by Lou Anders
Fire burned in Karn’s eyes.
Then a very real fire burst out of the sky, setting the wattle-and-daub cabin aflame. It went up immediately, burning so fast that the fire could only have one source.
As Ori and Sydia leapt back from the bonfire, Karn turned his attention to the sky.
Thianna held the lance expertly in one hand. She gripped the reins of the wyvern with less assurance in the other. But she still managed to look heroic hovering over their heads.
“Let him go,” she ordered, pointing her lance at Sydia.
To Karn’s surprise, Sydia didn’t seem upset.
“Thianna, good of you to show up. We’ve been expecting you,” the woman said. “In fact, we’ve arranged a little homecoming for you. For you both.” She nodded toward the crest of the hill where the three standing stones marked the summit of Dragon’s Dance.
A second lance spat flame into the night. Sydia’s remaining soldier lit a bonfire amid the stones. As the fire rose, the stones were illuminated, revealing the three figures bound to their bases. Karn and Thianna gasped in unison.
Magnilmir, Eggthoda, and Karn’s sister Nyra were gagged and tied to the stones. Nyra glared defiantly, but the two frost giants writhed before the unwelcome heat.
Someone thrust a burning pole into the faces of the giants.
The newcomer was large, a giant himself.
“Thrudgey,” Thianna said.
Thrudgelmir favored her with a wicked smile.
“You’re a traitor to your kind,” she hissed at him.
“You aren’t my kind,” he spat back. “And they are traitors to their kind for not seeing it. With you gone, we’ll be free to live our lives without any of these little people interfering ever again.”
“You’re a fool, Thrudgey,” Thianna said. Why she had ever craved the respect of giants like him was beyond her.
“Land,” ordered Sydia.
“I can roast you from here,” Thianna replied.
“You can’t roast us all, not before your families go up in flames. Now land.”
Thianna seethed with anger at the woman. Then she faced Karn.
“You tell me what to do,” she said.
“Go ahead and land,” he said. He saw Thianna’s confusion. “Trust me on this, it will be okay.”
“Ha,” snorted Snorgil beside him. “You have a funny definition of ‘okay,’ don’t you, boy?”
“Don’t worry,” Karn said. “This game has a few moves left.”
Thianna looked into the eyes of the Norrønur boy. Giving up in a fight was never her style. But Karn didn’t seem to be giving up. She remembered how he sometimes made sacrifices in a game of Thrones and Bones. I hope you know what you are doing, she thought.
She lowered the lance and guided the wyvern to the ground.
Karn and Ori stood before the broken corpse door on the earthen ramp leading down to the barrow’s entrance. A little ways off, Thianna was held between Thrudgelmir and two other frost giants. Behind them, and guarding against escape, stood Sydia’s remaining soldier, the three draug, and four hard-looking men who answered to Ori, or at least to his coin.
“Now, no trouble, nephew,” Ori said. “The rules say you have to be the one that knocks, so I’ve got to free your hands.”
Karn nodded. Everything rode on his being able to pull off the next few moments successfully.
“No trouble,” he said. He held his wrists out. Ori stepped forward to untie the knots. Karn looked upward at the moon and its own smaller moon, both full overhead. In his mind, he whispered a short prayer to Kvir. He hoped it was true that the god of luck favored daring strategies.
“You knock three times, remember?” Ori said. “Then you enter. Cheer up, Karn. You might best Helltoppr in a sword fight.”
Karn put on his most confident game face.
“I just might,” he said. “Thanks for leaving me my sword, uncle. None of the draug seem to like Whitestorm. And I’ve had lots of practice with it.”
Ori glanced down at the blade at Karn’s side. Carefully, Karn gripped the hilt and drew the blade partially out of its sheath. The metal gleamed with a reddish-golden radiance in the moonslight. It was easy to believe it was a charmed weapon.
“Thianna says it’s a special sword,” Karn went on, forcing himself to sound grateful and naive. “Dwarven or elven make. It’s lighter than weapons a foot shorter. And perfectly balanced.”
He could see the lust in his uncle’s eyes. The man had tried to pry Whitestorm from his hands before.
