The Wizard And The Warlord (6 page)

The riders dismounted before the hall, shook hands with their companions, and began to disperse, some homeward to their families and some into Halfdane’s hall. Dagrun directed Sigurd into the hall, a dark, spacious place with raised platforms along the sides for sleeping, a great hearth at either end, several annexes for the kitchen, and other private quarters. Benches and tables were arranged down the center, and women were in the process of setting out a generous meal for the warriors who shared Halfdane’s hall. Rolfr remained near Sigurd during the meal, grinning and winking at him and making faces at old Dagrun, who seemed determined to prevent Rolfr’s talking much to Sigurd.

“Don’t worry,” Rolfr whispered, when Dagrun had to turn away to speak to someone else. “Alfar mutton is just as tough and greasy as Scipling mutton, I’ll warrant. You needn’t worry about eating an enchanted feast and falling forever under our power.”

“As if I had a choice,” Sigurd growled, darting a venomous glance at Skeifr, who hadn’t seen fit to return Sigurd’s weapons yet. “I’m starting to feel more like the prisoner and less like the guest. When can I talk to Halfdane again? I want to know what he plans to do with me.” And whether Halfdane’s reasons for bringing Sigurd to Hrafnborg were humanitarian or vengeful, he added mentally.

Rolfr nodded and winked at Sigurd in a manner meant to be reassuring, “I shall befriend you, so you’ve nothing to fear,” he announced, ignoring the baleful eye bent upon him by Dagrun. “I shall see to it that you’re quartered with me, instead of in this drafty old hall, and I’ll be your teacher in the fine arts of weaponry and magic.”

“And a worse teacher you’d never find anywhere,” Dagrun interrupted irritably. “I’d turn you out on your ear, Rolfr, were I Halfdane, and think myself well rid of a nuisance. Why haven’t you got it into your head yet that we’re fighting for our very survival and for the very existence of the Ljosalfar as a people? You seem to think it’s all an entertaining game invented specifically for your amusement. Either that or you’re more than half mad.”

Rolfr only grinned the merrier. “An excellent speech, Dagrun. I drink to you for your great tact and delicacy, and I—” He happened to glance up just as Halfdane came stalking through the hall, still clad in his dusty traveling garb. A wake of silence followed the warlord as he approached the table where Sigurd sat. He lowered at Rolfr, who suddenly seemed to remember an important errand he must run at once; he excused himself quickly and hurried away. Halfdane then looked at Sigurd.

“I trust you have refreshed yourself by now and rested somewhat?” he inquired in a gruff tone, fastening his eyes sternly upon Sigurd’s resentful countenance.

“I have,” Sigurd replied. “I hope you’ll trouble yourself to explain further to me the meaning of what has happened to Thongullsfjord—and to me, also.”

“I came for the purpose of fetching you away,” Halfdane said. “Follow me and we shall talk, I hope. And bring your carven box with you.”

Sigurd’s hand closed protectively around the box and he rose and followed Halfdane, with Dagrun treading at his heels. The young man scowled at the staring Alfar, knowing he looked like a guilty prisoner, an atrocious villain in ragged clothing stained with the blood of trolls and dust from traveling. He straightened his shoulders, resolving to maintain his pride at all costs.

The warlord’s private quarters were near the end of the hall, behind a stout door studded with nails. A fire burned in a hearth, reflected a thousand times in the bright metal of weapons hanging on the walls and in the bright eyes of a pair of wolfish hounds, stretched at full length before the flames.

Halfdane pointed to a chair. “You may sit there, if you choose to relax your guard for a moment. I assure you we mean you no harm. On the contrary, we may be able to benefit one another, if I can convince you to forget your ill-informed prejudice against me.”

“My grandmother was not ill-informed,” Sigurd declared. “She told me I had enemies who were looking for me and would take me away somewhere. You don’t deny that you have been looking for us for a long time.”

“No,” Halfdane said, “I won’t deny it. Your grandmother hasn’t been helpful in the least to my efforts, either. She’s done her best to conceal from us the fact that a male heir has taken possession of that box you carry.”

Sigurd glanced at the box, and its carved faces seemed to leer at him menacingly. “Am I to understand that there is something of considerable value inside this box which you wish to obtain?”

Halfdane eyed him darkly, his rugged features betraying no emotion. “Whether I wish to obtain it or not isn’t the question. But yet, it is rather valuable. If it fell into the wrong hands, much damage could be done to our cause. Many Ljosalfar could be destroyed. We are few and scattered, but we still fight and we desperately need what is inside that box.”

“You’ll never take it from me while I’m alive,” Sigurd retorted. “I don’t know what your cause is, but what I’ve seen has led me to suspect that you’re all outlaws and you’re hiding yourselves in hill forts for good reason. I don’t have much sympathy for outlaws, particularly after what happened to Thongullsfjord. I can’t believe that men of principle would destroy a settlement merely to take possession of one individual—or an object in a box.” He looked at it with growing curiosity and a certain amount of alarm. What had his grandmother to do with outlaws and an object of such great value to them? He shook his head slightly as he tried in vain to puzzle it out.

