The Wizard And The Warlord (9 page)

“Very pretty,” Sigurd said admiringly, looking at Mikla with new respect. “That’s real fire, isn’t it, and not just illusion?”

Mikla crisped several mossy boulders and set a small bush ablaze, which Jotull promptly extinguished. “A Guild apprentice never loses an opportunity to show off,” he said. “That’s quite enough, Mikla. We shall now allow Sigurd to attempt a spell.”

“I’d like to learn the formula for fire,” Sigurd answered. “I’ve spent many a night shivering and freezing, wishing I could make a fire from nothing.”

“Fire is better left to the experienced,” Jotull said sharply, just as Mikla began to say, “It’s very easy—” A glance silenced the apprentice. “Now, Sigurd, I shall teach you a simple formula for summoning objects to you. You shall write it in runic in the sand and use your powers of concentration to make it work, as I have taught you.”

Sigurd tried and tried repeatedly, despite the fact that he felt rather foolish mumbling over some scratches in the dirt and staring hopelessly at a small rock that he hoped to move. The rock did not budge, little to his surprise. He thought he detected a glint of mirth in Mikla’s eye, which made him suddenly furious.

“I can’t do it with everyone staring at me!” he flared, starting to stamp away, but the rock suddenly flew up in the air and came down nearly on Rolfr’s head. Rolfr sprang away with a yelp, and even Jotull looked astonished, gaping around to see if someone hiding nearby had thrown the rock as a joke. Mikla permitted himself an injudicious chuckle. Sigurd was embarrassed and hastened to apologize.

“Things like that happen when I get into a black mood,” he said gloomily. “Sometimes I think I’m followed by an evil little sending with a strange sense of humor. When I was a boy, it helped me win a lot of fights, however.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’d rather hoped it wouldn’t follow me into this realm, whether it’s a sending or simply bad luck.”

“It’s your power trying to help you,” Mikla said excitedly. “All you have to do is get control of it and persuade it to act in your best interests. You say it’s been with you all your life?”

“Silence, sir,” Jotull interrupted sternly. “I am the practicing wizard here, you might recall. If Sigurd needs any advice, I shall be the one to give it to him. I’ve seen this sort of power before and it’s not the right sort at all. We’ll have to capture it and put it in a safe place where it won’t trouble you any longer, Sigurd. It could be quite dangerous, you know.” He glanced around suspiciously for more dangerous symptoms of Sigurd’s unlucky follower. “Come, it’s time we went back inside.”

He led the way, and Mikla and Rolfr trailed behind, holding an intense whispered conversation. Sigurd took no notice of them, he was listening to Jotull’s plans for captunng his unruly power and disposing of it. Jotull assured him it would not be painful and that he was better rid of it, since it would only get in the way of his future studies.

Mikla lingered at the old round tower, allowing Jotull to proceed up the hill to his house alone. “I haven’t had a look at old Adills in quite a while,” he said to Rolfr. “Is there any change in him yet?”

“No, indeed,” Rolfr said. “Come in and see for yourself. He’s been gone so long he’s getting dusty.” He led the way into their dingy quarters and lit a candle. Mikla closed the door securely and muttered a spell over it.

“You’ll have to teach me the eavesdropper spell sometime.” Rolfr said with an envious sigh. “There’s so much that I’d like to learn, if we only had the time.”

Mikla seemed to be thinking of something else. He paced around the table several times, bending anxious looks upon Adills, who looked as peacefully and mildly at rest as any carven statue.

“I wish Adills would come back,” Mikla said with a frown. “He doesn’t know how we need him now. Sigurd, you admire Jotull very much, don’t you?”

“Somewhat,” Sigurd answered guardedly.

Mikla rubbed his hands together while he was thinking and laced his fingers when he spoke. “Jotull is new here I came here as Adills’ apprentice, but, as you can see, Adills isn’t the most attentive master, so I puttered around by myself and enjoyed it tremendously until Halfdane decided to summon another wizard to watch over the affairs of the hill fort while Adills went a-roving. We don’t know where Jotull came from, but I can tell you he’s no Guild wizard, the ones who are the best and most loyal to the Alfar of Snowfell. He might be from one of the smaller fire wizards’ schools, but I don’t think so.” He paused to let Sigurd question him, fixing his listeners with his most solemn stare, which would be impressive on an older, stouter frame, but now looked rather top-heavy on his slender form.

“Well? Where do you think he came from?” Sigurd demanded.

“I can’t say for certain, but I have my suspicions—Halfdane being who he is.”

