by Lou Anders
“A little wisdom is better than none at all,” he said. “My father taught me truth is where you find it.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. She gave him a cold look. Then she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“But of course.” She took a step back and raised her voice, speaking to the whole room. “I am Sydia,” she said. It was an odd name. Karn thought that it sounded like the ancient names of the old Gordion Empire. “I’m looking for some truth now,” Sydia continued. “I’d be willing to reward any who could help me find it.”
“What truth is that?” called Stolki.
“Something that was lost years ago,” she told him before turning again to Karn. “Perhaps as long ago as this boy is old. Perhaps near the mountain range to the north.”
“Ymiria,” said Karn. “No one lives there.” Gindri coughed at this, and Karn dipped his head apologetically. The dwarves were originally of Ymiria, before they had been driven from their mountain halls. “Humans don’t live there anyway.”
The woman raised an eyebrow.
“Trolls, giants, a few goblins, but no humans.”
“Trolls, goblins,” she said, still drawing out her vowels. “And giants. Boy, tell me about these giants.”
Like a bird of prey, she leaned into Karn, but he squared his shoulders and stood his ground.
“Are they deceitful?”
“Deceitful?” repeated Karn.
“I’ve never trusted them,” said a voice. He spun around and saw his uncle Ori. What was with everyone sneaking up on him today? “They look dumb as rocks, but they are far too shrewd when it comes to bartering.”
“You trade with them, then?” asked Sydia.
Uncle Ori nodded. “From time to time. My brother is weird that way.”
“There’s nothing weird about trading with the giants,” said Karn defensively. “Father says any good trade makes a good trader.”
Uncle Ori glanced at his nephew.
“Speaking of your father, Karn, it’s more than time to go.”
Karn turned to say goodbye to Gindri, but found the dwarf studying Sydia appraisingly. There was something cold and dangerous in Gindri’s look as well, but when the dwarf felt Karn looking at him, he gave the boy a wink. Karn said a quick goodbye as the mysterious woman began speaking quietly with Stolki.
As they were leaving the mead hall, Uncle Ori stopped at the door.
“Hold up, Karn. I think Stolki has given me the wrong change for my meal. You head on, and I’ll catch you up.”
Karn suppressed a sigh. Uncle Ori was known to be a bit cheap, and Karn didn’t want to watch him haggling shamelessly with Stolki over next to nothing. Karn left the mead hall, but glancing behind him saw his uncle approaching the woman Sydia. Karn was wondering what that could be about when the door to the hall closed.
He debated going in after his uncle when something hissed loudly behind him. Karn jumped and spun around. The monster that reared in his face made him jump again. A black leathery head on a serpentine neck, like a giant snake, loomed at him. He scrambled backward until he hit a wall.
Karn didn’t normally carry a sword, but he wished he had one today. Trying to keep at least one eye on the hideous face, he looked around for a stone or a stick.
The creature’s black beady eyes darted to where Karn was looking, then to his face. Karn felt a trickle of cold sweat.
Cruel laughter broke out around him. A woman’s voice called something in a language Karn didn’t speak. The creature hissed once more; then the long neck withdrew, pulling the head back.
The creature’s neck connected to a body slightly larger than that of a horse. It was some sort of reptile, with two wings and two legs, and Karn saw that opposite the long neck it had an equally long, very vicious-looking barbed tail. The creature also wasn’t alone.
There were three of them, all hissing and bobbing their heads threateningly, and two of them had women riders. It was the riders that had laughed at him. The women were dressed identically to Sydia, with sculpted bronze breastplates and black tunics. They wore their bronze helmets on their heads, their black manes fluttering in the slight wind coming in off the sea. Each bore a long lance. The shafts were entirely metal, rather than wood, and instead of a spearpoint, the end had a small opening. They were black in color but decorated with strange red runes that suggested flames.
“Sorry if our mounts frightened you, boy,” said one of the riders with the same strange accent as Sydia’s. Karn didn’t like her tone any better either.
“I’m not afraid,” he said, hoping he sounded like that was true. He jerked his chin toward the creatures where they snarled and pawed at the mud. “What are they?”
