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pincers, motioning for Leifr to come closer. Leifr approached the

stone, and the Rhbu reached up with the pincers and cut through

the torque in one easy motion. It fell to the ground at Leifr’s feet

in two pieces, and the cut ends glowed with molten heat.

Leifr rubbed his neck, wondering how he had missed

being burned. When he raised his eyes again, with a fervent word

of gratitude on his lips, the Rhbu had vanished, leaving the

grindstone still turning. Leifr searched the shadowy forge with

his eyes, and Thurid found him standing beside the whirling

grindstone, still staring around in amazement.

“The torque!” whispered Thurid. “Hjaldr released you

after all! To think how I reviled him! I should not have been

so blind and distrustful. The powers I serve are just.”

Leifr turned around quickly. “Did you see him? The small,

bent smith? He was here. The same one who sharpened the

sword. The one Elbegast brought in the sledge.”

“That sledge was empty,” Thurid insisted. “If one of the

Rhbus was there, a Scipling wouldn’t have seen him.”

“A Scipling did see him. Three times,” Leifr replied.

“Impossible,” Thurid snorted enviously, peering around

the forge, which suddenly filled with the burly Dvergar, all

regarding Thurid and Leifr with utmost suspicion.

“Who started that stone turning?” Hegna demanded,

shouldering his way to the front of the glowering crowd. “No one

uses that stone. No one is allowed to touch it. The Pentacle may

be upset forever by the treatment it’s gone through today.”

“I didn’t touch it,” Leifr said. “It was turning when I came

into the forge.”

Elbegast came into the forge as he spoke, and the

dwarfs hastily parted before him. “You should know, Hegna,

that it always turns when it is needed, and no one sees who is

turning it—not unless they are particularly favored by the

Rhbus.” His eyes traveled to the broken torque at Leifr’s feet;

then he smiled into Leifr’s eyes as he repeated, “Particularly

favored by the Rhbus. I believe the powers of the Pentacle

will flow again, as of old, at least until you see this stone

turning by itself again.”

“A Scipling, favored by the Rhbus!” murmured the dwarfs

and Ljosalfar, gazing at Leifr speculatively as their minds

entertained such a novel idea.

Hegna was the first to step forward to extend his hand to

Leifr in friendship and trust. “If the Rhbus accept a Scipling,

then a Scipling is good enough for the Dvergar.”

They all offered Leifr their fealty and their lives, if he

required them, while Thurid stood nearby, preening himself

unashamedly.

“I knew there was something unique about Leifr, even

before I knew he wasn’t Fridmarr,” he confided to Elbegast

pridefully. “I daresay he’s eager to get back to his own realm. I

promised Fridmarr I’d send him back, although I have no idea

how to go about it.” He chuckled uneasily, glancing sidewise at

Leifr. “It seems a shame to lose such an ally, just when he might

be a help to us against others like Sorkvir.”

“Others like the Dokkur Lavardur and Djofull.”

Elbegast gazed straight at Leifr with his amber eyes. “We need

the arm that can wield that sword.” “A limping swordsman is no

asset,” Leifr replied with a grim smile.

“Our healers can mend the leg,” Elbegast said. “There is a

place for you in Solvorfirth. Hroald is dead. Take Gliru-hals,

if you want to stay. A warrior needs a home, a place of peace

between battles. Other captured settlements will follow the

example of Solvorfirth and overthrow their Dokkalfar warlords,

particularly with you to lead them.”

The forge rumbled with approval, with a louder rumble

from the archway as Raudbjorn hobbled in, using his faithful

halberd for a crutch.

“Raudbjorn stay with Leifr,” he growled with an earnest

scowl furrowing his brow. “Sorkvir’s bane. Scourge of

Dokkalfar. Hammer and sword of Elbegast. Plenty heads will

roll, eh, Leifr?”

“Adventure and fame,” Thurid added approvingly. There

was an ambitious gleam in the wizard’s eyes at the prospect

of such opportunities. “Not to mention the glory.”

Leifr considered his choices for a short moment. If

he returned to the Scipling realm, he would live the life of a

hunted man for the rest of his life. And here, it seemed, he

was expected to spend all his days in wild combat against

the most powerful leaders of the Dokkalfar—wizards

mightier than Sorkvir.

Slowly he shook his head.

Thurid’s nostrils twitched incredulously. His eyes blazed

with outrage. “What! You reject all that? Fridmarr wouldn’t

have turned down such a chance!”

“You’ll get your glory and wealth some other time,

wizard,” Leifr told him. “You’re not going to rest until you’ve

found Ljosa and brought her back from the void.”

“Me!” Thurid gasped. “Such a feat requires a master

wizard, not a mere beginner such as I am. It’s incredibly

dangerous to reach into the void after someone. It takes

enormous amounts of power. It takes—”

“But it can be done?” Leifr interrupted.

Thurid shrugged doubtfully. “Yes, it can be done, but

whether by me or not is a great question. It might require a Hel

journey, which I have never done. Death rather frightens me as

yet, even as a means of acquiring wisdom and immortality. I

think some other wizard might suit you better.”

“I think not,” Leifr said. “You’ll do it, Thurid.”

Elbegast shook his head. “All you need to know is in

those Rhbu rune sticks Fridmarr gave you, Thurid.”

“But some of them were destroyed,” Thurid protested.

“I’ve tried to make copies from memory, but—”

Elbegast smiled. “I think you’ll find that those copies are

now quite accurate, with no errors. I wish you the best of luck

in finding Ljosa and bringing her back. When you are done,

however, summon me with this.” He put a small, wax-covered

parcel in Leifr’s hand. “Or you may save it for some hour of

direst need, and I shall come for you as I would have come for

Fridmarr. Use it wisely.”

