The Wizard And The Warlord (15 page)

The return journey was considerably slower than Halfdane’s mighty advance. The horse Atli swam strongly and steadily instead of plunging and flying across the water. Halfdane held to one stirrup and kept a wary eye turned backward. In the silence behind them, they heard soft splashes and the hiss of water parting around something large following them.

The sending did not make another appearance. They reached the shore, where a group of Alfar waited with dry blankets and mulled drink. Ragnhild, barely conscious, was bundled up more securely and Sigurd allowed someone to drape a cloak around his shoulders, but he impatiently demanded to carry Ragnhild back to the hill fort and rather presumptuously appropriated Halfdane’s Atli for the purpose, knowing it was the fastest horse available.

He was not content until he had delivered Ragnhild into the hands of her attendants, who could be trusted to raise a great fuss over her and coax die life back into her cold, gray face. Sigurd returned only as far as the hall, where he stood before a crackling fire and steamed, rebuffing all offers of dry clothes, food, and drink to banish his shivering. His physical discomfort was nothing compared to the thoughts that raged in his mind.

Halfdane entered and passed by him, without a word, to see how Ragnhild fared. After a short interval, he returned in dry clothes and peremptorily bade Sigurd to go change before he caught his death of a chill.

“I won’t go until I hear that Ragnhild is in no danger,” he answered shortly, disregarding the friendly concern of the listening warriors who had returned to the hall.

Halfdane scowled. “Well, if you’re determined to be so foolish, you can come and drip on my hearthstone where you’ll be near enough to hear word of her. She’s cold and chilled, but the shock is the worst of it, I suspect.” He beckoned, and Sigurd silently followed, again refusing anything to make himself more comfortable. Halfdane sat in his chair close to the fire, smoking his pipe and keeping his thoughts to himself.

“I suppose you still think that Hross-Bjorn sending is something I ordered against you,” the warlord said abruptly.

“I thought so at first,” Sigurd said after a long pause. “But I can’t really believe that even you would risk the life of an innocent girl to get at your enemy. I thought it seemed suspicious that you were gone when the accident happened.” He looked sharply at Halfdane, the doubts not entirely dead yet.

“And my return was very well timed,” Halfdane continued, as if reading his thoughts. “Ragnhild came to no harm, after all. It would have been easy for one of you to have perished. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky. If you would just let me keep the box safe for you, Bjarnhardr’s plots and schemes and sendings would be directed against me, instead of you, and 1 am far more capable of defending myself in this realm than you are.” Seeing Sigurd’s suddenly alert and wary expression, he arose with a muttered curse and stalked away. “I see there’s no getting around your grandmother, is there? Nothing I can do will ever appear favorable in your eyes.”

“It does no harm to consider both sides of every question,” Sigurd replied guardedly. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re trying to threaten me with this sending or not.”

“It can’t help appearing that way, it seems,” Halfdane replied in a bitter tone, looking up as someone tapped on the door.

Rolfr looked in timidly. At a grunt and a nod from Halfdane, he scuttled miserably inside and stood beside Sigurd.

“It was all my fault,” he said. “It was my idea to embarrass Ragnhild because she thinks, quite correctly, that I am such a nithling. If it hadn’t been for me, Jotull wouldn’t have brought his wretched nikur to her; and the worst of it was that you weren’t here to put a stop to him. Adills’ back seized up in the most extraordinary manner just as he was about to warn Ragnhild; very strange, now that I think about it. He could have sent someone to warn her, and that someone should have been me, but I was too intent on this odious scheme. I doubt if he’ll ever trust me again—”

Halfdane lifted his hand slowly. “You say Jotull brought the nikur to Hrafnborg?” he inquired sternly.

“Yes,” Sigurd said, “and it was more my fault. I was the one who asked Jotull for his advice; after that, we seemed to lose control of the matter. It was bad that you weren’t here.”

“Yes, indeed,” Halfdane mused. “We were plagued by a run of bad luck. Two horses became lame, and we couldn’t leave them, nor could we leave two men to ride home alone. When we were yet several miles from Hrafnborg, I began to have the feeling that something was dreadfully amiss, so I rode ahead alone. I thought I heard Ragnhild calling me from the direction of the lake. The rest of the tale you are acquainted with.

“But I am concerned about Jotull’s part in this escapade. Perhaps it was plain and simple bad luck that the horses went lame. They may have been unsound when we bought them. It could have been more bad luck that the nikur jumped into the worst part of the lake. Maybe even old Adills’ backache was perfectly natural. We’ve known that a sending is following Sigurd; and being changeable creatures, they can assume whatever shape suits their purposes. But what puzzles me the most is why, then, would a great and dignified wizard like Jotull stoop to ridiculous tricks like this? If I hadn’t heard that call for help, this adventure would have turned out very grim indeed.”

Sigurd silently agreed as he scowled at the sodden toes of his boots, thinking of the voice he had heard calling “nikur.” He knew he should tell Halfdane about it, but he was curiously reluctant. A nagging thought that it must have been Jotull kept annoying him, and he kept burying it just as persistently, along with the notion that making trouble for Jotull might not be a healthy occupation, as evinced by Adills’ back.

