Chapter 2
Ottar's Ransom
Andvarafors, Kharnak Mountains
In the Far North, though not quite so far as the Farthest North, there were mountains called Kharnak by the Dwarves where they built one of their great cities in the bowels of the earth. Even by the high standards of the Dwarves, the denizens of that city boasted some of the most masterful craftsmen in all the Nine Realms. All who knew would covet the works of those skillful hands, but to acquire such treasures, you would need to pay a worthy price, but there were few with wealth enough to meet that price.
If a man does not have the wealth he needs, he must earn it or else he must take it. There were tales of a Dwarf exiled from the city, one of the greatest of the craftsmen and a sorcerer besides, who had amassed gold beyond measure in his secret lair. It was the stories of this hoard that brought a company of three men to these mountains.
One of these was a grey-bearded old man with an oaken staff in hand, wrapped in a tattered blue cloak, with a wide-brimmed grey hat upon his head. The second was stout and well-favored, yet there was a withdrawn quality to him, a bowed head and slumped shoulders making him appear weaker than he should have been. The third was lean and beardless, light of step, with a mantle of yellow. The three stood on a bluff overlooking the pool at the base of a large waterfall cascading down the face of the mountain.
"You think this is the place?" the lean man asked the greybeard.
"Are you blind as Hoder?" the old man asked in turn. He pointed to the falls with his staff. "Can you not see the runework there?"
The lean man stroked his chin and said, "Yes, yes, very cunning work, but it could be anyone."
"Anyone?" the greybeard scoffed. "It is a wonder that anyone could work a feat like this."
The quiet man simply grunted in assent and so the lean man gave a shrug to avoid further dispute.
"What then will you do?" the lean man asked the greybeard. "Cunning as this runework is, surely it is not beyond you."
The greybeard sniffed at the veiled provocation. He was not so easily baited.
"Why break in like a thief when we can be invited in?"
The lean man looked at the falls and said, "He does not seem to be much in the mood for welcoming callers."
"We will have to find a way to persuade him then."
As if he could not keep his mind on one thing for more than a moment, the lean man then looked toward the pool at the base of the falls and said, "Why, look at that."
The greybeard, who only had one eye to roll at his mercurial companion, took a step forward to look over the bluff to whatever had caught the lean man's attention. By the edge of the pool was an otter of unusual size greedily feeding on salmon.
"How happy he looks," the lean man said, "so blissful. You would not want to be a fish in those waters."
"Indeed not," the greybeard said.
"And what a fine, sleek coat. It would make quite a prize."
The greybeard could see what his companion intended, and so simply told him, "Do as you will."
"I always do," the lean man replied with a broad grin.
He felt around on the ground and picked up a stone, then eyed his target and threw it with a speed no mortal man could match. Large as the otter was, it was easy prey for the stone when it struck and its body went limp as a wet rag.
"A fair hit, wouldn't you say?" the lean man said, fishing for praise but finding none.
The greybeard pointed to the dead otter with his staff.
"Go claim your prize then if you want it."
The lean man continued to smile in a mask of feigned pleasantness and said, "Oh, you are most gracious."
He then sprang down to the pool, and after a few moments of watching him, the greybeard told the quiet man, "Go down and help if you need something to do."
The quiet man grunted and shuffled his way down to aid the lean man in skinning the otter, with the greybeard following when the mood struck him. The two men divided their tasks between the upper and lower halves of the otter's body. The way they skinned it spoke to their natures, the lean man sliding his blade under the hide in smooth, confident motions while the quiet man was slower, more cautious and uncertain, as if he distrusted his tool as much as his skill with it.
"Head or no head?" the lean man asked as the greybeard approached.
"When you do a thing, no half measures," the greybeard replied.
"As you wish."
Once the hide was stripped from the carcass, the lean man went about scraping it clean while the quiet man went to fetch firewood and oak bark for the tanning. While the choice to kill the otter could have been nothing more than the lean man's caprice, this project would be a decent way to pass the time while they awaited their true prey.
After returning with an armful of oak branches and a sack of acorns, the quiet man dug a pit and the lean man drew water from the pool to fill it. The quiet man then stripped the branches of their bark while the lean man piled up the bare sticks to build a fire.