“Who is he, then?” Sigurd found Mikla’s ponderous, portentious attitude annoying.

Mikla folded his arms to explain. “Halfdane made a vow with his own blood that he would kill Bjarnhardr, if he failed, someone of his kin would do it. Bjarnhardr killed Halfdane’s wife and family when he destroyed the original Hrafnborg, which used to he far to the east and north of here. Halfdane has a pair of gauntlets made for him by the Dvergar—the black dwarfs, who can make almost anything magical. He’ll use the gauntlets’ power to help him kill Bjarnhardr, and everyone knows how desperately grim Halfdane is once he has sworn to do something. If the Dokkalfar were worried about their leader being killed by Halfdane, they might endeavor to destroy Halfdane first by spies and treacherous means.”

“And you think Jotull may be a spy?” Sigurd chortled. “For a moment I thought you had something intelligent to say, Mikla. I know you hate Jotull, but I think your imagination or resentment is working overlong and late. He’s a great wizard, even if he is rather hard on you and anyone else inferior to him. Unless you ve got proof, you shouldn’t make accusations like that. If he ever hears about it, you’ll be obliged to duel him, and I daresay he’ll cook your goose in half an instant.”

Mikla smiled a strange, dark smile. “Not if he’s a Dokkalfar, Siggi. Dokkalfar don’t do fire spells.”

Sigurd thought of Mikla’s fire demonstration a moment. “But Jotull says there’s no real distinction between Ljosalfar and Dokkalfar any longer. He says they’re all Dokkalfar, and it is true that Halfdane does all his prowling and patrolling at night, not in the daytime.”

“Bjarnhardr’s men are out at night,” Rolfr said. “Why should he search for them in the daylight hours?”

Sigurd shook his head. “Then that sounds to me like you’re all Dokkalfar—dark elves—and there are no longer any light elves.”

Rolfr and Mikla exchanged a startled glance. “No, it can’t be,” Mikla said, conjuring a knob of glowing green flame on the end of his staff. “If I were a Dokkalfar I couldn’t conjure fire.”

“Many of your so-called Ljosalfar can’t conjure flame,” Sigurd said. “A good many of them know scarcely any magic at all, except for the simple spells like those Rolfr does. I think Jotull is more correct than any of you like to think. He tells me that the Alfar of Bjarnhardr live in beautiful halls and possess a great deal of wealth. They don’t worry about attacking and destroying anyone, as Halfdane does, and they’re not required to hole themselves up in wretched places like Hrafnborg, where we live in suspicion and fear from day to day. Jotull says there’s no real reason for hiding, the other Alfar wouldn’t harm you if you did wish to abandon this windswept place and move to the lowlands. The exile seems to be voluntary on the part of Halfdane and the other outlaw chieftains hiding in these hills.“

Rolfr and Mikla looked at each other in dismay. Mikla spoke. “I can easily see how the situation might look that way to an outsider, and you are still an outsider, Siggi, although we don’t hold it against you. I’m not going to try changing your mind, but I hope you will at least remember that some things are not as they might appear. Just when you think you have the truth in your grasp, it suddenly changes to something else. You are now in the springtime of your friendship with Jotull, and everything looks best in spring, we all agree. But think of autumn and winter. I’ve never known Jotull to cultivate the association of any man, he’s far too haughty for that. I think he wants something from you, Sigurd. You’d better be sure you want to give it to him.”

Sigurd gazed reflectively at the loose flagstone in the floor, which, unknown to anyone except himself, harbored the carven box. “I think that Jotull only wants to help me make a respectable life for myself in your realm. Perhaps as his apprentice you wish he would regard you with the same good friendship.”

“No, no, I don’t want him for a friend,” Mikla said quickly. “I think I’d better leave before he gets suspicious and comes looking for me. The last thing I wish to say to you, Siggi, is to guard that rowdy power of yours, and never let anyone take it away from you. They won’t be doing you any favor, I promise you.”

Sigurd shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with such earnestness. “Oh, it’s nothing except an amusing nuisance. It doesn’t really trouble me that much, so perhaps I’ll just continue to live with it. Say, Mikla, if you’ve got the evening free, you ought to come to the hall and watch Rolfr lose something gambling. He lost his saddle last night, and if he doesn’t win it back, he’s going to get saddle sores from what he’s issued when he rides out again.”

Rolfr groaned. “I’d nearly forgotten. Come, what do you say, Mikla? It’ll be highly amusing, no doubt.”

