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XXXIII.



“Halt, weary travelers, for you enter the Heart of the Valley,

The dead lands home only to those revered by the gods.”

The commanding voice booms, sending an echo through the hall.

I drop my hand to the hilt of my sword, unsheathing my weapon.

“You will not interfere with my passage, Guardians,

For I am Andvari, formerly Sean Hederlund, of Apheria,

And I have come to claim my birthright:

I have come for Draupnir, the Ring of this World.”



XXXIV.



The figures emerge from the shadows of the halls depths,

A company of four warriors, all adorned in Berserker armor.

My hand falters for a moment, for I am stunned at their appearance:

Were these the fierce warriors of my land’s lore?

The ءsatrْ Knights are not giants but of average height,

And bear the scars from the trials of battle.

These are the “gods” of my childhood stories,

And I have come to bring forth their Twilight.



XXXV.



My sword raises into the air and comes crashing down;

A swift, fluid motion, and one of the ءsatrْ falls to his knees.

The other three, spurned by the sudden loss of a brother,

Lunge at me, their swords swinging wildly for my bare neck,

And I raise my blade to deflect the swings.

I push my blade forward, finding a mark in an ءsatrْ’s soft belly.

With two of their brethren slain, the remaining flee into the dark,

But first take a casualty of their own: Malefic.



XXXVI.



With his bloodied, dying breaths, Malefic tells his final tale:

“Andvari… I left my homeland in shame,

For I was a criminal, a murderer of Priests and rogue of the highway.

My father sent me into exile, saving me from the executioner’s axe;

It was for my malicious actions that I took my title,

And sought a road of healing, a cleansing of my soul.

It was on my journey’s beginning that I discovered my new purpose.

I sought what you seek, Andvari: I came for Draupnir.”



XXXVII.



Malefic gave his final breath, a mighty, crimson-colored cough,

And departed from this world, heading into his afterlife.

I lay his body beside the cavern wall, shrouding it with my blanket,

His part in my quest finished.

I carry on, my sword in hand, into the cave,

My eyes alert in search of the remaining two ءsatrْ.

I come to the final passageway in the Valley;

The path to the ring itself.



XXXVIII.



I enter the earthly corridor, the acrid smell growing stronger,

And proceed under the dripping cavern rooftop.

Suddenly, footfalls come crashing from behind;

I whirl half-circle to meet my aggressors.

The remaining ءsatrْ Knights come charging,

Their swords gleaming even in this despondent gloom,

And I raise my blade to meet their own.

The ring of clashing steel fills the air; my trial is nearly finished.



XXXIX.



The air whirs by my ear as an ءsatrْ’s blade slices by,

Finding its mark on my upper left arm, cutting it open.

My blood flows and I utter a cry, stunned by my wound;

Swinging my sword like a madman, I desperately lash out.

I feel a stiff resistance and I open my tear-brimmed eyes,

Gazing upon a fresh kill as I pull my sword back.

My blade had struck the side of the cavern wall,

Having relinquished the two remaining ءsatrْ of their heads.



XL.



My blade returned to its holster,

I proceed into the true heart of the Valley of Despair,

Known in mythology and lore as the Valley of the North,

And my wandering child’s eye sights the object of this quest.

The ring, Odin’s fabled Draupnir, the symbol of Power and Fertility,

Lay in a groove cut into a large boulder, encircled by a faint light.

I step forward, stunned by a combination of disbelief and triumph,

And sigh: “This ring was destined to my hand; and so it shall be.”