Halfdane cast aside his cloak and paced up and down before the fire for a few moments, the firelight glinting on the nails in his belt and sword sheath. “You are a stranger to us and our ways,” he said at last. “We are the Ljosalfar, or what was left of them after the Dokkalfar of Bjarnhardr overwhelmed Snowfell and scores of Ljosalfar hill forts. Yes, we are outlaws, because we are the remnants and we refuse to surrender. We strike back at Bjarnhardr at every opportunity, holding a very tenuous line between destruction and survival. We keep mainly to the high fells, where few Dokkalfar dare to approach. We are hunted and despised, but one day we hope to gain enough power to rout these usurpers from our homes and fortresses. We are desperate and we are few; there are only thirty-two hill forts left of a once-great kingdom that covered Skarpsey from end to end. Our enemies now hold all the lowlands and all the island except the highest fells. While we live, they cannot rest, knowing that the Ljosalfar never accept defeat easily.

“Thus it is that they, with their sendings and trolls, have destroyed your settlement in an effort to find the possessor of this box and kill him. The box and its contents would be used to finish the annihilation of the Ljosalfar, which would be speedily realized if Bjarnhardr possessed the object within.

“I sense my disadvantage in appealing to you, as an outsider, after you have seen the misfortune of Thongullsfjord—and after your grandmother unknowingly fortified your reason against us. She had good cause, but her message has been confused. Hrafnborg is not the origin of the sendings and Thongullsfjord’s misfortunes, and you would know that, if your grandmother had been able to tell you the truth. I expect she kept the box a secret, and the first time you heard my name was when I told it to you myself. Am I correct?”

Sigurd maintained a stony silence. If they thought to discredit Thorarna in his eyes, they were bound to fail. Her last words had been spoken to warn him about the warlord, and he would bear her warning with him to his death, if necessary. Besides, he had begun to learn suspicion and knew that liars could be the most eloquent of speakers. He was also tired, overwrought, and in no mood to be convinced of anything.

Dagrun sighed impatiently. “I told you he’d never believe a word of anything we tried to tell him, Halfdane. Why is it that the emptiest heads are the most stubborn against anyone who wants to enlighten them? Why couldn’t that old woman have done her duty, instead of trying to cheat us and deceive us—”

Sigurd made a sudden angry move that silenced him. “I won’t listen to a stranger speaking ill of my grandmother. Whatever her reasons were for not telling me about the box, she must have thought they were good ones; and they no doubt were, since she was a person of rare good sense. I don’t wish to hear anything more about it now and I prefer to form my own opinions about who is good and who is evil, whether it be Dokkalfar or Ljosalfar. For all I know, the Ljosalfar may be the most treacherous of fiends and the Dokkalfar the sensible people.”

Dagrun shook his head with dismay and muttered under his breath, “I could convince him, if I had a heavy enough club, I’ll warrant. The Dokkalfar sensible! i’ve never heard such a crock of foolishness—”

Halfdane looked scowlingly from Dagrun to Sigurd. “Then he’ll have to find out for himself, if that’s the way he wants it. It shouldn’t take long for him to learn, if he survives the lessons. Very well, Sigurd, you are free to decide for yourself on whom to bestow the contents of that box. I won’t burden you with any more unwanted advice, but allow me to say that the safest place for you right now is Hrafnborg. I won’t keep you for nothing. You’ll have to work to earn your bread and shelter. You’ll have to be trained and outfitted before you’re worth anything to us. Is that agreeable to you?”

“In the absence of alternatives, yes, I’m forced to say it’s agreeable to me,” Sigurd said, managing to convey the meaning that he thought quite the opposite.

“Good. We’ll have no further disputes between us. I’ll not be so foolish as to ask you to leave the box in my safekeeping, so I’ll warn you to keep it well hidden.” The furrows in Halfdane’s dark brow revealed his displeasure as he gazed at Sigurd. “Dagrun, you shall find him a place in the hall and see to it that he has what he needs.”

“That skittish Rolfr has offered to take him under his wing, but I don’t think we ought to encourage it,” Dagrun growled.

“To forbid it is to make it a certainty,” Halfdane answered with a scornful curl of his lip. “Let him go with Rolfr then, but you make certain that some of Rolfr’s excesses are hampered whenever possible. See to it our new comrade gets the instruction he needs, and presently we’ll learn if he’ll be useful to us.” His eyes rested on the box under Sigurd’s arm a moment as he made a gesture of dismissal. Dagrun started to withdraw, but Sigurd stood his ground.

“I have some questions I’d like answered,” Sigurd said, returning Halfdane’s disapproving scowl. “First I’d like to know what is in this box, and then you may tell me how you know it. Since it is my property, I think I should know as much about it as I can.”

Halfdane’s expression became thunderous and he stalked away, muttering a ferocious oath under his breath. Turning, he glared at Sigurd and said, “In spite of your own good opinion of yourself, you are yet rather green in skill and experience, as well as years. It would be wise for you to abandon such a haughty attitude, or you’ll be humbled in ways that might not be pleasant. The contents of this box, which you so arrogantly lay claim to, will remain a secret until you or someone else is able to open it. You see that the box is designed in such a way that it won’t be opened by ordinary means. I won’t tell you what is in it, because I can’t trust you. All I shall say is that the box has returned to the people who made it, and you’d know what I’m talking about if your grandmother hadn’t been a fearful and rather short-sighted old woman. Take it with you and begone; the next time we meet, I hope you’ll have a little more sense.” He nodded to Dagrun and sat down in a large chair before the fire with his back to his visitors.