and spend the night in there.'

'Spend the night in a cave? Ill counsel, in these parts and days.'

The voice came from behind them. The three teenagers whirled round.

3 ON THE EDGE

Standing before them was a small, stout man, no more than three feet in height. He had a large, bushy, black beard, long black hair, an ample belly, sallow skin and a huge, ruddy nose. From one hip hung a sword, from the other a dagger, and he held a battered horned helmet under one arm. A blood-crusted bandage swathed his left shoulder, and he wore another round his head.

'Who are you?' Hal asked, in amazement.

'Careful,' Eric said anxiously. 'He may have something to do with the swart-elves.'

'Thor's Beard!' the little man said. 'You know of the swart-elves? I had thought to warn you. I understood that few in your world were aware of them.'

'In our world?' Gwen echoed. 'So where are you from?'

'And if you're not in league with the swart-elves,' Hal asked slowly, 'whose side are you on?'

'Perhaps introductions would be in order,' the little man replied courteously. 'I am Tanngrisnir, a dwarf of the Sons of Lofar. My people have fought a long feud with the swart-elves. It was in battle with them - struggling to stem their advance into this world of Midgard - that I gained these wounds. Yet many of them fell to my blade Helbrand.' He brandished his sword. 'And my dagger Catfang drank her fill, also.'

'I'm Hal,' Hal said, shaking hands with the dwarf, 'and this is Eric Litefoot and Gwen Ramsey.'

'Light-foot, eh? A speedy runner, then...' said the dwarf. He bowed low. 'But my manners desert me.' Much to her embarrassment, he insisted on kissing Gwen's hand. 'At your service, my lady.'

'You've been fighting swart-elves?' Hal asked. He regaled the dwarf with their own experiences, and Tanngrisnir's eyes widened when he spoke of Gangrel.

'This comrade of whom you speak,' the dwarf said. 'Would he be a tall, bearded man with a single eye?'

'You know him?' Gwen said.

'Aye, my lady,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'He is called Grimnir in my world, but I know him. He it was who set my kindred to guard the tunnels leading into your world. The swart-elves attacked in force, however, and slew my comrades. I barely escaped with my life.'

'Then the swart-elves are from your world, too?' Eric asked.

'The swart-elves have their own kingdom,' a familiar voice announced from behind them.

They turned to see Gangrel striding across the rock towards them. 'Gangrel!' Hal said. 'You're early!'

'I came as soon as I could,' the old man replied sombrely. 'Trouble is brewing in many worlds. But word reached me of your plight. I came after you, reaching the forest not long after you had left. I drove off the swart-elves...'

'So that's why they stopped following us!' Gwen said.

Hal looked bitterly at Gangrel. 'Why couldn't you come sooner?' he shouted. 'My mum and dad are dead!'

Gangrel nodded sorrowfully. 'I know,' he said. 'I am sorry...'

'Sorry!' Hal bawled. He ran towards Gangrel, fists flailing, but Eric and Gwen caught him and held him back.

'I think we deserve a few explanations,' Eric said coldly, regarding the old man with a hostile expression.

Gangrel sighed. 'So little time,' he murmured. 'Very well. But we shall walk as we talk. Come with me. Tanngrisnir, lead us to your cave.'

The dwarf, who had been watching these events in silence, turned and led them down the rock and along a hillside path.

'All I can tell you at the moment,' Gangrel began 'is that you have attracted the attention of malign forces from beyond your world. Many times I have told you of the worlds beyond this, though you gave little weight to my tales...'

For a while, the path was silent as the little group vanished into the trees. Then it echoed again to booted feet. Dark figures massed on the ridge, gazing down after them.

'He is with them,' one hissed.

Prince Helgrim turned to his followers, those who had survived the old man's attacks. 'We have no choice now,' the swart-elf prince told them. 'He thinks he drove us off. We must attack them unawares. Perhaps then we may rid ourselves of the threat his protégés pose!'

Silently, the swart-elves trailed their quarry through the woods.

'In here,' Tanngrisnir the Dwarf said shortly.

A gully that resembled a great axe gash several hundred yards long, tore the rock, splitting one side of the woods from the other. A fence surrounded it, but the dwarf ducked under this and led the others up the ravine. In the cliff ahead was a fissure, hardly wide enough to allow entrance. Hal, Gwen, and Eric eyed it dubiously.

'Where are we going, anyway?' Hal asked.

Gangrel's explanations had left them little the wiser. He had spoken of a coming war between the forces of chaos and the forces of order, in which the three teenagers were destined to play some as yet unspecified role. But even if that was the case, Hal wondered, why were they going potholing?

'Far below, in the cave system that riddles this hill,' Gangrel replied, 'is a portal that leads into Aurvangar, the realm of the dwarves. We must go there, to the Hall of Sindri, where the king of smiths will forge the Runeblade; the sword that you are destined to wield, Hal.'

'Now hurry, by Thor!' Tanngrisnir said, peering over his shoulder towards the darkening woods. 'I sense enemies!'

He led them through the fissure, and into a dark cave tunnel beyond, where he lit a horn lantern. Hal gagged at the sickening stench of corruption.

The fitful light shone on a scene of slaughter. Bodies lay scattered across the tunnel ahead. Some were dwarves like Tanngrisnir, others they recognised as swart-elves. Dwarf corpses vastly outnumbered the bodies of their foes.

'But what's this about a rune blade?' Hal demanded thickly.

'For the moment, I must insist on silence,' said the dwarf. 'We have many tunnels through which we must journey, and in places the rock is unstable; your voices could set off a rock fall. Gangrel's tale must wait.'

He strode down the wet, sandy floor of the tunnel. The teenagers followed him tentatively, with Gangrel covering the rear, peering behind him at every sound.

The dank tunnels wound on and on, sometimes widening out into vast caverns, at other times narrowing to mere cracks through which progress was virtually impossible. No logic seemed to dictate their path, and they went up or down vertically at times. Soon Hal lost track of time.

As Tanngrisnir had urged them, they made the journey in silence, broken only by the distant dripping of water on rock. Impenetrable darkness surrounded them, lit only by the flickering glow of Tanngrisnir's lantern. The silence settled on them oppressively, like a physical weight, relieved only by the soft squelch of their feet in the sticky clay floor of the tunnel, and by distant, inexplicable echoes. The air grew colder and colder as they penetrated deeper into the rock.

They found the tunnel blocked by fresh rock falls, and were forced to backtrack a long way. Their brief, whispered, urgent discussions echoed from the surrounding rock, seeming to grow louder and louder in the unnerving, ecclesiastical hush.

But when the echoes died away, Hal heard what seemed like another echo, bouncing back from unseen chambers within the rock: muffled voices, and the crunch of feet. But Hal could never tell if they were truly echoes or the sounds of pursuit.

Slowly, another noise made itself heard in the distance, growing louder and louder as the group advanced through the crazily spiralling tunnels, indistinct at first, growing steadily more recognisable, until finally, they turned a corner. Tanngrisnir's lantern illuminated a high-vaulted cavern through which rushed a great volume of roaring water.

They stood on the banks of an underground river. Hal strained his eyes to see the other bank, but it was futile. He turned to Tanngrisnir. 'You must have led us the wrong way again!' he shouted over the roar of the river. 'We'll never cross this.'

The waters swirled on and on through the darkness, glistening in the lantern-light, rushing like a river in spate. Tanngrisnir grinned. 'Follow me,' he said briefly, and led them along the bank.

Rounding a corner, Hal saw the path along the slippery rocks led them to the edge of a shallow bay about fifteen feet across. Lying at anchor, within the sheltering arm of rock that protected the bay from the rushing current beyond, were two boats.

Hal regarded them dismally. Two cockleshells of wood and hide, like nothing so much as glorified coracles, of the kind he had once seen used on a Welsh river. There was room for them all in the smaller coracle. But did the dwarf really expect them to venture out in it onto the turbulent waters of the subterranean river? He looked at Tanngrisnir in numb horror.

'Aye,' the dwarf said, in answer to his unspoken question. 'The next stage of our journey lies down the river.'

'Will this take us to where the dwarves live?' Gwen asked.

'It will,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'There my people eagerly await your foretold arrival.'

'Foretold?' Gwen said, as they stepped gingerly into one of the boats.

'Tanngrisnir is right,' Gangrel said. 'Your coming was spoken of long ago in the Foretelling.' He picked up an oar and pushing them slowly out towards the edge of the bay. The dwarf did the same on the other side of the boat.

'What foretelling?' Hal asked.

'The Nornspa, the Foretelling of the Norns,' Gangrel replied, as they rowed out into the main stream of the river. Tanngrisnir had fixed his lantern to the side of the boat and it shone over them as the boat rushed through the waters.

When he saw that Hal was unsatisfied with this answer, Gangrel continued. 'Long, long ago, all that existed was the void of chaos,' he told them. 'Ginnungagap is what we call it. Within that void, however, the potentiality of all being existed. Heat came into existence amidst freezing cold, and these two polarities of Fire and Ice formed the first living being, a vast giant named Ymir.'

Hal, Gwen and Eric exchanged glances. Hal looked up at the cavern roof as it sped past above them. It was an odd place to be listening to another of Gangrel's wild tales.

'Other beings came into existence; a whole race of giants, both of fire and of ice; but also gods and men. The giants were savage, lawless oppressors like their father Ymir, and the gods - led by their chieftain, Odin - rose up against them. They slew Ymir, and many of the giants drowned in the flood of his icy blood. Then the gods set about constructing the worlds of order from of his remains. But some of the giants escaped to dwell in chaos and darkness at the edge of the cosmos, where they plot ever to destroy the worlds in vengeance, and to restore the elemental turmoil from which they were born.'

'Seems fair enough,' Eric said. 'They were here first.'

Gangrel fixed him with his single eye. 'If you had known the chaos at the beginning of time,' he said quietly, 'you would not speak so. No god or man could survive a universe under the wild dominion of the giants. And yet, we know that one day they will return to destroy the worlds of order. So the Norns foretold in the dawn of time.'

'So where do we come in?' Hal asked. 'If the universe is doomed, if these Norns are right; what can we do?'

Gangrel rowed on. 'None but the Norns know when the worlds will cease,' he replied. 'But doom can be fought. Many times since the morning of the world, the giants have risen up against the gods, seeking to bring the Fire of Muspell to cleanse the worlds of order. But time and again, the gods have defeated them before they could bring about the doom of the gods, and the end of the world in which mortals dwell. And at their sides have fought champions from the world of men. You, Hal, are destined to be one of those champions. So it was decreed, ere the worlds began.'

Queasily, Hal digested this. 'Just now I'd be content with getting my hands on those swart-elves,' he said darkly. 'Where do they come into this, anyway?'

'I fear that they are in the pay of Muspell, king of the fire giants, last of the three sons of the old giant, Ymir, who still plots the destruction of the worlds. In which case, they seek to slay you in order to hinder your weird...'

Before Gangrel could say any more, however, Gwen cried out 'Look!' Everyone turned to follow her pointing finger.

Cutting through the waters behind them, coming ever closer by the second, was the boat they had left behind them. Prince Helgrim and his swart-elves stood leering in the bows, illuminated by a large lantern that hung from the stern.

'They're after us!' Hal cried. 'What do we do?'

Tanngrisnir cursed. 'We should have staved in the other boat when we had the chance.' He dropped his paddle and produced his sword.

'They're gaining on us,' Eric said. The larger boat was coming ever closer, with four swart-elves paddling rapidly on either side. Gangrel had also stopped paddling, and was standing in the prow, searching the waters before them.

'Our destination lies ahead,' he cried suddenly. Hal turned to see the waters before them bubbling and seething, and a whirlpool spinning in their midst. He gave Gangrel an uncomprehending stare. The current was dragging the boat towards the whirlpool!

'What are you doing?' he shouted, seizing Tanngrisnir's fallen paddle and struggling vainly to paddle away from the inexorable current. Eric grabbed the other paddle from Gangrel's hands and copied Hal. But it was useless.

'They've almost reached us!' Gwen cried.

Hal glanced over his shoulder. Equally, under the pull of the whirlpool, the larger vessel had come practically up against them. Swart-elves were preparing to board. Tanngrisnir brandished his sword, Helbrand.

'Vengeance!' he roared. 'For all my kinsfolk!'

Three swart-elves jumped over the rapidly narrowing gap between the two speeding boats, landing with a thump on the hide and wicker deck. Tanngrisnir hacked at them with Helbrand. A swart-elf thrust at the dwarf. Gwen threw herself at the attacker, knocking him overboard. She seized his fallen sword but before she could move, the remaining swart-elves grabbed her. The weapon dropped from her nerveless grasp.

Hal dropped the paddle and grabbed for the sword, just as Tanngrisnir staggered back. The dwarf's head slammed into Hal's stomach, winding him.

Gangrel tried to stop the swart-elves, but before he could reach them across the pitching deck, they flung Gwen's struggling body across the narrow gap. She landed with a thud in the swart-elves' vessel. Prince Helgrim seized her.

'Gwen!' Hal sobbed. He scrambled up again and grabbed the sword. For a moment, his eyes met Prince Helgrim's across the rushing flood, and naked hatred was in his glare. Then he flung himself towards the two remaining swart-elves.

'Careful!' Eric shouted, who was still vainly paddling. As Hal launched his attack on the swart-elves, he stumbled and pitched forward. The boat capsized, flinging everyone into the freezing waters.

Gwen watched in horror from the deck of the other boat as her companions vanished into the seething waters. She caught a last glimpse of Hal's pale face; then nothing remained but the fragile shell of the boat, bobbing in the water.

A hand came down on her shoulder. She turned.

Prince Helgrim looked down at her. He took off his sunglasses to reveal two slitted, catlike eyes. 'At last we are alone, my dear,' he said, and smiled.

His warriors paddled on towards the swirling maelstrom.

Still clutching the swart-elf sword, Hal plunged into the roaring, silent, icy depths. Soon blackness seeped up around him. The current seized him in an inexorable grip, and pulled him down, down, down...

Mercifully, he blacked out.

He awoke in freezing darkness.

His body ached and throbbed. He felt as if he had beaten up by an expert. Around him, he could hear the slightest lapping of water. He seemed to be lying on hard yet strangely spongy rock. Above him, he could see nothing but darkness. But not the dank, stuffy darkness of a cave; it was more like the deep black of an unclouded night sky. Yet he could see no stars.

Weakly, he tried to move. His clothes were sodden with water, and hung heavily on him; those that remained. They hung from his body in rags. He shivered.

Slowly, he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. A bleached white, stony beach reeled on either side of him. The still waters of a dark and silent ocean stretched before him. The air was icy cold. He could see no light other than an unhealthy phosphorescent glow that emanated from the pale rocks beneath him; he saw no moon, no stars.

The sky above him was blank.

4 CORPSE STRAND

Hal rose to his feet, unsteady on aching limbs. Where was he?

Turning round, he saw that the beach consisted of thousands of rounded, football-sized rocks, bleached white by the water, scattered with driftwood. Towering above the strand was a vast, dark cliff, black against the starless sky. An awful smell of rot hung in the still air.

Turning slowly, he took in the surrounding scene.

He cocked his head. The beach lay in silence, hardly broken even by the gentle lap of waves on the stony shore. Along its length mysterious dark shapes were visible, bobbing in the surf a few yards out. They looked like floating corpses. Hal shuddered at the notion.

As he turned towards the cliff again, the round spongy rock beneath his foot twisted loose and he staggered. Cursing, he glanced down, and gasped.

The "rock" had rolled over. A fleshless face leered up at him. He gazed down in horror at the skull he had disturbed. Overcome by morbid curiosity, he rolled over another stone, to see that this was a skull, too. And another. And another... and another.

He was standing on a shore of human skulls that disappeared beneath the slimy surface of the ocean.

Further examination showed that the "driftwood" was a tangled tideline of bones: femurs, backbones, ribcages... Death and darkness surrounded him.

The horror of it all rolled over him like a wave, and he fell to the grisly ground.

But where was he?

His last memories were of the whirlpool sucking him down into the roaring depths of the underground river. Painful recollections bobbed back into his confused consciousness. The capsizing of their boat... Gwen's capture by the swart-elves...

The death of his parents.

He sobbed hopelessly to himself, and the pitiless cliffs reared above him. The empty eyes of a thousand thousand skulls blindly watched him in his grief.

Images of the world he had lost swam sickeningly through his mind. The farm... Royden Park... His friends.

Where were they now? Eric; drowned. Gangrel; drowned. Gwen; taken captive by the inhuman monsters who had murdered his parents.

Silently, lying motionless on that strand of death, Hal swore vengeance. If ever the chance came, he would avenge himself upon Prince Helgrim.

But he would need courage.

His eyes dry, Hal rose again.

Where would he go? In this bitter, inhospitable, morbid land he could hope for no comfort, no aid. Was this the world of the swart-elves? Or was it some other realm, more remote and evil? He could see no choice. He must find the swart-elves, and take his revenge. First, he must survive. And he would need a weapon.

He started walking up the beach. The air was bitterly cold, and he shivered as he moved. He needed fire. But where would he find it, in this empty land of the dead? He eyed the towering cliffs. Maybe he should look for some way off this coast.

As he headed towards the cliffs, his foot caught something that slithered with a metallic sound across the skulls. He bent down, and saw, in the eerie witchfire that illumined the beach, the glint of metal. It was a sword!

He recognised it as the swart-elf sword he had seized during the fight in the boat. Wonder gripped him, and he stared at the blade, breathless. He remembered still holding it as the current pulled him down into the depths of the river... Had he held it so long, so far?

But how far had he come?

For a long time, he gazed out across the dark ocean.

Despite the starless darkness, he was sure now that he was above ground. Somehow, he had returned to the surface. The air was too crisp for an unventilated, subterranean cavern. He must have come a long way.

Yet he had held onto the sword all that time.

He sneezed. He seemed to be developing a cold. Time to keep moving. He began searching for a path up the dark cliffs.

Half an hour later, he scrambled up onto the headland above. The winds were bitter here, howling like tormented souls above the silent ocean. He stood upon the cliff and looked inland, at the vast structure that rose fifty yards away.

It was a vast, gable-roofed hall, its timbers black with age, whitened here and there by sleet. Pale, unearthly light glowed from within, and with it came a sulphurous stench, mingled with a strange, musty smell that Hal associated with the reptile house in Chester zoo. Faintly, above the whistle and howl of the icy wind, Hal heard cries of lamentation.

He paused in indecision. He had been looking for signs of habitation, somewhere to stay the night, but he was tempted to look elsewhere. This dismal hall, with its eerie glow, its foul stink and mournful cries was hardly the ideal venue. He shrugged, and made his way across the twisted rocks towards the hall.

As he came closer, he heard a steady trudge of many footsteps from the far end of the hall. Looking in that direction, he gasped to see a line of dark figures moving silently down the rocky slope beyond, towards the gaping mouth that was the hall entrance.

The silence of the figures made him wary. He made his way along the side of the hall until he was close enough to see them clearly.

Each one had a human face. This came as a relief; he had been expecting swart-elves. But each face was as blank as the skulls that lined the beach: cold, pale as death, vanishing into shadow as they approached the entrance of the hall. Men, women; many old, but some young. Some of the silent walkers were children.

Then two familiar faces swam up out of the gloom, and Hal gasped. Hope blossomed, but quickly withered as their shapes passed silently, heedlessly. It was impossible. They couldn't still be alive, not after what had happened!

He moved to speak, but something stopped him, an up-welling of horror that made him turn and run.

As he sprinted back towards the cliff, he heard a slithering sound from nearby, as of vast scales scraping against naked rock. Peering into the murk, he seemed to discern a long, thin shape slipping towards him. Hurriedly, he scrambled back down the cliff. As he reached the shingle of bleached bone, he looked back up.

A hissing, wedge-shaped head thrust out from the cliff on a long, mobile neck, curling and writhing above him. A forked tongue tasted the chill air. Hal placed his hand on the sword that he had hung from his belt, and wished he knew how to wield it. With a flick, the giant reptilian head jerked back out of sight.

Sunk in gloom, Hal trudged up the strand.

To his right, the waters of the ocean stretched out into darkness. It was impossible to see where water met sky; each was empty and black, and the line of the horizon was invisible. It was as if the strand gave on to the wastes of intergalactic space. The bitter cold was like the chill of space, too. Dimly, he remembered what Gangrel had said about fire and ice being the two primal forces of the universe.

He halted, cocking his head. Had he heard the slightest slither from the cliffs to his left? A dry, scaly noise; reptilian flesh meeting grisly shingle. Hal drew his sword and peered vainly at the blackness of the cliff.

Would the sun never rise? Surely, this long night would end. Or did this world - wherever it was - hang in eternal darkness? He was beginning to suspect that he had somehow been transported to another planet, a darker, colder world.

The sound did not repeat itself. Without lowering his blade, Hal made his way along the strand. To his right, dark shapes bobbed in the surf. The surf cast one cast up onto the beach. Upon investigation, Hal discovered that it was a lifeless corpse.

Again, he heard a slithering sound from the bony beach behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Hal saw with horror a familiar serpentine form slipping silently down the strand behind him, pouring across the skulls like a river of molten silver. It was no more than twenty yards away.

Hal took to his heels.

He fled round a headland. A large, dark-walled bay open up ahead. To his delight, he saw the distant glimmer of flames beneath the walls of the cliff. But behind him, the great serpent slithered rapidly, faster and faster now, like a rock python pursuing a frightened rabbit. Hal ran on.

His breath blazed like fire in his lungs. On he ran, the bones beneath his feet splintering and clattering while the great serpent pursued him. The red-glowing cave was still far-off when Hal staggered to a halt, panting hoarsely. He gave a start, as part of the cliff seemed to detach itself and move into his path.

His eyes widened. 'Gangrel!' he cried. 'I thought you were dead! How did you get here?'

The old man nodded in greeting. 'The same way as you, I presume,' Gangrel replied.

Hal saw that the old man held a long spear. He heard the serpent slithering closer. 'Gangrel!' he gabbled. 'It's following me - it has been since I climbed the cliffs - it was near the hall. Gangrel, I saw people there - long lines of them. And I thought I saw... I thought I saw my mum and dad there!' He sobbed, choked. 'It couldn't have been them. It said on the radio that they were dead...'

Gangrel frowned, and stared at the serpent as it flowed towards them. Then he looked at Hal in horror. 'The hall? You mean you went to Eliudnir?' he asked.

Hal gaped at him but couldn't speak.

The old man turned, and sent his spear winging across the strand like a javelin. It bit deep into the scaly hide of the serpent, which writhed and threshed across the bony beach, before growing still.

Gangrel strode forward, and tore the weapon from the serpent's unmoving coils. He looked down at it. 'A serpent,' he said. 'One of the Nidhogg's brood. You were lucky. See here.'

Venom leaked from the serpent's mouth with a sulphurous smell. Where the drops fell on a skull, the bone smoked, shrivelled, and blackened. 'You should not have gone near the Hall of Hel,' Gangrel added. 'Come.'

He led Hal up the beach in silence, using the spear as a staff. Hal wanted to ask how he was supposed to know that it was the hall of... Hel? And did that mean they were in Hell? What were they doing here? They'd certainly chosen a cold day for a visit: if this was Hell, it must have frozen over a long time ago... He said nothing, though, feeling bitterly cold and weary from his exertions.

He followed Gangrel to the lea of the cliffs, where a cave yawned, lit with flickering red flame. Gangrel ushered him within, and surprised cries came from the two figures sitting by the smoky fire as Hal gratefully flung himself down beside it.

Gangrel joined them. 'See who I found on the strand,' he said. 'Washed up like driftwood. And I was barely in time to save him from the beachcombers.'

'Hal!' Eric said, grinning incredulously. Beside him was the small but bulky form of Tanngrisnir the Dwarf, his sword Helbrand propped against the cave wall.

Hal had dropped his own weapon beside him as he hunched before the cave, still shivering. He acknowledged their greetings with short nods, and greedily stared at the flames.

'So cold,' he muttered. 'So cold...' He sneezed.

'And you would be colder, had you fallen into the withered hands of Loki's Daughter,' Gangrel said ominously, standing over them. 'This is death's dominion. Thanks to you, lad, we are far from the realm of the dwarves.'

'Me?' Hal was annoyed. 'That's not fair! What did I do?'

'You capsized the boat!' Eric said.

Hal shrugged. 'We were going into the whirlpool anyway,' he replied. 'But we survived, didn't we? Where are we?'

'That whirlpool was a portal leading into other worlds,' Tanngrisnir said balefully. 'If we had approached it from the right angle, we would have been transported to the land of my people, where the Runeblade waits to be forged.'

'Instead we ended up here,' Eric said unpleasantly, 'washed up in bonesville. And Gwen is a captive of the swart-elves.'

Hal looked at him in horror. Again, he remembered how Prince Helgrim's followers had seized their friend.

'But where are we?' he asked. Before anyone could speak, he added; 'I saw them up there, by the hall. I saw my mum and dad!"

'I have already told you,' Gangrel replied. 'This is death's domain, the world of those unheroic souls who died in their beds, the Straw-Dead.

'This is Helheim, the world of Hel.'

Hal stared at him, and said no more.

Gwen remembered little of her journey through the maelstrom. She had been terrified when Prince Helgrim's warriors steered the boat directly at the whirlpool; her only consoling thought had been that she would soon join her drowned friends.

But the boat began to descend the vortex slowly and sedately, remaining upright and dry. The descent was long, and her captors were busy. Soon she fell asleep.

She awoke in the stern. Empty black skies sped past above her. Sitting up, she found the boat was sailing down a wide river that wound its way across a rocky plateau, in a land of darkness and shadows. A range of fantastically high mountains marked the plateau edge. A huge Gothic castle stood upon one peak, overlooking a gorge. The air was icy cold.

She sat in silence, as the swart-elves guided the boat down the river towards a great lake in the lea of the mountains, where the river opened out before tumbling over a great cataract, down the gorge into the land beyond. The mountains loomed on either side as Prince Helgrim's followers directed the boat towards a bay bristling with other vessels at anchor: longships and cargo boats, war ships and fishing smacks. They tied up in the lea of the wharf.

Two of the swart-elves seized Gwen by the arms and hustled her up a dank staircase onto a wide expanse of stone. Prince Helgrim and the rest followed behind them. She saw that they had removed all the gothic gear they'd worn before, and now were clad in lacquered armour and black silk.

The town beyond was lit by great blazing bonfires that burned smokily at street corners. It was thronged with swart-elves and dwarves like Tanngrisnir, though these were leering, wicked-looking fellows. Shops and houses lined winding streets. Every few seconds, troops of swart-elves marched pass, and Gwen saw many signs that preparations were being made for war.

Prince Helgrim led Gwen into a chariot drawn by two reptilian quadrupeds, like giant lizards. He drove them towards the castle that towered over the winding city streets, his men marching behind.

They crossed a drawbridge and entered the castle under a vast gateway. As they did so, Prince Helgrim, hitherto wrapped in brooding silence, turned to Gwen. 'Welcome to Svartaborg,' he said. 'Welcome to your new home.'

Gwen was still puzzling over his words as they marched her through high-roofed vaults and down tapestry-hung passages where pale-skinned slave-girls scurried about their masters' bidding. But she forgot any other considerations when they swept into the royal audience chamber.

The cyclopean walls seemed to vanish into darkness above. Torches lit the wide room, but darkness lurked in corners. A long carpet stretched down the centre of the hall from the entrance to a throne near the far side. Ranked alongside this were hundreds of rows of pitch-black swart-elf warriors, who looked on impassively as Prince Helgrim and his companions dragged Gwen up to the throne.

Sitting upon the throne, between two chained slave-girls, was a swart-elf king. His very demeanour proclaimed his royalty more clearly than the throne or the diadem upon his pale locks. His feline eyes blazed in a pitch-black face as he looked sternly down at Gwen, while Prince Helgrim and the others knelt.

'A spirited female,' he said in a voice that hardly rose above a whisper. 'Do you not know to abase yourself in the presence of King Hrafnsvart the Black, ruler of the swart-elves?'

Gwen looked disdainfully at him, though inside she was quaking. 'I just want to know what's going on,' she snapped. 'This lot' - she aimed a kick at Prince Helgrim, and missed - 'hustled me down here without so much as an explanation. Why've you brought me here?'

King Hrafnsvart chuckled. 'Such pride becomes you,' he whispered reedily. 'I apologise if my son was hasty. He is an impetuous boy, are you not, Prince Helgrim? But doubtless he was anxious to show his old father the wench who is to be his bride.'

Gwen stared uncomprehendingly at the swart-elf king for a moment. Then the meaning of his words sank into her numbed mind.

'Bride?' she asked. Then she frowned. 'Wench?'

Again, Hrafnsvart chuckled. 'By Ymir, has my son been so boorish as to neglect enlightening you as to your fate? To fulfil his weird, he must wed you. You are to be his wife.'

Gwen smiled thinly, and put her hands on her hips. She had seen her mother do this with recalcitrant males, and it always seemed to do the trick.

'I think there must be some mistake,' she said politely.

'There is no mistake,' croaked the swart-elf king, growing suddenly impatient. 'Take her away!' he told his son. 'I have seen enough. Tame her, and she will be a fitting consort when you lead the Hosts of Muspell against the gods!'

5 THE FETTERED GIANT

'So if we're in Hell,' Hal asked, 'why aren't we dead?' A thought struck him. 'Or are we?'

'It is possible for the living to enter Helheim, and live,' Gangrel replied in a matter-of-fact tone, 'although it is perilous and inadvisable. As luck would have it, however, we have succeeded for the while.

'This world lies far to the north of all others, remote from the Sun. South of here lie the swart-elf domains, and beyond them, on the margins of the world of mist, is Aurvangar, the realm of the dwarves. That is where we must go.'

'But what about Gwen?' Eric asked softly.

'She will be a prisoner of the swart-elves,' Tanngrisnir said. 'There is little hope for her if they have taken her to Svartaborg.'

Hal's jaw jutted heroically. 'We'll save her!'

'How?' The dwarf asked. 'The castle of the swart-elves is impregnable. Besides, our mutual friend' - he inclined his head towards Gangrel - 'tells me that we must go to Sindri's Hall at once. The fate of worlds hangs upon it.'

'I don't really know what we've got ourselves mixed up in here,' Eric said, looking at Hal, 'but whatever else we do, we can't just leave Gwen to the swart-elves.'

'No we can't!' Hal said firmly. He turned to Gangrel. 'How are we going to rescue her?'

The old man stroked his beard solemnly. 'We must ask ourselves why they took her,' he said darkly. 'We know they wish to slay you, Hal, because of the Foretelling. But why should they capture Gwen...? Many verses are obscure... Somewhat concerning Vestrnes... I must speak with the Norn some day.' A shadow of an idea crossed his face. 'And there is another I might speak to, sooner. On the journey.'

'What journey?' Hal demanded, as Gangrel sprang to his feet and strode from the cave.

They caught up with him outside. 'Where are we going?' Hal asked. 'Are we going to the realm of the dwarves?'

'Presently,' Gangrel replied. 'But first we must pass through the kingdom of the swart-elves. Or do you wish for Gwen to languish in Svartaborg forever?'

Tanngrisnir stamped along beside him. 'Do we have the time?' he asked, looking up at him. 'It is a long way to Sindri's Hall, up the Valleys of Helheim and across the Dark Moon Fells. And we have no ponies.'

Gangrel laughed. 'I have a plan,' he replied. 'One that will speed us on our way and at the same time, frustrate our enemies' schemes. Come!'

The door of the bedchamber slammed behind her. Awkwardly, Gwen sat down on the bed, and gazed round at the opulent furnishings of the room. She had to admit that, although it was as cold and dank as the rest of the castle, this was not her idea of a prison.

Prince Helgrim's followers had hustled her along dark stone passages and up winding spiral staircases. Prince Helgrim himself had remained with his father, to discuss "the coming assault"; whatever that meant. The other swart-elves had brought her to this well-appointed chamber, and flung her inside.

She got up, and tried the door. Locked! Much as she had expected. Now what was she going to do? She took stock of her situation.

Her friends were all drowned. Creepy swart-elves had imprisoned her, and Prince Charming there seemed to think he and she were going to tie the knot; optimistic, to say the least. She did not share his optimism, about marriage or anything else.

A curtained alcove on the far side of the chamber gave on to a narrow window-slit. Eagerly, Gwen scrambled up onto the sill and looked out. She caught her breath.

No way out here! The dark plain extended far below her, vanishing into the shadowy distance. Her chamber seemed to be approximately halfway up the main tower of the castle. As far as she could gauge it, the ground was over five hundred feet below.

Disappointed, she jumped down again, and surveyed her prison.

Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of battle and the hunt, or episodes in ancient stories that reminded her of Gangrel's tales. She groaned. It seemed as if she herself was now living in one of those absurd sagas. Still, she was damned if they expected her to be a damsel in distress.

Again, she started hunting round for a means of escape.

'But how will we get to Sindri's Hall?' Tanngrisnir asked insistently. The group was picking its way down the bone-strewn beach in the lea of the dark cliffs. Hal's sword was drawn, and he cast suspicious glances around them as they walked. He had no wish to meet another serpent.

'By ship,' Gangrel replied, and refused to be drawn. Tanngrisnir fell back as the old man strode on. He exchanged glances with Eric.

'He's being all enigmatic again,' said the youth sardonically.

'Oh,' Tanngrisnir replied carelessly, 'he is forever enigmatic.'

Eric watched Gangrel's loping form. 'What's he mean, ship?' he asked, giving the dark ocean a concerned glance.

Tanngrisnir shuddered. 'I am not certain,' he admitted. 'But I have an idea.'

Gangrel halted, and turned to the others. 'This is where we forsake our pleasant path along the shore of the dead, and wend our way inland. There I intend to speak with an old friend; and an old enemy.' He led them up a narrow path towards the head of the cliff.

Hal stared after him. 'Why can't he just tell us what's going on?' he muttered peevishly.

Eric came up alongside. 'Maybe he thinks that if we knew what we faced, we would be too scared to come,' he said ominously.

'I'm not scared!' Hal declared, and hurried after Gangrel.

'Well, you should be, you idiot,' Eric said, and followed more circumspectly.

Tanngrisnir took the rear, gripping his sword hilt and darting suspicious glances to either side.

Gwen had not given up. No, she was simply resting, lying on the featherbed mattress, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. She had been for the last half hour.

She had searched the room three times, and each time she had found no way to escape! She felt wretched. More significantly, she was bored. In all the stories she'd read, no matter how often the characters ended up imprisoned, it had never mentioned how unutterably, fidget-makingly boring it was! It was even worse than school, even worse than being stuck in a Maths exam on a balmy June morning. She could see how people went stir-crazy.

There seemed to be no escape, but nothing else was happening. All she could do was wait.

A key scraped in the lock. She sat up quickly, as the great door opened. Two swart-elves stood in the doorway, and a slave crouched between them.

'In,' a swart-elf grunted, propelling the pasty-skinned girl through the door. He looked at Gwen.

'My master sends you this slave to help you prepare for your wedding,' he said with a leer.

Gwen rose, scowling. 'You just tell your master...' she began, but before she could convey precisely what she thought of Prince Charming's intentions, the door slammed shut, leaving the slave sprawled across the cold flagstones.

Gwen heard them lock the door as she knelt over the slave. 'Get up,' she urged. With her eyes downcast, the slave rose, and stood in silence.

Gwen looked at her critically. 'Aren't you cold?' she asked finally.

The girl shrugged, clearly petrified. She wore nothing except for the scantiest of garments and a metal collar round her throat.

Gwen took a sheet from the bed and put it round the girl's shoulders. The slave stood unresisting, and the sheet dropped to the floor.

'Oh, pick it up!' Gwen snapped.

Immediately, the girl squatted to obey. With a little cajolery, Gwen convinced her visitor to wrap the sheet round herself and sit down on the bed.

'What's your name?'

The slave-girl looked at the floor. 'Please, ma'am, Ilmadis, if you please,' she whispered.

'Look at me, Ilmadis,' Gwen ordered.

Slowly, tentatively, the slave-girl raised her eyes, and looked, blinking nervously, at Gwen.

'How may I serve you, ma'am?' she asked hoarsely.

'For a start,' Gwen said uncomfortably, 'you can stop all this bowing and scraping. My name is Gwen. Gwen Ramsey.' She looked at the girl, noticing that she had the flowing hair, the lobeless, pointed ears, and feline eyes that she had come to associate with the swart-elves.

But while the other elves had skin as black as tarmac, despite the "corpse-paint" worn by Prince Helgrim and his warriors, this girl's skin was truly white, pale and luminous. In fact, if she had been less neglected, Ilmadis would be really pretty; one of those translucent-skinned, highly-strung beauties, blonde hair floating like thistledown.

'What are you doing here?' Gwen asked. 'Are you... a slave?'

Ilmadis bobbed her head. 'The swart-elf raiders attacked my village in Alfheim when I was only a little girl,' she replied sadly. 'They slew the oldest and the youngest. They would have slain me, too, but the chief decided to take me for his own.

'They coffled us and marched us to their ships, then sailed to Svartalfaheim, where they sold most of us. When I grew too mature for my master, he sold me, too. I was lucky to be bought by the royal household.'

Gwen listened to the story queasily. 'This is Svartalfaheim?' she asked.

Ilmadis nodded, her eyes growing wide. 'You did not know?' she asked. 'But now I look at you... forgive me, ma'am... but you are not of the svart alfar, the swart-elves. Nor are you ljos alfar, light-elf, like myself. You have the look... oh, I have heard stories!... Are you from Midgard?'

'Er, no,' Gwen said, confused. 'I'm from England.' Then she remembered that Tanngrisnir had called Earth by the same name.

'But you are... human?' the light-elf frowned. 'And yet you are to marry Prince Helgrim?'

'I'm as much of a prisoner as you, Ilmadis,' Gwen told her levelly. 'But have you never considered escape?'

'Oh, it is hopeless,' Ilmadis replied in a dismal voice.

Mist hung over the dark landscape as Gangrel led the others onwards. Grit crunched beneath their feet, and strange rock formations loomed menacingly on either side.

After a journey of some miles, they had reached a vast rock, and Gangrel was leading them towards it. Hal wondered why the old man was heading straight towards a rock face. Then he saw a narrow crack in the lea of the rock, leading into the ground.

Following Gangrel, they squeezed through the crack, and to Hal's surprise, he found it widening out into a high-roofed cavern. The gurgle of water on rock was audible in the distance, but closer up Hal heard the hissing of snakes.

'Gangrel!' he cried, peering into the gloom. 'Where are you taking us?'

Ahead, the entire floor of the cavern was a mass of writhing serpents; smaller than the snakes that they had seen outside, but still lethal-looking.

'Courage, Hal,' the old man replied, looking back at them from the edge of the cavern floor. 'They will not harm you unless provoked.'

They followed him across the cavern floor, picking their way gingerly through the nest of reptiles. The air was musty with the smell of snakes, and Hal glared in horror at the creatures as he passed among them.

But Gangrel was right; they reached the other side of the cavern without trouble. Here the cavern floor dipped, and a seething, steam-hung stream led out through a narrow tunnel. Gangrel, regardless, was already wading through the water towards it, and the other three followed. The water was hot, though not scalding. It seemed to Hal as if he was wading through some vast hot bath. Sweat poured down their faces as they waded through hot water and steam.

Beyond the cavern of serpents, the hissing and slithering sounds died away. But ahead of them, they could hear a roaring, punctuated by titanic screams that echoed through the passage, shaking the very foundations of the rock. The further they went, the louder the roars and screams grew, and Hal lost any lingering doubts about their location. This surely was Hell.

The fissure widened into a vast and misty cavern lit by the glow of guttering fires, and reeking of sulphur. Directly ahead, a gigantic figure lay bound and fettered to three rocks, one beneath its shoulders, one under its calves, and another under its thighs.

The fettered giant lay beneath another serpent that dangled down from the roof. Venom dribbled down from its open jaws, hissing and roaring and flaming in the close air of the cavern as it spattered down towards the giant. A second gargantuan figure crouched near the prisoner, dim and indiscernible in the choking mist, holding out a bowl to catch the falling venom. But when the bowl brimmed over, the second figure turned to empty it, and the seething venom struck the face of the giant, whereupon the bass roar that rumbled from his mighty chest broke off with an agonised scream, and the entire cavern rumbled.

The four travellers stepped into this frightful scene. Eric and Hal exchanged horrified glances. Tanngrisnir looked on more calmly, but his face was pale. Gangrel, however, showed no fear. He stepped up onto a rock near the fettered giant's face, and called to him.

Slowly, the giant turned to face Gangrel, and Hal saw a vast, handsome face, marred only by scarred lips set in a bitter sneer.

'Then is it you?' the giant rumbled. 'It has been long and long since you came to taunt me in my woe, Old One.'

'Long since I felt any need, Father of Lies,' Gangrel replied harshly. 'Your sentence is well-merited. You encompassed my greatest loss.'

'Lies! Vile calumnies!' the giant roared. 'I have proof! Unfetter me, and I will prove the accusation false!' He screamed again, as serpent venom hissed down. 'Hold that bowl straight, wife!' he snarled at his companion.

'I did not come to debate long-settled cases,' Gangrel replied. 'I seek knowledge.'

'When did you ever seek aught else, Old One?' the giant sneered. 'What is it you wish to know now?'

'Tell me what you have heard of Muspell,' Gangrel commanded, 'and of Muspell's ship. I know that you... keep your ears to the ground.'

The giant cursed his inquisitor, but answered: 'Muspell is said to be massing his armies, as is Prince Helgrim of Svartaborg. Muspell's ship lies in the boatsheds of Hel, nine leagues hence. Almost complete.' He looked cunningly at Gangrel. 'Dead men's nails come cheap this season. But why ask me? All know that you know all, Old One.'

Gangrel shook his head. 'Not all,' he replied. 'None know all bar the Norns themselves. And they tell me only what they wish me to know. Thanks for your words, Father of Lies. I shall weigh them well, and see if it is truth or falsehood that makes them so heavy. Farewell.'

Gangrel leapt down from his rock, and splashed towards the arch. Behind him, the giant roared:

'We will meet one last time, Old One! I shall steer Muspell's ship, and my son will avenge my suffering! You are doomed, Old One!'

He broke off abruptly and screamed as his companion's bowl spilled over, and venom sizzled down his face like hot fat. Bewildered and horrified, Hal followed the others from the cavern.

The rock shook around them.

6 SHIP OF THE DEAD

'Who was that?'

Hal turned to Gangrel as they came out of the tunnel into the misty air. The old man returned his gaze calmly.

'Who chained him up?' Eric added. 'And why?'

'I fettered him,' Gangrel replied quietly. 'He worked me great woe. Come now, we have no time for discussion.'

Gangrel swept away across the rocks, and the others followed, wringing out their wet trouser legs as they went.

'Tanngrisnir, do you know anything of this?' Eric asked, as they followed the old man. 'Hey, who was that guy back there? That giant...'

'He has many names,' the dwarf replied. 'The Foretelling of the Norns says that he will be the steersman of Muspell's ship - the Ship of the Dead - on the Day of Ragnarok.'

'What day?' Hal asked.

'The end of the world,' Eric said. 'Remember? Gangrel told us about it.'

'All right, so where are we going?' Hal asked the dwarf. 'If you're so clever...'

Tanngrisnir shrugged. 'I know little,' he replied. 'But from our enigmatic companion's conversation, it seems we go to the boatsheds of Hel, nine leagues hence. There the Ship of the Dead lies at anchor.'

'The Ship of the Dead?' Hal asked.

'Gangrel said we'd be going by ship...' Eric said.

'Come on, let's catch him up!' Hal said excitedly. He bounded off after the striding figure ahead. Eric and Tanngrisnir followed less enthusiastically.

They caught Gangrel up at the crest of a ridge. The old man stood atop an outcrop, surveying the dark land below. Hal reached his side, and followed his gaze as Eric and Tanngrisnir scrambled up to join them.

'There lie the boatsheds of Hel,' Gangrel said sombrely, indicating a distant spot on the murky horizon.

Below them was a plain, a vast, sterile waste of boulders and cold grey sand, where mist swirled eerily. The ridge on which they stood curved away on either side in an irregular crescent that dwindled into the distance, ringing either side of the wide plain. The plain itself ended far ahead, at the edge of a murky river that plunged down the hillside and threaded in the direction of the ocean, on the skyline.

A building, or a complex of buildings, stood on the strand. Hal could see a number of ships in the waters nearby.

'That's where we're going?' he asked. He scanned the plain. 'It's a long way.'

'Almost nine leagues,' Tanngrisnir murmured. As far as Hal could work out, a league was about two or three miles.

'How do we get down there?' Eric asked.

'This way,' Gangrel said. He led them quickly down a winding path so narrow Hal had not noticed it.

The path led them down the side of the cliff, winding back and forth down the basalt face. The icy wind sliced at their numb bodies as they scrabbled down the ledge. After a quarter of an hour, much to their relief, they reached the base of the cliffs, where grey shale and grit stretched into the murk. The wind had dropped, and they began to cross the dead plain in silence, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps.

Visibility was limited. Clammy mist and fog hung in curtains on either side, although Hal could see no water nearby. Eric suggested the mist was there simply 'to be nasty.' They walked for a long time.

'When we reach the boatsheds of Hel,' Gangrel told them later, in a more voluble mood, 'we must rush the main shed, and seize the Ship of the Dead; Naglfar.'

'How will we know which one's which?' Eric asked, practically.

'Naglfar is made of dead men's nails,' Tanngrisnir said. 'True, Grimnir?'

'That is true,' Gangrel replied. Eric made a sound of repugnance.

'Easy to recognise, then,' Hal said. A thought struck him. 'Is that what the giant meant, about dead men's nails being cheap?'

