The Book of the Sword (Darkest Age)

by A. J. Lake

  Fritha broke into a run. The nearest pursuers were only yards from Edmund and Cathbar now, and the two of them broke into a shuffling trot after her, lifting Elspeth off her feet once again as they tried to keep up. But the tall girl did not lead them back to their fire. Instead, she turned back on to the ice, walking straight out towards the centre of the lake.

  ‘Not that way!’ Edmund shouted in horror. ‘What if the ice cracks again?’

  ‘That’s what they’ll be thinking, too,’ Cathbar told him, jerking his head at the pursuing men, who had slowed their chase and were shouting and pointing.

  Fritha was testing each step, heading further and further away from the shore, towards the shadowy mass of the mountain. In a few moments Cathbar, Edmund and Elspeth had reached the spot at which she had ventured on to the ice. Without hesitation, Cathbar headed after her, dragging the other two with him.

  ‘It’s safer than meeting them,’ the captain said shortly, darting a glance over his shoulder. ‘They’re calling us thieves – and they want to drown Elspeth for a witch.’

  A howl rose from the fishermen as they saw what their quarry was doing. Fritha moved steadily forward without turning her head, sliding one foot at a time through the light covering of snow and leaving two dark trails behind her. The other three followed in her tracks, clutching each other for balance as their feet slid on the smooth surface. Edmund tried not to hear the shouts and jeers of the men behind them, or to think about the ice cracking beneath his feet. He kept his eyes on Fritha’s back and fixed all his attention on staying upright, keeping hold of Elspeth and moving ahead, step by slippery step.

  The men did not follow them on to the ice. The shouting behind them stopped for a moment, then began again with a new intensity. Something stung Edmund’s arm, and something else hissed as it hit the ground at his feet. He turned his head and saw the men clustered at the edge of the ice, shouting and catcalling like spectators at a wrestling match. Several had their hands raised. They were throwing … it couldn’t be stones; where could they find stones, here? They had opened up one of their iron melting-pans with thickly gloved hands, and were throwing lumps of glowing charcoal on to the ice. The red-bearded leader shouted in triumph as a lump grazed Edmund’s shoulder, singeing his fur sleeve and almost hitting Elspeth. Fritha turned her head, and called out a frantic instruction.

  ‘Stay close!’ Cathbar bellowed. ‘They’re trying to crack the ice – it’s much thinner here than near the bank! Fritha says she can find us a safe path, but we’ve got to keep together!’

  Edmund lunged forward, and Elspeth, still supported between the two of them, found the strength to keep pace. Fritha had abandoned her cautious progress and was gliding over the ice ahead, almost out of reach of the missiles already. But hot charcoal was falling all around Edmund, and he could go no faster. Elspeth’s weight dragged at him and his feet skidded at every step in the loose snow. Two burning lumps landed in front of him, sizzling and making round holes in the ice. He staggered as Cathbar swerved to avoid the holes and almost fell, dragging Elspeth with him. Smoke rose to catch in his throat and an ominous creaking sounded beneath his feet.

  ‘Don’t run, Edmund,’ Cathbar shouted. ‘Slide your feet, like her.’ He jerked his chin to indicate Fritha – then cursed as a glowing coal caught in the fur of his cloak, and he had to beat it out, one-handed.

  Edmund straightened up as well as he could and tried to imitate Fritha’s graceful motion. Elspeth, still leaning on his shoulder, seemed to be concentrating on her own feet as she tried not to fall. The shouts and jeers behind them seemed louder than ever, but he would not look back. Surely they must be nearly out of range by now?

  From the shore, the sound of their tormentors stopped abruptly. Next moment, the surface under Edmund’s feet began to tilt. Three burning coals, landing close together, had done their work. A crack was opening up beside him, black water welling over the grey ice, and he felt himself sliding helplessly towards it.

  ‘Fall flat!’ Cathbar bellowed. Before Edmund could react the captain had knocked his feet from under him, giving him a shove so that he flew forward and landed on his face. Elspeth landed near him, and then, with a thud, Cathbar himself. ‘Crawl!’ the man yelled at them. ‘Get away from the hole!’

