by Ian McHugh
He urged his mount forward, now. “Aetheling, something is amiss here. Please, take Freydis and return to the greathouse.”
Hallveig regarded him coolly. “We’ll continue,” she said. “I’ll see this beast dead.”
Thorfinn remained where he was.
Damn you for a fool, brother! Aloud, Freydis said, “Aetheling, if she crosses the saddle, that will take her down to Ketilsdale.”
Thorfinn glared at her, his face thunderous. Freydis glared back. I don’t need you to protect me from this, brother.
Hallveig gestured for her to continue.
“Some of the men could circle ahead. It’s a quicker path around the foot of the hills in open country. We might catch her between two claws.”
“A good suggestion, Thegn Freydis,” said Hallveig. “Ceorl Styr, choose some men and accompany the thegn.”
Thorfinn’s face was purple with the strain of keeping his protest inside.
“Your pardon, Aetheling,” said Styr. “If the beast gets past us, we might not know without one of these leeches to tell us.”
Hallveig turned to the leeches. “You’re right, Ceorl Styr. Perhaps one of our allies could accompany Thegn Freydis’s party?”
Wispy-beard looked from one of them to the other. Did it suspect? Had they given themselves away? Freydis’s heart raced.
Hallvieg leaned forward in her saddle. “I want this demon’s hide, leech. It must not evade us.”
“Two will go,” the leech said at last. It pointed out the one who had sparked the debate a moment earlier and another beside it.
Hallveig looked expectantly at Freydis.
Freydis cleared her throat. “With me! We ride fast.”
With a last glance at Thorfinn’s furious expression, she turned her horse downhill and put her heels to its ribs.
* * *
Thorfinn watched Freydis’s party until they were out of sight, ignoring Hallveig’s command to resume riding until she drew her silver-edged sword and jabbed him in the chest.
He swatted the blade away. “Damn you. She still has a child to live for.”
“Remember your place, Hauld.” “One way or another, you owe me a life.” She urged her mount forward, forcing him to turn his horse out of her way.
The ceorls threw him uneasy glances as they passed. Grinding his teeth, Thorfinn fell in at the rear. Damn Hallveig, he thought, and damn Freydis for putting herself in harm’s way. She was tough as boots, his sister, but she wasn’t a warrior. When the moment came to kill a leech in cold blood, would she see a demon in front of her, or would she think of Gudrid, running home, and wonder if there was still a person inside?
There was nothing he could do about it but pray that Styr and the rest would keep her safe.
The trail continued to skirt along the lower slopes of Blaserk. Thorfinn began to fret. What if he had guessed wrong? What if the wolf-woman hadn’t followed them to the nest? If she wasn’t circling back there? What if she really was aiming for Ketilsdale—aiming to flee—and Freydis ended up in her path?
The afternoon shadows lengthened. Thorfinn’s anxiety grew. Perhaps the wolf-woman was waiting to ambush them. He urged his horse back up to the head of the line. Hallveig offered no acknowledgement of his presence.
Abruptly, the leeches stopped again. The leader of the group made a slow turn, then took a few steps, angling a little way from the direction they had come, higher up the slope. One hand rose. The fingers twitched, then the arm dropped back to its side.
“It has changed direction,” the leech said, uncertainly. “It is doubling back towards the...”
Nest, thought Thorfinn, unable to stop himself from sagging with relief.
“It has tricked us!” another leech cried.
“To the nest!”
The leader whirled, stabbing a finger at Hallveig and Thorfinn. “Call back the rest of your warriors! We must return to the nest, the farkasember is there!”
Thorfinn made no move towards the horn hanging at his hip.
The leech screamed, “Call them!”
Its fellows were already racing away between the trees.
“Do it, Hauld Thorfinn,” said Hallveig.
The leech dashed after the others, gathering in its shadows as it went.
“The plan is to let them tear each other up,” Thorfinn said.
Hallveig rounded on him. “To Hell with your plan!” she spat. “I want to see the life go out of that beast’s eyes.”
She kicked her horse hard. With a whinny of alarm, it sprang after the leeches. The ceorls followed. Thorfinn swore under his breath and lifted the horn to his lips.
