by Lou Anders
Magnilmir bent and hugged his daughter. Thianna could not relax for fear that her father was holding her for the last time. Too soon, Magnilmir let go, then he went back outside.
Eggthoda and Thianna crouched at the front door. They had the door open just a crack. Angry words came in from the plateau outside. Thianna was warmed that Gunnlod hadn’t given her up. The old chieftess had never been particularly friendly, but her protection meant she must regard Thianna as a real member of the village. As to Thrudgelmir, she wasn’t so sure. So far, Gunnlod’s glares had kept his big mouth sealed. How long this would last, Thianna didn’t know. Not much longer, would be her guess.
The voices outside ramped up into shouting. Several of the giants shifted their hands toward the shafts of their clubs. Thianna felt Eggthoda tense.
“Enough of this nonsense and prevarication!” the lead stranger yelled. Her two companions whipped their long lances around from their backs in smooth arcs so that they pointed dangerously forward.
“What are they doing?” asked Thianna.
“Being fools,” whispered Eggthoda. “Those things are too long to be any good in close combat. And two against a village isn’t good odds. Even if they weren’t so short.”
Thianna wasn’t so sure. The strangers looked like soldiers, and soldiers wouldn’t willingly walk into a situation they didn’t think they could control.
Fire burst from the tips of the two lances. The two strangers lowered them to the ground and scorched a half circle of flame that continued to burn when it hit the snow. Steam hissed and rose into the air in white clouds. The giants stumbled back in alarm from the unwelcome heat.
“We know there is a half-breed among you,” the woman said as the fire cracked around her. “Her mother is of our kind and our kin. Give her to us, and we can leave the rest of you in peace. Make me angry, and regret it.”
One of the lances rose to point directly at Thrudgelmir’s face.
Thianna’s fear mixed with contempt when she saw the young giant cowering. Then his face hardened.
“Troll dung,” he spat. “She doesn’t belong here anyway. She never did.”
The leader of the strange women smiled.
Magnilmir turned and bolted for his door.
“After him,” the lead stranger called.
Thianna almost rushed into the open as well, but Eggthoda stopped her.
“He wants them to follow,” the giantess explained. “Now.” Eggthoda lifted the two packs and pressed one into Thianna’s arms. Together, they burst through the door.
And came face to face with Thrudgelmir.
Thianna stared at him. Never a friend, often a tormentor. But rivals in Knattleikr didn’t mean an enemy in life, did it?
“You never belonged here,” the giant said. Then he yelled, “She’s over here!”
Eggthoda knocked him over the head with her club. He dropped like a stone. It was too late, though. The strangers turned their way.
“There she is!” the lead stranger yelled.
A wyvern kicked up clouds of snow as it plunged down in front of her. Even Eggthoda flinched before the snarling serpent’s head. The other two beasts dropped out of the sky on either side. They were trapped.
“Follow me!” shouted Thianna. She raced into Eggthoda’s cave. Thianna skidded to a halt at Eggthoda’s rear door, pausing only long enough to draw the heavy bolt and jerk the door open. She charged into the network of natural caverns under the mountain.
“You can’t go there!” Eggthoda yelled when she saw Thianna’s destination. “You’re running right toward them!”
“Can’t be helped!” Thianna yelled. “Have to get something. Won’t be a moment.”
She yanked open her father’s back door, and thank Dead Ymir, it wasn’t bolted. She could hear her father’s angry voice yelling at the intruders from the front caverns.
Thianna tiptoed, not daring to breathe.
Inside her bedroom, she went for her skis and poles, lifting them as carefully as she could, trying to keep them from knocking against each other.
She had almost made it to the back door when the woman turned.
“I see her,” the woman called.
“Troll dung,” Thianna spat. No need for caution now. She ran for all she was worth.
Eggthoda was ready at Magnilmir’s back door. Just as the woman reached it, the giantess slammed the heavy stone door in her face.
Thianna stopped at a place on the ledge where the slope ran down to the stream on a less steep gradient than elsewhere.
