“… I was beginning to think we wouldn’t find it you know? But… I am so happy to be wrong… we are standing within walls that have stood since the Jotnar strode across the Bifrost you know? Isn't it… humbling?”

Alvis raised a hand and gently traced it across the runes on the wall, not Runes of course just runes forming ancient stories. The thousands of thumbnail sized runes covered the wall, flowing like a tide in and out, forming shapes and pictures with the words themselves, a story and a play all in one, set into stone.

“No Galdr.” Alvis smiled and shook his head. “This tower was made before Ragnarök of course and before Helsdottir, before the first Vitki, before the scorching and the ash…”

Alvis nodded to himself and took a step back from the wall, despite the darkness being lit by only one candle he easily threaded his way through the mass of tables and trinkets before gesturing upwards.

“You know I always called it “a temple?” even the vitki never asked why, never suspected… nice girl really but a bit to trusting… why just “a temple” or “the temple?” We have the plans after all, laid down by a dying Gothi in the burning age. So why wouldn’t we know its name?”

A sound echoes in the room of cold stone, the dust of rotted rugs and wood vibrating almost in sympathy with the animal keening.

“Oh, stop that.” Alvis muttered as he looked around. “Anyway… the reason is… well mainly that Silvermane ordered me not to of course but the reason she did? Nobody would have joined if we told them…”

“It’s not a temple but the translation is similar, it’s the home, the home of a goddess! This is Gerdheim!”

With a deep sigh Alvis seemed older for a moment, sagging in place. “I wanted to tell them of course, especially Sigurn, but few would wish to raid the home of a goddess even for all the money in the world.”

Another keening sound echoed.

“Of course, Gerd hasn’t left Jotunheim since Freyr died during the twilight, why would she ever leave her home again when the last time ended in her being forced in marriage? But her hall isn't empty.”

A new sound echoes, like wood scrapping on stone and cloth scrapping on skin.

“The others will figure it out soon I suppose, the story is written on every wall after all, if you sift out all the Freyr propaganda or course.”

Alvis stops moving suddenly and, gently, almost reverentially, pulls a shining dagger from his belt. “Does that match what you were told… traitor?”

The wheezing whine starts again as Alvis swings his blade, for a second it stops then the slit gag is spat out and the begging begins.

“I thought it was one of the great clans! I’m no Oathbreaker! I thought they just wanted more information about Silvermane before the Althing! I swear by the all-father I knew nothing of their plans!”

Alvis stands stone faced and looks down at Tathra, the small scribes’ eyes are wide and wild and his skin is made even paler by the bite of the taut ropes that cocoon him, weeks of travel and their arrival by Galdr in Gerdheim had not been kind to him and this interrogation even less… not that it mattered anymore.

“Then that’s terribly unfortunate for you… isn't it?” Alvis aid slowly as he made a show of playing with his shining dagger. “Now… how about you start at the beginning… and maybe, just maybe, you’ll walk out of here alive.”