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Suddenly fearful, Steelfox rose—

Torfa seized Huginn’s chair, sliding him back, making him gag on his liquor.

“These
men
are too weak to defy you, traitor,” she cried. “But I shall make you look like Orm One-Eye, whom you so celebrate in your songs!”

Out came the knife from the bread, and she tried to sheathe it anew in Huginn’s skull.

Gissur beside her tried to knock her aside, and the blade grazed Huginn’s face. Blood sprayed. Huginn screamed.

“No!” Steelfox shouted, reaching out uselessly.

Her men misinterpreted the gesture.

Before Huginn could finish gasping, “No one attack—my word will carry,” two arrows had pierced Torfa.

She dropped dead to the floor.

“Fools!” Steelfox screamed at her soldiers, who blinked at her stoically.

Armed men surrounded Steelfox and her small escort. She raised her hands, demanding that her warriors do the same.

“Torfa!” the uncrowned king was wailing, bent over her unmoving body. “My wife! Huginn, you are to blame!”

“She attacked me unprovoked—”

“Because you brought these people here.” Jokull stared at Steelfox. “She acted as Kantening women will, goading us men to fight.”

“She goaded me with a knife. . . .”

“Jokull,” Steelfox said, aching for the man’s loss and desperate to make amends. “You have my profound apology for my men’s actions. They will be punished for acting without command. I myself will appear at your Althing—”

Jokull’s laughter was savage and bitter. “At the Althing! No. As Huginn says, a chief may seek justice before then. I’ll have the lives of all you outlanders, and yours as well, Huginn, master of lies.”

“
No!
”

Innocence Gaunt stood in the doorway, the one-eared woman Dolma beside him. He was staring at Huginn, whose face was drenched in blood. He took no notice of the dead woman.

The mark that had grown upon his forehead looked like a twisting of twin dragons.

“Huginn’s scribe,” Jokull said. “This doesn’t concern you. If you don’t wish to share your master’s fate, leave now.”

“No, I am not ‘Huginn’s scribe,’ barbarian scum. I am Innocence Gaunt.”

He raised his hand. Steelfox saw no outward sign of power. But a winter wind blasted through the door.

It buffeted Dolma and the others of the Fraternity of the Hare, though Innocence himself stood unaffected. The wind passed him and overturned the table, scattering the Kantenings and shattering the far windows. Only Huginn and the Karvaks stood unharmed.

“Go,” Steelfox said to her men, for she knew enough not to reject a miracle from Earth and Sky. “Come with us if you want,” she told Huginn.

“That seems wise,” Huginn muttered. “Come on, boy.”

“What?” Innocence was saying, staring at the wreckage. “What have I done?”

“Saved us,” said Huginn. “Don’t ruin it. Move!”

Steelfox led her two soldiers and Dolma’s monks, with Huginn and Innocence, to the high hill of the church, above which three of her balloons were tethered.

Evidently trouble had been spotted and conclusions drawn. The church doors were shut fast.

She was angry with herself now for bringing down only a small group. Below, maddened Kantenings, some armed and armored, ran toward the hill.

“Open up!” Huginn cried out, pounding the doors. “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”

“No, Huginn!” the abbot called from within. “I don’t know what’s happened, but if Jokull’s men are after you, you’re not coming in.”

“Pious hypocrite!” Huginn shouted back. “Boy, do that door-blasting thing again.”

“I don’t want to use the power again,” Innocence said.

“Do you want to lose your head? That’s the alternative. Trust me, I’ve written half the histories around here.”

Innocence raised his hands. Nothing happened.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “It’s like my chi is knotted up. . . .”

“I don’t know what that means,” Huginn said, “but they’re going to knot up your intestines, boy.”

Steelfox watched through Qurca’s eyes as the Kantenings approached. They had minutes only. “I did not want to meet like this, Innocence Gaunt, but know that I will give you sanctuary. I don’t want to destroy any hope of alliance. But I will not let them kill us. If you can’t get us in, I will kill the Kantenings. I can do it.”

“I believe it.” He looked up at the church’s bell tower. “I think there’s another way. Even with my chi in a tangle, I think I can do this . . .”

He sprang in a way she could only believe because she saw it through two sets of eyes. Up to the roof, ascending in wild leaps toward the apex, Innocence scaled the church.