“The stream,” she called to Eggthoda, who was catching up with her on the ledge. “You say it comes out?” Thianna dropped her skis to the ground and stepped into them, snapping them to her boots.
“On the other side of the mountain, yes,” said Eggthoda. “But the passage is too low for a giant.”
“Too low for a giant, yes,” said Thianna with a wry smile. “Perhaps not too low for a little human.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t know it’s not, either.”
“The water is too cold for you to swim in.”
“I know. That’s why you are going to freeze it.”
Above them, they heard the sound of Magnilmir’s back door crashing open.
Thianna kicked off and skied down the bank. Eggthoda slid awkwardly down behind her.
“Thi, this is mad.”
“I know,” said Thianna. “Be quick.”
Eggthoda grabbed Thianna in a tight hug. Then the giantess knelt and placed her palms over the stream.
“Skapa kaldr, from the water shape ice, skapa kaldr. Skapa kaldr, from the water shape ice, skapa kaldr.”
There was a loud, cracking noise as the underground stream froze over.
“It won’t last long,” said Eggthoda. “I’m not that strong a caster. You won’t be able to stop.”
“Can’t stop anyway,” said Thianna.
Eggthoda drew a chunk of phosphorus from her pack. It was fixed to a loop of cord.
“For light in the tunnel,” she said, draping the cord around Thianna’s neck.
Thianna nodded; then she kicked off.
“Stop!” cried a voice above.
Thianna didn’t dare glance back. Skiing on solid ice was too tricky.
“I will hold them off!” Eggthoda shouted behind her.
Thianna swallowed, hating that she was the cause of this invasion. She gasped as the frozen stream cascaded over a slight fall. She was airborne for a second; then her skis struck the ice in a teeth-chattering impact.
She heard a roar and felt heat behind her. Flames curled around her on both sides. Her pack must be singed, maybe burning.
“I tell you, stop!” cried the woman again. “Stop!”
But Thianna was already around a bend in the stream. It was sloping steeply downward now, flowing into the tunnel mouth that carried it out of the caverns and into the heart of the mountain. She would draw the strangers away from Gunnlod’s Plateau. She would pay any price to protect her home. Racing on slippery ice faster than she’d ever skied before, she sped into the unknown.
The Escape
Thianna raced down the hill. The snowfall, combined with the clouds that had settled onto the mountain, made for flat light and low visibility. She flew at breakneck speed into a field of white on white. Thianna was an intuitive skier, however. She could read the terrain through the feel of her feet. After skiing in the dark on a frozen stream, this was a cakewalk. Moreover, the thick powder meant that her occasional fall didn’t hurt, and the cloud cover would shield her from her pursuers. But as the day wore on, the cloud would burn off, leaving her visible from their vantage in the sky. Hopefully, she would put some real distance between herself and Gunnlod’s Plateau by then. In the meantime, the hard physical effort kept her mind off the magnitude of what she was doing. It kept her from thinking too long about the pain of leaving home, the concern for her father, and the thrill, she had to admit, of having made it through th
e mountain alive.
She had spent most of the night traveling under the rock until she had come out on the opposite mountainside. Eggthoda’s magically induced ice ran out in the open air, and only the sound of rushing water had alerted her to the approaching plunge over a falls.
At least she didn’t have to worry about her direction. Down. Down the hill. As far away and as fast as she could go. Anything to draw the strangers from Gunnlod’s Plateau and those she loved. Thrudgelmir had been right that she didn’t belong. Although she didn’t understand exactly how, Thianna knew she was the cause of their trouble.
She would eventually need a source of food, as well as shelter from the cold. The latter concern wasn’t a major problem for one of frost-giant blood. Food presented a bigger challenge. Not much grew at this altitude. She would have to hunt for game if she was going to eat. And all she had was a wooden sword.
Karn slammed headfirst into a wall of rock. He stumbled back, brushing dirt from his face.
He would have stopped before colliding if he weren’t so tired. Karn had no idea how much time had passed. He had run for what seemed like days, leading the draug through the thick woods. They weren’t especially fast, but Snorgil, Rifa, and Visgil were tireless. They didn’t stop to rest, or for any other reason, and so Karn could not stop either.