'He meant that the doom of Ragnarok is near us,' Gangrel replied. 'The forces of chaos are on the brink of unleashing their armies; and their navies. The Ship of the Dead is the flagship of Hel's undead fleet. Unless we can halt their advance, all the worlds will be destroyed.'

'We've got to stop them!' Hal said.

'We will set them back a little if we seize their ship,' Tanngrisnir said.

'My plan precisely,' Gangrel replied. 'And Naglfar will speed the first stage of our journey to Sindri's Hall; where another weapon in the war against chaos awaits its forging.'

'Do you mean this Runeblade?' Hal asked. Gangrel nodded. 'But what do we do then?'

'That remains to be seen,' Gangrel replied. 'No more discussion now. We are almost there.'

Another mile and they were nearing the cliffs. The silent ocean lay before them, but they could see that the boatsheds below were an anthill of activity. Among the buildings, thin-limbed beings scurried about with jerky, insect-like movements. As the four travellers drew closer to the cliff edge, Hal gasped.

'Those things...' he said. Eric nodded queasily.

'To be expected, in the world of the Straw-Dead,' Tanngrisnir reminded them.

'But it's impossible,' Hal said. He gazed down at the horrific scene.

The workers among the boatsheds were animated skeletons.

'What if we knocked out the guard?' Gwen said suddenly.

'Ma'am?' Ilmadis said, looking up at her. She was sitting on the bed while Gwen restlessly walked up and down.

'Knock out the guard!' Gwen repeated. 'It works in all the films. We wait until the guard comes, with food or whatever, then I hide behind the door and knock him out when he comes in. Then you put on his uniform and pretend I'm your prisoner... and we escape like that.'

Ilmadis looked at her fearfully. 'But surely they would know that neither of us were swart-elves,' she replied. 'And why would the guard come here in the first place?'

'Well, to feed us, like I said,' Gwen replied. But the plan, which had seemed such a good one when it had occurred to her, sounded silly now she had said it aloud. 'All right! If you've got a better idea...'

Ilmadis spread her arms helplessly. 'Perhaps...' she said tentatively, 'perhaps it will not be so bad a life, being queen...'

'I'm not marrying that creep!' Gwen flared.

'... better than being a slave,' Ilmadis added hollowly.

Gwen regretted her temper. She sat down beside the elf. 'You just wait,' she said firmly. 'We'll find a way out. I'll free you.'

Ilmadis looked at her with such an expression of hopelessness that Gwen looked away in confusion. Restless, she jumped back up, and went to the window.

Below, the plains of Svartalfaheim were dark. By craning her neck, she could just see the swart-elf town at the foot of the castle. Thin, remote voices drifted up on the wind. Figures marched back and forth along the narrow, winding streets. Across the plain, long lines of cavalry and infantry were converging on the town.

The swart-elf armies were gathering.

'Ma'am!'

Gwen leapt down and turned to Ilmadis. 'What is...' she began, but the elf-girl put a finger to her lips.

'Listen!' she hissed. Footsteps rang in the corridor outside.

'Is it the guard?' Gwen asked. Ilmadis shrugged.

Gwen sprang to one side of the door. She listened to the approaching footsteps.

'All right, Ilmadis,' she said to the girl. 'You just sit there. When the guard comes in, try to distract him.' She hunted round, wishing she had something she could knock the guard over the head with, but the room was distinctly lacking in blunt instruments.

The footsteps clattered to a halt outside the door.

Gwen leant back against the wall, feeling the rough stone ice-cold against her skin. She felt a tightness in her chest, and inhaled hoarsely. What if the guard heard her breathing?

A key scraped in the lock.

Gwen pressed herself harder against the wall, as if trying to burrow herself into it. Too late, she saw the torch on the wall; she could have used that to knock out the guard. Too late!

The door rumbled slowly open, blocking Gwen's view of the entrance. She held her treacherous breath, and glanced over at Ilmadis, sitting on the bed and gazing wide-eyed in shock at the open door.

'Where is she? Have you not prepared the human girl for her nuptials?'

Gwen leapt out from behind the door, and flung herself at the swart-elf, bowling him over. He fell to the floor in a clatter of armour, and Gwen leapt astride him, searching round for something to brain him with.

He looked up, scowling, and Gwen gasped. It was Prince Helgrim!

Rushing footsteps from the doorway and a shriek from Ilmadis alerted Gwen. She turned to see swart-elf guards bursting in, levelling pikes at her. Beneath her, Prince Helgrim laughed.

'Do not slay her!' he cried. He seized Gwen's wrist, flung her to one side, and rose in one fluid movement.

'By Hel, she is eager for my embrace!' he crowed, and his guards laughed. Gwen looked up from the floor.

'That's the last thing on my mind,' she spat.

Prince Helgrim ignored her. He glanced at Ilmadis. 'Out!' he barked, seizing her and flinging her towards the door. The swart-elves hustled the slave into the passage beyond.

The door slammed shut.

Prince Helgrim turned to Gwen. He extended a hand. Gwen batted it away and rose, brushing herself down. She halted as Prince Helgrim gripped her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

'And now we are alone, my dear,' he said hoarsely. 'Again!'

Gwen returned his gaze with naked terror.

'Okay then,' Hal was saying. 'So we get aboard the ship. Who knows anything about sailing?'

'I do,' Gangrel replied.

'As do I,' Tanngrisnir added. 'Have you already forgotten our journey here?'

'This is a ship, not a boat,' Eric said. 'Surely a ship needs a bigger crew than four people.'

'Naglfar is no ordinary ship,' Gangrel said. 'Once we are aboard it will be a simple matter to sail her. But first we must get to her without being detected.'

'Down there?' Eric asked. He shivered, watching the distant skeletal figures as they scurried about the buildings.

'Come on, then,' Hal said, and led them down the cliff.
As they came closer to the boatsheds, they began to move more stealthily, dodging from one outcrop to the next. The walking skeletons seemed to lack any intelligence, going about their tasks mechanically, like robots. However, Gangrel was certain that others would be in the vicinity, who would pose greater problems.

There were four boatsheds; the largest and furthest away being where the old man thought they would find the ship. As the four travellers crept through the shadows in the lea of the first shed, Hal saw that each building was directly at the edge of the strand, standing over a pool or inlet in which the boats lay at anchor. A few others bobbed out in the waters, or lay on the osseous shingle.

Skeletons strode about on either side, bony feet clicking like castanets as they clattered over the skulls that littered the beach. The four travellers sneaked round the first boatshed, keeping in the shadows. Occasionally, parties of skeletons would clatter past, eye-sockets staring emptily into the middle-distance. Although terrifying in appearance, they seemed to pose no threat to Hal and his companions.

'Watch out!' Eric hissed. 'Look!'

A serpent was slithering down from the nearby cliffs. It halted about a hundred yards away from the crouching figures, raising its blunt head and tasting the air.

'Does it know we're here?' gasped Hal. Tanngrisnir hefted Helbrand. The snake slithered on across the bony strand, towards the largest boatshed.

'Between us and the ship...' Gangrel cursed.

'What now, Grimnir?' Tanngrisnir asked. Gangrel seemed uncertain.

'It didn't see us, did it?' Eric said. 'I reckon we keep going.'

Cautiously, they followed the serpent. It whipped through an archway on the leeward side of the boatshed, and vanished into the gloom.

'It's in there,' Hal said. 'It might ambush us!'

Eric shook his head. 'There's no other way,' he said. 'I reckon we follow, and trust to luck.' Tanngrisnir grunted dubiously, as if he thought this unduly optimistic.

'Come, then,' Gangrel said firmly. They approached the arch.

As they came closer, figures moved in the gloom within. At first, Hal thought they were more skeletons, but as they stepped out into the comparative light of the beach, he saw that they were something else.

Five manlike figures stood before them, bloated and blue-black, swollen figures that stank of putrefying flesh and marsh water. Each clutched a club of bone.

'Drows!' Tanngrisnir said, gripping Helbrand. Gangrel levelled his spear.

'What are they?' gulped Eric, not liking the look of them one bit.

'The restless dead,' Tanngrisnir said, as the drows faced them in silence. 'They haunt burial mounds and wreak mindless vengeance on their descendants. It seems someone has brought them here to guard the ship.'

'We'll fight them!' Hal said, indicating himself and Eric. He drew his sword.

'What if you two draw them off,' Eric said quickly, 'while Hal and I run in and secure the ship?'

Gangrel nodded, not taking his eyes off the undead. 'A good idea,' the old man said. 'Come, Tanngrisnir,' he added. The dwarf followed him towards the drows.

'What do you wait for?' Gangrel roared suddenly, taunting them. 'Are all drows as cowardly as you?'

Roaring mindlessly, the drows stumbled towards them.

'Quick!' Eric hissed, as Gangrel and Tanngrisnir rushed forward to do battle with the drows. 'This way!'

He led Hal to one side of the advancing undead, narrowly avoiding a blow from one. Then Tanngrisnir rushed forward and attacked it. It swung round and swiped at him with its club. Seizing their chance, Hal and Eric rushed through the gap and entered the boatshed.

The building enclosed a wide inlet, where the shingle sloped down to a pool in which a number of boats and ships were moored. Amidst them was one that Hal knew instinctively to be their goal.

Fifty feet long and twenty across, it was a mighty longship, its side ranked with oars, a mast with a shrouded sail towering above it. What drew Hal's breath away was the material from which it was constructed. Pale and chitinous, the ship gave off an unhealthy phosphorescence. This must be Naglfar, the Ship of the Dead; the ship of dead men's nails.

'Quickly,' Eric said. They raced down the shingle towards the longship.

Splashing across the murky waters, they reached the side, and pulled themselves up, grimacing at the unpleasant texture of the sides. Reaching the deck, they drew themselves up, and looked back the way they had come.

From outside drifted shouts and the sounds of struggle. 'That's Gangrel and Tanngrisnir,' Hal said unnecessarily. 'We'd better get this ship ready.'

They gasped in unison, as a scaly shape slithered across the deck towards them. Hal drew his sword. The serpent spat stinking venom on the blade, and it melted, leaving only the hilt. Scowling, Hal threw the remnant to one side.

'Stop that thing, Hal!' Eric shouted.

Hal glared at him, and spread his hands. 'How?' he cried incredulously. 'Wrestle it into submission?' The serpent reared up, and spat venom. Hal and Eric ran to either side. The serpent swung its head back and forth, and then sprang towards Hal.

Eric saw a pile of longbows piled on the deck beside him, arrows heaped nearby. He grabbed a bow, but it was unstrung, and he had no time to string it. Then he saw a coiled rope. An idea came to him. He grabbed the rope and began knotting it into a lasso.

Hal ducked and weaved as the serpent sprayed venom towards him. The flaming droplets spattered down upon the deck, and the foul stench of burning fingernail rose to meet him. He looked over at Eric. What was he doing?

'Help me!' he demanded, dodging another attack.

'That's right, Hal!' Eric shouted. 'Keep it occupied.'

'Keep it occupied?' Hal yelled. 'It's keeping me pretty well occupied, thank you!'

Then Eric turned, and flung the lasso at the rearing serpent. The rope swooped down around its neck, and Eric pulled.

The lasso tightened, pulling back the serpent's head and forcing a fountain of venom from its throat. The droplets showered down, spattering the deck and hissing down the creature's scales. It writhed and threshed under the impact of its own venom, then twitched to a sudden halt. The lifeless body thumped down across the deck.

Then Gangrel and Tanngrisnir were swarming aboard. In the near distance, roars and shouts of anger rang across the boatyard.

'All aboard the good ship Naglfar!' Eric shouted.

'Get us moving!' Hal demanded.

Gangrel sprang to the steering-oar. He turned it, and with a thunderous creaking and clattering, the banks of oars came into life. Without any visible rowers to move them, the great ship of the dead set out across the pool and towards the sea.

On the shore, angry figures stood and bellowed.

7 VENOM DALE

'My love...' Prince Helgrim whispered, gazing deep into Gwen's frightened eyes. 'Your life with me will be one of greatness, of majesty! You will sit at my side as queen of a vast dominion. All the worlds of order will fall to my armies; all the races of light will be my slaves... and yours! Simply return my love...'

To her horror, he leaned forward to kiss her.

There was a commotion from the passage outside, and someone began beating on the door. Prince Helgrim flung Gwen to one side, strode to the door, and threw it open.

A swart-elf warrior stood in the doorway. 'My lord,' he began. 'The dwarves are invading! They ride across the plain towards us! I....' He broke off suddenly, as Prince Helgrim struck him across the face with his gauntlets.

'My lord...' the swart-elf protested, as blood trickled from his mouth.

'Dolt!' Prince Helgrim hissed. 'Never interrupt me again, by Sinmara!'

'My lord prince,' the swart-elf said. 'My words are true. Look!'

He pointed towards the window. Ignoring Gwen, still sprawled across the bed, the Prince strode to the window and gazed out. Distant battle cries were borne up on the wind.

Prince Helgrim turned on his heel. 'To arms, warriors!' he cried. 'Send for the slave, and lock her in with my wife-to-be. Then we go to war!'

He leered at Gwen. 'Soon...' he promised, and then strode out.

'Escaped!' Hal said. 'Now where, Gangrel?'

The old man looked at him sombrely. As he steered them under the arch of the boatshed and they rowed out into the ocean waters, he indicated the ship as a whole.

'If this vessel holds together,' he replied, 'we shall sail to Svartaborg, in the world of the swart-elves.'

'What do you mean, "if"?' Eric asked uneasily.

'This ship was unfinished, remember?' Tanngrisnir said. 'Look!' The dwarf prodded the chitinous material of the hull, and it splintered where he touched it. 'Dead men's nails, you see,' Tanngrisnir said. He shook his head like a professional builder inspecting the work of cowboys. 'And this ship was made for one voyage only... Look out!'

Sweeping across the dark waters towards them came four smaller vessels, rowing out from behind a headland. The decks bristled with the undead.

'Are they going to attack us?' Hal cried, seeing skeletal warriors operating mangonels on the decks of the ships.

'What do you think?' Eric demanded.

'This is their flagship!' Hal said. Then the first shot was flying, and three more followed in quick succession. The missiles splashed into the water nearby, each one closer and closer, until the last sent up a bow-wave of spray that swamped the deck.

'Poor shots,' Eric said critically.

'Why're they stopping?' Hal asked.

'They're weighing anchor,' Tanngrisnir said, scanning the four ships as they halted in the water three hundred yards away. 'So they can get a better aim, I imagine.'

Eric turned to Gangrel, still manning the sweep. 'Can't you ram them?' he asked.

The old man nodded grimly. 'Such is my intention,' he replied.

The longship bore down upon the attackers. Another volley of shot whistled through the air, splashing down on either side of the deck. The last one struck the side a glancing blow and everyone except Gangrel went sprawling across the deck.

Just as Hal was scrambling to his feet, he heard a tearing, splintering sound, and the deck shook again. Keeping his balance by grabbing a trailing rawhide rope, Hal turned to see they were smashing straight through the line of enemy ships, staving in the side of one and sending the rest spinning in confusion. The sails had unfurled themselves and they were booming above in a gale that had leapt up from nowhere. Leaving their enemies far behind them, Naglfar surged on across the bay.

'What do you suppose the Straw-Dead will do now we've stolen their ship?' Tanngrisnir asked Gangrel, as the enemy vessels disappeared into the murk.

'They need this ship,' Gangrel replied. 'Even if they are prepared to sink it to get it back, they will try. Otherwise they will have to begin building another.'

'What if we sank this one?' Hal asked. 'Just destroyed it? That would stop them!'

'It would stop us, too,' Eric pointed out, 'unless you want to walk to this Svartaborg place.'

'Oh,' Hal said, frowning. He scratched his head, feeling foolish. 'Good point.'

'For the moment,' Tanngrisnir said, 'pursuit has died down. But we need to shake it off completely. How do we do that?'

'Like this,' Gangrel said simply. He turned the steering oar, and the ship began heading towards the coast. Before them was a wide estuary.

'Here is the River Slid,' he told them, 'that flows down Venom Dale from the Dark Moon Fells. Too far east to get us directly to Svartaborg; but further upstream it is joined by the waters of the Gioll, the river that marks the boundary of the world of the dead. If we sail up there, it will take us eventually to foot of Giallarfoss, the falls near Svartaborg.'

'And then we can rescue Gwen?' Hal asked eagerly.

'If we can secure entrance to the Tower,' Gangrel replied.

The ship sailed on towards the river mouth.

'I have to get away,' Gwen moaned.

'Maybe the dwarves will defeat the swart-elves,' Ilmadis said tentatively.

The swart-elves had departed, thrusting Ilmadis back inside and locking the door. Gwen's spirits were low. 'Dwarves?' she mumbled.

'Aye, ma'am,' Ilmadis replied. 'Have you not heard? The dwarves of Aurvangar are attacking. Listen!'

Gwen listened. A distant roar of combat came from the plain below. 'Dwarves?' she asked. 'Is Tanngrisnir with them?'

'I do not know who ma'am speaks of,' Ilmadis replied in confusion. 'The guards say that it is Lofar's kindred.'

Gwen rose quickly, and went to the window. Ilmadis joined her, and they looked down upon the dark plain below.

Tiny figures battled among the rocks and ridges; whole battalions of them, swart-elves and dwarves, though they were too far away for Gwen to recognise them. Was Tanngrisnir down there? But Tanngrisnir was dead. All her friends were dead. She had felt a glimmer of hope on hearing that the dwarves were attacking; hope that her friends were down there, that they had somehow survived the maelstrom.

The air boomed, and Gwen craned her neck in amazed horror as a vast reptilian form flapped out from an archway in the wall of the tower. Another followed, and another; scaly, winged creatures that bore swart-elf warriors upon their backs.

'Dragons,' Ilmadis murmured. She pointed towards the valiantly struggling dwarves, the foot soldiers, and the cavalry, mounted on ponies. Now, the swart-elf forces, which consisted of warriors on foot and others mounted on what looked like giant lizards, matched them equally. But the dwarves had no aerial squadrons.

'They will be crushed,' Ilmadis said quietly. 'This is not the first time the dwarves have attacked in recent weeks. But each time the swart-elves beat them off with the aid of their new dragon-riders.'

Gwen watched in despair as the squadron of dragons swooped down on the battlefield, spitting venom that burst into flame on impact. Soon the tide of battle was turning, as dwarf after dwarf fell under the assault, to line the plain like flotsam and jetsam.

Gwen saw an exultant mounted figure riding out at the head of the swart-elf forces. Though too distant for her to be truly certain, Gwen knew that it was Prince Helgrim.

She closed her eyes, sickened by the slaughter. 'I've got to get away!' she said fiercely. Her friends were long gone. Now this new hope had been crushed. There was no escape. Prince Helgrim had her in his power. But she had to find some way to get free.

At her side, Ilmadis looked at her pityingly, and shook her head. 'There is no escape,' she replied.

The waters of the River Slid foamed and bubbled, and it seemed to Hal's bewildered eyes that spears and swords swirled in its current as Naglfar sailed upstream. On either bank, grit and shale sloped away towards the plains across which the travellers had marched hours before.

'We're going back on ourselves,' Hal said, leaning against the rail and gazing out across the gloomy landscape.

'But much quicker, this time,' Eric said. 'This beats tramping across all those rocks.' He had taken off his shoes and socks and was tending to a few blisters.

'Aye,' Tanngrisnir agreed. 'This will hasten our journey. And yet our going will not be easy.'

'It never is,' Eric said gloomily.

'What perils await us, then?' Hal asked with an ironic laugh. 'We've done okay so far, Tanngrisnir. Isn't that right, Gangrel?'

The old man looked down from the stern. 'So far,' he agreed. 'But worse dangers are to come.'

'Great,' Eric muttered, bursting the last of his blisters. 'What next?'

'As I said earlier, we come soon to the confluence of the Slid and the Gioll,' Gangrel told them. 'There, oath-breakers, adulterers, and murderers wade waist-deep through icy waters; there the Nidhogg, king of the serpents, gnaws on corpses.'

Eric and Hal were silent. Eric frowned. 'And is this the only route we can take?' he asked.

Gangrel gazed out over the surrounding landscape. 'The rivers of Helheim are by far the fastest route,' he said, 'but fraught with danger. This way we can come to Svartaborg by the fastest and simplest route; and then continue to Aurvangar, where the Runeblade shall be forged. But it will not be easy going.' He said no more, but returned his attention to steering the ship up the river.

They passed through a ravine. Cliffs towered on either side, and at one point Hal saw the head of a serpent raised above the escarpment, watching their progress in silence.

'So how do we get past the Nidhogg's territory?' he asked.

'Who is the Nidhogg, anyway?' Eric asked.

'As Grimnir said, he is the king of the serpents,' Tanngrisnir said. 'He is one of Lady Hel's pets, who terrorises and torments the evil dead. He makes little distinction between his prisoners and others abroad in his lands. It will be a difficult journey. But as Grimnir said, we have no real choice. Escaping from Helheim is hardly child's play.'

Eric sighed. 'Well, I suppose not,' he said. 'But shouldn't we have some plan? Gangrel? Don't we have a plan worked out?'

Gangrel said nothing for a while, concentrating on guiding the ship through the ravine. Then he turned to his companions.

'I have been considering the matter as we have journeyed,' he said. 'Certainly I have a plan. Never do I leave anything to chance.'

'How about sharing it with us, then?' Hal suggested.

Gangrel came and sat with them. 'My plan depends on the simple fact that the Nidhogg will recognise the ship as Naglfar, the Ship of the Dead,' he said. 'He knows that one day will come the day of doom, and the world will be renewed. In that hopefully distant time, he will survive to bring evil into the next world. The passing of Naglfar is somewhat he will greet with joy, since it means his time is nigh.'

'Can you be certain?' Eric asked worriedly. 'What are the chances of him just attacking us? It doesn't seem like much of a plan to me...'

Gangrel brooded. 'The Nidhogg is no more than a beast, with a beast's volatility. Sometimes the wisest cannot second-guess the unwise. But I believe this will be so.'

'I hope you're right!' Tanngrisnir shouted suddenly. 'We're here already!'

Gangrel turned with a curse. The dwarf was right.

Unattended, the ship had sailed swiftly upstream. Beyond the cliffs, the land opened out once more. In the far distance, a range of impossibly high mountains marched across the skyline. But what caught Hal's attention was the scene before them.

Ahead the River Slid rushed down from the mountains. To the left another river joined it; presumably the Gioll. It seemed to scream like a wounded beast as it rushed across the plains of Helheim. In the swift waters at the meeting of the two rivers, Hal could see doleful figures wading among crusts of ice. On the bank above them, serpents writhed, their blunt heads whipping down to strike anyone who angered them. Amidst them was another reptilian figure, larger than the rest, and winged; more like a dragon than a serpent. It lay upon a bed of rotting corpses, and viewed the torment with cruel eyes.

It caught sight of Naglfar as the ship hove into view. With the jerkiness of a lizard, the dragon drew itself up, spreading its wings, sending human bones and flesh flying as it glared balefully down at the intruder.

'The Nidhogg!' cried Tanngrisnir. 'He's seen us! You were wrong, Grimnir! He will not let us pass.'

Roaring, the Nidhogg beat his wings, took off, and soared down towards them. Hal's heart sank as the wings of the dragon boomed above their heads, the wind of their passing shivering the sails. The Nidhogg swept over them, and then turned gracefully in the air to hover behind the ship, beating his wings. The sails billowed fatly, and the dragon opened his mouth to roar a song of triumph.

The travellers crouched on the deck below, staring up in fear and wonder, except Gangrel, who stood at the helm, smiling enigmatically.

'You were right!' cried Tanngrisnir, rising to his feet. 'The Nidhogg helps us on our way!'

The sails swelled, the dragon beat its wings, and swiftly the ship entered the River Gioll. Once they were under way, the Nidhogg left them, and flew back towards his lair.

Eric looked at Gangrel. 'That was a bit of a gamble, don't you think?' he asked. 'Even for you!'

'I know the Nidhogg of old,' replied Gangrel. 'I was sure I knew how he would react.'

Hal gazed back down the river. 'Still, it was a close call,' he said. 'That thing could have swallowed us all in one gulp.'

The ship sailed on up the howling waters of the river Gioll. This river was narrower than the Slid, and faster; without the Nidhogg's aid, progress was slow. The oars threshed vainly at the speeding waters, and they inched their way upstream.

Hal and Eric sat beside the rail, and watched the dark land slip past. 'What do you think Gangrel means when he says he knows the Nidhogg of old?' Hal asked in an undertone.

Eric shrugged. 'He seems to know a lot of odd people,' he replied. 'And the more I learn of him, the less I feel I know him. He's certainly not just the mad old hippie we knew back home.'

Home. Hal had not thought about Irby since meeting up with the others on the strand of corpses. Or... his family...

Seeing Hal's doleful look, Eric glanced away. His eyes narrowed.

'Look!' he said. 'On the south bank! They're familiar.'

Hal followed his gaze. Riding alongside them, mounted on what looked like giant lizards, were ten or eleven black-armoured figures that clutched swords and spears.

'Swart-elves!' he said. 'Gangrel!'

He turned to the old man, still standing in the stern. Gangrel nodded. 'I have seen them,' he said.

'They're following us,' Eric said grimly.

8 BRIDGE OF DREAD

'They're more intelligent than the Nidhogg.' Tanngrisnir glared at the swart-elves. 'They know this ship isn't ready to set sail yet. Come, Gangrel; can we not out-race them?'

Gangrel did nothing, but as if in answer to an unspoken command, the sails boomed again, and the oars quickened their pace. The swart-elves raced along the bank, shouting threats and war cries, brandishing their blades in wrath. A couple had bows, and they loosed arrows at the ship. One sank into the mast, another hit the side mere inches from Hal, who drew back hastily. Soon the gap between the ship and their pursuers was widening, until the swart-elves receded into the murky distance.

'What are they doing in Hell?' Hal asked. 'Don't the swart-elves have their own world?'

'Indeed they do,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'And this river marks the border between Helheim and Svartalfaheim, as Grimnir said. That was a border patrol. Further south, beyond those high mountains' -- he indicated the heights that fanged the dark skyline -- 'lie the Dark Moon Plains, and Sindri's Hall.'

'But where is Svartaborg?' Eric asked. 'Where is Gwen?'

Tanngrisnir pointed towards the southeast, where the mountains vanished into obscurity. 'Far from here,' he told them, 'at the very other end of the Dark Moon Fells. The Gioll comes down from the mountains there, at the Giallarfoss. That's where we'll find Gwen.'

'Do you think those swart-elves knew who we are?' Eric asked uneasily. 'They might report back to base.'

Tanngrisnir nodded. 'You may well be right, my friend,' he replied quietly.

'Then... even when we get to Svartaborg,' Hal said slowly, 'they could be waiting for us.'

The ship sailed on far up the river, its crew wrapped in brooding silence.

'Don't the dwarves have any way to fight the swart-elves?' Gwen asked.

Ilmadis looked up. Gwen had been silent for a long time, deep in brooding thought. Now she turned to her companion. 'They have their warriors, their footmen and cavalry,' the slave replied.

'But the swart-elves have these dragons,' Gwen replied. 'Don't the dwarves have any way to deal with them?' She searched her mind for the right expression. 'Some kind of anti-aircraft system?'

Ilmadis looked helpless. 'I know little of warfare,' she replied. 'Though legends say that one of the dwarf kindreds have alftarhamir, feathercloaks, like the one Freya uses to fly between the worlds...'

Gwen looked at her, as if about to speak. Before she could open her mouth, the doors burst open and Prince Helgrim strode in. His armour was spattered with mud and blood, his eyes were ablaze.

'I return!' he announced.

Gwen looked him up and down. 'Greetings, mighty hero,' she replied. Her sarcasm was lost on the swart-elf, who strutted like a barnyard cock.

'I sent the dwarves fleeing for their rocks and caves and plains of mud!' he bragged. 'Tonight there will be a victory feast in the great hall! Soon my armies will ride out to crush the dwarves once and for all!'

'Clever you,' Gwen said tartly. 'Do you expect me to be impressed? Those dragons did all the work.'

Prince Helgrim threw out his chest. He glowered down at her. 'Aye, our allies are a great asset,' he replied. 'Yet it is I who am commander-in-chief.' He paused. 'This was not why I came hither.

'Winged messengers reached me as I returned to the castle. They bore tidings from the northern marches of my father's realm. A patrol has seen your friends. They sent a message by the signal towers...'

Unforeseen hope bloomed in Gwen's heart. 'My friends?' she asked. 'Eric, Hal, and the rest?'

'Those from whom I took you, aye,' the prince replied. 'They were seen sailing out of Helheim in the Ship of the Dead.'

Gwen frowned uncomprehendingly at his ominous words. The Ship of the Dead?

'Do you mean they are dead?' she asked. She had thought she had come to accept their deaths, but this came as a shock.

Prince Helgrim shook his head. 'It seems they have stolen the ship,' he replied haughtily. 'How they survived the maelstrom, I know not. Nor know I what they intend. But I have sent a contingent of dragon-riders to ensure they go no further. When next they crew Naglfar will be on the Day of Ragnarok!'

Rounding a bend in the river, Hal and his companions came to a narrows, where the cliffs of a ravine bulked against the black sky on either side. Spanning the ravine directly ahead was a bridge, which glittered gold in the dim witchfire that illuminated Helheim.

Standing upon the bridge, gazing into the darkness, was a tall female figure clad in armour of bronze. As Naglfar swept up the ravine, she turned her skeletal face in their direction.

'Then is it time?' Her voice resounded from the rocks.

Gangrel gazed up at her. 'Of what time do you speak, Modgud?'

The skeletal maiden gazed down at him suspiciously. 'I know that voice,' she said. 'O, whither have I heard it ere now? You are not the helmsman of Naglfar. Who are you? Why should I let you pass?' She lifted up a spear, and poised it threateningly.

'I am the helmsman's brother in blood,' Gangrel replied. 'Can a brother not do a brother's work?'

'Surely you are of his blood,' Modgud said, 'for you sire the same progeny. Falsehoods are his offspring; yours also.'

'My children are mighty lords,' Gangrel said. 'And free; all bar he who lodges with your mistress.'

'Ah, the fair one,' Modgud sighed gustily. 'The bright one who dwells now in the land of darkness, illumines it with his beauty. Long shall he lodge with Lady Hel!'

'One day shall he return to the lands of light,' Gangrel warned, 'when the world is renewed. Let me pass, and that day will be long in coming.'

Modgud was silent for a while, and the ship drew closer. Then she spoke again. 'Pass, then, Old One,' she replied, 'For never do I wish to see the day when your fair son departs this land. I shall not hinder you.'

In silence, Gangrel guided the ship under the bridge.

'So what do you reckon all that was about?' Eric asked Hal, in a whisper.

Hal had been confused by the whole thing. 'I haven't a clue,' he replied. 'Should we ask him?'

He looked at Gangrel, who was still at the helm, his face grim and abstracted. 'Perhaps another time,' Eric told Hal. 'Maybe we wouldn't like the answer; assuming we could understand it.'

Beyond the bridge, the river grew narrower and the current more rapid. Although they remained on the borders between Helheim and the swart-elves' world, it seemed to Hal that the river began curving towards the distant mountains in the south; the Dark Moon Fells, as Tanngrisnir called them.

The dwarf dozed by the rail. Gangrel still stood untiring at the sweep. Eric's head was nodding. Hal felt tired, but somehow he couldn't sleep. The chitinous deck was uncomfortable, but it wasn't just that. An inexplicable feeling of foreboding gripped his heart with icy fingers.

Of course, the simple fact that he was sailing up a river in the land of the dead, swart-elves infesting one bank and walking corpses the other, might be enough to justify his fears. But it was something less tangible, less clear. He yawned, and tried to get more comfortable. Still sleep eluded him.

Finally, he got to his feet and began to pace the deck. Eric was asleep, and Tanngrisnir snored loudly nearby. Gangrel seemed lost in reverie. Hal went aft, and mooched about the prow.

He looked gingerly at the figurehead, which depicted a woman whose body was half-skeleton and half flesh. These people had unhealthy imaginations. Sighing, he gazed towards the distant mountains. Somewhere up there, Gwen was a prisoner of the swart-elves. Assuming she was still alive! Who knew what Prince Helgrim might have done to her, might be doing to her now...

He shuddered. He was getting morbid. Unsurprising, under these conditions.

Mist swirled around the ship, hung dankly on either bank. He gazed up at the black sky, wishing for a star or two; or even a familiar constellation. Where were they? Where could they be, where there were no stars? Gangrel said it was Hell, and that certainly figured. But where was Hell in relation to the world he had known?

This river flowed between two worlds, Gangrel said; the one on the left was Helheim, the one on the right was the world of the swart-elves. He had always thought worlds were divided by space, not by murky and unpleasant rivers. Space! Could that be where they were? Another planet, as he had thought on arrival? But even in outer space, there were stars.

He shook his head. Wherever they were, it was nowhere that people had dreamed of in his own world, his own time. He picked his way back up the deck, eyeing the oars as they moved in uncanny unison. In the stern, Gangrel stood gazing silently ahead.

'Don't you want to rest?' Hal said awkwardly.

Gangrel looked down at him. 'Rest?' the old man asked.

'Yes,' Hal said. 'You must be tired.'

Gangrel sighed. 'I am tired,' he replied in a soulful voice. 'Wearied by years of struggle. I crave rest. But were I to relax my vigilance, who knows what chaos would result?'

Hal looked at him worriedly, not quite sure what he was talking about. 'Everyone needs to rest sometime,' he said. 'Look, I'll take the helm. I can't sleep. Eric and Tanngrisnir are snoring. Why don't you lie down and kip? It'll all look better in the morning.' He looked up at the black sky. 'Not that they have mornings round here.'

Gangrel looked down at him. 'I have brought you to a place beyond your worst imaginings,' he said quietly.

Hal shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know,' he replied with a forced smile. 'It's no worse than downtown Birkenhead on a Saturday night. But isn't there anywhere better; out there?'

'Oh yes,' Gangrel replied. 'The places we fight to preserve. Vanaheim, Alfheim; Asgard. One day, Hal, you will see Asgard and all this will seem worthwhile. The eternal struggle...'

He broke off, and peered up at the skies above. A whining scream split the night. Hal spun round. Tanngrisnir leapt up, his eyes bleary. Eric rose on one elbow.

'What is it?' he asked urgently.

Gangrel thrust a finger towards a group of dots descending swiftly from above. 'Dragons! Coming from the world of the swart-elves. A sure confirmation of King Hrafnsvart's alliance with Muspell and the fire giants!'

'Never mind that, Grimnir!' Tanngrisnir said. 'We're under attack!'

9 THE HOWLING RIVER

'There's no escape...' Hal said, as the dragons swooped ever closer. He could see the swart-elf riders on their backs.

'Courage, Hal!' Gangrel reminded him. 'We'll find a way.'

'Take one of these!' Eric thrust a bow into Hal's hand. The dragons were almost upon them. Gangrel stood poised with his spear as if it was a javelin. Eric handed Hal a sheaf of arrows.

Blue fire scorched the deck.

Looking up, Hal saw the closest dragon hovering directly above, its wings beating with terrible force, venom drooling from its jaws. Gangrel flung his spear.

It swooped straight at the dragon, sinking into its soft underbelly. With a wailing scream, the creature spun out of control, sending its rider pitching into the dark to crash into the waters with a hiss. Steam rushed up like fog.

Through the steam, Hal saw two more dragons swooping down. He notched an arrow and raised the bow. Squinting, he drew a bead on the closest dragon, which was hurtling towards him, fangs gleaming in its gaping mouth, venom spattering through the air. He loosed. The air hummed, and the dragon jerked in mid-air, to plunge into the river on the far side of the ship.

Eric feathered the next dragon. He looked to Hal with exhilaration and exultation in his eyes. 'We're winning!' he said.

'Do not be so certain,' Gangrel said reprovingly. Hal saw in amazement that he had somehow recovered his spear.

Two dragons burst out of the mist on either side of the river, swooping in low, spraying their flight-paths with flammable venom. Tanngrisnir loosed, catching the left-hand attacker in the jaws, sending it spinning to a watery doom. But the other flew straight over the ship, spattering combustible venom as it did so. Too later, Gangrel spun and hurled his spear at the scaly beast. But already, fire was blazing fiercely on the deck, and the mast was burning.

Tanngrisnir bustled forward, holding his helmet by one horn. 'Hal, you're bigger than me,' he cried. 'Get water. We've got to put out that fire!'

As Hal rushed to obey, two more dragons roared down out of the sky. Eric turned on his heel and loosed another arrow.

Leaning over the rail, Hal bent down to the waters. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the clamour of battle right behind him, ignoring the fact that he was a sitting duck for any swart-elf dragon-rider, he filled Tanngrisnir's helmet with Gioll-water, and heaved himself up.

The fire on deck was roaring now, and Hal gagged at the sickening smell. As he raced forward to put out the fire, Hal saw five dragons now circling above the ship, wreathing it in flame. Eric and Tanngrisnir filled the air with arrows but to no avail. Gangrel stood at the helm again, battling to force the ship out of reach of the onslaught.

Hal flung the contents of the helmet over the blazing deck. He heard a hiss, and steam rose. Hal looked critically at his work. Well, he had put out some of the fire...

'Get more water!' Tanngrisnir gasped from nearby. 'Here! Give me that helmet!'

The dwarf seized the helmet and ran to the side where the rail was lowest. Hal grabbed his bow, and started loosing arrows at the dragons.

By now, only three dragons remained to fight, and they were wounded. As Gangrel urged the ship onwards, Hal saw that they were putting the remaining dragons behind them.

'Victory!' he cried. Eric gave him an old-fashioned look.

'The ship's still on fire,' he pointed out.

Hal turned, and choked in the greasy black smoke. Tanngrisnir was flinging the contents of his helmet over the fire, but it had spread.

Eric handed Hal a leather bucket. 'I found these in the hold,' he added, waving another. 'Let's help Tanngrisnir.' Hal and Eric leaned over the side to fill their buckets with the cold, dank waters of the river.

A short time later and they had extinguished the fire. But the ship was in a sorry state; its sides scorched and melted, its mast charred. The four travellers stood in the stern, anticipating a second attack.

'Why did they attack the ship?' Hal asked. 'The Nidhogg didn't.'

'Remember those swart-elves who saw us from the bank?' Eric asked. 'They must have sent word about us.'

'So there is no doubt that the swart-elves have allied themselves with Muspell?' Tanngrisnir asked Gangrel.

Gangrel nodded. 'It is as we had feared,' he said sombrely. 'Alone, neither the fire giants nor the swart-elves pose any great threat to Asgard. But if they have forgotten their ancient feuds and now work side by side, we can only fear the worst.' He gazed out into the darkness. 'All we can hope is that the trolls and frost giants remain at odds with them. Were they all to unite, then Ragnarok would surely be nigh.'

'Well, we'd better make sure that doesn't happen, then,' Hal said after a pause. As ever, he had not the slightest idea what Gangrel and Tanngrisnir were talking about, but it sounded pretty bad. 'Maybe when we've rescued Gwen and got to the dwarf realm, things will look better.'

Gangrel laughed. 'At least one of us is undeterred by the threat of impending doom,' he said. 'Your courage grows greatly, Hal. Let us hope it is sufficient to save us from evil.'

Half an hour later, Hal was sitting in the stern with Tanngrisnir and Eric. The dwarf was teaching them how to play a game rather like chess, which he called Hnefatafl.

'What's that noise?' Eric asked, distracted. He lifted his head. Hal copied him. In the distance, he could hear a roaring sound.

'It's not the dragons, is it?' he said.

Tanngrisnir looked up. He shook his head and rose. 'Worse!' he said. 'Look!'

Hal and Eric got to their feet. At the steering oar, Gangrel stared ahead in concern.

A curtain of mist hung across the river ahead, and from this came the roaring, crashing sound of water tumbling over rapids. On either bank, Hal could see that the land was rising as they neared the mountains. The river tumbled over the cliffs, sending up mist in clouds.

'How do we get through this, Gangrel?' Hal asked tentatively.

'Your friends live,' Ilmadis said encouragingly.

Gwen looked doleful. 'But not for much longer. They may already be dead.'

Ilmadis gave her a compassionate look. 'They will survive,' she murmured. 'Maybe they will come and rescue you.'

Gwen shook her head. 'Only I can save myself now,' she said. She let her gaze wander round the room. It lit upon the bed.

'And Prince Helgrim says we will be married soon,' she added. 'Oh, I can't marry him! I've got to get... out...' She paused.

'What is it?' Ilmadis asked. She could see that Gwen was thinking.

'I've got it!' Gwen said suddenly. She pointed at the bedclothes. 'We can make ropes out of the sheets and climb down! Come on.' She hauled a sheet off the bed and started twisting it into a rope.

Ilmadis looked on in horror. 'Have you not looked out of the window? That will never be long enough.'

'Of course I've looked out of the window,' Gwen said impatiently, still twisting the sheet. 'I don't expect this to get me down to the ground. But it should be long enough to get us level with the window below...'

'And where will that get us?'

Gwen looked up. 'I don't know! But it can't be worse than being stuck in here, waiting for Prince Helgrim to come and sweep me off my feet. Here, Ilmadis, make yourself useful.'

She gave Ilmadis another sheet, and the elf copied her. Soon they had two ropes, which Gwen knotted together. She rushed to the window, and looked down.

'See?' she said. 'There's a window directly below. That must lead into another room. If we can get in there, we can start looking for some way out of this place, or at least somewhere to hide.'

Infected by Gwen's enthusiasm, Ilmadis helped her tie one end of the rope to the bed. Then they flung the other end out of the window.

'How is it?' Ilmadis asked, as Gwen looked out.

'Still a few feet off,' Gwen replied. 'Here, move this closer.' Together they dragged the bed across the floor until it was directly adjacent to the window. Then Gwen and Ilmadis climbed up onto the mattress and looked out again.

The rope swung back and forth in the wind, directly in front of the window below.

'We've done it!' Ilmadis said excitedly, hugging Gwen.

'Not yet we haven't,' she replied, shaking the elf-girl off. 'Come on, I'll go first.'

She slipped a leg over the sill. Slowly, holding the rope in one hand, she inched herself out, and clung on.

The wind was fierce and icy-cold, and tugged wildly at her hair as she began to climb down the rope. After one glance down, which revealed the immensity of the dizzying drop below, Gwen gritted her teeth and concentrated on the rope, and finding a foothold on the wall.

'You are over halfway!'

The wind almost whipped Ilmadis' words away. Gwen looked up briefly to see the elf-girl's smiling face looking down at her from the window ledge. Then she continued, scrabbling for a hold, lowering herself from crack to crevice.

Suddenly, her feet were swinging in thin air. Panicking, she looked down, and her heart lurched again at the drop. But she saw that she had reached the opening of the window. A few feet more and she would reach the window ledge. She looked up, and gave Ilmadis a wave.

To her horror, she saw dark hands reach out to yank the elf away from the window. The leering visage of a swart-elf guard replaced Ilmadis' friendly face. He must have entered the chamber soundlessly while Ilmadis was at the window. Distantly, Gwen heard a cry from her friend.

Heart thumping with fear and horror, Gwen clung to the swinging rope. What now? She could do nothing for Ilmadis; that was plain. The wind whistled around her, icy cold.

Panting, she let herself down onto the window ledge. If she could just get back up... The rope jerked in her grip. She looked up to see the guard had scrambled through the window. Now he was trying to follow her.

She burst through the window, colliding with thick drapes that closed it off from the rest of the room. Fighting her way through them, she found herself in a dark, unlit room. A crack of light at floor level showed the location of the door. She ran towards it, threw it open, and raced out into the passage outside.

'Aha! My lovely little fugitive! Just in time.'

She halted. Coming down a winding stair to her left was Prince Helgrim at the head of a troop of swart-elves. She turned right, and saw another contingent racing along the corridor towards her.

Prince Helgrim approached. 'You see, my dear,' he said tenderly. 'Fate is irrevocable. There is no escape.

'You are mine.'

'Then there's no way we can get this ship up there?'

Hal looked round at the others. They were anchored in the pool at the foot of the falls.

Gangrel shook his head. 'I should have considered it beforehand,' he admitted. 'This would pose no problem, were there more of us. But we are only four. Too few to drag the ship over the rocks to the waters above; and that would take time.' He frowned. 'We'll have to abandon ship. I wish we had time to sink her, so the Straw-Dead cannot use her. But we have a long journey ahead.'

'We're lucky to have got this far,' Tanngrisnir said. 'We've crossed Helheim, passing through perils unimaginable, and survived. We even fought off an attack by dragons, armed only with bows.

'It is a long way on foot, but at least we have reached the right world.' He surveyed the mountains with haunted eyes. 'Far over those distant fells is the realm of the dwarves, where the forger of the Runeblade awaits. But before that, Svartaborg; and Gwen.'

Gangrel nodded. Eric and Hal exchanged glances. 'We must rescue Gwen,' Hal said firmly. 'Never mind this Runeblade; it's Gwen who matters.'

'Yet one day you must accept your weird, Hal,' Gangrel said softly. 'Gwen matters greatly. But the Runeblade is the key to your fate.'

'Who are you calling weird?' Hal demanded. 'I don't understand half of what you say, Gangrel, but...'

'Come,' Tanngrisnir said, going to the rail. 'No time for discussion. We must enter the world of the swart-elves and face this weird of which you speak, Grimnir.' He leapt down into the shallows. Gangrel, Hal, and Eric followed and they waded to the bank together.

Broken ground stretched away into murky distance. It looked little different from Helheim. But at least Tanngrisnir said it was the right world. At last, they had made good Hal's mistake on the underground river, when he had pitched them into the maelstrom. It seemed so long ago now!