“Sorry, nephew,” said his uncle. “The rules say you can pick up another weapon inside.” He knocked Karn’s hand from Whitestorm’s hilt, then drew the blade.
Karn pretended to look reluctant as he allowed his uncle to take Whitestorm from him. Ori swung the blade experimentally in the air.
“Only fitting that a weapon like this be in the hands of the hauld of the farm, don’t you think?” He lowered the blade and gestured at Karn with the point. “Now knock. Three times. I’d hate to impale you with your own father’s sword, but I will if you try any tricks.”
“No tricks,” said Karn, raising his fist to knock. No more tricks anyway.
He knocked. Once, twice, three times.
Down the dim corridor, ghostly green balefires were lit. The sound of old bones rustling drifted up from the ground.
“Well, well, well,” a dry, raspy voice called. “Welcome back.”
Karn wrinkled his nose at the cloying stench of rot inside the barrow. The unnatural presence of the undead dragonship captain was acting on his nerves. But despite his fear, his mind was working fast.
He emerged from the tunnel into the round, low-ceilinged chamber. Helltoppr sat on his thronelike stone chair, still wearing his rusting armor and rotting leathers. Karn spared him only a glance, then ran his eyes around the room. He took in the swords, axes, shields, the spears and armor, the cups and dishes. All the treasures the draug had accumulated in his lifetime of warring and plundering.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Helltoppr said. “You can’t take it with you, they say. Maybe that’s why I refused to go. Hu, hu, hu.” The After Walker laughed, dust swirling from between his rotting teeth.
With a creaking of old bones, Helltoppr levered himself to his feet. More dust fell from the draug as he strode forward. Knuckles popped as he gripped his great ax in dead hands and swung it up into the air.
Karn beamed. He saw what he’d been looking for.
“Why the smile, boy? You that eager to die?”
“Eager to win,” Karn replied, meeting Helltoppr’s fire-lit eyes for the first time. The green balefires burning there weren’t that different from the eyes of other overconfident people Karn had faced.
“Then draw your sword,” said Helltoppr, choking out another laugh. He gestured with the shaft of his ax at Karn’s sheath.
Karn pulled his coat aside, showing the draug that his sheath was empty.
“I seem to have mislaid my weapon,” he said. “I guess that means the fight is off.”
“Off? For Neth’s sake, you still can’t remember the rules! If you don’t come with a weapon, you are free to choose from among my hoard.”
Karn looked around at the piles of treasures, deliberately casting his eyes over the more impressive swords and spears.
“Anything?” he said.
“Anything,” replied the draug. “You have my oath. But be quick about it. I’m eager to bury my ax in your skull.”
“No worries,” said Karn. “I’ve already made my choice.”
He strode forward to where a small table stood against the wall. Atop the table, the gleaming, golden set of Thrones and Bones that he had remembered.
“I hope you can play a decent game,” said Karn. “I don’t want to be too bored.”
“What?” roared the draug. “That’s no weapon.”
“I beg to differ,” said Karn. “Our stories say that a game of Thrones and Bones can be as vicious as any other ba
ttle. And you know you’re not a true Norrønur unless you can swing a sword, hurl an insult, and play a game of Thrones and Bones. Are you a true Norrønur, Helltoppr?”
“None truer,” growled the After Walker. “I was its greatest jarl. Why, the high kingship was almost within my grasp. I am a proper son of Norrøngard, not like these peace-loving thin-bloods that blight her snows today.”
“Then what are you afraid of?” Karn gestured to the board. “Prove your heritage. Prove your worth and beat me at the game board. As many battles as you commanded, it ought to be easy for you. And I have your oath that I could choose any weapon in the barrow.”
The green fires of Helltoppr’s eyes flared in hatred. But then the draug’s dead lips curled.
“Very well, Karn Korlundsson. I will beat you at this game, and then you will take your place as the last runestone in my longship. My collection will be complete, and so will be my revenge on the children of my enemy.” He strode to the table.
“I will play the bones,” he said.
“I kind of expected that.”