Mikla shook his head. “Jotull doesn’t believe I have any time of my own to waste. I’ll see you tomorrow, Siggi. Remember what I’ve said.” With a last earnest scrutiny of Sigurd’s countenance, he took his leave.

Even Rolfr looked solemn, subdued perhaps by the seriousness of his friend Sigurd shrugged his shoulders and began to feel better the moment. Mikla was gone. He spent the remainder of the night gambling, or watching Rolfr gambling away more of his possessions. Before many hours had passed, he had almost forgotten Mikla’s peculiar warning and his admiration for Jotull remained unabated.

He had adjusted rather well to the Alfar schedule, which consisted of patrolling and socializing mainly at night and using the daytime for sleeping, when less vigilance for their night-prowling enemies was required. Thus it was that Sigurd was sound asleep when someone began pounding on the cellar door shortly after dawn, and no amount of ignoring would dissuade their unwelcome visitor.

“Go away!” Rolfr shouted angrily. “Can’t you see it’s broad daylight and everyone’s asleep?”

“Halfdane wants to see the Scipling at once,” came the hoarse reply. “He won’t tolerate waiting, so you’d better hurry yourselves out of this wretched hole before he gets impatient.”

“Halfdane!” Sigurd muttered in annoyance, finding his boots with difficulty. If the Alfar were adept at anything, it was the art of dissipation. Drinking and gambling occupied almost everyone’s off-duty hours, although Halfdane attempted to keep free time to a minimum, knowing well the propensities of his followers.

When Sigurd and Rolfr presented themselves at the hall, Jotull greeted them in a solemn, kindly manner. To Sigurd’s surprise, Rolfr flushed crimson and angrily turned his back, saying, “You don’t need to patronize me, Jotull. You know who it was that told Halfdane about your taking Sigurd outside the hill fort against his orders. I’m not fooled by your pleasant manners.”

Jotull looked aggrieved as he smoothed his beard. “I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Rolfr. Haven’t I always been perfectly civil to you and to everyone since I came to Hrafnborg? Surely you didn’t think I would do Sigurd any harm, did you?”

“Well, no, not really, but Mikla thought—I mean, it seems to me that you shouldn’t tamper with Sigurd’s natural power. It’s unusual for a Scipling to have power, true enough, but, if he were an Alfar, you wouldn’t dream of trying to capture his natural powers, unless you wished him ill. Even a Scipling is entitled to his powers.”

Jotull sighed and raised his eyes to the sky. “It seems to me that a spiteful young apprentice and an unproven novice warrior are no judges of wizards’ business and ought to keep their noses out or they are likely to get burned.”

“Or frozen.” The words escaped Rolfr’s lips involuntarily, and he looked alarmed at his ill-advised speech.

Jotull shifted his staff to one hand. “Whatever do you mean by that remark? Do you think I’m a Dokkalfar wizard, standing here in full sunlight and not harmed?”

Rolfr glowered back at the wizard. “Not only Dokkalfar serve the Dokkalfar, as you well know I didn’t mean to accuse you of any disloyalty to Halfdane, but Mikla—well, never mind Mikla. He’s a fool sometimes and I’m another,” he added quickly as Jotull tapped his staff on the ground a few times.

Sigurd scowled disapprovingly at Rolfr. “How can you say such things about Jotull? No one else but Mikla speaks ill of Jotull in all of Hrafnborg. Didn’t he heal Holti of that dreadful chill? And what about last week when he had the premonition to warn the patrol not to use the river crossing?”

“Enough, Sigurd, I can bear a little false accusation,” Jotull said, bestowing a wounded glance upon Rolfr. “Let’s go inside and confess my misdemeanors to our chieftain. Halfdane must always be correct, you realize.” He opened the door and motioned Sigurd and Rolfr to enter before him.

“But I thought Jotull had some authority around here,” Sigurd said. “Not to mention the fact that he’d protect me if any hostile Alfar should appear.”

Halfdane, Dagrun, and the other leaders stood before the fire in the great hearth. Halfdane looked around and demanded. “What’s this I hear about your leaving the protection of the hill fort, Sigurd? You recall I expressly forbade it.”

Sigurd bridled immediately, but Jotull put a hand on his arm before he could speak. “I will explain,” the wizard said, averting his eyes from Halfdane’s rather frayed riding cloak and worn boots with a delicate shudder. “The fault is entirely mine, but I don’t wish to be reprimanded with half the fortress watching. Can’t we talk more privately?” He glanced politely at Dagrun and the others, who were listening and staring with all their might.