As for the incursion into Little Eerie, for this, Gamall would make no apology. In his mind, the dwarves had come to aid Gold-Weaver, and Gold-Weaver was there to aid his enemy; so whatever damage they took, they had brought upon themselves. “And our goal was not to dispatch them.”

  All of which brought the conversation back to me, and what Gamall hoped to accomplish in taking me. “You will not find it very flattering, I’m afraid.”

  “Try me.”

  “You are…what is the term? ‘The worm on the hook?’”

  “Bait?” I supplied, about as flattered as he’d suggested.

  “Yes. You are a new variable. Your university, I mean. This is the jötnar’s fight. The dwarves, I understand: they’re in for the gold, as they always are.

  “But your university has other motives. Foolish ones, if you are speaking true. Misguided ones. But you are pawns in the jötnar’s game.

  “This makes you dangerous to me, but potentially more dangerous to them, should you ever discover the truth.”

  “Which still doesn’t explain how I’m the –”

  “Worm on the hook?”

  “Bait. Not worm, dammit.”

  He ignored my comment. “I needed the jötnar to fear that the university might learn the truth. They will know that there are risks to that. Your Aage may be a useful stooge when they deceive him, but he would be a powerful foe in turn, should he discover he was deceived. So they will not allow that to happen.

  “I cannot launch an invasion of Athvarf. But if they come to me, well…” He grinned, the same toothy smile I’d seen before. “I can destroy them all here, on my terms.”

  “And Aage and the others? Are you going to destroy them to, for being caught up in the middle of this? We had no idea you were here, Gamall.”

  “That is the other reason I picked you: because they will, I hope, listen to you where they would not to me. And even if the wizards will not, your sellsword will.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You have been under observation since you entered the mountains, little mage. My priest – the one you met as Galdursen – picked you as the mark. He believed the wizards would come for you. And he believes the sellsword will believe you, even if they do not.

  “It is not my desire, you understand, to make war with your university. If we must, well, then we shall. But I would prefer not to do so. So we chose you because you are the most useful to us.”

  I scowled at him. “Well, I’m happy to be a useful ‘worm on the hook.’”

  “Good. There is one further thing I must warn you.”

  My scowl didn’t lessen. “Beyond that you’re using me as bait, and luring the woman I love into danger to further your blood feud with a bunch of murderers?”

  “Yes. You should be on your guard from the jötnar. They are on their way because they fear what you know. When they find that you are alive, they will not plan to let you live.”

  I fumed for several minutes about the situation – about the audacity of this dragon, to use me like a pawn, and to put all of us in danger too. I thought of a hundred alternative scenarios by which he could have secured our aid, if his story was true. “Not least of, sending your little minions to Aage, to talk like rational beings instead of running around murdering and robbing dwarves.”

  “The dwarves were the immediate threat. We did not anticipate your meddling. I do not see how you can blame us for that, though: had you tended your own business, we should never have crossed paths.”

  Again, I reminded him that his men had trespassed in Little Eerie and shed blood there. “You made it our business, Gamall. You committed crimes – murder – in our jarldom.”

  “They are not crimes in my realm.”

  “Your minions weren’t in your realm, dammit.”

  “Priests. And I would not be so hasty to damn them, bait worm: they are not much different than your sellsword. She is Forlatt – forsaken. What are these men, but the forsaken of your land? Outcasts, forgotten men, those left to starve and die.”

  “Thieves and cutthroats.”

  “Some of them, and once, perhaps. Repurposed now. Warriors and guardians, defenders of the weak.”

  “Slaves. Madmen who paint themselves white and strap antlers to their heads.”

  Again he laughed, the same thunderous sound. “They do not paint themselves. They are christened in dragon ash.”

  “What?”

  “Dragon ash: it is armor from most forms of magic. As for the antlers…well, that was Galdursen’s idea, actually.”

  “He’s out of his mind.”

