The Wizard And The Warlord (21 page)

“Halloa, my lord!” he called, marching into the chamber with an important pattering of his feet. “That ne’er-do-well Gurmolfr has surprised us and brought us three captives. They’re spies from Hrafnborg, my lord,” he added in an anticipatory whisper as he bent conspiratorially toward a large hooded chair placed before a roaring fire.

At once, Slyngr was thrust aside, and a tall, dark shadow loomed before the fire, almost swallowing its light with a billowing cloak.

“Spies from Hrafnborg!” a mighty voice boomed with a nasty chuckle. “I’ve looked forward to this occasion for many a year, many a year indeed. Who is this forward-seeming fellow with the wizard’s staff? You’d better learn to look at me with more humility and fear than that, my good man. I think I see insolence in your face, and for that I shall make you pay. Who are these two young vermin with you, wizard? Thralls or your apprentices in magic? They look as if they could both use a good flogging, and a prompt hanging would improve them far better, in my opinion.” He lay back in his chair and laughed unpleasantly.

Sigurd glanced at Jotull in alarm, but the wizard motioned him to stay silent. Jotull leaned on his staff and loosened his cloak. “I know this foolish game amuses you, Bjarnhardr, but I’ve come a long way and I’m too tired for nonsense. This is the Scipling from Thongullsfjord—the one Halfdane stole from under your very nose. You could have found him yourself if you’d been a bit more clever.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do. Supply me with cleverness, but you don’t,” Bjarnhardr snapped, darting a venomous glower at Jotull. “I notice the Scipling still has the box besides.”

“I thought it would be safer to get him away from Halfdane,” Jotull replied quickly. “Halfdane has kept him under his eye almost every instant, trying to get the box away from him. Isn’t that so, Sigurd?”

Sigurd clutched the box and looked from Bjarnhardr to Jotull. “Yes, that’s true,” he said warily. “I won’t allow anybody to touch it, if I don’t trust him. Jotull, you never told me you were disloyal to Halfdane.”

He looked down on Bjarnhardr with revulsion. The Dokkalfar was crooked in the back; on closer inspection, Sigurd discovered he had a peg for a foot on his right leg.

Bjarnhardr chuckled, as if reading his thoughts. “You think I’m a worthless thing, don’t you?” he demanded, hitching his misshapen shoulder to emphasize his deformity and rapping the stone floor with his peg. “You wonder how the leader of so many could be so unfit, right?”

Sigurd only looked at Jotull in great discomfiture, but Jotull offered him no explanation. The wizard tossed aside his travel-worn cloak and sat down with a weary sigh beside the fire, exchanging his boots for fleece slippers as if he were quite at home at Bjarnhardr’s fireside. “You may as well relax, Sigurd. You too, Rolfr. Our journey is over for the time being. I trust you’ll continue the course of our friendship, Sigurd, and not despise me for this small deception. I thought it was easier this way. I hope you’re not sorry. You must continue to trust me now and follow my instructions just as you always have done, as if nothing has changed.”

“Sit down, sit down!” Bjarnhardr exclaimed. “And stop looking so stricken, as if I were some sort of monster instead of merely an ugly old Dokkalfar. You’re not afraid of me now, are you?” He grinned horribly, as if making an effort to make himself look worse.

“No, I’m not afraid,” Sigurd replied as he sat down reluctantly, trying to conceal his distaste for the misshapen creature. He was also conscious of a sharp disappointment, now that he had met Bjarnhardr face to face. Somehow Jotull had made him sound far more imposing.

Again Bjarnhardr seemed to know his thoughts and found them highly amusing. “Not quite what you expected, am I? Didn’t Jotull prepare you adequately? Perhaps you’re thinking you’d prefer to be back at Hrafnborg with Halfdane, who at least has a fine beard to cover his face, while mine is sadly naked. With that gauntlet of his, he blasted me with flames, cut me down with his axe, and chopped off my foot. His rage was so great that he would have killed me if not for the intervention of my faithful Dokkalfar. Jotull, if you had been with me then, I might not be such a deformed creature today.“

Sigurd turned to look at Jotull questioningly, and Rolfr’s face was drained of color. “Then Mikla was correct in his suspicions,” Sigurd said cautiously. “But I never thought you were a Dokkalfar, Jotull.”