“Wyverns,” said the other rider. “Do you know what they are?”
Karn shook his head.
“I’ve heard … I don’t know.”
“Maybe you just call them ‘monsters,’ boy,” said the first woman. Karn could see the sneering curl to her lip. He realized they were with Sydia, and the fact that they were waiting out here with the animals while she went inside probably meant that they were her juniors. Just bored lackeys, left outside to mind the beasts, trying to frighten someone for fun. They had backed him up against a wall. It wasn’t a strong position, like having one of his shield maidens backed against a hostile square in Thrones and Bones. It was time to take control of the game.
“Really, I think they’re too small to be called ‘monsters,’ ” he said, deliberately stepping away from the wall. “I doubt either of you have ever seen a real monster.”
“We’ve seen monsters,” said the second rider, her voice strangely flat.
“Not like we have here,” said Karn, noticing for the first time the chill bumps on both women’s exposed arms and legs. Wherever they were from, they weren’t used to this climate. “We know that you southerners are soft. You must be, coddled in your nice, warm world. These ‘wyverns,’ as you call them, aren’t half the size of a proper linnorm. Just shrunken little worms, dried up in the sun. Like those grapes I’ve heard you grow.”
One of the beasts hissed at him then. Did it understand the insult? Karn wondered if maybe the mounts were more intelligent than they seemed. But he refused to let up.
“Why, here we have serpents the size of sailing ships. Or haven’t you ever heard of Orm Hinn Langi, Orm in the Blasted City?”
“Orm?” said the first woman. “There was some legend about—”
“About Orm,” said Karn, smiling. “Orm the Great Dragon. Orm the Largest of All Linnorms. The king of all serpents. Orm who swept in and ate an entire city and claimed its ruins for his den.” They were all watching him now, riders and mounts.
“How big is this Orm?” asked the second woman, her swagger gone.
“Orm is bigger than any ship. Bigger than a small village. Orm would eat all three of your wyverns for breakfast and still be hungry for their riders.”
“Where is Orm now?” asked the first woman. She was clearly nervous.
“He sleeps,” said Karn. “In the ruins of his last meal. But he doesn’t like to share the skies with anyone. If I were you, I’d keep an eye out. Next time you fly, I mean. If Orm sees you, he just might decide you would make a nice snack.”
“Enough,” said a voice behind him. Sydia had left the mead hall. “Stop harassing the locals. Some of them are actually proving useful.”
Sydia marched passed Karn and mounted her wyvern. She took up the reins and turned to her two underlings. They threw Karn nasty looks as their mounts began to extend their wings. Karn forced himself to match their stares.
“Watch your backs when you fly,” he said. “Orm is always hungry.”
Sydia cast a scornful look at Karn. “We fly.”
The wyverns beat their wings, kicking up a cloud of dust. All three riders took to the skies.
“She doesn’t like me,” said Thianna.
“She likes you just fine,” Magnilmir replied.
“I don’t like her, then. She’s
cold.”
“She is a frost giant. We are all cold.”
“You know what I mean.”
Thianna stood with her father outside a modestly carved stone door that opened onto Gunnlod’s Plateau. Her father had brought her here under protest. Loud and constant protest.
“Eggthoda will teach you important things,” he said.
Thianna wasn’t so sure. Thianna thought Eggthoda was as gruff as giants come, though it was true that the giantess had never been unkind to her. Quite the opposite, in fact. The giantess had never married. And Thianna’s father had never remarried. But there were things in life that were made easier if you had a partner, so Eggthoda and Magnilmir helped each other with domestic duties.
Magnilmir stared over the mountains. He seemed to look past the snows to the lands beyond. Thianna thought he might be imagining the mysterious land of her mother’s birth. Finally, he turned to her and knelt.
“Eggthoda will teach you lessons that will assist you in finding your place in the world,” Magnilmir said. Thianna thrust her chin up.
“My place is here,” she replied.
“Yes, of course. But don’t you think you might want to see the rest of the world someday?”
