Huginn stood perched upon the open door. The raven seemed especially imperious, leveling a stern gaze upon Durimarr.
Durimarr narrowed his eyes. "The All-Father disappeared long ago."
"He has returned, and he asks that you assist the boy."
The elder runesmith scoffed. "Even if that were true, I have no debts for him to collect. Unless I can be guaranteed that my assistance will not harm our kind, I will not touch that blade so long as it remains in… *human*… hands."
"Perfect, then we can start immediately. Your guarantee is the brand on the boy's chest. He is host to the very soul of Tyr himself, and I believe your people held him in high regard, no? He always arrived to lend aid to the dwarves in their darkest of hours."
Val whispered to Muninn. "What exactly happened…?"
"As far as I know, after Tyr fell, a human warlord took up the blade and threatened the dwarves into servitude, demanding they forge weapons of war exclusively for him. Naturally, the dwarves refused, and war erupted. In a stroke of cruel irony, many of the most skilled Dwarven smiths were slain with the blade. They cursed it to claim the lives of any human wielders, which is thought to be the reason why it has changed hands in bloody succession, so many times. The truth is… Different, but you will hear that from the source." Muninn explained in a whisper, as Huginn and Durimarr debated Val's request.
"There is no proof that he is truly host to Tyr. I find it laughable to suggest a human could withstand the burden of a god's soul. Even if I agreed to restore it, I lack the materials to reignite the runes." Durimarr's disdain was apparent, but at the very least, he spoke to Huginn with a respectful tone, recognizing him as an envoy of Odin.
Val thought of something and spoke up. "I think I can solve both problems. The runes were originally carved and penned with Tyr's blood, correct?"
Durimarr cast him a sidelong glance. "That is correct; without it, you have no hope of restoring its power, and you have just now confirmed he is dead."
"My blood runs with Tyr's power, I am more than just hosting his soul. Use my blood to reignite the runes, and you will have your proof that I am truly his host. If it does not work, then you lose nothing, and you'll have no reason to believe us, we will leave." Val suggested.
The elder runesmith pondered for some time, his eyes fixated on the sword.
"Let me see the blade." Durimarr suddenly woke from his reverie, extending a hand to point to the sword.
Val, slightly surprised, handed him the sword. Durimarr gingerly received it, placing it on a nearby workbench. He ran his fingers along the length of the spine, feeling the faded etchings as if his sight alone did not suffice. A couple other apprentices tiptoed and craned their necks to see it, but did not dare approach.
"Fine, I will test your words, but the skills that brought this blade to its truest of life were lost long ago. Even if you truly have his fire in your veins, the most I can do is rekindle the runes." Durimarr explained with a grave tone.
"That's all I'm asking. When can we start?"
"Now." Durimarr motioned to an apprentice, who handed him a large stone bowl.
"Slake the blade with your blood, then fill this bowl halfway. If there is even a drop of Tyr's power in your veins, the runes will respond, and I can begin to restore them." Durimarr instructed to Val.
Val felt a bit queasy about the macabre process, but was of no mind to hesitate. Pain, grievous injury, and even death were familiar feelings due to Valor's training. He took up the blade and gripped the edge with his palm. Grimacing only slightly, he ran his palm along the length slowly, his blood staining the steel. It was a bizarre sight, but as the blood tried to seep down across the spine, they were absorbed by the faded runes, as if the blade was drinking of his blood. Durimarr's wizened expression brightened, and his eyes widened slightly as he saw the runes gain a subtle color.
Val stepped away from the bench, resting his hand over the stone bowl as he began to fill it. Losing yet more blood was unsettling, but he was determined now that the old runesmith agreed to help. The rude apprentice from earlier was wordlessly filling the bowl with tinctures and powders, matching Val's pace and causing the blood to thicken. Durimarr was observing the runes on the sword closely, patiently waiting for something.
Val raised an eyebrow to the apprentice. "If you don't mind me asking… What are you doing to my blood?"