The dwarf led the way, and the four travellers entered the sinister world of the swart-elves.

END OF BOOK ONE

BOOK TWO: DARK MOON FELLS

1 SVARTABORG

'It's a beautiful dress,' Ilmadis said doubtfully.

Gwen looked ruefully in the mirror at the rig-out she was wearing. A wide, flounced skirt in black silk trailed on the cold flagstones, while the top half, also in black, was so low-cut as to be positively indecent. She didn't much care for the hat, either; race-day Gothic! At least no one expected her to show off her legs.

'I suppose this is the kind of thing swart-elves are into,' she murmured. 'I should be thankful it isn't all in studded leather. Doesn't it make me look pale, though!'

'You'll stand out among the swart-elves,' Ilmadis said loyally. 'Like a rose among thorns, ma'am.'

Gwen scowled. She tapped her foot impatiently. 'Well, come on, then; where's Prince Charming got to? Doesn't he want to show his new bride off?' Her voice was brave, but within she was quavering. Marriage was a scary idea at the best of times, but as for marrying the heir to the swart-elf throne...!

After the abortive escape attempt, the swart-elves had confined Gwen and Ilmadis to the bedchamber, ordering them to prepare for the wedding eve. A seamstress had visited them, a timid, silent thing who took Gwen's measurements while two leering swart-elf guards looked on. The horror Gwen was now wearing had been the result.

By swart-elf tradition, it was customary for the bridegroom to parade the bride-to-be before his family and their retainers on the night before the wedding. Gwen's mother would not approve, not that she would be there. Although Prince Helgrim's mother would be; a vicious old baggage according to Ilmadis. Hrafnsvart would be there, too, and many another, including - and this seemed in really bad taste - Prince Helgrim's former fiancée, a cousin of his named Mordis. Gwen really wasn't looking forward to that encounter. Handbags at dawn! Well, if the lovely Mordis complained, Gwen would offer Prince Helgrim on a plate; to her, or to anyone else. She didn't want to marry him.

Her lip quivered. 'Oh, Ilmadis,' she stammered. 'I don't want to go through with this.'

Ilmadis put a comforting arm round her. 'Ma'am...' she said consolingly. 'It's really nothing to worry about...'

'Just lie back and think of Midgard, eh?' Gwen giggled nervously. 'Oh, but Ilmadis; can't we try to escape again?'

Ilmadis shrugged. 'Where did that get us last time? But when you are queen,' - Gwen shuddered at the thought - 'he won't keep you locked up all the time. Maybe there will be a chance to get away then.'

'When I'm attending all those state occasions, you mean?' Gwen replied. 'Opening hospitals and all that?' Ilmadis looked blank.

The sound of marching feet rang out in the corridor outside. Before Gwen could even prepare herself, the doors rumbled open, and Prince Helgrim strode in, flanked by his guards. He extended a hand to the blushing bride-to-be.

'Come!' he commanded. With one last glance at Ilmadis, Gwen rose, and went with him. What else could she do?

Prince Helgrim and the guard took Gwen at a brisk pace through the high-roofed corridors of the great castle, past knots of waiting servants, who bowed or curtsied low as the prince and his unwilling fiancée passed. They reached the top of a high staircase that led down into a hall where swart-elf courtiers and soldiers were gathered. Gwen's heart pounded as Prince Helgrim led her directly down the stairs, and the eyes of all turned to watch their progress.

At the far end was a throne, smaller than the one Gwen had seen before, but the figure sitting upon it could only be Hrafnsvart the Black. Lining the path to the throne, where a long black carpet stretched across the room from the foot of the steps, were the courtiers. As Gwen passed them, she glanced fearfully to left and right, scanning their faces. Swart-elf men and women, overdressed even for an occasion like this, attended by scantily clad slaves, crowded either side of the carpet, all cheering and applauding the couple as they approached the throne. All except one.

As they came out of the crowd and approached the foot of the throne, Gwen caught a fleeting glimpse of a young swart-elf woman standing a little to one side. Clad in a low-cut black kirtle, with two leashed wolves at her side, her face was a vision of frustrated satanic beauty. She gazed at Prince Helgrim in silent hatred, her eyes burning with infernal loathing. For a second, her eyes met Gwen's. A message seemed to flash between them.

Then the swart-elf had vanished into the crowd, and Prince Helgrim was commanding Gwen to kneel in the presence of the king.

Hal awoke in darkness. Without a clue as to his location, he sat up.

Twisted rocks surrounded them. The cold ashes of a campfire lay nearby. Tanngrisnir crouched in the shadow of the rocks, looking out across the dark plain. He turned to look curiously at Hal.

'Not time for your watch yet,' he said.

Hal sank back. He knew where he was now; Svartalfaheim; possibly one of the most dangerous of all worlds, with the exception of Muspellzheim, the world of fire. So Gangrel had told them. And somewhere up ahead they would find the castle where they assumed Gwen was a prisoner.

Fleeting recollections of the dream that had woken him nagged at the back of his mind, chaotic impressions and images almost impossible to put into words; seas, islands, ships in full sail; a dark and malignant figure... He had woken with the name Ulf-Hedin on his lips. It meant nothing to him.

Slowly, he drifted through other dreams, until Eric woke him for his watch.

Standing at the edge of the rough circle of rocks, Hal looked out across the gloomy plain. As ever, the Dark Moon Fells towered on the distant horizon, looking in their brooding immensity like titanic sentinels guarding the murky land. According to Gangrel and Tanngrisnir, the mountains formed a rugged backbone to the world of Svartalfaheim, and were home to the cities and castles of the swart-elf aristocracy. Beyond them, on a plateau far above sea level, were the Dark Moon Plains, on the edges of which dwarves had established their settlements. Some of the dwarves had allied themselves with the swart-elves, but most fought an ongoing guerrilla war against their traditional foes, and had done ever since Lofar - one of Tanngrisnir's ancestors - led them from their halls of stone in Niflheim into this disturbing world.

For the life of him, Hal couldn't see why they'd come here.

Dawn never came in these lands, which were, in Gangrel's words 'far from the Sun,' and Hal and his companions took their rest whenever they were too weary to continue. Once Hal's watch was done, however, it was time for them all to wake, gather their possessions, and continue their tramp across the sloping plains of Svartalfaheim.

'Two more days' journey,' Gangrel announced, when Hal asked him how long it would take them to reach the mountains. The old man fixed Hal with his single eye. 'If we follow the banks of the Gioll to the mountains for a day, then we will require another day before we reach Svartaborg, high among the peaks.'

Eric grimaced at Hal. 'More walking,' he said. He surveyed the rushing stream to their left. 'But we must have come a long way. The river's smaller than it was when we were sailing up it.'

'We come closer and closer to the mountains,' Tanngrisnir said from behind them. 'Look ahead, following the line of the river upwards. Now; see that gorge in the mountains?' Hal saw a point where the gap between two peaks was larger than the rest. 'There the river tumbles down in the Giallarfoss. Beside that is the peak where Svartaborg lies.'

Hal grunted. 'Is that where all the swart-elves live?' he asked. 'Aren't we going to have a pretty hard time of it, in that case?'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'Not all swart-elves live there,' he replied. 'They have settlements all along the mountains, and some down in the plains on either side. To the west of here are many villages. There is a town beside the pool at the foot of the Giallarfoss, just as there is at the top. At one time the swart-elves had many villages across the Dark Moon Plains, but my people put an end to that.' He paused. 'But, aye, we will encounter difficulties when we reach Svartaborg. Nevertheless, there is no other way we can rescue Gwen.'

'What will we do when we get there, then?' Eric asked. 'I heard you and Gangrel discussing it last night, as I nodded off. What's the plan?'

Gangrel halted suddenly.

They had come to the crest of a rise, beyond which the ground dipped into a hollow. To their left the river wound round the side of a barren hill. A small walled settlement of huts huddled at the bottom of the rise.

'We wait here,' Gangrel said, moving into cover and beckoning Hal and Eric to join him, 'while our dwarven friend goes down to the village below.'

Hal looked at Tanngrisnir, and blinked. A change had come over their friend, subtle but distinct. His face seemed twisted, his posture surly. Even his eyes seemed darker, evil. He ignored the other three, crouching behind the rocks, and began to swagger down the path towards the settlement.

'What's happened to Tanngrisnir?' Eric said. 'He seems to have changed.'

'And where's he going?' Hal added.

'He is going down to the village,' Gangrel replied. 'Rumour has it that a certain merchant dwells here, one who can smuggle folk into Svartaborg for the right price. Tanngrisnir has decided to pose as a wandering dwarf mercenary, the kind of rogue who fights for any lord, swart-elf or dwarf chieftain. The merchant is also a dwarf, and was himself a mercenary in his youth. Tanngrisnir intends to play on the old dwarf's sympathies.'

Hal and Eric exchanged glances. Hal bit his lip. This all sounded dangerous. How did they know they could trust this old dwarf?

'Is that a dwarf village?' he asked.

Gangrel shook his head. 'Most of the inhabitants are low-caste swart-elves; serfs, peasants. Their lords treat them as little more than slaves. They herd goats among the rocks and grow edible fungi and lichen. It is a hard life, and short.'

'It sounds really bad!' Eric said. 'Don't they ever rise up against the lords?'

'Frequently,' Gangrel replied. 'Not that it does them much good. The most they can hope for is to become robbers, and prey upon unwary travellers.'

Hal looked around him, shuddering. 'You mean we could be set upon by robbers?' he asked.

Gangrel nodded. 'Robbers, or the men-at-arms of a swart-elf noble, for that matter,' he replied. 'These are dangerous lands. But as long as you remain with Tanngrisnir and me, you will be safe. Tanngrisnir has known this country since his youth, and I have been here once or twice.'

'Why did you come here?' Hal asked, shuddering. 'I can't see any reason why anyone would want to come here.'

'I was searching for knowledge,' the old man replied enigmatically, and he lapsed into silence.

'I never want to do that again!'

Gwen sat down on the edge of the bed, her face a mask of despair. 'Help me out of this thing, won't you?' Ilmadis moved forward to assist Gwen as she tore off the wedding dress.

'Was it so terrible, ma'am?' the elf maiden asked.

'Oh!' Gwen groaned. 'It was the worst social occasion I've ever been to! Swart-elf small talk is the pits!'

Ilmadis carefully folded the dress as Gwen began replacing her normal clothes. 'Were you not afraid to be among so many mighty warriors?' she asked, as she busied herself.

Gwen paused, and put her hands on her hips. 'Mighty warriors?' she grimaced. 'Mighty tedious, if you ask me. All that bowing and scraping, and nothing but "so now our dominion over the worlds is complete," and "the Foretelling is fulfilled in favour of the swart-elf nation," and "when the fire giant comes, all will be prepared," and... What is it?'

Ilmadis was staring at her in horror. 'What did you say?' she whispered. 'When the fire giant comes?'

Gwen shrugged carelessly. 'Some such rubbish,' she replied. 'I couldn't understand a word of it. Why, does it mean anything to you?'

Ilmadis stuttered in fear. 'The fire giant... They must mean one of Muspell's Sons,' she gulped. 'Coming... coming here!'

'Who is this Muspell?' Gwen asked. 'The King did mention him. Ilmadis, you're shaking! What's up?'

Ilmadis was about to reply, when she started at a commotion from outside.

'I must enter the bedchamber, by Surt!' It was a shrill, high-pitched voice.

'Prince Helgrim's orders are that none but the maid is to enter,' a gruff voice replied, one of the guards.

'Let me in, I command you! I am of the blood royale! Let me in or I'll have you flogged. Here, take this. I will say nothing and you will say nothing. Understood?'

Gwen heard a jingle of coin. A few seconds later, the doors opened, and a slight, black-clad figure hurried within, two leashed wolves at its side.

'What it takes to bribe guards these days,' Princess Mordis muttered. Then she turned, and looked superciliously at Gwen.

'So, my cousin jilted me for this, did he?' she purred. She looked Gwen up and down, and patted one of her wolves on the head. 'A mere otherworlder! And all because of this foolish Foretelling!'

Gwen raised her eyebrows. She recognised the Princess from before. 'Princess Mordis?' she said formally. 'This is an... unexpected pleasure. I'm afraid you find me in something of a state of dishabille. To what do I owe this honour?'

Mordis' lip curled. She stalked close, her wolves trotting at her heels. Gwen saw that the Princess had changed into a little black snakeskin number with arm-length leather gloves; very fetching, she didn't think.

Mordis glowered into Gwen's eyes. 'You, hussy!' she hissed. 'You took Prince Helgrim from me...'

'Oh, you can have him, and welcome,' Gwen muttered. Mordis ignored her:

'... and now I demand recompense.'

Ilmadis shrieked as Mordis whipped a stiletto from beneath her dress and raised it high.

2 THE FIRE GIANT

Gwen shot out a hand as the knife whipped down, and she caught Mordis by the wrist. Ilmadis grabbed the Princess from behind, but Mordis flung her off.

'Varg! Ylg!' she snarled, unleashing the two wolves. They leapt at Ilmadis.

Gwen saw Ilmadis standing before them, strangely unafraid. Then Mordis tore her hand free from Gwen's grasp, and Gwen was too busy fending off her assailant to worry about the howls and snarls and.... singing? she heard.

They fell back onto the bed, Mordis stabbing down at Gwen and Gwen flailing out at her. The stiletto sank into the pillow, feathers fountained into the air. Before Mordis could pull the blade free, Gwen gripped her in a half nelson. Thank goodness she'd always been a tomboy!

Mordis struggled and spat in Gwen's hold, and elbowed her in the ribs. Winded, Gwen rolled back. Mordis leapt for the stiletto again. Gasping, Gwen beat her to it, seized the little blade, and sent it spinning across the floor. Mordis, her face suffused with wrath, leapt at Gwen, spitting like an alley cat.

Gwen dodged to one side. Mordis collided against the bedpost. Gwen whirled round, seized the swart-elf by her feet, and tried to pin her down. Mordis turned and kicked her hard.

Gwen slithered off the side of the bed and hit the flags with a thump that knocked the breath from her. As she did so, one of the wolves bounded over, and she closed her eyes, expecting the end.

'Ylg!' Mordis shrieked. 'No!'

Cautiously, Gwen opened one eye. The wolf was standing over Mordis, gripping her arm in its mouth. The other wolf had hold of the swart-elf's legs. Gwen frowned.

She looked round to see Ilmadis watching in satisfied silence.

'Princess Mordis,' the elf called. 'Do you yield?'

'What have you done to my wolves?' Mordis spat. 'Vile ljos alfar!'

'I have cast a rune over them,' Ilmadis replied. 'The grey folk of the forests have long been at peace with my people; for we treat them as equals, not as slaves. When you set your wolves on me, it was an easy matter for me to make them see reason.'

One of the wolves growled, low in its throat. Mordis glared up at it in fear.

Gwen took a deep breath. Well, it looked like that little scrap was over. She went over to the corner and picked up Mordis' stiletto.

'Why did you come here?' she asked, looking down at the Princess, and toying idly with the blade. 'Did you want to kill me? Because I'm marrying Prince Charming?'

'His name is Prince Helgrim,' Mordis snapped. 'Aye, I would kill you! You stole him from me!'

'He took me prisoner!' Gwen snapped right back. 'I didn't get any say in the matter. As I was saying before you tried to perforate me, you can keep him.'

'He wants you!' Mordis wept. 'Because of the Foretelling! He loves power more than he loves either of us.'

Gwen looked thoughtful. 'He mentioned something about a Foretelling when I first encountered him,' she said. 'That it said I would be his queen... is that what you're talking about?'

'Aye,' Mordis said. 'The Foretelling of the Norns. An ancient superstition. It says that should the swart-elf prince wed a woman of Vestrnes, he will ride at the head of the Hosts of Muspell and storm the walls of Asgard.' She spat. 'Nothing any elf in their right mind would believe in, these days. But my beloved knows the propaganda value of ancient foretellings; and cares more about it than about I!'

Gwen ran her fingers through her hair, confused. 'Vestrnes?' For an instant, strange pseudo-memories flitted through her mind, images of sailing the high seas, battling monsters, visiting other worlds... She dismissed the nagging visions. 'But you don't want that to happen, do you?' she demanded.

Mordis favoured her with a look of slitted malice.

'No, you don't,' Gwen answered her own question. 'And neither do I. So why don't you help us escape?'

'Here comes Tanngrisnir,' Eric said suddenly, from his position among the rocks at the crest of the rise. 'And there's another dwarf with him!'

Hal came up to join him. He peered through a gap between two boulders.

Hurrying out of the village gates were two small, bearded figures. Hal recognised the first as Tanngrisnir from the battered horned helmet. But another dwarf was at his side, a flabby-looking fellow with a big black beard and a lazy eye. With him, he led five small ponies, laden down with packs, by the reins. They watched in silence as the two dwarves trailed up the slope, the ponies following behind.

'You return.' Gangrel looked up as Tanngrisnir led his companion into the rocks.

'Aye, Grimnir,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'And with me is Althiof, son of Gullthiof, a former mercenary, now merchant of Svartalfaheim.'

Hal looked at the second dwarf with suspicion. The little man placed his hands on his belly and squinted about craftily with his piggy eyes.

'Aye, I shall aid you in your endeavours,' Althiof said in a high-pitched, piping voice. 'You wish to gain entrance into Svartaborg, secretly? I will help. First, however, we must go to Myrkheim, at the foot of the Dark Moon Fells, from which we shall prepare the route.'

'What about these?' Eric asked, looking at the shaggy little creatures, not much larger than Shetland ponies.

'We shall need mounts if we are to travel as far as Myrkheim,' Althiof replied in surprise. Eric and Hal exchanged grins. Hal looked up at Gangrel, who was regarding the little ponies sombrely.

With his knees almost round his ears, doing his best not to fall off, Hal followed the others as they rode off across the waste land. All except Gangrel, who preferred to keep up with his companions by virtue of his own loping strides. Eric sat on his pony like a sack of potatoes, but Tanngrisnir and Althiof rode with dwarven dignity.

Myrkheim, Hal learnt, was the settlement at the foot of the Giallarfoss waterfall. Althiof was a former citizen of this cosmopolitan town, a respected member of the town council, which lived in a state of uneasy truce with the swart-elf lords. The swart-elves took a dim view of trade, and regarded the dwarves as an unpleasant necessity. Though the swart-elves wielded greater political power, the dwarves were richer, craftier, and more technologically advanced. The swart-elves coveted their smithcraft, and those dwarves who lived within the swart-elf domains waxed fat on the profits from trade and moneylending - the dwarves bankrolling the swart-elves' many costly wars, despite occasional pogroms by the authorities.

Tanngrisnir told Hal that his folk, however, did not live in peace with the swart-elves. They dwelt on the southern edges of Svartalfaheim, around Aurvangar in the land of Ioruvellir, and remained in a state of war. Hal attributed to this a certain reserve he detected between the two dwarves.

On pony-back, the journey across the wilderness took about half a day. The Dark Moon Fells loomed ever closer on the skyline. At last, the vast mountains seemed to block out the dark skies entirely, rising for thousands of metres above the sloping plains. Hal and his companions plodded on in their shadow towards the great waterfall of the Giallarfoss which cascaded down the mountainside from the valley that Tanngrisnir had brought to Hal's attention, days before.

At the foot of the falls was a wide pool, from which the Gioll flowed out across the plain. On the shores of the pool stood a small town of stone buildings that seemed to cower in fear of the shadow of the vast peaks.

A high crenellated wall surrounded the town, and a large gatehouse stood over the road the companions had been following. Althiof indicated the building.

'We will rest here,' he told them. 'It is a famous inn, resorted to by many travellers, in which I own a part-share.'

Standing in the gate were two heavily armoured swart-elf sentries. Hal's mouth went dry as they rode towards them. 'What are they doing here?' he said.

Althiof gave him a cunning look. 'You did not know? Although the town council is independent from Svartaborg, the swart-elves provide us with guards and watchmen.' He smiled merrily, his lazy eye vanishing behind rolls of fat. 'We use them to our own advantage.'

Hal's heart pounded as they rode towards the gatehouse, but the guards did no more than bow to Althiof as he rode in. One called out:

'You return to us once more, Master Althiof. Do you come to trade?'

Althiof laughed. 'Aye, you might say so,' he replied. 'Valuable cargo.' Hal and his companions rode on through the gate.

After they dismounted in the bustling square beyond, Althiof led them to one side of the gatehouse, where a gaudy tavern sign hung over a door. The inn was built into the gatehouse itself. As Hal dismounted, he gazed around him.

The square was small and crowded. Stone houses surrounded it, and three well-paved roads led off into the rest of town. Dwarves made up much of the throng, but there were also swart-elves and other creatures Hal failed to recognise.

Althiof led them into the tavern. Gangrel had to stoop to pass under the doorframe. Eric whistled as he gazed round at the opulently furnished room within.

A bar stood along one wall, and three dwarven barmaids were serving drinks to a varied crowd of guests. Costly-looking tapestries in reds and purples hung the walls, while red satin lined the chairs and benches.

Althiof led his companions into a private room above the common room, with horn windows that looked out over the square. 'Wait here, please,' he asked, as they settled themselves down at a table. 'Refreshments are on the house. Meanwhile, I must go to get the means to ensure our safe passage into Svartaborg.'

Althiof disappeared. A few seconds later, Hal saw him crossing the square below, to disappear down an alleyway.

Lounging back, Hal gazed round the room, stretching and groaning at his aches and pains. His blisters had healed during the ride, but the constant jolting of the little ponies had created a whole new set of agonies.

'Couldn't Althiof get us any larger ponies?' he grumbled.

'Where's he gone now?' Eric asked. 'I don't trust him. Not when he's out of my sight.'

Gangrel grunted. Tanngrisnir spat. 'Never trust a collaborator,' he said.

'So why did you go to him, instead of someone else?' Eric asked.

Tanngrisnir grimaced. 'I know of no one better,' he replied. 'If we are to enter Svartaborg, we must deal with such slippery customers.'

Gangrel leant back. 'Ignore Tanngrisnir's prejudices,' he said. 'Not all the dwarves who live with the swart-elves are evil.'

'But are they trustworthy?' Tanngrisnir grumbled.

'So you think I could smuggle you out of Svartaborg?'

Mordis seemed to be coming round to the idea, but Gwen despaired of her ever taking any action. 'You're a Princess of the Blood. If anyone can do it, you can.'

Ilmadis looked up from the bed, where she was petting Ylg and Varg. 'You could disguise us.'

'That's right!' Gwen said encouragingly. 'And smuggle us out. Even if it doesn't work, anything's better than waiting here for someone to rescue us; or for Prince Charming to marry me.'

'Prince Helgrim,' Mordis said pettishly. She was silent for a moment. Then 'Very well,' she said. 'But first; you!' She stabbed a finger at Ilmadis. 'Remove the rune from my wolves.'

Ilmadis went to the beasts and muttered words in a foreign tongue over them. Soon they were fawning around Mordis' ankles once more. Satisfied, the Princess rose, and went to the door.

'Enter at once!' she called to the guards.

'What are you doing?' hissed Gwen. But Mordis ignored her.

The two swart-elf guards entered cautiously. They looked at Princess Mordis.

'Give me your swords,' she commanded. The two guards obeyed.

'Now bow before me.'

Again, the guard complied.

She placed the scimitars to the guards' respective throats. They flashed in the torchlight. Blood sprayed out from slit throats, and the bodies of the two guards collapsed to the floor.

Casually, Mordis turned to Gwen. 'Your disguises...' she said, and then halted. 'My dear,' she said, peering at Gwen. 'What is wrong? You look pale.'

A little later, a small group left the bedchamber. Princess Mordis locked the doors behind her, holding her wolves by their leashes, and then turned to her companions.

'Now all will think you merely my escort. Those helmets hide your pasty faces.'

'I can't believe you just killed them...' Gwen gasped.

'Enough sentiment!' Mordis tossed her head. 'Do you wish to remain here? Do you want to marry Prince Helgrim?'

She turned, and strutted imperiously down the corridor, dragging Ylg and Varg with her. Grudgingly, Gwen and Ilmadis followed.

They were escaping! At last, Gwen told herself. Even if it had meant allying themselves with that cold, vicious bitch ahead. But it was true; no one would recognise them in this baroque armour. It was heavy, though. She looked at Ilmadis, who returned her glance bravely.

Princess Mordis led them in silence through the dark, almost deserted corridors of Svartaborg. Occasionally, patrolling guards challenged them, and then bowed in abject apology as they recognised the Princess. Gwen wondered why the castle seemed so empty.

She received an answer when Mordis opened a little side door leading into the vast entrance hall. The Princess halted, and paused in the doorway.

Gwen and Ilmadis crowded up behind her.

Rank upon rank of swart-elf soldiers packed the entrance hall. Prince Helgrim and his retinue were walking down a gap in the middle. Their cold eyes were intent upon the great doors.

'What's happening?' Gwen whispered.

'Of course!' Mordis cursed. 'Eld is coming.'

'Who's Eld?' Gwen asked.

But as she spoke, the great doors rumbled slowly open. A stench of sulphur filled the hall. Blazing, flickering light and heat scorched through the opening doors.

A figure stalked into the hall, twelve feet high, cracked black skin wreathed in living fire. Scaly, repulsive looking creatures with blue-black skin followed behind it.

'All hail, Eld of Muspellzheim!' the assembled troops cried. 'All hail the fire giant!'

3 THE SECRET STAIR

Gangrel leaned back against his chair. 'Althiof does indeed seem untrustworthy,' he said. 'But who upon else can we rely, in this land?'

Tanngrisnir took out Helbrand and began sharpening the blade, whistling tunelessly. 'Still,' he said, 'better to be prepared.'

'Here he comes,' Eric reported, from the window.

The dwarf was hurrying back across the square. He entered the inn. A moment later, the door opened, and he entered, bearing a scroll of parchment.

'This is all we need,' he announced in a conspirator's whisper. 'It will aid our entrance into the swart-elf city.' He joined them at the table and unfolded the scroll. Crabbed sketches and runic script covered it.

'Here we are,' he said, pointing to a part of the map showing a town. 'Myrkheim. Up here's Svartaborg.'

Gangrel studied the map. 'How do we get there in secret?' he inquired. 'I see the main road that leads to the top of the Giallarfoss. But that leads into the city through a main gate. It's sure to be guarded.'

Althiof stabbed a stubby finger at something on the map. 'Here is the secret stair,' he explained.

Gangrel frowned, and his single eye narrowed. He scratched his beard. 'I see...' he said.

Hal craned his neck to see the map showed a winding stair leading up from the cliffs at the back of Myrkheim, in the opposite direction to the main road; a narrow path that led towards a postern gate at the back of the castle.

'Don't the swart-elves know about this path?' Eric asked. 'Won't they have it guarded?'

Althiof shook his head. 'According to the annals, it was constructed long ago, during the Wars of the Elf-Princes. When Prince Ylfing the Cruel besieged Svartaborg, teams of sweating slaves built it in secret, and by that route, the retinue of King Alsvart crept down into the camp of Ylfing to slay him in his pavilion. The swart-elves later had it blocked with boulders. I unblocked it.'

'When is the best time to go?' Gangrel asked.

'There's no time like the present,' Althiof said.

Hal and Eric exchanged glances. At last, they had a cat in hell's chance of rescuing Gwen. Hal frowned. He hoped her sufferings had not been too great in the meantime.

He rose. 'Come on, then,' he said. 'Let's get going!'

'Welcome to Svartaborg, Eld of Muspellzheim!' Prince Helgrim called.

Eld folded his arms, as his warrior escort ranked themselves on either side. He raked the hall with a burning gaze.

'Then the war goes well?' The giant's voice was like the roar of a forest-fire, and as he spoke a blast of heat scorched through the room.

'Indeed it does, Eld,' Prince Helgrim replied. 'When the dwarves raided our lands again, we sent them fleeing; through our armed might and your dragons.'

Eld roared with contentment. 'And yet still you wish to drive them from your lands?'

'Correct, Eld,' Prince Helgrim replied. 'And so I have summoned hither you and your retinue. We shall scour the Dark Moon Plains and drive the dwarves before us, slaughtering them or forcing them back into the world of mist. But come with me to the throne-room. My retinue and I will discuss the plan of battle. My father will add anything he has to say, too...'

Gwen watched from the doorway as Eld the fire giant, accompanied by two of his scaly retainers, followed Prince Helgrim and his retinue through the hall towards the great stairs. The swart-elf warriors remained.

'How do we get out now?' Gwen murmured.

'What was that thing?' Ilmadis asked.

'Bad news for the dwarves, whatever it was,' Gwen replied.

'It was Eld, son of Muspell,' Mordis replied. She closed the door and turned to face them. 'He is a chieftain of the fire giants. They have signed a pact with my people to unite and drive the dwarves from our world.'

Gwen remembered Tanngrisnir. She wondered how his people would react to the coming of the fire giant. It made her think about Eric, Hal, and Gangrel.

'But how do we get out of here?' she asked again.

Mordis shook her head. 'We won't be able to slip out that way, now,' she replied, 'Even if the guards leave. They will be stepping up the security now that they prepare for all-out war.' She grimaced. 'This was the worst of times to plan an escape. Soon they will discover that you have fled, and all hell will be let loose.'

'We need to hide,' Gwen said urgently. 'Mordis, do you know anywhere safe?'

Mordis' lip curled, as if she was wondering why she was helping this human. 'We can hide in my chambers,' she said. 'They will not have the temerity to search in there. Then, once the fuss has died down, once Prince Helgrim has led the hosts out against the dwarves, you'll be able to escape.'

'Oh,' Gwen said shortly. She had been nurturing wild notions of warning the dwarves. But she shook her head. Realistically, what could she do?

'Come!' Mordis commanded. She led them back down the passage at a quick march.

The Princess led them hurriedly along cold, dark, disused passages where the dust lay thick, causing Gwen's eyes to run. Reaching a spiral staircase, they followed its winding steps upwards for a long time.

Every few turns, they passed an arrow-slit overlooking the scene outside. From each glimpse, Gwen slotted together a jigsaw picture of the great white crescent of the falls stretching away eastwards; the river rushing across the plain towards them to the south: to the north, it tumbled into empty space. Below, she could see a dark land of rocks and grey sand, and the town. She stored the information away in her mind for later use. If they ever escaped.

Princess Mordis finally took them through a small wooden doorway and into a tapestry-covered alcove. Slipping out from behind this, they came into a wide passage. Gwen could hear the clank of weapons and sound of marching feet in the distance.

'Where are you taking us, Morbid?' she asked.

'We are almost there,' the Princess replied.

'Good! So are the guards, by the sound of it,' Gwen complained.

Mordis led them to a chamber door much like the one Gwen had just escaped. For a moment, she was convinced Mordis was bringing them back to their starting point. Then Mordis flung open the door and bundled them roughly inside.

Gwen staggered, and almost fell. She was about to turn and snap at the Princess, when she caught sight of the chamber she had entered. Her mouth fell open.

Unaware that Gwen was already at liberty, Hal and his companions left the inn, and made their way through the small town, leaving through the south gate. Here the road followed the bank of the pool, soon beginning to wind as it made its way up the towering cliffs towards the head of the falls. Merchants and guards passed up and down, heading to and from Svartaborg, which was now out of sight, high above.

'We don't go this way, do we?' Hal asked.

Althiof shook his head. As soon as the road emptied, he led them into the rocks on the right-hand side. They followed a seldom-used path that led them around the foot of the cliffs. After a quarter of a mile's trek through broken country, they reached a small gateway carved from the living rock. A flight of steps was visible, leading up a fault-line in the rock.

'Here we are,' Althiof told them.

Hal looked up at the dizzying immensity of the beetling cliffs. The topmost crags were out of sight; those visible seemed to scrape the starless sky.

'Lead the way,' Gangrel said in a sombre voice.

Hitching his belt, Althiof passed under the gateway and waddled up the steps. Gangrel walked after him. Hal and Eric followed side by side, and Tanngrisnir took the rear, his freshly sharpened sword gripped firmly, his suspicious eyes darting to either side.

Debris strewed the steps, and they showed few signs of recent use. Hal plodded up the first flight, sheltered on his right by the natural banister created by the fault in the rock, on his left by the soaring cliff.

Hal was still unclear about his purpose. He was here to rescue Gwen, of course, but after that; what? Gangrel had dropped dark hints about cosmic war, and all this Runeblade business, but the very idea turned Hal's knees to jelly. He had grown in courage since the beginnings of his adventure. Who wouldn't, having seen what he had seen? It was either that, or go mad. But what little he knew about Gangrel's intentions for the future made rescuing Gwen from a castle bristling with swart-elves seem pleasant by comparison.

They reached the top of the first flight of steps, where the secret stair turned back on itself in a hairpin bend. The companions halted briefly on the 'landing', turning to study the next flight. By now, they were at least a hundred feet above the town they had left. Hal glanced down into the windy gap, and felt a little dizzy.

'Hurry,' Althiof said. Alone of the group, he seemed to have boundless reserves of energy, despite his flabby physique. Presumably he was accustomed to mountain climbing and fell walking. Sighing, wishing they could have ridden, Hal followed the others as they began the next stage of the ascent.

Mordis' bedchamber was furnished in the height of swart-elf bad taste.

Gargoyle-faced sconces on the walls illuminated a stonewalled room hung with drapes in scarlets, purples, and blacks. A four-poster hewn from oak and carved with hideous designs dominated the room, while chairs and low tables dotted the floor, each one an offence to Gwen's personal sense of taste. Strewn about the floor, like the junk that clutters a teenager's bedroom, were objects Gwen preferred not to contemplate.

A kneeling slave girl with a downcast expression was chained beside the hideous fireplace. Mordis had tied up her wolves on the other side of the hearth, and it was clear that she had far more consideration for them than her slave, who she ignored. Ilmadis petted the wolves, who fawned at her attentions, but for good measure patted the slave.

'Is she alright?' Gwen asked, removing her helmet.

Mordis shot a surprised glance at the slave. 'Oh, she won't tell anyone of your presence,' she assured the human. Gwen frowned. That wasn't what she had meant.

'Now, let us find some way to while away the time.' Mordis clicked her fingers. 'Drinks!' she commanded. The slave rose, her fetters clanking, and went to a cabinet. She poured three goblets of wine.

Gingerly, Gwen and Ilmadis sat. Mordis lounged on a divan, after carelessly pushing the objects that littered it onto the floor.

'And tidy this pigsty!' Mordis added.

Gwen raised her goblet as the slave passed it to her. 'Chin-chin, Morbid, Ilmadis,' she said, and drank. It was a hot, spicy beverage that she could only describe as mulled vodka. Not to her taste. She put it down carefully on the table and turned to Mordis.

'So the fire giant is in league with Prince Helgrim?'

Mordis pouted. 'Oh, my cousin has some crazy idea that he will conquer the worlds with Muspell's aid,' she said dismissively, lounging back. 'That's why he wants to marry you. The oaf! But he won't!' she added fiercely. 'He'll marry me, as he promised.'

Ilmadis sipped her drink, and made a face. She looked up at the slave, now quietly tidying the room, and then turned her gaze on Gwen, who felt uncomfortable.

The trouble with freeing slaves was they seemed to expect you to free everyone else. Gwen was starting to get a pretty clear idea of how Spartacus must have felt after a while. Insisting their host declare immediate emancipation would be bad manners.

'Conquer the worlds?' she asked, as something Mordis had said registered. 'I thought you said they were just going to drive out the dwarves?'

Mordis yawned elegantly. 'I do apologise. Politics bores me,' she said with a languorous gesture. 'They're going to drive out the dwarves, but then they intend to march south and conquer all the worlds that owe allegiance to Asgard. They intend to bring about Ragnarok. It's nonsense! Mere mythology.'

'Prince Helgrim mentioned Ragnarok,' Gwen recalled. 'That's what this is about. Gangrel told us about it too...'

'Who?' Mordis asked.

'Oh, no one you'd know, Morbid,' Gwen replied. 'Look, when are we going to get out of here? The longer I hang around, the more likely it is that Prince Helgrim will catch me and marry me,' she reminded the Princess. 'And we don't want that.'

Mordis was about to reply, when a commotion broke out from the passage.

'The prisoner! Prince Helgrim's bride! She's escaped! Search every chamber!' Gwen sat bolt upright. Mordis' eyes widened.

Someone started pounding on the chamber door.

4 DARK MOON FELLS

'My lady!' a voice shouted from outside. 'My lady, please open the door! We have orders to search every room. My lady!'

Gwen rushed towards the window.

'What are you doing?' Mordis hissed.

Gwen turned to her. 'We've got to get out!' she said wildly. 'Ilmadis! Come on!'

'Don't be foolish!' Mordis spat. 'They can't come in without my permission. Quick - hide here!'

She indicated the four-poster, and began tugging at the curtains. Gwen and Ilmadis exchanged glances.

'My lady!' The pounding grew more insistent.

'Hurry!' Mordis spat. 'Slave!' The girl raised her head. 'Answer the door. Forestall them!'

The slave girl approached the door, her chain clanking. Seeing this, Gwen clambered up onto the bed, followed by Ilmadis. Mordis closed the curtains, leaving them squatting in musty darkness.

They heard the bolts of the door sliding back. It rumbled open. The slave girl spoke with the guard in muted tones.

'Tell your lady we have been ordered to search every room!' the guard barked. They heard Mordis cross the floor. 'My lady!' said the guard. 'Your slave does not seem to understand me. We must search every room in this wing.'

'Why is that?'

'Prince Helgrim's bride-to-be has escaped,' the guard explained hastily. 'We must find her!'

Gwen felt Ilmadis' hand on her shoulder. 'I'm scared,' the elf-girl whimpered. 'If they find us...'

'They won't find us,' Gwen said bravely. But inside she felt less certain.

'The little bitch has run away?' Mordis laughed. 'Ha ha! My cousin is not as ugly as all that, surely? But you won't find her here. If she came, I'd feed her to my wolves. Go away at once.'

'My lady, be reasonable. We must search every room. Orders. Open the door.'

'How do I know this isn't some trick?' Mordis snarled. 'You could be merely some rogue wishing to gain entrance to my chambers to ravish me! Go at once! Don't come back unless you have a signed warrant from the chief of the guard, countersigned by Prince Helgrim himself. Good day.'

The door slammed shut, cutting off the guard's expostulations. After a second, the curtain swished open. Mordis was standing there.

'I made him go, but he'll be back,' she told them.

'We heard,' Gwen replied. 'Come on, Ilmadis. Out the window again.'

Mordis shook her head. 'That way they'll capture you for certain,' she replied. 'Guards are patrolling outside. We must find somewhere else to hide.'

'Where, then?' Gwen asked desperately. Ilmadis whimpered again.

'Come with me,' Mordis said. Pausing only to snap at the slave, telling her to permit the guards entrance when they returned, she unleashed her wolves and strode to the door.

Gwen and Ilmadis got down off the bed, and hurried to join her.

'Where are we going?' Gwen asked.

'The kitchens,' Mordis replied. 'The cook is my minion. She'll do anything I tell her.'

They crept out into the passage, Mordis looking left and right with suspicious eyes. But the guards were not in sight. She led them quickly across the passage and into the alcove under the tapestry. Back down the spiral staircase they hurried, Gwen hoping against hope that the guards would not be searching this as well.

They had only gone three flights down when Gwen found her hopes dashed. A door opened somewhere above them, and booted feet rang out from the echoing walls. Shouted orders and the clank of armour resounded down the stairway.

Mordis looked up, her feline eyes glittering in the darkness of her face. 'By Surt! The guards!' she panted, hauling on Ylg's leash.

'What now?' Ilmadis moaned tremulously.

Mordis turned and flitted down the steps. The others followed. She came to a door from which emanated heat and the smell of cooking.

'Here we are!' she told them. 'We'll find refuge in here.'

She thrust the door open, and led them into a vast, brightly lit hall, packed with tables, ovens and, scurrying scullions. The air was rank with cooking smells, and the noise was unbearable.

An enormously fat dwarf woman stood in the midst of the room, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the scene, breaking off now and then to clip a scullion round the ear and bark fresh orders. As Mordis led them across the busy room, she caught sight of them, and her eyes brightened. Pausing only to wipe her hands on her apron, the dwarf woman hurried forward.

'Oh, my dear little Princess!' she said. 'Welcome, as ever, to my kitchen.' She snatched some choice scraps up from the nearby table, and flung them to Varg and Ylg, then turned to embrace the swart-elf Princess. She looked slyly at Gwen and Ilmadis, still clad in swart-elf armour. 'And who are your friends, my lady?'

The wind howled, and plucked at the ascending travellers. At their head, Althiof strode onwards, undeterred, Gangrel treading on his heels. Behind them, Eric and Hal were blue with cold.

'It's freezing!' Hal said. This was the coldest he had been since they'd escaped from Helheim. Svartalfaheim was a marginally warmer world, but up here on the flanks of the Dark Moon Fells, it was as chilly as Corpse Strand.

'How much further do we have to go?' Hal added, when Eric failed to reply.

Eric shivered, and shrugged. 'Haven't a clue,' he replied shortly.

'We are a third of the way up,' Tanngrisnir said from behind them. 'Or will be, when we reach the top of this flight.'

Hal gazed upwards in despair. They still had a long way to go. Somewhere in the darkness, up there, was the castle of the swart-elves - and Gwen. It would be hours before they reached it. And then their troubles would only have begun.

To Hal's relief, Althiof called a halt at the next landing. Eric sat down in the lea of the wall, and Hal joined him. Gangrel and the two dwarves spoke in sombre tones nearby.

'We'll reach the rockslide soon,' Althiof was saying.

'What's this about a rockslide?' Hal asked. The dwarf looked down at him.

'The swart-elves blocked the stair,' he replied. 'I made a path through the rocks, but the going will be hard.'

'And it is some time since last you came this way,' Gangrel added. 'We cannot be sure that things have not changed.'

'Oh, great.' Eric shivered. 'We'll have to shift rocks in this cold.'

'What happens when we reach the top?' Hal asked.

'If we reach the top,' Eric said.

Gangrel looked down at him. 'We must rescue Gwen, and leave at once,' he said. 'The sooner we reach the Hall of Sindri, the sooner the Runeblade will be forged, and your fate fulfilled.'

Hal preferred not to think about this. He wanted to rescue Gwen and go home. That was all that interested him. Fate could wait. Indefinitely, as far as he was concerned.

'How will we know where to find her?' he asked. 'From what everyone says, Svartaborg is a pretty sizeable place. Where will she be?'

Tanngrisnir stroked his beard. 'The dungeons are in the lowest level,' he said. 'We will find her there.'

'Or will we?' Gangrel asked. 'Remember the Foretelling? I have been thinking it over in my mind. There is a line concerning a woman of Vestrnes...'

'Where?' Hal asked.

'Vestrnes,' Gangrel repeated. 'So Wirral is named in the Old Tongue.'

'Wirral?' Eric asked, frowning.

Gangrel nodded. '"Should the swart-elf prince wed a woman of Vestrnes, he will ride at the head of the Hosts of Muspell and storm the Walls of Asgard,"' he quoted. 'Could it be that Prince Helgrim thinks...? Is that why he took Gwen prisoner?'

'He was getting a bit fresh with her the first time we met,' Eric muttered.

Hal looked horrified. '"Wed"?' he said. 'Do you mean...?'

'He may intend to marry her,' Gangrel replied with a sombre nod.

Eric laughed. 'I'd like to see him try!' he said. 'Have you ever tried to make Gwen do something she doesn't want to do?'

Gangrel looked down at him. 'The swart-elves have ways of persuading the unwilling,' he said darkly.

Eric shook his head. 'So will she be in the dungeons, then?' he asked. 'If Prince Helgrim wants to marry her?'

Gangrel was about to reply when Hal rose. 'He may already have done it!' he said. 'We've got to get up there! Come on!'

He led the way, blind with anger.

'And what brings my little ebony blossom to my domain,' the cook asked. 'My, hasn't she grown! A social visit, is it?'

They were sitting at a table to one side of the bustling kitchen, sipping glasses of cooking sherry. Since the cook seemed trustworthy, Gwen and Ilmadis had removed their helmets. The dwarf woman betrayed a little surprise at the faces revealed, but nothing stopped the constant torrent of words.

She offered round a tray of freshly baked sweetbreads. 'Please, let me indulge you!' she said, popping one between her fat lips. 'But my dear poppet, it's so naughty of you not to visit me for weeks! What has been the matter?'

To Gwen's horror, she heard Mordis telling the cook the entire story.

'Prince Helgrim has jilted me,' she said with a pout. 'All for this otherworlder here. But she doesn't want to marry him, so she's on the run.'

Gwen darted a shocked glance at the cook, but the dwarf woman seemed unperturbed. She stroked her beard. 'Naughty little Princess,' she said indulgently. 'But naughty Prince Helgrim, to jilt you like that! And all for a white-faced otherworlder - begging your pardon, ma'am. But your kind look like somewhat that's crept out from under a stone, for all the time you spend in the sunlight!'

Gwen pretended she hadn't heard.

'Cook!' Mordis said reprovingly. She turned to Gwen, smiling most charmingly for once. 'Never mind Cook,' she told her. 'She's a dwarf, and dwarves always speak their mind. But she is a dear. She's always been good to me, ever since I was little.'

Gwen contemplated the notion of Mordis as a toddler, and wished she hadn't. The kind of little girl who spent too much time in her room, pulling the wings off flies.

'So what's it like, growing up as a swart-elf Princess?' she asked, for the sake of conversation. 'It sounds a ball, if you like that kind of thing.' She looked at the tray of sweetbreads queasily.