“I can see the top of it from here,” said Thianna, deliberately putting her back to the cliffside and facing the mountain. “Everything else is just downhill.”
Magnilmir shrugged. He rose and knocked upon Eggthoda’s door. It opened after a moment, and there she was. Big, bulky, and brusque.
“Hello, Thianna,” said Eggthoda. Thianna grumbled something in reply. If the giantess took offense, she didn’t show it. “I’m just applying a frost charm to a batch of mugs,” Eggthoda continued, “but if you give me a minute, I’ll be right with you.”
“Magic?” Thianna said, brightening. The entire village of frost giants knew only a few spells between them, and Eggthoda was the one who knew most of them. As a result, Thianna regarded even small magics as mysterious and intriguing. Eggthoda beamed. “Perhaps you would like to help me with them?”
“Could I?” said Thianna, her earlier resentment forgotten.
Eggthoda nodded and held her door open. Thianna rushed inside. Her house was modest compared to Thianna’s home. Where Magnilmir’s walls were finely worked, Eggthoda’s were crudely tunneled. Rough shelves carved out of the stone walls held a dizzying array of cooking pots, drinking mugs, boxes, and storage chests. Eggthoda bought the containers from the humans down south, then enchanted them. Her magical hoarfrost would keep cold whatever food or drink was placed inside and preserve food through the summer months.
Eggthoda put her hands to either side of a small metal cup and closed her eyes. She began to mumble, and Thianna strained forward to hear her.
“Skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr,” she murmured.
Thianna started as twin puffs of whiteness traveled from Eggthoda’s palms to the mug. The inside of the mug frosted over. Eggthoda sat back and opened her eyes.
“Amazing,” said Thianna.
“You like?” asked Eggthoda.
Thianna nodded. “And that will keep it cold forever?”
“What?” said the giantess. “Oh no. Just for a year, that’s all.”
“What happens then?”
“It wears off.”
“Oh,” said Thianna.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” said Eggthoda, bending her neck down to the girl. “The longer I chant, the longer it lasts. It could last forever if I held the chant long enough, but I cut it off after a year’s worth.”
“Why?” Thianna couldn’t imagine putting a time limit on such useful magic.
“Repeat business,” explained the giantess. “Why sell someone the last ice chest they’ll ever need? I want to make sure they come back to trade next year.”
“Ah,” said Thianna. Perhaps she could learn more from Eggthoda than she originally suspected.
“Can you teach me to do the cantrip?” Thianna asked.
The giantess smiled. “That and more,” she said. As they set to it, Thianna was so absorbed that she didn’t even notice her father had left.
After that, Thianna visited Eggthoda every afternoon. She practiced summoning the hoarfrost, and Eggthoda taught her about the other peoples who called Ymiria home besides the giants at Gunnlod’s Plateau. The mountain range was also home to trolls, a small remnant of goblins, and other, stranger creatures. Thianna learned which were inclined to be friendly and which were inclined to be dangerous, and what to say to shift that inclination one way or the other.
One such day Eggthoda took Thianna with her higher up the mountain than Thianna had ever been. The air was so thin here that even as someone born and raised on Gunnlod’s Plateau, she felt her breathing grow shallow and her head go light. As they picked their way over sharp rocks and scaled steep inclines, Eggthoda made Thianna practice a strange, high-pitched warbling whistle. The giantess would not tell Thianna what the whistling was for, but she insisted that she get it right. Thianna was growing irritated with both the whistling and the climbing when they came to a cave, little more than a small tunnel in the snow.
“Whistle now,” Eggthoda said, “as loud and long as you can.”
Thianna let out a long blast in the high mountain air.
“Well?” she said.
“Wait for it,” Eggthoda replied.
“Nothing’s happening. What’s supposed to happen?”
“Shhh.”
Suddenly the wind picked up around them. Flurries of snow were caught up into the air, but instead of blowing in a single direction, they circled around and around in tight little whirls. Thianna stared at the snow flurries. There seemed to be several separate little vortices spinning and dancing around the girl and the giantess, almost as if they were alive.
