o 132c9f47d7a19d14 (20 page)

west, and the gorge was already full of dark shadows when he turned

his horse in that direction.

She waited until he was safely out of sight, then she hurried to

the alcove and dragged aside the cupboard to reveal a low tunnel.

Stooping, she walked quickly toward the dim red light at the far end.

Emerging behind a manger, she stood up straight and confronted Thurid

and Gotiskolker indignantly. They had dragged Leifr through the tunnel

into the horse barn. Apparently undisturbed, he slept on, unaware of his

exchange of a straw tick for a pile of hay in a barn.

“How did you know about the tunnel?” she demanded, her

angry gaze settling upon Thurid, after a contemptuous flick in

Gotiskolker’s direction.

Thurid shrugged one shoulder toward Gotiskolker. “He found it.

A clever idea, I must say, for whoever built this house. There’s no need

for hauling him back. He’s used to rougher quarters than this barn.

Besides, the sleep spell is showing signs of wearing off already. We

may be able to leave sooner than I’d thought.”

“And just as well,” Ljosa replied. “The Dokkalfar will follow

Raudbjorn. He may come back for another look. I know he’s still

suspicious.”

With his grisly weapon over one shoulder, Raudbjorn rode

up the path toward the cliff and the pool. The water chattering over the

rocks set up a melancholy reverberation in the gloomy ravine.

Thickets clung to the steep rocky walls, leaning out to grasp for the

scanty sunlight and clawing at passers- by.

Raudbjorn’s horse tossed its hammerhead and snorted uneasily,

trying to turn around on the narrow path several times before

Raudbjorn reached the small lake set amid jagged black rocks. As the

horse danced around nervously, Raudbjorn wrinkled his nose, sniffing.

The crackle of twigs betrayed the presence of someone following him

up the trail, and a wide, expectant grin split his features as he

dismounted from his horse and faced the trail.

In a moment, a dark form swung into view, moving at an

unhurried pace. Raudbjorn’s eyes rounded in alarm, and his horse took

one electrified glance at the creature on the path and vaulted away at a

gallop with its tail in the air.

Raudbjorn unshouldered his halberd and backed away a few

steps as the huge bear approached, its head lowered, its eyes gleaming

with a feral red light.

“Fylgja bear, stop! Listen to Raudbjorn! Sorry for chopping up

Sorkvir! Raudbjorn too hasty with weapons!”

“Too hasty by more than half!” the bear growled as it rose on its

haunches, displaying a chilling set of sharp, scimitar claws and a

mouthful of savage white fangs.

Raudbjorn lowered his halberd placatingly. “Raudbjorn not do

it again,” he offered hopefully.

“No indeed, not ever!” Sorkvir’s fylgja replied. “We’ve got a

score to settle, Raudbjorn. You hacked my body to shreds; now I’m

going to do the same for you. It’s only fair.”

Raudbjorn shook his head. “Not fair to Raudbjorn. Life leaks

right out of holes and wounds. Sorkvir patches up old body and

comes back again. Raudbjorn no wizard of Owl Society. Raudbjorn

doomed.”

Sorkvir chuckled. “Doomed indeed, you great fool.” Lunging

forward, he gripped Raudbjorn’s thigh and commenced shaking him

and dragging him across the ground with savage growling and

snarling. Raudbjorn battered at his impervious skull and bristling

shoulders, but the bear’s thick, loose hide seemed to shrug off his

blows. With a quick stroke of one paw, he sent the halberd spinning into

the thicket.

“Wait! Sorkvir, listen! Raudbjorn do Sorkvir favor!” Raudbjorn

panted, after wrestling desperately and unsuccessfully with the bear,

who was going for his throat.

Sorkvir paused, with his forefeet pinning Raudbjorn to the

ground, his gleaming teeth only inches from the thief-taker’s face.

“What favor, you dolt? I’ve given you your chances to be of

service to me, and you’ve made too many mistakes every time. What

possible reason is there for me to keep you alive, after you let Fridmarr

get into my hall and steal my sword?” The claws curved menacingly,

sinking into Raudbjorn’s battered leather armor.

“Raudbjorn get Fridmarr for you. Sorkvir needs day-farer to get

Fridmarr. Raudbjorn loyal to Sorkvir—not like sneaking Dokkalfar.

Raudbjorn guard your back.”

Sorkvir grunted. “The Dokkalfar do not love me dearly, I’m

forced to agree, and they take no pains to conceal it from anyone.

Their only disagreement is which of their factions will take my place,

once they get rid of me.”

Raudbjorn nodded emphatically. “Raudbjorn not faction.

Raudbjorn loyal, like faithful dog. Wants only food and warm place to

sleep. Maybe some killing, when Sorkvir wants. Raudbjorn only good

follower, not Dokkalfar.”

Sorkvir removed his paws from Raudbjorn’s chest and allowed

him to rise to his feet. “I, shall let you live this time, Raudbjorn,” he

growled. “A body is a small loss to me, but the Dokkalfar do not have

my advantages. You can be useful, Raudbjorn, in keeping them

frightened. Perhaps they will behave a bit more discreetly if you are

there with that halberd to silence their plotting and complaining.”

Raudbjorn nodded agreeably and grinned until his eyes almost

disappeared. “Raudbjorn glad to frighten Dokkalfar. Dokkalfar and

trolls worst part of night- faring.”

Sorkvir growled warningly. “I could change my mind about you,

Raudbjorn, so don’t become overconfident too soon. If you want to

guarantee yourself a safe position by my fireside, you can deliver

Fridmarr into my hands. You were the last to see him. Find where he

has gone or who is hiding him.” His gaze turned slowly toward the

trail which led down to Ljosa’s shieling.

