A Mankind Witch (31 page)

"Where the sun never shines and a magnetized needle rotates."

"Hmm. Well, maybe we need to move upstream. There is a lot of driftwood in that water. If legend holds true . . . that could be from Myrkwood."

"Myrkwood?"

"A vast forest that is supposed to be the border between the worlds of myth and ours. Or the Bifröst bridge . . . Oh my. I suppose that might have been the Gjallarbrú."

"You're talking Icelandic riddles again," said Manfred.

"You know what Bifröst is—the shimmering path. There for a moment, then gone. It is sometimes called the rainbow bridge, between the world of gods and men."

"No. But I do now. So what was the other unpronounceable?"

"Gjallarbrú. The bridge to the underworld. It is supposed to be huge and guarded by a giantess."

"I guess she must have nipped off for a quick one, and the bridge had fallen down."

"Maybe, like Bifröst, it isn't there unless you walk on it."

Manfred paused. "That would take some faith." He looked around. "The Norse have a pretty cushy underworld then."

"It's a bit more complicated than that. There are parts you don't want to visit."

"Hmm. I'll take your word for it, as long as you work out how we get out of this part." He stared at the line of thralls carrying buckets into the troll hill. "I think you're wrong, you know."

"About Gjallarbrú?"

"No. About our sailor from Lesbos. I think there is one other person he does care about. At least one."

Erik considered this. "You could be right. It would make me take a more kindly view of the fellow."

Manfred shook his head at his companion. "It'd make
me
a damned sight more nervous! A witch with a great hatchet man at her disposal. A hatchet man who is totally ruthless and will always believe she's right and good."

"I suppose so. I still think the better of him for it."

Eventually their long vigil came to an end. The hilltop came down with its resounding crash and wreath of steam. Erik went back to catch some more fish for them to eat. Manfred worked at the fire and their shelter. Erik did well, coming back with five fish, one of which was a reasonable size. Manfred looked at them. Looked at Erik trying to warm up at the hidden fire. Reached a decision. "Let's eat and go scouting."

"What about your feet? They're still in poor shape if we have to run."

"To be honest, they're only getting worse. Some of those cuts are infected. We need to move while I still can. They're not going to heal fast without good food and medication. I'd rather let a horse do my running for me. We need horses at least. And a prisoner to tell us just where we are and how to get out of here."

The thrall quarters were in a ferment. " . . . A great black snake throttled him. Right in front of Eyrgjafa. He was trying to tell her something."

"You were with Gunnlaug, new thrall. Did he tell you anything?" demanded someone.

Cair shook his head mournfully. "He was dabbling in
seid
magic. A man using that! I was afraid of him, when I spotted the charms."

"Charms?"

"I'm a witch seer. If you aren't, then you wouldn't have seen them."

By the time he had embroidered the story, most of the audience were suitably sure that Gunnlaug, the bully of thralls and toady of their troll masters had died a justified death.

The question in his mind, of course, was just what Gunnlaug had said before he died. Superstitious fellow. He'd heard of autosuggestion in witchery of the west-African tribes. They died because they believed that they would, when they had been cursed. This must be more of the same. Still, there was no time to waste. The thrall might have said too much and would certainly have made the trolls a little more wary. The thralls were locked in—naturally. But it would appear that their locks came from the same source as the mine kobolds. He still had his key. As soon as the thralls were abed, Cair went on a snoop about. He had some things he needed to gather. If he could get them all together then he'd have Signy out of here long before the thralls were up and working.

The troll kitchens had stuffs in them that he did not want to look at too closely. It might not be cannibalism for trolls, but it would be for humans. However, he removed a stack of flattbrød from a locked cabinet, and took a bunch of hard-smoked trout and a small leather flask of beer someone had squeezed out of a cat. Most of it—barring the flask and three of the flattbrød rings—he hid in the stable. The flask and flattbrød he took to Signy.

"Cair!" she exclaimed. And hastily put her hand over her mouth. "I thought you must have been caught," she whispered. "You must get out of this place. I saw the most horrific piece of magic earlier. One of the thralls came in here looking for the queen . . . he spoke to another troll. And as he started to speak, a black serpent throttled him!"