Halfdane rose to pace back and forth, making a huge, shaggy shadow on the wall behind him. “Jotull and I don’t like one another, which is no great secret. I’ll have to suppose that he used the nikur to try to frighten Ragnhild—or worse. I absolve the two of you from the worst of the blame. You were only the tools of his vengeance. To you, Sigurd, I owe my gratitude for preserving Ragnhild’s life at the risk of your own.”

“I wouldn’t have been there to be carried over the cliff with her if I hadn’t been plotting a mischief against her,” Sigurd answered gloomily. “You don’t owe me any thanks. My luck is bad enough that others catch it from me. We all know the sending was waiting in the lake for no one but me.”

“But who else knew that you planned to go for a swim in it to rescue a very wet and humiliated Ragnhild?” Halfdane asked with a curling of his lip and a flash in his eye. He paused in his restless prowling back and forth and took down an axe from the wall, “Since you lost your own defending Ragnhild, the least you can do is accept a replacement from me.”

Sigurd hesitated, then accepted it. “I think I’ve been rather ungrateful,” he began very stiffly, and didn’t know how to finish. He examined the axe, which was a fine one, and said, “I think I shall go home and get dry now, if Ragnhild is in no serious danger.”

Halfdane shook his head. “She’s not a delicate creature. You can inquire after her in the morning. But before you fellows go, I am sure you are aware that in a case like this, where there might have been serious injury, there ought to be some punishment of the perpetrators. It is expected, in order to maintain discipline. Therefore I am certain you won’t complain too desperately if I return both of you to watching on the earthworks for one week from today. Mischief of this sort must be discouraged.”

“It could have been worse,” Rolfr sighed, when they were outside. “Maybe it ought to have been worse. I feel absolutely terrible, Siggi. I owe you a most heartfelt apology. What if Halfdane hadn’t come to save you and Ragnhild? The two people I care the most about in all Hrafnborg would both be gone, and it would have been no one’s fault but my own. After tonight, I’ll be a changed elf, Siggi.”

“But Halfdane is the same,” Sigurd replied bitterly. “Discipline must be upheld. That’s what really matters the most to him.”

“You don’t really mean what you say,” Rolfr said. “Halfdane was very easy on us and you know it. He might have sent me completely away to Raudborg or Ungiborg, and you might have been locked up. I don’t think you’ve much cause for complaining, in spite of everything Jotull suggests to you.”

Sigurd bristled for a stinging defense, then shrugged his shoulders. “I know, I know. I thought I had to put on a great show to prove my independence. I thought Jotull was wonderful for daring to oppose Halfdane. Now I don’t think he’s so wonderful and daring. I think—” He paused, knowing Jotull had means of listening. “I think he’s the one who sent Ragnhild’s horse into the worst part of the lake. He knew we’d go in after her to save her and he knew the sending would be in the water waiting.” His voice sank to a whisper.

“That’s exactly what I think, too,” Rolfr whispered. “And I would wager a year’s pay that Jotull conjured Hross-Bjorn, also.”

Sigurd rubbed his aching temples and shivered. “What should we do, Rolfr? He’s got so much power. I don’t mind admitting to you that I feel—well, frightened for my life.”

Rolfr too looked worried. “The best thing you can do is to trust Halfdane, as the rest of us do. He’ll protect you from Jotull and his clever scheming. You’ll be one of us, Siggi, when you accept Halfdane as your leader.”

“I’ll try,” Sigurd agreed determinedly. “You’ll see a real change in me, Rolfr.”

When Sigurd no longer sought out Jotull’s company, Jotull came seeking Sigurd. With a mildly injured attitude, Jotull accused Sigurd of shunning him, and Sigurd had no defense except to promise to renew his evening visits, although he would have preferred the good-natured company of the Alfar in the brightly lighted hall. Nor did he relish creeping around after dark, not knowing when Hross-Bjorn might lunge out of hiding, blaring a challenge, eyes gleaming and murderous hooves thudding.

When Sigurd and Rolfr arrived at Jotull’s house, Mikia looked at Sigurd darkly, without the least glimmer of welcome. Jotull was quick to take up Sigurd’s old favorite topics of conversation.

“Well, I hear you’re no more of a favorite than you ever were,” he began. “I overheard someone remarking about it just recently, saying you were no worse than many others, but Halfdane punishes you more than anyone and still hasn’t assigned you to a real patrol in spite of your skill at weapons. You’re very good, you know, and it’s a dreadful shame for you to waste your time with Borgill and those young sprats on their worn-out nags. I suspect somehow that Halfdane is afraid of you, Sigurd. When you discover what’s inside that box, you won’t need to be subject to him any longer.”

Sigurd poked at the fire. Thanks to Rolfr’s misguided efforts at using the most inept of spells to thwart the sending, Sigurd and Rolfr always managed to keep themselves under censure for something. Sometimes they were simply lazy and disobedient. Sigurd learned to accept his punishment stoically, knowing he had done his best to earn it. At present he and Rolfr were under reprimand for pretending to get lost from Borgill’s squad as a pretense for doing some exploring on their own; that had cost them the use of their horses for the week.