Sword of Doom (13 page)

“Help! Help!”
Eerily, his words came back to him, echoing
off the cavern walls, as higher and higher he went. To his horror, he now saw that above him the lights were not glistening jewels after all, but the glowing tails of giant insects, and that one of them was sucking the vinelike strands into its mouth, pulling him ever upward. Shouting frantically, he grabbed for the knife in his boot but could not bend to reach it. As he rose higher, he saw the insect's mouth had pincers on each side that acted like hands gathering up the silken thread, bringing him closer and closer toward its gaping jaws. From above its mouth, the creature's two feelers dipped and touched William's body, as if taking measurements of its next meal. William saw the thing's mouth open—he was going to be eaten alive.

Fffhit!
An arrow shot past William's ear, burying itself just below the insect's mouth.
Fffhit! Fffhit! Fffhit!
Three more arrows hit the thing's body. It writhed violently like a snake, and William, hanging just below its mouth on the strands, felt himself swung roughly to and fro. Awakened from his paralyzing fear, he realized the shaking had loosened the strands binding him. He got hold of the knife in his boot and struck it upward, slicing through the insect. To his surprise, out poured a mass of pale green goo that fell
splat
on his face and head, the stench of it nearly making him retch.

“Behind you!” someone cried from below. Twisting round, William saw another caterpillar crawling across the ceiling toward him. Another arrow hissed upward, striking this one behind the head. The insect's body arced; its tail shot round,
whipping at William, who now saw the thing's glow sac had a needle-sharp stinger at its end. William hacked with his knife, slicing off its tail and glow sac, which fell away to the ground.

He heard more cries from below and saw more of the creatures crawling across the ceiling toward him. His knife hand now free, he hacked desperately at the remaining strands. Although he was high off the ground and would probably break both legs in the fall, he knew he'd rather suffer broken bones than be insect food. He swiped the blade through the last strand still hanging from the dead insect above him—and plummeted.

As fortune would have it, the boy fell right into the rather large and waiting arms of Ulf the Whale, who caught him as easily as if he were an apple falling from a tree. And what relief William felt as, safe at last, Ulf set him down and he was surrounded by the faces of his friends, happy to see him unscathed. All save for Dane, who was furious for having been disobeyed, and William thought Dane might actually throttle him good. But Lut stepped in, pushing Dane away and pointing to the severed glow sac that lay throbbing on the ground, throwing light on their feet.

“Let's get busy,” Lut rasped. “We have our light.”

I
t was decided that Ulf—being a learned reader of runes and insulated by his prodigious fat—would be lowered into the lake. Using sealskin cords taken from his own boots, Dane tied the glow sac around the end of an extinguished torch stick. Rocks were thrown down to widen the hole in the ice. A rope harness was fastened around Ulf's torso, and Drott gave him the glow-sac torch. Straining to hold on, Dane and the others lowered Ulf through the hole in the ice. Dane watched anxiously as the eerie blue light of the glow sac faded from view; and they continued to let out more rope, sending Ulf deeper and deeper into the frigid lake, until at last the rope became slack. He was on the lake bottom. But had he found the runestone? They could only wait, praying for Ulf's safety.

Time wore on. Dane feared he had sent his friend to an
untimely end, when—
kuh-sploosh!
—they heard the blow of air below and with relief saw Ulf's great bulbosity bobbing in the icy water.

Up they pulled him, and it felt to Dane as if they were hoisting up a full-grown ox, the ropes nearly snapping from the strain of his weight. But at last they managed to pull Ulf the Whale up and over the ledge to safety, where they immediately went to work rubbing his vast expanse of skin to restore circulation. At length Ulf regained his powers of speech and haltingly recited the astonishing message writ on the runestone. It proved every bit as mystifying as Dane had expected….

“Why must it
always
be so complicated?” Drott complained. “Couldn't we for once have some
simple
directions, like, ‘Go fourteen leagues, make a right, and you're there'?”

“You're sure?” Dane asked Ulf. “That's everything on the runestone?”

“To the word,” Ulf said.

“Did you check the other side?” Drott asked. “Maybe that was just Part One.”

“I couldn't exactly
lift
it to turn it over, Drott,” Ulf said testily. “Maybe you could've done better? Oh, wait—
you
can't read!”

Dane patted the big man's shoulder, reassuring him that he'd done a fine job.

“‘…Teardrops shed…,'” said Lut, thinking aloud, “‘…freeze into mountains much in dread.'…Hmm…frost giants. They're said to be created by the tears of the gods.”

“‘Mountains of dread,'” said Dane. “Sounds right to me.”

Dane saw their faces fall—everyone had guessed where the next part of the quest would take them. All except Drott, who asked, “A sunny meadow? A balmy beach?
Tell
me that's next on the itinerary.”

