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me since Saltaness. I recognize that piebald horse.”

He had his scanty possessions gathered in a moment and slung

over one shoulder in a battered pouch. Seizing his lance and shield,

he started away to lose his enemies among the barrows—or maybe turn

the tables on them, if he found a good place for an ambush. A few well-

placed arrows could end him of the thief-takers forever.

His mind was so busy with his calculations that he did not notice

Gotiskolker limping along at his heels until he had covered a

considerable distance. Halting suddenly, he demanded, “Where do you

think you’re going? You’d better get away from me as fast as you can.

There’s going to be a pretty good fight, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Gotiskolker paused in the lee of a tilted lintel stone. “I’m going to

help you escape, in return for a small favor from you.”

“Oh no, not me. I’m not going to fight your wizard. These thief-

takers are almost more than I can manage. They’re going to kill me,

unless I can ambush them first.”

Gotiskolker seized a handful of his cloak. “Your means of

deliverance is closer than you know. Head for that flat-topped barrow

and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Let go, you wretched vermin! How do I know this all isn’t a

trap you’ve connived with those thief-takers? I’m not easily fooled.” He

made a menacing gesture with his sword, but Gotiskolker did not flinch.

“If I don’t rescue you from your pursuers, you may cut my

throat. I have more to gain by keeping you alive than any tight-fisted

prize a thief-taker would give. Besides, that barrow offers more cover

than anything else nearby.”

A swift survey of the barren landscape corroborated

Gotiskolker’s assessment. Leifr started a determined dash toward the

flat barrow. The thief- takers spied their quarry crossing an open

space and spurred their horses forward with challenging shouts. Leifr

stopped to face them in a last defiant stand, motioning Gotiskolker to

get out of the way.

“No one will ever say that Leifr Thorljotsson ran from a fight,”

he replied in response to Gotiskolker’s outraged protests. “Now get

behind that rock and keep your mouth shut. I have my honor to

uphold!”

“You sound like Fridmarr exactly!” Gotiskolker gritted his teeth

in exasperation. “Not running from a fight is the same as running to find

one. There’s three of them and only one of you, fool!”

“I’ll take at least one of them down with me,” Leifr replied

grimly, peering over the rim of his shield at the thief-takers flogging

toward him, with their hairy faces wreathed in triumphant grins.

Holding their weapons aloft, they charged forward confidently. They

were formidable fighters; Leifr had tangled with them several times

already and he did not relish the thought of another engagement.

Gotiskolker tugged frantically at his cloak, measuring the

advance of the assassins with a wild eye. With an oath, Leifr shoved

him aside, raising his lance for a thrust which he hoped would

skewer his vengeful enemy. The swarthy leader wore a particularly

gleeful leer on his face. Leifr had wounded him in their first encounter,

and he was anxious to repay blood for blood.

As Leifr took his stance, something struck him between the

shoulders from behind. Whirling around, he saw Gotiskolker standing

on the flat barrow, throwing rocks at him and making insulting

gestures. “One more rock and you’re dead,” he warned.

“Here I am, you great dolt!” Gotiskolker called down to Leifr.

“Come up here and make me stop.” As he spoke, he heaved a large

stone over the edge, which rolled toward Leifr at a dangerous, lurching

gait.

Casting a quick look over his shoulder at the thief-takers, Leifr

started up the barrow as fast as he could climb, muttering balefully

under his breath. An arrow shattered against a rock beside him, and

another pierced his billowing cloak. Gotiskolker laughed hoarsely,

dropping more rocks down at him. The thief- takers closed the distance

rapidly. Leifr plunged over the lip of the flat barrow, looking

murderously for Gotiskolker, who had taken cover inside a ring of

sagging black stones. Leifr went after him, since he was the closest.

The thief-takers surged over the edge of the barrow,

whirling their axes above their heads, mouths agape in savage bellows

of derisive fury. The stone circle offered better protection than where he

stood, so Leifr dashed for its limited safety. Dodging behind the

largest stone in the center of the ring, Leifr gripped his favorite

weapon, his steel sword, and waited for his enemies to come within

reach. He did not have time to pay Gotiskolker any further attention,

but he had the impression that the scavenger was hurrying around the

circle, muttering, and touching each stone as he passed.

The thief-takers came to a plunging halt at the edge of the ring,

looking around with expressions of dumbfoundness and bewilderment,

and sudden apprehension. Leifr tried to make a rush at them while they

appeared to be at a disadvantage, but a wall of mist rose suddenly

between the hunters and their prey, and Leifr felt the ground sinking

beneath his feet, as if he were unexpectedly walking downhill on a dark

night. Missing his footing, he tripped and rolled down a grassy slope,

entangled with his sword and shield and a swearing, sputtering

Gotiskolker.

By some miracle, they reached the bottom of the hill without

being cut or stabbed and disengaged themselves from a tangle of

cloaks and weapons and Gotiskolker’s barrow loot, which had

administered some breathtaking buffets to both of them in its career

down the hill.

Leifr gripped his sword in both hands, his eyes upon the hilltop,

where he expected to see the thief-takers plunging down at any second.

Gotiskolker chuckled drily as he got to his feet. “You can relax.

They’re not coming. They’re standing on a windy barrow in the

Scipling realm, wondering where we’ve gone. As far as they can tell,

we vanished right before their eyes.”

