Clank! Clank! Clank!
"Would you quiet down a little, Orvar?" shouted Lady Madeleine from across the hay-covered alley.
"Sorry, milady, but Lord Tyris has ordered a brand new steel sword and some heavier armor. I'm afraid if I want to continue in smithing, this order is vital and I must continue," explained the bulky teenaged apprentice.
"What in the gods’ names does my husband need armor for? He barely gets out of his chair! Well, in Odin's name, get it done quickly! My ears don't hear as they used to, and I don't plan on losing my sense anytime soon," shouted Lady Madeleine, slightly annoyed. A smile crossed Orvar's face as the old woman started to mumble to herself and walked away. She yelled at him almost every day since he began the trade of blacksmithing.
Orvar's master stumbled in dropping firewood on the firm dirt floor, just as Orvar started to beat against the red-hot metal once more. "Orvar, I'm going to need you to work all afternoon, because I have to deliver this helmet to the armory. Do you think you could-" a loud thunder interrupted the man as he spoke. The thunder boomed across the sky with the people below unaware of its source.
"What in Odin's name was that? There are no clouds today! Well, I am sure the gods are just fighting once more," exclaimed Orvar's master. Just as the last word slipped through his mouth, the ground shook and another booming thunder deafened those who lived in the village.
Suddenly, screams were heard from frantic women and children. Orvar’s ears rang after the terrible boom, until he started to hear the cries and exclamations of death and despair from the villagers. Orvar did not believe what he heard until he stumbled out of the building to see a massive, brown beast perched on the tavern. Its scales were rough and coarse. The lizard had a man, Orvar knew, choking in its claws, and the man coughed and shouted with blood seeping from his mouth. The lizard roared once more and fire blazed through the air. The ground shook as buildings shot up in flames. The village was swallowed by the fire, and Orvar turned to see his blacksmithing building falling to the same fate. Pushing open the wooden door, he saw a rafter fall from the ceiling and cripple his master underneath.
"Master! Oh, gods, what have you done!" Orvar ran to his master and lifted the rafter with all of his strength. The wood splintered his arms as he threw the rafter across the room. “Oh, Master, what has the great beast done to you! Curse his name!"
Breathing heavily, Orvar's master grabbed his collar, pulling Orvar close enough to hear his dying whispers, "Do you remember the stories you used to speak of as a young boy, about Eldkastare? The dragon frozen in the North forests? I believe that after a thousand years, the story has prevailed in truth. You saw him today,"
“But, Master,” Orvar questioned, “You did not even see him!”
“He was the only one left after the war, Orvar. It had to be him,” Orvar's master coughed and wheezed, "Son, you must travel north. It was told that the Sköld Av Brand would reside there, the only one to save us. He cannot be burned. Remember that! You must find him. And... And... Save the rest."
Orvar's master looked at Orvar's cut arms. He swore to himself he had seen Orvar burned before. He could not be the Sköld Av Brand. He could not. The master swore it. With one last wheeze, the blacksmith collapsed in Orvar’s arms. Orvar cried out as if he were in pain. His master, his mentor had been defeated unfairly by this beast. He lay weeping for several minutes until he heard flaps of wings and another deafening roar. He looked up with tears in his eyes and ran out the door.


The landscape of the former village was burning. All around Orvar, foundations of familiar buildings collapsed with ash and sparks being kicked up. He rushed down the now soot covered path to his house only to see it in a heap of burning planks. Orvar angrily ripped the pile apart until he saw what he could never imagine: A figure lay in the ash curled up holding another, much smaller figure. His mother and brother had fallen prey to Eldkastare’s flames. Seeing this, Orvar was enraged. He screamed at the top of his lungs until collapsing in the wreckage. He wept until he had nothing to weep with.
He sat up from the soot as he heard the roaring of the great beast in the distant mountains. Orvar knew what he must do. Tears in his eyes and face running red, Orvar sprinted back to his workplace taking the armor and a sword that remained. Orvar Med Styrka was going to find the Sköld Av Brand and help put an end to the beast that took what he loved most away from him.
***
His boots pressed into the snow, the black rocks of the mountain giving him traction. Orvar let out a heavy breath as he trekked along the path. Orvar had set out a few hours before. He noticed the bitter cold that he was unfamiliar with back in Herland. In his village, it was always hot, especially when he would sit around the hot coals and fires while bending metals and crafting masterpieces that he hoped would never be used. The cold, snowy air bit at his face unmercifully, causing him to despise the northern climate. The wind had picked up as he had gotten miles from his village. The bushes along the path rustled as Orvar walked. Suddenly, Orvar heard a snap and turned. A silver flash was all he saw as he reached for his sheathed sword.
"Don't move! Do you have gold?" forcefully asked the bandit, pressing his blade against Orvar's neck.


