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Raudbjorn that the grindstone is here. Maybe he will remember

exactly where it lies.”

Keeping a watchful eye upon his enemy, Leifr turned and rode

back to the encampment. Obviously working himself into a rage,

Sorkvir lashed his horse into a gallop and raced away into the barrows,

with his captain following warily.

Thurid strode after Leifr, once Sorkvir was safely out of sight.

When he caught up with Leifr, his face was drawn and gray with

anxiety.

“Fridmarr,” he whispered, darting a resentful glower at

Raudbjorn, standing rigidly nearby, guarding them. “What about the

eitur? How could you have swallowed that stuff? Even a fool such as

you were should have known—”

“Thurid,” Leifr interrupted, “do I look like I’m dying of poison?

I’ve never tasted eitur in my life.” He started to go around Thurid,

but Thurid again blocked his path, using his staff as a bar.

“Fridmarr, if you’ve used eitur—” Thurid seemed to have trouble

slowing down his rush of words into coherent words and sentences. “If

eitur has been in your bloodstream only once, then the magic of the

Rhbus isn’t going to work for you. The corruption begins immediately,

although it may progress very slowly for many years. Even if we

sharpen the sword with the proper grindstone and you thrust it

through Sorkvir a hundred times, it isn’t going to destroy him and

prevent him from taking Hel’s journey back to life again. What I mean

to say is, if we’re doomed to fail, it would be better not to try until we

find someone who is free of Sorkvir’s fatal taint.”

“Thurid, I told you—”

“Yes, but I think you’re lying in an attempt to keep me from

worrying.”

“It’s not working then, if that’s what I’m doing,” Leif retorted. “If

I’d taken eitur, I’d tell you. I don’t want to face Sorkvir in battle

and fail. If you’re through bothering me, will you let me by now?”

“I’m not through,” Thurid protested as Leifr pushed him aside.

“You’ve already got your bad leg to slow you down. Sorkvir might

kill you before you kill him, even if the sword magic will work for

you.”

Gnawed by his own grave doubts, Leifr retorted furiously, “I

didn’t come here willingly; if I’d known what it would be like, I

would have done anything to prevent it. I am not Fridmarr, and this

shouldn’t be my quarrel. I was virtually kidnapped and forced to

interfere with that Pentacle. Gotiskolker is the one who brought me

here, and he’s not going to be able to get me back. Gotiskolker is—”

Leifr had a grip on Thurid’s collar piece, shaking him for emphasis

at each point.

Then a pure revelation pierced his anger to the core, dissolving it

into amazement and awe. Releasing Thurid from his grip, he turned

slowly to the barrow, where Raudbjorn stood watching interestedly.

“Gotiskolker is Fridmarr,” Leifr whispered.

Thurid’s glazed eyes did not blink as he stared at Leifr for a long

moment. Then he said, “Brain fever. It must have been from that

beating in Dokholur.” He clasped his hands around his staff and rested

his forehead against them as if this new affliction were too much for

one wizard to bear.

The knowledge of Fridmarr’s final secret and the dark

torment of Gotiskolker, finally resolved, left Leifr almost weak with

relief. Leaving Thurid to his distraught muttering and groaning, Leifr

went inside and knelt beside the still figure on the pallet. Ljosa

already knelt on the other side, holding one wasted hand between

hers. Tears spilled on the withered hand as she smoothed it and kissed

it.

“You know,” Leifr whispered, and she nodded, raising eyes

to him that regarded him as if he had suddenly become a stranger to

her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Leifr Thorljotsson—a Scipling. He brought me here to do the

things that he couldn’t.”

Ljosa bowed her head. “All these years among us, and no one

suspected. What wretched little comfort anyone gave him— except

Fridmundr, from the generosity of his own kind heart. If he had known

—” Blinded by scalding tears, she gently kissed the thin, scarred hand.

The long-lost Fridmarr opened his fragile eyelids a crack and

whispered, “Hush, it doesn’t matter now. My father did know who I

was. He also knew I was too proud to accept more than almost

worthless offerings. All I took from him was the reverse glamour spell

that got me into Gliru-hals. Then he carried me to the hut in the

barrows and treated my wounds, instead of leaving me on the dung

heap to die, as he ought. I almost didn’t forgive him for that. Not until

he was nearly gone did I speak to him again. You see what a fool I’ve

been. Don’t grieve for this miserable carcass. I’m glad to let go of all

this old pain.”

Leifr glanced up as a shadow passed before the fire and met the

astounded gaze of Thurid, gaping at him with a complete lack of

comprehension. Slowly the wizard sank to his knees beside Fridmarr to

listen to the long-kept secret.

Leifr burned with mounting shame, struck by a sudden awful

realization. “Then Fridmundr knew from the first moment that I was

not his son. What a fool he must have thought me. And I was a

bigger fool for thinking that even this would deceive Fridmarr’s own

father.” Leifr removed the carbuncle from his neck and placed it in

Fridmarr’s wasted hand.

Fridmarr shook his head weakly and smiled. “No. He knew the

carbuncle, of course. He knew that I was finally making the effort to

restore the honor to our family name, after wasting so much time. He

saw you as Fridmarr reborn in all his former strength and power and

courage—reborn from the ruin of eitur, abuse, and wretched

suffering caused by his son’s terrible pride.” Fridmarr’s eyes glowed

faintly for a moment. “I saw you that way myself and felt horribly

jealous, so 1 wasn’t kind to you, Leifr. But I tried to swallow some of

my pride in order to destroy Sorkvir.”