Jotull remained in the shadows, a dark figure holding a staff. “I’m not a Dokkalfar born,” he replied coldly. “I don’t need to explain my shift in loyalties. Suffice it to say that I have brought you here as a result of much planning and thinking and talking. If you so choose, you can be a part of our scheme for Halfdane’s destruction. All our careful plans are now within our reach, as soon as we find a way to open that box. After all I’ve done for you, Sigurd, I know you won’t refuse to help us with our plans for Halfdane and the rest of those confounded Ljosalfar. You’ve got no reason to attempt to protect Halfdane,” he added sharply, seeing Sigurd hesitate. “It’s my belief that Halfdane is the warlord who burned your parents in their hall. He has no claim to that box or its contents and he doesn’t want you to discover the truth before he gets power over you. If I hadn’t seized the opportunity to escape from Hrafnborg, you would never have survived to see that box opened.”

“I know he bears me nothing but ill will,” Sigurd said, still struggling with the feeling that he had been tricked somehow. “The sending was enough proof for me. I have no regrets for Hrafnborg or Halfdane, if you want to destroy them.”

Rolfr uttered a choked roar of rage and made a staggering rush at Sigurd, as if he would strangle him with his bare hands. Sigurd was taken completely off guard, and Rolfr carried him to the ground in his fury, yelling, ‘Traitor! Don’t sell yourself so cheap! I won’t let you betray Halfdane!“

In his weakened condition, he was no match for Sigurd, who promptly pinned him on his back with as much consideration for his injury as possible, whereupon Rolfr fainted away with no further commotion.

“Jotull! Can’t you do something for him?” Sigurd exclaimed in dismay, adding for Bjarnhardr’s benefit, “He’s been wounded, and he’s out of his head, or he wouldn’t have attacked me. No one could have a more loyal friend than he is to me.”

Bjarnhardr motioned to Slyngr. “You and Gunnolfr carry him out of here and have him attended to with all haste and respect due an honored guest, do you hear?”

Slyngr and Gunnolfr hastened to do as they were ordered, not without looking rather puzzled and, on Gunnolfr’s part, considerably disappointed. Honored guests were not half as interesting as prisoners.

Bjarnhardr turned again to Sigurd. “Sit down, sit down and be comfortable. I daresay you haven’t seen a fire like this in a while, not since you left Hrafnborg, eh?”

“We didn’t burn so much wood in Hrafnborg,” Sigurd answered. “Supplies were always rather pinched there.”

The news seemed to affect Bjarnhardr so agreeably that he could hardly resist bursting into laughter. “Pinched, you say! What could be better for those outlaws, those brigands and thieves? Every horse, every sword, every bite of mutton they devour, all is stolen from me. Even the firewood which Halfdane is so begrudging with is probably stolen from one of my hill forts or, at the very least, cut from the fells and forests which I claim as my own. It’s one thing to steal, but quite another to be stingy with what you do steal. I say it shows a meanness of spirit, a lack of open-hearted generosity. Never trust a tuft hunter, or you’ll find yourself empty-handed every time. If ever an Alfar was secret and selfish, it must be Halfdane. You say he even went so far as to put a sending against you?”

His manner seemed so sympathetic and genuine to Sigurd that he soon relaxed his defensive attitude and told Bjarnhardr about the sending and his many wrongs at the hands of Halfdane. Jotull stood beside the fire nearby, nodding in agreement and offering further bits of evidence against Halfdane.

“Shameful, shameful to treat a stranger from the other realm so discourteously,” Bjarnhardr declared. “What an ill impression you must have of Alfar hospitality. We shall do our best here at Svinhagahall to assure you that the Alfar do possess good manners, fine and plentiful food, and beautiful surroundings . At least the food and fires are plentiful, but if you want to see comfort and beauty, you’ll have to accompany me to Bjarnhardrsborg. I’ll be the first to admit Svinhagahall is rather rough quarters, but one can’t expect an army camp to be very luxurious.“

Sigurd had been observing the thick fleeces spread on the floor, the richly carved furniture, and the fine woven hangings covering the walls, all of which made Hrafnborg seem very rough by comparison. If Bjarnhardr considered Svinhagahall uncomfortable and crude, Sigurd wondered what Bjarnhardrsborg must boast in the way of gold and carvings. Never having seen much elegance in his life, he was greatly attracted by the idea of seeing Bjarnhardrsborg.

Jotull, however, cleared his throat. “I fear you’ll never persuade Sigurd to join you there, because he’s got an errand to attend to first in Svartafell. The dwarf that made the box has a forge there and he’ll be the one to get to open it. I propose to take Sigurd there myself to make sure nothing happens before he joins you in Bjarnhardrsborg.”

Bjarnhardr’s eyes kept straying from Jotull to the box Sigurd carried. “And what makes you think I can trust him out of my sight, once that box is opened?”

