It was later in the day, as they ate that Cormac intended to speak of Andvari’s tunnel. It was Bardulf and Glarald who had insisted that they all eat together, to discuss what they had to do. Seated with Daegan to his left, with Ronald to her own left, the Tigrun was in the middle of a quiet discussion with Kyrenas.

  The oldest of the Elves who had gone on this quest, to his own left was seated Lauma, then Glarald with the latter of these two in the middle of a discussion with the bombastic Lyr. Somehow, the curious-natured Elf had forged some sort of bond of friendship, with the heir of Bradán II, with Bardulf to the prince’s left and much to his unhappiness, he had Connor on his other side.

  The Bairaz was hardly any happier, as he engaged in a quiet discussion with Fergus, the twin brother of Ronald while occasionally casting baleful glances towards the Wolfram.

  It was as they ate that Calandra who was seated to Cormac’s right, addressed him, pulling his mind from the unhappy knowledge that it appeared as though it were going to rain. The clouds were darkened, and there was a hint of humidity in the air, alongside the stench of Andvari in the pit. “Cormac, I wished to discuss with you, your objections to our poor treatment of the Dwarf.”

  “He has a name, princess,” Cormac answered shortly, not having much love for the manner in which she spoke of Andvari.

  Hesitantly, the softer of the two Elf-maids spoke up at last in her quiet voice, “You are right.” Surprised at her words, he stared for a moment ere he broke out into a wide smile that she returned, “Andvari. You did right by him Cormac, and I too wished as Daegan has, to thank you for having rescued me.”

  “It was nothing,” He murmured at once.

  “Nay, it was brave, and I am grateful.” Calandra replied, hesitant only to add a little timidly, “I had hoped to speak of it before, but was too upset about Andvari to do so. Forgive me, my friend for I do so wish to be your friend, Cormac of Glasvhail.”

  Her softly spoken words were after the first several ones she uttered, exactly what he had expected that did not make him any less pleased and flattered by them. Since he had first heard talk of fey by Corin and his father, in his youth he had always wished to make friends with them. So that every time he made friends with a new one, he felt all the happier, even under the current circumstances they were suffering under.

  Though it was a tentative friendship, one that he felt uncertain of, he felt proud at her words. Fumblingly he accepted her offer of friendship, with her own smile almost comparable to the beauty of that of Daegan’s from earlier in the day.

  It was mayhap simple-minded of him, and though aware that Bardulf had hoped to speak of his plans to escape, but he could not resist the temptation of asking after Elvish songs of old. Forgetting for a moment the importance, of their quest he was however cut off mid-speech by the bars up above them grinding open.

  Startled into action, it was with a start that they all took in the sight of more than two dozen Dwarves armed with spears and javelins, all of which they pointed at them.

  Startled by this the heroes might well have tried to resist, but all knew it would be futile as a ladder was lowered near the wall opposite where they had pressed themselves. It was a long ladder; one made of simple pinewood, and was as polished as marble, though the beige colour had remained. It appeared sturdy and well-crafted, to his eyes as most such objects crafted by Dwarves were.

  “You there, follow us Fólki,” Thvalin growled stepping forward from the rear of the crowd of armed Dwarves, pointing at Cormac.

  “We will never hand him to you,” Daegan bellowed defiantly, leaping forward along with Connor and Bardulf. Her hand came to rest upon the hilt of her sword while the two warriors to either side of her picked up rocks to aid her in the battle that was to come.

  It was as he watched the Dwarves ready their lances straighten their backs and scowl down upon those in the pit in the ground that Cormac came to a realisation: They could not resist. They were at this time prisoners, and there was no sense in resistance if all it would avail them, was death.

  Stepping forth from the crowd of those pressed against the walls just as Ronald reached out to stop him, with a hiss, “Stop you fool,” with Cormac ignoring his words and loyal sentiments.

  “You promise, Thvalin that no harm shall come to my friends?” He asked bravely, heart hammering with more force than he had previously thought it possible.

