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I made that oath, or perhaps—” He shrugged eloquently.

“Never knew? Of course you did,” Eydis snapped. “You were

here when Sorkvir corrupted the stone circle and stopped the springs.

You saw us then.”

- Leifr rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees. “I meant that

I couldn’t imagine taking a niss for a wife then, I was so caught up in

Sorkvir’s evil influence. I had no thought for anything but Sorkvir’s

eitur.”

“Eitur!” The nisses all recoiled from him in shock. After a

long moment, they shook their heads slightly and made sympathetic

clucks and murmurs.

“We are saddened to hear of your addiction,” Eydis said. “He has

let you live a long time since you escaped from him. Still, you don’t

appear to be dying just yet. How long can you go without a dose of his

poison?”

Leifr shook his head and got to his feet. “Not very long,” he said

absently, thinking of Gotiskolker and his notched stick suddenly,

with a new and alarming insight. Scowling, he glanced over his

shoulder toward the camp. “If you’ll forgive me, I think I want to check

on Gotiskolker. He wasn’t feeling well after the battle last night. I thank

you again for your offers. I think you see now that it makes no sense to

take away one of the nisses, when I have so little time left to live.

Enough to restore the Pentacle and free Ljosa, and little more.”

“We’re sorry to hear it,” the nisses murmured. “We wish you

good luck, Fridmarr.”

“I’ll need it,” he responded ruefully. “We’ll be on our way today,

if all the springs are working now.”

“They are,” Eydis said, “We’ll mark the way out of the

swamp for you. Watch for the white scraps of cloth tied to the bushes

and trees. Walk in a straight line between them and you won’t come to

any more grief. Farewell and good luck, Fridmarr.”

He waved, and they slipped into the water and started to swim

away, scarcely rippling the weedy surface of the pool.

Eydis called out to him as he was turning to leave, and she came

gliding back to the rocks at his feet, leaving her sisters to go ahead

without her.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said, “which of us appealed to you the

most? So few escape from Finna. It will help settle any future quarrels

among us.”

“If I were free to choose,” Leifr began, thinking fast, “I would

have chosen you, Eydis. But of course the others could never keep

Finna under control as well as you do, so perhaps it is all for the best.”

Eydis smiled. For a moment, Leifr felt regretful, but the regret

did not last very long. She waved and slipped under the water. The last

he saw of her was a pair of large fins vanishing under the bright green

duckweed, and he silently agreed that it would be difficult to conceal

the fact that one’s wife, however beautiful, had fins for feet.

Thurid was nowhere in sight when Leifr returned to the camp.

Gotiskolker glanced up morosely from a cup of steaming tea and

silently nodded toward the pot.

“Where’s Thurid?” Leifr helped himself to the tea and a piece of

bread so dry that soaking in the tea was the only way to render it

even remotely edible.

Gotiskolker shrugged one shoulder. “Looking for the nisses, I

suppose. Or maybe another frost giant. He’s got a fearfully high

opinion of himself, after yesterday.”

“Maybe he deserves a small portion of it,” Leifr said. “He’s done

wonders, since I first met him.”

“It won’t last.” Gotiskolker spat. “He’s burning himself up too

fast. There won’t be anything left of him, unless he learns to hoard his

powers better.”

Leifr bolted the last of the soggy bread, watching his companion

closely. Never too healthy-looking, Gotiskolker looked a little

worse than usual— sunken eyes, withered skin much defaced by scars,

and very little flesh clinging to his prominent bones.

“You look like the next feast for the ravens,” Leifr observed.

“Isn’t there any way to recover from the effects of Sorkvir’s eitur?”

Gotiskolker hoisted one eyebrow, much offended. “It’s been

a long time since I prided myself upon my personal beauty, and I’m

terribly sorry if my appearance doesn’t delight you. But if you don’t

like the way I look, you can go sit somewhere else.” He turned his

back pointedly and pulled his hood over his head.

“That’s not what I said,” Leifr told the shoulder blades that

poked sharply out of Gotiskolker’s back. “I don’t like to think about

you dying in thirty-seven days.”

“Thirty-six,” Gotiskolker amended, “and I don’t mind it a bit. At

least you won’t be there to harass me any longer. Why are

Sciplings so fond of questioning everything? If I’d known you

were such an inquisitive breed, I would have left you for those thief-

takers to find.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Leifr said bluntly.

Gotiskolker risked a sharp peek at him around the edge of his

hood. “I’ve tried to make this adventure as unpleasant as I could,” he

said in exasperation. “Why on earth could you possibly feel the least

bit of sorrow at my demise? Look at all the grief and struggle I’ve

caused you. I might even cause your death, thanks to that torque

Hjaldr put around your neck. I haven’t been a friend to your welfare,

Leifr.”

“Why does the grindstone and Sorkvir matter so much to you?

You aren’t going to live long enough to enjoy the gold we recover. The

gold never was the reason, was it?”

“Questions, always questions,” Gotiskolker muttered, with

another suspicious glance at Leifr. “Nobody else dared to challenge

Sorkvir, so I had to. I have nothing to lose except my worthless life and

I have an old score to settle for Fridmarr. There now, is that a good

enough answer? I hope so, because that’s the only one you’re going

to get.” After a long pause, Leifr thought he heard him mutter to

himself, “For now.”

Unsure he had heard anything, Leifr gathered up his saddle and

his possessions and went to find his horse. The enigma of Fridmarr and

Gotiskolker tormented him with the knowledge that he had come this

far and spent all this time and he still knew very little about the

truth behind the plot that had ensnared him.