“You are fond of words,” Steelfox sneered at Huginn. “Talk sense into your priest. I will do the same with your countrymen.”

“Why, yes, wise and mighty Steelfox,” Huginn said, clutching his face, “I do believe I will survive my wound. Thank you for your concern.”

She ignored him and spoke to her guards. “Red Mirror. Nine Smilodons. Your mistake has cost us much. We have spilled blood; the scent of it is still in my nose. Men have died for less. And yet I am your leader and the ultimate responsibility is mine. I give you the chance to earn your lives.”

“Yes, liege,” Red Mirror told her, and Nine Smilodons said, “If you order us into fire or water, we go.” Shame burned in their eyes.

They had acted, she knew, to protect her; yet they did not explain or beg. Very good.

The three Karvaks stepped forward so that all ascending the hill could see them, and in that moment it was as though her father the Universal Conqueror spoke through Steelfox.

“Kantenings of Oxiland! Because of a misunderstanding, there has been violence! I regret it! But if you do not allow us to withdraw, the bloodshed will be far greater than you can imagine. At this moment the best archers in the world have taken aim from the balloons above. Their positions are secure. You will be slaughtered before you can so much as spit at us! You make brave talk, Kantenings, and ambush people while they sit in hospitality. But we Karvaks, we make war. War on a scale you cannot comprehend. Do you want war?”

The Kantenings paused, Steelfox held her breath, and the only sound upon the hill was the dim murmur of a gently disturbed church bell.

CHAPTER 14

CHANGELINGS

Even before she’d fully believed they existed, A-Girl-Is-A-Joy would have thought battling a troll unwise. Having tangled with a couple of lightweight specimens, she would have revised it to “foolish.” Actually confronted with one of the toughest of them, a boulder field brought to life, whose fists could shatter walls—as Rubblewrack was demonstrating by pulverizing fragments of crystal masonry littering the underground plaza—Joy realized a better word was “insane.”

“Fight me!” Rubblewrack bellowed, her voice loud enough to raise echoes from the cavern and shimmering hums from the crystal towers.

But despite all the tricks she’d learned from Walking Stick, like the use of chi to enhance leaps and strikes and the use of mindfulness to appraise a foe, she had no chance of defeating this troll.

Except from up here.

Her initial leap had landed her on one of the many balconies facing the troll-filled plaza. Dozens of crystal shards lay beside her, for all these buildings were ancient and crumbling, or at any rate splintering. Weary though she was from the leap, she still could hurl pieces of crystal at Rubblewrack.

They didn’t do the troll-woman much harm, merely scraping her stony body, but they seemed to hurt, judging by the shrieks. Enraged, she began punching the tower’s base. The structure vibrated, and Rubblewrack was engulfed in a flurry of fragments, lacerating herself even more. But it seemed she could not knock the tower from its foundations. Probably.

“Hey!” Joy yelled. “You! I’m up here!”

Other trolls began laughing. The laughter of trolls was like a thousand games of stone dice happening at once.

“Fight me!” Rubblewrack stormed into the tower.

It took her some time to arrive. Joy used that period to calm her breathing, clear her mind. She did her morning exercises of life energy cultivation, her body slowly weaving to and fro, her arms making slow-motion ripples in the air, to the cacophonous laughter of trolldom below. The chi circulating through her upper body linked smoothly with the energies of her legs, hips, and waist. She was ready.

When Rubblewrack arrived at the balcony, she smiled, bowed, and leapt.

Her freshly enlivened chi let her fall lightly as a leaf.

“Hey!” she called up when she arrived at the cavern floor. “I’m down here!”

The trolls laughed again, a little earthquake of mockery. It seemed to Joy the laughter injured Rubblewrack more than the shards had. The troll-woman screamed and leaped.

Rubblewrack had forgotten she could not land like a leaf.

On impact her rocky arms and legs went four separate ways, and her stony head bellowed, “Fight me!” from a boulder torso.

Joy gathered to her then all the anger she’d so carefully held in reserve. She sped forward, focused her chi in a wave moving from waist to foot, and kicked Rubblewrack’s head off.

It rolled across the square and came to a stop near a crowd of chortling trolls.

“Stop laughing!” the head kept saying. “Stop laughing and get me back together!” They ignored both pleas and kicked the head back and forth among themselves.