 

They rode north, Astrid keeping to herself now. If only she could tell Dane what Skuld had said and how she had tricked her. When Skuld made the bargain, she already
knew
where the quest would be taking them. And it wasn't the safe, warm climes Drott wished for. No, it was Utgard, the legendary fortress of the frost giants! The old witch must be cackling now, telling her Sisters how she really put one over on the naïve blond girl from Voldarstad.
Thinks she can save the boy's life, does she? Let's see him try to survive in the yawning abyss of cold and ice!

It was impossible to tell Dane not to go. His mother's life was at stake. And just months before, he had flung himself into equal peril to rescue her from Prince Thidrek. That's what Dane always did—if danger loomed or someone needed help, he always put himself front and center. Yet it was his very selflessness now that would make it difficult for her to keep him out of harm's way. Back in the cave she had tried to convince him to let her lead by calling him a glory hog. And she had hated seeing how her words had hurt him—even though he
had
become big-headed of late, and the attentions of the king's flighty niece weren't helping. Now they were trekking to one of the most perilous places on earth, and protecting him would be even harder. No one knew exactly where Utgard was, only that legend said it lay beyond Mount Neverest, in the trackless, frozen north. They could wander for weeks, and Dane would never give up until Skuld snipped his thread of life.

Cresting an ice-crusted hillock, Dane signaled everyone to stop. From her place at the rear of the long line of horses, Astrid watched Dane conferring with Fulnir and Jarl. And the mere sight of Dane standing there in the wind only worsened her agitation. And what of the Norns? Although she dearly wanted to, she
knew
she could not tell him of the deal she had made with them. News of it would only weaken him at the very time he needed strength and confidence most. And what if she had to make good on her side of the
bargain? The thought was too horrible, and she pushed it from her mind.

The
scrawk
of Dane's raven caught her attention. She saw that Dane had placed the bird atop his shoulder and was whispering to him, patting the bird's head and fluffing his feathers. And she knew that he was bidding the bird goodbye, no doubt sending Klint on an important mission. The raven gave a squawk, and in a sudden flapping of wings, up and away he went, his flight so swift that in a matter of moments the bird was but a speck in the sky. Seeing the raven had gone in a northwesterly direction, toward the peak of Mount Neverest, she knew then what it meant. He had been sent to find an old and faithful friend. The only one who perhaps could help them get where they needed to go. She said a silent prayer, wishing Klint godspeed and good weather, for if he failed to find their friend, she feared they were certainly doomed.

 

From the position of the sun hanging low in the winter sky, Geldrun saw they had subtly changed directions. Godrek had told her his birth village lay northwest of Skrellborg, over the ridge of mountains that bisected the land, and down to the opposite coast on the northern sea. But then they had taken a path that veered due north, toward the distant ice-locked mountains. She asked Godrek why they had changed course, and he assured her nothing was amiss, that the normal path to his village went through mountain passes that
would be blocked by early-winter snow, so they must detour north around the mountains. “In a few days we'll be in my village, snug round a fire,” he assured her with a kiss.

On the following afternoon she overheard two of Godrek's men grumbling about their provisions running low. “This keeps up,” one said, “we'll soon be eating our horses.” Geldrun thought this strange. When helping to prepare
dagmál
that very morning, she had seen there was more than enough food to last the few days Godrek had said it would take to reach his village. Why then had the men complained of provisions running low? It was as if they knew their trek would be lasting
much
longer than Godrek had told her.

Geldrun pondered this, staring into the nighttime campfire. Perhaps her thoughts were awry, and everything Godrek had told her was true—that he loved her and soon would take her to be his wife. Why would he lie and take her on this journey if it weren't for that? What possible other purpose could her presence serve?

Glancing up, she caught one of the men gazing at her from the other side of the fire. It was the liegeman, Ragnar the Ripper. He immediately looked away, self-consciously showing her the unscarred side of his face instead. For a moment he glanced back at her, holding her gaze, his eyes revealing a hint of intelligence and empathy. Then, as if feeling he had revealed too much, it was gone, replaced with the usual empty stare of a warrior. He rose and left the campfire.

Godrek sat beside her and made pleasant conversation as he ate his meal, pausing from time to time to caress her cheek with the back of his hand. And though she smiled and returned his affection, her mind wandered to the words her son had spoken when last they were together:
“You do not know this man.”

 

Dane dipped the bucket into the river, filling it with water for the horses. And as he drew the bucket up again and turned to take it away, he was surprised to see who was standing before him. Godrek Whitecloak. Seemingly from out of nowhere. His smug grin gave Dane a chill in his vitals. Then another surprise—Godrek drew out a sheathed sword from beneath his cloak and threw it to Dane. Dane caught it, and putting his hand on the coiled serpent handgrip, he pulled it out of the sheath. It was the broken-off rune sword, the one Whitecloak had stolen from him. The one with the curse upon it. Godrek came at him, slashing hard with a blade of his own, unrelenting in his charge, and the fight was on.
Clang!
The cry of steel on steel rang out as the two swords came together, the force of Godrek's attack pushing Dane backward. Losing his footing, down the embankment Dane stumbled, falling with a cold splash into the river, still holding the rune sword. He came up gasping for air, fully expecting to find Godrek crashing down upon him to finish him off.

