I’ve
practiced, but with Sorkvir so near, I’ve had to use the utmost caution.
If he knew that I possessed the knowledge that I do, my life would be
worthless.”
Gotiskolker cut off his protest. “What we want you to do is
to steal Bodmarr’s sword from Gliru-hals. It won’t be your duty to
challenge Sorkvir; that’s up to Fridmarr, when he gets the sword
sharpened.”
“Steal Bodmarr’s sword from Gliru-hals?” Thurid gasped.
“You must be mad! How can I do that? Need I remind you that Sorkvir
is also a wizard, and much more experienced than I am? How easy
do you think it will be to fool him?”
“You’re the wizard; you answer the questions,” Leifr retorted.
“Can you do it, Thurid?”
Thurid tossed his head back and pretended to contemplate the
ceiling, as if the answer were written there in the dust and bat
guano. “It may take a little time.”
“Take as long as you wish, but once Fridmundr dies, the truce is
off,” Leifr said impatiently. “We’ll be too overrun with Dokkalfar to
think about stealing the sword. It will have to be done now or not at
all.”
Gotiskolker nodded broodingly, his eyes upon Thurid’s staff.
“When the ram goes down on his side, you’ll know it’s the proper time
to steal the sword,” he said.
Thurid frowned and tugged at his lower lip. “That doesn’t
leave me much time. I fear Fridmundr’s fetch will die within a few
days. It’s down on both knees now.”
“Have your plan ready, Thurid,” Gotiskolker said, rising to his
feet and pulling his hood over his head. “This will be your chance for
greatness. Don’t make an ass of yourself.”
Thurid lunged from his chair, his nostrils flaring indignantly, but
the door closed behind Gotiskolker softly. Snorting, Thurid strode up
and down the cave a few times to work off his temper, glancing
challengingly at Leifr. “I don’t know what ever induced you to pick him
as a friend. There’s something about him that gets under my skin like
an inflamed sliver. He irritates me as much as you do, if that’s at all
possible.“ Jabbing his finger at Leifr, he sizzled a spider that was
creeping along the arm of his chair, and peered around vigilantly for
more evidences of mischief. ”I’m not safe even in my own cave,“ he
muttered.
Leifr stood up and more stuff shuffled off the chair. “It must be
nearly dark by now,” he said. “The trolls might be coming back for
another chance at the livestock—us included.”
Thurid took up his staff, seized the nearest random object,
and threw it against the wall, the opening shot in a furious volley
that lasted until Thurid mysteriously reached a point of satisfaction
with his efforts. With the inquisitive attitude of a hen pecking over
some grain, Thurid looked over the mess he had made. “Yes, it rather
looks as if there might be trouble,” he said at last.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to guess?” Leifr asked.
“That would be neither scientific nor accurate,” Thurid
replied. “Look at these juxtapositions and tell me you see nothing
significant there.”
“I see nothing significant,” Leifr said agreeably.
“Fridmarr, where most Ljosalfar minds are clear and liquid,
yours is a lump of black granite,” Thurid declared. “I hope there aren’t
many more like you, or it bodes ill for the future of all Ljosalfar. My
own clarity of thought causes my sensibilities much suffering when
they are subjected to the obtusities of common minds.”
He flung the epithet at Leifr as if it were a brickbat and strode
toward the door with his nose in the air.
As they approached the ruined walls and paddocks of Dallir,
Thurid began to glance around warily. “This is where trolls like to lie in
wait sometimes,” he whispered. “Plenty of rocks to throw.”
They crossed several walls. Then a rock thudded to the ground
beside Leifr, followed by several others that missed by an even wider
margin.
“Head for the cow
practiced, but with Sorkvir so near, I’ve had to use the utmost caution.
If he knew that I possessed the knowledge that I do, my life would be
worthless.”
Gotiskolker cut off his protest. “What we want you to do is
to steal Bodmarr’s sword from Gliru-hals. It won’t be your duty to
challenge Sorkvir; that’s up to Fridmarr, when he gets the sword
sharpened.”
“Steal Bodmarr’s sword from Gliru-hals?” Thurid gasped.
“You must be mad! How can I do that? Need I remind you that Sorkvir
is also a wizard, and much more experienced than I am? How easy
do you think it will be to fool him?”
“You’re the wizard; you answer the questions,” Leifr retorted.
“Can you do it, Thurid?”
Thurid tossed his head back and pretended to contemplate the
ceiling, as if the answer were written there in the dust and bat
guano. “It may take a little time.”
“Take as long as you wish, but once Fridmundr dies, the truce is
off,” Leifr said impatiently. “We’ll be too overrun with Dokkalfar to
think about stealing the sword. It will have to be done now or not at
all.”
Gotiskolker nodded broodingly, his eyes upon Thurid’s staff.
“When the ram goes down on his side, you’ll know it’s the proper time
to steal the sword,” he said.
Thurid frowned and tugged at his lower lip. “That doesn’t
leave me much time. I fear Fridmundr’s fetch will die within a few
days. It’s down on both knees now.”
“Have your plan ready, Thurid,” Gotiskolker said, rising to his
feet and pulling his hood over his head. “This will be your chance for
greatness. Don’t make an ass of yourself.”
Thurid lunged from his chair, his nostrils flaring indignantly, but
the door closed behind Gotiskolker softly. Snorting, Thurid strode up
and down the cave a few times to work off his temper, glancing
challengingly at Leifr. “I don’t know what ever induced you to pick him
as a friend. There’s something about him that gets under my skin like
an inflamed sliver. He irritates me as much as you do, if that’s at all
possible.“ Jabbing his finger at Leifr, he sizzled a spider that was
creeping along the arm of his chair, and peered around vigilantly for
more evidences of mischief. ”I’m not safe even in my own cave,“ he
muttered.
Leifr stood up and more stuff shuffled off the chair. “It must be
nearly dark by now,” he said. “The trolls might be coming back for
another chance at the livestock—us included.”
Thurid took up his staff, seized the nearest random object,
and threw it against the wall, the opening shot in a furious volley
that lasted until Thurid mysteriously reached a point of satisfaction
with his efforts. With the inquisitive attitude of a hen pecking over
some grain, Thurid looked over the mess he had made. “Yes, it rather
looks as if there might be trouble,” he said at last.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to guess?” Leifr asked.
“That would be neither scientific nor accurate,” Thurid
replied. “Look at these juxtapositions and tell me you see nothing
significant there.”
“I see nothing significant,” Leifr said agreeably.
“Fridmarr, where most Ljosalfar minds are clear and liquid,
yours is a lump of black granite,” Thurid declared. “I hope there aren’t
many more like you, or it bodes ill for the future of all Ljosalfar. My
own clarity of thought causes my sensibilities much suffering when
they are subjected to the obtusities of common minds.”
He flung the epithet at Leifr as if it were a brickbat and strode
toward the door with his nose in the air.
As they approached the ruined walls and paddocks of Dallir,
Thurid began to glance around warily. “This is where trolls like to lie in
wait sometimes,” he whispered. “Plenty of rocks to throw.”
They crossed several walls. Then a rock thudded to the ground
beside Leifr, followed by several others that missed by an even wider
margin.
“Head for the cow
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