'Oh, it's awful,' Mordis said. 'I never get my own way. I never have, since I was small. And it's so dull here. No one to talk to, just slaves who are dull, and mighty warriors, who are duller than dull. There are so many things a Princess does, and so many things she doesn't. Now my cousin has jilted me, I have nothing to look forward to but a life as a despised spinster. I shall probably become a witch.'

'I'm sure you'll meet someone,' Gwen said encouragingly. 'Some nice boy you can twist round your little finger.'

'You don't understand, do you?' Mordis snapped. 'If I don't marry Prince Helgrim, I'll never be allowed to marry anyone! It would be against custom.'

'Can't you just break the custom?' Gwen asked.

Mordis scowled prettily. 'No one breaks customs in Svartaborg,' she told her. 'That is why I was so angry with you. I had never killed anyone before except slaves, but I was so vexed I could have cut your throat.'

'Really,' Gwen said, rubbing it unconsciously.

'Yet now I can see it will be more amusing to help you escape,' Mordis added.

'Pardon me, my little poppet,' said Cook. 'But I have so much to do. If I'm not on hand to keep order, the scullions will get up to all manner of mischief.'

'You may go,' Mordis said graciously. She turned back to Gwen. 'We'll wait in here until the guards have stopped searching the place - Cook says they've already been here - and then we can find someway of getting you out.'

'How do you know they won't search here again?' Ilmadis asked bravely.

Mordis curled her lip. 'They wouldn't do that,' she said. 'They're all too stupid.'

Gwen could see that now the heat was off - metaphorically, at least - Mordis was relaxing enough to be her normal vile self. A swart-elf upbringing was not one that brought out the nobler qualities. She gazed round the room, and sipped her sherry.

In one corner, four or five kitchen boys were passing a bottle back and forth, and singing drunkenly. Odd. Gwen wouldn't have thought the cook would allow that kind of behaviour. She looked around the room. Where was she? The cook seemed to have vanished.

'Where did she go?' she asked.

'Whom?' Mordis inquired.

'The cook,' Gwen said. 'She was here a minute ago.'

'She went to keep an eye on the kitchen,' Ilmadis offered.

'Well, she's not doing a very good job of it,' Gwen replied, indicating the drunken kitchen boys. 'And I can't see her anywhere.'

Mordis' eyes narrowed. 'Not Cook. Anyone else I would suspect. But Cook!'

'What do you mean?' Gwen said sharply.

The kitchen doors burst open. Heads turned, as swart-elf warriors flooded into the room. Gwen turned to run, and saw more entering through the door to the spiral staircase.

She drew her sword and faced the swart-elf captain as he swaggered up towards them. In the background, she saw Cook standing among the guards and waging her finger at Mordis.

The captain looked at Gwen's sword. She looked down at it herself, wondering quite what she intended to do. Ilmadis seemed paralysed with fear. Gwen sighed, and dropped the sword.

5 SIGN OF THE BLEEDING GOD

The swart-elf guards hustled Gwen, Ilmadis, and Mordis up endless flights of worn stone steps. They refused to answer any questions, but marched their captives along dark passages and up winding stairs. Two swart-elves attended to Mordis' wolves.

Finally, they entered a large, cold hall that lay open to the winds on one side. The roof was high and curved, and hanging from it were the scaly figures of what Gwen thought at first were giant bats, but she quickly realised were dragons.

Another dragon crouched upon the floor directly ahead, and a number of figures surrounded the creature, inspecting the armour, harness, and saddle that it wore. Gwen recognised one as Prince Helgrim, another as his old father King Hrafnsvart. Towering above them was the silent form of Eld, son of Muspell.

Prince Helgrim looked up at their approach, and a smile deformed his sinister features. 'The straying lamb returns to the fold,' he gloated. 'I wondered whither you were, my dear... and you have met my cousin! Princess Mordis, what are you doing with my bride?'

'You're not married yet, cousin,' Mordis replied fiercely.

Prince Helgrim took two steps closer, then slapped Mordis across the face with his gauntlets. 'Never will I marry you,' he hissed. 'You, who plot against me! Oh yes, Cook told me all. She always favoured me, cousin.' He turned to Eld. 'What shall we do, Son of Muspell,' he called, 'what shall we do with a traitor, who attempts to frustrate our schemes?'

'Slay her,' rumbled Eld.

Prince Helgrim drew his sword. His father raised his head, and blinked mildly at the scene.

'No!' Gwen said. 'It's not her fault! I... I forced her!'

King Hrafnsvart looked vaguely at her. 'I wonder how you could bring such force to bear to make my niece do anything,' he said reedily. 'Her nurse would have benefited from that knowledge, too. Such a headstrong child, weren't you, Princess Mordis? Do not kill her, my son.'

Prince Helgrim sheathed his sword. 'You are right, father,' he said. 'I should not slay her.' He turned to Eld. 'She is of the Blood, son of Muspell! Have her imprisoned in her own rooms for the nonce, under house arrest,' he told the captain of the guard. 'But treat her as befits a Princess of Svartaborg.'
Despite her kicking and spitting, the guards dragged Mordis away, her face weeping blood, leaving Gwen and Ilmadis to face the swart-elves.

'So, my bride flees me again!' Prince Helgrim said. 'Pre-marital jitters, I'll warrant. Alas, that I should needs tame you ere our marriage eve. Take her to the lowest dungeons!' he commanded. 'For now, let her think on her folly.'

'What of the slave-girl who aided her?' a guard asked.

'Oh, as for her,' Prince Helgrim said, 'have her publicly executed. Now take them away!'

Guards dragged Gwen and Ilmadis out of the windswept chamber.

'My lady!' Ilmadis said. 'What will happen?'

'I don't know,' Gwen confessed, confused, fearful. 'I don't know!'

'You will be confined to a cell,' said a chieftain, 'while the slave will be taken to a place of public execution and slain. Do not anger Prince Helgrim further, or such might be your fate also.'

Gwen looked at Ilmadis. The elf girl's eyes were brimming with tears.

She didn't feel too joyous herself.

'Put me down! Put me down!'

Mordis struggled in her captors' arms as they dragged her down the passage. She saw the two guards leading her leashed wolves.

'Varg! Ylg!' she snapped. 'Kill!'

The wolves growled and snapped; their guards struggled to keep them under control. The guard captain loomed over Mordis.

'My lady,' he said. 'Be reasonable. None wishes to see a beloved Princess of the Blood imprisoned. But your cousin commands it. He is the chief power in these dark days, now that the king grows weak.'

Mordis tossed her head. 'Would that he was not.'

The captain leant closer. 'Many of us think as you do,' he whispered. 'Many of us think that your cousin is a madman, endangering our nation, conniving with fire giants and plotting a war against the gods that we could never win. Many wish to see him thrown down, and his place taken by another of the Blood whom we could trust.' He looked about him. 'But it is unhealthy to discuss such matters here. Come quietly, and we will speak of this later.'

'Finally!'

Panting, Hal threw himself down in the lea of the wall. Behind them, the secret stair wound down the cliff, zigzagging away towards the darkness of the plains below. It had been a long, arduous ascent, and the rockslide had put hours on their journey. But now they were almost there!

Looming directly above them were the towers and battlements of the swart-elf castle. Their lower portions were illuminated by the flickering orange light of torches; beyond that the bastions vanished into darkness, towering so high into the gloom that it was impossible to see where they ended. For all Hal knew, they might never end.

'Not far from here, round the next bend,' Althiof said, 'there's a patch of open ground between the crags and the gate. It could be patrolled. I heard movement from up ahead. I'll go and scout.' He disappeared from sight round the corner.

Eric sighed with relief. 'I thought the journey would never end.'

Gangrel looked down at them. 'It is only beginning,' he said quietly.

'We still have a long way to Sindri's Hall,' Tanngrisnir said, leaning on Helbrand and mopping his brow.

'But we're not far off from rescuing Gwen,' Hal said with a grin. 'Did you say she'd be in the dungeons, then?'

Gangrel shook his head. 'If she is to be married to Prince Helgrim,' he replied, 'it is more likely that she will be in the residential area, about a third of the way up the Tower. We will have to go by dark and secret ways. And if Althiof is right that the area is being patrolled, we may have to wait longer... Well?'

Althiof had crept back round the corner. He raised a finger to his lips, and scuttled up. 'I heard you up by the Tower!' he remonstrated. 'There's no hope. Patrols are everywhere. They've been stirred up. The rumour is, they've got dragons now. They may be getting ready for a raid on Aurvangar!'

'They do have dragons,' Hal said importantly. 'But we've defeated them before!'

'That had much to do with luck,' Tanngrisnir told him. 'What now?' he asked Althiof. 'We must get in the castle - to rescue Gwen, and to find out what's going on. How do we get in?'

'As matters stand, we don't,' Althiof said. 'We'll have to wait. Come with me to the city.'

Althiof led them down another little-used path that led off to the left from the secret stair. Hal could see he knew the area like the back of his dwarfish little hand. They moved away from the castle that loomed above the crags like a jutting finger pointing accusingly at blank black skies. Then they made their way through gulches and defiles and passed through a narrow tunnel before coming out in a built-up area of stone houses, not unlike Myrkheim.

The city stretched into the distance on both sides of the street, its darkness illuminated by bonfires that blazed on each corner, but the castle was the most notable landmark. As they followed Althiof down the winding streets, their erstwhile destination receded further into the distance.

They came out near the wharves, where the spreading waters of the upper pool led towards the Giallarfoss. Althiof took them to a waterfront tavern named The Sign of the Bleeding God, and they entered the dark, smoky barroom with trepidation.

Finding a free booth in the crowd of swart-elves and dwarves, they piled in and drew the curtains.

Althiof looked them each in the eye. 'We've been delayed,' he told them. 'There's no chance of getting in under these circumstances. You must stay here. I have people to see.' He clambered down from the bench and disappeared under the curtain.

'Wait!' Hal cried. 'Wait!' He turned to the others. 'I like that!' he said, not liking it one bit. 'Drags us into this seedy dive, then walks off and leaves us. What do we do now?'

'We wait,' Gangrel said grimly.

Hal sat back against the old oak panelling of the booth (where did the oak come from? he had seen no forests), stretching and yawning. 'Well,' he said slowly. 'Seeing as we're here now, who wants a pint?'

Eric shrugged. 'No money,' he replied. 'Nothing that they're likely to accept here, anyway.'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'I will buy.' He produced a jingling pouch and vanishing behind the curtain.

As Hal and his companions waited, they heard a commotion from the main barroom. Eric tugged open the curtain, to reveal the bar a scene of uproar. A swart-elf had climbed on top of the bar, and was shouting and shaking his fist.

Hal caught the words 'Princess of the Blood...' and 'house arrest...' and 'time for the people to rise...' before the main doors burst open. A group of swart-elf watchmen burst in, seized the shouting swart-elf, and dragged him away. The mood of the crowd was ugly, and the guards had to lash out with their swords before they could leave.

'All is not well in the swart-elf kingdom,' Gangrel murmured.

'Who's Hrafnsvart?' Hal asked.

'Hrafnsvart the Black is the swart-elf king,' Gangrel said quietly. 'Unpopular with his subjects at the moment...'

'Why did Althiof bring us here?' Hal complained. 'This dive is dangerous. Alright, we'd be as happy as any of them to see this Hrafnsvart overthrown, if they've got Gwen...'

Tanngrisnir returned from the bar with two foaming tankards of ale, a horn of mead for himself, and a goblet of mulled wine for Gangrel. As he placed the tray on the table, Hal pointed behind him.

'Who are your friends?' he asked. A slim, dark-faced figure was peering into their cubicle. It was a swart-elf, clad in rich garments. A dozen others were at his elbow; nobles, by their rich garb. Tanngrisnir turned to look at them in surprise.

'You are Althiof's friends?' a soft voice asked.

'I think we have much to discuss,' another swart-elf said.

Mordis lounged in a chair, glaring at the fire. She had thrashed her slave the moment she had been flung in here, but it had not improved her temper. House arrest! All because she had tried to get rid of that snooty bitch, Gwen! It was about time Prince Helgrim realised he was following nothing more than a superstitious dream. Even his own men did not believe in the Foretelling!

Now, why couldn't he be sensible, and forget about Gwen? Then she could marry him just as it had been planned in the old days, and then she would make sure Prince Helgrim never did anything so foolish again. He was all bluster when his henchmen were about, but she knew what he was like behind closed doors; putty in her hands. If only he would marry her, she would soon be running the kingdom, and she would ensure it was run properly. None of these delusions of grandeur; none of this superstitious belief in crazy old foretellings, either.

She heard a noise from the door. It was opening. She sprang up, expecting Prince Helgrim, preparing to put her case. Her heart sank with disappointment when a guard entered.

Closing the door behind him quietly, he said in a whisper; 'My lady!'

She looked haughtily at him. 'What way is that to speak to a Princess of the Blood?' she demanded. 'Do you come hither to ravish me? Ylg! Varg!'

The wolves looked up from the bone they were worrying, and growled at the guard.

'My lady!' he said. 'I apologise! I know this is no way to address you, but this is no time for ceremony. Do you not remember me?'

Mordis frowned, and then recognised him as the guard captain. 'You spoke to me,' she replied. 'You're against the war, aren't you?'

The captain bent his knee before her, and kissed her hand. She snatched it away in revulsion. He looked up. 'I only wish to see you succeed to the throne, rather than your cousin,' he said. 'When King Hrafnsvart dies, we hope it will be you who succeeds. The people do not want the warmonger Prince Helgrim to be king.'

'I can't succeed,' Mordis explained patiently. 'I'm female. I have no claim on the throne. If Prince Helgrim was removed, it would be some distant cousin; male. Not I.'

'Were we to allow the shackles of law and custom to restrain us, aye,' the guard captain replied. 'But why should we, when the most suitable candidate for the succession is imprisoned? Come with me, my lady, and you will meet your supporters.'

Mordis looked down at him. 'You're setting me free?' she asked.

'We shall smuggle you from the castle and take you to your supporters in the city,' the captain replied, as two more guards slipped in. One offered Mordis a voluminous black cloak, and she struggled into it hurriedly.

The guards led Mordis quickly through the passages, taking the least frequented. Eventually, they reached the main gates. Passing the two sentries - more of her supporters, the captain explained - they crossed the drawbridge and entered the city.

'We will bring you to our leader,' the captain told her, and they hurried through narrow, winding streets that stank of cesspools and open sewers. Mordis seldom went out into the city, and when she had, it was always in a carriage. She shivered with fear whenever anyone passed them, wishing she had brought her wolves, though the captain had insisted that they would give her away.

Her supporters! She hadn't known that she had any supporters among the commonalty. They wanted to put her on the throne! Impossible, by law, but anything was possible if she had enough support. She could forget Prince Helgrim. If she could rule in her own right, what need had she to become his wife? The oaf could marry Gwen for all she cared; if he survived, if he could afford a wife in his exile! She laughed silently to herself.

'We are here,' the captain whispered. They had halted at the hide-curtain entrance of a stinking hovel. Mordis turned her nose up at it.

'In here?' she asked incredulously.

'Come,' the guard replied. He and his silent companions hustled her within.

They took her down an uneven stairway into a dank cellar. Other swart-elves huddled here. They looked up at her approach. When she took down her cowl, they bent their knees before her.

She looked about her, arrogantly. 'Well? Where is your leader? I am not accustomed to being kept waiting.'

One of the conspirators grovelled at her feet. 'He is on his way, my lady. Also on their way are otherworlders who wish to aid us...'

'Otherworlders?' Mordis snapped. 'Coming here? Don't be an oaf; you can't trust them!' She struck the captain across the face. 'Fool!' she breathed. 'It was meddling with otherworlders that brought me to this pass!'

'We are certain they are here to aid us,' the grovelling conspirator said quickly. 'I would suggest, however, that you conceal your face.'

Scowling, Mordis raised her cowl again. 'I will view these otherworlders,' she said, her haughty voice muffled. 'And decide if they are friend or foe.'

'How do we know we can trust you?' Gangrel was asking as the nobles hurried them up the narrow street.

'Come on, Gangrel!' Hal said. 'Lighten up. These are the first people we could trust that we've met since we got here.'

'The boy is right,' the leader of the swart-elf nobles whispered. 'When you told us that you were Althiof's friends, we believed you instantly. What else would dwarves and men be doing here? Surely you could not be agents of the Prince? Of all people, he is least likely to employ the other side...'

'Here we are,' another noble whispered. They had stopped at the hide-curtain that covered the door to a hovel. 'Our new ally will be here. She will be interested to see you.'

'In,' the leader hissed. Tentatively, the four travellers entered the darkness beyond.

'Down the steps,' the noble whispered.

Hal followed the others down a flight of steps. They opened out into a cellar. Swart-elves stood in the candlelit darkness. A mysterious figure, cloaked and cowled in black, was with them.

'These are the ones you spoke of?' A haughty female voice came from beneath the cowl.

'Aye, my lady,' a swart-elf said.

'Prince Helgrim thinks we are oafs, to send such obvious agents! ' The cowled female laughed. 'Bind them and slay them!'

6 MACHINATIONS

'Don't be fools,' Gangrel said impatiently, as the swart-elves bound their wrists with long black ropes. 'We are not agents of Prince Helgrim! We are his foes.'

'We're here to rescue one of our friends from him,' Eric added.

'Let us go!' Hal shouted. 'Let us go! I've got to rescue Gwen!'

The cloaked woman thrust back her cowl, revealing a night-black face of petulant beauty.

'Rescue whom?' she demanded. She held up a hand, turning to her minions. 'Wait!' She turned back to the captives. 'What did you say?' She moved so close to Hal that her thigh brushed against his. 'This is not the first time I have seen a pasty-faced otherworlder. What was that name you said?'

'Gwen,' Hal stuttered.

'That is the name of the human wench for whom Prince Helgrim jilted me!' The swart-elf swung round to her companions. 'Prince Helgrim has schooled his agents well. Nevertheless, they shall die.'

Hal heard a footstep from the stairs above, and turned. Making its way down the steps was a small, dwarfish figure. As it came into the light, Hal recognised it instantly. 'Althiof!'

The dwarf halted, and gazed confidently round the cellar.

'Leader!' a noble said. 'Here is our new ally! Behold, Princess Mordis!'

Althiof crossed to the Princess' side. 'My lady, welcome! Any opponent of the oppressors is our ally. Welcome to our humble cell.'

He glanced at Hal and the others. 'So you've met my friends, Gaflok. Why have you bound them?' He bowed to Hal and his fellow travellers in turn. 'Apologies. When I left you in the "Bleeding God" to attend to certain matters, I sent a message to my followers to meet you. I didn't realise Gaflok and his oafs would think you were Prince Helgrim's spies. Oafs!'

'But, leader,' Gaflok said. 'We believed in them. The Princess thought they were Prince Helgrim's agents...' He broke off as Mordis shot him a quelling look.

'Why didn't you tell us you were running the resistance?' Eric asked, as the swart-elves unbound them.

'I can tell you little,' Althiof replied. 'The less you know, the less you can betray under torture. I am working for the dwarves of Aurvangar. We have been working to bring down Hrafnsvart and his son from the inside. We met little success, but now Prince Helgrim's played into our hands...'

He addressed Princess Mordis. 'I was deeply saddened to hear of your ill-treatment by your cousin. Rest assured; my people are here to help you back into power.'

Mordis patted him on the head. 'Very good, my man,' she said absently. She looked at Hal. 'You say you know Gwen. Are you lovers?'

Hal blushed. What kind of question was that? 'No!' he said, feeling flustered. 'We're... just good friends.'

'Good,' Mordis purred, giving him a cool, appraising glance. The air seemed to crackle. Hal returned her look with compound interest.

'Sorry to break up the party,' Eric said meaningfully, 'but have you seen Gwen?'

Mordis looked at him briefly. 'She is in the Dark Tower,' she replied. 'Prince Helgrim holds her prisoner.' She made an airy gesture. 'He jilted me for her. He intends to marry your friend.'

'Why's he keeping her prisoner?' Hal asked.

Mordis looked at him from under her eyelashes. 'So strong and bold,' she murmured, rapt. 'And so stupid... Your friend tried to escape. I aided her. Our attempt failed, and Gwen was imprisoned.'

'We've come to rescue her!' Hal said, scowling at her insults. Or were they insults? They made him feel... peculiar. He quite liked it.

'You hope to take her away from this place?' Mordis questioned. 'Far from Prince Helgrim? Good... Though I would be sorry to see you go...'

Hal gulped. Maybe they hadn't been insults.

The dungeon cell stank like a sewage farm.

Gwen sat carefully in the least filthy corner, gazing up at the small, barred window high overhead. The cell was shaped like a well, dug deep into the bedrock but rising up into the castle itself. Twelve feet above her was a thick oak door, reached by a slippery flight of steps. The window was in the wall directly across. Its segmented light fell on the slimy rock floor beside her.

She laid her head on her hands. If her previous imprisonment had been unbearable, at least it had included a bit of luxury. This was her idea of a cell; thoroughly unpleasant. It smelled worse than Hal's farm. She wondered where Hal and the others had got to; if they were still alive.

That led her on to the subject of Ilmadis, and her heart sank. The poor girl... to be executed. Or had Ilmadis already been killed? All because of her, she told herself miserably. Poor girl. To endure slavery, and now this.

She looked up unhappily at the door. No way out. No escape this time. Prince Charming had made sure his bride could not escape again. She sighed. All she could see ahead of her was a long, unhappy marriage.

Or a short one. If Prince Charming was going to lead his armies against the forces of order, the world would end. So Gangrel said. She found herself wishing it would hurry up about it.

At last, with a sensation of relief, she heard a stamping and scraping of feet from above. The gaoler's voice grew audible. Then the door rumbled open, and Gwen found herself blinking in the torchlight from outside.

Silhouetted in the doorway was the gaoler, a fat, lecherous-looking dwarf, with two guards flanking him. They entered, the two guards levelling halberds at Gwen. In the gaoler's hands was a simple wooden tray bearing a jug and a bowl.

'Gruel for my lady,' said the gaoler, in a high-pitched voice. He banged the tray down beside her, and put a blubbery arm round her shoulders. Gwen shrugged it off.

'Cheer up, my lovely,' the gaoler roared. 'You'll soon be out of here. Soon as the Prince thrashes the dwarves of Aurvangar, he'll come back and marry you. Then you'll be out of here. Unless you go running away again, naughty, naughty.' He glanced at the silent guards, and then hunkered down next to her.

'What are you afraid of, then?' he asked in a quiet voice. 'Is it what all young girls are afraid of, eh? The first night.' He leaned over and squeezed her thigh. Gwen's hair stood on end. 'Nothing to be afraid of. And just as a favour, if you want to know what it's like in advance...'

'Don't be an oaf, Svadi,' one of the guards said. 'What d'you think the Prince will think if he gets damaged goods on his wedding night? Comes back in triumph from hammering the dwarves and finds the gaoler's been meddling with his bride? Heads would roll.'

'What has happened to Ilmadis?' Gwen asked suddenly.

'Who's that, my dear?' the gaoler asked. 'The slave who conspired with you? Oh, that was naughty of you, leading her astray like that. Of course, she's being executed for it. Can't have the slaves thinking they can rebel like that.'

There was a catch in Gwen's breath as she asked, 'When?'

'Tonight,' the gaoler replied. 'Poor lass will be out of her misery then. And as soon as the Prince comes home from the wars, so will you.'

Gwen bristled. 'You're all very confident he's going to win!' she cried.

'No doubt about it,' said the guard. 'The Aurvangar dwarves can't touch us, they reckon. Not now that we've got dragons. As soon as the armies are mustered, we'll chase them straight back to Niflheim where they came from. They've got nothing to compare with our dragons. '

The gaoler rose. 'Get that gruel down, there's a good girl. Remember me when you're queen, won't you? I'll be back again tomorrow.'

Gwen's blood ran cold at the thought. The gaoler led the guards out again, and the door slammed shut with a thump of grim finality.

So that was why he had been speaking to her! He hoped to earn a few favours when she was Prince Helgrim's wife. Already she was an unwilling player in the games of intrigue that seemed to preoccupy the people of this world. Well, if she did become queen, he'd be the first one to lose his head.

She had given up hope of seeing home again, or being rescued by her friends. The only way out of the situation that she could see was suicide, and she didn't fancy that much. Besides, how was she going to kill herself? She gazed thoughtfully at the gruel. It looked pretty lethal. Tentatively, she tried some, and spat it out immediately. Vile! She was starving, but no way was she going to eat that slop. She pushed the tray away, lay down on the cold stone, pillowing her head in her arms, and tried to sleep.

She had nothing better to do.

Gangrel and Tanngrisnir had been talking with the conspirators, while Hal and Eric exchanged notes with Princess Mordis. By now, it seemed the plans for insurrection were fully formulated.

'It begins tonight,' Althiof told them. 'We have been preparing for weeks, but unexpectedly the most opportune moment has come about. We must strike while the iron's hot.

'Rumours have spread like wildfire about the arrest of our guest, Princess Mordis, and the imminent execution of the slave Ilmadis. The mob is convinced that the slave tried to save the Princess from Prince Helgrim, and that's why she's being executed. We should anticipate rioting throughout the city, but especially in Execution Square, where the slave will be publicly beheaded before the castle gates.'

He looked round at the sombre faces. 'Among the rioters will be many of our own agitators, who will stir up enough trouble to need a large force of soldiers to quell it. Someone in the castle will make sure the gates are open and unguarded. Under cover of the confusion, you'll enter the castle and be joined by warriors friendly to the cause. Right, Gaflok?'

The noble nodded. 'Several troops are commanded by warriors I have sounded out,' he said seriously. 'They will mutiny, and move at once to secure all important areas; the main gates, the great hall, the residential quarters, the dungeons...'

'The dungeons?' Hal asked. 'Is that where Gwen will be?'

Gangrel raised a finger to his lips. Althiof glanced at Hal, and gave a quick nod. 'You can rescue your friend during the battle.' He turned his attention to the main group.

'Is everyone clear about what action they must take?' he asked. The gathered conspirators nodded their assent. 'Then make your separate ways to Execution Square.'

He rose. 'I must go. We meet again tonight.' Pulling up his hood, the dwarf stamped back up the steps and disappeared from sight.

Excited voices bubbled through the cellar.

'We're going to rescue Gwen!' said Hal. 'At last!'

Eric looked in the direction Althiof had taken. 'He's a cunning one, isn't he?' he said in tones of mock wonder. 'Agitators in the crowd, troops ready to mutiny... Who does he think he is, Che Guevara?'

Gangrel nodded. 'Indeed, he pulled the wool over my eyes,' he confessed. 'And few folk have achieved that in the past, even cunning dwarves.'

'And the dwarves of Aurvangar are implicated as well,' Tanngrisnir said. 'Or so he says. I wonder who's really backing them.'

'Don't you believe him?' Eric asked. Tanngrisnir looked offended. Eric shrugged. 'They're dwarves, aren't they?' he pointed out. Lowering his voice, and gesturing towards the swart-elves, he added; 'And they're obviously running this lot. Why do you think that is? Stirring them all up to fight among themselves?'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'We dwarves of Aurvangar are honourable folk. We would not stoop so low.'

Gangrel stroked his beard. 'We cannot know for certain where this conspiracy has its roots,' he told them. 'But it seems our fellow revolutionaries are already making their way!'

Hal looked around. The cellar was swiftly emptying of swart-elves, except for Princess Mordis, who had remained behind.

'Shall we go?' she asked haughtily, looking down her nose at Gangrel. 'Are you not anxious to rescue your friend?'

'As anxious as you are to see your cousin overthrown and yourself in power, madam,' Gangrel said placidly. 'Aye, it is time to go. Come!'

He led them from the cellar.

The castle rose above Execution Square, tower upon tower of brooding Gothic gloom. Between the square and the castle was a gatehouse, and beyond that a drawbridge where sentries patrolled vigilantly.

In the middle of the square, which was a wide, open space surrounded by shops and illuminated by several large bonfires, forty guards stood in a square, surrounding a wooden platform, bare but for a block. In the vicinity, groups of swart-elves and other citizens were crowded, growing ever more as the minutes passed. A feeling of anger hung in the air.

Hal and his companions watched from nearby. Hal was scanning the crowd. 'I can't see any of the others,' he said worriedly. They had lost their fellow conspirators in the winding streets and alleyways of the city. Now he could see no sign of them among the gathering crowds.

'They'll be there,' Tanngrisnir said. 'And with them, Althiof's agitators. Look, he must be one!'

A swart-elf was standing on a box, haranguing the gathering crowd. His words were only faintly audible, but he seemed to be shouting about injustice and tyranny. Before he could make himself clearer, a small contingent of guards detached itself from the group surrounding the platform, and dragged him from the box. He vanished into the crowd.

'What are they doing to him?' Hal gulped, as the guards milled round and the mob rumbled angrily. Suddenly, one burst into sight, holding up a severed head. Hal felt sick.

The mob muttered and roared. It looked as if the riots were already about to break out, when the Square resounded with the dull boom of drums, and the clatter of hooves and marching feet.

From the gatehouse came a column of soldiers, infantry and cavalry, crossing the square towards the platform. At their head rode a bare-chested swart-elf wearing a black skullcap that covered half his face, leaving only the eyes visible. In his hands, he held a headsman's axe.

In the centre of the column was a slight, female figure, arms bound behind her back. She was almost naked. Her head lolled on her chest.

'That's her!' Princess Mordis hissed. Again she was cowled to conceal her identity.

'She helped you and Gwen to escape?' Hal asked, but Mordis did not reply. She was watching the scene intently.

The swart-elf executioner got down from his giant lizard, and vaulted onto the platform. A roar came from the crowd as he strode back and forth, his bare chest gleaming, his muscles rippling as he bore the axe aloft.

Then, to the beat of drums, guards led the slave girl up onto the platform beside him.

An official took the platform, and he faced the crowd, ignoring jeers and catcalls as he read out the slave girl's crimes. The girl stood beside him, head bowed in defeat. Rotten eggs and fruit showered the platform as the official vainly read out the notice. Finally, he gave up. Indicating the executioner, he leapt back down to seek the protection of the guards.

The mob surged forward. The executioner led the slave girl to the block, making her kneel before it. He brandished his axe another time. Trembling visibly, the slave girl laid her head on the block.

'Shouldn't we do something?' Hal said. 'When will the riot start?'

'She's only a slave,' Mordis said callously.

The axe swished down.

A well-aimed egg hit the executioner square on in the face. He staggered back, his aim going wild. The axe thudded down into the planks of the platform beside the block.

The soldiers marched forward, their spears flickering here and there. Hal saw figures in the crowd fall.

Then the riot began.

'Come on, then!' Mordis hissed. 'Now is our chance. The gates stand open. Let us do as Althiof bade.'

'What about the slave girl?' Hal asked as they ran through the crowd, dodging wild-eyed rioters and death-dealing guards with equanimity. 'Didn't she help you? Doesn't she deserve to be saved?'

'Hal is right,' Gangrel said. 'We cannot leave her. Head for the platform.'

The executioner was sitting on the block, watching the riot and dabbing fastidiously at his face. Beside him, the slave girl knelt in silence. The guards had all left to quell the riot. Even now, it was spreading into other parts of the city, if the burning buildings visible in every direction were any indication.

As Hal and his companions scrambled onto the platform, the executioner hurriedly replaced his mask.

'Nobody appreciates the public executioner these days,' he announced. 'It was different in my father's time. I'm only here to do my job! It's not as if it's a nice job. I'd rather be a tax gatherer; no more popular, but far more potential for profit...'

'Give us the girl,' Gangrel commanded.

'Can't do that,' the executioner replied smugly. 'Orders are orders. Can't behead her when the mob is rioting, but that doesn't mean she can go free.'

Tanngrisnir produced Helbrand. The others drew their weapons. The executioner faced them down.

'No use threatening me!' he warned. 'If you want her released, you can get the appropriate papers signed by the authorities. Contact the Chief Scrivener's Department through the usual channels...'

Hal strode forward and helped the slave girl to her feet. After glaring contemptuously at the executioner, he turned to her. 'It's alright,' he said. 'You're safe now.'

Tanngrisnir broke open her fetters with the headsman's axe.

'I'll report you!' the executioner shouted, as they plunged off the platform and began shouldering their way through the rioting mob. 'I'll report you for this! Do you have any idea how much paperwork this will mean?'

The gates stood open, as promised. Beyond them, the castle loomed, impossibly vast, as if hewn from the mountain itself. Hal, Eric, Gangrel, Tanngrisnir, Mordis, and the slave girl, who had introduced herself as Ilmadis, rushed through them, clattering into the wide courtyard beyond.

They halted. Blood soaked the cobbles, incredibly red in the torchlight. Dragging himself towards them from the main entrance was a bloody figure. Arrows jutted from his back.

The figure raised his face. Hal recognised Gaflok beneath the mask of blood. 'You took your time,' the swart-elf bubbled.

'We were delayed, rescuing Ilmadis here,' Gangrel said. He looked about him in solemn horror. Following his gaze, Hal saw twisted bodies lying in the shadows.

'What happened to those troops you told us about?' Eric asked.

'They didn't rise...' Gaflok said faintly. 'They remained in barracks. We rushed in, but we were ambushed...'

The air above them hummed, and another arrow was suddenly jutting from Gaflok's back. His eyes rolled in his head, and he slumped lifeless to the cobbles. The gates clanked shut behind them. Hal spun round. 'What's going on?' he shouted.

A voice from a window high up in the castle wall alerted them. 'I thought you'd never come,' Althiof said. 'Don't try to resist. Archers occupy every arrow slit in this wall, training their shafts on you right now. I dealt with the rest of the rebels while you were off on your quixotic mission.'

'I knew you were not working for my people,' Tanngrisnir cried. 'My folk would never stoop to use means so dishonourable.'

Althiof laughed. 'On the contrary,' he replied. 'They gave me much gold in return for my services. But the swart-elves offered me more.'

The castle entrance filled up with pike-bearing guards. In the distance, the roar of the riots continued. But within the castle, silence reigned, broken only by the dwarf's voice.

'Now you can join your friend in the dungeons.'

7 THE DARK TOWER

'What are you all doing here?' Gwen said, as they came crowding into the cell.

She had been asleep. Waking to see the familiar figures, she had thought she was still dreaming. Then the door slammed shut behind them, and she realised that it was all real.

'Well,' Hal said awkwardly, 'we came to rescue you, Gwen...'

'But got banged up in here with me instead.' Gwen noticed Ilmadis. 'Hiya, Ilmadis. What are you doing with these losers? Hello, Morbid, by the way.'

'They rescued me!' Ilmadis gushed, with a shy glance at Hal.

'Oh, did they now?' Gwen replied. 'Why couldn't they rescue me, as well?' But she was glad to see Ilmadis alive.

Hal pouted. Gwen wasn't being fair. 'We tried to!' he said. 'But we were betrayed.'

'Again, that dwarf had me fooled,' Gangrel murmured.

Eric glanced warily at Tanngrisnir. 'Are all your lot as devious as that?'

Tanngrisnir shook his head vigorously. 'My own kindred are honourable folk,' he replied. 'I began to suspect Althiof was not all he claimed when he outlined his plots. More the product of a swart-elf mind than of a dwarf; except perhaps a dwarf who had come under the shadow of darkness.'

Mordis sniffed. 'So now you have failed to put me on the throne, what do you intend to do?'

'Put you on the throne?' Gwen questioned. 'What's all this about?'

'We met up with a dwarf, Althiof,' Eric explained. 'He seemed to be running the Revolution single-handed. He got us, and a bunch of swart-elves, to storm the castle, intending to overthrow Prince Helgrim and put Mordis in his place. Oh, and, er, free you.'

'But you ended up locked up down here?' Gwen said tartly.

'Well, you shouldn't have got yourself captured in the first place,' Hal flared. 'We've been through Hel getting here.'

'I like that!' Gwen said. 'Who capsized the boat?'

'Children, children,' Gangrel broke in solemnly. 'Let us not fight among ourselves, but rather puzzle our way out of our current predicament.'

'Perhaps... we should accept our weird,' Ilmadis said quietly. 'It seems that the harder we try to escape, the more doomed we are.'

'Nonsense!' Mordis sneered. 'We must get out of here, find my cousin, remove him, overthrow King Hrafnsvart, and put me on the throne.' She added as an afterthought: 'I will allow you all to continue on your way when I am queen.'

'If only it was as simple as that,' Gangrel said wryly.

'There aren't enough of us to fight our way to the king,' Eric said patiently. 'Escaping is the most we can hope for.'

'Oh!' Mordis snapped. 'You're all useless. By Niorun, why are my servants so useless?'

Gangrel fingered his beard. 'Let us hypothesise,' he said at length. 'We find some means of opening that door...'

'How?' Hal asked.

'I have an idea,' Gangrel said mysteriously, 'but I am loath to put it into practice. Be that as it may, let us imagine for the moment that we have escaped this dungeon. What then?'

'Run like the clappers for the main gate,' Eric explained, 'then hightail it outa this 'borg.'

'We will not get past the main gate,' Mordis said. 'It would be better to remain in the castle, and attack from within.'

'The Princess is right,' Tanngrisnir said, 'in that we will not escape through the gate. And if by some freak chance we do, the city beyond is in anarchy. The citizens riot. The soldiers massacre the citizens. Even if the riots have been quelled, the place will no doubt lie under a strict curfew, and patrols will be everywhere. We'll have no chance of getting through them.'

'We could wait until everything has died down,' Gwen suggested.

Gangrel shook his head. 'We have wasted enough time,' he said. 'Remember that the armies of chaos are massing. Not just in this world, but in Muspellzheim also; maybe the frost giants assemble too. Ragnarok looms.

'And besides, despite the insurrection in the city, Prince Helgrim must be ready to unleash his forces upon the realm of the dwarves any day now, and with his dragons it is inevitable that he will slaughter them. It is imperative that we break free and make our way to Sindri's Hall before the swart-elves attack. We cannot wait.'

Thoughtfully, Gwen ran a finger over her lips. She stabbed the air with it. 'The dragons!' she said. 'Before they banged me up in this filthy hole, Prince Helgrim's guards took me to him, in the hangar where they're keeping these dragons. It's about halfway up the tower...'

'How fascinating,' Eric said dryly. 'Sounds like a good place to keep away from.'

'I don't know about that,' Gwen said. 'You see, from what I've seen, the little I've seen, these dragons are just dumb beasts. Whoever sits in the saddle controls them...'

Gangrel looked at her. 'What are you suggesting, Gwen?'

'I'm wondering if... well, the swart-elves won't expect us to go up the tower if we escape, will they? And they've got their hands full dealing with the riots, from what you say. So the castle will be almost deserted.'

'It was a bit quiet when they brought us in,' Hal said.

'Why don't we go to the dragon hangar?' Gwen said.

'Because we don't want to get killed,' Eric broke in quickly.

'Shut up, clever,' Gwen snapped. 'Listen! If we can get control of some dragons, we could fly our way out of here! What could they do to stop us?'

'Send other dragons after us,' Eric told her. 'With better experienced pilots than us. Hands up anyone who's piloted a dragon before.'

Gangrel shook his head. 'An audacious scheme, my dear,' he said, looking fondly at Gwen. 'And more feasible than most, in these desperate circumstances. But Eric is right. None of us knows how to fly a dragon.'

'I do,' Mordis said.

Hal turned to look at her.

'I've never flown one,' she added hurriedly. 'But when my cousin was giving the family another of his cursed pep talks, he gave us a long lecture on the art of dragonflight.' She raised a hand to forestall their excited questions. 'I fell asleep halfway through, so I do not know everything. But as I recall, it is simple enough, much like riding a lizard.'

'Riding a what?' Hal asked, gaping.

'The swart-elves use giant lizards much as we use ponies,' Tanngrisnir explained in an undertone.

Gangrel looked contemplative. Then he rose, and looked down at Mordis. 'Tell us all you remember,' he rapped. 'Search your memory for everything Prince Helgrim told you, and repeat it. This might possibly work...'

With a beat of mighty wings, the dragon swooped in to land in the middle of the hangar. Removing his helmet and extricating himself from the saddle, the dragon-rider leapt down.

'Well?' Prince Helgrim barked, as he approached. 'Has the mob been crushed?'

'Not yet, my lord,' the dragon-rider replied. He gazed warily at the brooding fire giant beside the Prince. 'Pockets of resistance remain. Much of the city is ablaze.'

'You are too soft on the commonalty,' Eld rumbled. 'Were I in command, I would order an immediate punitive raid by all available forces, torch the peasants in their hovels, destroy the city and drive the survivors wailing into the waste lands.'

'We in Svartalfaheim have other customs,' Hrafnsvart quavered. 'It is thought sufficient in the case of insurrection merely to disperse the mob, and flay alive every ninth commoner we capture in the main square.'

Prince Helgrim dismissed the dragon-rider, and began to stride back and forth. 'Your plan has inconvenienced us,' he told the fourth member of the group. 'Did I not know otherwise, I would think you truly were in the pay of Aurvangar.'

Althiof chuckled. 'The commoner's uprising was easily crushed,' he said. 'The real threat was Gaflok, and the little band I met north of the mountains.'

Prince Helgrim turned on his heel. 'Who were these otherworlders you brought into the conspiracy?' he demanded. 'Tell me more. They trouble me...'

'Midgarders, mostly,' Althiof replied. 'Two youths, an old man. And a dwarf – I recognised him, though he didn't know me. Tanngrisnir of Aurvangar...'

'Tanngrisnir?' Prince Helgrim bellowed. Althiof had said little about the conspirators, other than that they were a threat. 'Tanngrisnir? And Grimnir? And he who will bear the Runeblade?'

Eld's eyes blazed down at Althiof. 'He comes hither?' he roared. 'The Bearer of the Runeblade? Prince Helgrim, why have you not slain him?'

'I did not know it was he!' Prince Helgrim blustered. 'Nor who his companions were. They were last seen in Helheim.' He struck Althiof across the face. 'Dolt!'

'Where are they imprisoned?' Eld flared. 'I must go and destroy them!' With the speed of a flash fire, he raced from the room.

Althiof glared at Prince Helgrim, dabbing at his cheek. 'All I knew was they wanted to rescue a prisoner,' he protested. 'I put them in the same cell, to taunt them.'

'You put them in the cell with my bride?' Prince Helgrim asked softly.

Althiof nodded, and shrugged. 'Now I think it's time we were discussing payment,' he added. 'I believe we mentioned a hundredweight of gold?'

Prince Helgrim turned angrily away. 'Guards!' Swart-elves rushed up. He indicated the dwarf, his hand shaking. 'This traitor to his own kind requires payment. He has a thirst for gold. Sate it. Melt a hundredweight of gold; and pour it down his lying throat!'

Althiof paled. He turned to run. Immediately a ring of spears surrounded him. 'Take him away!' Prince Helgrim spat. 'Take him away and give him his just reward!'

Moments later, a choked scream rang out through the passages of the lower level. Prince Helgrim smiled when it cut off abruptly.

'But how are we gong to get past the door?' Hal asked again.

Gangrel turned to them, and sighed. 'I had hoped not to be forced to do this. Though I accompany you, it is not right that I should help you out of every tight corner, Hal. You must learn to solve your own problems if you are to wield the Runeblade...'

'Yes, yes,' Hal said snappishly. 'I'm getting a bit sick of this Runeblade business. No one asked me if I wanted anything to do with it. I just want to get out of here with Gwen and Eric and go home...' He halted, remembering what Prince Helgrim had done to his home and family.

'Exactly,' Gangrel said, reading his mind. 'Your vengeance is imperative. But you have a larger destiny, as wielder of the Runeblade...'

'You were saying something about helping us out of this tight corner,' Eric interrupted hopefully.

Gangrel looked at him, and sighed. 'Since there is no other way out, I will do it,' he said. 'But it brings me no joy.'

He waved his hand towards the cell door. There was a metallic click, and it sprang open.

Gwen looked at him incredulously. 'Did you do that?'

'How did you do it?' Eric asked.

'And if you could do that all along...' Hal said heatedly. He shook his head in anger, striding up the steps. 'That's it. That's it! I'm not playing your games anymore, Gangrel. I'm going home, even if Prince Helgrim did burn it down. I'm not staying in your crazy world.'

He threw open the door, and stamped out into the passage, followed by Eric, Gwen, Mordis and Ilmadis.

'Thanks, Grimnir,' Tanngrisnir said quietly, wringing Gangrel's hand. 'I realise what that meant to you.' He turned, and followed the others from the cell.

Gangrel sighed, and looked around the dank chamber. Young heroes! Why did he trouble himself with them? Because otherwise all the worlds would be conquered by the powers of chaos.

Sighing, he went up the steps and left the dungeon, not looking back.

Outside, he found that they had overpowered the gaoler, and were busily looting his armoury. Gangrel found his spear, which the guards had taken from him when they were captured. He hefted it, and turned to the others.

'We must be careful now,' he told them. 'Even if the swart-elves are dealing with the rioters, there will still be guards in the castle. The less trouble we have getting to the hangar, the better.' He turned to Gwen. 'Lead the way, my dear.'

Gwen looked around uncertainly. She was beginning to wonder if she truly could remember the route. Mordis brushed past her with an impatient hiss.

'Don't rely on her!' she sneered. 'I know this castle better than all of you. Follow me!'

She strutted off up the passage. Eric and Hal grinned at each other, watching her as she walked away. Gwen frowned at them.

Gangrel led them after the swart-elf.

'Where now, Princess?' Hal asked, as they halted. They had reached a landing halfway up a wide flight of steps. Two flights branched off from the first, at right angles. Mordis was looking doubtfully from one flight to the other.

'Don't you know where you're going?' Gwen asked. 'I think it was this way.' She indicated the left hand flight.