But Godrek, he was surprised to see, was gone. The
riverbank was empty. He stood in the icy water, catching his breath. And then felt the sword move in his hand.

He looked down at it, seeing that the entire sword had come alive. The steel had turned into a long, scaly-tailed serpent, cold and squirming in his hand. Next he noticed that indeed the thing was growing larger and longer—its tail end now wrapping itself round his wrist and its head dropping into the water, its body as thick as his thigh. He desperately tried to uncoil it from his arm, but to no avail. Suddenly the creature yanked him into the water, pulling him upriver. Faster and faster he went, the water choking him as it was forced down his throat, a panic rising as he realized he couldn't breathe and in moments might drown. He saw the beast's head rise up out of the water, growing ever larger, it seemed, its rough, pebbled hide like that of a lizard, and from behind he watched as two giant horns sharp as thorns grew out of the top of its head. He took in more water, choking violently. The beast turned. Dane saw its merciless reptile eyes, as big around as war shields, and—

Dane awoke suddenly, much relieved to find he lay in his furs beside the cold fire of the camp. It was morning. Another nightmare about the serpent, this more horrific than the first. He would have to talk to Lut.

“Cozy?” Astrid stood over him, holding a load of kindling she had gathered. Dane now saw that Kára had snuggled up next to him in the night for warmth. He immediately jumped up, looking sheepish.

“I had no idea she was there,” he said to Astrid.

“Right,” Astrid said, moving off to make a cook fire.

Kára stirred, still half asleep. “Bring me warm stones to heat my blankets,” she mumbled, as if she were still at home and servants were standing by. An iron cooking pot landed on the ground near her head, abruptly waking her. Jarl had thrown it.

“Oh,
princess
,” Jarl said mockingly. “Go fetch water from the stream.”

Kára sat up, looking offended. “Fetch?” She tossed the pot back, and it landed near Jarl's feet. “That is work for lowborn
dogs
like you.”

“What is your function on this trek,
m'lady
?” Jarl inquired, barely controlling his temper. “We all contribute—what
exactly
do you do?”

“I…make observations.”

“Really. Well, here's one. You're a selfish child more spoiled than a basket of rotting fish!” With that Jarl kicked the pot back at her and walked away.

“He favors you,” Dane said.

“Of course he does,” she scoffed, as if it were impossible for any man not to and even less possible for
her
to care. But Dane noticed that her eyes stayed on Jarl as he strode away, and he saw on her face the faint but unmistakable stirrings of affection.

That day the trail northward descended into a windswept mountain valley where only stunted trees and sparse scrub
grass grew. Ahead of them lay the mountainous, foreboding realm of Jotunheim, the so-called Land of the Frost Giants, a land of mists, blizzards, and savage beasts—the largest and most fearsome of all being the frost giants themselves—or so Dane had heard from his father as a child during countless story times round the fire.

Dane brought his horse alongside Lut's mount. The old man's eyes were closed. He looked to be dozing in his saddle. Dane rode for a few moments, not wanting to interrupt his nap, but then, without even opening an eye to see who was there, Lut asked, “You have a question, son?”

Dane smiled and said, “Do I smell that bad?”

“Your scent is vexed. Is it a girl who sparks your worries? When I was your age, that's all I thought about.”

“I had a bad dream,” Dane said.

“Ah, dreams,” said Lut, “the whispers of the gods. I don't know about you, but sometimes I wish they'd just stop their whispering and leave us alone.”

Dane told him of his nightmare, of the sword that turned into a serpent. It had all seemed so real, Dane said. The feel of the serpent asquirm in his hand, the water filling his lungs, the panic, the look in Godrek's eye as he'd slashed down with his blade. What did it all mean? Was the rune sword talking to him in some way? Telling him something? And if so, what? He could have dismissed the dream as meaningless had it not been for the first dream he'd had—of the sword coming alive, trying to harm him.

“
First
dream?” Lut asked in concern.

Dane described the dream that he had had on the night he had first opened the chest. Lut listened in silence, his eyes narrowing. Dane finished and waited for Lut to speak, but the old one said nothing.

“‘To lead you to the
serpent's doom
,'” said Dane. “This was the last line from the runestone in the cave. The serpent on the stone, the serpent on the rune sword, the serpent in my dreams. What does it mean? There has to be some connection, doesn't there? Is this a warning from the gods?” Again Dane waited, eager for Lut's response. Lut's eyes popped open.