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mountain troll from the inlands?”

“Neither. I am a true troll. All the others are degenerate offshoots.

All trolls used to be like me, but now there aren’t many of us left.”

He peered in with a sly squinting of his eye and went on in his deep,

sleepy rumble, “You look like a wizard and you smell like a wizard.

Have you and this warrior come to try to destroy me? The bones of

many would-be heroes lie around the door to my home. I’d be most

pleased to show them to you.”

“Indeed,” Thurid snorted. “We’re not interested in the failures.

We’re going to kill you, Ognun, unless you choose voluntarily to vacate

Bjartur and never return.”

“Leave Bjartur and my comfortable home? Surely you are

jesting.” Ognun chuckled menacingly. “And that warrior with the puny

stickery weapon is another jest. It will take more than the two of you to

kill me. I am thousands of years old and I’ve learned a thing or two in

that time. One bit of advice for you from one much older and wiser is

—never attack someone twice your size. Another warning I shall give

you—don’t go outdoors after sundown in Bjartur or you may find

yourself taken down a little red lane from whence there is no return.“

He uttered a booming laugh at his own joke, then added, ”Better yet,

you should leave Bjartur tomorrow while I’m asleep. Do you hear,

Borgar? I want these strangers out of Bjartur tomorrow. This is going

to cost you when it comes time for the fall tribute.“

With a last noisy sniff through the window, Ognun glowered into

the hall for a moment, then moved away with a crunching of rocks

beneath his feet.

Borgar shut the peep hole and locked it, and the rest of the men

sat down on the benches with a flurry of excited talk, inviting

Thurid to tell all he knew about Kerling-tjorn and Luster. Leifr

glared at him warningly and made a motion to be silent.

“You’re being foolish,” Thurid muttered. “You’ve nothing to

fear by telling them who you are.”

“Why risk it?” Leifr asked. “They might decide to make us part

of their fall tribute to Ognun. I think I would, in their place.”

“As you wish, then,” Thurid grumbled.

Between them, they parried the questions of the Bjartur men

far into the night. Ognun prowled by twice, growling in reply to the

dogs. The third time he returned, the hall was dark and everyone asleep,

except for the changing guards and Leifr, who heard the heavy tread of

the troll and the growling of Kraftig, Frimodig, and Farlig. Slipping off

the sleeping platform, Leifr approached the door silently and ventured

to peer out the small window, holding it open just a crack.

The troll heard him and turned around suspiciously—a

hulking, stooped shape with a massive domed forehead, furrowed into

countless wrinkles that sagged past the deep-sunk, gleaming eyes and

the scarred and stubby nose. Ognun’s hide hung loosely over his great

knobby bones, tufted along his spine like an unkempt mane, with

clumps of long, matted fur hanging from his armpits and belly. His

hind shanks were covered with motley fur, and he trailed a thin, ropy

tail with several kinks where it had been broken and mended,

leaving unsightly knots.

As he turned, Leifr saw his huge, three-toed feet, tipped with

claws like scythes.

Then Ognun shrugged impatiently, picked up something, and

slung it over his shoulder. To Leifr, it looked like a yearling cow.

Ognun staggered slightly under its weight as he bore it off toward the

north end of the fortress.

Leifr locked the peephole and thoughtfully stroked the dogs’

muzzles. They wagged and stretched, wrinkling up their lips in

friendly grins. “You’d like a chance at him, wouldn’t you?” Leifr

muttered to Kraftig, removing the great paws from his shoulders and

wrestling with the playful beast before he could pass. Then the others

followed him, gnawing on his legs so he could hardly take a step.

Clearly, they begged to be let out, to go after this larger edition of their

natural prey. Irresolute, Leifr turned toward the door leading into the

courtyard, where Borgar’s guards watched through the night, and

the dogs bounded around him delightedly, relieved that their message

had at last penetrated his feeble understanding.

Since it was almost dawn, Leifr went outside with the dogs.

Several people were stirring around already and lighting smoky fires,

their warm breath condensing in the chill air. Leifr pulled his hood over

his head and began to explore. The gate leading to the outer compound

was still locked, with two guards pacing and swinging their arms to

keep warm, glancing up frequently at the paling sky. Nodding to them

curtly, Leifr and the dogs took an upward- winding path to one of the

round towers, which they found to be uninhabited, except for two more

guards and some rumpled, sleepy crows on the broken roof. A gaping

window gave access to the top of the wall, which Leifr followed

northward until he gained a view of the northern courtyard. He sat

down to study it, and the dogs wagged their tails, pleased at his

progress in the right direction.

The courtyard was bounded by ruined stables crumbling into

green heaps, with only a lintel here and there to show what the

structures had once been. An arched gateway led into the court, and

there seemed to be no other way in or out. Behind the stables reared

the raw mountainside in a sheer cliff; a high wall barred one side, and

on the other was a rubble-strewn drop to the valley floor, made more

treacherous with blocks of fallen stonework and debris. Inside the

court there was no cover or advantage for a fighter, except random

blocks of stone and a few thickets.

At first, Leifr was unaware of the well in its natural camouflage,

assuming it was a heap of fallen masonry. Then he noticed that the four

cornerstones were carved with runes and he discerned the broken

curbing of a large well, partially obscured by scrubby bushes that had

sprung up between the stones. Part of a stone banister remained,

leading down some steps toward the interior of the well.