Mordis gritted her teeth. 'Well done,' she said cattily. They turned in that direction, and halted.

'What's that light up ahead?' Eric asked.

'And that smell!' Hal said, coughing.

'Something is coming,' Tanngrisnir said ominously. Thudding footsteps echoed down the hall at the head of the stairs.

Gwen, Mordis, and Ilmadis exchanged horrified glances. It all seemed horribly familiar. Gwen remembered their escape attempt.

Before any of them could speak, a massive, fiery figure loomed up in the passage ahead. Twelve feet high, with cracked black skin licked with living fire, it was a figure the three girls had seen before. It bore a longsword, and grinned hotly as it saw them cowering.

It was left to Tanngrisnir to identify the blazing figure even now descending towards them. 'One of the Sons of Muspell!' he said, his voice trembling. 'A fire giant!'

Gangrel hefted his spear.

8 GANGREL'S DUEL

'Quickly!' Gangrel cried. 'Princess Mordis, do you know of any other route to the hangar?'

'I... I think so,' the swart-elf stammered.

'Then lead them by it!' the old man commanded her. 'I will deal with this!'

'Sounds good to me,' Eric said. 'Hurry up, Mordis. Where do we go now?'

'I'll stand by you!' Hal said, brandishing his stolen swart-elf scimitar.

'As will I,' Tanngrisnir growled, glowering at the fire giant as it strode down the steps, leaving smoking footprints as it came.

'Don't be a fool, Hal!' Gangrel cried. 'And Tanngrisnir; you should know better. Leave this to me!'

'You can't...' Hal said. Gangrel was an old man, and the thing advancing on them looked invincible. He didn't rate his own chances against it highly, but...

'Come,' Tanngrisnir said, shamefaced. 'Grimnir is right. We must leave him to it.'

Unwilling, Hal turned and accompanied the dwarf towards the other flight of steps, up which Mordis, Ilmadis, Gwen and Eric were already hurrying. Hal turned halfway up them, as he heard battle commence.

Gangrel had waited until the fire giant was on the level before thrusting at him with the spear held in both hands. The fire giant's sword hissed down. Gangrel blocked its blow using his spear like a quarterstaff, then quickly drew it back and plunged it into the giant's belly. Hissing ichor spattered out of the wound. The fire giant roared, swiping at the old man with its sword.

'Come!' Tanngrisnir bellowed.

Hal hurried after the others. Mordis led them through a labyrinth of corridors and passageways, dusty and neglected, hung with cobwebs.

'No one comes down here,' she gasped, as she led them at a run. 'Only I, when I wish to be alone. Many parts of the castle lie mouldering like this.'

'Which way to the hangar?' Gwen panted.

'Down here!' Mordis replied, leading them along a narrow branching passage.

'Will that old man survive?' she asked, as they sprinted down the passage. 'Why did he risk his life against Eld? It was foolish.'

Gwen gulped. 'He wanted to give us all a chance,' she replied. 'I don't know if we'll see him again...'

'He'll survive, Gwen,' Tanngrisnir said confidently, gaining on them. 'He has fought worse battles than this, and survived. Many are the songs my people sing of his exploits.' They slowed to allow the others to catch up.

Hal shook his head. He couldn't believe it. 'Gangrel... He's just a crazy old man.'

'My people sing of him, also,' Ilmadis told him.

'Run!'

The voice echoed from the flaking walls. Hal whirled round to see Gangrel racing towards them.

'Did you kill it?' he shouted.

Gangrel shook his head wildly, and then Hal saw the red glow rapidly creeping up behind him.

'No,' Gangrel gasped. 'I have wounded him, but he is undeterred. He is Eld, son of Muspell, one of the foremost warriors of Muspellzheim. Proof - if we needed any more - that the swart-elves and fire giants are in league. We must escape this castle and warn our allies. Now run!'

The sulphurous stench of the encroaching fire giant billowed down the passageway from behind. Hal cast glances over his shoulder that revealed the figure of Eld racing towards them, unstoppable as a lava-flow. The passage filled with yellow fumes as the fire giant gained on them.

'How far now, Princess?' Gangrel bellowed.

'Round the next corner,' Mordis cried.

'You keep saying that,' Hal muttered. His back was growing uncomfortably warm, as if he had been standing too long and too close to a roaring log-fire.

'You will not escape me!' the fire giant hissed. 'Grimnir; your doom is upon you! Bearer of the Runeblade; you too shall fall, ere the Runeblade is forged! We shall triumph! Ymir will be avenged!'

'How far?' Eric said. 'How far do we have to go?' The orange glow from the fire giant crept inexorably closer.

'Ahead!' Mordis shrieked.

'You keep saying that,' Hal repeated. But he bit off anything else he had to say when the passage opened up, and they found themselves at the edge of a vast, windswept area open to the air.

Dragons hung from the roof in myriads. Others crouched placidly upon the floor, near the open wall, as if ready to fly. Otherwise, the chamber was empty except for a few swart-elf servants who tended to the beasts. A wide archway directly opposite the entrance led into the depths of the castle.

Gangrel halted, looking over his shoulder. 'Go and secure dragons, all of you. I will fight the fire giant. If I do not return soon then go without me.'

'We can't do that...' Gwen protested, but Gangrel turned, and paced back into the ruddy darkness of the passage.

'I wish he wouldn't,' Eric muttered.

'He means to buy us time enough to get mounts,' Tanngrisnir told him. 'Come; these swart-elves will be little trouble.' He brandished Helbrand, and led them at a run across the wide floor of the dragon hangar.

Swart-elves rushed forward as they entered. Steel rang out across the open space as Hal crossed swords with one attacker, then another, then another, ducked to avoid a thrust, then parried a second attack and slid his steel beneath the ribs of a third warrior. Beside him, Tanngrisnir's sword glittered in the torchlight as he hacked down his foes.

Gwen, Ilmadis, and Mordis ducked and weaved through the running figures and reached the side of a dragon. Up close, the creatures were massive, twenty foot from scaly, equine head to pointed tail, from bunched-up, leathery wing to wing. They gave off a snakelike odour that made Gwen gag. 'Alright, then,' she gasped. 'What do we do?'

Mordis had grabbed a huge saddle that lay nearby. It looked as if it had been designed for an elephant. 'Slave; aid me with this,' she snapped, and Ilmadis automatically ran to obey. 'Human! Keep them off whilst we ready the dragons!' She indicated a group of swart-elves who were heading in their direction.

Gwen frowned. 'Doh! Like how?' she asked sweetly. Then she saw a bow and quiver clipped onto the saddle they were carrying. 'Just a second!' she said, and grabbed them.

Gwen reminded herself that she had once won a prize for archery as she strung the bow and pulled a black fletched arrow from the quiver. But that had been a few years ago, and she had been aiming at motionless targets in the middle of a sports field, and not mad-eyed warriors sprinting toward her with vicious intent.

As Mordis and Ilmadis struggled to saddle and ready the placid dragons for the coming flight, Gwen sent arrow after arrow winging towards the oncoming swart-elves. One fell with an arrow jutting from his throat. Another followed quickly, clutching at his belly.

In the thick of it, Hal, Eric and Tanngrisnir were standing back to back, as the swart-elves battled them.

'They still outnumber us,' Eric said wryly. 'Isn't it about time we flew the Hel out of here?'

'What about Gangrel?' Hal gasped. He turned to see the old man fighting steadily on the far side of the hangar as he backed away from the oncoming fire giant. Gangrel was coming dangerously close to the edge. Hal was about to run to him when Tanngrisnir's shout arrested him.

'Thor's Beard!' the dwarf cried suddenly. 'More of them!'

They had whittled down the swart-elves in the hangar to about five or six, but now more were flooding in through the main arch. At their head was a figure Hal recognised with a thrill of hatred.

Prince Helgrim.

Hal downed his next opponent with a thrust to the heart. He wrenched his blade free, dodged another attack, and forced his way from the melee.

Prince Helgrim saw his bride first, filling the air with black arrows. She stood beside a line of dragons, which two other figures were hurriedly preparing for flight. His eyes narrowed as he recognised one of them.

'Princess Mordis!' he shouted. 'Traitress!'

At his cry, Mordis dropped the saddle she had been carrying, and looked up. Racing towards her, across the chaos of the chamber, was her prince, her love.

'Mordis! Cousin!' he cried. 'Do not aid them! Leave them to die, if you love me!'

Mordis stood still. Gwen saw what was happening, and cursed. Was Mordis going to betray them? The swart-elf had only become involved in this because of her love for Prince Helgrim. Would she turn her coat?

Then another figure burst out of the mob, and hit Prince Helgrim like a thunderbolt. The swart-elf prince staggered, and wheeled, drawing his sword with a smile. 'You killed my family!' Hal sobbed, hacking madly at the swart-elf.

'Hurry!' Mordis cried, tearing herself away from the scene. 'We must prepare the dragons.'

Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. Mordis had chosen rightly. Smiling, she ran to help the two elves ready the last dragon.

Eric and Tanngrisnir joined them suddenly, with swart-elves in hot pursuit.

'What about Gangrel?' Eric asked, indicating the far side of the hangar, where the fire giant and the old man still battled desperately. Gwen saw that countless swart-elves packed the space between them.

'There's nothing we can do,' Tanngrisnir grunted. Gangrel was now fighting on the very edge of the hangar. His clothes smoked and smouldered in several places from contact with his foe. 'He means to buy us time so we could escape. Hal must get to Aurvangar. That's what matters most.'

'Do you all remember what I told you?' Mordis cried, as they mounted the dragons. 'The reins; and the goad! Use the reins to steer and the goad to increase speed.'

She looked over her shoulder. 'Come on, Hal!' she cried. 'Leave him! He is not worth it!' Hal looked up from his duel. 'You're outnumbered, Hal,' Mordis cried, indicating the oncoming swart-elf warriors. 'Quickly! Get up behind me!'

Hal hesitated, and Prince Helgrim thrust at him. Hal parried the blow.

'Hal!' Mordis cried again. 'Hal, I love you!'

Gwen stared at the swart-elf in shock.

Hal stopped dead still, and almost allowed Prince Helgrim to skewer him. Mordis' words echoed within his mind, but they seemed to have no meaning.

He snarled at the swart-elf prince. Other warriors were moving to surround them. 'I'll get you later, mate,' he told the Prince. Quickly, he turned, and ran for the dragons. He leapt up behind Mordis.

'Now let's go!' Gwen shouted.

'What about Gangrel?' Hal cried suddenly. He looked about him. The hangar was crawling with swart-elves, but beyond them, he could see the old man fighting the fire giant, his coat ablaze as he struggled. 'We can't leave him!'

'Yes we can,' Eric shouted. 'He told us to leave, if he didn't join us soon. Hal, let's go!'

Hal felt nothing more than an intense desire to join the old man, to die gloriously on the field of battle. But Mordis chose that moment to spur the dragon into movement with the long, wicked-looking goad.

As Hal lurched back across the dragon's scaly hide with the force of takeoff, he glimpsed Eld lunging at Gangrel. The old man dodged deftly to one side, thrust his spear into the fire giant's ribs - slipped, staggered - and plunged over the edge of the tower.

Hal stared uncomprehendingly. The dragon shot towards the edge of the hangar and Gangrel dropped out of sight.

Eric and Gwen spurred their own mounts, and soon the three dragons - bearing Mordis and Hal, Gwen and Ilmadis, and Eric and Tanngrisnir, respectively - were soaring towards the exit from the hangar, leaving the swart-elf warriors encircling their previous position.

'Fools!' Prince Helgrim cried. 'After them!'

Swart-elves hurried to ready more dragons for the pursuit.

'Gangrel,' Hal sobbed as the iced winds howled around his chill body. 'Gangrel!' He grabbed Mordis' shoulder. 'Turn us round! We've got to save Gangrel!'

He looked back at the rapidly receding castle of the swart-elves. Already, the bat-like shapes of other dragons were fluttering out from the tiny opening in the side of the immense castle wall. The sheer wall of the tower descended vertically towards the rocky plain, hundreds of dizzying feet below. He could see no sign of his old friend.

'Stop that,' Mordis snapped, struggling to fly the creature. 'I realise you are upset. But I had to make my sacrifices too. I had to leave my poor wolves behind. Poor Ylg and Varg! Who will feed them now I'm gone?'

Slowly, her earlier words sank into Hal's confused brain. 'What did you say to me? Before?'

Mordis smiled absently, and patted his thigh. 'Not now,' she said.

Just then, the pursuing dragons, flying in a widening crescent close behind them, began to circle and surround the fugitives.

Three dragons swooped down out the dark skies and hurtled straight towards them.

9 FLIGHT INTO TERROR

'Bandits at eight o'clock!' yelled Eric.

'Bandits?' Tanngrisnir muttered.

'Dragons!' cried Eric, wrenching at the reins of his winged reptilian steed. Tanngrisnir's stomach lurched as the youth inadvertently sent them into a loop-the-loop.

'Fools!'

Prince Helgrim watched the distant specks as they flew into the dark night, his own dragons swooping down on them.

'They've escaped,' his father said mockingly. Prince Helgrim spun on his heel, and glared at the king. 'Your bride,' Hrafnsvart added. 'And your foe!'

'They have orders to bring her back alive,' Prince Helgrim muttered obsessively. 'I will not have my plans set at naught.'

'But what of Grimnir?' Hrafnsvart added. 'He was not among them.'

'Eld was fighting him,' Prince Helgrim said.

They turned to see the fire giant lying on the ground nearby, all its flames extinguished.

Skilfully, Mordis steered her dragon between two oncoming attackers. Fire spewed from the creature's jaws, roaring as it spattered through the air.

The two approaching dragons divided, one swooping round in an attempt to take them broadside, the other spinning out of control towards the far-off ground, its leathery wings blazing.

Hal raised the bow he had found strapped to the saddle, notched an arrow, and loosed. The arrow spun through the howling air, and missed the swart-elf dragon-rider by inches. His own archer loosed an arrow in return, and it thudded into the leather saddle just next to Hal.

Mordis yanked on the reins and tapped the dragon with her goad. It beat its wings and soared downwards in a freefall spiral. Hal looked up, to see the enemy descending towards them.

Another enemy dragon shot out of the darkness, venom spewing from its mouth. Mordis pulled on the reins, and they veered to the left, going into a dive, then swooping up directly beneath the dragon.

'Shoot!' Mordis cried. 'The belly! Go for the belly!'

Hal notched another arrow. The dragon's underbelly was pale and scaleless. He loosed as they passed directly beneath. Then their dragon shot forward. Hal glanced over his shoulder. A bestial shriek of agony was whipped away by the wind.

The dragon's wings crumpled around it, and it tumbled downwards through the air, sending the two swart-elves falling. Hal cheered.

'Watch out!' Mordis yelled. Hal whipped his head round to see a flock of dragons flying straight towards them in a crescent. He scrabbled in the saddle-quiver.

'The bow! The bow!' Gwen was shouting, as they rocketed through the air. Three dragons were directly on their tail.

'There isn't a bow,' Ilmadis shrieked. 'You must have left it behind!'

Gwen cursed. Had she dropped the bow when they mounted the dragon?

'How the Hel do you make this thing breathe fire?' she shouted, yanking at the reins. She had seen other people do it; a blast of warm heat and a squeal from Ilmadis told her that one of their pursuers had just done so. 'What did Mordis say about making them breathe fire?' Gwen shouted at the elf-girl.

'I can't remember,' Ilmadis replied desperately. 'Something about the reins, some trick of the reins...'

'Fat lot of good,' Gwen grunted. She tugged at the reins. It brought them swooping up in a sudden spiral that left their pursuers tumbling madly onward before they checked their flight and moved to follow them.

Up here, high above the peaks, Gwen saw much of the surrounding country that stretched out below them. To the north, rocky ground sloped down towards a distant river. To the south, the dark plains spread on, disappearing eventually into the mist that was thick along their southern rim.

Suddenly, the dragon coughed mightily, and a ball of combustible venom launched itself with frightening speed towards the steadily climbing attackers. Gwen shouted for joy. Now if only she could make the dragon do it again.

'A bow is not my favourite weapon,' Tanngrisnir was grumbling, as Eric brought their dragon zipping through the enemy flock. He loosed arrows to left and right, above and below, and Eric was glad to see dragons and their riders falling towards the distant ground.

'Stop moaning and use it,' Eric gasped. 'Tally-ho!' He flew at right angles to the ground, leading his pursuers through a narrow ravine. Glancing back as they flew along at almost ground level, he saw two dragons hit the sides of the gully at immense speed, and go up in balls of flame.

'Remind me not to do that again,' he told Tanngrisnir, who was holding onto his horned helmet with a wide-eyed expression. 'It was even more dangerous than I'd thought.'

Adroitly, he skimmed the dusty ground, vanishing over a slope. At the bottom of it, he turned his dragon, and waited for his pursuers.

The beating of mighty wings grew louder, and suddenly a flock of black dragons shot over the crest of the rise, zooming straight over the gully. As soon as they appeared, Eric kicked the dragon into forward motion, and bore down on the leader, spouting flame as he came.

Trailing fire like a comet, the dragon vanished into the distance. Eric flew rapidly back the way he had come.

'There's Gwen and Ilmadis,' Tanngrisnir shouted above the roar of the wind. 'And Mordis and Hal.'

Their friends' dragons were circling some way above. Otherwise, the skies were currently free of winged shapes.

Eric soared up towards them. Ilmadis spotted them first. 'There they are!'

'We thought they'd got you!' Hal shouted. 'What were you doing? Tell us later. Looks like the pursuit has died down. Mordis reckons we should get out of the mountains.'

'Aye,' Tanngrisnir agreed. 'They will be less likely to follow us on the Dark Moon Plains. Come!'

The three dragons soared through the chill air, due south. Glancing back, Eric saw no sign of pursuit. It looked like his gully gambit had paid off.

The high mountains of the Dark Moon Fells gave way to lesser foothills. They followed the valley of the River Gioll, which passed through the mountains in a vast ravine that came down from the plateau ahead. Soon they were crossing the wide, empty plains of rock.

Far ahead, at the margin of the plains, mist curled and obscured the horizon. Tanngrisnir told them that it was the edge of Niflheim, the world of mist.

'Where do your people live, Tanngrisnir?' Hal called across to him.

'Within the rocks and upon the muddy plains ahead of us,' the dwarf replied. 'We still have some way to go.'

'Perhaps we should land, now,' Mordis suggested. 'We have outdistanced our pursuers, and I for one could do with a rest.'

Eric looked in Hal's direction, and he shrugged. Why did everyone expect him to make the decisions? Wasn't that Gangrel's job...? He went pale. He had forgotten about the old man. Did he still live after his fall from the tower? It seemed impossible.

They landed in the lea of a small hill. Rock and gravel stretched around them. Off to the left, about a quarter of a mile away, the River Gioll snaked across the plain.

'They brought me here up that river,' Gwen remarked, leaning against a boulder.

Hal turned to her eagerly. 'Does it lead out of here?' he asked. 'Back to the caves under Alderley Edge?'

Gwen shrugged. 'I don't really remember the journey.'

Tanngrisnir looked sternly at Hal. 'I hope you do not intend to leave,' he said, staring up at the youth.

Hal shrugged, aimlessly. What was to keep them here now? 'I thought, well; now we've got Gwen back...' he said. 'And now... now Gangrel's gone...'

'You will give up and go home?' Mordis asked suddenly, from where she had been tending to her dragon.

'I don't really have much of a home to go to,' Hal said dolefully. 'But Gangrel must be dead by now. I said we should wait for him!' he shouted, suddenly angry.

'If we'd waited for him, we'd all be dead,' Eric said flatly.

Hal kicked angrily at a rock. Tanngrisnir leant on Helbrand, and glowered up at him. Ilmadis and Gwen exchanged glances. Then Mordis strode forward. She took Hal by the arm, and led him away.

'We must talk,' she said firmly.

Hal looked back towards the rocks, where Tanngrisnir was now lighting a fire against the cold, kindled with some woody fungus Ilmadis had found in the lea of a rock.

'About what?' he asked, refusing to look at her. He felt hopeless.

Mordis tossed her head. 'I know little of your quest. What I do know I have heard from my cousin's superstitious maunderings. I do not know if I truly believe in these foretellings. No one can know the future. And even if there is truth in them, why should I help you? You are working against my people...'

'But they've cast you out, now...' Hal replied, still looking away. 'Look, Princess, I don't really know what my quest is! Gangrel was close-mouthed about it until the end. Now he's gone, I haven't a clue! All I know is that he wanted me to get this Runeblade. I'm not even sure why.'

'Then do so!' Mordis cried. 'Where is the Runeblade? The Foretelling says that it will be forged by the dwarves.'

Hal looked at her searchingly. He remembered her words from before. Did she truly...? But she was waiting for his answer. 'I suppose so,' he replied.

'Then you must go to them,' Mordis insisted. 'Go to Aurvangar, and bid them forge your sword. Then... we shall see.'

'Princess...' Hal said suddenly. 'Did you mean what you said before? In the castle?'

Mordis looked away, coyly. All of a sudden, the strange new Mordis who had spoken so sternly was gone. 'Maybe,' she said primly. 'Wouldn't you like to know?'

She raced back towards the fire, laughing a mocking laugh.

Bewildered, Hal trailed after her. 'Is Gangrel dead?' he asked, looking round at the others. 'That's what I want to know.'

'We must continue without him,' Tanngrisnir said grimly. 'And you, Hal, must learn to stand on your own two feet.'

Hal folded his arms, feeling more than a little insulted. 'That's all very well!' he replied. 'But Gangrel knew what he was doing. All I know is that I was supposed to go to the realm of the dwarves to get this Runeblade forged. Alright; I'll do it. The Princess has convinced me. It's either that or go home, somehow... and I don't have a home to go to. And since we... since I abandoned Gangrel, the least I can do is what he wanted me to do.

'But what am I supposed to do? Turn up on the dwarves' doorstep and say, please sir, could you forge me a Runeblade? Tanngrisnir, you know them. What will they say?'

Tanngrisnir stroked his beard. 'They will welcome you,' he replied confidently. 'They have been expecting your arrival for millennia.'

Hal looked at him blankly. Millennia? Thousands of years? He was only sixteen. 'Oh,' he said at last. 'Well, that's alright then.' He laughed humourlessly. 'And what do I do with this Runeblade?'

'You must first learn how to wield it,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'And when you can, you must use it in the war against the Sons of Muspell.'

Hal rubbed his face numbly. This was all too much responsibility. 'Well, alright,' he said at last. 'It doesn't look like I've got much of a choice.' He looked at the others. At Gwen, and at Eric. At Ilmadis, and Mordis. Then at Tanngrisnir again. 'Tanngrisnir, I hope you'll come with me,' he said.

The dwarf bowed. 'It will be an honour,' he rumbled.

'As for the rest of you,' Hal said, looking around, 'I don't insist any of you come. Gwen, Eric; you'd be better off going home. Ilmadis, I hope you can return to your own world. Mordis; the choice is yours.'

'I'm coming!' Gwen said indignantly.

'I suppose that means I'm coming too,' Eric added. 'If you two are going to be wandering round dangerous places, you'll need me to look after you.'

'I'll come with you, too,' Ilmadis said, looking loyally at Gwen. 'If you'll permit me.'

Princess Mordis looked down her nose. 'Since I have no pressing business at present,' she said airily, 'I believe I'll join you.'

She leaned over, and much to his dismay, kissed Hal.

'We'd be better off leaving these creatures,' Tanngrisnir announced some time later. He was indicating the dragons, who lay curled up among the rocks.

'Why?' asked Mordis. 'We will surely not walk to the dwarf-realm?'

'If we fly in on dragons,' Tanngrisnir said, 'they will shoot us out of the sky, thinking us swart-elves.'

'Some of us are,' Mordis reminded him tartly.

'Aye,' Tanngrisnir replied in dour tones. 'Which may lead to more problems...'

'But what will they do if we just leave them here?' Gwen asked. She had grown strangely fond of her reptilian mount. 'There's nothing for them to eat!'

'They'll return to Svartaborg as soon as they're hungry,' Mordis assured her. 'That, or eat the dwarf!'

Tanngrisnir ignored her. 'Lichen grows upon the rocks. They can eat that. And if they return to Svartaborg without us,' he said, 'the swart-elves may think us dead.'

'Good thinking, Tanngrisnir,' Hal said, heartily. He slapped the dwarf on the back. 'Okay, so we're walking. Say goodbye to the dragons, Gwen. We're off!'

Shouldering their packs, containing the meagre rations they had found in the saddlebags, the six travellers began to pick their way across the plain of gravel.

Far behind them, the Dark Moon Fells loomed menacingly on the distant skyline. Occasionally, the distant specks of dragons flitted across the otherwise empty blackness. The cold plain stretched for miles around them. Mist obscured the horizon ahead.

The River Gioll wound across the plain, and they followed its gravel banks from the moment they struck it. It flowed rapidly past, back the way they had come, through the ravine, past Svartaborg, then down across the barren land beyond, into Helheim, and ultimately the dark and silent ocean where Hal had awoken so long ago.

Horror was behind them; ahead lay an uncertain destiny. Dismissing both the past and the future, Hal concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

END OF BOOK TWO

BOOK THREE: HALLS OF STONE

1 DARK MOON PLAINS

The wind blew cold across the Dark Moon Plains.

The dim forms that crept wearily along the river path were still far from their destination. Banks of mist hung in the air beside the bank, growing thicker as the wanderers crossed the plains. Their feet crunched in gravel as they plodded on through the gathering murk. Blank skies arched overhead, and the plain stretched dimly in all directions. Now and then, winged shapes would fly over, too high above to be more than dark specks against the black skies.

The River Gioll was little more than a stream here, and silent as it sped past them, eager to reach the plateau edge and leap tumbling into the lands beyond. Mist hung thickly over the waters, twisting and spiralling, lit by the witchfire that dimly illumined these worlds.

'How much further?' Eric said. Hal looked up from his plodding feet, eager to hear the answer.

'Only a few more leagues, Light-foot,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'Do your feet drag now? Soon we will reach Aurvangar, and my people.'

Mordis drew a hissing breath. 'And what kind of welcome will they extend to a swart-elf?'

Hal shrugged. No one answered. They plodded on in silence.

The wind grew louder, and it briefly dispersed the curtain of mist, opening windows upon the surrounding plain. Hal saw strange, gnarled rocks that resembled petrified warriors rising from the ground nearby.

Cresting a rise, where Gioll-stream tumbled over rapids, the travellers halted, gazing out across the muddy fields beyond. In the mist-hung murk, distant shapes were visible; buildings, it seemed to Hal, who squinted into the gloom at them. Or they might have been wind-carved cliffs. Mounds of rock, like slagheaps, dotted the expanse of mud.

Tanngrisnir halted, and loosened his sword belt. 'That is Aurvangar,' he said, indicating the distant, dimly visible buildings. 'There the dwarves have their hall.'

'What about their forge?' Hal asked.

'It lies below the Hall of Sindri,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'There the king of smiths will forge the Runeblade, if the Foretelling is true.'

'And what then?' Gwen said. She shivered as the cold winds howled around their vantage point.

'About time we were moving,' Eric said.

'I wish to rest,' Mordis announced. 'I am unaccustomed to walking such distances.'

Hal looked at Eric, who shrugged. 'Why not?' He sat down in the lea of a boulder.

Hal and the others copied him, easing off their packs and find places to sit. Only Tanngrisnir remained standing, gazing out across the plain at the mist-hung halls of the dwarves.

'It must be a long time since you've been in these parts,' Hal said, looking up at the dwarf.

'I failed my duty,' Tanngrisnir said sombrely. 'I was entrusted with the wardenship of the Midgard tunnel, I and my companions. But Prince Helgrim and his swart-elves slew my warriors. Only I escaped.'

'But you've helped us since then,' Gwen said. 'You haven't been wasting your time.'

'Helped you?' Tanngrisnir replied bitterly. 'I introduced you to Althiof. See how that ended. Besides, I have been away too long.'

'Dwarves are a stubborn, prideful lot,' Ilmadis whispered, leaning over to Gwen. 'He feels that he has betrayed his people's trust.'

Gwen grunted. What a happy gang they were, these days. She leant back against a rock, and closed her eyes.

'So the dwarves will forge my sword,' Hal was saying. 'What do I do then? I must learn to wield it? How do I do that? Tanngrisnir; who will teach me to wield the Runeblade?'

'Who teaches the heroes?' Tanngrisnir replied mysteriously.

'You're getting as bad as... as Gangrel ever was,' replied Hal with forced cheerfulness. 'So who does teach heroes?'

'Quiet!' Eric hissed suddenly, opening one eye.

He was leaning against a rock near Gwen, but he had been listening intently to distant noises. Seeing everyone's eye on him, he leant forward. 'I thought I heard... movement.' He nodded back in the direction they had come. 'From over there.'

'Footsteps?' Hal asked.

Eric looked puzzled. 'More like... a kind of padding. Not human. Or elf, or dwarf - there it is again!'

This time, everyone heard the sound, a pad of feet from the far side of the rock. Something, maybe more than one thing - was prowling around - stalking them?

Suddenly, Princess Mordis stood up straight.

'Get down!' Hal hissed, trying to haul her back.

'Don't be a fool!' She laughed. 'They've come after me! Oh, my dearest ones!'

Hal looked up at her as if she had gone mad. 'Who?' he hissed. An awful thought struck him. 'Not Prince Helgrim?'

Mordis strode past them, calling loudly. A rush of feet, and suddenly two wolves burst in among them.

Hal drew his sword. Tanngrisnir brandished Helbrand. Eric scrambled away from the rock.

'No!' Gwen shouted.

'What?' Hal cried. He stared at Mordis, who was fussing round the beasts, stroking their silver fur and pulling their ears. They fawned before her, darting glances at the others, occasionally growling.

'Oh!' Ilmadis said. 'It is Ylg and Varg.' She ran to join Mordis, and the wolves welcomed her.

Gwen grinned at the others. 'Morbid's pet wolves,' she explained succinctly.

'They came after me!' Mordis was bubbling. 'All the way from Svartaborg, all the way across the plains! Your poor little paws! Did you run away after Mistress? I've missed you!'

Tanngrisnir studied the creatures dourly, and spat. 'How do we know this isn't some kind of trap?' he said suspiciously.

'Oh, rubbish,' Gwen told him.

A swart-elf voice rang through the misty air.

'I've lost sight of those wolves, captain.'

Hal glanced at Tanngrisnir. 'A patrol!' he hissed. 'They must have followed the wolves!'

'Hide!' Tanngrisnir urged them, crouching down behind the rocks. 'Everyone hide. Keep those wolves under control, Princess.'

He wriggled his way to the top of the boulder, and peered over it, back in the direction from which they had come; the direction from which the voice came.

'They must be here somewhere; doubtless it means the Princess is near. Seek them out, and if you find her, remember our orders are to kill on sight; the Princess, and all her companions.'

Mordis gasped.

'What can you see, Tanngrisnir?' Hal hissed.

After a few more seconds, the dwarf slithered back down to join them. 'A large patrol,' he reported. 'Nine or more swart-elves. Too many for us to fight, tired as we are. Keep your wolves quiet, Princess. We must hope they do not find us here, and move off.'

Just then, a clatter of hooves on gravel broke out, from somewhere ahead of their position. Hal looked at Tanngrisnir. 'What do you suppose that is?' he enquired.

'Ponies!' Tanngrisnir replied. 'It must be my people.' He struggled to his feet, but Eric pulled him back down.

'Don't show yourself yet,' he said. 'Let's see what happens, first.'

'What do you mean?' the dwarf grunted.

'Let's see how the swart-elves react,' Eric told him.

'Who goes there?' a voice roared from ahead.

'Dwarves!' a swart-elf cursed. 'We've come too close to their territory.'

'Give the password, or rue the consequences!' the dwarf bellowed.

'Svartaborg!' the swart-elf shrieked.

'Swart-elves! Attack!'

Hooves thundered across the gravel. Metal clashed, sparks illuminated the top of the boulder, shields groaned, and warriors screamed. Hal scrambled to the top of the boulder. His eyes widened at the sight revealed.

A troop of mounted dwarves was engaged in combat with lightly armoured swart-elf warriors. Already, corpses of both races littered the riverbank. One dwarf swung a two-handed battleaxe above his head; another brandished a sword, dismembering swart-elves left and right. Covering the swart-elf swordsmen were others armed with bows, whose shafts had feathered several dwarves or their ponies.

Hal leapt back down. 'It's a slaughter!' he told the others. 'The swart-elves are falling, but the dwarves are dying by the second.'

Tanngrisnir hefted Helbrand. 'Come, then!' he rumbled. 'Let us relieve them!' Hal was about to follow him, when Eric put a hand on the dwarf's arm.

'Don't you see?' he hissed. 'This is a chance for us to escape!'

'What coward words are these?' Tanngrisnir roared, in the grip of a berserk fury. 'Battle has begun!'

'What if Hal is killed?' Eric insisted. 'What will happen to Gangrel's plans then? How will that affect this Foretelling?'

'He's got a point there,' Gwen said. 'But it does seem a bit off, running out on the dwarves like this.'

'What loyalty do we owe them?' Mordis grimaced.

'Well, we'd better make a decision,' Hal said. 'Before the dwarves are all slaughtered, and the swart-elves come looking for your wolves, Princess.'

Eric looked cunningly at him. 'Don't you mean you had better make a decision?' he replied. 'You're the leader now, remember?'

Hal was torn. Every instinct told him to rush to the side of the dwarves, to fight beside them, perhaps to die valiantly in their defence. But he had wider responsibilities. If he was to wield the Runeblade and defeat the forces of evil, he couldn't afford to throw away his life on a mad impulse.

He looked apologetically at Tanngrisnir. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But I think Eric is right. Not that I insist anyone comes with me. But my first priority is to go to Aurvangar and see that the Runeblade is forged.'

Tanngrisnir looked grim. 'Very well, then,' he said resignedly. 'I will come with you.'

'Well, let's move, then!' Eric said. With misgivings, Hal rose, and he and his friends scrambled from the hollow.

They reached the crest of the rise, and Hal looked back. In the murk, it was difficult to tell if the dwarves or swart-elves were winning. Steel flashed like lightning, bodies plunged, shouts and screams echoed from the surrounding rocks.

The travellers hurried on through the mist.

The ground grew muddy as they came down the other side of the rise, and the difference between river and land grew less distinct. Mist hung thick over the morass as they splashed wetly through the marl. Again, it became almost impossible to see beyond their immediate position. As a result, they almost stumbled into the guard post before a voice rapped out:

'Who goes there?'

The travellers halted, peering into the murk. A jagged crag, shaped like a tower, rose ahead of them, indistinct in the swirling fog. Two short, burly, bearded figures stood in its shadow. They seemed to be training crossbows on the travellers.

Hal glanced at Tanngrisnir. 'I think this is your bit,' he said.

Tanngrisnir nodded shortly, and drew himself up. He stepped forward.

'It is I, Tanngrisnir of Aurvangar, descendant of Lofar!' he proclaimed. 'I have returned!'

'Tanngrisnir? We thought you dead. The swart-elves seized the tunnel to Midgard. What happened?'

Tanngrisnir glanced at his companions. 'Before I make my report, may my fellow-travellers and I receive that hospitality for which our race is duly famed? We have travelled long and far to reach you and we are weary.'

'Very well,' said the other dwarf. 'Follow me.'

Leaving the first dwarf to guard the path, they followed the dwarf up a rough-hewn stair that led up the side of the crag. It ended in a heavy wooden door, which the dwarf shouldered open, his shirt of mail jingling as he did so, to reveal an archway cut into the living rock. He led them through it.

Within was a high-roofed cave, warmed only by a guttering fire in one corner, whose smoke drifted up through a crack in the rock. Two other dwarves were lying nearby on fur-strewn stone shelves like bunks, their rugged, bearded faces illuminated by the flickering firelight.

'Who are these, Annar?' one of them asked in a deep, fierce voice, as the travellers entered the cave.

'Tanngrisnir,' the dwarf Annar replied. 'He is not dead! And with him he brings a motley band of humans - and elves - one a swart-elf!'

Hal realised that Annar had not noticed Mordis beforehand. The dwarf's voice rose with outrage as he saw the Princess standing among the others. Her wolves growled low in their throats.

'The Princess is a renegade,' Tanngrisnir said placatingly. 'She fled her own people to join us.'

Throwing back his fur mantle, the third dwarf rose. In the light of the fire, Hal saw he was a ferocious-looking bearded dwarf with long, braided black hair, wearing furs and leathers. He stared at them with piggy eyes.

'And who are your other companions?' he asked fiercely. 'Tanngrisnir, we know you. It surprises me to see you still alive after your command were slaughtered. But who are these lofty fellows?'

Tanngrisnir seemed perturbed by this unfriendly reception. 'This is Hal. He is the one spoken of in the Foretelling; the bearer of the Runeblade,' he said, indicating the youth. The dwarf looked at Hal with a suspicious eye, but said nothing. 'The others are his companions from Midgard, or encountered during the journey,' Tanngrisnir added. He named each in turn. 'We go now to Sindri's Hall where the king of smiths will forge the Runeblade. The swart-elves are in alliance with the fire giants, and the Day of Ragnarok looms. We travelled with Grimnir himself before we lost him.'

The more Tanngrisnir revealed, the more the dwarf on the bunk remained silent, staring in an unfriendly manner at the travellers. Finally, he spoke. 'Where you found these vagabonds and wanderers I do not know, Tanngrisnir. But know this.

'Your name will gain no favour in Aurvangar. You betrayed a sacred trust, laid upon us by the wizard Grimnir. We had thought you died valiantly, resisting Prince Helgrim's attacks. Now we know otherwise. Do not think that you will escape your doom with spurious claims of journeying with Grimnir, or of accompanying the wielder of the Runeblade. Your conduct dishonours the Sons of Lofar. I must demand you and your companions give up your weapons and accompany us to the Doom-Ring in Aurvangar. There you will be tried and sentenced for dereliction of duty.' The dwarf glanced at Mordis. 'And since you journey with swart-elves in these warlike days, treachery may well be added to your crimes.'

Tanngrisnir looked in silence at the dwarf. Slowly, sadly, he unbuckled his sword and flung it to the floor. He motioned the others to do the same.

2 SINDRI'S HALL

Unwillingly, one by one, the others gave up their weapons. Now the dwarf who had questioned them rose, stretching his stocky frame. 'I am Dolgthrasir,' he said, 'captain of this outpost. It's my duty to take you to Aurvangar.'

He barked orders to his companions. They found ponies for the travellers and set out, with Dolgthrasir at their head and Annar as rearguard. Hal learnt that their path led them across the mist-hung morass, due south.

'Well,' he said, peering through the mist ahead, 'at least we're going where we wanted to.'

Tanngrisnir gave him a sour glance.

Eric looked quickly at the two dwarves guarding them. 'Why don't we make a break for it?' he whispered. 'There are only two of them. You don't want to be put on trial, do you, Tanngrisnir?'

Tanngrisnir frowned. 'It would be dishonourable to flee them,' he replied. 'Besides, Hal is right. We are going where we intended. It is imperative that Hal goes to Sindri's Hall and receives the Runeblade. What happens to me is of little account.'

'Rubbish!' Gwen said fiercely, riding beside him. 'You've helped us. It wasn't your fault the swart-elves defeated you.'

Tanngrisnir looked more sombre than ever. 'According to the code of my warrior kindred, I should have remained with my fellows; died with them.'

'Why didn't you, then?' Eric asked brightly.

'Eric!' Gwen remonstrated.

'No, Gwen; Eric is right to ask,' Tanngrisnir said. 'And others will ask the same. When I saw the swart-elves were slaughtering us, I resolved to follow them, learn what they intended to do in your world, and to foil it somehow, if I could. But I lost them in the bright light of Midgard, wandered lost and alone for days until I encountered you.'

'Since when you've helped us, like Gwen says,' Hal replied. 'Helped me! The bearer of the Runeblade!' His chest swelled with pride.

'Which hasn't even been forged yet,' Eric carped. 'Still, if it is going to be made, we'll have to get Tanngrisnir out of trouble first.'

'Aye, we owe it to him,' Ilmadis said. Hal looked at her. She looked self-conscious. 'Without him - and all of you - I would still be a slave of the swart-elves.'

Mordis, riding on her own nearby, her wolves follow at her ponies' heels, looked at them all disdainfully.

In the mist to either side of the path, Hal began to notice low, humped buildings. Up ahead, larger constructions of stone were visible. A gleaming light filtered through the haze.

Gwen squinted towards the source of the light. 'Is it the sun?' she asked, longingly. 'Is it the sun, at last?'

Dolgthrasir, riding a little ahead of them turned in her direction. 'You won't see Dvalinn's Doll, as we call the Sun, in these dark lands,' he told her gruffly. 'The light you see ahead is that of Sindri's golden hall. There lies our destination, the Doom-Ring of the dwarves.' He rode on.

Small, stocky figures were occasionally visible in the swirling mist. The travellers passed a mound from which came a glow of fire, and the repetitive tap of a hammer.

'Sindri's sons,' Tanngrisnir said with a scowl. 'Smith-folk.'

'You don't sound as if you like them,' Gwen said questioningly.

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'My kindred have long been at feud with them,' he replied.

'Your folk are the warriors, then?' Eric asked. 'And you don't get on with the smiths?'

'Don't we need them to forge the Runeblade?' Hal asked, with a start. Dwarven politics were starting to look as complex as those of the swart-elves.

'Two smith kindreds dwell in Aurvangar,' Tanngrisnir told them as the ponies plodded on, 'The Sons of Ivaldi and the Sons of Sindri. Long, long ago the god Loki brought about a contest between the two kindreds to forge the treasures of the Aesir.

'The Sons of Ivaldi, Dvalinn and his brothers, made the Hair of Sif, the Spear of Odin, and the Ship of Frey. The Sons of Sindri - Eitri and Brokk - forged the ring Draupnir, the boar Gullinbursti, and Mjollnir, Thor's hammer.

'Loki wagered his head that Sindri's sons could not forge greater treasures than their rivals. Through a trick, he escaped beheading, but Brokk sewed Loki's lips together. That kept him quiet for a while.

'But since then, the two smith kindreds have been at feud. My folk, the descendants of Lofar, valiant warriors all, have always favoured the Ivaldi kindred. But the feuds still tear the dwarf-realm apart, and leave it open to the attacks of the swart-elves.'

Eric rode on in silence, next to the dwarf. 'Well,' he said at last. 'This sounds really promising.'

The Hall of Sindri swam up out of the mist, and the travellers fell silent. Gold glittered from its mighty door-pillars and from the gables that rose above the door as they rode slowly towards the Hall. Gold shone from its roof-shingles. Gold inlaid the writhing carvings that decorated its walls. The Hall was at least thirty feet high, and it towered over the other dwarf dwellings that dotted the muddy plain. The travellers rode towards the great doorway.

Dwarf-guards stood to attention on either side of the arch, out of which spilled a red-gold light. They wore armour of burnished brass, fantastically worked, and carried halberds with which they blocked the travellers' path.

'Who goes there?' the captain of the guard barked.

'It's Dolgthrasir, of the Sons of Lofar,' Dolgthrasir bellowed. 'Bringing Tanngrisnir, as a prisoner.'

'Tanngrisnir?' the captain cried. 'Then he is not dead! But you hold him prisoner? And who are these who ride with him? One of them is a swart-elf!'

'They're his companions,' Dolgthrasir told the captain. 'Tanngrisnir's been wandering, it seems. I take him now to be judged at the Doom-Ring.'

The dwarves removed their halberds from his path, and Dolgthrasir led them into the hall.

Within was a wide, open space, warm after the chill of the plains, flanked on either side by hall-pillars that gave on to smaller chambers. Fire-trenches led up either side of the hall, the ruddy light glinting from the gold that ornamented the pillars and rafters. The ponies' horseshoes struck sparks from the flagstones.

Up ahead was a ring of stones, beyond which three dwarves sat upon a dais. A throng of dwarves busied themselves about the hall. Within the ring of stones stood a black bearded dwarf, flanked by guards.

'... not murder, but fair and lawful killing,' the dwarf was saying to the three dwarves upon the dais. 'Haugspori's grandfather slew my great uncle!'

'Then if it was lawful killing,' said the central dwarf, 'pay the mulct decreed by the council, and have done with your whining. More important cases await us!'

Angrily, the dwarf turned, and flung a pouch of gold at another dwarf waiting nearby, then strode from the ring. As the three dwarves on the dais spoke to each other in muted tones, Dolgthrasir leapt down from his pony, flung the reins to a dwarf servant who rushed forward, and strode towards the dais.

'Who are those three?' Gwen asked.

'On the dais?' Tanngrisnir asked. 'They are the chieftains of the three main kindreds: Dvalinn, of the Sons of Ivaldi; Brokk, of the Sons of Sindri; and my chieftain, Eikinskialdi of the Sons of Lofar. They sit in judgement over our people.'

'Chieftains!' Dolgthrasir roared. 'My humble apologies for breaking in upon proceedings thus, but I bring news of the gravest import. Tanngrisnir has returned!'

Eikinskialdi, the central dwarf, looked down at the captain. He was a fat, black-bearded fellow dressed in green and yellow. 'Tanngrisnir?' he rumbled. 'But rumour said that he was slain, and all his warriors with him! The swart-elves hold the tunnel to Midgard. Where is he?'

'Step forward, Tanngrisnir of the Sons of Lofar,' called a dwarf-herald. His face white, Tanngrisnir got down from his pony, and crossed the floor to Dolgthrasir's side.

'It is Tanngrisnir,' said the chieftain to Eikinskialdi's left, a squat, swarthy dwarf with huge black eyebrows. 'Back from the dead! What means this?'