  “Not at all. It’s a very effective means of terrifying the enemy. It worked well on you, didn’t it? Even now you tremble when you think of it.”

  I scowled at him. “Say what you will: they are mad slaves, bound to your will.”

  “They serve willingly. They can leave whenever they like. They are not slaves.”

  I snorted. “I saw their eyes, Gamall – possessed. They fight like berserkers.”

  “Not possessed. When they scout for me, or run missions in your world, I see through their eyes, and they see through mine. It must seem, I suppose, strange to you. But they are free – as free as anyone ever is. They could walk away whenever they chose.”

  I remembered Grethe saying something of this. She told the same story: that the thralls were bound by no force and could leave at will. Only she had said that some did leave. “I have heard a different story: that you recruited bad men. Murderers, and bandits. Thieves and killers.”

  “I did. And priests and saints too. They had committed no offense against me – none of them. So I have no quarrel with them.”

  I snorted at this admission. It seemed a confession, almost, that bore out all the giants told me. “And I’m to believe, somehow, that these killers have done no evil in your employ? Do I look like a fool to you?”

  “All mortals are fools. But you may take comfort that you seem less a fool than many.

  “And no, I do not claim that. A few have erred, and those few have been turned away. But I tell you, these men are the forsaken, the hopeless, the dregs abandoned by all.

  “Here, they have community, and purpose, and a nobler calling. They have warmth and shelter, and for those for whom the call to spill blood is too strong to ignore, a reason for bloodletting. I give these men a higher calling, a greater good to serve where even the worst of them may put his talents to noble use.

  “You scoff, but I tell you again: be careful how quick you dismiss me. You may find that those dearest to you understand the cause of the forsaken better than you like.”

  Liss

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The camp looked deserted. We saw no one at all – not on the paths leading to and from buildings, and not in the buildings themselves. There were eight buildings in total, though as we entered the camp I could see only three, laid along a winding path.

  Four of the eight had been built of wattle and daub construction, with what looked like clay and straw, and grass roofs – some of them in very bad repair. One had been built of dark mountain stone, and the last three were wooden longhouses. Most of the windows had been boarded over, but a few still had glass visible – now etched in heavy frost patterns.

  I could see fires blazing in hearths. I could see smoke rising from chimneys. But what I didn’t see, anywhere, was people.

  “They knew we were coming,” Grethe said.

  Heidrek’s voice was a low growl. “Someone tipped them off. They must have had spies watching the road.”

  “They cannot have gone far,” Njál said. “They left their fires still blazing.”

  “To lure us in, perhaps. Spread out. Search every building. Look for tracks.”

  “Kill anyone you find,” Fenja said. “Take no prisoners, show no mercy.”

  Heidrek nodded. “The fewer of them that draw breath, the easier this goes.”

  I heard them start to follow their plan. I heard a footstep ring out against the gravel once, and someone hiss a caution. I heard the muted fall of feet on snow.

  I ignored it all and kept going where the band led me. I passed the eighth structure: a longhouse that lay empty, its door creaking and flapping in the wind. The path went on past the old building. It seemed to lead right to the mountainside. I expected it would drop off suddenly in some hidden staircase, or rise along a steep, concealed way.

  Whatever it would do, the band urged me onward, and I complied. The sounds of my party died away. The wind was all I heard.

  And then a voice sounded, low and urgent. “Careful, Liss. We don’t know what’s ahead.”

  Njál’s voice. “Odin’s beard. What are you doing here?”

  “Following you. You’re the one with the link to Idun. Anyway, you may need some backup.”

  I nodded. “She’s near. I can feel it. This thing is going to pull my arm off pretty soon.”

  “Lead on. I’ve got your back.”

  I did, the armband dragging me forward. We rounded a bend, and then another; and came suddenly to an opening in the mountainside. I glanced back at Njál, who stood a good twice the height of the aperture.

  He seemed to sense my thoughts. “You need to wait, Liss – wait until Aage or one of the others get here. You shouldn’t go alone.”