  A roaring filled Edmund’s ears as he hauled himself along the ice, scrabbling for a purchase with knees and elbows as his fingers went numb. The fishermen on the shore were howling, baying like wolves at the kill. But the surface beneath Edmund held firm. Then Fritha’s hand closed over his, and he was yanked away from the crack, back on to level ice. A few feet away, Cathbar was supporting Elspeth as she clambered to her knees. The shrill yells of triumph behind them changed to growls of disappointment, and Edmund knew they had won.

  As Fritha helped him to his feet, he risked a glance back at the shore. The men stood in a ragged huddle, arguing. As he watched, several of them turned away, starting to walk back along the shoreline to the fires of their camp. There were angry yells from the group that remained, and one of the leavers turned to shout back at them. Edmund made out the words ‘Eigg Loki’. He looked at Fritha, who had been listening beside him.

  ‘Some of them leave now,’ she said. But her face was pale. ‘They say that we will die anyway, because we go toward Eigg Loki. The spirits in the mountain will kill us.’

  Edmund knew Fritha was very afraid, more than she would ever admit. He remembered her tales of spirits who lured the unwary to their deaths in the mountain and in the lakes and crevasses around it – and it was this very lake that had killed her mother. How could she go any further with them?

  ‘You don’t have to …’ he began awkwardly. ‘I mean, you’ve done all you said you would, and more. Shouldn’t you go back to your father?’

  ‘Edmund’s right.’ It was Elspeth, standing with her hand on Cathbar’s arm and speaking for the first time since her rescue. Her voice was weak but steady. ‘I’m more grateful than I can say. You’ve put yourself to such trouble and danger to bring us here. But you must not come any further.’ She moved away from Cathbar, swaying a little. ‘In fact, I think none of you should. It’ll be dangerous inside the mountain. The sword will keep me safe, but you …’

  ‘I’m not going back now!’ Edmund exclaimed indignantly. ‘How could you think it?’

  Fritha was silent, looking up at the dark mass of the mountain ahead of them. Edmund had been too concerned with their escape to notice how close they had come to it, but now it blotted out the sky: bare rock scored with crevasses, almost black in the evening light. To one side of the mountain a glacier fell, a tumbled, pitted sheet of lighter grey, reflecting red glints in the last of the sun. Fritha stared at the scene for some moments, then shook her head. She spoke to Elspeth in her own language, then translated to Edmund.

  ‘I will stay too. How can I tell my father I leave you at Eigg Loki?’ She gave him a brief smile. ‘And I want to know what will happen.’

  ‘So that’s all of us,’ Cathbar put in. ‘I’m here to protect you both, and if there’s danger, so much the more need. And to tell the truth, girl, you’re not too steady on your legs yet.’ He took Elspeth’s arm again, and although she shook her head at first, she was clearly grateful for the support. ‘So if we’re heading for this mountain, shall we be moving? I’d be glad to get off the ice before it’s quite dark.’

  They made better progress now the fear of pursuit had gone. As night fell a sharp breeze began to blow, which swept the ice surface clear of much of its covering of snow. Edmund soon mastered the technique of sliding, and Cathbar, though he seemed clumsy, managed to stay upright. Only Elspeth still fell, though she always scrambled up without help and would not let them wait for her, seeming angry and impatient at her weakness. A half-moon had risen behind them, and in the blackness above the stars looked down like fierce little eyes. They gave small light, but the ice beneath the travellers’ feet gleamed with its own pale radiance. So did the side of Eigg Loki ahead of them, wher
e the great glacier swept down to meet the frozen lake. The ice river grew steadily closer, and suddenly there were jumbled boulders at their feet, with a great tilted plain of ice to one side, sloping upwards higher than Edmund could follow with his eyes.

  ‘Eigg Loki,’ Fritha said softly. ‘But we must take care. The nithingar are here.’

  She was looking off to one side, along the foot of the mountain. Following her gaze, Edmund saw a dark area against the grey rock that might be a cave, and deep within it, an orange point of light. Fritha’s face was tense, and she gestured for them to speak low. She said something rapidly to Cathbar, who translated for the other two.

