Troll Blood (25 page)

Harald was in no hurry. He began to jeer. “Not bad for a carpenter, Barelegs. I can see you’ve chopped a few trees down in your time. But you’ll have to do better than that.”

Peer’s vision cleared. Past Harald’s shoulder he saw Hilde, white-knuckled fists bunched at her sides. Next to her was Arnë. He was staring straight at Peer, as if willing him to look.
Their eyes locked. Slightly but urgently, Arnë shook his head.

Don’t play Harald’s games
. As if a message had flown straight from Arnë’s mind to his, Peer remembered Bjorn’s warning.
Better to take an insult than a sword in your guts
.

Sorry, Bjorn. I should have listened. It’s too late now. Or is it
?

Don’t play Harald’s games. That includes not getting killed
.

Peer glanced around. Behind him was the door. In front of him was Harald, dark against the fire, his loose hair rimming him in gold. And there on the floor lay the burned dragon-head, with its snarling mouth and blackened eye, like a legless monster creeping into the fight on its belly.

Well, the sword was no good to him. Why shouldn’t the dragonhead enter the fight? Shouting, Peer flung Gunnar’s sword at Harald. Instinctively, Harald lashed out. His blow sent the loose sword cartwheeling through the air. Everyone yelled and ducked. The sword hit the stones of the hearth with a clang, and skittered toward Magnus’s and Floki’s ankles. They skipped aside, swearing, colliding with Tjorvi.

Peer hurled himself on the burned dragonhead. He lifted it, holding it up like a club. “You’re right, Harald,” he panted, “I’m useless with a sword. This’ll be better.”

Harald’s beautiful face contorted. He leaped toward Peer and brought his sword around in a scything sweep at neck level. Eyes screwed shut, teeth bared, Peer swung the dragon-head. There was a thud and a jerk. His eyes flew open. Harald’s blade had bitten deep into the wood and was stuck there. Glaring and snorting, Harald wrenched at it.

Peer let go. As Harald went reeling backward, he sprang for the door. The men were roaring. Hilde screamed, “Run, Peer! Run!”

He fumbled with the latch. Harald was up, one foot braced against the dragonhead, wrestling and tugging, working his sword free.

The door came open. Loki rushed in, tail wagging. “No, Loki!” Peer yelled.
“This
way!” He whistled, fierce and shrill, and Loki turned, confused but willing, and bounded after him. Peer banged the door shut and for a second the clamor faded. He was out in the cool night, running for the woods.

Loki raced alongside. Behind them the door opened again, spilling pursuit. Shouts echoed between the trees and the shore. Peer didn’t bother to listen. The ground was rough and dark and uneven, scattered with branches, pitted with holes. He ran, staggered, recovered, sprinted on.

Then he was at the foot of the bluff, close to the little cascade where Hilde fetched the water. He threw himself at the rise, pulling himself up. Twigs lashed his face; brambles snagged his skin. He scrambled breathlessly higher and higher, clawing handholds out of the soft leaf mold. Beside him Loki scrabbled and sprang. Sobbing for breath, Peer forced himself to keep climbing on and up.

The shouts faded. The slope lessened, leveled. Still Peer ran, weaving under the trees. Fireflies tacked across the dark: a bright stitch here, a bright stitch there.

He ran on, not thinking, escaping. Something terrible was
following, that was all he knew. And if he stopped, it would catch him. But his legs were weaker and weaker. And his arm was sore, stinging and throbbing. He clapped his hand to it and touched the sharp lips of a wide gash. His sleeve was sticky and warm.

The ground vanished from underfoot. Peer pitched forward. He slithered crazily down a steep slope. Dry branches cracked under him. In an avalanche of dead leaves and small stones, he rolled, fell, and thudded onto rocks.

CHAPTER 17
Losing Peer

R
un!” Hilde screamed, as Peer swung the dragonhead at Harald. Then Peer vanished, and Harald rushed after him, and all the men followed. Only Gunnar was left behind, like some crippled old spider that couldn’t crawl out of its web.

Hilde ran out, too. Wildly she looked to the woods, hearing the men yell as they fought their way up into the forest.

Oh, Peer—get away. Run, hide!

But where? There was nowhere for him to go. Vinland was a wilderness, a place without places. Hilde gasped as the enormity of the disaster broke over her like a drenching wave. Peer couldn’t come back.

Harald and Gunnar, outlawed for five years for the murder of Erlend, would never let Peer live to tell of an even worse
crime here in Vinland—the slaughter of Thorolf and all his men. Peer had defied them, accused them outright. So he would die: either slowly in the forest, or quickly under Harald’s sword.

There must be some way to save him.
I know as much as Peer does. I could tell everything
. But Harald wouldn’t care about a girl’s threats. According to the laws back home, a woman couldn’t be a witness. Magnus, Floki, and the others were mixed up in it themselves and would say nothing. Arnë or Tjorvi might speak. But Harald had been clever. He’d challenged Peer, asked him to prove his claim through combat. By breaking off the fight, Peer had lost his case.

Hilde ground her teeth. Men! What stupid rules they set up—as though fighting about something could alter the truth!

It was dreadful to be so helpless.

The dragonhead!
Gunnar had ordered it to be thrown on the fire. But Peer was right. It was a different sort of proof: it showed beyond doubt that death had come to the
Long Serpent
and her crew. Perhaps, one day, it could be used against Gunnar and Harald. She had to save it.

Quickly. It may already be burning
. Silent as a thief, she slid back inside. Gunnar sat at the far end of the fire hall, almost invisible in the smoky gloom, staring into the flames and moodily swigging from his drinking horn. Astrid paced up and down near the door, nervously jingling the bunch of keys at her belt. She jumped as Hilde came in, and whispered,
“Where’s Peer? Have they caught him?”