Looking to the greybeard, the lean man said, "You know, any assistance would be received as graciously as it is offered."
With nothing more than a "hmph" for a reply, the greybeard took his knife and pricked his finger on the point. Picking up one of the sticks, he traced out a few runes in blood and a burst of flame enveloped the stick. He then tossed the burning stick onto pile to start the fire.
"You are most kind," the lean man said.
"You put any more heart in your words and there will be nothing left in your chest," the greybeard sneered.
"Well, that wouldn't do at all," the lean man said. "Where would I be without the wellspring of my gratitude for your ever so generous condescension?"
The quiet man grunted, as much of an objection as he would raise to the two men's thinly veiled bickering, before returning to his work of chopping up the bark into smaller pieces. The greybeard and the lean man took a cue from their companion and did not speak further while the work continued. The pieces of bark were deposited in the water and stones heated by the fire were added in to bring it to a boil to prepare the tanner's brew.
The quiet man soaked the sack of acorns in the brew to draw out their bitterness so that he might make a snack of them while they waited. He shared with the lean man but did not offer any to the greybeard, who showed no interest at any rate.
Of the acorns, the lean man said, "These are nice and all, but the belly yearns for some victuals of greater substance. Do either of you know if otter meat is fit to eat?"
He went over to the body of the otter, but only stood there silently for some time. It was enough to draw even the normally indifferent greybeard.
"I often tire of your prattle, but you are as silent as HÅ“nir," the greybeard said. "What is it?"
However, no sooner than he said this that he saw the reason for the lean man's silence. Where the skinned otter's carcass was, now there was the corpse of a flayed man. No, it was not quite a man. It was too short and too stout to be a man. It was a Dwarf.
The lean man and the greybeard exchanged glances and the lean man said, "You don't suppose..."
The greybeard looked to the falls and said, "The spell has not been broken."
"Some spells live beyond the caster," the lean man noted.
"Yet if Fortune favors us, the caster will leave the key to the spell's undoing," the greybeard said.
The greybeard then stooped down over the Dwarf's body, took his knife and carved out the heart. He then roasted it over the fire and proceeded to eat it. In another land it was said the life is in the blood and from the heart the blood flows in its course. Every part of the body holds its own power, but it was the heart where the flame of the spirit resided. By drinking the blood, you take the life, but by eating the heart, you take the spirit.
While the greybeard was eating, the lean man licked his lips and said, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to share."
The greybeard looked at the lean man for a moment, weighing his options before taking the remainder of the heart and tearing it in half. One piece he gave to the lean man, who took to greedily eating it as if he were a starved dog, and the other piece he offered to the quiet man.
"Here," the greybeard said. "If I am to divide the spoils, then you deserve your share."
The quiet man was more reluctant to accept, but he was not so ingracious as to refuse a gift, whatever shape it might take.
From the moment his lips first touched the heart, the greybeard could feel the slain Dwarf's power and in the moments that followed him eating his portion, the Dwarf's power became his own and so he went down to test this power against the runework shielding the entrance to cave behind the falls.
For three days and three nights the greybeard went about his work without rest, all to no avail. His companions did not disturb him during this work, but on the fourth day, the lean man took upon himself to approach the greybeard and asked him "How long do you mean for this to go on? Nine days like that time with the tree? Are you going to have to give up another eye? Hoder would appreciate the company, I'm sure."
"It may take nine days or it may take nine hundred years," the greybeard replied. "Whoever that Dwarven skinchanger you killed was, he was not the one who crafted this runework, which means the one we seek is still elsewhere."
"Perhaps we should consider an alternative," the lean man suggested.
"An alternative..." the greybeard mused.
The greybeard closed his eye and turned his mind inward. The life is in the blood and that included memories if you knew how to look for them. He saw a vision from the memories of the Dwarven skinchanger and in his trance the words spilled unbidden from his lips as he described what he saw.
"A house made of gold and glittering gems... Workmanship the likes of which I have never seen..."
The lean man whispered into the greybeard's ear, "Where is this house of riches?"
"In these mountains... Not far... He knew it well... Hearth and home..."
"Show us."
