The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Six: A Mean Old Dwarf Walks Into a Bar

By the time Junior Eitri hobbled through the front door, I had finished two plates of nachos and five pints of mead. Never had I been this full of alcohol. The liquid coursed through my bloodstream like gasoline. When I finally laid eyes on the old dwarf, a lit match dropped into my heart and set my soul aflame.

Junior looked as decrepit as always. Tufts of gray hair clung to his head, as if stuck there with a glue stick. His lined face puckered into a sour scowl. Juinor's coat was his only redeeming quality. A deep blue fabric wrapped the dwarf from shoulder to knee. Even in the darkness of Nabbi's Tavern, a silver sheen of light radiated from the fabric, like the last touch of mossglow across the cavern ceiling. I shook my head to clear it. I would not admire the coat of an enemy.

His bodyguards were close behind. I tried not to gape at their height. The two of them ducked into Nabbi's bar, just barely fitting inside the low-hanging ceiling. There was no way these were dwarves. Did Junior hire demigods for protection?

The patrons fell silent upon Junior's arrival. The crowd cleared the center of the bar and moved to the edges, muttering to themselves. Even the drunken wrestling dwarves sobered up. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Junior's scowl turned into a toothy grin. He loved the attention.

"Son of Freya, we finally meet," Junior wheezed. "The sons of rival families, ready to finish this feud once and for all."

He used his metal walker to give a sharp pound! to the floor of the tavern. All eyes turned to him.

"May I present to you my walker, True to the End, Walker Friend! Created by none other than my father, the great Eitri himself. Crafted with the purest of silver. Designed in his private forge."

Carvings of dwarven history ran up and down the four legs: maggots, hammers, rings and boars. The base of each leg was held up by a carving of a dwarf. Upon closer look, I could see that it was the four dwarves that held up the sky: Austri, Norðri, Suðri, and Vestri.

The patrons oohed and ahhed over the craftsmanship. Junior shot me a smug look. I scowled. It couldn't be denied that his father was a brilliant creator.

"Blitzen," he wheezed, "so nice to see you out of the apartment! How is Mommy's little receipt?"

It took all my might to ignore his jab. 

"Great. Never been better."

"Me neither!" Junior grinned. "It is so great to see your father out of the way! That delusional dwarf was causing such an uproar."

My fists clenched. 

"Don't talk about my father like that," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "And keep my family's name out of the papers. I know that it's you. We all do."

Junior laughed. My blood boiled into magma. 

"Nothing you can prove." He threw me an exaggerated wink. "Besides, everything the papers say are true. Everyone knows your father was jealous of my family's skill. He couldn't handle being second best."

"Why would my father be jealous of your family's skill?" I countered. "Eitri was the skilled craftsman in the family. Not you." 

Gasps came from the patrons. You never slandered a dwarf's crafting skills -- even someone as bad as me. I fought on. 

"What's it like to live in your father's shadow?" I taunted. "You don't even have your own name -- Eitri Junior ."

The smug was wiped right off of his face. He looked taken aback, but for just a moment. When he spoke, red hot anger simmered right below the surface.