After he had saddled his horse, he untethered the other animals

and led them all back toward the camp, anxious to get under way

out of the swamp. The water level on the edges of the island seemed

a little higher to Leifr’s uneasy eye; the longer they delayed the

higher the water would get, making their passage much more

difficult.

Taking a shortcut past the jumble of mossy tree trunks, he

saw Thurid perched on one of the trees, leaning over rather

precariously to look into one of the dark, slimy pools beneath. His

staff and satchel lay on the ground behind him, the first time Leifr had

ever seen them out of Thurid’s immediate reach. As Leifr came closer,

he heard Thurid talking to himself, which was not unremarkable for a

wizard to do; but what chilled Leifr’s blood was the sound of Finna’s

eerie chuckle, self-satisfied and deadly. Leifr abandoned all pretext of

minding his own business and leaped from mossy trunk toward Thurid.

Thurid sat with his bare feet paddling gingerly in the green

water. Beside him sat Finna with her arms twined around him and her

head resting on his shoulder. Her green eyes glittered venomously at the

sight of Leifr, and she smiled her secret, seductive smile.

“Thurid, I’ve brought the horses,” Leifr said sharply. “It’s time

we were leaving, before the water gets too high.”

“We’ve got hours before the water rises an inch,” Thurid said,

flushing an angry red. “I was right in the middle of an important

discussion with Finna when you came barging in so rudely. Now just go

away. You had your chance to choose among the nisses and you wasted

your opportunity.”

“Thurid, you fool, she doesn’t intend to be your wife. All she

wants is to entice you into the water so she can kill you. She’s done it

countless times to unwary travelers.”

“That’s an evil lie,” Finna protested. “Don’t believe him, he’s

only envious.”

Thoroughly mesmerized, Thurid glared at Leifr as if he were a

total stranger. “It sounds to me as if you want to make a fight of

it. I won’t let Finna’s character be slandered as long as I have an arm

to wield a sword with. You’d be wise to apologize and make yourself

very scarce.”

Finna chuckled in triumph. “I think Thurid would rather stay with

me.”

Thurid, gazed at her with an idiotic smile and eyes as

sensible as a dead mackerel’s.

“Thurid, you can’t stay here,” Leifr exclaimed. “We need you

desperately. What about the Pentacle? You haven’t forgotten about

the grindstone, have you? And Ljosa is back there with Hjaldr as a

hostage. How can we ever get her away from the dwarfs without you

and your magic?”

“Magic?” Thurid’s bleary eyes cleared, and he made an attempt

to get to his feet.

“Don’t leave me so soon,” Finna pleaded, holding his arm

firmly. “Remember what a fine life I promised you.”

Thurid shook his head, wavering. “Where’s my staff and my

satchel?” he muttered.

“Tell him to go away, or you’ll get angry,” Finna

commanded, her tone edged with malice. “Challenge him to a duel,

because he has insulted my character. He has falsely accused me of

being a murderess.”

Thurid continued to struggle feebly, mumbling about his

satchel and trying to disengage Finna’s clinging arms. Encouraged,

Leifr drew his sword and moved closer.

“Let him go, Finna,” he commanded. “You aren’t taking Thurid

down to a watery grave.”

Finna laughed. “You shall watch your friend drown, as a reward

for your powers of resistance. He was not as strong, therefore he is

mine.“

Slipping an arm around Thurid’s neck, she slid off the log into

the water, dragging him after her. The water revived him completely,

and he began to thrash and yell for help as loud as he could bellow,

until Finna ducked him under. Leifr dropped his sword and yanked off

his boots to leap into the water after Thurid. Grabbing Finna, he tried to

wrestle her away from Thurid, but she turned her amazing strength

against him instead, twisting her arms around his neck and diving for

the bottom of the pool. He broke away from her and shot to the surface,

gasping for air, and found Thurid still floundering and bellowing for

help.

He took only a few ragged gasps of air before Finna hauled him

under again, with a mighty slap of her fins on the surface.

Desperately, Leifr wound his hands into her long, floating hair and

pulled until she let him go, but she followed at his heels when he

bobbed to the surface again. Panting and choking, he shook the water

out of his eyes and saw Gotiskolker hauling Thurid out of the water,

streaming murky water and green with slime and festoons of moss.

Leifr managed to grasp a small limb to pull himself out, but Finna

had him by the legs and pulled with tremendous strength until one of

his hands lost its grip.

Scrabbling frantically, Gotiskolker clambered over Thurid and

seized Leifr’s sword. He slashed and thrust around in the water while

Leifr tried to writhe out of Finna’s grip and avoid one of Gotiskolker’s

wilder swings. She flinched, as if the metal had touched her, and

suddenly sprang away with a bubbling scream, whacking the water with

her fins as she dived for the depths of the pool.

Wasting no time in wondering if she were badly wounded, Leifr

heaved himself out of the water into a muddy hollow between two

rotting trunks and lay there, appreciating the fetid air and the slimy but

solid feel of the tree beneath him.

Dropping Leifr’s sword next to him, Gotiskolker sank down

exhaustedly nearby as if his legs were incapable of holding him up any

longer. Thurid dragged himself away in shamed silence to search for his

satchel and staff.

“She would have had you both if I hadn’t heard Thurid

howling,“ Gotiskolker said wryly. ”She would have saved Sorkvir

the trouble of killing you—a miserable, fishy niss, when so far you’ve

evaded Dokkalfar, a frost giant, and a burning. I wonder how many