Cair didn't quite know what to make of this testimony. The light was bad in here and, well, Signy didn't see close details well, he'd noticed. Best to deal with the business in hand. "We will be leaving shortly. I have brought you food and drink. Eat now, while I go and deal with the hill-raising mechanism. Then I will take you out. I have found the passage to another small doorway."

And then there was a vast cacophony of noise, and moments later the passage outside was full of shouting.

"It must be between those two rocks," said Erik quietly. "There is bound to be a guard. I'll go forward and check it out, Manfred. You make enough noise for a troop of cavalry."

He slipped his plank sandals off and crept forward into the dark gap between the rocks. There was a narrow stone arch and a door.

"ERIK!"

It was only Manfred's yell that saved him. The huge hand knocked him spinning, instead of flattening him against the stone.

Erik Hakkonsen was a fine stalker. The Vinlander plains tribe that had adopted him while he was there were proud of him.

The trouble was, he'd been prepared to stalk men—not stones. Sometimes when you're on the lookout for mice, you can walk smack into an elephant. And that was just what he'd done. Those weren't misshapen stone pillars. They were legs.

Manfred, sword in hand, sore feet obviously forgotten, bellowed like a bull, challenging the gigantic stone troll, trying to distract it. Stone trolls—half giant creatures—are not fast, but they are large and nearly invulnerable. As Erik discovered, one could cut the gray silicacious flesh with difficulty—and without much effect. It had taken all his strength, and the blade went in barely a handsbreadth.

It was stuck fast, too. Erik barely had time to dodge back as the troll reached down and plucked it out. It flung the sword away, bellowing loudly enough to temporarily deafen them. Erik ran back, and with the two of them playing tag with it, they retreated toward the river.

And more foes were now coming out of the postern.

Erik and Manfred ran onto the sandbars, and it followed . . . lurching and sinking into the sands.

"This sand is slowing it down, Manfred; let's keep going across."

"We don't have a lot of other choices," panted Manfred.

The stone troll swung a huge fist at Manfred—his feet made him the slower of the two of them—and Erik flung a handful of gravel at the monster's eyes. It stopped with a yowl and pawed at its eyes. Erik snatched up more and threw again.

They'd found its weak spot. It blundered toward them, waving its arms around wildly, obviously not seeing much. "That tree." Erik pointed.

Near the edge of the spit lay an enormous dead pine. Plainly the thralls had been cutting the dead branches away, and now all that remained was the trunk and some whitened branches down the far end. Even half buried in the silt it was still waist high.

Yelling like banshees they leapt over it.

The creature had sound and scent now, even if it could not see. It lumbered forward, unaware that they'd lain down beside the log.

It didn't even see the log until it stumbled over it—and fell headlong into the water beyond.

Water sheeted outward, soaking them. The fallen creature flailed at it, in panic. Erik stood up hastily. The braid of water wasn't that deep . . .

Looking back at the shore Erik realized that maybe the stone troll had been a small problem. The shore was lined with misshapen troll creatures.

In their midst stood what appeared to be a broad, stocky old woman with lank gray hair and a bitter, lined face. She ignored them and instead waved her staff at the river.

Manfred pointed upstream.

A wall of water was coming down at them. They still had at least two hundred and fifty yards of sandbar and channels to cross to the far bank, and perhaps forty back to the troll-crowded one they'd come from. And by the speed of the water that was coming, they didn't have time to get back, let alone sprint to the far side.

Erik saw their only hope. "The tree," he yelled. "To the branches."

They barely made that in time, scrambling up into the skeletal white remains of the branches as the water came surging in a chest-high wave. The water fussed and fretted at the tree, shaking the branches. It shifted slightly, but the flood did not actually succeed in dislodging the great dead tree from the sandbar.

The stone troll had been less lucky, and had gone rolling away with the current. "Well, that's got rid of him," said Manfred. "Now, if we can get out of here before that lot get to us, and if we can mount and ride off, we're away."

