The Book of the Sword (Darkest Age) (12 page)

‘A human man and girl fell in the water just before sunset yesterday,’ Cluaran told him. ‘For a wonder, both escaped drowning. And the girl, the spirits said, was accompanied by Ioneth.’

Ari’s eyes blazed, and for a moment the two men looked at each other in silence.

‘The girl and some others were threatened by the fishermen and fled from them across the ice,’ Cluaran continued. ‘They went in the direction of
Eigg Loki
and began to climb the mountain. The bandits who camp there followed them, climbing up the same path that the girl took. And later that night, the mountain was attacked by a blue dragon.’

‘
Kvöl-dreki
,’ muttered Ari.

‘It seems so,’ Cluaran agreed. ‘So, by whatever bad counsel or mischance, it seems they are at the mountain after all – and the dragon-sender knows they are there.’

‘We must go at once!’ Ari cried. ‘They’re nearly a day ahead of us – he may have them already.’

Cluaran smiled tightly. ‘Those were my thoughts as well,’ he said. ‘Except that he does not have the sword.’

‘How can you know that?’ Ari asked him as they mounted their horses and set off at a gallop around the lake.

‘Because the mountain is not yet burning!’ Cluaran threw back over his shoulder.

*

The sun was still high when they reached the ledge that led into the mountainside. Their horses had baulked at the bottom of the path and had to be left at the mountain’s foot, but both men had gone that way before, and the climb was soon done. Ari shook his head at the signs of the dragon’s attack: a dropped knife, a few torn strips of cloth caught on the rocks; and higher up, a patch of blood frozen on the stones. The ledge, when they neared it, was blocked by a great chunk of ice fallen from the glacier above, covering the dark crack that led into the mountain.

‘They’re inside,’ Cluaran said. ‘That path was not blocked by accident. Ari, do you know of another way in?’

Ari was already starting down the track. ‘To the west; around the other side of the glacier,’ he called back. ‘It’s lower, and more dangerous: the tunnel leads to the dungeon levels, where the spirits are hungrier.’

‘And I’m short of blood already,’ Cluaran muttered, but only to himself. ‘Lead the way!’ he called. They could ride again: the horses were growing skittish, but they would probably carry them around the foot of
Eigg Loki
. It would be better, much better, to get there before dark. He bent all his thoughts on speeding the journey – it did no good to think about what they would find at the end of it.

Once I began work on the chains, I had neither eyes nor ears for anything else. Erlingr’s men brought me wood, and made alliances with the Stone people of the inland mountains to find me the ores I needed.

My son and Ioneth brought me food: they were always together in those days. She would not let him venture too near the lake as it thawed, saying the spirits there would feed on his blood. When she was with Starling she never spoke of the sword, and I knew there was more for her in life than her dreams of sacrifice and revenge.

The ghost-things still swirled above them as they crossed the huge cavern to meet their rescuer. Edmund could feel the creatures hovering just over his head, whispering words that he could not make out, but at least they were no longer pulling at him. When they had surrounded him, drifting into his mouth and nose like sour-tasting fog, he had felt that they
had hold of something inside him and were teasing it out like thread.

One of the creatures drifted in front of his face, and for a moment its pale eyes looked directly into his. Edmund shuddered as the words it was whispering sounded clearly in his ears:
Ripente … Ripente …

What were these things? Why had they been so drawn to Elspeth? he wondered. What had happened to her in that instant when the press of the creatures had blotted her out from sight? When they flew up in a cloud at the sound of the woman’s voice, Elspeth was on her knees, her eyes closed and face contorted as if in pain – but she seemed to have recovered, letting Edmund pull her to her feet. She walked slowly, though, holding herself upright as if with an effort.

‘This way.’ The dark-haired woman was waiting for them under an arched doorway carved out of the rock. The lighted torch she held cast a warm glow on her face as she gestured down the dark passageway. ‘The spirits are hungry all the time, and they are drawn to warmth and light,’ she told them. ‘But they don’t venture into the higher passages – and they know better than to harm my guests.’

‘Who are you?’ Edmund blurted out. ‘Do you live here?’

The woman smiled at him. She was beautiful, Edmund thought: slender and hazel-eyed, like his mother, though narrower in the face. Her bearing was as elegant and straight-backed as that of a queen, and he wondered what she could be doing in this forsaken place.