“You needn’t worry,” Sigurd said. “I’ve defended it from Halfdane from the moment I arrived in this realm, but without the help of Jotull I might have lost it and my life. I owe him much, and he has my complete confidence. Still, I wish you had told me we were going to come here, Jotull, instead of going straight to Svartafell.”

The wizard seated himself near the fire, keeping his staff across his knees. “You don’t need to know everything that is going on in my thoughts, Sigurd. You’re still young and inexperienced in the ways of this realm. If you’ll look to me and not ask too many questions, I’ll tell you all you need to know.”

Bjarnhardr leaned forward in his oversize chair. “Yes, we are the best friends you’ve got now. We shall protect you from the avarice of Halfdane, you and that little, precious box which you hold so suspiciously under your arm as if you don’t quite trust me yet. I assure you I won’t try to take it from you against your will. I’ll do everything in my power to help you reach Svartafell to get it unlocked for you. I wish I had been the one to rescue you from your hapless plight at Thongullsfjord. A lot of time has been wasted that could have been spent so profitably. Halfdane will be distressed by the loss of his opportunity.” The idea set him to chuckling until he had to hold onto his chair for support.

“Do you know what’s inside the box, then?” Sigurd held it out hopefully, ignoring the disquieting presence of his natural power flitting through the room like a malicious little breeze.

Bjarnhardr started to reach for the box; but as he looked at it, he changed his mind abruptly and knit his black brows over his sharp nose. “No, I’ve no idea,” he said quickly as Jotull turned to him attentively. “No idea at all, except that it may be something wonderful and powerful. The events concerning it happened a long time ago, you see, and very few people are able to recall much about this box.”

“But you and Halfdane must have been nearby,” Sigurd persisted. “My grandmother talked about a burning and two warlords at battle with each other.”

Bjarnhardr waved one hand wearily. “Oh, there were scores of burnings in those days. All the hill forts were in flames at one time or another, with varying degrees of damage. Any one of them could have been your father’s.”

“But I never thought my father was an Alfar!” Sigurd protested, and his natural power responded by shoving a set of gold-inlaid cups from the table. “I’m sure my mother was a Scipling—but my grandmother told me she didn’t approve the match.” He recalled how Thorarna had told him about the dangerous powers of the Alfar until his young mind had been impressed with their treachery and mystery.

Jotull stood up quickly. “Mixed marriages are not uncommon, but they’re never a good idea. From the evidence of that natural power of yours, I had suspected something of the sort. As long as it plagues you, you’ll never be able to consider yourself a normal Scipling; and until you learn to control it, you won’t be a very successful Alfar, either. In my opinion, it would be better to get rid of it entirely.”

Sigurd scarcely listened to him. His mind still reeled. He remembered Ragnhild mentioning mixed marriages. He thought of his possibilities, once he mastered his capricious power, which was now plucking the threads from the hangings on the walls.

“How do I learn to control it, Jotull?” he asked.

Jotull scowled, but Bjarnhardr cackled with glee. “Yes, how indeed? It might be useful when Halfdane comes after you.” Bjarnhardr suddenly dropped his jovial attitude and his eyes began to shine with a feral gleam. “Jotull! I’ve had the most splendid idea,” he said, with a different sort of chuckle.

“Spare me the details,” Jotull retorted. “Don’t you think I haven’t thought of it already? It occurred to me long ago at Hrafnborg that Halfdane would go to any lengths to retrieve Sigurd and this box. I fully expect that he’s not far behind us at this very moment. He’s going to rush right into Svinhagahall like a bull to the shambles, all unsuspecting that Sigurd has led him to his doom.” He darted Sigurd a speculative glance to see if any hesitation remained.

Sigurd banished his doubts and fears for the moment by saying carelessly, “Then let him bear the responsibility for any grief that befalls him. I didn’t ask to be taken to Hrafnborg, and I didn’t ask for him to follow me here. I refuse to submit to being duped and used as a pawn by him. He’s aggrieved me enough that the next time I see him it will be as an enemy.”

“Good for you!” Bjarnhardr shook his hand warmly and proceeded from that moment to make up for all the deprivations and hardships Sigurd had been forced to endure at Hrafnborg. Sigurd was given a small chamber of his own, as comfortable as a roaring fire, fleece, and furniture could make it. He was at liberty to sleep all day if he chose or to take a torch and servant to prowl around the chilly corridors of the ancient fortress, marveling at the industry which had been spent to erect it when a simple firehall would have been quite adequate.