Raudbjorn shook his head. “Fridmarr not there. Raudbjorn look

all around in house. No sign of Fridmarr there, or around lake. Fridmarr

at Hjaldrsholl by now.”

“Very likely. I’ll send some men to search. And just in case

you’ve overlooked something, I want Ljosa’s placed searched again—

thoroughly. At dusk Hakarl and some others will be coming to question

Hroaldsdottir about Fridmarr. If he truly rode his horse off that cliff, it’s

curious that she knows nothing about it.”

Raudbjorn scowled and edged warily toward the thicket where

his halberd had landed. “That Hakarl. Nasty temper. Raudbjorn like to

stir his brains with axe head.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, unless I tell you to,” Sorkvir

snarled. “Wait for Hakarl and help him with his search of the shieling.

Let him know that I’ll be watching, whether he sees me or not.”

Sorkvir started to move away through the thickets without

making a sound. At the base of a skarp, he turned, his eyes gleaming

redly in the failing light. “That wizard Thurid has been here, and where

he is, Fridmarr must be nearby. I want to meet this upstart, with his

glamour spells and earth spells and so-called Rhbu magic. He can’t be

as good as his luck would make him seem. Tell Hakarl to save Thurid,

if possible, so I can examine these powers of his and discover where he

got them.“

Raudbjorn blinked his eyes. The dark shape of the bear had

vanished without a sound, and he could see no trace of it on the steep

face of the ravine. His hair bristled and he shivered.

He found his horse on the far side of the ravine and rode it back

toward Ljosa’s house, not without some reluctance on the horse’s

part when it discerned the scent of bear on the path. After a hard-

won struggle, Raudbjorn brought his horse down to the rocks near

the house, where he could hide and wait for Hakarl.

He had not waited long when the wizard Thurid slipped out of the

house with a furtive air and started up the path toward the lake.

Raudbjorn grinned broadly to himself and crept around a skarp

overlooking the path where Thurid must pass below.

Thurid came around the corner of a crumbling granary,

oblivious of the threat lurking ahead of him. But to Raudbjorn’s vast

disappointment, Thurid whirled around and faced the house for a

moment, then dived behind a thick stand of blackberry bushes. Always

puzzled by the often senseless behavior of wizards, Raudbjorn craned

his neck over the rock to see what had caused Thurid to jump into the

bushes.

Ten Dokkalfar rode into the yard of the little house and halted in

a half circle around the door. Their leader, a burly renegade named

Hakarl, dismounted and thundered upon the door with the hilt of his

axe. The others got off their horses and stood behind him in warlike

stances, their weapons ready.

When the door opened, the Dokkalfar all crouched defensively,

but it was only Ljosa. She pushed the door open far enough to walk

outside and stand on her doorstep, gazing at her persecutors with regal

hauteur.

“Where is Fridmarr?” Hakarl demanded.

“He isn’t here,” she answered. “Is that your only excuse for

battering at my door like a pack of brigands? Have you forgotten

the codes of common courtesy? If I were Fridmarr or some other

famous outlaw, instead of a lone woman, I suspect you would not forget

your manners with such a display of disrespect.”

Hakarl could not resist swaggering before his companions,

casting them an amused glance over his shoulder. “We meant no

disrespect,*‘ he said with exaggerated politeness. ”We realize that you

used to be the daughter of a chieftain, and you’re accustomed to a soft

and easy life. But I might remind you that you’re in a bad position, if

you’re harboring Fridmarr inside your house.

We know he was here last night, and we don’t think he has gone

far. You know the penalty for helping an outlaw—banishment or death.

You might be forgiven by our gracious lord chieftain Sorkvir, if you

allow us to take him peacefully. You could always say he forced his

way in without your consent.“

“But that would not be the truth. I kept him here and bandaged

his wound and fed him my food. My roof sheltered him willingly from

the eyes of his enemies.”

“Then you are guilty, Hroaldsdottir, and there will be no mercy

shown you. Where is Fridmarr now?”

“You may search for yourself anywhere you like, but not one of

you will set his foot inside this door. No Dokkalfar will ever cross this

threshold.“

The Dokkalfar made some covert signs behind their backs, in

case she was making a spell against them. Then they withdrew a

few paces, coming alarmingly close to the blackberry bushes where

Thurid was lying.

“I think he’s inside,” Hakarl said in an excited whisper, and

the others muttered in agreement.

“He’s a cowardly dog to let a woman do his speaking for him,”

another said. “AH the more reason he should die. Ljosalfar are all

wizard is probably lying in wait for us, ready to

too sly by half. That

blast us with fire.”

“Then we’ll have to be careful not to walk into the trap she’s

setting for us. If they weren’t inside, she wouldn’t have made such a

challenge to us.”

“But how do we get them to come out? There’s only the ten of us,

and we don’t have days and days. Sorkvir’s patience has been thin since

that thief-taker cut him up.”

“So is mine. I say we ought to kill Fridmarr and be done with this

affair. I don’t know what we want with Sorkvir now. He won’t come out

of that bear shape until it suits him. Give me an ordinary Dokkalfar

leader any day; I’m tired to death of wizards.”

“Quiet, he may be around here somewhere, listening. Wouldn’t

you like for him to hear that speech? We’d all be turned into

Gotiskolkers.”

The Dokkalfar snickered uneasily and avoided looking at one

another, their narrow faces distrustful and sly.

“It will take all of us to get them out. I think I know the best way.

If they come out, they live for awhile. If they don’t, they die, and

Sorkvir does whatever nasty things he likes to bring them back to

some sort of life. Whichever way they choose, they won’t be happy.”

The Dokkalfar chuckled grimly, and one said impatiently, “Get

on with the plan, Hakarl.”

“It’s quite simple. We’ll burn them out.”

With an evil chuckle, they slouched back to Ljosa’s doorstep,