* * *
Once out of the woods, Freydis and her party made faster time, skirting around the base of the ice-cracked knob of Knustskjaer. The two leeches held their shadows tight about them as they skimmed along ahead.
She sipped from her waterskin as she rode, but her mouth remained stubbornly dry. She wasn’t afraid for her herself—not much. But the questions refused to leave her mind: Are they really just demons? Or is there still a person trapped inside? The monster that had once been her daughter had still remembered home, had run there for... sanctuary? Healing? Forgiveness? And Freydis had killed her.
She shook herself. It did not change what had to be done.
Styr was evidently thinking along similar lines. He said, “We’ll be round into Ketilsdale soon, in sight of the saddle.” He drew an arrow from his quiver and laid it across the bow on his lap. It had a barbed wooden head. They had made them during the night, coring the heads with lead beads to give them weight.
It had to happen before they came back in sight of the leeches still with Thorfinn and Hallveig. God’s mercy, Freydis thought. She wasn’t ready for this. Just demons, she told herself. But it was still killing in cold blood.
If it even works. If not, then they had a fight on their hands.
She felt over her shoulder for a notched shaft that meant a wooden head, not silver. The leeches seemed to have their attention on the landscape ahead. Her breath didn’t seem to want to come as she laid the arrow across her bow. Her ribs felt too tight to expand.
Styr threw her a glance. Ready?
She nodded. Immediately, he raised his bow. Freydis raised hers, sighting down the shaft.
The leeches broke right and left. Reflexively, Freydis tracked her target, even as she heard a curse from Styr. She loosed. The moment seemed to slow, drawing out the heartbeat between the arrow’s release and its impact. She watched it flex in flight, watched it intersect the leech’s path, and knew before it did so that it would strike true.
Even having seen what the wolf-woman had done to Gudrid, she was still surprised at the result. The wooden point hit beside its left shoulder blade and went straight through its chest, impaling the creature’s heart. The leech’s shadows fragmented. Its back arched, arms flinging up, and it stumbled on legs gone suddenly limp. It took a few more wobbling steps and sprawled face down in the grass.
The other leech wailed. Styr’s shot had struck it low in the back but not killed it.
“The wood, boys!” Styr shouted. “Catch it!”
The ceorls urged their horses past. The sun caught on tumbling silver as they shed the tips of their lances, revealing wooden points beneath.
Injured though it was, the leech was still accelerating, and it seemed at first that it might escape them. Freydis started to draw another arrow. But the ceorls’ horses found their stride and overhauled their quarry. The leech was still crying out, a horrible gasping keen.
“Shut the bloody thing up!” Styr bawled. Freydis felt a clutch of fear—would the sound travel?
One of the ceorls lunged in. His wooden lance hit the leech under the arm. The creature sprawled, the spear snapping, its wails abruptly cutting off. It wasn’t dead yet, though, flopping on the ground, gouging up the turf as it tried to raise itself.
Styr dismounted beside it. He drew his wooden sword and stood over it.
“W
ait!” Freydis cried.
Styr paused.
She urged her horse over to them and scrambled down from the saddle. “Wait,” she said again. “I want to ask it something.” She leaned over the leech. It gnashed its teeth, eyes rolling around before it focused on her. “What was it that was strange about the wolf-woman’s trail?”
The leech tried to snarl. It coughed up blood over its face and chest.
Styr pushed Freydis aside. He leaned a boot on the leech’s forearm and drew back his sword. Freydis cringed, looking away, as he brought the wooden blade down with all the force he could muster.
The leech gave a gargling wail. Its severed hand spasmed in the grass. Somebody’s child, once, Freydis thought, sickened.
Styr thrust the bloody swordpoint up under the leech’s chin. “Answer, and die easy.”
Its eyes rolled, mad with pain. Styr put his boot on its other wrist. “Answer!”
“It did not smell like wolf,” the leech gasped.
“What did it smell like?” said Freydis
“Bear.”