It was as if the greybeard could feel flick of the forked tongue and it served to break the trance. His eye snapped open and he would have struck the lean man with his staff if he had not slinked away.
"That wagging tongue of yours is a peril to all who would lend you ear," the greybeard said, "but one day you may find the snare at your own feet."
The lean man bowed obsequiously and said, "Wise in rebuke as in all things." Scarcely a moment passed before he peeked up, asking, "And that house of gold?"
The greybeard scowled at the lean man for his impertinence, but it was nothing new. Flying into a rage would only serve to amuse him, and beatings were as sweet to his perverse heart as maids' kisses. The greybeard would give him no such pleasure. He simply turned, his cloak fluttering, and said only, "Come."
Like an eager puppy, the lean man called out to the quiet man, "Come, HÅ“nir! A house of gold! Oh, and bring the hide. It'd be a waste to let some beast run off with it."
The quiet man grunted and followed after. The greybeard paid this little heed, though, as he needed to focus on following the memories of the skinchanger. His steps were the skinchanger's steps. Even without the use of his waking sight, the greybeard did not stumble even once on the uneven mountain terrain as the ground was well-trod by the slain Dwarf, as familiar as a man's own hall.
Some time passed and they reached a cave. It was an unassuming cave that may as well have been a bear's den, but the greybeard knew better. The public entrances to the Dwarven city were richly adorned to boast of the Dwarves' skill, while the the private entrances were craftily hidden from all save those who had a reason to be there and leave to enter. What appeared to be a bare rock face was nothing more than an illusion, concealing a branch of the cavern that led them to their destination.
It was exactly as the greybeard had seen in his vision, an intricately carved facade clad in the purest gold studded with all manner of precious gems. Even for the Dwarves it was a display the likes of which the greybeard had never witnessed before.
The lean man licked his chops at the sight and said, "Can we take it home with us?"
"Patience," the greybeard said. "If this is what is without, imagine what may lie within, and even this may pale in comparison to the fabled hoard we seek."
"Dare gods or men imagine such a thing?"
"There are many wonders in the darkest corners of the Nine Realms."
To this the quiet man grunted.
"Come," the greybeard said. "Let us see what welcome we may find and what we may learn."
The greybeard approached the door to the Dwarf's hall and rapped on it with his staff. The door opened of its own accord, clever runework though not quite the like of that which protected the cave behind the falls. The three proceeded inside and the interior of the hall like the facade was all clad in gold and bedecked with gems. The greybeard wished he had a leash for the lean man to keep him close and well-behaved. If he did not have the hope of greater treasures yet, he might have taken to prying loose the gems all about them like some common thief.
The way was laid open to them yet there were none to offer greetings, indeed no one to be found at all until they entered into the hall proper. There, enthroned as if he were some great king was the master of the hall overlooking the table for his guests. He was keen-eyed and with a cunning aspect, not one to be taken lightly. Standing at his side was another Dwarf, sullen and ill-favored. Yet another lounged about by the fires of the hearth, paying no heed to the arrival of the three guests.
"I bid you welcome, strangers," their host said. "I am called Hreidmar, son of Magnar, sorcerer to the King, and this is my most dutiful and industrious son Regin." He eyed the one lazing away and added, "Over there is Fafnir my eldest, far less dutiful and industrious than his brother but perhaps the greatest sorcerer of his generation. It seems that the gods grant either great talent or good manners but never both.
"Come, be seated. Allow me to share with you the hospitality of my hall."
The three guests took their seats as bidden and in short order, two Dwarven maids appeared to wait on them, serving up mead and some manner of roasted beast. While the lean man and the quiet man ate of the beast, the greybeard did not, sparking their host's curiosity.
"You are not eating, friend?" he asked.
"A good draught of mead suffices for me," the greybeard replied.
"Then it is good that I have some brewed for such an occasion as this, for it is our custom to drink what we call moss beer, vile stuff, a reminder of the bitter days when we were made to hide from the light of the sun."
"I have heard this tale," the greybeard said. "A great war in distant mountains offended the spirits so that Dwarves and Trolls alike would turn to stone if ever the light should touch them."
Hreidmar nodded and said, "For seven hundred years we were made to hide in our burrows like frightened rabbits until a mighty sorcerer-king bent the very spirits to his will and broke the curse."