Leifr slowly lowered his sword, his awareness of his

surroundings gradually expanding to include a warm green hillside

and a few speckled sheep, who stared at the intruders in wild surmise

a moment before scampering away among mossy boulders. The

barrows were gone, with their wind-swept rocks and browned

mounds of autumnal grasses. The sun shone warmly, and the earth

exuded the fragrant, sweet gases of spring growth.

Gotiskolker apparently found nothing noteworthy in the

extraordinary changes as he stooped and wearily slung his pouch with

its cargo of barrow findings over his shoulders.

“Where are we?” Leifr demanded. “What happened to the

barrows?”

Gotiskolker did not waste any time stopping to talk. “There are

aplenty, and you’ll see some of them shortly. This is the

barrows here

Alfar realm. We’ll talk more later.”

Leifr could scarcely take his eyes off the unfamiliar landscape

long enough to follow Gotiskolker, but he had no desire to be left

behind.

“We’ll talk now, you scavenging thief,” he declared. “I said I

wouldn’t help you with your mad scheme. I don’t like what seems to be

happening here. You’ve taken me someplace I didn’t want to go.”

“I saved your life for you, didn’t I? Would you rather go back

to the thief- takers?” Gotiskolker found a faint path leading along the

side of the fell and started away on it at such a hasty rate that Leifr had

to lengthen his stride to stay close enough to hear the words

Gotiskolker flung over one crooked shoulder. “It’s not safe to linger

in this area. My house isn’t far from here. Once we’re safe behind a

closed door, I’ll tell you all you need to know. Hasten along, or

something a lot worse than thief-takers might find us.”

The scavenger had lost his furtive, humble attitude. Now his

entire lean frame almost quivered with purpose, and his sunken eyes

glowed with the combatant’s fiery glow upon his return to the

battlefield. Feeling the last shreds of his amused condescension falling

away from him, Leifr followed Gotiskolker with no more questions.

On the other side of the fell, the faint path dipped toward a rocky

cluster of old barrows. Against one of the barrows stood a crude hut

built of rocks and turves, with bones and old hides to plug the gaps. The

roof was covered with more bones and the skulls of animals. A piece

of a wrecked ship served as the door, polished to a greasy sheen by

years of use. A large, blackened pot stood over a bed of dead coals,

half-full of foul-smelling tallow. True to his occupation as a scavenger,

Gotiskolker had collected heaps of things which someone might want

someday; white drifts of whale bones, odd-colored rocks, dung for fuel,

driftwood, sticks, rags, broken pots, dishes, and flagons. Over it all

hung a terrible smell, coming from a pile of motley gray hides that had

been taken from the carcasses of some animal Leifr could not identify.

Whatever beast it was, it had rough hair, a long ropy tail like a rat’s,

and sharp, hairy ears.

“This is home,” Gotiskolker said, shouldering open the door and

casting his bag of findings into a corner. “It’s not much, but kind folk

nearby keep me from starving.”

Leifr sank down in a sagging chair with a dreamlike sense of

unreality, while Gotiskolker dragged a small feast from his larder—a

mutton haunch not quite picked clean, cold, rubbery slabs of cereal

mush, a pot of cold rhubarb soup, some hard cheese curds, and cups

of dark ale.

“Here’s to Fridmundr, benefactor of the feast.” Gotiskolker

saluted with his horn cup. “He’ll be glad to see his errant son again

before he dies.”

Leifr glowered, heartened by the encouragement of a good meal.

“You think you’ve tricked me, don’t you? You sneaking, thieving

barrow rat, I ought to put an end to your scavenging here and now.”

“And remain trapped in the Alfar realm for the rest of your life?”

Gotiskolker slung himself into a decrepit chair with a grunt. “If you

want to return to the Scipling side of Skarpsey, you’ll take an earnest

interest in my continued health—such as it is.”

“What do you mean with this talk of realms and the Scipling side

of Skarpsey?” Leifr growled suspiciously. “Are you a wizard? Have

you brought me here by magic?”

Gotiskolker sighed impatiently. “I’ve used only the magic that is

available to anyone who knows the secrets of the standing stones. I

am not a wizard, and surely you are aware that the unseen realm

exists. You Sciplings know about Ljosalfar and Dokkalfar—the

Huldurfolk, you call us. This realm is the unseen side of your own

realm—the opposite side of the coin. You can see only one side at a

time, but both are there, nonetheless. You have nothing to fear; mortals

visit us frequently and we visit your realm.”

Leifr’s eye cautiously measured the distance to the door and next

traveled to the remnants of the food he was eating. “If what you say is

true, this might be enchanted food,” he said. “I might be in your power

already.” “It might, but it’s not,” Gotiskolker replied testily. “I am a

Ljosalfar. But through an accident, I lost all my Alfar powers. Sorkvir

holds most of the power in Solvorfirth, and his bands of armed

Dokkalfar terrorize and dominate. Wherever they pass, blight and death

soon follow. They leave Sorkvir’s mark of doom behind, and whatever

is marked is destroyed.” He gripped his useless left wrist, hiding his

hand beneath the table. “You’re not afraid of a fight, are you, Leifr?”

Leifr drew his sword and laid it across the table. “As long as I

have my weapons, I fear nothing. Why don’t these Ljosalfar fight for

their freedom? Sciplings would not be so meek and helpless.”

Gotiskolker reached for a long, ragged bundle, which he opened

on the table, revealing two swords, several knives, and an axe, all fine

workmanship but dreadfully pitted and blunt. “All our weapons look

like this,” he said, running one thumb along the ruined edge of the

sword “It’s an alog Sorkvir has sworn against us in a mighty curse All