The dwarves didn’t let him live. I found it in the police blotter – he “fell” from the balcony.

I didn’t feel bad about it at all. I supposed my half sister would have something interesting in mind for him. I felt bad about not feeling bad, but I got over it pretty quickly. It did make me quite glad Derek had proved to be fixable, though.

I wouldn’t have wanted to have to kill him. Now my best hope was that I would never have to consider doing so. Of course, I realized that was the case for all of my friends. What if I hadn’t been able to free Clara the time she’d been turned into a magic battery?

I knew I might have had to kill her.

And, I suppose, I was finally coming around to the idea that death wasn’t the end. After all, I pretty much had killed Monica – but only because she’d begged me to and only when she was about to die anyway.

Because Odin…had needed what happened. I wondered what further tests he might have. I hoped that Kanesha being mine meant he couldn’t touch her directly.

No, I was pretty sure of that. If she went through hell, it would be because I put her there. Which meant I had to be careful, that was all.

Later that day there came a knock at my door. I opened it, and there was a dwarf. I could sort of see the edge of his disguise, which made him look a bit more human.

“Lady Siglaugr. May I come in?”

I opened the door. “Of course.”

“Thank you for freeing our brethren.” He glanced at my sword and smiled a little.

“I rather like dwarves,” I admitted. “And I rather dislike racists.”

“Ah. I have never understood the human obsession with precise skin color.”
This particular dwarf was almost as dark as Kanesha, and I recalled that I’d seen quite the variety in their hall. “They don’t have as much contact with beings that aren’t human so have to look for other people to be different from.”

The dwarf laughed. “I am Torvald,” he introduced. “And I brought a gift.”

I knew what was in the bag before he pulled it out. A stone bottle of dwarven ale. I laughed. “I’d better not share that with any mortals.”

He grinned. “Just call it a small reward for untying my brother. Who, by the way, is recovering.”

“He tried that spell on me. It stung.”

The dwarf laughed. “Fool. But he is in Hel’s Realm now.”

I nodded. “I would have let him live, but I suppose I’m more inclined towards humiliation than death.”

More laughter. “We could not let him live with the knowledge of how to trap us. He would have done it again until he got what he wanted…”

“…which, ultimately, wouldn’t have been beer. That was where it would have started.”

“He would have forced us to give him something that might destroy his soul and kill thousands. It’s happened before.”

“Dwarven weapons are not meant to be in mortal hands.”

“Except one, which was returned to us after the mortal had no more need of it,” the dwarf said, cryptically.

“Two. Kanesha’s.”

I expected him to give an answer of “That one doesn’t count.” He didn’t. Just winked at me.

So, I opened the ale and poured two glasses. Torvald had some very interesting stories.