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hear it. At least we will have something good to remember you by. Go

on with your work. We won’t hinder you. How may we be of

assistance?“

Leifr stifled a huge sigh of relief and beckoned to Thurid. ‘This

wizard will do all the work. You’ll have to ask him how you can help.“

Thurid’s eyes sparkled gloatingly. “You can tell me all about the

stones that were here. Are any missing? Did Sorkvir bring any new

ones? Where are the rest of the small stones that belong on the altar

stone?”

In the ensuing discussion, Leifr found himself blissfully ignored.

Finding a level, mossy place that wasn’t wet, he stretched out for a nap

while Thurid and the nisses went searching for lost stones, markers, and

etchings. Gotiskolker squatted nearby, watchful and uncommunicative

as usual. Something about his brooding silence prompted Leifr to ask

suddenly, “What did Eydis mean about the eitur? Are you really going

to die from it?”

Gotiskolker shot him a narrow glance. “I’ll die from the lack of

it, one day, since I don’t intend to ask Sorkvir for any more of his

poison.”

“Was Fridmarr addicted to the eitur? I think it would explain

some of his treacherous behavior.”

Gotiskolker snorted disgustedly. “Hurry up and go to sleep, if

that’s what you’re going to do. None of us may have much rest later.“

Thurid poked and prodded and dowsed over most of the island.

Whenever he came too near the central altar with its attendant standing

stones, the pendulum lashed around in a fury, instead of behaving

properly. He knew the war between the influences was on when the sky

darkened for a storm, all the metal that he chanced to touch spat sparks

at him, and the hairs on his head stood out rigid and quivering with

unseen energies. Retreating carefully, Thurid found that the only safe

place on the island was the spot where they had spent the night. He

renewed his circles scratched in the earth, keeping one eye all the

while upon the stone circle above, on the crest of the island.

“We’re going to have some bad weather,” he said to Leifr and

Gotiskolker. “Stay inside these rings and nothing too dreadful should

happen to you.” He glanced up at the boiling, purple clouds above,

already veiling the tops of the fells in coils of mist. A chill wind rattled

the rank clumps of vegetation in the marsh, and the nisses shivered

uneasily and silently slipped into the water, turning their heads warily in

all directions.

“That’s Sorkvir’s influence,” Eydis called nervously. “He won’t

like your poking around among those stones.”

“He shouldn’t,” Thurid replied. He chuckled, rubbing a rune

wand across his palm. “I’ve always been a believer in striking the first

blow. Stay back, all of you, no matter what happens.” With a last,

jaunty salute, he started away up the hill.

Leifr watched him for a moment, noting how the dark cloud had

settled among the standing stones, as if it were waiting for Thurid.

“I don’t like letting him go up there alone,” he said to

Gotiskolker, who was checking the picket pins for the horses yet

another time.

Gotiskolker replied morosely, “There’s nothing we can do to help

him. You’re a Scipling with no trained powers, and I’m an Alfar who

has lost his. A fine pair we’d be.” He gazed after Thurid for a

considerable time, gnawing on his thumbnail worriedly. Finally he

said, “Come on, we’re going up there with him. I can’t stand waiting

down here.”

Following Gotiskolker into the deepening brume, Leifr had die

strong impression that he was contributing to his own destruction

by being where he was. Nor was Thurid glad to see them. Glowering

mightily, he hastily scratched a large pentacle on the ground, saying,

“What a pair of fools! Stand inside this mark and don’t stir out of it,

if you value your lives. You should have an excellent vantage point

for witnessing my triumph.”

Raising his staff with a flourish, Thurid glanced both ways, then

spoke the words of his spell in a commanding shout. Red flame burst

from the end of his staff, striking one of the stones with a powerful

explosion. Hastily Thurid amended his spell, etching a thin red line

across the face of the blackened stone; down, then up to form the top

point of the star, down again, then across to complete it.

“All right, Sorkvir, what are you going to do about that?” he

roared into the wind, with a huge, boastful laugh.

The clouds swirled threateningly, garnering into an immense,

indistinct mass towering over the highest of the standing stones. A

white blast of wind seared the earth with a deadly cold gale. Leifr

instinctively flattened himself on the ground, noting as he did so that

everything was frozen white except the star Thurid had sketched.

Looking up again, he saw a giant figure standing astride the hilltop,

scything the air with a gleaming sword that appeared to be made of ice.

Snow and ice crystals swirled in the cold breath of the creature, and its

eyes burned with a blue glow in its frost-wreathed countenance. The

shifting glance fell upon Thurid, and a glittering bolt of ice shattered

against Thurid’s upraised forearms, as if it had struck an invisible

shield. Thurid staggered back, almost to the edge of the pentacle he

stood within, but he quickly recovered and darted a fiery bolt of his

own at the frost giant. It smashed against the giant’s icy shield into a

thousand brilliant sparks with a screaming hiss.

Thurid sent a pencil of fire toward the second stone, etching half

the pentacle before the frost giant retaliated with an icy gust of wind

that almost carried Thurid off his feet. He dropped to one knee,

shielding his face with his flapping cloak until he could summon a fire

bolt. With a fiery roar, it struck the ground in front of the giant and

splintered into smaller bolts, one of which pierced the giant’s lower leg.

With a howl, the frost giant strode forward, swinging its monstrous

weapon, its eyes darting ice bolts in all directions. Several shattered on

the ground outside Leifr’s pentacle into showers of deadly splinters, but

all that reached Leifr and Gotiskolker was ice water.