"Sorcerers are rare among the Dwarves," the greybeard noted, "yet in this very hall there are three."
"It ought to be four," Hreidmar said. "Ottar my youngest makes the most of that sorcerer-king's gift to us. He has a great love of the open air. He says he prefers the gold of sunbeams to the gold of this hall."
"And a fine hall it is, good sir," the lean man said through a mouthful of roast beast. "Who but Hreidmar can boast of such a hall?"
"None, I imagine," Hreidmar replied. He motioned to his second son. "'Tis the work of Regin here. A more skillful craftsman you'll never find. All my wealth transformed into this glittering paradise. Now it can delight the eye and the heart every day, everywhere I look. Imagine if instead it were all left shut up in a vault."
"It does seem a waste, sir," the lean man said.
"I do not know about the custom of your people," Hreidmar said, "but among us Dwarves, we give our hospitality liberally and in turn those who receive hospitality show their gratitude with some gift for their host."
The Dwarves were known for their greed, rivalled only by Dragons, and their host could not even wait for the meager fare he offered to settle in his guests' bellies before he started to demand payment. The greybeard did not say how such a host would be judged by the standards of gods and men.
"We are but poor travellers," the greybeard said. "I fear there is little we could offer in thanks for your most generous hospitality."
Hreidmar nodded to the quiet man and said, "What is that you have there?"
He was no doubt referring to otter hide bundled up and slung across the quiet man's back. Though the greybeard thought the lean man would be loath to part with his prize, he must have believed there was some gain to be had in pleasing their host, so he sprang from his seat, took the bundle of the quiet man and spread it out on the floor, saying, "Surely it cannot compare to the glory of this hall, but it is the finest pelt you have ever seen. We came across this great otter some ways from here. We are only three days into the tanning, but I daresay you will never find its like."
"No, I do not imagine I will," Hreidmar replied. "I believe I mentioned my youngest boy, Ottar. He had quite the gift for sorcery, became a master at a younger age than Fafnir or Regin, for all their skill.
"I said he loved the outdoors. He was peculiar about how he enjoyed it. You see, he was a skinchanger. He liked to take the form of beasts, but there was no beast that suited him quite so well as the otter."
You did not need to drink of Mimir's Well to know the import of Hreidmar's words, but before the three guests could act, chains shot up from the floor and shackles locked fast around their wrists, all to a lazy wave of Fafnir's hand, who otherwise did not move from his place by the fire.
The lean man struggled to break free of his chains like a wolf caught up in a snare, while the greybeard simply gave a slight tug to take their measure. It was formidable runework, unsurprising coming from a family of sorcerers.
"You kill my son and flay him, then bring his hide into my hall," Hreidmar growled. "If you do not wish for the same fate, you must pay the price for your blood-guilt."
"And what would that price be?" the greybeard asked.
"My son's hide, I want to see it covered in gold twice over. Do this and I shall release you from the curse. You have until midwinter. Fail and your blood will turn to ice in your veins, then to fire, so that your body will swell and burst into nice, tiny little pieces so that the crows do not choke when they feed on your carcasses."
"Anyone with such concern for bird and beast cannot be all bad," the lean man quipped.
"You must be sure you can pay my price to speak so," Hreidmar said. "And yet I will give you some counsel to speed you on your journey. Not far from here is a cave behind a waterfall, perhaps close to where you murdered my son. There a Dwarf named Andvari lives. He is sure to have gold enough to pay the ransom."
The greybeard did not tell Hreidmar that the same Dwarf and his hoard was the very reason they had come to this land. Instead, he asked, "Why would you tell us this?"
"Because I would rather have a pile of gold to console me in my grief than three dead murders and nothing more to show for it. And if that gold were taken from my old friend, all the better."
"A good friend indeed if the thought of him being despoiled brings such joy to you," the lean man said.
"The very best of friends," Hreidmar said with a cruel grin. "There could be only one sorcerer to the King and I got the better of him, had him exiled with a parting gift to remember me by."
"And what gift would that be?" the greybeard asked.
"A curse, and a rather special one at that. He will never taste death from starvation, but still he hungers. Yet if he is to eat, he must change his skin and take to the waters as a fish. The thing about fish, though... Otters love fish."