  “Cormac, nay!” Daegan and Bardulf both cried out to him.

  “Do not be a fool lad,” Lyr cried out loyally, with his own rocks in hand now, as he had only gone near to the wall to fetch them. “They are sure to slay you.”

  “I am not so certain of that,” Glarald muttered adding helpfully, when several of his friends glowered at him, “I heard them speaking of how they wish to trade you the other day.”

  Resolute in his desire to safeguard his friends even if for a little longer, Cormac stepped thither towards the Dwarves.

  Barely able to speak, for fear of them he was stopped just short of them, by Daegan who asked him, “What are you thinking Cormac?”

  “Well, it is not as though I could very well let you all perish,” Cormac said, it would be a lie if he were to say that he was more frightened for them, than himself. He feared for them as he did for himself in equal measure, it was this feeling of worry that compelled him though to pull away from her as she desperately sought to pull him back.

  Daegan may have sought to stop him, but Connor did not. Moved by his show of courage, the Bairaz interceded between the scarlet haired blacksmith’s daughter and him, much to his gratitude. For Cormac was not certain at that moment, if he could truly resist her entreaties a second time, this was why he gave a small weak smile of gratitude to Connor. For his own part, the pig-man gave him a curt nod, his eyes full of admiration.

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  “You are a good man,” Connor said gruffly, “One worthy of carrying the hero’s name.”

  Cormac hardly felt his spirit brighten at all, with Bardulf stepping into his path, with a grim look in his eyes. Staring him in the eye, until he felt nervous and less sure of himself than before, the Wolfram took him into an embrace as sudden as it was warm. “Stay strong,” He whispered into his ear, “We will rescue you, Cormac.”

  The oath was not one he had expected from the Wolfram, though it was one that moved his heart as surely as Daegan’s cries and entreaties did.

  Pulling away from Bardulf, Cormac joined Thvalin by the ladder, with the dark-haired Dwarf hardly moved by the spectacle of the worried and highly strung captives. Ordering without hesitation, the moment the youth stood before him. “Climb up.”

  He cast one last apologetic and longing look to Daegan, with a miserable one cast in the direction of his other friends, Cormac did as bidden.

  *****

  There was not much time spent in the village. So eager were the Dwarves to get on with being rid of him, they took the frightened lad, ignoring his multitude of questions in favour of dragging him towards the beach. Loading themselves upon a half-dozen or so of their long-boats, they were to have Cormac join those seated by the oars above deck, with the orders that he was to row with them.

  Better fed than in the pit, he was soon to regain some of his strength faster, than he might have otherwise expected. He began to at once regain a bit of weight and muscle that had been lost, when hitherto imprisoned.

  The long-ships they took were fishing vessels and were thus small, with there being almost a dozen Dwarves upon each of them. In total they numbered a little more than fifty in total, with the Dwarves making Cormac join in the fishing, as they cast large nets out into the sea.

  “We never waste any such trips, as a ship that does not go to war, must fish else it ought to be burnt,” Said one Dwarf, as though it were a proverb. It was a sentiment that Cormac found difficult to disagree with, even as he found himself enjoying some aspects of the trip; namely being at sea again.

  This joy was cut short by the knowledge of the fact that he was sailing to what he suspected to be his doom. His first thought at this knowledge being to question, whether this was how his father had felt when he had washed ashore to the Misty-Isle only to be dragged away into slavery.

  It was towards the end of the second day out at sea, with his heart beginning to unthaw itself as it always did when at sea as they circled the island heading westwards, that his situation changed. Changed for the worst, as he was swift to discover, when they took him from behind the oars to slap him in chains, for the first since they had captured him.

  As Galar was absent from the expedition, as he had left this matter along with most such matters in recent years, in the hands of his nephew, Thvalin it was who addressed him. “Fólki, you had best understand that so long as you do not struggle or say anything we dislike, you may yet live. Do you understand?”