Magnilmir was furious with himself mostly. If he’d never given Thianna the horn, none of this would have happened. He hadn’t realized that it was anything important to anyone other than himself. He hadn’t even realized it was more than just a drinking horn. He’d only wanted his daughter to appreciate her human heritage, and now that heritage was going to get them all killed.
He should have kept her hidden away, up at the frozen top of the world where no one could ever find her. But Thianna deserved a bigger life than his small world afforded. He flexed his great muscles and again tried the ropes binding his wrists.
“Will you hold still?” fussed a voice behind him. “How do you expect me to untie you if you don’t quit moving about? I’ll knock your great, shaggy head with my hammer if you pinch my fingers, I will.”
“Is someone there?” Magnilmir asked, or tried to. His voice was terribly muffled by the gag on his mouth. There was a rustling at his neck and suddenly the gag came free.
“Thank you,” he said. “I said, Is someone there?”
“Well, of course there’s someone here, you big lug,” said the voice. “Else who do you think ungagged you? And I had to stand on tiptoes to do it. I’ve been keeping an eye on Sydia since she showed up in Bense. Yes, you can thank me profusely for my foresight later. Now shut up and don’t make me regret freeing your mouth first.”
Magnilmir smiled. He knew who his rescuer was. The line about tiptoes was what had done it. “It’s good to see you too, Gindri, my friend,” he said.
“Well, let’s wait and see how good it is when I’ve untied the others,” the wandering dwarf handyman replied. “But I’d say it has a chance of getting better.”
Karn faced the rotting After Walker across the board. He was perched on the edge of a wooden chair he’d dragged over along with the table, while the draug sat reclined upon his throne. Helltoppr’s dead face gave nothing away, but the green balefires of his eyes burned low. The chamber was darker, the flickering light casting unnerving shadows. That was the point, Karn knew, to scare him and throw him off his game. Knowing the strategy didn’t make it any easier. The scaring part was working.
Worse, Helltoppr was proving to be a challenging opponent. Karn thought he might be the toughest he had ever faced. Of course, he had never played for his life before.
Helltoppr played with confidence. He didn’t hesitate when it was his turn. His bony fingers snatched at pieces the instant Karn completed his own moves.
When it was Karn’s turn, he could hardly concentrate on his next move.
“Come on, boy. Hurry it up,” Helltoppr snapped if Karn wasn’t ready instantly. Harassing your opponent like this was bad form. Just what Karn expected from the draug. And it had the desired effect. Karn was on edge, and he made hasty decisions.
One by one, Helltoppr was removing Karn’s shield maidens, stripping him of his defenders. Karn felt a bead of cold sweat form on his temple and slowly run down his cheek. Every attempt Karn made to leave the board was blocked.
Helltoppr played to box Karn’s Jarl in. The attacker’s side had nearly twice as many draug as Karn had shield maidens. Helltoppr wasn’t afraid to sacrifice his own for an advantage. Karn suspected that had been true in life too. You could tell a lot about a Norrønur from his game. Here, Karn was desperate to get his Jarl off the board, to escape. Just as he’d been desperate to leave Korlundr’s Farm and the life of a hauld.
Karn wondered how much Helltoppr’s game matched his personality. It must be strange being a draug playing Thrones and Bones. Helltoppr was a draug playing a draug.
That’s when Karn saw it. Helltoppr was reluctant to move the Black Draug out of the protection of the Barrows. Once or twice his hand strayed above it, only to settle on some other move with one of his minions. It was a revelation. Helltoppr identified with the Black Draug playing piece in a way that Karn did not feel about his own Jarl piece.
“All creatures behave according to their nature,” Thianna had taught him. He had been assuming Helltoppr would play logically, like any player worth his salt. He hadn’t expected the draug to miss opportunities for sentimental reasons. To win, Karn would have to think like his opponent.
It was his turn. Instead of moving, he leaned back in the chair. He forced himself to sound relaxed.
“Bet you haven’t played a game like this in a hundred years,” he said. “I can’t imagine Snorgil could give you much of a challenge.”
“It’s your move, boy,” the draug growled.
“What’s your hurry? So anxious to get back to lurking in the dark? When are you going to play another game like this? Not with Snorgil. And I bet Rifa’s even worse. Visgil, now he’s a quiet one. Maybe he’s a deeper thinker. Visgil give a good game?”