“Whistle again,” Eggthoda said.
Thianna whistled, and more snow was suddenly swept up into the air. The vortices grew thicker with the white powder, and as they did, they seemed to take definite shapes.
Thianna gasped. Three long-tailed creatures spun in the air around her. They were like the eels that her father very occasionally brought back from trading with the peoples down the mountain. But these creatures had no flesh. Their bodies were defined entirely by the flurries of snow.
“What are they?” Thianna asked, her voice full of wonder.
“Frost sprites,” said Eggthoda. “Elemental creatures of pure cold. They are always here, invisible, but hoarfrost lets us see their shape.” The giantess smiled and spread her large hands. She lowered her eyelids and chanted, “Skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr.” As the hoarfrost spread from her open palms, the frost sprites grew more substantial.
“They’re wonderful,” said Thianna, laughing as one of the sprites coiled around and through her legs.
“Yes,” said Eggthoda, “but they can be very dangerous too. Call to them in the manner that they respect, and they will appreciate and respond to you.”
“Skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr,” said Thianna, thrilling as more hoarfrost flew from her hands. The sprite that wrapped around her legs coiled up to her arm and twisted in obvious pleasure.
“All creatures behave according to their nature,” said Eggthoda. “Find out what their nature is, and you can deal safely with them.”
Thianna nodded. She thought of Thrudgelmir and Eggthoda, their natures so clearly defined. Spiteful bully. Patient teacher. Then she thought of her own nature, child of two cultures. Undefined. “Skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr,” she said, turning her palms inward and pressing them into her chest. She hoped to freeze away her human half, though she feared it was impossible.
The Unwelcome Intruder
“Wake up, Karn. Time to get up.”
Karn blinked his eyes and stared into the grinning face of his elder sister Nyra.
“Go ’way,” he muttered, rolling over to face the wall. He grabbed a fistful of the fur pelt he slept on and shove
d it against his ears, trying to shut out the sound of shuffling and scuffling that was the Korlundr household starting to awaken.
“Mother says you’ve slept enough,” said Nyra, pounding him on the back. Karn grumbled at her.
“Come on, Karn,” she teased, prodding him again. “No lamb for the lazy wolf.”
“I don’t want any lamb,” Karn moaned.
“You know what I mean.”
Karn shut his eyes and gave a loud pretend snore.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” Nyra said.
Karn let loose a second snore, louder than the first.
“Have it your way,” his sister said. He heard her skirts swishing as she stood. Was she going to leave him alone?
Suddenly, Karn was tumbling into the air as Nyra yanked the fur pelt off the bench. He fell to the ground, landing awkwardly on the dirt floor, then stumbled to his feet to the sound of Nyra’s giggles. He started to scowl but saw that she was rolling his sleeping furs and stowing them in the basket under the bench. All around Karn, servants and family members were doing the same.
At the far end of the longhouse, the goats had begun bleating in their pen, adding to the growing din. He saw Pofnir stoking the fire pit in the center of the room, brightening the house and sending a fresh coil of smoke wafting to the hole in the roof.
“No lamb for the lazy wolf,” the freeman admonished him.
“I’m up, I’m up,” he muttered. “Why is everybody obsessed with wolves?” Karn staggered over to a row of rock slabs that ran across the floor from one wall to the other. He lifted one of the slabs, exposing a small channel of running water. Karn rubbed his hands in the cold water, then splashed some on his face. The sharp chill made him wince and shake his head. “That did it,” he said. As his senses roused, his nose suddenly took in the jumbled smells of animal musk, human sweat, and woodsmoke that defined life on Korlundr’s Farm. “I’m really up.”
“Good,” said Nyra. “Mother says it’s your turn to slop the pigs.”
Karn grumbled at that—he hated slopping pigs—but he went to the fire pit and gathered up the buckets where the scraps of last night’s meal had been placed. Several servants called to him as he made his way to the front door, and he greeted them in return. Stepping outside, he blinked in the new morning light. Farmhands were already busy spreading manure on the homefield—not a job Karn envied—and tending to the longhorn cattle.