"No!" Orvar panicked at the sight of the bandit, for he had never trained in combat, only swung a sword or two while working. He was sweating when the idea came to him, "Fine, I have gold, but it is in my boot. If you simply reach in, you will find it."
"Do not move, or by the gods as my witnesses, I will cut you to pieces!" The bandit started to squat down the Orvar's boot slowly. Orvar finally got a clear look at the man. He was a heavily built man with a face like a rock and slightly gray hair. His voice raspily said, "If you make a move, I won't hesitate to kill you."
Orvar kept his hand on his sword hilt as the bandit reached into his boot. With lightning speed, Orvar kicked his leg up, snapping the bandit’s nose in the process. He drew his sword and sliced the bandit's left arm off. The man shrieked and fell to the ground. He was writhing in pain as he bled out. Orvar spotted his right hand reaching for the dagger that was once against Orvar's neck. Orvar slammed his foot on the man's wrist and commanded with might, "Never mess with vengeful man." Orvar's blade sliced through the air hitting the bandit square in the chest, killing him instantly.
Orvar fell back breathing hard. This was the first man that he had ever killed. His mind was racing with anger, disappointment, and confusion as he continued his trek, thinking of the dead bandit. As he turned the corner of the mountain, he spotted Volten, a frozen city that was surrounded by a circular wall made of fifteen foot tall wooden stakes. Maybe the Sköld Av Brand would be found there.
***


After three days of Orvar’s continuous preaching of the great dragon, the city of Volten had finally listened and gathered an army of one thousand men outside of the gates. Each man was supplied with a rusty sword, a leather shirt, and a makeshift wooden shield. Some of the richer men who had volunteered out of sheer pride were carrying long swords made of steel, full armor, and some of the finest shields in the entire world. The sun was set, and neither of the two moons were to be seen. The dark sky was covered in clouds and a low, rumbling thunder had been present for the past few hours.


Orvar had been sitting outside the city gates watching the sunset behind the surrounding mountains. He had watched as the troops scratched their legs and mocked each other. He saw how ill-prepared they were for the battle to come. He didn’t dare think of what was to come. Orvar only sat in the dark, listening to the endless banter of the soldiers. The thunder stopping, Orvar sat up, shocked by the sudden silence. After a couple of minutes, he had relaxed again. Crack! A loud snap of thunder shot through the sky. The lightning followed shortly after, and a silhouette of Eldkastare shone on the mountain top.


“Was that it?”


“What in Odin’s name was that!?”


“I’ve never seen anything like it!”


After the panicking soldiers quieted down and formed in their positions, Orvar jumped up and stared toward the distant mountain looking for another peek at the dragon. No one that he had met over the past three days was immune to fire. He feared that these soldiers would be no match. What if no one would stop Eldkastare? It was in that moment that he saw a spark light in front of the soldiers.


The fire shot out in a ball, rolling over the soldiers lighting them one by one. The dragon turned his head back and forth until all of the men were being cooked alive. Some of the men ran after the dragon that sat only yards away, but most curled into balls, screaming out in pain. The ones that ran for the dragon were like running torches, burning bright through the valley. Few reached the dragon, only to be crushed by his bloody claws or skewered on his cracked teeth. The others would collapse as they were nearing the beast.


Orvar watched in horror as he saw hundreds die or near death’s cold grip. He felt as if all he knew was ending, and there was nothing that could be done. What did he have to lose? Nothing! Orvar ran over to the nearest fallen soldier and picked up his stick of a sword. He ran through the fiery field, thinking to himself how lucky he was not to be caught by the flames. He reached the outer edges of the dead bodies and saw Eldkastare only sixty yards away. He looked up to see the spark start in the back of the lizard’s throat and shut his eyes as he kept running.


A refreshing sensation of warmth surrounded Orvar’s body. He felt as if he were a child again sitting in his mother’s grip. As he opened his eyes, Orvar expected Valhalla. He expected to see a large golden throne with Odin himself seated, but he saw red, only red. Orvar was lit like a bonfire, but felt no pain, no tingles. Orvar Med Styrka was a beacon of flames, and the dragon’s eyes seemed to freeze over. He was the Sköld Av Brand, and he raised his sword to slay the beast. Shouting with all his might, Orvar sprinted and reached Eldkastare. The dragon swung his tail at the Sköld Av Brand and cried out in pain.


Orvar held onto his sword, seeing it was piercing the dragon’s tale. Eldkastare flapped his wings until he was in flight. His wound caused him to back away from the fight, but he didn’t know Orvar was riding with him. He whimpered as he passed with ease over mountains. He shook his tail around some, feeling the sword still penetrating his scales. Eldkastare started his descent, but it was too dark for Orvar to see where he was landing. With a thud, the dragon’s feet hit the ground. Orvar coughed when the beast’s feet kicked up a substance like dust. Orvar could smell it. It was ash.


His eyes had adjusted to the landscape, and his hunch was a reality: He stood on the remains of his house. Ovar quickly pulled the blade from the dragon’s tale and ran in front of the beast, “You have torn my world apart! You killed everyone that I ever knew!” Orvar swung the sword, slicing the beast’s nose. Eldkastare roared and used his fire once more with no effect. Orvar saw the flames jump around him, but worst of all, they lit up his former village. It seemed almost as if it were daytime again. He could see ghosts of children skipping along the dirt paths and the old ladies were quarreling once more. At the base of the beast, Orvar saw his little brother pestering his mother. A tear slid from his eye, but with the flames it quickly evaporated. Eldkastare gazed upon Orvar and his flames stopped. Although, Orvar was still on fire. He was flaming with blue sparks as the heat danced around his body. The Sköld Av Brand seemed to control the flames as he shouted, “You killed my master! You took my seven year old brother from me! Worst of all,” a tear dropped from his eye once more, “You murdered my mother! Best of wishes in Heltheim!”


The blade had melted in Orvar’s flaming grip, but all that remained was a wisp of fire that was white. It took the shape of the weapon and sliced the dragon’s neck. It burned straight through the scales and cleanly decapitated Eldkastare. The beast’s head hit the ground with a boom, and the Earth shook with it. Orvar knelt beside the limp body a touched it once more. Each individual scale was lifted off as ash, and the bones were turned to dust. All that remained was a burnt down house and a dragon’s head. The Sköld Av Brand had prevailed, and Eldkastare was no more.