The apprentice grunted but explained nonetheless. "When producing inks from the blood of living things, you have to treat it quickly to preserve the mana. It will oxidize and ruin quickly, and magic will free itself from the anima in the blood. The whole thing will go to waste if not treated. Preserving tinctures to keep the freshness, and fine powder made from crushed aetherite ore to enrich the mana and allow the blood to bind to aether-steel."
Durimarr interrupted. "So, you speak the truth, heir apparent to Tyr indeed."
Val followed his gaze to the sword and raised his brows in surprise. The runes along the spine were beginning to take on a patchy glow, like smoldering coals about to cool completely. The elder runesmith finally got to work, activating some sort of magic. A blue, glowing point appeared before his hand. He began to trace the runes as they were. A metallic, scraping sound assaulted everyone's ears as he worked. It was faintly familiar to the sound of a power grinder, though not nearly as screeching.
"Centuries of grime and material buildup need to be removed to expose the runes completely so they might properly drink of your blood." Durimarr explained as if reading the question in Val's mind.
Val had finished his donation of blood, invoking Beorc on himself to close up the wound on his palm. The apprentice continued to work to preserve the quality of the substance, Val noticed that even after ten minutes, none of it had darkened due to air exposure. In fact, it looked brighter, almost beginning to glow.
Taking a seat next to Durnham, he rested, slightly tired from losing yet more of his blood. Durnham had dismissed the other guards earlier, but he took out a small parcel wrapped in paper. Unfolding it, he offered Val a simple sandwich comprised of a small, split loaf of bread and a thick slice of pork.
"Eat, I can easily get another."
"Thanks." Val took the food and began to eat, observing the runesmiths' work in silence, demonstrating an intimate knowledge of the craft as they collaborated seamlessly.
For nearly an hour, Durimarr worked tirelessly on the runes. It seemed doubt and apprehension had been replaced with subtle enthusiasm as he continued to work. In the end, an opportunity to work on the fabled craft of his predecessors proved to be a great motivation.
"How much longer?" Val asked one of the apprentices.
The apprentice simply shrugged. "Personally, I have never seen him work before, but something like this… Could take another hour, could take days."
"Great…" Val grumbled, only for Muninn to peck at his ear. "Ow, the hell?"
"You could learn some patience. They have not even broached the cost of their assistance." Muninn chided.
"Oh… Yeah, speaking of which, what will this cost?"
"Again, don't know, he doesn't take work, no idea what he charges."
"Hmm? All of you set your own fees?"
"Aye, 'tis normal in apprenticeships, when we take work we establish our own fees, in preparation for setting up our own workshops."
"Huh, noted." Val checked the time, it was growing late into the afternoon.
"Hey, if this is going to be a while longer, I'm going to run another errand, I'll return shortly." Val said, asking the ravens to keep an eye on things.
The rude apprentice grunted, dismissively waving a hand to him in annoyance for continued disruptions to their work.
No further than a dozen meters from the workshop, he heard a commotion behind him. Dashing back to see what was happening, he felt a shocking amount of warmth, as if he was standing in a sauna. Durimarr was standing over the sword, still fixed to his task, his forehead wrinkled in concentration, adorned with growing beads of sweat. His apprentices were scrambling around, mixing various substances into bowls. One of them was diluting Val's blood in a mixture and brushing it onto the steel in an attempt to control the temperature.
Val approached the bench, eyes wide in shock as he saw the sword. The steel along the blade was glowing red hot, but even brighter were the runes along the spine. Flakes of metallic materials were peeling off the blade, burning away as if the sword itself was shedding dead skin.
Durimarr was invoking each rune along the spine in turn. In his right hand, he held a foot-long steel stylus of some sort. He appeared to be using it to trace the mixture of Val's blood into the runes. Each time a rune drank of the blood, it flared brightly with the color of fire.
"Boy, it seems I was mistaken about your nature. No simple blessing would impart this much of Tyr's power." The elder runesmith remarked, not looking up from his task.
"So, you can restore it?"