  I shook my head. Idun was waiting for me. She might be in trouble. There was no way I was waiting – whatever lay beyond that black emptiness.

  I stepped into the void, ignoring the giant’s protests. Runes lay overhead and underfoot, and all the way up the walls – strange runes, that sent shivers up my back. A light sprang up, like the lights in Athvarf that appeared at dusk.

  Njál’s voice sounded again close to me, and I spun around. To my surprise, he was there; the tunnel had shifted to make way for him. Shifted, or else its original size had been an illusion. “Do not be foolhardy, Liss. We need to be wise, for Idun’s sake.”

  “What is this place?”

  “I have no idea. But it is full of magic: old magic. Strange magic.”

  “It is an evil place.”

  “Maybe. There is something about it – something I cannot quite understand. But I feel it, like you feel the pull of that armband.”

  I nodded. I felt it too. Only it sent a shiver up my spine. “This is a trap, Njál.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we are being lured here. Idun still lives. Why?

  “The encampment is empty? Why?

  “It’s a trap.”

  He seized my arm with his great hand. “If it’s trap, what are you doing?”

  “Walking into it, I suppose.”

  “Stop, Liss. Stop and think.”

  I shook my head. “We have two paths, Njál: the one that leads us to Idun, and one that doesn’t. I know which way I’m going. But you should see to your friends. They may need you. Probably, you will be of more help to them than to me, because I am walking into a trap.”

  “Dammit, Liss. Idun’s my friend. And so are you: pigheaded fool that you are. I’m not letting you go into a trap on your own.”

  A long, lonely scream echoed outside, and a dozen more followed it up in the next instant. The sound of clashing steel rang out, and shouted orders followed. “It’s starting.”

  He nodded. “Quick: let’s find Idun, and by Odin’s beard, get out of here.”

  The tunnel seemed eternal. It stretched on, on and on. The runes blazed and glowed in the light of that strange orb. I could feel them. I could hear them. They seemed to call to me, to the very blood in my veins. It seemed at once familiar, and distant, like an old memory. Like a friend I’d forgotten – or perhaps an enemy.

  My skin prickled. The more familiar it felt, the less I trusted it. I wanted to be out of here, and done with this place and its strange sorcery. I wanted to find Idun, to free her, and to go – anywhere, as far away as I could. I never wanted to think of this endless tunnel and its dark runes again, not as long as I lived.

  We went deeper into the darkness, until the pale light of the outdoors faded, and all the noises of battle behind us. Who was winning and who was losing, I didn’t know. I hoped Aage would prevail. I hoped the jötnar would win the day.

  But my path lay ahead, not behind. And I went on, until at last I saw a new light ahead. This was pale and blue, and I drew up. “What is that?”

  “I don’t know. But – this place, Liss…it’s full of magic. Magic older than me. Ancient magic.”

  “Odin only knows what we’re about to face. Whatever it is, it’s no wonder the jötnar are unable to defeat it. This is a wicked place, Njál.”

  He nodded absently. “Maybe. I don’t know. I – I feel more here. I don’t know how to describe it, but – so much more.”

  I had no idea what that meant, so I pressed onward. The tunnel ended and we stepped into a great cavern. Now I understood the light I’d glimpsed before. It wasn’t a light at all, but a great pool of shimmering water that glowed blue with a light all its own. It looked somehow like liquid fire and ice all at once.

  My armband drew me forward. I took three steps; and then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a pale shape. I’d only managed half a glimpse of it, but it was enough to know. I’d found one of the thralls.

  I spun around, drawing my blade with a hiss of consternation. Sure enough, one of the thralls stood there, all covered in that strange white paint.

  “Find Idun,” Njál said. “I’ll handle this.”

  The thrall didn’t draw his sword. On the contrary, he smiled and spoke. “Do not be fools. Do not pick a fight you cannot win. Your friend is waiting for you.”