"I think we've found Cair's princess," said Erik grimly. "Or some other hag."

"She doesn't look much like that little thing we saw in Kingshall."

"They're supposed to be masters of illusion."

Manfred felt his feet. Looked at the blood on his hands. "I know a few girls who wouldn't mind that ability, without the rouge pot. But I can't see why she'd settle for being a skinny lass, if she can look as she pleased."

"Maybe to avoid being looked at too closely."

"Well," said Manfred, shifting his bulk on the tree branch. He still had his sword, and he obviously wanted to be in a good place to use it. "If this is her actual form, I'm surprised I haven't fallen in love with her myself."

Erik ignored this sally. Instead he inspected the water. "I think we're going to have to try swimming again, Manfred. It's dropping fast."

"Well, I'm wet already," said Manfred, sheathing his sword. "And the troll-hag is up to something. Say when. Do we try and stay together, and do we swim for the far bank?

But before Erik could answer, his muscles froze. He was stuck, immobile, and unable to say anything, let alone "when."

The trolls that waded across to fetch them simply snapped the tree branches and carried the paralyzed captives to their mistress.

Erik and Manfred were dumped at her feet, still clinging to the branches.

The troll-woman was nearly as tall as she was wide. Her eyes were very green. "Manfred of Brittany, and his henchman," she said, shaking her head. "Of all the doors in troll lands to knock at, you had to choose mine. Others might just have eaten you. You've saved me a great deal of trouble, you know. Now that I have seen that the human pursuit of you is not as active as I'd feared, I was going to go and take you from those little dung-eater kobolds. And you," she pointed at Erik, "you will make a good replacement for the
björnhednar
you cost me. I'll have to find some way of making you pay for my door warden. They are big and stupid, but they're good watchmen."

Erik and Manfred found themselves being carried in through the stone door that Erik had nearly been crushed against. The troll queen spoke a word of command and it swung shut behind them. The troll hill stank. And the dungeon that they were taken to stank even worse. They were tossed onto the stone floor, and troll hands stripped away their weapons. The paralysis remained, although Erik began to feel a tingling in his fingers.

Cair had moved swiftly when he'd heard the hullabaloo start. He naturally assumed that he was the cause of it. Being caught in here would make things worse for Signy. He had located several hiding spots in his sweeping progress. A man with a broom or a bucket can go into all sorts of places. Now, only hiding would serve him. There was no excuse for a thrall to be out and about. He was into the nearest of his nooks, a store chamber next to the throne room. This room lacked even one of the smoky lamps that burned in the passages. He had no knowledge of what was in there except for what he'd seen in the instant of entering. It was pitch-black. Cair was a self-declared rational man, but this place gave even him the creeps. It smelled of bad taxidermy, and other, less pleasant bouquets. Sulphur was definitely one of the reeks. His brief look had shown him a number of barrels near the entrance that he could duck behind if someone came to unlock the door. In the meantime he peered through the keyhole.

It gave him a view of hurrying trolls. And then nothing more than a crick in his neck. He was about to go out again, when he heard the sound of the return party.

He was able to see Erik and Manfred carried past. He ground his teeth in irritation. More complications! Escape tonight was probably out of the question. He waited. Noise subsided. Curiosity also ate at him. What was this room used for? Eventually he unlocked the door, nipped out, and brought a lamp in. He had to sneer a bit. Magical paraphernalia, by the looks of it. If he'd had this lot back in Telemark he could have convinced them that the sun obeyed him. He noted certain specific items: a stack of bear pelts. And various bottles—sulphur was easy to pick out. Saltpeter he could get from the stables. Charcoal was easy enough. A rack of women's clothes. And here was a lovely supply of bottles . . . 

Cair paused. A large jar had a woman's head in it. A blond woman, with a face he knew well. The last time he'd seen her he'd locked her in a feed shed. He shook his head, feeling more than a little queasy. He had disliked Queen Albruna, but this was more unpleasant than he could cope with. He took the sulphur, three jars and, he had to admit to himself, fled from the staring eyes in that dismembered head.