enemies remain. I have no doubt Scarburg’s defenses have been badly weakened. Ice
drakes are above the ledge where we came from. But I have done what I could from up
there. My other spells don’t do well from a distance.”
Jorund got the intimation.
“I will go where you go, Sire.”
Staring at the two, Habrok piped up.
“Where are we going?”
“To possible death, Habrok. Far from family but near friends. You have to make your
choice.”
“With friends? That’s more like it. I haven’t seen my family for several years now. My
erstwhile wife threw me out on our first night. She caught me with one of the maids. In
my defense, the lass was younger and more energetic than she ever will be. Count me
in, Sire. Nothing like dying amidst mounds of your dead enemies. There will be mounds
of dead foes?”
“That, Habrok, is one thing you can count on.”
The group laughed, Hrun's voice sending vibrations through the hollow. With a choice
made, there was nothing to do except prepare.
Hrun made a series of crunching sounds and left. Rumpr turned to the three.
“If you fine young men can wait before going to die, Hrun may have something for
you.”
It didn’t take long for Hrun to come back. He was carrying a long box made of metal,
either silver or some alloy of it. Magically treated as there’s no tarnish, guessed Tyler.
Once opened, Rumpr moved to examine the contents.
“With your permission, Hrun, I’ll do the honors?” The being grunted.
“First, for our ranger here. A hooded scale armor made of young draken scales.
Excellent against fire. No arrow or ordinary piercing weapon will cut it. With a leather
belt of stealth made from the discarded skin of Jormungandr’s smaller kin.”
He turned to Jorund.
“For the huskarl, a coat of plates paired with a matching closed helm, with openings for
vision and breathing. Greek-inspired, methinks. Crafted by the svartalfar of old, same as
that of the ranger, behind the metal is a thin pad also made of young draken scales.
The magic of the metal eludes me, as I am not a smith. But the skill to make this armor
does not exist anymore. From what I can sense, magics of fire and lightning you may
resist for some time. Except for the fire of an adult draken or Thor’s lightning bolts,”
guffawed Rumpr.
“Also grants protection against arrows, ordinary weapons, and probably some magical weapons. But it adds to your strength and resilience.”
“As for your weapons, your battleaxe will do fine. I sense its ancient magic though I
leave it up to you to awaken it. For your bow, throw that dokkalfr thing away! Here, use
this instead. A High Alfar bow. Though I don’t remember who gave it to me. Must be
that young lass. Married now, I reckon. With children! None of them mine, I hope.
Would look strange.” Another loud guffaw followed.
“Now for you, my young mage with a death-wish, a unique artifact. Scale armor, comes
with a coif and boots, made from the scales of an adult dragon. Old Greyskin, in fact. I
don’t know if he’s still around. I haven’t seen him for a while. Almost a millennium, I
think. Also made by the ancient svartalfar, it changes to suit your body. Fire, lightning,
ice. Arrows and ordinary weapons. Magical weapons? Well, I have no idea. A lot of
protection maybe, as long as it’s not Mjolnir or Gungnir. Or any other divine weapon. As
with the others, a great deal of protection. More, I believe. But as with any magical
armor, it has its limits. DON'T TEST THOSE LIMITS! Now let me see that staff.”
Rumpr closely examined the staff and then held it in both hands while a soft azure glow
bathed it.
“I know this staff of old. It will serve you well. But I added something to it. Will make
you last longer. Not in bed though,” he said when returning it.
“Now, did we forget anything?”
“These are exceptional gifts. No human king could say they have such weapons and
armor,” said Jorund.
“I wouldn’t say that. There were a lot of good smiths back then,” smiled Rumpr.
“Our thanks for these gifts, Rumpr. These are indeed princely presents,” commented
Tyler.
“While we do accept your thanks, these are but toys so don’t think too highly of them.
What matters are the ones using them. And the purpose of their use. Though these
have been lying around for a long time now,” said Rumpr, kicking the box, “there’s
more but I don’t think we have the time to go through them. Hrun and I did have fun
with those svartalfar smiths. Creating new things. New forms. New materials. Pity their
descendants don’t have the skill. All they care about is gold, gold, gold. Now change
into them. Leave your old armor behind, we don’t know when some other lads with
glorious suicide on their minds will come around.”
After the three had finished changing, Rumpr looked at them.
“A simple favor, ladies. If you ran into any draken, they’ll probably smell your armor. If they ask, say it’s from Hrun,” impishly requested Rumpr. Hrun grunted and uttered that
series of grinding sounds. He apparently found the statement humorous.
“To go back to the plan, which I think these two have no idea about, Hrun will go first
and raise a small mound. With the bedrock around here, that won’t be a problem.
Then, the three of us, not including this libidinous fellow here, will go to the mound
with one disguised as this warrior who WILL find the time to introduce me to his female
friends when this is over. Once there, I get the ditch working, disappear and come back
with my wonderful friend. Your artifact you’ll get after the battle, I’ll need it to get away from the mound.”
“That’s fine, Rumpr. For all you know, you may get to keep it.”
“Oh, don’t talk like that. To me, it’s just a trinket. What’s inside that brain of yours is more important.”
Hrun made a series of grating sounds, raised his hand in salute, and then left.
“As so it begins.” Tyler heard Rumpr whisper softly.
While the four waited, Tyler thought about what Rumpr disclosed. He couldn’t
determine if Rumpr did it