“Hardly,” snorted Helltoppr. “Fools, all of them, but they have their uses.”
“Really? That’s odd. Snorgil was saying something different to me. You see, while they were chasing me all over Norrøngard, seeing the sights, enjoying the hunt, you were just hiding away in here. Sitting in your chair, alone in the dark, rotting. Snorgil doesn’t seem so dumb to me.”
“They do my bidding. They always have. Why should I exhaust myself when I have followers?”
“Oh, no reason. Especially if you’re afraid to go out—”
“Afraid?” the dead dragonship captain roared. “Watch your tongue, boy, or you might lose it.”
“I guess you still have nerves,” Karn taunted, “because I just hit one. So that’s it, is it? Snorgil and friends get to have all the fun, while you hide under the ground.”
“Nonsense.” Helltoppr’s hand strayed from the board, hovered over the handle of his ax. Karn wondered if he’d pushed too far. He made a show of studying the board.
Karn moved a shield maiden away from a barrow mound, clearing a path to Karn’s Jarl right in front of Helltoppr’s Black Draug. Karn waved at the obvious play.
“They say you can tell a lot about a person by the way they game. I say you’re as afraid to leave your barrow as you are to bring your Black Draug into the game.”
The balefires in Helltoppr’s eyes flared. Then Helltoppr’s hand snatched the Black Draug and slid it out of its protective barrow and across the board.
“What does that tell you now, boy?” the draug said.
It tells me I’m right, Karn thought.
However, Karn might have bitten off more than he could chew. Helltoppr wielded the Black Draug expertly. He used its special abilities to carve through Karn’s defenders, capturing them turn by turn. Karn was losing, and fast. Helltoppr barked out an exaggerated laugh.
“You’ve woken a sleeping dragon, boy.”
It was an unfortunate choice of words on the draug’s part.
Karn put his hands on either side of the board and stood up. He forced himself to lean across the table, right into Helltoppr’s face.
“So what?” he said. “I’ve already wok
en one dragon earlier this week.”
Karn moved a shield maiden across the board, capturing one of Helltoppr’s draug and threatening the black one too.
Karn sat down. He was counting on Helltoppr buying his bluff.
Sure enough, the After Walker’s moves began coming even faster and faster. Karn’s side was whittled away. But his strategy was working. The draug was going for the immediate takedowns, not playing the long game.
Then it was almost over. Karn saw how Helltoppr could win in two more turns. But if he were angry enough, if he were short-sighted …
Karn switched his strategy. He had been playing as though escape was all that mattered. Now he knew that some things mattered more. Escape wasn’t the only way to win. He deliberately placed a shield maiden in harm’s way. It was bait. The draug snatched the maiden from the board in triumph. Misguided triumph. In doing so he exposed the Black Draug.
Karn slid his Jarl across the table, pinning the Black Draug between two pieces. He plucked it from the board. It was done. He had won.
“Game over,” he said.
“What?” roared Helltoppr.
Karn showed him the Black Draug in his palm.
“I won. I beat you.”
Helltoppr snatched the piece from his palm. The dragonship captain just stared at it as if he couldn’t believe what Karn had done.
“Now let my father go,” Karn said. Green flames turned his way. “That’s the prize I choose. Just like the rules say. Let my father go. Let them all go.”
But the draug did no such thing. Instead, he reached out and grabbed his ax. He hefted it up, held it suspended over the board. Then he sat in his chair. He set his ax down wearily, leaning it against the cold stone seat.
“Fine. It’s done,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Go now.”
“Done?” asked Karn, uncertain.
“Yes, done. Done and done. Go now and see.”
Karn nodded. Without turning his back to the creature, he made his way to the exit.
“Karn,” the draug called to him as he entered the tunnel. His voice sounded plaintive. “You’re right. What you said. It has been a while since I’ve faced a worthy opponent. I may not like the sting of defeat, but a barrow grave can be a dull place, and even a sting has the thrill of life and challenge about it. A good game is perhaps better than a sure outcome. And by my oath, you played a good game.”