Freydis drew back, her thoughts roiling. Not a woman who changes into a wolf, a woman who changes into a bear... Dear Lord in Heaven.
Styr raised the wooden sword again and lopped off the leech’s head. “Demon wolf or demon bear, does it matter? We’ve seen what it can do.”
Freydis shook her head. “They knew.” Wispy-beard had been at the greathouse, had seen the destruction, would have smelled the bear’s scent. “The leeches knew. Some of them, the leaders. They were expecting her.”
Styr looked around at the other ceorls, opened his mouth, reconsidered, and opened it again. “They knew we’d led her to the nest. That we meant to trick them.”
Freydis nodded slowly. “They mean to trick us the same way.” She felt icy cold in the pit of her stomach. “Hallvieg won’t leave the beast to them. The leeches know.” She should have seen it, too. “We have to warn Thorfinn.”
Styr was still a moment, his gaze distant. A vicious smile spread across his scarred face. He raised the bloody wooden sword. “But they didn’t see this coming.” He laughed. “Wood. Who’d have thought?” He raised the sword above his head. “No more treaty, boys. We’ll be rid of the damned leeches at last!”
The ceorls responded with a cheer that sent a shiver down Freydis’s back. She felt weak, wrung out.
The sound of a war horn silenced their jubilation.
Thorfinn! “They’ve found her!”
Styr held up a hand. “No, listen.”
The horn sounded again, three short blasts and one long, a pause, then a long, rising note. That last signal she knew—a call to hunt.
Styr was running for his horse, bloody sword still in hand. “They’ve turned about,” he cried. “They’re chasing her. Find those silver lance tips, boys!”
The ceorls scattered, searching in the grass.
Damn you, Hallveig!
Styr was already urging his mount past her.
* * *
The leeches were quickly lost from sight between the trees in the deepening dusk. Between the branches, bright crimson sky glowed to the west.
“Aetheling!” Thorfinn cried. “It’s nearly dark! We must turn back!”
Hallveig ignored him, pushing her mount onward at reckless speed.
Thorfinn swore. At this pace, they’d be lucky if they didn’t break half the horses’ legs—not to mention their own necks.
There was a roar from up ahead. Cold washed over him. No wolf made that sound.
“Aetheling!”
It was too late. They had reached the entrance to the leeches’ nest. Thorfinn glimpsed a gigantic, dark form before it vanished into the blackness of the ravine.
“Hold back!” he cried and waved his arm frantically to the men. “Aetheling, stop! Let them beat each other, we’ll deal with whichever emerges.”
“Coward!” Hallveig cried in response. She wheeled her horse at the mouth of the ravine, raising her silver-headed lance. “With me!”
She put her heels to her mount’s ribs. The terrified animal whinnied and lunged forward, the darkness of the ravine instantly swallowing horse and rider.
Thorfinn piled curses on Hallveig and all her ancestors. He was tempted to leave her to the consequences of her folly. The men watched him with frightened faces. They were moments from following without him; duty and honor would drive them past their doubt.
From inside the ravine, the beast roared again. Thorfinn gave a wordless bellow in response. He hefted his lance. “Defend the aetheling!”
He saw relief, mingled with pants-pissing terror, in their expressions. No more time to think. He kicked his horse hard, then let it slow as soon as they entered the ravine. It stumbled on some obstacle hidden in the pitch-black shade. Thorfinn spied a lesser darkness ahead and urged the animal to more speed.
The ravine widened out and split into several directions, all of which ended in sheer walls. Caves pockmarked the rock. Thorfinn saw movement at the top of the cliff—a leech briefly lit by the sunset as it pulled itself over the edge before gathering its shadow shroud around itself.
Double-crossed our double-cross, he had time to think, before another roar brought his attention to the shadows below. A huge shape unfurled.
Bear!
The shapechanger rose up on her hind legs, far larger than any natural bear Thorfinn had seen, his worst fears confirmed.
Hallveig faced the beast, spear point raised, the shaft tucked under her arm.
“Aetheling! Let her pass! It’s a trap!” A trap that perhaps they did not need to spring.