  “Where is she?”

  Njál loosed a fireball in the thrall’s direction. It enveloped him in a blaze of red that dissipated harmlessly. “In the water. Through the water.”

  “What?”

  “What have you done with her, vermin?”

  “You have a tracker, Liss. Follow it.”

  I glanced at the pool. It was the direction my armband pulled me. But how could Idun be there? I saw no island, no boat, no raft.

  A terrible thought filled my mind. “You killed her.” I ran for the waters, peering into the glimmering mass as if I could see through to the bottom. As if I could locate her just by looking. A throbbing enveloped my arm by the band, growing stronger with each step. It ached, but I went on anyway.

  I paused for half a moment on the shore. Njál called my name. I didn’t respond. I didn’t listen to his cautions. I knew there was wisdom in them, but I couldn’t hear them. Not now. Not when I knew she was here, somewhere – dead or dying, perhaps drowning even as I hesitated.

  I plunged into the waters. A thousand sensations swarmed me. I felt as if I was freezing, and then burning; pricked with knives, and then healed again; dying, and living. I went on, trying to swim.

  But the water dragged me down until I was over my head. The pressure in the armband squeezed so tightly tears stung at my eyes – tears that were washed away immediately by this terrible water.

  I didn’t turn around, though. I couldn’t. I was too close. Wherever she was, I was only steps away. I went on, though my lungs burned for want of oxygen. Terror filled my soul, and I began to think I would drown before I found her.

  Some voice, some faraway sense, urged peace and called me onward. I closed my mind to it. There was nothing about this place that would bring me peace – nothing, except Idun, and getting her out of here as soon as possible.

  I took another step across the stone lake bottom, and another. My chest ached with fear and the need to breathe.

  I’m dying. I’d known it was a trap, and I’d walked into it anyway. Now, I was suffering the consequences of being a fool.

  But I was so close. I could feel it. I went on. One step. Two. Three.

  And suddenly, I froze. The cold blue waters of the cavern, and the cavern itself, had vanished. I stood neck deep in a warm, shimmering lake on a sunny, sandy shore. And there, directly in front of me, stood Idun.

  Idun, and a beast of yore: a monstrous dragon that rose high above the treetops.

  The band at my arm crumbled. Little flakes of pewter and stone fell away into the water. I gasped for air and forced my weary legs forward. When I’d pulled myself to waist high water, I drew my sword. “Idun!”

  She spun around, and – to my surprise – I saw no terror, no fear for her life. Just joy. “Liss.”

  I didn’t understand. But I knew two things. The first was that a deadly beast lay in front of Idun. The second, that this beast had something to do with luring me here. Either of those facts on their own was cause for action; both together told me a story that seemed to leave no room for positive developments.

  I raced forward, weapon raised, until I was at her side. Then I grasped her to me and stood between her and the beast. “Come, my love: we can return through the lake. I think.” To the wyrm, I shouted, “Back, monster: back, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  “Stay, Liss.” She put a hand on my sword arm. “This is Gamall.”

  I glanced back at her, and then up at the dragon. It hadn’t moved, except to incline its head, ever so slightly. “We need to get out of here,” I decided.

  She squeezed my arm. “Not yet. There is much you don’t know, Liss.”

  It was now that Njál’s voice returned, in an uncharacteristically astonished tone. “Odin’s beard. This is Drekaríki.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It sounded to me like Njál had broken into a different language…for the obvious reason: he had. Apparently, Drekaríki was a word in the language of the jötnar that referred to a kingdom of dragons – a myth, as many thought. Many, including Njál himself, who seemed stunned to have discovered the place actually existed.

  The discovery better prepared him to accept Idun’s story than me. I felt nothing but alarm at this place, at this dragon – a dragon who could speak. I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me. All the stories told of talking dragons: wise dragons, and crafty dragons; clever dragons, and stupid dragons; dragons who battled wits as readily as anything else.

 

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