“That was,” the folklorist Inga said, running up to Joy, “astonishing.” Just behind her, her colleague Malin nodded with wide eyes. Inga added, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Joy said, a little surprised. “Is . . . Rubblewrack all right? I went a little crazy there at the end.”

“Probably,” Inga said. “It’s very hard to kill a troll. Though that one in particular seems to have bad luck.”

“Trolls think with their whole bodies,” Malin said. “Their whole bodies are an idea.”

Joy put the cryptic remark to one side. “Are the other trolls going to be angry?”

“Hardly!” Inga laughed, releasing nervousness so that it became a giddy sound. “You’ve given them great entertainment. There’s nothing they find funnier than cruelty. And now that you’ve bested one in single combat you’ve gained respect. Kind of how we’ve gained respect by telling stories. You’re still a prisoner, but you’re an honored prisoner, able to live safely among the trolls as long as you don’t try to escape.”

Joy frowned. “Inga. Malin. I have to escape. My mother and my friends are somewhere out there. And . . .” She debated revealing her secret, but when would they be able to talk privately again? “There’s this.” She unfolded her right hand.

Inga and Malin gasped.

“The Runemark,” Inga said.

“What do you know about it?” Joy asked.

“I know you shouldn’t show it to the trolls,” Inga said.

“You are the land,” said Malin, “and the land is you.”

“And that is why,” Inga said, closing Joy’s hand for her, “you shouldn’t show it to the trolls. Did someone brand you? Someone who wanted to use you to gain power? Or impress people at a traveling show?”

“No,” said Joy.

“She is real,” Malin said.

“How can you know,” Inga snapped, “when I can’t?
I
have the sight. I know there’s something special about her, but then I
see
something special about her. You have no unnatural senses, Malin.”

“Your senses are natural in their own way,” Malin said. “But yes, I see less than you. But I notice more of what I do see. I may notice more than anyone. I think about it so much, sometimes I have to go to dark places.” Malin looked at the cavern floor, the eerie lights raising shifting shadows from its unevenness. “I saw the mark flash as she leapt. Others might have missed it, but not me. I see her face too. There is no mistreatment there. I don’t see the harm of a branding in her eyes. She is real. And there’s more, Inga. She’s a girl. Think about it. What charlatan would prop up a Runemarked
Queen
? There’s no precedent. She is the one. She is the land, and the land is her.”

“Perhaps this is a time,” Joy said, heart hammering, “when we should talk about the weather instead.” For the trolls had tired of their sport with Rubblewrack, and Wormeye had delegated the hapless Claymore (whose stomach bulged from the eating of his severed arm) to reassemble the rocky champion. Meanwhile the others encircled the three humans.

“You’re a worthy foe,” Wormeye told Joy, “I’ll grant you that. You’ve earned a place in my tumult. But you’re still a human, and you can’t be considered trollkin until Skrymir Hollowheart says you are.” He squinted with his one “good” eye at Inga and Malin. “Same for you two, except that you’re provisional changelings. Skrymir will have to judge your stories. It’s high time we made the journey up to Jotuncrown. Skrymir wants all the tumults gathered into one terror. Mossbeard, show Joy to Rubblewrack’s rooms, which she’s earned. She can sleep in the ruins or fight someone else if she wants a new tower. We’re only staying in Harrowshine another day anyway.”

“We’ll walk with her,” Inga said, and Wormeye shrugged as if such human considerations were unworthy of trolldom. The crowd parted for Mossbeard, and Joy reached her lodgings.

The tower might have been spectacular once, its crystal shining here and there with purple gems that raised a dreamlike light. However, its furnishings had been largely shattered by idle troll fists. Mossbeard, grumbling, had to lead them from chamber to chamber until they found one with an intact bed and chairs. There was no mattress or cushions, just a layer of dust. Lacking a broom, Joy used her own cloak to sweep the dust into the hall; her new friends quickly helped her.

Coughing, Mossbeard muttered half-apologies and withdrew.

“Trolls!” Inga said, and the three of them laughed. The dust was hard to clear, but it was satisfying for once to have a simple problem with a simple solution.

“Do they ever clean?” Joy asked.

“Rarely,” Inga said. “Sometimes the troll-women throw rocks at the men until something gets done.”

“Well, I’m almost done. There. Pull up a chair. I’d offer tea if I could.”

Malin laughed and took a chair. “You should try troll-coffee.”