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whispered conferences, and Leifr heard one of them mutter, “Day-

farers! Sorkvir gets into trouble whenever he trusts one of them.”

“Bah! He has them where he wants them,” another growled. “Do

all in the Owl Society suffer from such old womanish qualms? If the

Fox Society were in charge, this war would have been ended centuries

ago.”

“I thought the firebrands were confined to the Bat and Spider

Societies,” the member of the Owl Society said with an audible sneer.

“Perhaps there’s more wisdom in the lower ranks than the

societies for aged Dokkalfar would like to think,” the second speaker

snapped.

When the great doors were opened, Leifr squinted a moment in

the welcome sunlight, still feeling as if a clammy dew had settled on

him and dampened his clothing as well as his spirits. Warily he looked

back at Raudbjorn, also blinking at the brightness.

“Why would a day-farer want to work for the Dokkalfar?” he

demanded scornfully. “You had much more honor as a thief-taker,

Raudbjorn.”

“Not as much gold,” Raudbjorn grunted, cradling his halberd in

the crook of his arm. “Thief-taking is hard life. Thieves very smart.

Fight like rats. Cold nights, no food. Sorkvir not so bad.”

“It would be better to starve than be under Sorkvir’s control,”

Leifr replied. Raudbjorn’s forehead crinkled worriedly, and his

as he put to work the little-used

breathing became deeper

mechanisms for serious thinking. With an expression of pain, he

shook his head resignedly.

“Raudbjorn likes warm bed and good food. Raudbjorn tired of

thief-taking. Still like to fight, though.” His little eyes dwelt upon

Leifr’s sword. “You warrior, Fridmarr. Maybe we fight sometime.

Sorkvir won’t know.”

“He’ll know,” Leifr answered. “I’ll kill you.”

Raudbjorn flung up his head, scenting a challenge, and a slow

smile illuminated his battle-scarred features, revealing several missing

teeth. With his thumb, he strummed the edge of his halberd as if it were

some fine musical instrument whose tone he was testing.

“Then I keep this sharp for you, Fridmarr,” he rumbled

pleasantly, looking as if Fridmarr had made him very happy.

“Sorkvir doesn’t want us to fight,” Leifr reminded him. “You’re

supposed to follow me and watch out for any treasonous

actions or dangerous acquaintances.”

Raudbjorn shrugged his thick shoulders. “Raudbjorn might

forget,” he said in a reassuring tone, grinning in amiable delight.

Thus encouraged, Leifr rode homeward, with Raudbjorn

following at a casual distance on a huge, hairy-footed horse. Making

no pretense of discretion, Raudbjorn posted himself on a hillock

outside the gates of Dallir, where he had a good view of all that

happened between the house and barns.

Leifr unsaddled his horse quickly and hurried toward the back

door of the house, where he encountered Thurid peering around the

edge of the door in Raudbjorn’s direction.

“Fridmarr!” Thurid cried. “Didn’t you see what followed you

home? Look at that creature! It must be an apparition of Sorkvir’s vilest

art!”

“It’s Raudbjorn, the thief-taker,” Leifr replied with gloom.

“Sorkvir sent him to spy on me. He’s agreed to a truce as long as

Fridmundr lives, but Raudbjorn is part of the agreement.”

Thurid’s eyes bulged wrathfully. “A fine bargain you made! I

could have done better, if you hadn’t crept away deliberately so I

couldn’t assist you. It takes a wizard to deal with a wizard. One of

these days Sorkvir will learn of the threat that has been growing here

while he lords it over us in his ignorance.”

Scarcely hearing him, Leifr strode into the kitchen and glowered

around as if it were the worst sort of prison.

“Trapped here! I’ve got to speak to Gotiskolker,” Leifr

exclaimed, swinging around to face Thurid. “Send Snagi after him.

Make it look as if he’s fetching tallow. Get him here without Raudbjorn

seeing him.”

Thurid shook his head earnestly. “Something of that nature is

exactly what the gross creature is watching for. Let him sit there for a

couple of days. He’ll soon tire of waiting for you to make a move and

he’ll fall asleep or go away; then you’ll have your chance. Why on

earth do you want to talk to Gotiskolker?“ He inserted a delicate

shudder into the name, as if revolted by the mere mention of it. ”And

that reminds me— I’ve been finding an abnormal number of spiders

today, Fridmarr. I hope you’re not going to infest the house with them. I

can’t abide spiders.“

He pointed his finger at a long-legged spider bumbling across the

table, and a small jet of flame suddenly sizzled the creature into a knot

of threadlike legs. Thurid turned to Leifr with a pleased quirk of one

eyebrow, in spite of his temper. “A clever little spell, eh? That was one

from the old satchel you gave me.”

Leifr was only momentarily distracted. He was becoming

accustomed to small magics and to seeing inanimate objects

misbehaving. A certain amount of unexplained phenomena seemed

normal for the Alfar realm. “Thurid, I must talk to Gotiskolker. Are

you going to help me or not? If I have to kill Raudbjorn to do it, that’s

what I’m going to do.” He looked around for his battered shield and

helmet.

“Fridmarr, I thought you’d learned not to be so impulsive,”

Thurid said. “Wait awhile. You’re not—ah, seriously considering a real

challenge to Sorkvir, are you? You’re the last of your line, you know.”

Leifr nodded regretfully. “It can’t be avoided, Thurid, and you

promised my father you’d help me.”

Thurid thrust his nose outside again for a look at Raudbjorn. “I

don’t intend to help you to your doom—particularly if Gotiskolker is

involved. I was afraid you’d want to see him. I have an evil feeling that

terrors will descend upon this house if you start collaborating with

Gotiskolker. I can see nothing but terrors coming from it.” He sizzled

another spider crawling up the wall and resolutely strode outside with

his staff in hand, as if to ward off the terrors as they approached.