Hallveig lunged. Her silver spear pierced the bear’s hide. The bear roared. One enormous paw swept across. The head of Hallveig’s horse snapped limply over, its neck broken. The other paw swung down as the horse collapsed. Hallveig was pummeled from the saddle and crashed to the ground beside her mount.
“Shoot!” Thorfinn screamed at the ceorls.
Silver-headed arrows flew, striking the shapechanger in the neck and chest. The bear staggered, then dropped onto all fours and charged, bowling aside men and horses, bellowing as they stabbed at her.
Thorfinn found himself directly in her path. Frantically, he urged his horse aside, but in the confined space there was no way to get clear. He set his spear as the bear reared over him, its jaws gaping to tear him apart.
* * *
The roars had ceased by the time Freydis, Styr, and their party had picked their way through the darkening forest to the ravine. Freydis looked around apprehensively.
“Where are they?”
“They must have gone in,” Styr replied, teeth bared.
Merciful Lord, thought Freydis. Thorfinn. “Perhaps they went back to the greathouse,” she said. “We should, too.”
The light of the sunset was almost gone. She thought of Arnora, back at the greenhouse. The darkened land yawned between them, leeches abroad if the plan had gone awry as she feared. Leeches or the bear.
“Too late,” said Styr.
Pale figures drifted among the trees. More leeches were closing in, encircling them. They had cast aside their shadows and wore instead their awful nighttime luminescence, like a sickly reflection of moonlight. Freydis set her jaw. The glamour made them ready targets.
She drew a notched arrow from her quiver. Styr did the same, muttering commands to his men. The ceorls backed their mounts into a circle, discarding their spears and drawing wooden swords.
Styr’s bow creaked as he drew it back. “They’re faster in the dark,” he said.
“Wood still works,” added Freydis. She drew her own bow.
One by one, in rapid succession, the leeches vanished. Freydis almost loosed the arrow in surprise.
“Are they gone?” one of the ceorls asked.
“They’re still there,” said Styr. “If a shadow moves, hit it. They can jump.”
Freydis was surprised to find that her heartbeat had slowed. Her arms felt heavy, holding the bow. So close, she thou
ght. We were so close.
She saw the shadows moving, flickering between the trunks, too fast to aim at. Twigs crunched under the leeches’ feet, the sounds trailing behind them as they circled closer.
Suddenly the forest went still.
A solitary figure emerged from the darkness. Freydis recognized wispy-beard.
“Two went with you,” it said. “Where are they?”
“Styr called them ‘leeches’ one too many times. They left us behind,” she answered, the lie that they had planned for a contingency such as this. “What has happened here? Where are our people?”
“Liar!” The leech’s gaze fell on the wooden arrowhead she aimed at its face, then the wooden swords in the hands of the ceorls. “So the treaty is broken.”
The shadows moved once more, closing in. Freydis began to straighten her fingers, feeling the bowstring slide across her skin.
New sounds cut the night. Something was emerging from the ravine. The leeches froze. Wispy-beard’s eyes swiveled around to see. Freydis dared not turn.
The sounds resolved into the clink of shod hooves on stone and the jangle of chainmail.
Thorfinn emerged from the ravine, steering his horse with his knees. He cradled Hallveig’s limp body in his arms. The rest of the ceorls followed him, fanning out when he stopped, still with the silver heads screwed onto their spears. Several were obviously injured. Some led second horses. The spare animals all had one or two bodies tied over the saddles.
Thorfinn took in Freydis’s party, with their horses backed into a defensive ring and their wooden weapons drawn, and the solitary leech confronting them. He looked around at the darkened forest.
“Zsuzsanna!” he called. “It’s done. The shapechanger is dead. Show yourselves and let us pass.”
Dead, thought Freydis, sagging with relief, but at a price we did not intend to pay. Damn your vengeance, Hallveig.
The voice of the leeches’ leader replied from the night. “The treaty is broken. Your people have slain mine. You will not pass.”
“Show yourselves and stand aside,” said Thorfinn. “Or more of your people will die.”
Wispy-beard began to back up. Freydis stretched her bowstring so that it creaked. The leech stopped.