'Let us hear his account, Brokk.' The third dwarf chieftain was a white-bearded ancient who wore a ceremonial blacksmith's apron. 'How come you to Aurvangar, Tanngrisnir?' he asked, raising his voice.

Tanngrisnir looked soberly at the three chieftains. 'The swart-elves attacked our stronghold in the tunnel, Dvalinn,' he replied. 'Prince Helgrim himself led them. They were too strong for us, although we slew as many as we could. They overwhelmed us.'

'And yet you survived,' Brokk said quietly. 'How was that?'

'The attack was clearly significant,' Tanngrisnir replied, 'since it was led by Prince Helgrim, second most important person in the swart-elf kingdom. When I saw we were outnumbered, doomed, I concealed myself...'

'You hid from them?' Brokk demanded.

'Let him speak,' Dvalinn said softly.

'I concealed myself, and trailed them through the tunnel to the entrance to Midgard,' Tanngrisnir replied, his voice rising. 'Then, in the bright light beyond, I lost them. I wandered alone and friendless in Midgard for days ere I encountered three humans, who are among my companions. Then Grimnir himself appeared.'

'Grimnir?' Eikinskialdi leaned forward. 'You have been with Grimnir? Long has he been absent from our halls.'

Tanngrisnir continued with his story. The dwarves listened intently, and Hal found himself subject to many penetrating and appraising stares when Tanngrisnir identified him as the future bearer of the Runeblade. Only one other of his companions attracted as much attention - Princess Mordis.

'How do we not know that all this is not a lie?' Brokk asked, his crafty eyes flickering from Tanngrisnir to the swart-elf. 'You could have gone over to the swart-elf side! These humans might be no more than dupes! Only you survived Prince Helgrim's attack. You say you lost Grimnir in Svartaborg. Most careless. And you gained a princess of the swart-elves, no less!'

'His words ring true,' Eikinskialdi rumbled. 'You forget, Tanngrisnir is a great hero! His exploits have been sung in many a hall throughout the worlds.'

'Loki was once considered a great hero among the Aesir,' Brokk replied cunningly. 'Yet he joined the side of chaos. Let us not forget, in these exploits of which he brags Tanngrisnir was often accompanied by Hlymir, one of giant race!'

Tanngrisnir growled low in his throat. 'My old comrade Hlymir may have been a giant,' he replied. 'But he was a storm giant, a sworn foe of the frost giants of Utgard, and an outspoken ally of the Aesir!'

Hal turned to his friends. 'It looks like there's more to our friend than we'd guessed,' he whispered, as the dwarves continued to debate. 'He's never mentioned this Hlymir before.'

'These dwarves are a quarrelsome bunch of windbags,' Mordis said.

'I wish they'd get to the point,' Gwen said. 'Aren't we supposed to be here so Hal can get this Runeblade forged?'

'That's right,' Eric said. 'Hal, tell them!'

Hal looked at the arguing dwarves. He opened his mouth to break in on their wrangling, but then closed it again, feeling inadequate, as the argument reached a new level. Would he ever find a chance to get a word in edgeways?

'So Tanngrisnir is now accompanied by another renegade,' Eikinskialdi was shouting. 'It does not mean that he is a traitor. We have heard word how Princess Mordis' cousin, the evil Prince Helgrim, imprisoned her. Now she has joined the side of good.'

'Who can trust a turncoat?' Brokk sneered. 'Who knows when they might betray you? You heard what Tanngrisnir said concerning Althiof!'

'Then you admit that Tanngrisnir's tale is true?' Dvalinn asked slowly. 'That Princess Mordis has joined forces with Tanngrisnir?'

'What? Why, clearly,' Brokk spluttered, disconcerted.

'So Tanngrisnir is proved to be a faithful servant of Aurvangar!' Eikinskialdi barked. Brokk fell silent.

Hal seized his opportunity. 'Look, this really isn't important!' He was conscious of the dwarves all turning to look up at him. 'First off, the swart-elves are planning an attack on you. What are you going do to fight them? They've got dragons...'

'We know this,' Eikinskialdi interrupted. 'My warriors attacked Svartaborg. They were defeated.'

'How can we fight dragons?' Dvalinn asked quietly. 'Better to buy off the swart-elves with the gold that is so common in this stretch of the river.'

'But if we pay them tribute once,' Brokk argued, 'we will have to buy them off again and again, until we entirely lose the advantage gained in the days of Lofar, when we seized possession of the river banks. We cannot allow them to hold us to ransom!'

Eikinskialdi spread his hands. 'Then will your kindred fight?' he asked with a harsh laugh. 'For the warrior Sons of Lofar confess themselves beaten, now that the swart-elves can field dragons. The only means I know of to counter this threat lies in the hoard of the Niflungs. And who would dare return to Niflheim to seek it?'

'Just a minute!' Hal broke in, impatient. 'I didn't come here to listen to you lot bickering. Gangrel - Grimnir, as you call him - wanted me to come here for one reason, and one reason only. You dwarves are the only people who can forge the Runeblade; it'll be forged by the king of smiths.'

He looked at the three chieftains in turn, so angry at their bickering that he forgot all the dwarves watching him, forgot all self-consciousness. He had failed Gangrel, left him behind - to die, it seemed - in Svartaborg. But he was going to make up for it. If Gangrel had wanted him to become the bearer of the Runeblade, he would do it, even if he didn't really know what to do. But he needed to convince these dwarves to do their duty.

'Very well, then,' said Dvalinn, reasonably. 'I will set my smiths to work upon it.'

'Your smiths?' Brokk spat. 'In all the worlds, my kindred are the kings of smithcraft! Why should your botchers take on this great work?'

'Silence!' Eikinskialdi roared. He turned to Hal. 'The dwarves agree to forge this great sword. But on the condition that you fulfil a service for us first.'

Before Hal could ask what the dwarf chieftain meant, a messenger came hurrying into the hall. It was unusual to see dwarves moving quickly, and the sight did not inspire confidence. The dwarf waddled to a halt before the Doom-Ring.

'Chieftains!' he gasped, his face purple with exertion.

'Aye, Hornbori?' asked Eikinskialdi. 'What is it?'

'The swart-elves are coming!'

3 COUNCIL OF WAR

The background chatter of the hall ceased. Silence descended, until only the crackle of the hall-fires was audible.

'What are their positions? Their numbers?' Eikinskialdi demanded.

'They have issued out from Svartaborg,' Hornbori replied. 'The message came by the beacons. It sounds as if the whole host is on the move - Prince Helgrim's entire army. They number thousands. Renegade dwarves, trolls, and dragons make up their auxiliaries.'

'Dragons!' Eikinskialdi cursed. 'What can we do against dragons?'

'Send out messengers,' Dvalinn commanded. 'Inquire as to why they ride out in such numbers, and offer them gifts to keep them away from our dwellings.'

'This is war,' Eikinskialdi replied. 'In such time, my authority as war-chief is paramount. We shall not treat with them. As Brokk says, that will only worsen the situation.'

'The swart-elves are intent on driving us out of their world,' Tanngrisnir broke in. 'What need do they have for our gold if they can force us from Aurvangar with steel? Then they would have all the gold they desire.'

Eikinskialdi arose, and paced up and down the dais. Finally, he turned, and rapped out: 'Tell the warriors to harry the advancing army. Do not engage them in battle, but make lightning attacks on their flanks, withdrawing as soon as they show signs of massing against us. And at all costs, avoid the dragons.'

'They're not invincible,' Hal told him. 'I killed one before. Stab them in the belly, that's where they're weakest.' He told them about his fight.

Eikinskialdi listened intently. 'Ensure that this intelligence is passed on to all our warriors,' he told Hornbori. 'Immediately!'

Hornbori turned, and rushed from the hall.

'This is ill news,' Brokk said. 'What will you do to defeat them, Son of Lofar? Raiding their flanks will not be enough. Soon their dragon-riders will be flying over Aurvangar. What then?'

Eikinskialdi sat down again, and stroked his beard meditatively. Hal turned to his companions. 'We should have kept those dragons,' he told them. 'If we had, then the dwarves would stand a chance.'

'If they had not slain us out of hand as we landed,' Tanngrisnir reminded him. He was watching Eikinskialdi.

The dwarf chieftain rose. He turned to Hal and the others. 'Before Hornbori entered, I was about to ask somewhat of you,' he told them. 'In return for the forging of the Runeblade, I wish you to do somewhat. Know you aught of Niflheim?'

Hal shook his head. Mordis sighed loudly. 'I do,' she said. 'It is the world of mist, and lies south of here. It is the world from which you dwarves came to loot the richest lands in the swart-elf kingdom.'

Brokk grimaced. 'What attempts had your folk made to mine or even pan for gold?' he demanded. 'Sindri, Lofar and Ivaldi seized these lands from you by right of conquest, and put them to better use! Now that you know of their riches, you want them back. But it is more fitting that the dwarves retain them.'

'You won't have them for long if you don't do something about my cousin's armies,' Mordis replied snidely.

'That's enough of that!' Hal said angrily. He looked at Eikinskialdi. 'So Niflheim is where the dwarves came from? What about it?'

'As has been mentioned,' Eikinskialdi mentioned, with a glower at Brokk, 'ages ago, Lofar led a dwarven exodus into this world, fleeing the depredations of the trolls, attracted mainly by the gold-rich silts of this stretch of the Gioll. But not all the dwarves came with him. Those whom we know as the Niflungs, the people of the mist, remained in Niflheim, at Salarsteini by Svarin's Howe, in the old dwarf kingdom. We have heard little of them for many years. Even then, the trolls were threatening Salarsteini. We fear that the kingdom of the dwarves fell long ago...'

'But what's this got to do with defeating the swart-elves?' Hal had heard quite enough ancient history. More pressing concerns interested him.

'The hoard of the Niflungs was justly famous,' Eikinskialdi continued, 'and I believe echoes of its legend reached even your own world at one time. King Alfrek owned many rich and magical artefacts - helms of invisibility, spears of destiny, rings of power... and the alftarhamir, feathercloaks, magical garments that imbued the wearer with the ability to fly. The Niflungs kept thirteen of these in the Niflung hoard at Salarsteini. If the Norns are kind to us, they will still be thither.'

'But you said the trolls sacked the old dwarf kingdom,' Hal objected. 'Won't they have taken the cloaks?'

Eikinskialdi shrugged eloquently. 'We do not know for certain that Salarsteini fell,' he replied. 'We have had no contact from our cousins for many ages, but who knows? Besides, it is our only chance. If we are to so much as equal the swart-elf forces, we must have aerial troops.'

'What we need is the RAF,' Eric muttered.

'Shut up, Eric,' Gwen said. She turned to Hal, who was deep in thought. 'Like he says, it's our only hope. Unless the dwarves can defeat the swart-elves, they won't be able to forge the Runeblade. And we must make sure they do. For Gangrel's sake.'

Hal looked at her with tormented eyes. 'What if the trolls took these feathercloaks? It'll be no more than a wild-goose chase...' He sighed. 'Very well,' he told Eikinskialdi. 'We will go into Niflheim, to Salarsteini. If we can find these feathercloaks, we'll return at once.'

'My thanks,' the dwarf chieftain replied. 'Meanwhile, my warriors must find some way to delay the swart-elf advance. For the moment, our lightning attacks should soften them, but it is a tactic that will soon become ineffective, as the swart-elves grow to expect them.'

'What if you send out, say, half your forces to meet them in the middle of the plains?' Eric suggested suddenly. 'Fight a pitched battle, then retreat and lead them away from Aurvangar for a while - long enough for us to get these feathercloaks. Then they can retreat towards Aurvangar – hopefully, the swart-elves will find it tough going over these muddy fields - where the other half of your force can encircle them. Then in comes the aerial division.'

Gwen looked admiringly at Eric. 'That's a good idea,' she said. Hal nodded. He was unaccustomed to such earnestness from Eric.

Eikinskialdi nodded ponderously. 'A good battle plan,' he said, and Eric grinned. 'You are clearly a seasoned general!'

Eric shrugged. 'Just played a few strategy games on my computer,' he muttered, embarrassed.

'News from the front!' Another dwarf messenger came rushing in. 'Dragons have wiped out almost all our forces! They were prepared for our attacks, and pursued the raiders with dragons. Barely any survive!'

He stood gasping in the centre of the hall, gazing up at Eikinskialdi piteously. The war-chief took the news calmly enough. 'We must readjust our tactics,' he said. 'Tanngrisnir!'

'Aye, chief?' asked Tanngrisnir.

'It is time for you to wipe out the blot on your honour! Go to the barracks and gather enough troops to keep the swart-elf army occupied. Take Dolgthrasir with you, as your lieutenant. Then ride out and meet them in the plain. Follow your human friend's plan.'

'Aye, chief,' Tanngrisnir replied. He turned, gave a curt nod to Hal and the others, and then bustled hurriedly from the hall, followed by a glowering Dolgthrasir.

'Brokk, Dvalinn,' Eikinskialdi commanded, 'get your folk to start producing arrowheads, spearheads, and the like. We may well need to call on every able-bodied dwarf in Aurvangar to stave off this incursion. And while you're about it, prepare to forge the Runeblade.'

'That honour should be mine!' Brokk hissed.

'My people are the greater smiths...' Dvalinn countered quietly.

'Cease arguing and get to work,' the war-chief barked.

Favouring him with resentful looks, the two chieftains rose from their seats and went to muster their folk. Soon the hall was bustling again, as the dwarves prepared for war.

Hal, Gwen, Eric, Ilmadis and Mordis - and her wolves - were left alone. Eikinskialdi approached them. 'You see how urgent it is that we have these feathercloaks?' he asked.

Hal nodded. 'Certainly. We'll go to Niflheim at once. But you must tell us how to get there.'

Eikinskialdi nodded. 'Follow me,' he told them, and led them into a curtained side-chamber off the bustling hall. Within was an oaken desk, covered with parchments. The war-chief opened a drawer, and produced a scroll.

'This is a map of the worlds inhabited by dwarf-folk,' he told them, as it cracked and crumbled in his hands. 'It is ancient - once it belonged to Lofar himself. It is doubtless out of date. But it shows Aurvangar, and it shows Salarsteini. Look.'

Hal bent over the crumbling old parchment. The map was faint, and the crabbed writing seemed to be in runes of some kind, but he recognised the Dark Moon Fells, and the River Gioll winding through the plains. A little picture of a hall marked Aurvangar.

'Follow the line of the River Gioll to the south,' Eikinskialdi told him. Hal did so, and saw that it led straight out of the circle that represented Svartalfaheim, and into another world - that of Niflheim. This seemed to consist chiefly of mountain ranges. They surrounded a large wellspring from which flowed many rivers, including the Gioll. But Eikinskialdi was pointing at another hall, which overlooked the wellspring at the point from which the Gioll flowed.

'Yonder lay Salarsteini in days of yore, near the wellspring Hvergelmir and beneath the northernmost root of Yggdrasil, from whence flow the rivers of the worlds,' the dwarf rumbled. 'What is there now, we cannot say.'

'What's this about trolls?' Eric asked, looking over Hal's shoulder.

'The old dwarf kingdom was plagued by troll raids for much of its history,' Eikinskialdi replied. 'They sailed up the wide, icy waters of the Elivagar from Jotunheim, and the dwarves marched valiantly against them on many occasions.'

Hal saw a little picture of a fleet of galleys manned by hideous monsters, sailing down the rivers towards the wellspring. At the very edge of the map, he saw a range of impossibly high mountains.

'And they might be at Salarsteini now?' he asked.

Eikinskialdi shrugged again. 'The fate of the old dwarf kingdom is a mystery. Some moralists say they were eaten up by their own greed for gold. Be that as it may, they concerned themselves less and less with Aurvangar. If it was the trolls who destroyed them, then doubtless they were the victims of their own greed. The dwarf instinct to hoard treasure is second only to that of dragons. Yet alas, as a folk, we lack the fighting strength of dragon kind. This is why the swart-elves ride against us now.'

'Yes, of course,' Hal said quickly. 'So we follow the Gioll up into the mountains until we reach its source. Salarsteini is nearby.'

'Aye,' Eikinskialdi replied simply. 'I will provide you with provisions for the journey. You must be as quick as possible. Tanngrisnir will not be able to stave off the swart-elf advance indefinitely.'

Hal studied the map, his mind working furiously. Although the future remained in doubt, at least he knew what he had to do now. Go to Salarsteini, find these feathercloaks - assuming they were still there - return to Aurvangar, and help the dwarves defeat the swart-elves. It was a chance for victory. But so many factors were heaped against them.

They knew almost nothing of the territory into which they were going. They might meet trolls, who sounded pretty unpleasant. The feathercloaks might have been looted long ago, and if so the journey would be wasted. Besides, even if they returned with these magical cloaks, would that really tip the balance in the dwarves' favour? Thirteen winged troops on the dwarven side. How many dragons could Prince Helgrim field? Hal had a sneaking suspicion that it was rather more than thirteen, despite their little dogfight on the way. All this, for one simple goal.

'What about the Runeblade?' he asked at last.

Eikinskialdi shook his head. 'Our smiths must forge more everyday weapons now,' he replied. 'If we are to fight off the swart-elves, we will need every warrior we can get, and they require weapons. Besides, the heat of battle is no place for an undertaking such as the forging of the Runeblade. However, I have told Brokk and Dvalinn to set their minds to it. As soon as they have the chance, they will begin work.' He looked sombrely at them.

'This oncoming battle may very well be the first in a vast war of cosmic implications,' he told them. 'The swart-elves are in alliance with the fire giants. If this sets a precedent, the frost giants and the trolls might join them. Ragnarok looms. You, Hal, will be our champion. The forging of the Runeblade is imperative. But before that, we must defeat the swart-elves! Go to Niflheim, and find the feathercloaks. Save our realm from destruction, and then you may go on to save the worlds.'

4 THE JOURNEY SOUTH

The swart-elf host surged across the Dark Moon Plains.

Dragons flocked in the skies above, scanning out the land ahead. On either wing of the host, the swart-elf cavalry rode giant lizards, while foot soldiers marched in columns between them; mail-clad swart-elves, their faces painted corpse-white; renegade dwarves in half-armour, and brutish, primitive trolls. The crags boomed to the tramp of their marching feet.

Prince Helgrim rode in the midst of the host, his retinue surrounding him. He surveyed the ranks of his army, smiling cruelly. News of Mordis' flight had disheartened the rebels and his loyalists had soon put down the revolt in Svartaborg. Although the patrols sent to track his cousin down had not returned, Prince Helgrim now had sufficient troops to crush the dwarves utterly, and force the survivors from Svartalfaheim! The upper Gioll, with its gold-rich silts, would be theirs for the taking. And this push was only the beginning. Soon all the forces of darkness and chaos would unite against gods, elves, and dwarves, and conquer all the worlds!

But they must fulfil the words of the Foretelling. He had told his men to be extra vigilant during the attack. They must find Prince Helgrim's bride, and return her to him. The war would go very badly if they did not realize the Foretelling of the Norns in every particular.

'So, Eikinskialdi believed your tale, Tanngrisnir.'

Dolgthrasir walked at Tanngrisnir's side as they made their way past Sindri's hall towards the barracks. He gave Tanngrisnir a fierce stare.

Tanngrisnir returned the look. 'Aye,' he replied. 'For it is truth.'

Dolgthrasir growled. 'I think our chieftain has made a mistake, entrusting you with the army,' he replied. 'You may have a hero's reputation, but I for one have doubts about you.'

Tanngrisnir halted. 'It is good that you are so frank. But I assure you - I may have failed the dwarf nation once. But I will not do so again. I shall lead us to victory, if it is possible.'

They began walking again. Dolgthrasir was unconvinced. After a short while, they reached the barracks. 'Well, Tanngrisnir,' he said. 'Let us see if you can rally the troops.'

'The journey will take at least three days,' Eikinskialdi told them.

Hal and his companions were in a courtyard to one side of Sindri's Hall, preparing for the journey. Dwarf servants had brought them backpacks full of rations and equipment, and they were investigating them. Eikinskialdi had also requested the largest of the ponies in the stables to be saddled and ready for them. Eric was surveying them with some trepidation.

'They're a bit small,' he said finally.

It was true. Although larger than most of the dwarves' mounts, which were all the size of Shetland ponies, the four creatures the stable-hands had brought out were by no means large. Hal remembered the journey with Althiof. But this would be a lot longer.

'Why are there only four of them?' he asked suddenly.

Eikinskialdi seemed unwilling to speak. A dwarf rushed into the courtyard. 'The swart-elves are on the move!' he reported. 'They have burned the outlying settlements. Refugees stream in from the north!'

Seeming glad of the interruption, Eikinskialdi turned to the messenger. 'Where are these refugees?' he asked. 'We must set up accommodation for them, for the duration of the assault.'

'This way.' The messenger led Eikinskialdi through an arch.

Hal frowned. 'I asked him a question.'

'The dwarves must be suffering terribly,' Ilmadis murmured. 'The poor folk always suffer most in war.'

Gwen turned to her, and touched her gently on the arm. 'We'll make sure the war is soon over,' she told the elf-girl.

Hal was going from pony to pony, tightening straps here, and lightening loads there. It brought back memories of the old days on the farm, the never-ending round of chores. He felt a lump in his throat.

Eric studied the map. 'You realise we don't know what faces us in Niflheim,' he remarked to everyone. 'We don't know at all.'

'Doubtless doom, death, and destruction,' Mordis croaked from the corner, where she was fussing over her pet wolves.

'Well, that's encouraging!' Eric replied. 'But I think that's what this place has in store. The swart-elves are practically on the doorstep, and we've got three days to go into another world, find some magic cloaks that might not be there, and we don't really know where we're going. Oh, and the place could be infested with trolls. Are the dwarves really going to hold the swart-elves back long enough, anyway?'

Hal, halfway through transferring a saddlebag from one pony to another, looked up. 'Tanngrisnir's leading them,' he said. 'He's a cunning warrior, by all accounts - and from what we've seen. He'll keep them off.'

'The sooner we get going, the better,' Gwen said. 'Where's Eikinskialdi got to?'

'Here he comes,' Eric replied.

The dwarf was returning through the archway. With him were Dvalinn and Brokk, and a group of guards. 'The swart-elves are no more than a few leagues from our position,' he told them. 'It is imperative that you set out immediately.' He hesitated, and looked at his companions.

'We are prepared to forge the Runeblade,' Dvalinn told them, 'as soon as the swart-elves have been repulsed. However, we have one request to make...'

'Great,' Hal said hurriedly, then paused. 'Request? Look, we're ready to move. Can't it wait?'

Brokk shook his head. 'We cannot stake our people's lives on the success of your mission,' he said bluntly. 'We must have other forms of... insurance.'

'Fair enough,' Hal replied impatiently, 'but you just said we need to be going. This is no time to discuss insurance policies.'

'You may go at once,' Eikinskialdi said, 'but we insist that Princess Mordis remains with us.'

Mordis gazed levelly at him. 'For what reason?' she asked coldly.

'Yes, why?' Hal demanded. 'The Princess comes with us.'

Eikinskialdi shook his head sadly. 'I am sorry to have to make this demand...' he began.

'We need her as a hostage,' Brokk broke in. 'If the swart-elves defeat us before you return, we will use her for bargaining with them. Even though she has joined her ancestral enemies, she has her uses. They will be slow to attack if we threaten her life.'

'What!' Mordis snarled. 'You vile little fiend!'

'This is... dishonourable,' Hal complained. 'Tanngrisnir always told me that dwarves are honourable folk.'

'Indeed we are,' Eikinskialdi replied sadly. 'But you see the position we are in. The swart-elves threaten us with extinction. They mean to kill us all, or force us from this world. We are desperate. I do not like to use such underhand methods, but the Princess' coming hither was a great stroke of fortune.'

'Ever since we came here you have manipulated us!' Mordis spat. 'We were going into Niflheim only because otherwise you refused to forge Hal's sword.'

'We cannot forge the sword if the swart-elves attack us,' Dvalinn said mildly.

'And now you intend to hold me hostage, because you think it will give you a hold over my cousin!' Mordis added. 'Why? As you keep saying, I am a renegade. I have left my people - I had to, through no great wish of my own.' But her eyes turned to Hal as she spoke, and softened a little. 'What makes you think they will care if I live or die? In their eyes, I'm a traitor.'

'You are a Princess of the blood royale,' Eikinskialdi said firmly. 'Even if you have abandoned your folk, they will not wish to see you... harmed.'

'From what I've seen of the swart-elves they're a cold, callous bunch,' Eric argued. 'No disrespect intended, Mordis. How do you know they won't just say "kill her, then", and attack you?'

The three dwarves exchanged glances; Eikinskialdi pained, Dvalinn sorrowful, Brokk scowling. 'We do not know anything for certain,' Dvalinn said slowly. 'But as Eikinskialdi said, we are desperate. This is another chance for our people.'

Hal flung down the saddlebag he was holding and stamped away angrily, aware that the others were watching him in silence.

The Princess was right. These dwarves had manipulated them from the moment they came here. He should have known - Althiof had been no better. They were using him as their tool - Mordis as well. Why should Mordis be kept prisoner, held hostage? It wasn't her fault the swart-elves were attacking! And why should the rest of them endanger themselves in Niflheim, with hardly any idea of what faced them? The dwarves were using them!

A superior army faced them, and they were desperate, like they said. But it wasn't fair that they should take advantage of Hal and his friends. He would have been happy to help them out, if they had just asked him. All this blackmail and manipulation! It made Hal sick. Why should he let them pull his strings? What was in it for him, when it came down to it? The Runeblade! Well, why should he care? He had never wanted to be wielder of the Runeblade. It was something else that had been thrust upon him.

By Gangrel.

He had abandoned Gangrel, probably to his death. He had flown off, leaving the old man to fight the fire giant. Even though he was still in the dark about the whole business, Hal was going to do what Gangrel had intended. He owed it to the old man.

Hal came back to the others. The dwarves were waiting. His friends looked at him questioningly.

Hal turned to Mordis. 'Princess...' he said awkwardly.

'I knew it!' she flared. 'You're going to ask me to stay behind!'

'There's no other way!' Hal said. 'They've put us in an impossible situation. I can't ask you to stay here, with them holding you hostage... but if you don't...'

'If I don't, what?' Mordis demanded. She turned to the dwarves. 'What do you intend to do if I refuse?' she asked haughtily. 'How can you stop me going?'

The dwarf guards lowered their halberds and menaced her. Eikinskialdi looked unhappy. 'If you will not do as we ask, we must reinforce our request with steel,' he replied.

Mordis glared at him, and then at Hal, who looked rueful. Her shoulders slumped. 'Go on, then,' she said. 'We have no other choice.'

Gwen hugged her. 'Thanks, Morbid,' she said. 'You're a pal!'

'Get off me, human,' Mordis spat. 'Go on, all of you. Go and have an adventure, while I frowst around with these grubby little fellows.'

'I'm sorry, Princess,' Hal began.

'Go!' Mordis snapped.

Hal, Eric, Gwen and Ilmadis mounted their ponies. Looking down at the dwarf chieftains, Hal said:

'We'll be back as soon as we can. I hope Tanngrisnir holds off the swart-elves in the meantime. Treat the Princess well, won't you? And Princess...'

'Go away!' Mordis snarled, searching for something to throw at him.

Hal shrugged. He dug in his heels and rode from the courtyard, followed by his three companions. Their hooves clattered on the cobbles and echoed as they passed under the archway.

Then they were gone.

'Princess,' Eikinskialdi said, 'we have chambers prepared for you...'

'I'd rather remain here,' Mordis replied, stroking Ylg.

'Princess,' the dwarf chieftain repeated gently. 'Do you think you have any choice?'

Mordis drew herself up, and looked down at him. 'Very well,' she said icily. 'But my wolves must come with me.'

'Of course,' said Dvalinn. 'You are our guest.'

'I am your prisoner,' Mordis corrected him. 'Lead me to my dungeon!'

The guards took her away.

'We are fighting for our lives!' Tanngrisnir bellowed.

He stood in the yard outside the barracks. Ranked before him were the troops of the dwarven army; long lines of foot soldiers bearing swords, axes, spears, war-hammers or war-mattocks; there were archers and arbalesters, slingers and skirmishers; light cavalry on swift ponies, mailed dwarf-knights on heavy ponies with barded armour. All listened intently to his words, while Dolgthrasir and other captains sat beside him.

'I have battled the swart-elves for many years,' Tanngrisnir continued. 'They are strong and cunning, steeped in wickedness and evil. But they are not invincible. And although they have been reinforced by aerial troops from Muspellzheim, I can assure you that within days we will receive aerial reinforcements of our own, to counter the threat.

'But in the meanwhile, they march upon our lands, sending our folk into flight. We must go out to do battle with them, hold them off - defeat them if we can - and keep them from Aurvangar. If we can do so long enough for our reinforcements to arrive, then we will be able to crush them! The battle will be long and hard, but remember for what we fight, valiant Sons of Lofar - our families, our folk, and our freedom!'

The troops roared their approval of his words.

'Lead us!' they shouted. 'Lead us into war, Tanngrisnir! For our families, our folk, and our freedom!'

Tanngrisnir looked down at the jubilant army, and sighed inwardly. For all his oratory, his heart sank at the thought of the coming struggle. Three days in which to stave off the swart-elf advance - three days, with luck!

Hal and the others were riding into unknown peril. They might never return. And he faced certain danger - the unconquered army of Prince Helgrim; swart-elves, dwarves, trolls and dragons. How could his own forces hope to keep them at bay, let alone defeat them?

'Family, folk, and freedom!' the dwarves roared. Tanngrisnir and the other captains mounted their steeds, and led the dwarven army from the town.

5 INTO THE FRAY

Curtains of freezing fog hung on either bank as Hal and his companions rode up-river. They seemed to be growing thicker.

The mist did strange things to sound, Hal noticed uneasily. The clatter and splash of the ponies' hooves echoed back, muffled and distorted, from the fog-shrouded higher ground above either bank, sometimes giving him the impression that groups of horsemen were riding by, hidden in the wet, swirling fog.

It glistened on the ponies' flanks like dew. It speckled the travellers' saddlebags and clothes. It was cold, dank, and unpleasant. And beyond the mist lay only darkness.

'Lovely day,' Eric said loudly, the first of them to speak for miles. They had ridden down the muddy bank in silence ever since they left Aurvangar. Obviously Eric thought it was time he raised their spirits.

'What's lovely about it?' Gwen grumbled.

'Well, at least we're going somewhere,' Hal said with forced optimism. 'Away from those dwarves. Are they all so... so conniving?' He turned in his saddle to look at Ilmadis.

She shrugged. 'The only dwarves I have known were allies of the swart-elves,' she replied. 'They were evil, as you would expect...'

'Well, I don't think this lot are much better,' Hal complained. 'They're so grasping and manipulative.'

'They certainly weren't like this in Snow White,' Eric said in agreement. 'But what about Tanngrisnir?'

Hal grunted. 'He's different,' he replied. 'He's a dwarf with a sense of honour.'

'They have different kindreds, don't they?' Gwen asked. 'Some are smiths, others are warriors. Eikinskialdi wasn't so bad, I reckon. It was the other two. Especially that Brokk.'

They rode on in silence.

'And now they've got us going into another world,' Hal said suddenly. 'A world no-one knows anything about, after a treasure that might have been looted hundreds of years ago. And the whole place could be infested with trolls. What are trolls like?'

Ilmadis shuddered by way of reply.

'Big scaly creatures,' Gwen added. 'The fire giant had a bodyguard of them.'

'They are half-beast,' Ilmadis replied. 'The giants use them as shock troops or slaves. They are too savage and unintelligent to do anything else. Without the giants organising them, most live in caves and eat anything or anyone who goes past.'

'Lovely,' Eric said laconically. They rode on into the mist.

After a few more miles, they paused to eat on the edge of a small lake. Hal chewed thoughtfully on a strip of dried meat. 'How much further?'

Eric produced the map, and unrolled it. 'We must be about... here,' he said, pointing at an area where the Gioll broadened into a lake. 'Not far from the borders of Niflheim. Look! That line of cliffs. That's where Svartalfaheim ends and the journey into Niflheim begins, as far as I can tell.'

Ilmadis looked at the map. 'That's right,' she murmured, reading the runic script.

Gwen shivered. 'I can't say I'll be sorry to leave this world,' she said, giving the surrounding area a baleful glare. 'But we seem to be going from known danger into unknown peril.'

'Better the swart-elf you know than the troll you don't, eh?' Eric said.

'I wish you'd stop going on about trolls,' Hal said, easing the sword in his sheath.

'Not afraid, are you?' Eric asked.

Hal frowned. He was not afraid, he realised. Not so long ago, the thought of entering a world full of monsters would have scared him senseless. Now, he was just eager to get the quest over with, so they could defeat the swart-elves and continue their journey.

'No, of course not,' he said, but Eric gave him a disbelieving look.

'If you're not scared, you must have less of an imagination than I thought.'

'I'm not afraid,' Hal replied. 'But it would be better if we had a clearer idea where we're going. If we had Tanngrisnir with us, maybe. The dwarves surely have a better idea about this place than anyone.'

'Tanngrisnir,' Gwen said hollowly. 'I wonder how he's getting on.'

They finished their meal, mounted the ponies, and rode off up the bank. Hal's heart was heavy. He had almost forgotten that Tanngrisnir was going into as great a danger as their own - into battle against the superior forces of the swart-elves.

The dwarven army trudged across the plains of mud, the pony-cavalry galloping ahead on either wing, their hooves throwing up showers of muck. The warriors were well-armed, many wearing capes and breeches of shaggy wool treated with pitch, in the hopes that this would make them immune to dragon venom. Far to the right, the River Gioll wound through the drear landscape. Ahead, a range of hills broke the horizon. Deserted now, Dolgthrasir's guard tower stood between them and the host.

From here, the Dark Moon Fells were out of sight behind the rise. What was more significant, Tanngrisnir thought, as he rode at the centre of the column, was that the location of the swart-elf army was equally obscure. He considered what he would do in Prince Helgrim's position. The swart-elf knew that his dragons gave him a massive advantage over the dwarves. Would he fling them into action immediately, or try to lull the dwarves into a false sense of security? He had been raiding outlying settlements. Did he intend to draw the dwarves out? If so, it had succeeded. But why was the Prince not pressing the advantage?

Once they crossed the hills ahead, they would be out on the Dark Moon Plains, with nothing between them and the mountains but gravel and grit. And the swart-elf army? Was it up there? He called a halt.

Slowly, the dwarf army rumbled to a stop. They were about a quarter of a league from the hills, doubtless in full view of any scouts posted ahead. But they would have been visible ever since they left the misty valley bottoms.

'Send out scouts to reconnoitre those hills,' he ordered. A small troop of light horse rode forward across the plain.

'No sign of them as yet, war-leader,' Dolgthrasir grunted. He wore a heavy jerkin that stank strongly of the pitch in which it had been dipped. 'What do you propose we do?'

'Is this the only route they are likely to take?' Tanngrisnir asked, looking round at the captains. 'Remember that theirs is a large army, but they have aerial support. They may well have spied out the land far ahead. Is there any alternative route they might follow?'

The captains conferred, and then shook their heads. 'No, war-leader,' one said. 'Not a whole army. There are narrow paths through the hills to our left, which lead down onto the plain some leagues away. But if their numbers are anything like we have been led to believe, it would be to their disadvantage to take such a route.'

'Then this is the most feasible course for them to take?' Tanngrisnir said. 'Very well. It seems to me that they are most likely to be out on the plain ahead, and that the raids on outlying districts were conducted by smaller groups. If we begin to scale the heights, they could come down upon us and attack us when we were at our most vulnerable. We will await them here.'

'The scouts return,' a dwarf reported.

Riding wildly back across the muddy plain was the light cavalry that Tanngrisnir had despatched earlier. Tanngrisnir frowned. Their numbers had been reduced.

'It seems they met some resistance,' remarked a dwarf captain.

The scouts rode up. 'We encountered swart-elf scouts when we reached the crest of the rise, war-leader,' the scout leader reported. He was nursing a lance-wound in his shoulder. 'We skirmished, and they drove us back. But I saw the swart-elf host.'

'Where are they?' Tanngrisnir asked urgently.

'Halted on the plain five leagues north of the hills,' the leader replied. 'They seem well dug in.'

Tanngrisnir nodded briefly. 'Thanks,' he replied. 'Go and have your wounds tended.' The scout leader saluted, and led his men away.

'It seems they await us,' Dolgthrasir muttered. Tanngrisnir nodded thoughtfully.

'What should we do now, war-leader?' another captain asked. 'Attack them?'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'Why?' he asked. 'Our purpose is to ensure they do not reach Aurvangar. The longer they remain out on the Dark Moon Plains, the better. We will advance to the hills, and do nothing further to provoke them.'

'This reeks of cowardice, war-leader!' Dolgthrasir rumbled, scowling. 'Is this how you lost the tunnels to the swart-elves?'

'Do not be insubordinate,' Tanngrisnir growled. 'Remember, we are up against superior forces. The fewer losses we sustain the better. If they do not wish to fight, if they do not wish to advance, then - good! We will advance to the hills and await them. Our supply lines are good; we are on our own ground. If we rush to attack them now, we will be defeated, and they will advance immediately upon Aurvangar.'

'War-leader! War-leader!' Dwarf warriors came running up from the left flank. 'Swart-elves have been spotted on the river,' one cried. 'They've come up by raft, and are disembarking. Several divisions!'

Tanngrisnir cursed. 'A flanking manoeuvre. Prince Helgrim knows how to wage war. Very well, send out a troop of light cavalry accompanied by crossbowmen to harry them as they gain shore. Follow that with two more waves of heavy cavalry.'

Tanngrisnir turned to survey the river. Dimly visible were the dark shapes of rafts. Two had already reached the shore, and figures were pouring forth.

The troopers rode forward, followed by crossbowmen, and set about resisting the incursion. Quarrels pitched down among the swart-elves, dropping many in their tracks. The light cavalry rode back and forth, striking out at struggling swart-elves, while the heavy cavalry rode to reinforce them.

'War-leader!' one of the captains shouted. He was pointing towards the hill to the west, where paths were said to lead down to Aurvangar. Lizard-riders were flooding out of a narrow pass between two hills.

Tanngrisnir studied them briefly. Already his plan was failing. He turned his attention back towards the river. More and more boats were disgorging their cargoes of swart-elf warriors, and the dwarf cavalry were hard-pressed.

'What do we do now, war-leader?' Dolgthrasir asked fiercely. 'They've flanked us!'

Tanngrisnir shifted in his saddle. 'Send infantry to fight the attackers from the river,' he ordered. 'I will lead us against this attack. Prepare for a charge!'

The left wing of cavalry lined up, with Tanngrisnir and his retinue at its head. Across the plain before them came the swart-elf lizard-riders.

'Charge!' Tanngrisnir bellowed, spurring his pony into a gallop. His cavalry charged with him.

They met the lizard-riders halfway across the plain, and all was chaos; screaming ponies, hissing lizards, lances glittering, bloody figures roaring defiance. Tanngrisnir swung Helbrand like a sabre, cutting down the foe on either side, as his initial thrust tore straight through their ranks. The dwarf cavalry halted, and turned to ride towards the scattered swart-elf riders.

But their apparent disarray was a trick. Immediately the dwarves began their second charge, the lizard-riders drew in together, and then fanned out into a crescent, riding towards the charging foe, almost encircling them before any fighting began. Too late, Tanngrisnir realised his error.

He found himself battling with a swart-elf. A quick thrust to the heart finished the warrior, whose corpse pitched back off his lizard into the churned up mud, where it was trampled under foot. More swart-elves bore down upon Tanngrisnir and his surrounding warriors, and Tanngrisnir found himself battling two opponents simultaneously.

The very skies seemed to roar as dragons flew out from the cliffs ahead. Entire divisions of them, countless numbers, far more than Tanngrisnir had expected.

The skies began to rain fire.

'What was that noise?'

Eric peered worriedly up into the mist. The others had halted at his urging, and now sat in their saddles with anxious expressions.

'What did you hear, Eric?' Hal asked.

Eric looked at him. 'It sounded like movement,' he said. 'Like something following us...'

Hal studied the mist. He could hear nothing. He remembered how the mist had distorted sound before.

'I thought I heard something before,' he said. 'But I think it was just a trick of the mist. Come on, we're almost out of this world.'

Scanning the slopes suspiciously, the four travellers rode on.

Some way along the trail, Hal heard the roar of a waterfall from ahead. Rounding a corner, he saw a wide pool spreading before them. On the far side, the stream came rushing down the side of a line of cliffs.

'Here we are!' Eric cried in relief. 'The edge of Svartalfaheim.'

Mist hung thick over the water and walled them in on every side.

'At last!' Gwen said. 'I thought we would never get here. How do we get up those cliffs?'

Hal was studying them intently. 'I think there's a path leading up to the side of the falls,' he replied. 'Let's ride closer. You can't make out anything in this mist.'

They rode along the margins of the pool. The roar of the falls grew louder, until they had to shout over it. Spray rained down, swirling the ever-present mist.

'Yes,' Hal said, studying the cliff as they approached. 'I thought so.' He had spotted a wide path lead up the scree slope to the right of the falls. 'We can get the ponies up there.'

They rode up the path by the waterfall. As they did so, the all-encompassing mist seemed to grow ever thicker, drawing closer on either side. They were finally on the road to Niflheim.

The path wound through the rocks, mist hanging on either side. It was as if their rocky path was the only thing in existence; a walkway of stone arching through the clouds. Hal became obsessed with the idea that they had left the world behind, and were ascending a stairway into the sky.

It was bitter cold. The mist hung wetly in the air, and their clothes were stiff and heavy with the moisture. The uneven path glistened with a sheen of silver wetness. It truly seemed as if they were travelling through the clouds. Occasionally, muffled noises came from the mist around; unidentifiable, indiscernible.

'We'd better keep our eyes open for trolls,' Eric remarked, after a long silence.

'You reckon?' Hal asked. Eric nodded.

'The dwarves say they inhabit this world,' Gwen added. 'Our troubles are only just beginning.'

'Cheering thought,' Eric muttered.

Hal rode on, his heart heavy with trepidation.

6 THE WORLD OF MIST

There was a clatter from the mist behind them. Eric turned, and his face fell. He shouted something at Hal.

'What?' Hal shouted back.

Eric pointed over Hal's shoulder. Gwen and Ilmadis turned their heads, and cried out.

Hal wheeled his pony round, and his heart froze.

Rushing down at them, out of the mist that hung above the slopes, he saw four - no, five - no, six tall, scaly creatures bearing clubs. Their skin was pale and blotched, a morbid hue of blue-black, and they wore an assortment of furs. As they came downwind of the travellers, Gwen gagged. The creatures stank like rotting meat.

But that was the least of their worries.

'Trolls!' Hal shouted. He drew his sword and found himself fighting two attackers at the same time.

He ducked the swings of their vicious clubs, and thrust his sword forward. Moving with surprising agility, the first troll stepped back, while the other launched a frenzied attack. Hal moved to block it, then swung back to parry a blow from the first. He realised he was fighting a purely defensive battle, but it was as much as he could do to fend off the creature's attacks. He needed serious training, if he was to live this kind of life.

Around him, the others were doing their best against the remainder of the troll raiders. If only the Princess had come with them then she could have set her wolves on the brutes. Hal kept on parrying.

Eric bolted and ran. Hal fought on, saddened that his friend should turn coward so quickly. Two trolls lumbered after him, as he sprinted alongside the stream. They flung themselves at him, but at the last moment, Eric dodged aside. One troll cannoned into the other, and in a whirl of limbs, the two creatures pitched into the icy waters.

Spray rose as the two trolls struggled to regain their footing. Eric grabbed a rock, and flung it at one troll, staving in his skull and sending him splashing into the water of the stream. The other troll lumbered round to face him, unsteady in the chill waters, just in time for Eric to fling a second rock.

It hit the troll dead between the eyes, and he toppled backwards into the water with a crash that sent small waves racing across the stream.

All this Hal noted absently, and he struggled alongside Ilmadis and Gwen. The other trolls were snapping at them like hounds. Gwen had drawn back from the fight, taking a bow from her saddlebags. Stringing it as the fight progressed - it had only been going for a few seconds, though it seemed like eternity to Hal - she now proceeded to send arrow after arrow to sink into scaly trollish hide.

Two more trolls fell to her arrows. Then the survivors broke and ran, fleeing into the mist with incredulous expressions.

Hal halted, lowering his sword. He had a bruise across one temple, where a troll had winged him, and his head was ringing. Otherwise, however, he was unhurt.

'Terrifying creatures,' Ilmadis murmured. She had taken little active part in the fight.

'But not too bright,' Gwen remarked. 'That's where our advantage lies.'

'That's right,' Eric said with a grin. 'I certainly fooled those two idiots.'

Hal put a hand to his head, and groaned. Ilmadis came over to him and inspected the bruise.

'You're lucky,' she told him. 'They could have broken your skull with those clubs.'

Hal nodded, and sat down on a nearby boulder. He might have been lucky, but he still felt sick. Dimly, he was aware of the others running after the ponies, some of whom had scattered during the fight.

If this was the life of the warrior, he was not sure he liked it. It had always sounded like great fun, but he hadn't reckoned on feeling like this. It was worse than a hangover.

'Come on, Hal,' Gwen called. They had brought the ponies back onto the path. 'Ilmadis reckons you'll be okay with a bit of rest, but we'd better get away from here.'

'Those trolls might have gone to get their big brothers on us,' Eric added. He helped Hal onto his pony.

'What now, war-leader?'

Tanngrisnir turned and regarded Dolgthrasir. Under the dragon assault, the dwarf army had drawn back across the plain. Now the dragons circled overhead, while the lizard-riders and foot soldiers faced them in a broad crescent to the north.