The hounds suddenly cocked their ears and growled, gazing

earnestly toward the well. Presently the disturbance they sensed was

silent; they sat down again at Leifr’s feet, gazing around them in lofty

disdain at the awakening settlement. Their attention sharpened briefly

when Borgar, Lesandi, and another man called Skapillur climbed onto

the wall from the round tower. They greeted Leifr politely and

exchanged a few of the customary amenities before their curiosity got

the best of their formal manners.

Lesandi blurted out, “We were talking, and no one has heard you

mention your name. We thought—if you had forgotten, perhaps—or if

we didn’t understand...”

Leifr allowed him to sputter to a confused halt, taking refuge

behind a forbidding scowl. Hastily Borgar interrupted. “Lesandi

is saying it very clumsily. Your name is safe with us. If anyone

comes after you asking questions, we haven’t seen you at all.”

Leifr allowed his scowl to soften. “You must wonder for a while

longer. Perhaps after I’m gone, you’ll know.”

Borgar nodded to his companions, who went back to the

tower to stand guard; then the chief walked further down the wall,

toward the north courtyard. Leifr and the hounds followed, joining

him at a black skarp, jutting from the side of the fell and blocking any

further progress without ropes and spikes. The place offered a good

view of the stables below, and Leifr could see further into the well. A

stone stairway spiraled down the wall into the shadowy depths

below. Now that the sun was showing over the horizon, Leifr noticed

the heaps of whitening bones scattered around the court. He shuddered

suddenly at the prospect of going down into that place to do battle with

Ognun.

“Ognun is not going to be easily killed,” Borgar said. “He has the

wisdom of ages of evil. Attempts on his life make him angry, and it’s

difficult for us to live with him after someone tries to kill him. We have

to turn out the one who tries, or there’s no peace for us. When we

leave him alone and humor him with tributes four times a year, he

lets us live in relative peace.”

Leifr shook his head incredulously. “How do you tolerate such

a life? After all the murders he has done, you allow him to live and

continue to torment you?”

“We don’t tolerate it,” Borgar replied with a flash of anger in his

eyes. “We are waiting.”

“Waiting for what? Old age to take Ognun away?”

“We are waiting for someone to return, one who promised

that he would come back to help us out of our difficulty.” Borgar

sighed and gazed moodily toward the north court. “But he hasn’t come

back yet, and he’s been a long time gone. Some of us think he isn’t

coming back. So take your crack at Ognun, but if you fail, you can’t

stay here—if you survive, that is. He’ll follow you when you go, and

there’s not much cover outside of these walls.”

Leifr chose to ignore Borgar’s warnings. “Ognun lives inside

the well?” he asked.

Borgar nodded. “You can see a few of the steps that lead

downward. You can also see the ice hanging on the edge of the curbing.

It never melts, even in summer. It’s more of Sorkvir’s wizardry, to

ensure that no one ever drinks from that well again or eats the sacred

salmon.”

“What sort of weapon does Ognun use?” Leifr inquired in a grim

tone.

“A big cudgel. His teeth, his claws, his supernatural strength.

How do you plan to kill him, when he’s twice the size of you?”

Borgar fixed Leifr with a piercing gaze when Leifr presented no quick

answer to his question. “Magic, I suppose? I thought your wizard lost a

great deal of his magic when his satchel blew up.”

Leifr began to resent Borgar’s needling. He whistled to the

hounds, who were quartering the hillside above the skarp. “Is there a

way down to the well from here?” he asked, surveying the jagged slope

below.

“You can pick your way down, if you’re careful. Ognun can’t

come up this way because his weight causes the rocks to slide. But it

would be wiser to wait for your wizard and some of my best men to

guard you.” Borgar eyed Leifr challengingly as he spoke.

“We don’t need them,” Leifr replied. “Are you coming with

me, or do you have something important to do just now?”

Borgar started cautiously over the edge. “There’s nothing

more important than this,” he answered defiantly. “No stranger is going

to show me up as a coward. Follow me. I’ll show you the quickest way

down.”

They threaded their way down the rugged jumble of broken

stonework with the hounds following eagerly at Leifr’s heels, nudging

him onward when he hesitated over a difficult traverse. They reached

the bottom and crossed a ditch full of bones and nettles, climbed up the

wall behind the stables, and rested on the top, looking down into the

court.

“You’ve done this before,” Leifr said. “Surely there’s an easier

way into the north court.”

“Certainly, but not when you’re a young lad trying to prove his

courage to himself and his peers,” Borgar replied with a chuckle. “It

takes a boy to know these walls. We never tired of exploring. Of

course we courted danger whenever we could.”

“Naturally. I did the same thing in—” Catching himself quickly,

he awkwardly finished with, “In Solvorfirth. It was quite the thing to

spy around Gliru-hals.”

Borgar’s attention was caught. “Solvorfirth? You are from the

same region as the wizard Thurid, then. Tell me, did you know Fridmarr

Fridmundrsson?”

Leifr composed himself with a deep breath and a steely stare

calculated to conceal his nervousness from Borgar. Coldly he

replied, “No one knew Fridmarr. I don’t think anybody wanted to,

either—except possibly his brother Bodmarr, and one other—Ljosa

Hroaldsdottir.”

“How strange,” murmured Borgar, half to himself.

“Strange? I think not, after all the evil Fridmarr was

responsible for in Solvorfirth and other places,” Leifr replied

somewhat heatedly.