The After Walkers had come close a time or two, almost close enough to catch him. But he had always managed to break away. He studied the wall. It didn’t ascend very high, maybe only twelve or fifteen feet. Karn looked for handholds in the rock face, then glanced at nearby trees, debating whether climbing or running made more sense.
A branch snapped in the woods behind him. Karn froze.
“Quiet, Rifa,” hissed a voice Karn guessed was Snorgil’s. “You’re loud enough to wake the dead, you are.”
“I’ve got news for you, Snorgil,” Rifa whispered back. “We are dead.”
“Then you are loud enough to wake me.”
“But, Snorgil, you are awake.”
Karn next heard a sound that a fist of dried bone might make if it were punching someone in a rotting nose.
“Ow,” said Rifa. “What was that for?”
“You know what it was for,” said Snorgil. “Now, be quiet or you’ll get another one just like it.”
Footsteps began crunching in the underbrush. The draug were getting closer. There was no longer time for Karn to try scaling the rock or a tree. Turning to the right, he ran as quietly as he could, moving perpendicular to the wall. Unfortunately for Karn, as quietly as he could wasn’t nearly quiet enough. Twigs and leaves crunched, sounding to his ears like explosive bursts in the still air.
“What’s that?” Snorgil called out. “Boy, is that you?”
Karn dropped any pretense of stealth and doubled his pace.
“Ha, ha,” one of the draug roared. “The way is blocked. We have him.” The draug had found the wall.
“It’s just as well,” said Snorgil. “My feet are killing me.”
“But, Snorgil—”
“And don’t say I’m already dead, unless you want another punch. I haven’t forgotten.”
The three After Walkers closed in on Karn. He ran as fast as he could now. He honestly didn’t know where the energy came from.
“I think I see him!” yelled Snorgil. “Go ahead and run, boy. Run the fight out of you. Makes it easier for us to take you when we catch up.”
Karn ducked his head and pressed on. The draug was probably speaking true. This really was the end. A stupid way to go, out here in the middle of nowhere.
Suddenly, the rock wall on his right dipped away. A natural overhang made a shallow cave in the stone. Karn’s pulse quickened. There was a figure standing against the far wall. Karn yelled in surprise and stumbled to the ground. The After Walkers heard him cry and shouted excitedly.
They would be on him in seconds. There was no time to get away. Rolling over, Karn kicked his heels in the earth, propelling himself backward into the rock shelter and toward the figure. He had to hope whoever it was would be on his side. Either way, he couldn’t turn his back to the draug. Karn brought his father’s sword up before him, though he hardly knew what he would do with it.
His head crunched into hard stone. Looking up, he saw the figure looming over him. A statue.
The draug came pounding into view. They slid to a halt before the rock shelter, their rotten heads swinging back and forth.
Karn froze. At any second, he expected them to pounce. He held Whitestorm in front of him, tried to get his feet under himself so that he could stand, but his arms shook and his legs had no more strength.
Still, the draug didn’t attack. Snorgil twisted his neck this way and that, a look of confusion on his rotten face. His gaze passed right over Karn where he lay at the foot of the statue, and didn’t stop. Almost as if he didn’t see it or the boy.
“Where did he go?” the draug asked. He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. “I don’t even smell anything.”
“That’s because you stink, Snorgil,” Rifa said. “Your own rot drowns out everything else. Anyway, it’s a good thing your nose hasn’t worked properly in years or you’d know.”
“How is your nose, then?” Snorgil asked.
“Just fine, thank you for asking.”
Snorgil’s fist crunched into Rifa’s nose. Rifa screeched loudly.
“And now?” asked Snorgil. “How is it now?”
Visgil laughed at this until Snorgil shook a fist at him as well.
“Spread out and find the boy,” he ordered.
“Relax, Snorgil,” said Rifa. “He can’t be far.”
“Then where is he?” asked Snorgil.
“It’s like he’s just vanished,” said Visgil.
“It’s just our bad luck if he’s gotten away,” complained Rifa.