Hreidmar laughed. Regin did not seem to share his amusement and in fact walked out of the hall. The greybeard was by no means a kind man nor prone to sentiment, but even he found this Dwarf to be a rare creature.
"I believe we have imposed on your hospitality enough," the greybeard said as he rose from his seat.
"Yes, yes," Hreidmar said, "my daughters could not bear to have their brother's murderers stay under my roof. You will have to find some hollow tree or badger's den to pass the night." He waved his hand like a jarl dismissing his thrall. "Begone with you, strangers, and remember, you have until midwinter. It's not an easy fish you have to catch, but I wish you the best of luck. I look forward to Andvari's hoard putting my poor grieving heart at ease."
The chains binding the greybeard and his two companions broke apart, but the shackles remained fixed to their wrists, the curse-runes glowing red to remind them the spell was still in effect. The greybeard tipped his hat with his staff, then turned to leave, with his companions following after him. The lean man, of course, could not simply go without one last word.
"My compliments to your daughters for the roast beast. It was lovely."
Hreidmar snorted at his impertinence after everything and that was the end of their exchange. By the time they were out of Hreidmar's golden hall, the lean man spoke up again.
"We are going to pay him, aren't we? You might be able to break the curse through your own arts, but this runework is something quite more than I expected. It's sealed in blood and if the crafter doesn't unmake it, I fear it can't be unmade."
The greybeard did not answer him.
"If we don't get our kind hosts to break the curse, it will be the death of me and surely you wouldn't want that, now would you?"
Still the greybeard said nothing.
"Also think of poor HÅ“nir."
The greybeard sighed in exasperation, then told him, "You had best wring something useful out of that perverse brain of yours and find us a way to catch that fish."
"I have nothing but ideas and surely one or two will do the trick."
The quiet man grunted, sounding little more convinced than the greybeard himself.
* * *
Spring gave way to summer and any useful idea from the lean man proved elusive. Nearly four months had passed and after the first couple failed attempts, their quarry had become more reluctant to venture out. It then became a matter of waiting him out. As Hreidmar had told them, Andvari could not die of hunger, but that hunger would still torment him. When he could bear it no more, he would have to go out, and when that time came, the fishers would be waiting.
A net had been laid in the pool outside the cave, but it was no common net, of course. It was the very net of the Queen of the Ocean Depths that she would cast to drag hapless seafarers down to a watery grave. The lean man had gone to fetch it when their other efforts failed.
"My good lady Ran was loath to part with this," he said upon his return with the net in hand. "You don't know the price I had to pay for her to lend it to me."
Indeed his companions did not know and neither did they ask, much to the lean man's disappointment.
For weeks the net was set and at last Andvari could not hold out any longer. He slipped out of his cave in the dead of the night, thinking himself safe, but he underestimated those who were hunting him. As he thrashed about in the net, the three companions took hold of it and drew it out of the water. The Dwarven exile had taken the shape of a pike more than a fathom long. After some struggle, he returned to his original form. He tried tearing the net apart, but, again, it was no common net. For all a Dwarf's strength, it would not avail him here.
Realizing there was nothing else he could do, the Dwarf tried his hand at parley, demanding of his captors, "What do you want with me?"
The greybeard nodded to the lean man to let him speak for the group.
"I hear you're a man of means,well, a Dwarf of means."
"So you're thieves?"
"It's not stealing if it's freely given," the lean man replied with a grin.
"What makes you think I'd give you anything?"
"If you want to live, I expect you'll be quite generous."
"I, want to live?" the Dwarf scoffed. "Do you have any idea what it means for me to live?"
"Oh, I've heard some tales, but if you really wanted to die, you would've done it by now. Something keeps you going. Let me see if I can guess it. Maybe revenge on the person who did this to you?"
The Dwarf did not say it in words, but his face told them everything. The lean man clapped his hands, quite pleased with himself for guessing something so obvious.
"Well, you have all the more reason now," the lean man said. "He was the one who told us about you."
In truth, they had already heard the stories before meeting Hreidmar, but it was a canny choice to direct as much of Andari's hatred toward his old foe. All this effort would amount to little if they only succeeded in trading one curse for another.