The terrors were not long in appearing. Gunhildr, the old woman

who ran the dairy and the kitchen, was found lying on the flagstones in

the still house with a broken ankle, clutching a huge crock of fresh curd

to her bosom. Amid much remonstrating and considerable resistance,

she was put to bed to mend, and a lesser maid instructed on the

management of kitchen and dairy.

That night, a fairly serviceable pigsty collapsed for no apparent

reason, and the sole pig vanished into the darkness. The next morning,

when Leifr opened the door of the cow stable to help with the milking,

the old brindle boss cow Mjoll shouldered open the door roughly and

flung it aside as she came bursting out with a wild bellow. The other

four cows thundered after her, ignoring Leifr’s shouts, and headed

for the high pasture as fast as they could gallop. Leifr picked himself

out of the gooseberry bushes, as one of the thralls set out in pursuit of

the cows. Scratched and prickled, he was in no mood to be set upon

by Thurid, who came swooping out of the kitchen with a fierce gleam in

his eye.

“Fridmarr, you’d better stop this foolishness,” he began furiously.

“At once, do you hear? The house is crawling with spiders and

toads. I even dreamed about spiders and toads last night. These tricks

are your doing; and I hate to believe it, but I think it was your

influence behind Gunhildr falling down the steps. Now the pig’s gone,

and who knows if we’ll get our cows back?”

“It’s not me,” Leifr snapped. “I don’t have any power. It must

be you and that old satchel. I’m not sabotaging the farm.”

Thurid gripped his staff. “Somebody is. We’ve had nothing

but bad luck since you’ve returned.”

“What sort of luck did you have before? I wouldn’t call it exactly

rosy.” Thurid’s eyes narrowed to unpleasant little slits, and he jabbed

Leifr, which caused a row of buckets to swing and

a finger at

clatter on their hooks.

“Fridmarr, this is not a warning, it’s a threat. Either stop the

nasty tricks, or I shall leave.”

“You said you dreamed about spiders and toads, and today

the house is crawling with them,” Leifr pointed out. “You’re doing the

tricks.”

“Most certainly not!” Thurid huffed indignantly. “Nonsense! I

had nothing to do with the livestock going berserk, nor all the jittering

of everything for no reason at all. I’m sick to death of things falling off

the walls and these confounded sparks everywhere.” He dropped his

satchel and suddenly began pounding at his clothes and flapping

frantically until a large coal dropped out of his long gown. “You see!”

he shouted, his eyes fixed on Leifr accusingly. “Can you say with good

conscience that you weren’t responsible for that?”

“Yes,” Leifr answered, with a challenging stare. “I’m not the one

with the power, Thurid. Stop denying it, and it will stop pestering

you—as well as the rest of us.”

Thurid’s lip curled contemptuously. “Power? Me? Surely you

jest. I’m no real wizard. All that boasting and blather is nothing but

lies. Do you want to know the truth, Fridmarr? Shall I tell you the real

history of the great Thurid of Dallir?”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” Leifr said hastily.

Thurid was not to be deflated by so small a barb.

“I’ve got no power,” he almost spat. “I’m a failure. I failed the

tests to get into the Wizards’ Guild Academy for my final

apprenticeship. I made a total fool of myself before the instructors and

masters who examined my skill. The masters very kindly said I was not

likely to develop any further powers, despite a promising beginning.

Extraordinary skills and potential are required for Guild wizards, so

they sent me back to the mundane life of an ordinary Ljosalfar. As if I

could so easily forget my yearnings for wizardry!”

Thurid thumped his staff upon the ground, causing a sudden gust

of wind to billow his fine cloak around him.

“In only one regard was I praised,” he continued, with a bitter

smile. He extended one hand and summoned a small, brilliantly glowing

orb to the tip of one long finger. “My alf-light alone was worthy of the

masters’ notice. Very pure, they said, very consistent, but simply

inadequate for the needs of a full- fledged wizard. Inadequate!” He

swung around to glare at Leifr.

Leifr returned his challenging glare. “Well, from what I’ve seen,

I’d say you have a lot of powers if you’d learn to control them.”

“I can’t! I don’t dare use those powers! They frighten me half

to death! I wish I’d never seen that wretched old satchel you brought

me! Those aren’t Guild powers, Fridmarr—nor are they Dokkalfar

powers. I don’t know for sure what they are, but sometimes I think

they might be—” His voice fell to a tortured whisper as he darted a

fanatic glance all around before continuing. “— Rhbu powers.”

“You’ve gone this far,” Leifr said. “You can’t go back, once

you’ve got the knowledge. You’ll have to use it, or your life

will be miserable.“

“Use it! The knowledge could destroy me if I try to. Do you

remember how I burned up those spiders? The same thing could happen

to me. Oh, I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath talking to you. I

can see you don’t believe a single word I’m saying!” He turned away

with a haughty twitch of his shoulders.

“Wait, Thurid, you great dolt!”

Thurid whirled around, his thin nostrils quivering with

indignation, his eyes narrowed to blazing, incredulous pinpoints.

Slowly he raised his forefinger, trembling slightly.

“Do you know what these powers could do to you, or any other

large, obnoxious creature?” he began momentously. The alf-light

gleamed through his forefinger until the flesh appeared transparent,

almost too bright to look at.

Leifr drew a deep breath. “I expect I can imagine, judging from

what happened to the spiders.” Thurid started to nod wisely, but Leifr

went on, “However, if what you say is true, then it wouldn’t be hard

for you to divert Raudbjorn long enough for me to escape.”

Involuntarily, both their heads turned toward Raudbjorn, who

was watching patiently from his knoll outside the gate, his gaze trained