Frustration and confusion on their rotting faces, the three After Walkers walked on, and none of them so much as glanced Karn’s way. They really hadn’t seen him. Karn couldn’t believe his luck.
As their footsteps died away, Karn sat up slowly and looked around. He saw that the statue stood on a small pedestal. It was crusted with the wax of long-ago-melted candles and littered with rusted coins and withered flowers. This was a shrine. The landscape of Norrøngard was dotted with them. Some were hundreds of years old. Karn rolled to his feet, anxious to avoid upsetting the offerings to a god.
Standing, he saw the enigmatic look carved on the figure’s face: half smile, half frown. Then he took in the game board tucked under one stone arm, the acorns in the palm of the other. These were symbols of chance and fortune. The statue was of Kvir, the fickle god of luck. Kvir was said to frown or smile upon you, depending on his whim. Somehow this shrine had hidden him from the draug’s view. Karn dropped to his knees in gratitude, glancing up at the stone face above him. He saw he had knelt on the frown side of the statue. That was when he heard the wolf howl.
The scream in the air set her teeth on edge. It must have been loud indeed for her to hear it over the wind whipping past her ears. The wyverns were high overhead, just dark silhouettes against the gray-white sky, but they were descending, heading her way. She’d been spotted.
The young giantess was speeding down an open slope. Of course she was easy to spot. There was no cover. Her dark hair and clothing must have stood out on the wide white mountainside. Her only hope lay in speed, and plenty of it. She tucked herself in tight, pointing the tips of her skis straight downhill. She remembered something her father said: Luck is one thing, brave deeds another. Well, Dad, she thought, I’m going to need a bit of both. Then she had no time to think at all.
Thianna raced down the mountain. She hit a mound—what they called a mugl, meaning “little heap.” Her skis left the ground; then she made a hard landing on packed snow. Thianna tried to keep her legs bent and limber to absorb the blow, but still her teeth slammed together painfully. Each mound in her path sent shocks through her body, but she didn’t dare weave around them. Sh
e had to stay straight. She had to stay fast. And no matter what, she couldn’t—didn’t dare—fall.
It was maddening—Thianna knew the wyverns were on her tail, but not how close behind. She couldn’t help imagining leathery claws reaching down from the sky for her neck, or a scorching burst of a flame lance blasting her into charred bones on the white ground.
Then she saw something worse. A canyon ahead. A narrow fjord, carved by an ancient glacier. She was skiing toward a cliff that stretched as far as she could see from right to left. She would have to stop before the edge, and then she’d be reduced to poling without the momentum of a downhill run. The wyvern would overtake her easily, trapping her with a canyon to her back.
Thianna had made small jumps before, but she had never tried to cross a gulf as wide as the one ahead of her. She knew she didn’t have enough speed.
She thought of Eggthoda’s cantrips.
Thianna squatted down even lower and touched the wood of the skis.
“Skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr,” she murmured. She just needed to summon enough cold to supercool the wood of her skis and form a thin layer of ice on their undersides. “Skapa kaldr skapa kaldr skapa kaldr,” she chanted.
The skis shot forward. She was a one-girl avalanche hurtling toward an abyss. Behind her, the frustrated cries of the wyverns told her how close they had been. Then the canyon’s edge was upon her.
For a moment of frozen time, Thianna was airborne. Glancing down between her skis, she saw the rushing water of the fjord far below.
The skis slammed into the ground on the opposite side. Thianna let out a whoop of victory—a long, wild, triumphant yell.
Just ahead, a welcome sight. She had reached the tree line. Trees meant cover. She plunged into the woods as the angry wyverns roared. She heard screams from one rider as its mount fought to keep from crashing into the wall of the woods. She had to shift all of her attention to tight weaving between tree trunks. Skiing in deep woods was dangerous. You could slam into a tree and break a bone, or worse; and then there was undergrowth, rocks, and roots, which could snare a ski and tear it from your foot, sending you careening headlong into a trunk. But weaving between trees was nothing compared to dodging wyverns. At least for now, she had eluded her pursuers.