The lean man then told Andvari, "Our proposal is simple. You give us what we want and we let you go."
"How much do you want?" the Dwarf asked.
"How much do you have?" the lean man asked in turn.
"You could... just kill him... eat his heart... like the other..."
Everyone had to turn to look, Andvari out of alarm at what was being proposed and the lean man and the greybeard because it was an exceedingly rare instance of the quiet man speaking up.
"What other one?" Andvari asked.
The lean man went over to the quiet man and took the bundle he was carrying and unrolled it to reveal the otter hide.
"Look familiar?"
"Khæl below, I thought I felt his curse about you. You kill his boy, skin him, eat his heart... How is it you still breathe?"
"Oh, he proved to be quite a generous fellow," the lean man said. "Understanding, too. He's not the sort to lose his temper over a little thing like a dead son or two. Indeed, he seems to love the thought of the wergild more, or duerggild in this case, I suppose."
"He is a beast with no honor..."
"Yes, well, that beast with no honor demands gold and your gold would make him especially happy."
"You must ask yourself," the greybeard said, leaning on his staff, "which will you part with, your gold or your life?"
"Killing me won't get you my gold, you hoar-bearded villain," Andvari warned. "The moment I die, the cave will collapse and you had best love digging as much as you love gold if you want to get anything for it."
"Much can be done to a man, or a Dwarf, up to the point of death," the greybeard replied. "You will find us quite inventive and well-practiced. You must choose. Do you wish to be impoverished and whole or impoverished and... lacking."
There was a difference between proper manly courage and a fool's courage. Men who were not fools were not likely to let a fool's courage govern their action and whatever Andvari may have been, he was not a fool. It did not take any more of a push for him to yield.
"Alright, you win, damn you," the Dwarf said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Now let me out of this thing."
"Why, of course," the lean man said. "But with one condition." He pulled out an iron collar. "We wouldn't want you to work any mischief. If you try anything, this will get tighter and tighter until, well, you can imagine what happens."
Seeing he had no choice in the matter, Andvari gave tacit assent, neither obeying nor refusing outright. The lean man then helped him out of the net and promptly fitted the collar around his thick neck. In Andvari's eyes were the empty sort of defiance you would see when a man is beaten and knows it but cannot accept it.
"Do you like it?" the lean man asked. "'Twas your people who made it. The sons of Ivaldi. Have you heard of them? They make fine work. I'm sure you can appreciate their craftsmanship."
"Good work is spoiled by ill use," Andvari said.
"Words to live by, to be sure."
By now Andvari had realized that the lean man would have an answer for anything he said and so gave up on it. It was a lesson most would learn quickly when dealing with him. Andvari then led the three companions to his cave and released the seal on the entrance. The interior of the cave was mostly left to its natural state except for a small forge and a simple pallet for a bed.
Andvari picked up the clothes he had left on the floor and dressed himself, then made his way to the treasure vault. Much like Hreidmar's golden hall, it was hidden by an illusory wall with a thick oaken door protected by runework on the same level as what guarded the entrance of the cave. Unlike the rest of the cave, the vault appeared to have been hand-carved. It was not especially large but it was piled high with all manner of treasures. Gold, silver, and bronze, gems of all colors, and finely crafted weapons and armor. Not quite wealth beyond measure as they had heard but a goodly amount all the same.
"My, my, my, what a feast for the eyes," the lean man said. "Did this keep you going all those weeks you were holed up here?"
"For all the good it did me..." Andvari grumbled.
"Well, your heart has been heavy, so it'll do you good to lighten the load. Here."
The lean man then pulled out eight sacks of special make to bear the weight of a great quantity of gold without breaking.
"Fill them up," the lean man said. "Gold only. Your friend was quite specific."
The Dwarf did not move at first, loath as he was to part with his precious gold. The lean man held up his hand and made a motion as if he were tightening his grip on something. The iron collar around Andvari's neck groaned.
"I'm doing it, I'm doing it!" Andvari said hastily as he stooped down to start sorting out golden objects to put in the sacks.
It took some time, but in due course the eight sacks were filled. The quiet man was made to bear a double portion compared to the other two.