"Not entirely, as I said, I can do little but rekindle the power of the runes. However, I can restore much of the blade itself. See how it struggles to cast off rust and grime, to cure itself of the weathering of time."
Durimarr was channeling some form of magic along the blade, causing it to produce a slight humming sound, trembling slightly as more and more of its surface peeled off, nearly molten steel emerging.
"There, finished with the preparations, now it's up to you."
"Me?"
"Yes, I've redone the runes with your blood, they are resonating with your magic. They are bound to your power now, which means they will respond by your will. You will, from time to time, need to feed them with more of your blood. They may regain more strength in time, but this also means they are limited by your power and will consume it. Now before we finish the temper with the rest of your blood, take the blade." Durimarr instructed.
Val grasped the grip of the sword as instructed, only to nearly double over as the handle was not only painfully hot, but he felt his mana being ripped from his body through his hand.
"Do not let go! Pour your mana into it, focus your energy as if to direct it along the length of the blade!" Durimarr barked, seeing Val's reaction.
Val grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the sword. His eyes flared as he poured as much mana as he could into the blade. All of the runes began to smolder and shine brightly.
"Haha! The boy is powerful, indeed!" Durnham was in a corner laughing to himself, seeming very pleased with the apparent success. Huginn and Muninn observed quietly as the sword continued to absorb Val's strength. After fifteen minutes that felt like hours, the flow of his mana seemed to slow.
"That's enough! Release the sword." Durimarr instructed, and as soon as Val let go of the grip, two apprentices took the sword up in a pair of large metal tongs between them. Moving over to a long trough, they eased the blade into a crimson bath. Steam erupted from the surface, flooding the room in reddish mist.
When the steam cleared, Durimarr approached the bath, inspecting it carefully, very little of the quenching bath was left, though there had not been enough steam to match.
"The fabled flame of valor breathes once more." Durimarr observed the sword with restrained awe. "Boy, take it." He instructed.
Val took the sword, lifting it from the trough. There were no longer any faded runes, nor worn steel, the blade looked fresh, with smoldering runes. The image of Valor holding the sword appeared in his mind. Now it resembled what he had seen, but appeared even more impressive in person.
"Thank you, truly. What do you want as payment?"
Durimarr grunted. "Hmph, the runes are alive again, but this is merely a small fraction of its power, and all you or I can do for now. As for payment… Your word."
"Huh?"
"If you are genuine in your intentions, you should be able to afford it."
"What do you mean?"
"You will notice an addition to the runes inscribed around the pommel." Val looked at the pommel, noticing a small series of runes inscribed around it.
Durimarr spoke slowly. "Should you ever wield Tyrfing for anything less than that which Tyr fought for, she will fail you when you need her power most. Never again will she be brought against the innocent and defenseless."
Val nodded. "You have my word, I, Valtyr, will ensure it."
"Hmm? Valtyr? How fitting a name… The All-Father is a sly one indeed."
Val sheathed the still warm blade. Looking to the ravens, he saw Huginn as austere as usual, and Muninn was beaming at him.
"Hmph, still a cursed blade, but perhaps not so bad." Huginn remarked.
"If you are truly Tyr's heir, perhaps there is something you else should know." Durimarr leveled an unsure gaze.
"Hmm?"
"Across the great sea, far to the East of here, the sibling sword of Tyrfing should still remain sealed. It was made to be a gift to Tyr, but with his disappearance, none have ever drawn the blade, and we have kept it hidden."
"Dainsleif, right?"
Durimarr looked at him with momentary surprise. "Yes…"
"Tyr mentioned only the name." Val quickly explained.
"Well, regardless, I believe you may be the closest thing to its rightful owner. They will not deny you if you show them that blade. Should you master the flames and require more strength, seek it out. Dainsleif is not nearly as well-mannered as this one..."
"Got it, thanks."
"Hmph, see me if you need anything else, but leave now, I'm tired." Durimarr returned down the stairs after saying his piece, though his apprentices thought they heard wrong, shocked by the suggestion he would take other work if Val brought it.