Again Thurid blasted the standing stone, hastily finishing the

outline of the pentacle before directing another bolt at the frost giant. It

struck with a dazzling burst of flames on the giant’s shield, and the

apparition crouched defensively, darting another bolt that screamed

wide over his target and exploded somewhere in the swamp.

Thurid directed his powers again toward one of the standing

stones, burning the sign of the pentacle over the black spiral. The frost

giant retreated with a grumbling roar from the brilliance of Thurid’s

fire, which was concentrated into a single, dazzling fireball at the end of

his staff, blazing more intensely than any alf-light Leifr had ever seen

him conjure before. He averted his eyes and still saw greenish flares

superimposed over everything he looked at. Gotiskolker buried his face

in his cloak and hugged the ground as the frost giant summoned another

mighty gale of icy wind and driving ice crystals.

The alf-light blurred under the assault, but it kept burning

brightly until the gale subsided. The giant retreated, still darting ice

bolts and leaking ice water in a torrent from the wounded leg. Thurid

abandoned his pentacle and dashed after the frost giant, disappearing

into the circle of tall stones. In a moment, a thunderous explosion

shook the earth, and the frost giant vanished into the clouds with a

windy bellow. All traces of the icy wind dissipated, and the dark clouds

seemed to evaporate, letting the sunlight straggle through the ragged

intervals of cloud.

In the long ensuing silence, Leifr stared questioningly at

Gotiskolker, who lay in a huddled heap, listening intently.

“We’d better go look,” Leifr whispered.

Warily they crept out of the pentacle and skirted the standing

stones, keeping a healthy distance. Three of the stones still smoked,

glowing red and molten in a few spots yet. The ground gleamed with

cold, wet spume, and a few fragments of ice glittered among the

stones, melting quickly. When Leifr stooped to retrieve a piece,

Gotiskolker reprimanded him sharply. “Don’t touch that hateful stuff, it

burns forever.‘”

They found Thurid lying on his face in the mud, his arms around

a loaf-sized stone marked with a spiral.

“Thurid!” Leifr gasped, reaching him in two strides.

Thurid’s eyes opened and he smiled faintly. “He almost got me

that time, but I got him dead center with a fire bolt. Help me up, won’t

you?”

“Are you hurt?” Leifr could see no evidence of damage

except traces of white frost crystals in the folds of his cloak, which

seemed slightly frozen.

Thurid attempted to dust himself off. “All I need is a little rest.”

He prodded the stone he had been embracing. “Carry this up to the

altar stone, Fridmarr. I’ve been searching all day for this stone. It’s the

last of the ones we couldn’t find.”

“I don’t like all these spirals,” Leifr said, after he had placed the

stone beside the altar. “You’re not trying to tamper with Sorkvir’s own

powers, are you, Thurid?”

“No, indeed. These marks were made long before Sorkvir graced

this land with his vile presence.” Thurid ran his hands over the rows of

stones, fifteen in all, ranging from the size of an egg to the size of a loaf

of bread. “When we get them in the right sequence, we can generate

power in this ring.” His moving hand stopped, and he exchanged two

stones’ positions, his eyes darting keenly over the complete assembly.

“The spiral is a very old symbol, which Sorkvir had no business

borrowing for his own evil purposes.” He switched another pair of

stones and was rewarded with a burst of sparks. Shaking his fingers, he

tried another combination of rocks and holes.

The evening light changed to a sickly, greenish glow, and a cold

wind sprang up, thrashing around in the tules and bull-rushes

resentfully and thrusting at the standing stones. Shivering, Leifr pulled

up his hood and glanced quickly around at the surrounding marshlands,

not liking the eerie cast of the light. Gotiskolker nudged him, pointing

with a jerk of his chin to the distant edge of the swamp. A long, dark

line moved along slowly and purposefully, taking a trajectory that

would lead them indirectly to the island.

“Dokkalfar,” Leifr muttered.

Gotiskolker nodded. “This time they won’t be so easily fooled.”

Leifr watched Thurid a moment, standing at the altar with his

head thrown back and his eyes closed in an ecstasy of concentration.

“Where are the nisses?” he asked, and Gotiskolker shrugged for

an answer. “They’re not showing much faith in Thurid if they’ve gone

into hiding.”

“They’re not alone.” Gotiskolker faced the marsh, watching a

pair of deer leaping through the hummocks in full flight. In a moment, a

fox flashed from its cover in a thicket and vanished among the tall

grasses. “Something is coming which none of them wants to face.”

“Sorkvir,” Leifr said flatly.

After a moment of anxiously watching the marsh creatures

slipping away to hide, Leifr turned back to Thurid, who still puzzled

over the exact arrangement of the stones in the sockets. With one

combination, the standing stones seemed to tremble, and the air was

filled with crackling and sputtering. Thurid’s face brightened, and he

rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“I think I’ve hit upon the proper sequence,” he called. “Stay back

from the stones, but don’t stray outside the circle. We’re safe inside

here, I think.”

“Safe from arrows and spears, I hope,” Gotiskolker said.

“We’ve got a mob of Dokkalfar on the way, and Sorkvir must be with

them. You’ll have to hold them off somehow.”

Thurid ran his hands over the rows of stones, tracing each spiral

with his finger. “I’m going to turn the stones against Sorkvir,” he said.

“Once the stones are turned, Sorkvir will never be able to return here,

and his power will be broken.” He passed his hands over the stones

again, and a distinct rumble came from the depths of the earth far

beneath the swamp. “-I’m ready to begin. You two can help by staying