He gripped Leifr’s hand in his strong grasp, and Leifr

felt a wave of power break over him, drawing him under the

spell of Elbegast’s influence.

“One day it will be the Dokkur Lavardur that your

followers destroy,” Leifr said. “Sorkvir and all his kind will have

perished.”

Elbegast smiled, and his eyes darkened for a moment.

“I hope you’re speaking a prophecy, Leifr. But I fear it will be

a longer time than either of us are given by the Norns before

Skarpsey is rid of the Dokkur Lavardur and Djofull. The

Dark One has outlived the Rhbus, who once possessed the

powers to destroy him. We must find the strength again, and the

Ljosalfar need the help of warriors like you, Leifr.”

“And Raudbjorn, too,” Raudbjorn rumbled. “Now

Raudbjorn needs drink and food. Even Dvergar food.”

Hegna raised his arms to quiet a mutter of agreement and

the wry chuckles of the dwarfs. “My fellow Dvergar, we have

received a challenge. We’ll show our guests that our hospitality

isn’t always meager and thin. Bring out our best ale and meat;

and from now on, there will be no more watering it down. This

will be a celebration such as these ancient halls have not seen in

many a long day.”

Amid shouts and cheers, they trooped back into the main

hall, where the hearths were heaped with fuel and more lamps

were filled with whale oil and lit. Harps, lutes, and horns that had

not seen much use in many years were brought out and tuned up.

When the feast was about to start, Elbegast rose to his feet

and addressed the company.

“The time has come to reveal the truth about

Fridmarr,” he announced, casting an amused glance at Leifr,

who saw nothing humorous in his memories of impersonating

Fridmarr and was not certain he wanted to know anything

more about him.

“Fridmarr was unjustly accused by many people,”

Elbegast continued. “Everything he did was under my orders,

except his taking the eitur to prove his loyalty to Sorkvir. He

thought it the quickest way to learn Sorkvir’s secrets. Too late, he

realized that he had taken one step too far down the road to

doom.

“It was I who guided him to the ancient fortress of the

Rhbus in Bjartur, where
Endalaus Daudi
was hidden. I told him

how to find the Rhbu and grindstone in Hjaldrsholl to have the

sword sharpened, but it was too late.

“Sorkvir discovered the scheme and made the alog against

all metal among the Ljosalfar. To do so, he corrupted the powers

of the Pentacle. He played cat and mouse so well that Fridmarr

never knew until too late that his duplicity was discovered.

“Bodmarr was allowed to think that he stole the sword,

believing Fridmarr wanted it for Sorkvir. But Sorkvir was too

clever to fool. When Bodmarr was killed, Fridmarr wanted

revenge, but I took him away before Sorkvir could kill him.

“True to his loyalty to me, Fridmarr never revealed that he

was my spy, although a few guessed the truth at Bjartur when he

took away the sword and a very old satchel of Rhbu magic. He

took the satchel against my orders, but he said there was

someone who could use it.“

Thurid pretended to cough so he could hide part of his face

in his sleeve. “I doubted him sometimes myself,” he muttered.

“If only he had told me. But I guess he couldn’t, if he wanted

to deceive Sorkvir.”

“No, he couldn’t trust anyone, not even Bodmarr—-or me,

in the end.” Elbegast sighed. “I thought him safe, but he was not

finished with Sorkvir. He came back as Gotiskolker to make one

more attempt to regain the sword and try to salvage something

from all the harm that had been done. He wanted to purify the

Pentacle, but he had eitur in his veins, and it was destroying his

Ljosalfar powers. The rest you know.”

Elbegast resumed his seat, and the feast began.

While the celebration went on, there was no one in the

lower hall to see the dark-hooded figure that crept from a

crevice and stole onto the marble pavement, to crouch

beside the dark, charred mass of Sorkvir’s ruin. Long, skillful

fingers poked and pried among the remains of the bearskin,

discovering a few fragments of bones, sweeping together small

heaps of ash, and funneling them into a small leather pouch.

After a thorough search for any remaining physical particles of

Sorkvir, the intruder glided away and disappeared into the dark

tunnels behind the vast hall.

Word of Elbegast’s arrival spread quickly, and before

dawn came, nearly every Ljosalfar within a day’s travel had

convened at Hjaldrsholl, hoping for a look at the Wandering

King. Most brought food and drink, pooling it all together

for a feast of epic proportions which threatened to last for days.

At dawn of the second day, Elbegast and his honor guard

rode from the gates of Hjaldrsholl, accompanied by Leifr, Thurid,

Raudbjorn, and a few of the leaders of the Ljosalfar settlement of

Solvorfirth. Elbegast halted to say a last farewell to the

assembled farmers, fishermen, and laborers.

“Enough speeches have been made already,” he called to

them, and they applauded his statement vigorously. “As my final

words, all I have to say is this: Guard your freedom.” Waving,

amid cheers and shouts of acclaim, he turned his horse to ride

away with those who followed him.

“Now I want to see where Fridmarr is buried,” he said

quietly to Thurid. “I wish to pay him my respects.”

Taken aback, Thurid gaped a moment in astonishment. But

recovering quickly, he moved triumphantly forward to lead the

way.

Leifr dropped to the rear, glad to be out of the center of

attention for a time. He let the horse follow the others with little

guidance. His thoughts were filled with the choices he must soon

make.

A hint of motion caught his eye as he chanced to glance

backward. The little gray cat was following. But almost at once,

as his eyes fell on it, the small form seemed to fade into the

shadow of a rock and was gone.

With his suspicions renewed, Leifr urged the horse to