Brokk's forge

   "So, you have come," says Brokk, and turns to me, rubbing his dark hands on his leather apron. "I thought you might. But your client had better be a good one. I have little time to spare for pretenders."

"He is a good one. The best." I assure him. I wouldn't be here if he wasn't. I am that certain. Brokk grunts, unconvinced.

   "It's what they all say. They want to make a great chieftain out of a mewling pup. Huh. We can't make a king out of nothing, you have to give us something to work with." His brows crease as he sees I am serious, and he sighs. "Show me, then. And be quick about it. I must mind the bellows. What's his name?"

   There is water trickling down the wall of the cave, into a small cistern. A light glow emanates from within the depths. But the furnace glows hotter.

   "Odin, son of Bor," I say. And I wait.

   Brokk stares silently into the water. Then he chuckles to himself. "Oh, yes. I see him. Well, well...you may have something, here, Earth-Wyrm. You may, indeed. He looks most promising, in fact. A regular strutting peacock. Well!" He turns to his bellows, still chuckling. "There is plenty going on in that skull of his. And already a fine warrior. Has some skill at wordsmithing, too, I see. Well, he'll need all that and more." Brokk faces me again and fixes me with a very hard stare, I am rooted in place like bedrock.

   "You know," he says, conversationally, "that the sort of Ring you are requesting comes with a heavy price."

   "Yes," I say. What else is there to say? If Odin wishes this Ring, it will be his if it is in my power to get it for him. Whatever the cost.

   Brokk turns away, back to his furnace. "It means a load of work for me, too. You can bet I won't take a commission like this without serious pay. Oh, my brother is good, his Rings are legendary. Always work exactly according to their design. But they take a long time to craft, you see. And you must be willing to put in the effort yourselves on your end, or it will be for naught." He works the bellows, sweat dripping down his dark face and into his red beard. His shaven upper lip glistens with it.

   "We'll do it," I say. I am sure, at least, about my own half of the equation. I am in two minds about Odin's desires in the matter. I can remember how he has looked at me, and then again how he has looked at me. He is seeming of two minds, or maybe a mind and a heart divided. I would bridge that gap. I stare down at my fingernails. It will be so, I will to myself.

   Brokk ceases work to look at me again. "Oh, yes-you've picked a fine one. With the favor of the Lady, even. That's good. And there is more than enough willingness on both sides. So you tell Odin, son of Bor that we will undertake this commission from you. And when you come back, be ready to give your vow." He wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. "Any questions, Earth-Wyrm?"

   There can be but one question, and I feel I know the answer. But I ask it anyway. I watch the water trickling down the wall of the cave, into the bowl of the cistern. Water of life, flowing from the heavens to the Earth, and back again, as a gift from one to the other. "The price, " I say. "I need to know what it will cost me."

   Brokk chuckles again, and his eyes light up like fireflies in the dark. He smiles, then, a great, wide grin that bares his double rows of sharp, pointy teeth. "There is but one price for that Ring, Earth-Wyrm. And it is blood. Yours. All of it, mind. You will pledge your head to this work, sorcerer. You come with that pledge, and Odin will get his Ring."