Hilde didn’t speak to her. The dragonhead lay in the hearth, where Harald had thrown it after wrenching his sword free. Luckily it had fallen in the ashes. She dragged it out, giving Astrid a searing glare that dared her to say anything, and backed through the door without a word.

The dragonhead was top-heavy and awkward. The ash had stuck to its sea-slimed surface. She hugged it to her chest and thought of Peer. Tears filled her own eyes—but there was no time for that. She looked about. Where to hide it? Nowhere near the house—someone would be sure to find it. No time to run to the shore or the woods.
Quickly, before Harald gets back
…

Then she knew. Thorolf’s empty house. The perfect place.
Nobody ever goes there
.

She stole up the dim path. The door swung open at a touch, and a chill, damp smell came out. Squatting down, she slid the dragonhead in along the floor. As she let go, it vanished into the waiting blackness so completely that she could almost believe it had wriggled away like a snake. She felt for it, patting the earth floor. If someone did try looking in, she didn’t want them to see the dragonhead lying just inside. But she must have pushed it farther than she had thought, for her groping fingers couldn’t find it again.

She crouched like a mouse on the doorstep. The silence in the house was tense and emphatic …the silence of a roomful of people all holding their breath. And a
tick, tick, tick
of dripping water.

Her skin roughened up in goose bumps. She dragged the door shut. Half running, half looking over her shoulder, she wondered what she’d done. But the dragonhead was hidden, and she couldn’t shake off a clinging hope that somehow, if the dragonhead was safe, Peer might be too.

The Nis scampered past her ankles with a swish of air and a heavy patter of feet.

It’s still playing. It doesn’t know what’s happened. Perhaps it can help
. She called urgently, “Nis, Nis, I need you!”

No answer. It was probably hiding in the dark porch, hoping to jump out and make her scream.

“Nis, it’s serious. There’s no time for games. Peer’s hurt. Harald fought him. He’s run off into the woods. We have to find him.”

“What?” the Nis squeaked.

“You heard.” Hilde tried to see where it was. “Nis, that dragon-head you found, it means that Thorolf’s dead, Thorolf and all his men. We think Harald and Gunnar killed them, and burned their ship. Peer said so, and Harald made him fight with swords. And he hurt him, and Peer’s run away.” She ended on a dry sob.

The Nis appeared suddenly on the top of the porch. Its eyes glinted like angry garnets. “Thorolf the Seafarer—dead?” it exclaimed. “Dead—my namesake—and Peer Ulfsson lost?”

“Yes, they’re hunting for him in the woods. …”

“Who is?” the Nis interrupted.

“All of them,” said Hilde. “Listen to me—”

“All of them, but Harald Silkenhair is the leader,” the Nis chirped shrewdly. “Ooh!” It raised scrawny arms and shook its fists above its head. “I’ll make him sorry for this. Nithing the Seafarer will make him pay! I will avenge Peer Ulfsson, my good friend. Avenge!” it repeated grandly.

“Yes, but…”

“You thinks I can’t, but I can.” The Nis bristled. “I can sneak up when Harald’s asleep and tie knots in his hair, his beautiful hair he’s so proud of. Ha! I can hide his clothes, put stones in his boots. I can—”

“No! I mean, yes, do all that if you like, but the most important thing is to look for Peer! Before he dies in the woods, or gets lost and starves. Please, please, go and find him.”

The Nis’s eyes widened. It hung its head. “The woods is big, mistress,” it quavered. “I am a house Nis, and a ship Nis, but I isn’t a woods Nis. I would get lost, too. Then poor, poor Nithing would starve as well, no one to make me nice groute, only mushrooms to eat, and leaves, ugh! No butter anymore, never again …” Its voice trembled and nearly broke.

“Never mind, then” said Hilde sadly. “Just do what you can.”

The men straggled back into the house empty-handed, as excited and ashamed as a pack of dogs caught doing something disgraceful but fun, like chasing sheep. Even Arnë and Tjorvi avoided Hilde’s eyes. Perhaps they’d gone with good intentions, to do what they could. For the moment Hilde loathed
them as much as the others, for being part of the dog pack that had hunted Peer.

“Where is he?” she rapped, before even Gunnar could ask.

“Skulking.” Harald grinned, clapping Halfdan on the shoulder. Halfdan flinched. “Skulking in the woods. And he can stay there”

Hilde caught her breath. “How? What will he do? How can he survive?”

Harald tilted his head to one side and paused. “By milking bears?” he suggested, and burst out laughing. Floki giggled, but he glanced at Magnus for approval and soon stopped. The others looked uneasily at their feet.

Hilde turned her back on them and marched outside. She sat on the log seat by the porch and folded her arms. Arnë followed. “Hilde, please come in. It’s cold out here.” He knelt before her, trying to take her hands. “I’ll go looking for Peer tomorrow, I swear I will, but it’s too dark now, I wouldn’t find him. Please.”

“Leave me alone.”

Astrid stuck her head out. “Hilde, come on. It won’t do any good sitting out here.” Hilde stared straight ahead. There was no way she was going to shut herself up in the cold little cupboard that was her bed. She heard Astrid say quietly to Arnë, “Come away. Better leave her be.” The door shut.

I’ll stay here till he comes
, Hilde thought. He’ll wait till everything’s quiet, then he’ll creep out of the woods. He’ll see me, and we’ll make a plan. We’ll think of something. Peer
always has an idea up his sleeve
. …

The sea hushed and shivered on the beach below the houses. There was a breeze, thin and chill. After a long time, something yapped sharply in the forest, and a thrill of hope brought her to her feet.
Is that Loki? Please, oh please let it be Loki and Peer
.

Nothing happened. No tall figure of a boy with his dog came limping out of the trees.