“Even to the extent of destroying and denying your entire identity

as an Alfar?” Thurid demanded brokenly, his hand closing gently over

the carbuncle and Fridmarr’s feeble hand clutching it. “We could have

helped you without all this misery. To think of you, outcast among your

own family, sacrificing your jewel for the sake of revenge, and

poisoning yourself with Sorkvir’s eitur—” He shook his head, unable to

continue.

“Thurid. My old teacher and friend.” Fridmarr tried to raise his

head to see, but the effort was too much for him. “You should know

how it is with me. I never took the easy way around, did I? Some of us

need to suffer and make our own mistakes. Now it’s time to pay the

price. I’m sorry for the misery and pain I’ve caused all of you—but it

was a good deception while it lasted, was it not?”

Thurid lifted his pinched and pale features to look at Leifr,

bafflement and suspicion in his eyes.

“Yes, it was an excellent deception,” he said musingly. “Even I

was fooled, and I prided myself at one time upon my perspicacity. And

you were there in the barrows all this time, scavenging useless bits

from the settlements. Fridmarr, you might have told your secret to me,

and I would have helped you.”

Fridmarr shook his head, his unfocused gaze traveling blindly in

Thurid’s direction. “My truest and oldest of friends, I could not abide

anyone’s pity. Sorkvir might have guessed who I really was, had you

come flocking around. I knew Sorkvir would punish anyone who was

too kind to me, whether or not he knew who I was, so I kept you all

away.”

Ljosa raised her tear-stained face. “I would not have been afraid

of Sorkvir, Fridmarr. I wouldn’t have pitied or scorned you when you

needed my help. It would have taken away this bitter feeling in my

heart that I’ve cherished all these years, if you had allowed me to

forgive you.”

“I’m too stubborn,” Fridmarr answered with a tortured scowl.

“I’m not the fine spirit that you are, precious one. I was too ashamed of

my weakness and my mistakes. So when I found Leifr, I used him to

hide behind. Leifr, will you ever forgive me for all this I’ve put you

through?”

“Of course I will,” Leifr said gruffly. “I never meant half those

wicked things I said about Fridmarr, before I knew he was you. It must

have been hard watching me make such a fool of myself and not giving

yourself away by saying too much.”

“You did well, my friend. Far better than I had expected. My only

regret is that I won’t be here to see your final victory. I know you must

succeed, Leifr.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Thurid, you’ll see to

it that Leifr gets back to his own realm, won’t you?”

Thurid looked disturbed and twisted a strand of his thin beard.

“I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ll be glad to experiment,

though. Perhaps the rune sticks contain such a spell.”

“Forget the rune sticks. You don’t need them, Thurid. You’re

going to be one of the finest wizards in the realm one day.” Fridmarr’s

voice was faint and tired. “It’s time to make an end to all this talk. Leifr,

take the carbuncle. Where I’m going, there will be no use for it. I think

the day will come when you might want it. You could stay in this

realm. The Ljosalfar need good fighters.”

Leifr took the carbuncle reluctantly; it was a dying friend’s last

wish, and he knew he must honor it. “I’m grateful, Fridmarr—but I’ll

have to go it as a Scipling from now on. One day maybe I’ll change my

mind, though.“

“The choice is yours, my friend.” Fridmarr’s voice faded to a

mere whisper. “The time has come to say goodbye, my dear ones. May

the Rhbus guide you, until we meet again.”

As they gazed, his withered skin began to glow softly, blurring

and shifting in changing patterns, until it was Fridmarr as he had been

long ago, before his afflictions laid him low. His likeliness to Leifr was

distinct, but the light shining from within illuminated his countenance

until ordinary flesh seemed dull dross by comparison.

“The last gift of the Rhbus,” he whispered. “Remember me as I

once was—not as Gotiskolker.”

The glorious light began to fade, although the youthful likeness

remained. Ljosa clutched his hand, whispering, “So little time! Why

couldn’t we have had just one day? I had him back, and now he’s gone

again!”

Thurid leaned forward. “Fridmarr, if ever I do achieve honors and

fame and power in this realm, it will be partly yours. Farewell, my dear

boy!” His voice choked, and he hid his face in his hands.

“Good-bye, old friend. Good-bye, Leifr, battle companion and

true friend. Good-bye, Ljosa—my love.” He sighed and relaxed his

tremulous grip on the thread of life, smiling peacefully as his spirit

slipped away.

“Fridmarr! I always loved you!” Ljosa cried out in anguish.

“I know you did, my love,” Fridmarr’s voice whispered, as if

from a great distance. His last breath rattled in his throat, and his eyes

opened with a brief flicker of glad astonishment before fading into a

lightless, vacant stare.

For a long moment no one stirred. Then from outside came

Kraftig’s mournful howl, echoed by Frimodig and Farlig, rising in an

unearthly chorus that tightened the band of grief around Leifr’s heart

until he feared it would burst. Rising quickly, he left the barrow and

limped away into the darkness blindly, guided by the voices of the

hounds. They stood atop a barrow, pointing their long noses skyward,

shivering in a crouched pose, with their fringed tails drooping.

When the dogs were done with their howling, they slunk down

from the barrow to Leifr, pressing close to his legs and growling

fearfully at every small sound, still shivering. Raudbjorn loomed

suddenly around a large black cairn, setting off a ferocious salvo of

barking and snarling, which Leifr quelled sharply to conceal his own

startlement.

“Raudbjorn, I meant to find you earlier,” Leifr began, glad for

some distraction from his grief and despair at Fridmarr’s death.

“Fridmarr?” Raudbjorn’s voice quavered questioningly.

“No. My name is Leifr. The real Fridmarr is dead.”

Raudbjorn shook his head slowly. “Real Fridmarr always be you.