'We're losing ground,' Dolgthrasir added. 'Aren't we supposed to keep them here?'

Tanngrisnir pointed at the circling dragons. 'As predicted, those are our chief problem,' he replied. 'What can we do to protect ourselves from their airborne assault?'

'Durin's Death!' Dolgthrasir swore. He seized a crossbow from a nearby warrior, wound it and loaded it, then trained it on one of the circling dragons.

'Be careful!' Tanngrisnir barked. 'Remember, their range is greater than yours.'

Ignoring him, Dolgthrasir squeezed the trigger. The quarrel shot across the intervening space. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the dragon gave an involuntary jerk, flung its wings up, and plummeted towards the ground.

At this, the other dragons broke off from their circling. Some withdrew to higher altitudes, while others began to bombard the dwarf army with venom.

Tanngrisnir grunted angrily. He had feared this would happen. 'Archers!' he bellowed.

Arrows and quarrels volleyed through the air, and thinned the dragon division. But more dragons and their riders came screaming in, dive-bombing the dwarf army with long gouts of flame that roared across the plain, scattering the infantry ranks.

The lizard-riders began to advance.

They were in an impossible situation, Tanngrisnir reflected. Obliged to hold the swart-elves here as long as possible, they were no match for their opponents. Why Prince Helgrim did not send his warriors in directly to wipe them out, the dwarf did not know. Perhaps he assumed their steadfast opposition meant they had greater numbers elsewhere. But if Tanngrisnir was to make use of the tactical advantage that gave him, he would be bluffing on a very empty hand.

The dragons flew overhead, discharging their deadly vomit as they flew. Their riders filled the air with arrows even as the beasts themselves belched flame. Then the first wave of lizard-riders crashed into Tanngrisnir's flanks.

The infantry had set their spears, and the lizard-riders dashed upon their shield-wall like storm-waves against granite cliffs. For the moment, as the first wave broke and scattered, the dwarves were still secure on the ground. But another wave was thundering across the plain. And as it did so, the dragons stepped up their assault.

'Concentrate your fire on the dragons,' Tanngrisnir ordered. 'Our foot soldiers can hold off the lizard-riders for now. But I want the heavy cavalry positioned on either wing. The next wave will severely weaken our shield wall. The moment they reach it, I want the cavalry to ride in and surround them. Once that wave is dealt with, we shall withdraw a few more paces.'

'Do you think to hold them off forever?' Dolgthrasir roared. 'How many must die if we do this?'

'How many of our people will die if we do not keep the swart-elves occupied?' Tanngrisnir demanded, turning away.

The lizard-riders careered into the shield-wall, and dwarves began to fall all along the line. But their fellows moved quickly in to close the gaps, as the lizard-riders began to withdraw. Then the dwarf cavalry swooped down upon the foe, surrounding them.

In the ensuing melee, ponies screamed and giant lizards hissed, dwarves and swart-elves fought savagely, and many fell on both side. But the swart-elves had lost their edge, and few escaped through the lines to return to the main army.

The dragons flew down to assist their wingless reptilian relatives, but many fell to the crossbowmen and archers in the dwarf host. They withdrew hurriedly, and the dwarves took the chance to move back to a more defensible position where low hills and the riverbank created a narrows, a more defensible position than their former one, out in the middle of the plain. But the further they withdrew, the more conscious Tanngrisnir was of their proximity to Aurvangar.

After regrouping, the swart-elves launched another attack, a charge of foot soldiers in the centre, with lizard-riders on the right wing and dwarf auxiliaries on the right, while the dragons swooped down from above. They swept up the bank, flowing over broken ground with ease, while the dwarves were torn between showering the land army with arrows, and picking the dragons off as they circled.

The charging swart-elf army met the unmoving lines of dwarves. Spears glittered, swords clashed, axes sank into shields. Warriors fell on either side. The twin lines of infantry struggled back and forth across a few yards of ground.

Due to the nature of their position, Tanngrisnir was unable to employ his cavalry, and they remained in the wings while the infantry fought. Overhead, the dragons continued their aerial barrage, but repeated volleys from archers and crossbowmen thinned their ranks. Arrow-pierced dragon corpses would plunge out of the sky to crash down upon the battling figures, causing consternation and many casualties on both sides.

The swart-elves rushed the dwarf position again and again. Dwarves fell valiantly. The cliffs resounded with the scream of the dying, but still the dwarves held the narrows. Now corpses littered the ground ahead.

Tanngrisnir assessed his strength. Still enough dwarves to keep the swart-elves occupied for the rest of the day, but they had two more days before they could even consider giving up the plain.

The situation was becoming desperate. How much longer could they hold onto this position? And when they lost it, where next could they scrabble for a handhold? Each successive battle would weaken them, until by the time the enemy forced them back into the very streets of Aurvangar, their numbers would be too low to do more than surrender.

The wind was bitter.

The four travellers had ridden up out of the winding mountain paths to reach a wide, barren plateau across which the Gioll still flowed. Mist still hung thick in the air, but the biting wind would sometimes scatter it to reveal gloomy vistas of dank rock and grit stretching into the distance.

Niflheim seemed to be deserted. They had seen no sign of any more trolls, or dwarves, or any other inhabitants. Hal could see why the dwarves might have thought even Svartalfaheim was an improvement on this dismal land.

He huddled in his saddle. 'How far to Salarsteini?'

Shivering, Eric drew the rolled-up map from his saddlebag, and inspected it dejectedly. 'A long way.'

'How long?' asked Gwen, her voice sharp.

'Another day's journey or more,' replied Eric. 'I think we should find somewhere to shelter - and sleep.'

Hal was weary too, but he was not sure he fancied going to sleep in this cold. His eyes searched the dim horizon. Where could they find shelter? There was no hope of them sleeping out in the open in this place - none of them would wake up. He frowned, and rubbed his eyes.

'What's that, over there?' he called, indicating a humped shape a little to the right. The mist swirled around it, but a dim light seemed to emanate from within.

'Is it a house?' asked Gwen. 'I can see a light.'

'A will-o-the-wisp,' Ilmadis murmured. 'Let us not trust it.'

'I'll trust anything in this cold,' Eric said, his teeth chattering. 'Even if it's a troll-hole, at least it would be out of this wind. Let's have a look, anyway.'

They urged the ponies towards the dim mound. On closer inspection, it proved to be a long, low heap of earth, open at one end where a stone lintel framed an entrance from which billowed an unhealthy phosphorescent glow. A will-o-the-wisp, as Ilmadis had said.

Eric leapt down off his pony and went to investigate. 'Looks alright to me,' he called. 'I can't see anyone about.'

'Where's the light coming from?' Gwen asked.

'I don't know,' he replied. 'There's just rock walls. A bit bare. But at least it's out of this wind. Come on!'

They dismounted, and went to join him. He stood in the entrance, looking within. Hal followed his gaze.

The interior was empty, lit by the unhealthy glow that seemed to come from the rock walls themselves. 'Some primitive dwarf dwelling,' Eric speculated. 'From before they started building places like Sindri's Hall.' He led them inside.

There was enough room for all of them, ponies included. Although it was by no means warm, out of the bite and howl of the wind they had a chance to sit down and relax.

'I think we should stay here,' Eric suggested. 'We won't find anywhere better, I'm sure. Sleep here, and continue in the morning.' He grimaced. 'Not that they have mornings round here. But you know what I mean.'

'Someone should keep watch,' Gwen suggested.

'I will,' Hal said nobly.

'Take it in turns,' Eric said. 'You take first watch, Hal, then wake me. You can be next, Ilmadis, then you, Gwen - what was that?'

'I didn't hear anything,' Hal said. 'You're imagining things, Eric.

'I heard something,' Ilmadis said, her voice tremulous. She was staring down the passage, further into the mound.

'Didn't anyone check to make sure this place was deserted?' Gwen whispered, staring into the darkness.

'What did you hear?' Hal asked.

'Footsteps,' Eric replied, staring in the direction from which they had come. The floor of the chamber was stone grit. A soft, stealthy crunch of feet came from the darkness.

'Look!' Gwen said, pointing at a footprint in the grit. Hal rubbed his eyes. That hadn't been there before... And then there was another one, closer - and another! They were appearing from nowhere!

Whatever this new threat was, it seemed to be invisible...

7 LAST OF THE NIFLUNGS

'Mortals?' The voice came from the air, about three feet above the closest footprints. 'And an elf! From Alfheim. I thought it was trolls, come to dig old Alfrek out like a badger from his final hiding place.'

Hal looked at Eric. 'Trolls?' he asked. 'No, we're not trolls. We're on the side of the dwarves.'

'You support a lost cause,' said the voice sadly. 'Lost long ago, unless Lofar's folk prospered.'

'Lofar's folk?' Eric asked. 'You mean the dwarves who went to Svartalfaheim? We've just come from here. But who are you? From what you say, you're not one of them. Are you from Salarsteini?'

The air shimmered before them, and they saw a little figure, a small, white-bearded dwarf who was lowering a glittering golden helmet. He looked at them with tired old eyes.

'Salarsteini?' he asked. 'No dwarf dwells now in Salarsteini. But once I was accounted king over this land. I am Alfrek, last of the Niflungs.'

Ilmadis gasped. The dwarf looked at her. 'You have heard of me, elf-maiden?'

'Legends speak of you,' she replied, 'and of your hoard.'

Alfrek grimaced. 'Speak not to me of my hoard,' he growled. 'I lost that long ago - to the trolls. Now they squat in Salarsteini, as they have for many years, and my treasures are theirs.'

'You were king of the dwarves back when Lofar led his people into Svartalfaheim?' Eric asked.

'Aye,' Alfrek replied. 'Long ago. Does their colony prosper?'

Hal shook his head. 'Right now it looks like it's going the same way your kingdom went,' he said urgently. 'The swart-elves are attacking. They want to kick the dwarves out. That's why we've come here...'

'For aid?' Alfrek asked. 'You'll find none in Niflheim. Swart-elves mass against the descendants of Lofar, eh? The dwarves are under attack in every world they settle. And here, in our homeland, is naught but troll-infested waste land.'

Hal looked down at the ancient dwarf-king. 'How did it happen?' he asked. 'How did the trolls take over?'

Alfrek put his head in his hands. 'Their raids grew and grew in ferocity. And after Lofar's folk left us, we were weak. The trolls came not to raid, but to settle. They razed dwarf settlements, defeated dwarf armies, finally laid siege to Salarsteini. When they burst into the halls of stone, my dwarf-berserkers died in legions, but to no avail. The trolls ransacked the place, slew everyone - except me.'

'How did you escape?'

'My courtiers demanded I save myself,' Alfrek replied. 'I donned the Tarnhelm, the helmet of invisibility here' - he indicated the helmet he held - 'and fled to find aid. But all the other dwarf strongholds had been sacked and taken by the trolls. My people were vanquished - wiped from the face of Niflheim. And the trolls reigned in barbaric majesty.

'Ever since, I have wandered across my world, searching desperately for survivors - knowing in my heart that I am the last of the Niflungs. I have searched for many years, and found no one until today. But you are not my old subjects.'

Hal looked at the old dwarf, his heart aching. The troll invasion must have been three hundred years ago. Had Alfrek been wandering this dismal land for all that time?

'And the trolls have your treasure?' asked Gwen.

'Aye - much good it does them,' Alfrek replied.

Gwen looked significantly at Hal, and he wondered what she was driving at. Then he realised.

'Of course!' he said. 'King Alfrek, we came here on a quest....' He explained the situation, and the old dwarf-king listened attentively.

'The alftarhamir,' Alfrek murmured. 'Aye, they formed part of my hoard. Even now, they may lie in the treasure-vaults beneath Salarsteini. But the trolls dwell in my old capital. It would be suicide to go thither.'

'But without the feathercloaks, Tanngrisnir and all the others will die!' Gwen said.

'And the Runeblade will never be forged,' Hal added sombrely.

'Are they so deadly, these trolls?' Eric asked. 'We fought some on the way in. They weren't so difficult to defeat. All it took was cunning. They're strong, these trolls, but not too bright.'

'It will take more than cunning to enter Salarsteini,' Alfrek replied. 'I returned thither once, many years ago. Even wearing the Tarnhelm I was afraid. Countless numbers of trolls dwell there - too many to be defeated by cunning...'

'The Tarnhelm,' Eric said thoughtfully. He looked at the helmet in Alfrek's hands. 'Does it truly make you invisible?'

In answer, the dwarf-king put it on. He shimmered, and disappeared.

Eric looked at the others. 'Perhaps you could sneak into Salarsteini, Alfrek,' he said, when the dwarf reappeared again. 'Perhaps you could take the feathercloaks.'

Alfrek shook his head stubbornly. 'I vowed never to return,' he replied. 'The bones of my people still litter the halls where the trolls feast in squalor and splendour. I could not return to the place of my greatest defeat.'

Eric bit his lip. He gazed covetously at the Tarnhelm. 'Maybe...' he said tentatively, 'maybe you could give it one of us...?'

For the moment, the fighting had ceased.

Dwarf and swart-elf faced each other across a corpse-strewn field. The battle for the narrows had been long and inconclusive. Tanngrisnir had thought it would continue until the last of his dwarves was slain - that it would have to. They could retreat no further without giving the swart-elves an open road into Aurvangar. They had to defend this position, alive or dead.

But the swart-elf losses had been as great. Now Prince Helgrim's folk had withdrawn to the edge of the narrows, to make camp on the plain beneath the hills. Half a league of twisted corpses, dwarf, elf, troll, pony, and dragon littered the area between the lines, which were marked by opposing constellations of campfires.

'We have beaten them off for the moment,' Dolgthrasir said, looking at Tanngrisnir with renewed respect.

Tanngrisnir walked away to inspect the dwarven defences, to ensure the wounded were tended and the battle-weary received their well-deserved rest.

'They will attack again,' Tanngrisnir said, 'As soon as they have finished licking their wounds.'

'Which gives us time to do the same,' Dolgthrasir grunted, hurrying to keep up with him.

Tanngrisnir turned to look at him. Their brief victory had certainly altered Dolgthrasir's attitude to him, but he was less impressed. For the moment, they had kept the swart-elves at bay. But another attack would be much harder to resist.

He kept this to himself. It would be better for morale if his warriors believed they stood a chance against the swart-elf army. He paused to inspect a wounded dwarf, whose face was badly burned despite the tar-soaked jerkin he wore. He turned to the dwarf physician beside him.

The physician shook his head. 'No hope for him,' he told Tanngrisnir in an undertone. 'Those dragons are deadly.'

Tanngrisnir nodded quietly, and walked on.

'We slew many of their dragons,' Dolgthrasir growled, as Tanngrisnir continued in silence. 'They are not as great a threat as they seemed.'

Tanngrisnir looked at him from under his bushy brows. 'But we would be at a greater advantage if we had aerial troops,' he said. 'It is two days yet before my comrades are likely to return from Niflheim - assuming they succeed in their quest. Until then, of course, we must hold off the swart-elves as best we can. But if they redouble their aerial assault, we will be greatly disadvantaged.'

They had reached the edge of the camp, where dwarf sappers and engineers were busily digging and fortifying a ditch that cut directly across the narrows.

'Good work,' Tanngrisnir told them. 'When our foes attack next, they will find this a stumbling block.'

'Will they attack, now we're dug in?' Dolgthrasir asked.

'They must attack,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'If they think to wait until we attack them, they are mistaken. The longer they wait, the longer we will wait. This is a defensive war, captain. They can beat upon our defences time after time, but nothing will induce us to face them at a disadvantage.'

Dolgthrasir studied the ditch and palisade. 'Then they must burn their way in,' he said darkly.

His gaze turned to the skies ahead, where black-winged reptile shapes turned and wheeled.

'War-leader!' shouted a dwarf from a lookout post. 'The swart-elves are massing again.'

Tanngrisnir looked out towards the plain. It was true; the swart-elves had rearranged themselves into columns and squadrons. Their lizard-riders and dwarf-cavalry drew up on their wings. The swart-elf foot and the troll shock troops stood before them. Overhead, the dragons were forming themselves into aerial divisions.

'Prepare for attack!' Tanngrisnir shouted. He cursed to himself, and looked at Dolgthrasir. 'I had not thought they would take such little time to regroup. Muster the troops. We must withstand this assault.'

The dwarf camp was a scene of confusion as they prepared for the attack. Out on the plain, the swart-elves began to advance.

Niflheim was cold, dark, and silent. The companions rode up its barren, mist-hung valleys, between knife-sheer mountains whose precipitous slopes vanished into the roof of fog. Rested, and with Alfrek to lead them now, they made good progress. The dwarf sat behind Eric, peering out now and then to direct them.

'I have journeyed through all these valleys,' he told them. They were pausing for a rest in the lea of a massive boulder, fallen aeons ago from the towering cliff above. 'I know every path and way.'

'How far to Salarsteini?' asked Gwen, huddled beside him.

'A few more leagues,' Alfrek replied. He indicated the narrow stream in the valley below. 'As you can see, the Gioll is near its source.'

Hal stared down at it. The waters, though shallow, seemed to bubble as they flowed. He mentioned this.

'The stream grows warm as we come closer to Hvergelmir, the wellspring from whence it flows,' Alfrek explained. 'There the water boils before growing colder as it wends its way through this icy land.'

'Hot springs,' Gwen murmured. 'Like Yellowstone Park. Are there any geysers?'

Eric broke in impatiently. 'According to the map, Salarsteini is on an outcrop near the river's source.' He glanced at Alfrek. 'Which is where you're going to give me that helmet, right?'

Alfrek glanced at the Tarnhelm, which hung from his belt by rawhide cords. 'Aye,' he replied. 'And when we are done, you will take me to my people in Svartalfaheim.'

Hal touched Eric on the shoulder and drew him away. Once they were out of earshot, he leant over, shivering in the cold.

'How do we know we can trust this dwarf?' he asked. 'Remember Althiof? And Eikinskialdi?'

Eric nodded. 'These dwarves drive a hard bargain,' he replied. 'It's like an obsession with them. But Alfrek hasn't asked for much. We're going back to Svartalfaheim anyway.'

'I just wonder what he plans to do there,' Hal said. 'He's lost his kingdom. Does he hope to get another one? What will Eikinskialdi and the rest think about that?'

Eric patted him on the shoulder. 'You've spent too long among dwarves,' he replied. 'You're starting to think like them. Remember, I'm the devious one. Don't trouble yourself with this kind of thing - just look handsome. Leave thinking to me.'

Hal thumped him half-heartedly.

A few hours later they rode on, following the rapidly narrowing Gioll-stream, which began to give off definite warmth, like a hot bath. It was incredible to think that this narrow, sulphurous trickle gurgling among the rocks was the same mighty river that marked the border between Helheim and Svartalfaheim - up which they had sailed for much of the way, in the Naglfar. They had come a long way from there, Hal thought as they rode up a slope. They passed through a narrow valley, and halted.

Before them was an expanse of rocks. A huge grey root-like structure grew out of the cliffs and stretched across the valley; beneath it lay a hot spring that bubbled and boiled and steamed at they watched. Hal remembered what Eikinskialdi had said about the "root of Yggdrasil." Narrow streams steamed as they threaded the rocks on all sides, like the one they had followed up the valley; each one disappearing among the steam-hung crags in a different direction.

Alfrek cursed. 'Back!' he hissed. 'We're here! Sooner than I had remembered. Ride back into the shelter of the rocks!'

A cold wind howled mournfully, and the curtains of steam parted to reveal a great stone building perched on the cliffs above. A winding road led to a gloomy, dilapidated hall of stone. Hal's blood froze as he saw trolls patrolling the ramparts that surrounded the building.

Hurriedly, they rode back into the shelter of the valley. 'I thought you knew this place like the back of your hand,' Eric said, as they halted after about three hundred yards. The steam had hidden the hall again, but the companions knew that their enemies were close.

'What if they saw us?' Ilmadis asked. 'We must find somewhere to hide.'

'Ilmadis has got a point,' Gwen added. 'We don't want to have to fight off hundreds of trolls at this point in the game.'

Alfrek's face was pale. 'It is long since I returned to my royal seat,' he said thickly. 'The grief still haunts me.' He looked at Eric. 'Now is the time for the light-footed, and the light-fingered. Take my helm, and go!'

Eric accepted the Tarnhelm gingerly. He had coveted it ever since he realised its properties, but now that it was his, he felt overawed. Then he grinned.

'See ya later,' he said, and placed the helmet on his head.

He was amused to see his companions' looks of surprise as he vanished before their eyes. Gwen looked straight through him. Hal looked at his shoulder, and said:

'Goodbye, Eric. If you haven't gone already.'

Eric smirked. The things he could get up to now! But serious matters were afoot. Time for him to get going. He hurried up the mountain trail.

Reaching the head of the valley, he ventured forward, circling the great root and the bubbling wellspring and casting about until he found the path up the cliff towards the hall, now hidden again in the steam. His heart in his mouth despite his invisibility, he hurried up the path.

It opened out on top of the cliff. To his left were ramparts of hewn stone, upon which marched the savage figures of trolls - so close, and yet they had no idea that he was near. He hurried towards the gates of the hall, and entered.

Within, he found a scene that seemed like a twisted mockery of Sindri's Hall. Evil-faced trolls squatted on benches along either side, lurking in the shadows of hall-pillars as they feasted on indescribable morsels. Scattered about the place were broken pots, torn cloth, rumpled tapestries, and dismembered skeletons - squalor indescribable. Filth and soot streaked the walls; the air was heavy with vile smells.

At the far end of the hall, an enormously fat troll squatted upon the dais, glaring round at his squalid court, occasionally barking in a brutal language Eric assumed to be Trollish. Clad in no more than a loincloth, the troll chieftain - so Eric identified him - was an obscene, evil figure. Eric was glad of his invisibility.

A fight broke out between two drunken trolls. Others gathered around, egging them on. Eric seized the chance to pick his way through the filthy, stinking hall, casting his eyes about for some sign of the hoard of the Niflungs.

Finally, he saw a heap of feathers in one corner, spotted and smeared with filth, but recognisable from their descriptions. The feathercloaks!

He hurried forwards.

8 RUNEBLADE

Eric knelt down beside the pile of cloaks, and seized one, heaving it from the pile. Immediately, he heard a commotion from nearby.

The troll chieftain bellowed. Eric spun round to see troll warriors shambling away from the fight, in his direction. Had they seen him? Impossible. He was wearing the Tarnhelm. But they were staring past him, anyway - at the pile of cloaks. Of course! The eagle-eyed troll chieftain had seen them moving.

The warriors investigated the pile, while Eric backed away into a noisome corner and waited. After a moment, the trolls returned to their king, and reported. The king scanned the corner suspiciously, and then waved a hand. The feast continued.

Eric crouched there, cursing under his breath. What now? The moment he moved one of the cloaks - and there were thirteen, remember - the trolls would notice. They might not be able to see him, but a chance lunge of a club and he would be struck senseless. And he would give his position away if he started dragging the cloaks across the hall floor.

He was stuck.

He crouched there with a horrible uncomfortable prickling feeling of embarrassment creeping over him. So they couldn't see him, great. But what was he going to do now? He couldn't go back to the others and say, sorry, guys... Yet he would be risking his life if he grabbed one feathercloak, let alone the full thirteen.

And this place really reeked.

The troll feast was winding down now, Eric noted. They had had quite a party, it was clear, even before he had crashed it. Troll warriors were lolling on the floor, some facedown in pools of vomit. Even the troll chieftain was slumped back in his throne. Eric wondered if this was how they spent every night, or was this perhaps some special occasion?

The troll chieftain's head thumped back and he began to snore. Eric looked around the draughty hall. Most of the other trolls were asleep by now, as well. Was this his chance?

He gave them a bit longer. The fires that lit the hideous scene dimmed down to coals. Even better! Nerving himself, Eric grabbed the entire bundle of feathercloaks, and rose.

Nothing happened. Either all the trolls were asleep, or they couldn't see what he was doing. Eric cautiously began to pick his way across the cluttered floor.

More times than he cared to think about, his foot splashed in something unpleasant, and he stumbled more than once. At one point, he tripped over the outstretched leg of a sleeping troll, falling to the floor where he lay prone, as the troll mumbled into wakefulness, and glowered woozily around. Finally, it laid its head back, and Eric grabbed the cloaks he had dropped, and bolted for the main gate.

Outside, in the chill, clean air, Eric drew shuddering breaths until noises from the rampart to his left alerted him. The troll guards were still patrolling.

A bellow of anger burst from the hall behind him.

'So what do we do now?'

Hal surveyed his gathered companions. It was clear the trolls had captured Eric - killed him, maybe. He had been gone for too long. And now they had lost the Tarnhelm.

'Do we attack?' Hal added.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. 'Attack?' she hooted. 'We'd be slaughtered. We've got no chance. That's a hall full of trolls, according to Alfrek here. We did okay when we were fighting a patrol, but this is the whole tribe.'

Distant shouts drifted through the steam. Hal whirled round at the sounds of frantic flight.

A pile of feathers floated into the valley, heading straight for them. Hal scratched his head. He had met some strange things in recent weeks, but this was just inconceivable.

'What is it, Alfrek?' he asked, drawing his sword.

'It's me!' Eric's voice shouted. The pile of feathers fell to the ground, and then Eric appeared, pulling the helmet off his head. He glanced wildly over one shoulder. The sounds of pursuit had not abated. 'I think the trolls are after me!' he gasped.

Hal looked at the cloaks. 'Maybe we could fly out of here,' he said.

'No time to find out how they work,' Gwen said. 'Everyone grab a few and stuff them in your saddlebags. Then ride like the wind!'

A day later, the five companions reined their ponies as the town of Aurvangar appeared on the misty horizon. Their flight from troll-haunted Niflheim had been swift, and they had eventually left the trolls far behind. They had hardly halted in their headlong flight before reaching Svartalfaheim.

'At last!' Hal cried. 'We're back.'

As Alfrek studied the town with glittering eyes, flame leapt up from the golden roof of Sindri's Hall.

'What is it?' Ilmadis murmured.

'It's the swart-elves!' Gwen said. 'They've reached Aurvangar. We're not a moment too soon.'

'Come on,' Eric said.

They rode across the fields, their ponies' hooves splashing in the mud as they approached. They could see dragons flying above the town, vomiting combustible venom on the buildings. By now, Sindri's hall was blazing fiercely.

As they entered a courtyard, they almost rode down some fleeing dwarves.

'Hal! You have returned!' cried their leader. It was Eikinskialdi.

'What happened to Tanngrisnir?' Hal demanded. 'Was he defeated?'

Eikinskialdi shook his head wearily. 'Tanngrisnir fought them off for days. They forced him to retreat across the plain, until this morning his host rode into Aurvangar. He said there was no hope but that we should prepare to defend the town against our attackers.'

A dragon roared overhead like a portent of doom, trailing fire as it went. On its back, the dragon-rider loosed arrows at the crowd.

The moment it was gone, Eikinskialdi turned back to Hal.

'Do you have the feathercloaks?' he asked. 'They are our only hope. Helgrim would not accept his cousin's life in return for ours. Tanngrisnir is embroiled in street fighting on the other side of the town. But the dragons continue to burn down the buildings. We need to stop them.'

Silently, the companions drew the cloaks out of their saddlebags. Only then did Eikinskialdi see the dwarf who had been sitting behind Eric.

'But who is this?' he asked. 'Surely, it is not...'

'We met him in Niflheim,' Hal said absently, opening out a feathercloak. It resembled two giant eagle wings. 'His name is...'

'Alfrek,' the dwarf-king replied proudly. 'Last of the Niflungs.'

Eikinskialdi gasped, and bent his knee. 'The king of the dwarves! He returns to us in our hour of need!'

'Rise, chieftain,' Alfrek said. 'We have no time for formalities! Thirteen of us must don the cloaks and fly to the aid of your warriors. Hurry!'

The feathercloaks fitted on over their shoulders by means of a metal framework. Alfrek lectured the chosen thirteen in their use - Hal, Gwen, Eric and Ilmadis had all insisted on joining the assault - and soon they were airborne, soaring above the town.

Three dragons flew low across the roofs, spitting venom as they went. Eikinskialdi, at the head of the airborne squadron, pointed grimly towards them. They dived, splitting the air with their wings.

Hal flew towards the lead dragon, his sword held out ahead like a lance. A startled expression crossed the dragon-rider's features as he spotted him, but too late. Hal's sword pierced the swart-elf's scale-mail and jerked him off the saddle.

Gwen, Eric, and Ilmadis attacked the dragon, seizing it from either side, stabbing at its underbelly. Soon its corpse was spinning away towards the ground. Hal looked up, his wings beating as he hovered. The other two dragons were down. Eikinskialdi punched the air with exultation.

'More come!' one of his warriors shouted. Eikinskialdi turned in mid-air to see a squadron of dragons hurtling towards them across the town.

'Onward!' Eikinskialdi roared. 'For our families, our folk, and our freedom!' The thirteen winged warriors soared towards the oncoming dragons.

On the ground, matters were growing desperate for the dwarves. Tanngrisnir stood at the head of the main division of foot as they battle in the square in the very lea of the blazing Hall of Sindri. At his side was Dolgthrasir.

'More dragons,' the captain warned.

Again and again the dragons had flown over the town, raining venom upon the battling dwarves. Now the swart-elves had battered down their defences and were flooding into the town. Tanngrisnir feared that this would be his last stand.

The dragons swooped over the square, seeming intent on somewhere ahead of them. Another rush from the swart-elves at the entrance to the square tore Tanngrisnir's attention away.

'Riders!' he bellowed. The remnants of his cavalry swooped round from either wing, thundering down on the charging swart-elves and their dwarven mercenaries. Then a division of lizard-riders scuttled in after them and charged the cavalry.

Suddenly, there was a down-rush of air and the mighty corpse of a dragon crashed down into the square, landing in the midst of the charging lizard-riders, crushing and scattering them. Tanngrisnir looked upwards.

He saw, high above them, battling in the chill, misty air, a dozen winged figures locked in combat with dragons. Again and again, dragons would fall out of the sky, spouting blazing ichor as they came to crash down amongst their own troops. The battle in the air raged fiercely.

'They got through!' Dolgthrasir bellowed. 'Your friends brought us the feathercloaks!'

New courage emboldened Tanngrisnir's troops. Across the square, the swart-elf army was watching the aerial battle with dismay. Time to seize the advantage, Tanngrisnir told himself.

'Charge!' he bellowed. For one last time, he led his tattered forces in a rush against the swart-elves.

The assault on their airborne allies devastated swart-elf morale. The dragons, more accustomed to carrying out air raids than to battling highly mobile flyers with the courage of desperation, fell to the flying dwarves and their allies in huge numbers. On the ground, meanwhile, the demoralised swart-elves and trolls fought the angered defenders then began to pull out.

Prince Helgrim rode at the head of the retreat, cursing his foes. His army was torn apart, his dragons destroyed. Even as they fled the field, dwarf cavalry rode after them, cutting down retreating warriors, giving no quarter.

He reached the Dark Moon Plains with a sadly reduced retinue. From the rise, he watched the dwarves fall upon his rearguard down by the riverbanks.

'We are defeated,' he said. 'But this is only the beginning. For this defeat, I will have revenge. I know who worked my dishonour - it was he who is destined to bear the Runeblade. One day I shall meet him face to face and then we shall see who survives.'

'My lord prince!' cried one of his retinue. 'The dwarves still pursue. We must return to Svartaborg.'

Prince Helgrim turned cold, bitter eyes upon the chieftain. 'Run like rats?' he asked. He gave a short laugh. 'What will my father think of this?' He sawed at the reins of his lizard and kicked it into a gallop. 'I will kill you for this, bearer of the Runeblade!' he shouted as they rode across the plain. 'I will kill you!'

Hal and Tanngrisnir met in the middle of the square. Behind them, the blackened beams of Sindri's Hall rose against the blank sky. The square was littered with the dead and dying.

Hal wrested the feathercloak from his back.

'So you got through,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'You entered Niflheim, and returned!'

Hal nodded. 'It's a right dump. With any luck, we won't have to go there again.' He looked around at the other flyers. 'That was incredible!' he said enthusiastically. 'Gwen, wasn't it amazing? Even better than flying on dragon-back.' He searched the ranks. Someone was missing.

'Gwen, where's Eikinskialdi?' he asked.

Gwen stared tiredly at the littered ground. 'Didn't you see?' she asked. 'In the last battle a dragon killed him. His body crashed into Sindri's Hall, behind us.'

Hal's heart sank. He turned to Tanngrisnir. The dwarf's face was sombre.

'And so fell a valiant chieftain,' he rumbled.

'So fell a hero,' said Alfrek, last of the Niflungs.

A group of dwarves entered the square. At their head were the two chieftains, Dvalinn and Brokk. They gazed round at the scene of devastation.

'Then this is victory,' said Brokk darkly.

'Now we must rebuild,' Dvalinn replied.

Alfrek stepped forward.

In the aftermath of the battle, the dwarves feted Alfrek as a hero. The dwarves greeted his timely appearance with joy. Ever since they had entered Svartalfaheim, they had been a people without a king, plagued by feuding and dissension. Since the fall of the Niflungs, they had believed that only those of chieftain's blood survived. Now Alfrek appeared from the waste land and gave new heart, new strength, and new unity to the dwarves, binding together a nation still threatened by the swart-elves.

He was crowned king of Aurvangar amidst rejoicing and celebrations that lasted many days. The hall-fires blazed merrily, transforming Svartalfaheim's darkness into the brightness of day; the dwarves and their guests ate copiously of meat roast and boiled while ale and mead flowed freely.

King Alfrek set Princess Mordis free at Hal's request, and she joined them with a scowl on her beautiful face.

'Imprisoned!' she complained. 'While you went off on an adventure. No!' she added, as Hal tried to convince her that their experiences had been anything but, 'I don't want to hear a word. Just don't you dare leave me behind, next time.'

Tanngrisnir approached them, clad in the rich ermine robes of a dwarf noble. Some among the Sons of Lofar had suggested he should succeed Eikinskialdi as their chieftain.

'His highness wants you to come to the forge,' he told them. 'You especially, Hal.'

He led them down a passage at the back of Sindri's Hall. In a vast, echoing, subterranean smithy beneath the hall, the two dwarf chieftains were hard at work, putting the final touches to a sword. The king stood by, overseeing the work.

'In the end, King Alfrek convinced us to work together,' Dvalinn told them, as they approached. 'But his highness himself forged the blade.'

Alfrek quenched the Runeblade in water that bubbled like the spring of Hvergelmir. He looked up, and brandished the sword.

Hal looked upon the blade. Runes inscribed either side; its handgrip was of gold, in the shape of a dragon; its wings formed the crosspiece.

'This,' Alfrek said, his eyes fixed upon the glittering steel, 'is the Runeblade. This is your sword, Hal. With it, you may seek your weird.' Almost unwilling, he handed the weapon over.

Hal took it, and stared at it in wonder.

So this was what his wanderings and sufferings had all been about. This was why the swart-elves had come for him, why Gangrel had uprooted him from his home, why he had travelled for so many dark miles through savage worlds, experiencing loss, disillusionment, fear, and war. Gangrel had died for this blade. Hal had fought for it.

Now his once-tarnished honour shone bright. He had fulfilled Gangrel's wishes. He had become bearer of the Runeblade. But he must learn how to wield it.

9 RIVERS OF ICE

'We cannot remain here,' Tanngrisnir announced one day, about a week after the forging of the Runeblade.

Hal looked up guiltily. He had been dreading this moment.

Although Alfrek seemed to have stolen most of the glory - the dwarves seemed more at ease celebrating heroes of their own folk than those of other races - the travellers had spent the last week in luxury and idleness, enjoying a well-earned rest after their warring and their wandering. They had a well-appointed chamber near the ruins of Sindri's Hall, sufficiently opulent for even Mordis' extravagant tastes. They had witnessed the reconstruction of Sindri's Hall and the rest of Aurvangar, as they went about a day-to-day itinerary of rest and relaxation.

But Hal had known it could not last.

'Where are we going, then?' Eric asked, slouching in the corner. 'Back to planet Earth?'

Tanngrisnir had clearly decided to take on the mantle of Gangrel, mysterious pronouncements and all, but he condescended to explain. 'Hal's fate - and the fate of us all - depends upon his ability to wield the Runeblade.'

Hal's eyes wandered to a chest, upon which the sword in question lay, now sheathed in a jewel-encrusted scabbard.

'It's a sword like any other,' he said. 'I've managed to pick up a thing or two about swordplay.' He had been trained in the toughest school of fencing around, learning tricks that no re-enactor could ever teach him.

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'I know little of Grimnir's plans for you, Hal, except that he hoped you were the one to fulfil the Foretelling. But to wield that blade, whose forging was foretold in the morning of the world, you must learn from the greatest weapons-mistress this age knows.'

'Mistress?' Hal scowled. 'I'm going to learn from a woman?'

'And what is so wrong with that?' Mordis bristled. 'A woman could teach you much, Hal.'

'My old comrade-in-arms was a storm giant named Hlymir,' Tanngrisnir told them. 'As a lad he dwelt in the forest of Ironwood, in the world of the giants. His mother, Iarnvidia, taught many heroes the arts of war, in which she was well versed. She will teach you.'

'But aren't the giants our enemies?' asked Gwen.

'The frost giants and the fire giants are at war with the Aesir,' Ilmadis agreed.

Tanngrisnir sighed. 'Some of them are on our side,' he replied. 'Most are indeed our foes. But Hlymir and his mother are our allies.'

Hal folded his arms. 'So we've got to go to the world of the giants, now?' he asked. 'How do we get there?'

'It lies a long way off,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'South-east of Niflheim. The river Elivagar will take us to Ironwood.'

'We've got to go back into Niflheim?' Hal asked with a groan.

'You leave us so soon?'

King Alfrek sat upon his throne, flanked by Dvalinn and Brokk. He looked down at the companions with an expression of sorrow.

'And I must beg leave to accompany them, my liege,' Tanngrisnir added. 'It is my duty to ensure they pass safely on their journey. My weird has become ensnared with theirs, and I must see this matter through to the end.'

'Little did I think, when we forged the Runeblade, that we would soon be bidding farewell to so great a warrior,' Dvalinn said quietly. 'We had hoped you would remain to speak for your folk.'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'The Sons of Lofar must find another chieftain,' he replied. 'My duty lies elsewhere. But might I recommend Dolgthrasir?'

'Go, then, with my blessing,' said King Alfrek. 'For without you, Hal, and your fellows, I would still be a fugitive in the cold wastes of Niflheim.'

Hal shivered involuntarily. Did Alfrek have to rub it in? The king didn't have to go back there. 'Thanks,' Hal replied. 'Tanngrisnir tells me I must seek my... my weird.' He put his hand on the Runeblade's hilt.

'Farewell,' the dwarf replied. 'And remember that Aurvangar will forever welcome you all.'

Half an hour later, the six companions were riding south towards Niflheim, Mordis' wolves loping alongside.

'I tell you, he is the enemy of both our peoples!' Prince Helgrim shouted.

The hall of the trolls resounded to his voice. The troll chieftain stared down at his guest, and curled his lip.

'But why is it we who do your dirty work?' the troll chieftain growled. 'This Hal robbed us of our treasures. He defeated you in battle. But why should the troll-folk risk defeat for such a petty revenge?'

Prince Helgrim cursed, and smacked his fist into his palm. He glared around the filthy hall. Eight swart-elf guards stood at his back, surveying the surrounding trolls with scorn.

'Can you not see the implications?' Prince Helgrim demanded. 'Know you nothing of the Foretelling concerning the wielder of the Runeblade?'

The troll chieftain broke wind noisily, to the delight of his courtiers. 'We know of these ancient superstitions,' he rumbled, as the tittering died away. 'But we set no store in them. We are not like the swart-elves, cowering at every shadow and phantom. If you put your faith in your own might and main, as we trolls do, perhaps you would win more battles!' Again, the trolls roared with laughter.

Prince Helgrim snarled to himself.

He had returned to Svartaborg to receive short shrift from his father and the swart-elf nobles. Consulting the ancient foretellings had told him that the bearer of the Runeblade - this Hal who had troubled him for so long - would soon journey into the world of the giants. The only path open to him was through Niflheim, and so Prince Helgrim had come here with his retinue to persuade the trolls to ambush Hal. But the trolls were too idle, too indolent and stupid to understand the benefits of an alliance. He drew his sword.

Rushing forward, he took the troll chieftain by the throat, placing his blade across the chieftain's windpipe. The troll chieftain thrashed feebly. Meanwhile, Prince Helgrim's swart-elves spread out in a protective ring, menacing any trolls who came close.

'Listen to me,' Prince Helgrim said into the troll chieftain's ear. 'Do as I tell you and you may live. Tell your folk to obey me in all things.'

Eyes wide with fear, the troll chieftain croaked: 'Do as he says! Don't let him kill me!'

The walls of the mist-hung valley clattered to the ponies' hooves.

'Remember this place?' Eric said with a laugh. 'You lot were hiding over there when I came back with the feathercloaks.'

'That means we are near Salarsteini,' Hal said grimly. 'We must go quietly.'

Tanngrisnir nodded, loosening Helbrand in its scabbard. 'With luck, the steam will conceal us,' he said.

He led them out of the valley into the warm area of rocks that surrounded the bubbling spring of Hvergelmir. Skirting this, and the steam-shrouded hall on the cliffs above, they headed for one of the many hot streams that trickled through the rocks from beneath the mysterious root structure.

'This is the source of the Elivagar,' Tanngrisnir told them. 'We shall follow this until it becomes navigable. Then we must find some means to sail down it. It will lead into the world of the giants.'

They rode down the bank, unaware that eyes were watching from the misty cliffs above.

'It is them,' one watcher grunted.

'We must slay them,' another said.

'Wait for an opportune moment,' their lithe companion commanded. 'They are perilous prey.'

The stream raced over the rocks as the travellers followed the narrow valley further north. Other streams came to join it, and within a mile, it had swollen to become a swift-flowing torrent.

But it was cold this far from Hvergelmir, and sleet fell as they rode along. It seemed to Hal unfair that despite the warmth from the hot springs, the climate had not improved the further they journeyed south. It was bitter! He noticed that now even the river was frozen at the edges, and occasionally blocks of ice would break free to rush down the stream.

'Further south, it widens to become a great river,' Tanngrisnir told him. 'Often large blocks of ice still float on its surface. Even in the world of the giants it still contains much ice.'

Eric blew out his cheeks, and rubbed his hands together. 'I want to go somewhere warm,' he said. 'What's it like in this Muspellzheim place? That sounds hot.'

Tanngrisnir shuddered. 'I was there once,' he said stiffly. 'With my old comrade Hlymir. It is a terrible place, the world of the fire giants. Rivers of fire, great baked deserts of ash... the antithesis of Niflheim, yet no more hospitable.'

'Not a good holiday destination, then,' Eric muttered.

Hal was staring up at the cliffs. 'Did you hear?' he said as they rode on. 'Up there.'

'Oh, come on,' Gwen said. 'Who's going to follow us? We've gone a long way past where the trolls live. Most of this place is deserted. Not surprisingly.'

'We should have flown here,' Ilmadis murmured. 'If only we had kept those cloaks... What happened to them?'

'Alfrek took them, I think,' Gwen said. 'They were his.'

'He gave me the Tarnhelm, though,' Eric remarked, patting a saddlebag.

'I smell troll,' Mordis announced suddenly.

They had come to a wider stretch of river, much as Tanngrisnir had described it. The Princess had halted her pony, and was staring up into the mist. Her wolves growled.

Tanngrisnir peered into the mist, then glanced at the stream. A large chunk of ice tumbled over the nearby rapids. 'Perhaps this is where we should take to the water.'

'How?' Hal asked practically. 'We've got nothing to make a raft out of.'

'Is no one listening?' snapped Mordis. 'I said I smell troll. Do something about it, one of you.'

'No need to make a raft,' Tanngrisnir said. 'Hal - go into that stream and grab a passing piece of ice, one large enough to fit us all. We'll have to leave the ponies, I'm afraid.'

Hal waded out into the stream, gasping at the coldness of the water. Glad he was wearing gloves, he seized at a passing slab of ice. It slipped from his fingers. He cursed, and waited for another.

Just as he was about to grab a huge block of ice, big enough to fit them all, he heard a shout from the bank, and looked up.

'Trolls!' Eric was yelling.

'There! What did I tell you?' Mordis added, exasperated.

Trolls were bursting out of the mist, racing down the slope. A familiar dark figure wielding a scimitar led them. Tanngrisnir drew Helbrand.

Hal grabbed the ice-raft and held it fast. Ignoring the cold, he waded back towards the bank, dragging the ice against the swift-flowing current. The others were fighting off the trolls. Steel rang, cries resounded from the crags. Hal saw Prince Helgrim at the head of the trolls. Did he never give up?

'Hurry!' Hal bawled. 'I've got the ice!'

'What about the ponies?' Ilmadis cried.

'We'll have to leave them,' Tanngrisnir shouted. 'And your wolves, Princess.'

Mordis gave him a glare, and ensured Varg and Ylg were the first to scramble aboard the ice-raft.

Eric and Tanngrisnir fought a desperate rearguard against the trolls, hacking and slashing as Prince Helgrim urged his minions on. Finally, everyone apart from Hal and the two on the bank were aboard the ice-raft.

'Hurry up, you two!' Hal shouted, still holding the raft in place.

Tanngrisnir and Eric turned, and leapt aboard. Hal scrambled after them, shivering, lying flat across the raft as they floated quickly down the ice-choked river.