‘My name is Eolande,’ she said. ‘I am staying here a while, though it is not my home.’ Her smile faded. ‘But come with me; we can talk later.’ She held out a hand to Fritha, who was white and shaking, and the fair girl went to her gratefully. The others followed, though Edmund saw Cathbar cast Eolande a look of deep suspicion before he took up his place at the rear.

The new passageway was black, without any of the cavern’s greenish glow, and without the sword there was no light but the flicker of Eolande’s torch ahead of them. Fritha walked silently beside the dark-haired woman. Edmund kept one hand on the cold stone of the wall and Elspeth, next to him, did the same on the other side. Now that the swarming spirits were behind them she seemed to have recovered her strength, but she stayed close to him as they walked, and he found her companionship comforting.

‘What were those creatures doing to you?’ he asked her, quietly. She did not answer for a moment, and he felt a stab of concern. It was only natural that she should look drawn and tired, but there was a distant look in her eyes too, as if nothing he said could quite reach her.

‘Weighing me down,’ Elspeth said at last, with a shiver. ‘They were flocking all around me, and calling … But I’m better now. I’m glad Eolande came when she did.’

‘We were lucky,’ Edmund agreed. ‘What do you think she is doing here, under the mountain?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Elspeth said, but her voice was vague, and she was looking at her right hand again.

‘The sword – is it …?’ Edmund began, without really knowing what he was going to ask.
Is it controlling you? What else will it make you do?
‘How is it?’ he finished lamely.

Elspeth stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘It’s fine.’ She looked back at her hand. ‘I know how to use it now,’ she muttered.

The passageway sloped upwards, twisting and branching, so that once or twice they nearly lost sight of Eolande’s torch. Edmund tried to work out how close they were to the surface. They must still be under the glacier, surely. There was ice on the walls and floor, and there seemed to be more light than there had been when they first entered the mountain – but that could just mean that his eyes had adjusted. His feet slipped on the icy floor, and he and Elspeth clung to the wall and to each other for balance.

Suddenly there was a pale glow of light ahead of them. Eolande led them into a chamber roofed and walled with ice, through which they could see the beginnings of daylight outside.

‘This room was carved out of the glacier, many years ago,’ she told them. ‘We can rest here.’

Edmund saw that the chamber was furnished: a straw mat on the floor, a wide seat carved out of the rock to the side of the entrance, a large wooden chest and – incongruously in this rough-walled place – standing on the chest, a beautifully wrought bronze cup and platter. The workmanship was as fine as any he had seen in his father’s hall, showing coiled
dragons and graceful branches. Something about the design tugged at his memory.

‘Elspeth, look!’ he whispered, pointing. ‘Wasn’t there a carving like this on Cluaran’s lute?’

Eolande had overheard him. ‘Cluaran?’ she echoed. There was a note of recognition in her voice when she spoke his name. She picked up the cup and turned it in her hands. ‘My husband made these for me,’ she said, tracing one of the engravings with a slender finger.

‘Do you know Cluaran?’ said Edmund. The minstrel had been a demanding companion on the road to Venta Bulgarum, even infuriating at times, but he had proved a good friend in the end, and it warmed Edmund to remember him in this cold place.

He was about to tell Eolande that he had seen Cluaran only days ago, and offer her some news of him, but she merely said, ‘Yes, I know Cluaran,’ in a tone that invited no further questions; then, with a sigh, she set aside the cup and knelt to open the chest.

Edmund realised how tired his legs were as he sank down beside Fritha and Elspeth on the rock bench. Fritha was still shivering, sitting upright on the edge of the seat as if it was impossible for her to relax. Edmund squeezed her arm. ‘I think we’re safe here,’ he whispered. ‘The spirits won’t hurt us now Eolande’s with us.’

Fritha flashed him a smile, and sat back a little. But Edmund was not sure how much he believed his comforting
words. Eolande was very gracious – and a friend of Cluaran’s, it seemed – but they still knew very little about her. How far would – or could – her protection extend?

Eolande brought them a sackcloth bag containing some sort of dried fruit, which she poured out on to the carved platter, turning away with a smile when Edmund tried to thank her. His stomach was growling, but Fritha seemed too nervous to reach for the food, and Elspeth was looking down at her hand again, absorbed in thoughts that Edmund could not share.