  Initially Cormac thought to correct the Dwarf, who appeared to take such delight in seeing him squirm and in chains, only to think better of it.

  Having sailed for nearly two days, they had encamped themselves near to a beach, to the north east of where Cormac had been found previously.

  Pulling their boats upon the short of one of the small isles that pockmarcked the seas between the larger islands of the archipelago. The island was only a third of a league in length and less than that in diameter, with nary a tree in sight on the small island. There were one or two local wattle and mud-huts here and there, along with a handful of farms; ones that belonged to what Cormac noticed at once even in the distance to be Dwarves.

  Most of the farms were a mixture of poultry, donkey and pig farms, with each of the almost dozen families alive on the island having each almost a dozen chickens each and four of the other animals apiece. The animals were kept in small-square fenced in fields behind each of the huts. The hutts were three meters wide and two in lengths, with the families of those near the village numbering between six and eight each respectively.

  The island was named the ‘Pig-Isle’ by the Dwarves, with Cormac confused as to how they had come to establish themselves upon the small spit of land. It did not appear as though there were many defences around it, nor did it appear particularly wealthy. What was more was that there were no temples or any other structures for anyone other than local farmers.

  “Why are there only huts here? Have the Vikings never raided this place?” Cormac wondered confused by the lack of walls.

  “Pardon?” Asked one of the guards in a thickly accented voice, ere he answered, “Nay they have never held it, for we have always defended it for a hundred years now. Later though, they paid tribute to all the Northmen to be left alone and they have as of late lost interest. We use it now as a place to negotiate betwixt all local sea-peoples.”

  “This is one of our villagers,” One of the other Margdvarrovs explained helpfully when he asked of them, only to glance in puzzlement at him. “But this is common knowledge in Vargrstein, as it is everywhere upon our island.”

  Realizing the trouble that his curiosity may have gotten him into, Cormac fell silent after this exchange with one of the sailors.

  He prayed that Thvalin would pay the man no mind, should he report to him, with the deputy of the chieftain who had pulled him ashore, off the boat at this time devouring an apple.

  *****

  Made to sit to the left of Thvalin, Cormac was soon treated to the pleasure of hearing the Dwarves grumble, when they realized that even seated he was taller than all of them. Not that he took pleasure in this for very long, not with the looming threat of death that hung over him.

  He knew all too well, though he was but a simple son of a fisherman that the Northmen were unlikely to appear. Why should they? This Fólki was likely still with his father. As to the Dwarves, he very much doubted whether they would let him live, for having ‘tricked’ them as he had. Thvalin would likely feel akin to a fool.

  Praying to Orcus, and to Scota to take care of his family notably Daegan, his mother and also his friends Cormac prepared himself then for death. It was a strange feeling, as he glanced up at the heavens, seeing them for what felt to be the first time. Only to feel the sand below his feet, see the waves before him and know that this beautiful beach was where he was to die.

  Strangely, he felt his fear begin to dissipate, along with his concerns. In its place, came a strange kind of acceptance. He had lived his life, done what he could and though he had failed he could accept that at least Wiglaf, Daegan and the rest would see justice through for his father and Inga’s unjust slayings.

  He also knew that they would never rest, ere Aganippe’s Blood-Gem was shattered.

  He had just finished reciting one of the last prayers that Conn had recited for Inga, in Romalian it was the same one that had been uttered for his father and all others who died in Glasvhail, when he was almost pulled off his feet by one of the guards.

  Pulled out of his thoughts, by the excited cry of the guard nearest him, who held his chain, he was almost jerked off his feet. “There, chief! There be drakkars over yonder!”

  To the shock of Cormac and joy of the Dwarves, there over on the horizon were six drakkars, sails hoisted, and their prows’ dragons growing larger and larger.

  “At last,” Thvalin grunted finishing his apple, he tossed it aside. “It is time this miserable lad made us all rich.”

  While the Dwarves salivated and rubbed their hands together at the thought of the jewels that would surely be theirs, Cormac could only swallow.

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