Prince Helgrim stood on the bank, a distant angry figure that shook its fist. The last they saw of him, he was turning on his trolls, striking them left and right and trying to drag them away from the ponies.

'Those poor creatures,' Ilmadis murmured. 'The trolls will eat them.'

'Hal, are you alright?' Gwen asked. He was shivering uncontrollably as he lay across the ice.

'He must be suffering from exposure,' Eric said. 'Do something, Gwen.'

'Like what?' Gwen demanded.

'Let me!' Mordis said, pushing her to one side. She began tending to Hal as best she could, under the cramped conditions, chafing his frozen limbs.

Tanngrisnir sat at the edge of the raft, looking back upstream. 'They'll be after us soon, no doubt,' he said.

After a while, Hal sat up.

'No frostbite,' Mordis said. 'You will live.'

'Freezing,' Hal stuttered. 'Where are we?'

'Look!' cried Ilmadis.

Coming round a corner in the stream behind them, paddling with their clubs as they sat astride another block of ice, was the group of trolls who had ambushed them. Amidst them was Prince Helgrim, his face grim yet eager.

'Haven't we been here before?' Hal asked deliriously, as the raft swept them on.

The river opened out still further, expanding rapidly on either side until the mist hid the shores. Great chunks of ice floated alongside them, like icebergs. The cold was profound.

'Where's Prince Helgrim and his motley crew?' Eric asked.

'Still following,' Gwen reported. 'They're paddling. Shouldn't we be paddling?'

'With what?' Mordis asked. 'Our hands?'

'It's just that they're gaining on us,' Gwen replied.

The waters spread before them, mist-hung, thick with ice. Behind them, the trolls were growing ever closer.

'Time to repel boarders,' Hal cried. He put his hand on the Runeblade and faced Prince Helgrim across the narrowing waters. In the misty distance, a roaring sound grew.

'O, that it should be hither!' Prince Helgrim cried, 'In the waste of waters, on the margins of Niflheim and Jotunheim, we meet in battle. Prepare to meet your doom, Hal!'

The roaring grew louder. It came from up ahead, although its source was hidden by the mist. Hal peered muzzily towards his nemesis. Was Prince Helgrim right? Had they met their doom? The swart-elf and his trollish companions were drawing closer.

'What I have been through to reach this moment!' Prince Helgrim exulted, as they drew ever closer to the drifting ice-block and its cowering crew. 'Yet now you are mine!' he bellowed, and prepared to leap across.

As he did so, the two floating ice-blocks drifted out of the mist. Directly ahead was the edge of a mighty waterfall. Spray hung in the air.

'Where are we, Tanngrisnir?' Gwen shouted.

'At the very edge of Niflheim, as Prince Helgrim said,' Tanngrisnir cried. 'Here the waters of the Elivagar rush into the wider river of the Vimur! Jotunheim lies one way, Midgard the other!'

'Midgard?' Gwen asked, as the ice-raft rushed towards the falls.

Prince Helgrim leapt across the gap, landing with a thud on the block of ice. His impact sent a crack shivering straight across it, splitting it into two halves. Tanngrisnir and Hal crouched on one half, with Prince Helgrim standing over them with his scimitar. On the other, larger piece, sat Gwen, Eric, and the others. They watched in horror as Hal struggled weakly with Prince Helgrim on the edge of the falls. Tanngrisnir flailed at the edge of the ice-block, as if trying to paddle them back to safety. The trolls on the other block watched dully as the two enemies fought.

'They're going over the edge!' screamed Gwen. But it was too late. Still struggling, Hal and Prince Helgrim, together with Tanngrisnir, vanished over the narrowing horizon.

'Hal!' screamed Mordis.

'Never mind them,' Eric said in horror. Their own ice-block was spinning out of control. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the trolls paddling themselves frantically towards safety.

'We're going over as well!' shouted Ilmadis.

The raft lurched, as they plunged over the edge. Eric grabbed at the side, scrabbling for purchase on the slippery ice.
EPILOGUE

The sun shone through the fog upon a drifting block of ice, on which several dark figures crouched. Mist hung on the waters around them. It was icy cold.

'There's a welcome sight,' Eric said, raising his head.

Nearby, Ilmadis stirred. 'The Fair Wheel!' she cried. 'Are we near Alfheim? We have entered the worlds of light!'

'The sun!' Gwen said.

Mordis scowled, and hissed like a vampire.

They had survived their trip over the falls, somehow clinging hold of the ice-block, retaining their grip when it bobbed back out of the water at the bottom. Even Ylg and Varg had survived, though wet and bedraggled. But they had seen nothing of Hal and Tanngrisnir.

Since then, they had been drifting through chill waters where icebergs floated on either side. On they had drifted, hoping to sight land, but to no avail. Slowly, it had grown lighter.

'I don't think we're in Niflheim anymore,' Gwen murmured.

'And we are surely far from my world,' Mordis spat, screwing her eyes up against the sun's dim light. 'That cursed glow does not penetrate to Svartalfaheim.'

'Before he... left us, Tanngrisnir said that the river led to the world of the giants,' Gwen said. 'But he said it also led to... Midgard.'

'You mean our world?' Eric asked.

'Do you think this is Midgard?' asked Ilmadis, disappointed. 'I had hoped it was Alfheim. But I am happy for you if it is your home, Gwen,' she added loyally.

Mordis made a noise of disgust.

'I'm promising nothing,' Eric said. 'And even if it is Earth... it's a shame Hal isn't with us to see it.'

He gazed out over the misty waters. Where was Hal now? Was he dead? Had he killed Prince Helgrim? Had he reached the world of the giants? Maybe he was receiving the training Tanngrisnir had spoken of.

For now, however, it seemed that the rest of them were out of the adventure. Eric considered his friends one by one: Mordis scowling in the sunlight, playing disconsolately with the ears of her two bedraggled wolves; Gwen staring at the new world of light that surrounded them; Ilmadis at her side, smiling fondly at her friend.

Was this the world of men, as Eric's recent acquaintances called it? Or was it some other, more hostile world, where the perils they had faced before would remain their lot?

And what of Hal?

In silence, they drifted across the waters.

### About the Author

Gavin Chappell was born in northern England and lives near Liverpool. After studying English at the University of Wales, he has since worked variously as a business analyst, a college lecturer, and a webzine editor. He is the author of numerous short stories, articles, poems and books, and editor of various webzines and anthologies.

As editor:

Pseudonomicon: Schlock Anthology

Since the first issue was released on 10 April 2011, Schlock! Webzine has consistently featured some of the best science fiction, fantasy and horror stories on the internet. Editor Gavin Chappell has since accrued a motley collection of writers and artists, all determined to make Schlock! Webzine a force to be reckoned with.

And now, we present you with the best stories hailing from the first volume of Schlock! Webzine. Inside you will find monsters and killers, saviours and saints. You will see visions of the future and depictions of the past, alternate realities and alternate personae. The birth of a genre... and the future of several more.

This... is PSEUDONOMICON.

Fantasmagoriana

In the gloomy summer of 1816, a motley collection of poets, exiles, and adulterers gathered at the Villa Diodati on the shores of Lake Geneva...

Fantasmagoriana: a collection of Gothic tales by Mary Shelley, Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and John William Polidori, all originating in a night of ghost storytelling.

Contains the complete FRANKENSTEIN and Polidori's influential THE VAMPYRE, plus Gothic works by Byron, Shelley, and Mathew 'Monk' Lewis.

First serialised in Schlock! Webzine (www.schlock.co.uk)Gavin Chappell was born in northern England and lives near Liverpool. After studying English at the University of Wales, he has since worked variously as a business analyst, a college lecturer, and a webzine editor. He is the author of numerous short stories, articles, poems and several books.

Already published

Celtic Dawn  
Wirral Smugglers, Wreckers and Pirates  
The Sword of Wayland  
The Work of Wayland  
The Bones of Wayland  
Forger of the Runeblade  
Bearer of the Runeblade  
Wielder of the Runeblade  
The Curse of the Dwarves  
Going Underground  
Street Fighting Years  
The House of Skulls and Other Stories  
Dark Sail on the Horizon  
The Man Who Sold the Roman Empire (writing with Gavin Roach)

Editor:

Pseudonomicon - Schlock Anthology #1  
Fantasmagoriana

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 Bearer of the Runeblade (The Runeblade Saga)

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9 Mar 2011 |

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Hal now bears the Runeblade, forged for him by Alfrek, king of the dwarves. Separated from his friends Gwen and Eric, he travels on into the world of the giants, where he will learn how to wield his sword.

Meanwhile, the armies of the giants and swart-elves are mustering, and march upon the worlds of light. Will Hal beat them to the world of the Vanir and avert catastrophe? Or will the giants be victorious? And what of Eric and Gwen?

Book Two in the Runeblade Saga

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 Wielder of the Runeblade (The Runeblade Saga)

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9 Mar 2011 |

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After many adventures, Hal reaches the world of Muspell, where the fire-giant king plots the destruction of the gods. Surveying the blasted, inhospitable fiery wastes, Hal despairs of completing his quest.

Meanwhile, Gwen and Eric flee the conquest of Vanaheim into the world of the elves. But the frost giants are on the move again. Asgard itself is threatened.

Ragnarok - the Twilight of the Gods - seems inevitable. Can Hal and his friends save the Nine Worlds?

Book Three in the Runeblade Saga

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 The Sword of Wayland (The Wayland Saga)

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6 Feb 2011 |

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Wrongly accused of rape by Queen Cynethryth, Oswald, one of King Offa's finest champions, flees into exile.

Learning that Cynethryth plots to bring down her husband's kingdom with the aid of the Red Dragon, Oswald leads a small band of outlaws across war-torn Dark Age Britain in a desperate quest for the only weapon that can kill the monster threatening their land...

The long-lost Sword of Wayland!

The Sword of Wayland is the first book in the Wayland Saga trilogy.

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 The Work of Wayland (The Wayland Saga)

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Two years after the events described in The Sword of Wayland, Oswald is living in exile in East Anglia.

Queen Cynethryth's machinations have brought Offa's kingdom and the Frankish empire to the brink of war. Oswald and his friends journey to the land of monsters in search of the one man who can bring peace - Wayland's father, Wade.

But Wade is nowhere to be found.

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 The Bones of Wayland (The Wayland Saga)

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9 Mar 2011 |

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East Anglia has fallen. Even Oswald's adoptive homeland cannot escape the grasp of Offa - and his evil wife, Queen Cynethryth.

Learning that Cynethryth plots to bring all seven kingdoms under her sway with the aid of a dragon army, Oswald and his friends use Wayland's magic to travel to Northumbria, where an attack by Vikings begins a series of events that will result in the death of three English kings.

The seven kingdoms hang in the balance.

The Bones of Wayland is the last book in the Wayland Saga trilogy.

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 The Rape of Guinevere

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Melwas, king of the Summer Country, abducts Queen Guinevere. The monk Gildas intercedes in the ensuing war with Artorius. But Artorius' dealings with Gildas will blacken his name for all time...  See Fewer Details

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 The Curse of the Dwarves

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9 Mar 2011 |

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His kingdom beset by enemies both without and within, King Svafrlami is desperate to defend his people, but he is old and ailing.

When he encounters two dwarves in the forest, he forces them to provide him with a sword that will win him victory in battle. But the dwarves, angered by their ill-treatment, lay a curse upon the blade.

The Curse of the Dwarves tells the saga of that cursed blade and the tragic generations that bear it through battle and treachery...

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 The Man Who Sold The Roman Empire

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Ancient Rome under the mad Emperor Commodus.

Laetus, head of the emperor's bodyguard, knows that his master must be removed for the good of the Empire. But who is best suited to replace him, and how can they prepare for the coup without attracting the paranoid Emperor's suspicion? Laetus will have to resort to desperate measures before order can be restored.

But at what price?

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 Celtic Dawn

3 May 2011 |

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The date is 400 BC. Britain is a patchwork of tribes and kingdoms, united half a century ago by Dumnoualos, king of Dumnonia, whose armies brought peace to a land riven by war. But now the High King is dead, and he leaves two sons, Brennos and Belinos, who are both supported for the succession by rival tribal factions. Regardless of their own wishes, one of the brothers is destined to be High King, the other to be banished. And yet his deeds in exile will resound down the centuries when the savage Celtic tribes burst down from the Alps to sack the nascent city-state of Rome...

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 Going Underground

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Hamish awoke with a start. Darkness and dead white faces, loud noise and cloying, exotic scents assailed him from all sides: a scene rivalling Dante's Inferno. For a moment, he didn't know where he was....

Going Underground tells the story of three teenage runaways, Hamish, Eloise and Nick, whose adventures expose them to the seamier side of supernatural Britain.

Encounters with black magicians, vampire cultists and Neo-Nazi mystics culminate in a quest for the Celtic Grail, located in the depths of the planet itself, with which their enemy Tybalt Kohl hopes to resurrect the Third Reich...

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 Street Fighting Years

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A VIOLENT WORLD OF THE NEAR FUTURE IN WHICH POLITICS IS THE NEW ROCK'N'ROLL...

They were just a group of lads with guns. They never thought they'd end up running the country. But when they finally fought their way to the top, they had a nasty surprise waiting...

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 Dark Sail on the Horizon (The Runeblade Saga)

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24 April 2011 |

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The seas of Northern Europe, one thousand years ago. As the first Christian millennium draws to a close, the old ways of the heathen Vikings are on the wane. A Christian king sits upon the throne of Norway, bringing a religion of peace and humility with fire and the sword. The reign of the Vikings nears its close, while dark forces stir far to the east, ready to snatch the kingdom of Asgard from the Gods.

Against this backdrop Erik the Cunning, Halldor the Honourable and Gudrun Ravenseye plough the waves. Merchants of Norse descent from Northern England, their peaceful trading voyage to Denmark is transformed into a wild quest for vengeance when they are attacked by the evil pirate-wizard Ulf-Hedin, prompting them to embark upon a feud as bloody as any waged by their savage ancestors. Across the seas they must pursue their foe, a man immune to mortal weapons. From the Hebrides to the isles of Orkney and on into the cold Arctic Sea and the lands of the giants beyond, they sail with vengeance in their hearts, desperate to discover a means to despatch their seemingly invulnerable foe. Yet even when the success of their quest is prophesised by the spirit of a long dead witch, it becomes clear that nothing is simple in a world of warriors and wizardry...

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 Babbage Must Die

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'There are no jobs. Do you not pay any attention to the world around you? The human race has replaced itself with computers and automated systems. Even the job centre is automated. We're a planet full of slackers, kept alive by universal credit...'

In a dystopian world of the near future, the human race has been made redundant by computerisation and automation. Brian, a man who has never done a day's work in his life, encounters Ada, a girl with a plan - and access to a time machine. Her intention is to assassinate Charles Babbage, inventor of the computer.

Brian and Ada journey back to the early nineteenth century, their mission to kill Babbage before he makes his breakthrough. But between them and success lies the length and breadth of Regency England, a wild, unruly period. Luddite rebels, the Royal Navy, Romantic poets, transportation, piracy, shipwreck, the horrors of Bedlam and polite society all lie between them and their goal.

But they know they must persevere. For the sake of humanity's future -

BABBAGE MUST DIE!

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 Castle of the Blood Visage (Red Daughter)

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Viking shieldmaiden the Red Daughter is pitted against a nest of Celtic vampires....

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 The House of Skulls

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Yeduza, a warrior woman of the Emperor Mtogo's bodyguard, fights against the zombie army that assails the land of Nago. She must seek support among the pygmies of the jungle and make a pact with the nomads of the northern desert before she has a chance to defeat her sinister foes.

And even then, peril awaits...

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 Dragons of the Dumb Sea

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Thorkell the Icelander and a motley crew of Vikings sail into the frozen North, on a quest for the treasure of the were-dragons...

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 Gordred and the Golden Goose (The Scrivener's Saga)

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25 Jan 2012 |

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The secret to untold riches creates galloping inflation and social breakdown in the city-state of Cosht.

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 Off to Bedlam without any Supper

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An old man faces a dystopian future where hilarity is compulsory...

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 Spacesick! (The Dungeoneers)

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26 Jan 2012 |

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Four space pirates are pursued by the galactic police.

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 The Blood Eagle (Red Daughter)

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Her father slain by murderous berserks, Ingunn is alone in the world except for her cowardly brother Thrand.

She burns with the desire for vengeance, but her enemy Varg the Black is the master of a Viking fleet.

Ingunn must become a Viking herself before she can hope to fulfil her vow - to hunt Varg down and slay him with the infamous blood-eagle torture...

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 The Last of the Ogres

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A perfect gentle knight grows up at last...

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 Celtic Warrior

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WHEN THE LIFE-GIVER DIES

A pagan god, a virgin sacrifice; just another night's work for Walwain the Pict. Or is it?

VIRICONIUM NIGHTS

Walwain is pitted against the tyrant Vortigern and his motley coven of sorcerers.

THE RUIN OF BRITAIN

Walwain searches derelict Londinium for Britannia's future.

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 Thieves from the Stars

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Theodric the Saxon flees the wrath of Artorius into the haunted depths of the Caledonian Forest.

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 State of Emergency

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'A STATE OF EMERGENCY HAS BEEN DECLARED AND A CURFEW WILL BE IMPOSED IN THE CAPITAL BETWEEN 1800 HOURS AND 0700 HOURS... WE MUST CRACK DOWN ON THESE INSURGENTS WHOSE ACTIONS THREATEN DEMOCRACY ITSELF.'

In a terrifying England of the near future, Will's chance reencounter with his old tutor plunges him into a world of political demonstrations and police brutality.

Persuaded by beautiful activist Daisy Rae to take direct action, Will is horrified to find society descending into chaos as a result. He and his friends embark upon a nightmare flight through the London streets that swarm with rogue members of the security forces.

The country's last chance for liberty lies in a deserted hotel room in Shepherds Bush. But what chance does Will have of getting Professor Quigley's Manifesto to Oxford before civil war erupts?

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 Halls of the Slain

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Erik Bloodaxe, king of Jorvik, slain in battle in Swaledale, makes a dramatic entrance into the Halls of Valhalla...

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 The Pendragon Inheritance

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In a post apocalyptic England of the future, the only hope for the country is King Arthur...

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 Seizing the Day

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Tzarn the librarian sets forth on a quest for the gauds of the god-king...

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 Wolf Moon

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HORROR IN THE FORESTS OF ANCIENT GERMANIA!

Titus slumped. 'Isn't there anywhere safe in this country?'

Dubigalos laughed. 'Matter of fact, there is,' he said. 'We can head for the territory of a friendly tribe. Trouble is, it means going up north – away from the river.'

Titus relaxed a little. He looked suspiciously at the Caledonian.

'And what are they called, this friendly tribe of yours?'

Dubigalos looked nonchalantly northward. He whistled between his teeth.

'Vandals,' he said after a moment.

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NB. Prices correct at time of going to press.

Read on for an excerpt from BEARER OF THE RUNEBLADE

PROLOGUE

He was wandering again.

As Frigg walked through her halls that glittered in the watery light of morning, her face was sombre, her mouth a hard line. It had been long since her husband departed from Asgard; long since his presence had filled her halls with shimmering joy. He was wandering.

As she paced gracefully towards the hall-gates, her maid Fulla appeared at a side-door.

'My lady, queen of Asgard,' Fulla said with a formal curtsey. 'Do you go without?'

Frigg inclined her head. 'I am resolved to go up onto Hlidskialf this morning,' she replied.

Fulla curtseyed again. The golden band she wore about her beautiful brow glistened in the dawn light. 'Shall I accompany you?' she asked.

Frigg shook her head. 'I shall go alone,' she replied. 'I hope to scan the world for sign of my husband.'

'My lord Odin has been away for many months,' Fulla ventured.

Frigg nodded wordlessly. 'Await my return,' she said at last.

Outside her hall, the morning sun was fresh and bright, slanting down through the pines that surrounded the fens amongst which Frigg's halls were built. A stone-paved roadway led through the trees, and she took this.

The air was warm and scented. High above the chilly worlds of ice and darkness, in the beaming light of the Sun, the woods and plains of Asgard were a temperate paradise. The Aesir had built their many dwellings in clearings and along the banks of streams and rivers. As Frigg walked alone up the winding road of Himinveg, she passed many palaces: Thrudheim, where the coppery tang of thunder hung in the air; Ydalir, down in a valley of yew-trees; Sokkvabekk, where Saga's hall stood among the flooded banks of the River Rennandi; Gladsheim, near the centre of Asgard, and Valhalla, where her husband's elite warriors fought mock-battles in the eaves of their mead-hall.

The road led her up the hill of Hlidskialf.

Giving reserved greetings to those Aesir she met, Frigg walked on, alone, up the slopes of the hill. High above the halls and woods, fields and rivers, she reached a wide, open, grassy space that crowned the hill. In the centre was a large stone seat.

Breathing heavily, as much from anticipation as from exertion, Frigg approached the chair. Would she find Odin? Few Aesir other than her husband dared sit upon the stone chair and look out across the worlds; indeed, it was forbidden to all but Odin and her. Young Frey had done so once, in the morning of the world, and gone away heartsick.

Nevertheless, Frigg's need was great. Odin had been gone long, longer than he had ever been before; longer than the time when he was deemed dead in his absence, when his brothers Vili and Ve took his possessions. Rumours spoke of frost giants marshalling their hordes in Jotunheim; of fire giants plotting in Muspellzheim; of swart-elves and trolls, all the enemies of Asgard, scheming and once again preparing to launch their assault upon the worlds of order.

Without Odin, the Aesir were lost.

Frigg sat upon the cold stone chair, and began to scan the worlds, and the spaces between the worlds. Alfheim she spied, the woodlands of the light elves; then Vanaheim's bright oceans and islands; Midgard's bustling cities and out-flung wildernesses; the mountains and castles of Jotunheim. Niflheim's ice. Muspellzheim's fire. Svartalfaheim's sinister darkness. Hel's worm-gnawed gloom, where her own dearest son sat at Death's side, in sombre state.

But nowhere, among all the teeming millions of the worlds, could she see the beloved figure of her husband, in any of his guises. Was he dead? Was he imprisoned somewhere beyond even the sight of Hlidskialf? Or was he hiding, for some unfathomable reason of his own?

Frigg was about to rise, her curiosity punished with longing and heartache like Frey in days long gone. Then her eyes lit upon two figures struggling ashore on the ice-choked shores of Jotunheim, far to the north of the perilous forest of Ironwood.

Although he had clearly been swimming a long time in the freezing waters, the taller of the two wore a long sword at his side.

Frigg could never say what it was that drew her eyes to the shivering, half-drowned human and his dwarven companion. But she could not tear her gaze away from them. Her heart beat faster, and hope rose unbidden within her divine body.

It was a small thing to hang hope upon, she knew; two half-drowned vagabonds on the hostile coast of Giantland. Nevertheless, she leaned closer to watch their progress.

1 THE ICE FIELDS

'We survived, then.'

Hal surveyed the icy landscape with eyes as bleak as his surroundings. Shivering, he glanced upwards to where the light of the low-lying sun filtered through the mist. That made a change. It was a long time since he had last seen the sun. He burst into a fit of coughing.

'What of Prince Helgrim?'

Hal turned to look at his companion, who had spoken. Tanngrisnir the Dwarf eyed him darkly. Hal rubbed his cold face. 'The last I saw of him, he was dragged away by the force of the waters,' he wheezed. 'It took all my strength to hold on to the ice block.' He looked out to sea, where the block of ice to which they had both clung still bobbed in the murk. 'Where are we, Tanngrisnir?' he added.

The dwarf stretched his cold and tired limbs. He looked about him at the soft snow that blurred the lines of the crags and boulders.

'Jotunheim,' he replied. 'The world of the giants. I recognise this strand.'

'You've been here before?' Hal coughed again.

Tanngrisnir nodded shortly. 'I first met my old comrade-in-arms here,' he replied, 'Hlymir the storm giant. He whose mother will teach you the arts of the warrior.'

Darkness was swiftly descending upon the snows, although the sun never quite sank behind the horizon, and strange multi-coloured lights danced all night through the atmosphere above. After their ordeal on the icy waters, neither of the two wanderers felt like moving far. The strand yielded sufficient driftwood for them to build a fire in the lea of a crag, and they sat huddled over it as the darkness beyond grew deeper.

'What now, Tanngrisnir?' Hal asked. He was cold and hungry, and the fire left his back to freeze. His nose was running, and he still had little idea what they were doing here. 'How do we find your old friend's mother?' The dwarf stroked his beard in silence. 'What do you suppose happened to the others? To Gwen and Eric? To Ilmadis and Mordis, and her pet wolves?'

Tanngrisnir snorted. 'How can I answer that question? The waters drew us apart. We escaped death, escaped into this world. Perhaps they did, too.'

Hal frowned. 'This makes no sense to me,' he told the dwarf. 'They said at school that Earth is a planet in the middle of space, orbiting the sun. These worlds we've visited are divided by seas and rivers, not by space. Where does what I learnt at school fit in? Doesn't that universe exist?'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'It exists, and in other ways it does not. It does not exist here. This world, the world of the giants, exists on another plane, if you like; another dimension, as I believe your wise men would say. Asgard is in another plane; Svartalfaheim, Hel, and all the rest exist in their own separate universes, as does the world of men.

'However, they all intersect, brought together by the mystical rivers of Elivagar and Vimur, and all the others. And linking them all is the World-Tree. Each root, each branch, leads to a different world; separate, unique, but interconnected. You saw one of them in Niflheim.'

Hal absorbed this. 'I see,' he replied. 'Then if we had gone a different way when Prince Helgrim attacked us, we would have just... floated into my universe. Is that right?'

Tanngrisnir nodded. 'It is unlikely that you would notice the change,' he replied. 'It would be as seamless as the transition from Hel to Svartalfaheim, or even from Svartalfaheim to Niflheim. But once in that world, that universe, it would obey all the rules your teachers taught you - unless you were to leave it under certain special circumstances.'

Hal coughed and spluttered. 'Then... maybe Gwen and Eric, and er, er Mordis might have gone back to Earth?' he asked eventually.

Tanngrisnir lay down on the cold rock before the fire. 'You must learn to find your own answers one day, Hal,' he replied. He closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Hal looked down at him, exasperated. The dwarf was becoming as difficult as Gangrel...

Where was Gangrel now, though? Had he truly died when he fell from the swart-elf stronghold? Frowning, Hal ran his fingers along the hilt of the Runeblade, the sword he wore almost uncomfortably at his side.

He had come here to learn the discipline of the warrior. Tanngrisnir had said that Iarnvidia, Hlymir's mother, would teach him. But he did not know where he would find her, in this cold waste of ice and rock.

Coughing, he lay down beside the fire, and tried to sleep.

Images rushed into his mind like ice-melt, unlocked from his cold-numbed memory, poignant as only half-forgotten memories can be. Yet they were not his memories.

He had seen many strange sights in recent weeks, but never had he watched phantom warriors battling upon a windswept moor. Never had he seen black smoke rise from a huddle of turf-walled bothies, and known it as a sign of doom. Never had he sailed north, north, and north again past islands and fjords, pursuing the dark sail of a ship that bobbed forever on the grey horizon.

Yet, here at his side were his two friends, Gwen and Eric. Dressed strangely, and Eric had a beard. But were those truly their names? It seemed to him that they were named differently - and that his own name was somehow different, also.

The images rushed past him and around him, sending his consciousness spinning like a twig in a torrent. Aboard the dark ship, they confronted a menacing figure, a tall warrior who wore a wolf-skin like a helmet: a figure Hal had never seen before, and yet which was naggingly familiar. A face he had seen in forgotten dreams, nightmares that had left him on waking, left him with nothing more than an unaccountable sense of dread.

A face he had seen in a forgotten past.

Hal awoke with a start.

The cold, dim half-light gathered around the glowing embers of their fire like a wolf pack, waiting with awful patience. The wind howled in the distance, over the nearer crash of waves upon the shore. The lights in the sky danced crazily on. He coughed, cold to the marrow, and tried to sleep again.

Which was worse? His dreams were nightmare-ridden, his waking life little better. Looking across the fire, he saw Tanngrisnir's form sleeping peacefully, despite the cold and the night-noises, and the rocky ground. With a grunt, Hal sank back down, ignored the dull light of the low sun and the madly jigging lights of the aurora, and tried to find sleep once more.

His eyelids hung heavy, and he teetered on the brink of dreams, but whenever he began to doze, the howling of the wind would bring him back into wakefulness. After what seemed like hours of this wretched state, Hal rose to pace back and forth up the strand near the glowing embers.

He put his hand on his hilt, and peered into the howling murk. Was there truly anything out there? Or was it simply his imagination?

He settled himself back beside the fire again. Sleep would not come. His body felt like ice, his thoughts were dull and heavy, and still sleep would not come.

The wind died down. Chill silence settled on the land, broken only by the lap of waves: the silence of the wilderness, remote beyond imagining from the world of humanity.

Hal woke, and gazed around in dazed surprise. He had fallen asleep, after all! And his dreams... His dreams melted in his memory even as he tried to gather them. He could remember nothing he could put into words.

Only an unaccountable dread.

At a sound from behind him, Hal rolled over, and tried to draw his sword. The scabbard tangled between his legs, and sent him flying as he tried to rise.

Tanngrisnir looked down at him, and stamped over to the fireside. 'Gangrel was right,' he grunted. 'You have much to learn.'

He flung down the carcasses of two white-furred hares, and began skinning them. Hal rose, and watched in silence. 'So this place isn't uninhabited, then?' he asked finally. His eyes travelled around the cold landscape: the ice-choked waters to the north, the frozen sand stretching away on either side, the snow-muffled rocks and boulders inland.

Tanngrisnir grunted, and began gutting the first hare.

'I thought I heard something out there,' Hal said vaguely, gesturing inland. 'Late last night. Not that it was night. When we were sleeping, I mean. Not that I was sleeping...'

Tanngrisnir interrupted. 'It could have been anything,' he replied shortly. 'Or anyone.'

Hal rose, and paced back and forth. 'Where is this Iarnvidia, then?' he asked, after a while. Tanngrisnir had finished preparing his catch, and was now roasting the meat over the embers.

'She is a giantess who dwells in the forest of Ironwood; many leagues to the south, beyond the kingdom of the trolls,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'Unlike many of her kind, she favours the dominion of the Aesir, and works with them. Her son, Hlymir, was an outcast and a rebel, and came to be my companion in the wanderings of my youth.

'His mother has trained many warriors in the past. Gangrel intended that you should study under her. Since we know little more of Gangrel's plans than that you should become wielder of the Runeblade, we go there so that you may learn. It seems it is your weird to be champion of Asgard, against the coming onslaught of the fire giants and their allies.'

Hal tried to digest this, found it unpalatable and pushed it to one side in his mind as Tanngrisnir handed over a skewer of hare. Hal gnawed uneasily upon the bitter meat, and looked thoughtful. 'Why me?' he asked at last. 'Gangrel never seemed to have the time to explain it to me. But why am I to wield the Runeblade?'

Tanngrisnir shook his head. 'I do not know. It must be in your blood.'

'I had a dream,' Hal added after a long pause.

'So you did sleep!' said Tanngrisnir. 'By Tyr, I thought that you remained awake all night.'

Hal stared into the fire. 'I dreamed of Gwen and Eric,' he added. 'Except they weren't Gwen and Eric. And I wasn't me.' He looked up. 'Except I was.'

'Of what did you dream?' Tanngrisnir asked.

Hal frowned, and tried to put it into words. Finally, he shook his head, and shrugged. 'I can't really recall it,' he replied. 'It felt like a memory. Yet it was nothing I remember.'

Tanngrisnir rose, after wrapping the remnants of their meal in hide and stuffing it into a leather satchel. 'Time to get moving,' he said. 'Or do you wish to freeze to the spot?'

Hal got to his feet, brushing himself down. He looked around. 'Where do we go?' he asked.

'Follow me,' Tanngrisnir replied, and began to pick his way across the rocks in the direction of the crags to the south.

Hal glimpsed a range of high mountains through the mist. As they made their way across the steadily ascending ground, the peaks grew gradually closer.

'Is that where we're going?' Hal asked his dour companion.

Tanngrisnir nodded. 'Those heights are known as the Bones of Ymir,' he replied. 'Beyond them lies Isavellir, the ice-fields, and the kingdom of the trolls. South of Trollheim is the forest of Ironwood - our destination.'

'Listen!' Hal said, halting in his tracks. 'What's that?'

From the mist ahead, a slithering, hissing sound came, like someone skiing across snow. The sound seemed magnified - perhaps by some freak effect of the mist. Before Hal could rationalise it further, a dim, titanic figure burst through the swirling clouds.

'Hide, by Frey!' Tanngrisnir urged, dragging Hal behind a boulder.

'What is it?' Hal hissed. 'I must see...' He raised his head above the boulder, and his eyes widened.

Skiing across the path ahead was a huge woman, easily eleven or twelve feet tall; a lithe muscular figure clad in thick furs that left her sinewy arms and legs bare. Her face was cold yet forbiddingly beautiful. Over her shoulder, she carried a crude stone spear.

Tanngrisnir pulled Hal back down again. 'Don't be an oaf!' he hissed. 'Did he see you?'

Hal crouched beside him. 'No,' he retorted sulkily. 'And it was a she. She wasn't looking over here. But why did we have to hide from her? I could have fought her. How can I become a hero if I run away all the time?'

'No hero rushes rashly into the fray,' Tanngrisnir retorted. Slowly, he raised his own head above the boulder. The slithering of the skis was receding into the mist.

'Come now,' the dwarf whispered. 'The giantess has gone.' They hurried up the path.

'That will have been a frost giantess,' Tanngrisnir explained. 'They are more common south of here, in Ymisland and around Utgard, their capital. Doubtless she is out hunting. I am sure she would not turn her nose up at human or dwarf. We must be careful. This is a perilous land.'

The mountains grew closer as the two wanderers crossed the barren, mist-hung snow. Soon they were among the foothills, where cliffs rose above them on either side. The wind blew cold and bitter, knifing their ice-chill bodies. Hal walked hunched up against the cold as they proceeded up the pass that led through the Bones of Ymir, and he coughed bitterly to himself.

The mountains rose on either side, like giants themselves, blindly watching the progress of two insects that crawled beneath the skies' face. The wind howled around the peaks and screamed through the valleys, buffeting and tugging at their slowly progressing forms. Snow whirled around them as they inched up the bleak, barren pass, and the misty sky was the colour of cold iron.

Yet a distant, dismal, steely sun shone through, dimly illuminating the peaks from the east. Despite the cold and the wind, Hal felt his hopes lifted by this glimpse of distant light and warmth. He had spent so long in worlds far from the sun.

As he trudged on, he wondered where his friends might be. He had been split from them at the confluence of the Elivagar and the Vimur, between Niflheim, Jotunheim, and Midgard - as the inhabitants of the other worlds called Earth. Maybe Eric and Gwen had gone home.

He ached to be with them, wherever they were.

The mountain walls enclosed the pass on either side of Hal and Tanngrisnir, and the shadows of the cliffs cut off all sunlight. Down in the darkness of the pass, the two wanderers continued their slow, painful journey. About noon, they paused in a cave in the hillside to eat cold hare-meat, and to squeeze water from snow to drink. Refreshed and reinvigorated, they continued half an hour later.

'How much further?' Hal said, as they made their way up the dark valley.

'Far,' Tanngrisnir replied gloomily, 'Many leagues before we reach the head of the pass, and see Isavellir below us. Many more before we reach our destination.'

Cheered not at all by his companion's statement, Hal walked on.

The effects of food and rest wore off quickly, and soon Hal felt as he had before, like a machine, striding across the rock too numb to register his cold and weariness. How far had they come? How far would they go? Where would their next meal come from?

The wind screamed about them. Hal stumbled on in a trance, hunched in upon himself.

With the mountain walls still enclosing them they crossed the sloping rocks as mice might scurry across some vast, deserted, darkened hall.

Again, they rested in the lea of a massive boulder, chafing their frozen limbs into some semblance of life. The mist hung above them like a roof. Ahead, hazy light filtered through, to illumine the dark scene.

'How far are we from the pass?' Hal asked hoarsely.

'Not far, by my calculations,' Tanngrisnir replied, stuttering with cold. 'But our troubles will multiply as we draw closer to the kingdom of the trolls and the lands of the giants.'

'Do you think Prince Helgrim may be with the trolls?' Hal wheezed. 'He was allied to them when we last saw him.'

Tanngrisnir shrugged. 'For all we know, he may be dead.'

'Let's hope so,' Hal said quietly. Even if Prince Helgrim was dead, he knew that the threat of the fire giants themselves remained; forever a peril to the worlds of order.

In silence, they rose, and continued.

Hours later, they came out of the dark shadow of the cliffs at the far end of the pass. Beyond them, sheer but for a few winding gullies, the southern slopes fell away, down towards the glittering fields of ice that stretched almost to the horizon. In the far distance, Hal could see craggy hills that marked the edge of the ice fields, overhung by greasy clouds of black smoke. And beyond the hills was something else, something that fringed the horizon, glinting dully, too far away to be readily discernable.

'Isavellir,' Tanngrisnir said, indicating the ice fields.

'But what's that, on the far side?' Hal inquired.

'Those are the snowy hills of Trollheim,' Tanngrisnir told him, 'and beyond that, the forest of Ironwood.'

An enclosed gully led down the mountainside away from the pass, and the two wanderers took this path, glad to be out of the worst of the wind, though it still howled above them.

The gully wound down the cliffs for over half an hour before opening out on the edge of a scree slope. Hal and Tanngrisnir made their way out onto the scattered rocks and picked their way down, slithering and slipping, crouching low; at times almost hugging the ground.

This slope ended at the head of a narrow cliff, where the brackish trickles of a stream gurgled down a wide channel cut in damper days by a torrent. Pausing at the little pool that lay at the head of the falls, they filled their water-skins and wetted their throats. Then they began the descent.

The cliff was precipitous, and their progress made slow by a constant search for ledges and crevices, toeholds and handholds. Below them, the mist curled across a slope of fallen boulders that were rimed with frost. Isavellir proper began beyond that; sheets and lenses of ice coating the wide plains.

They clambered down the cold rock walls, sweating freely despite the freezing air. Often Hal had to pause to wipe off the sweat before it froze solid on his face. He found himself wishing they could find the world of the fire giants, and quick. He fancied somewhere warm for his next hiking holiday.

Grimly, Tanngrisnir preceded him down the cliff, showing little sign of weariness.

They reached the slopes below after a long and nerve-wracking descent. Now the going was relatively easy, although they had to leap from one massive, icy boulder to the next with monotonous regularity. At times, one or other of them would slip on the ice, and almost fall into deep, dark bottomless holes that lay between the rocks lay. Occasionally, Hal thought he could hear things scuttling around in the darkness.

They found life among the boulders, if not the monsters Hal expected. Mosses and lichens flourished on the wet rocks, and sometimes the two wanderers would spy hares or pale foxes bounding into cover as they passed. Otherwise, the slopes were barren.

The boulders thinned out after a while, and Hal and Tanngrisnir began to follow a widening labyrinth of gullies that led between the rocks. Their feet crunched on the gravel that floored the gullies, the only sound except for the distant sighing of the wind. Finally, they came out of a gully to find themselves on the edge of Isavellir.

It was as if a great inland sea had frozen in a single night. The flat expanse of ice, broken only by occasional boulders, vanished into the far-off mist. Here on the shore, as it were, it was impossible to see the hills of the trolls that Hal knew lay on the far side. How were they going to cross this? Hal had been too busy to ponder the question during the descent down the Bones of Ymir, but now they were here he saw no avoiding it. Were they going to use skis? If so, how would they manufacture them? He was about to ask Tanngrisnir, when he noticed the dwarf was crouching low, straining to listen.

'What is it?' Hal hissed, kneeling beside him.

Tanngrisnir motioned him to silence. 'Listen!' he said.

Hal listened. Apart from the howl of the wind and the creak of ice, and occasional cries from birds high up in the mist, he heard nothing... No - wait! He heard a jingle of harness; a slither of feet; a bark of orders... smelled a waft of rotting meat.

It was coming from ahead.

'Hide!' Tanngrisnir urged. He dragged Hal back into the labyrinth of gullies.

'Hiding again?' Hal groaned, as they slid behind a boulder. 'What Champion of Asgard runs and hides at every noise?'

Tanngrisnir scowled. 'It is imperative that I bring you to Iarnvidia with a whole skin. If I'm not wrong, those are trolls out there. They seldom cross Isavellir without good reason.'

Hal shook his head. 'I've fought trolls before,' he said impatiently.

'The wild trolls of Niflheim,' Tanngrisnir replied. 'Not the warriors of Trollheim...! Where are you going?'

Hal was scrambling up the side of the boulder. He wanted a better look at his foes.

Crouching down on top of the boulder, he looked down towards the distant edges of the ice field. A large group of brutish figures was appearing out of the mist. Hal's eyes narrowed as the trolls grew more distinct.

Tanngrisnir appeared at his side. 'Do not imperil us,' he said. 'They might see you up here.'

'You're right,' Hal replied absently. 'These are nothing like the trolls we met in Niflheim.'

There were about twenty-five of them; lumbering, brutish figures with scaly, blue-black skin. Unlike the primitive trolls Hal had fought before, they wore ornate armour; spike-encrusted helmets, silver mesh-mail. They clutched war-hammers and battle-axes in their massive hands. Large black hunting hounds ran at their heels.

They were crossing the ice on snowshoes, Hal noted, wondering how easy they would be to make with the resources available. The trolls were heading directly for the boulders now; their leader, a great troll who stood a head higher than the rest and wore a necklace of skulls, was directing them to search among the rocks. The dogs snarled, and pawed at the gravel.

Hal looked urgently at Tanngrisnir. 'They must be looking for us,' he said.

'Lie down!' Tanngrisnir hissed impatiently. They hugged the top of the icy boulder. Hal listened as the trolls fanned out among the rocks, their hunting dogs barking to each other as they went. They were bound to pick up their scent, and follow it to the boulder. Then the trolls would surround them. He turned his face towards Tanngrisnir.

'We've got to fight our way out!' Hal hissed. He had a horrible feeling he was going to have to be heroic. He had a blocked nose. He'd never imagined how difficult it might be, being heroic with a blocked nose. He patted the pommel of his sword. 'Look - I've got this! I'll be able to hack our way out of any number of trolls with the Runeblade. Or is it completely worthless?'

'Don't be an oaf, Hal,' Tanngrisnir whispered impatiently. The trolls were moving on every side. 'Only when you know how to wield that blade will it be truly effective. To do that we must survive, evade capture, and come whole to Ironwood and Iarnvidia's home.'

He lay his head back down, and closed his eyes. Unwillingly, Hal copied him.

'Wait 'ere, Finn.'

The voice rumbled from below him. Hal stirred, and looked around. He could smell troll now, he realised; just below the lea of the boulder.

'What is it, Cap'n?' came a second trollish voice.

'We could search among these rocks for years and find nothing. That swart-elf is crazy. How does 'e know where his enemies are?'

Hal lay back to listen. The reference to a swart-elf intrigued him. Could it be Prince Helgrim?

'Don't know why King Skelking took 'im on, the vagabond. When we fished 'im outa the Vimur, 'e was 'alf-drowned. But when he spoke with the King, it all changed. Now the swart-elf is 'is majesty's honoured guest. King does everything for 'im'

'And we has to trail the wilderness looking for 'is enemies.'

A chorus of barks and yelps rose from the direction by which Hal and Tanngrisnir had come.

'Looks like they've found somethin', Cap'n!' said the first troll.

'Come on, then,' said the captain.

Hal heard the trolls lumbering off. He turned to Tanngrisnir. 'Did you hear that?' he asked excitedly. 'It sounds like Prince Helgrim is still alive. And he's in league with these trolls!'

Tanngrisnir nodded shortly. He rose to his feet, and gazed around the sea of boulders. 'It looks as if they missed our trail to this rock,' the dwarf said, with an exultant grin, 'and only picked it up after casting back and forth through the rocks back there. We've passed through the lines! The trolls have gone towards the mountains. Time to make good our escape.'

The two wanderers clambered down from the rock and picked their way through the gullies, back towards the ice field. In the distance behind them, the clamour of the hunting trolls was audible. It seemed that they were following the trail in the wrong direction, back they way Hal and Tanngrisnir had come. Hal grinned to himself. How easy it was to fool trolls!

They made their way through the boulders, creeping slowly from rock to rock. Despite their apparent escape, Tanngrisnir had enjoined caution as they fled.

'Come on,' Hal said. 'We've left them far behind us. Now all we need is to work out some way to get across Isavellir.'

Tanngrisnir grunted. From his pack, he produced a couple of small pick-axes. 'These will help,' he replied. 'I had them made at the forge in Aurvangar, when they forged your sword.'

'So you were expecting us to be crossing this kind of terrain?' Hal asked, as they crept down the gravel slope towards the edge of the ice field.

'I try always to be prepared,' the dwarf replied. 'The going will be difficult, but we can use these whenever we have problems.'

Two large boulders stood on either side of their path. Hal raced ahead, eager to be out on the ice and away from the trolls. He paused, suddenly, sniffing the air. What was that smell?

'Hal!' cried Tanngrisnir from behind him. 'Watch out!'

Trolls lumbered out from behind the rocks, looming over Hal. One spoke. 'Why waste time running around the rocks, when we can sit back and wait for our quarry to be flushed out!'

The other trolls laughed, and bore down upon Hal. Tanngrisnir ran up beside him, his sword Helbrand ready.

A blow from a troll's war-hammer sent the weapon flying. Then great trollish hands were reaching down to grab the two as they turned to run.

Hal struggled, but found that the strength of the trolls of Trollheim is greater even than their cunning. Resistance was futile.