‘Here – eat,’ said Cathbar gruffly, lifting the platter and brandishing it at the three of them. Edmund was surprised at the concern in the captain’s voice. ‘Eat, all of you. You need to keep up your strength.’

Edmund ate gladly, and Fritha seemed as hungry as he was. But Elspeth raised a berry slowly to her mouth, and chewed as if she did not taste it. Eolande filled the great bronze cup with ice-cold water from a barrel in the corner of the chamber, and they passed it from one to another. There was no other seat, so Cathbar sat on his cloak while Eolande knelt on the straw mat, looking as much at ease as a lady at table.

The water seemed to revive Elspeth. She drank a great gulp of it, and her eyes seemed to come back into focus.

‘Eolande,’ she said, ‘what were those things that attacked us?’

Eolande’s face darkened. ‘They are spirits – spirits of the Ice people,’ she said.

Beside Edmund, Fritha’s eyes widened in fear, and he felt her tense as the woman went on. ‘They were killed by Loki – I think you must know that name?’ Elspeth nodded. Edmund thought he heard Cathbar groan under his breath.

‘This whole mountain is named for Loki, in memory of the destruction he wrought when he tried to bend the whole world to his will, and was bound in chains by the elder gods. But many do not know that Loki still lives beneath this mountain.’

Edmund felt his skin go cold. All Fritha’s old tales were true! He realised that he had never really believed it – a demon-god who could control dragons; could send his will across the sea. Fritha was white-faced, clasping her hands as if to still their trembling. Cathbar’s hand flew to his sword hilt. Only Elspeth had not moved. She nodded her head slightly, as if Eolande had only confirmed what she already knew. But her eyes were dark with fear, and her right hand clenched so hard that the knuckles were white.

‘We know of Loki,’ Edmund said, feeling that he spoke for all of them. ‘And we’ve seen some of what he can do.’ He thought of his uncle, Aelfred: always laughing; tall and confident in his boundless ambition. But Loki had found him somehow, and had turned him mad. ‘He has power outside the mountain, hasn’t he?’ Edmund’s voice caught in his throat.

Eolande nodded. ‘He has long been able to send his will outside his prison. He makes slaves of men and beasts, and
draws life from them as they serve him. There are more of them in the lower caves, and in the waters below the mountain, never dying, but never truly alive. They crave life, and will feed on travellers if they can.’ Her face was bleak. ‘But the spirits you met have never served Loki. They were once an army, sent here to destroy him.’

‘An army!’ Elspeth whispered.

Eolande turned to look at her. ‘An army of the Ice people. Sons, and brothers, and husbands … all destroyed. All condemned to drift in the caves, in the cold, for as long as Loki lives.’ Her voice had hardened, and she fixed Elspeth with such a glittering stare that for a moment Edmund was afraid of her.

‘So – pardon me, lady – how comes it that
you
are safe here?’ It was Cathbar, shifting his weight uncomfortably on the cold floor. Eolande seemed to come to herself again: her face relaxed and she smiled at Cathbar.

‘A fair question. I have had the help of all those who came before me.’ She stood to refill the water-cup, running her fingers gently over its carvings before she set it down between them.

‘I first came to the Snowlands as a young wife, travelling with my husband, the blacksmith Brokk. I knew little of Loki then – but word came that he had burst his chains and was about to escape the mountain. He had already brought fire and destruction to this land, and would destroy the world if he were freed. All the peoples of the earth were uniting to
contain him, and they needed the most skilful smith to forge chains that would hold him. That was my husband.’ She stared at the carvings on the drinking cup for a moment. ‘He made the chains, and he and I helped to bind Loki again.’

‘You fought him yourself?’ Edmund burst out. He could not imagine this gracious woman in combat with a demon.

‘How did you do it?’ demanded Elspeth at almost the same moment. Eolande turned a level stare on them both, and Edmund felt another momentary shiver of fear.

‘I played a small part,’ she said quietly. ‘Many, many people died to fasten those chains. A few survived, with the help of spells and charms.’ She raised one graceful arm to show a twisted bracelet, wood and metal. ‘That was how we were able to attack him.’