Andvari scowled mightily at the sight of the three loaded with their plunder and said, "You have what you came for. Take it and go and Dvalin help me if I am ever cursed to see your faces again."
"And health and long life to you as well," the lean man replied snidely.
The lean man then noticed the Dwarf was holding something close to his chest and asked him, "What is it you have there? Holding out on us, are you?"
"Haven't you taken enough from me?"
"Let's see."
Andvari half-turned away from the lean man as if that would be enough to keep whatever he was hiding away from him. The lean man simply responded by tightening the collar. While Andvari yielded quickly the first time, this time it nearly seemed that he would have let the collar squeeze his head right off, but just as it started to draw blood, he finally surrendered, thrusting his arm out and opening his hand to reveal what appeared to be an unremarkable gold ring, but looks were deceiving. There was a strong enchantment about it and the lean man's eyes lit up when he saw it.
"You were holding out on us," the lean man said. "Ah, what a pretty thing..."
"Leave it," Andvari pleaded. "It's precious to me..."
"Which makes it so much more heartfelt as a gift."
The lean man took the ring and put it on his finger. He closed his eyes as he worked out the nature of the ring's enchantment. His hand moved toward the bags of gold he carried, then to the double load borne by the quiet man.
"Oh, this is beautiful," the lean man said appreciatively. "It's drawn to gold and gold is drawn to it. All fortune within your grasp..."
"Give it back," Andvari said.
"No, I don't think I will," the lean man replied.
The Dwarf glowered at the lean man and told him, "All fortune? You will find naught but misfortune and it will serve you right. I curse that ring, the gold, all of it. It will be the ruin of any who possess it."
The magic of the ring then took on a dark aspect. The lean man's face fell.
"A pity. Such a pretty little thing, but I've had enough of curses."
He took off the ring and put in one of his sacks.
"The curse is Hreidmar's now. That should give you some comfort."
Andvari tugged at his collar and said, "I've given you what you wanted. Take this off and leave me."
"I'll do one of those things," the lean man replied. "We'd hate for you to get any more ideas of ill intent toward us, so you get to keep that. One ring for another. An even trade."
Andvari could only hang his head in defeat, muttering, "Damn you. Damn you all..."
"And a pleasant day to you."
The lean man could not resist getting the last word in, and with that, the three departed. They left Andvari's cave and made their way to Hreidmar's hall. As with the previous time, Hreidmar was perched on his high seat to look down upon the travellers when they arrived. Fafnir was once again by the fire, but Regin was nowhere to be seen.
"I was beginning to wonder if Fortune favored you," Hreidmar said. "I can smell it about you. You have the ransom then?"
"But of course, O great Hreidmar, son of Magnar," the lean man said with a bow.
The quiet man unrolled Ottar's hide and the three companions proceeded to empty the eight sacks, more than enough to cover the hide twice over as demanded. It seemed to take all of Hreidmar's willpower not to pounce upon the pile of gold like a cat with a mouse. Even in this hall of gold, there would never be enough to slake his greed.
"You have done as I demanded," Hreidmar said, "even going so far as to despoil poor Andvari. I am a Dwarf of my word. The price is paid. I release you."
As casually as he had bound them in the first place, Fafnir snapped his fingers and the shackles fell off the three travellers' wrists.
Rubbing his newly freed wrist, the lean man said, "Well then, we will be taking our leave of you. May this gold give ease to your grieving soul, O great Hreidmar."
"By what name are you called, stranger?" Hreidmar asked. "I would remember you."
"I am called Lodur," the lean man said, "a humble seeker of fortune, along with my dear friends, HÅ“nir and--"
"Ginnar," the greybeard said.
"Yes, Ginnar."
"Ginnar, HÅ“nir and Lodur, I do not expect to see your like again in all my years. You may have cost me a son, but you have given me more than his worth in exchange. Ah, if only I could have seen the look on my dear friend's face when you robbed him blind."
"His hole is not far," the lean man said. "You could always pay him a visit."
"Tempting, but no," Hreidmar replied. "He has had too much time to concoct some curse to use against me. I will not grant him such a chance."
The lean man eyed the pile of gold and said, "Yes, you would not want his curse sticking to you."