  ‘It’s a community of men who have been thrown out of their villages for serious crimes: killing, mostly. They band together in the woods and caves, and live by trapping and hunting, and thieving.’ His face wrinkled in disgust. ‘She says they’ve an evil reputation, and I can well believe it. Men without family, or master, or clan!’

  ‘They rob travellers sometimes,’ Fritha said. ‘We should not meet them.’

  Elspeth was already picking her way through the boulders at the mountain’s foot. ‘It’s just someone’s campfire,’ she said. ‘Why should they be robbers?’

  ‘No one else would camp on Eigg Loki,’ Fritha said simply. ‘No one but rekingar, men with no place.’

  And us, thought Edmund.

  Cathbar had joined Elspeth, scouting for a way up the mountain, while Fritha walked a little way on to the ice lake, using one of her blankets to sweep over as many of their footprints as she could reach. She kept looking at the faint glow of the fire. ‘We should keep quiet now,’ she said softly. ‘They are bad men.’

  ‘But we have nothing to steal!’ Edmund said.

  Fritha only shook her head. She stopped brushing out their footprints and led him through the rocks to Elspeth and Cathbar. ‘I will show you how to climb up,’ she said. ‘You want to go inside the mountain?’ Elspeth nodded. Fritha swallowed hard before speaking again; then she pointed out a place between two jagged boulders, at the edge of the glacier.

  ‘We can start climbing there,’ she said. ‘My mother showed me once, before … Higher up, there is a way into the mountain, under the ice.’ She handed Cathbar the dirty, ice-stiffened blanket. ‘Take this,’ she told him. ‘You go last, and wipe out the footprints.’ Then she began picking her way over the rocky ground, keeping to the edge of the ice as she led them upwards.

  The wind had swept the rocks clear of snow, and although Edmund’s legs ached and the cold was creeping through his boots and gloves, the climb felt easy at first. The mountain rose from the ice fields in a series of rough boulders, offering good footing, and above them there was a track of sorts, a shallow depression running through the grey stones. Cathbar had no need to erase their footprints now; he had slung the blanket over his shoulder as he walked, slowly but steadily, just behind Edmund. Ahead of him, Elspeth seemed to have recovered completely from her near-drowning, and strode forward as if in a hurry. Beyond her, Edmund could dimly see Fritha’s back. The tall girl was holding herself very straight, and Edmund wondered what she was thinking.

  Suddenly Fritha stopped and turned. ‘The nithingar – they have seen us and are following!’ she hissed.

  Elspeth gave a small exclamation of annoyance as she nearly collided with her, but she looked at Fritha’s face and fell silent. They stood stock-still, listening intently – and then Edmund heard it too.

  Voices – several of them, speaking in harsh whispers.

  The sound came from below them: Edmund could not tell how far below. Cathbar, standing like a statue just behind him, leant forward to put his mouth to Edmund’s ear.

  ‘Look in on them,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me how many – and what weapons.’

  Edmund nodded, and sent his sight out to where the voices were.

  He was no more than twenty paces below the track, in a natural shelter between huge boulders. He could see three men – no, four, leaning as if at ease against the great stones, waiting for their leader’s word to advance on their prey just above. All had long knives in their belts. The man whose eyes he had borrowed looked down at the scabbard at his own side, and Edmund felt the man’s cruel satisfaction as his eyes rested on the fine bronze hilt, and a flash of the pleasure he had felt when he killed its previous owner.

  ‘Five,’ Edmund muttered. ‘Knives, and one sword.’

  Cathbar nodded, but Edmund stayed looking at their attackers a moment longer. He flicked to another man’s eyes – hunger, impatience and a longing to attack now – and back to the leader. There was no impatience in his mind, only readiness, and expectation. Expecting what? Edmund wondered – and then he had it. The man was not thinking of battle – he meant to ambush the travellers while they slept.

  Edmund regained his own eyes and stared along the track ahead of them. It carried on for maybe another fifty paces, a wavering line just visible between two banks of rocks, but then the rock walls rose and closed in on each side, rising steeply again. A sliver of moon, high above, glinted off sheer planes and jagged edges: it looked a foolhardy climb to attempt at night. But just before the rise, the track seemed to widen …

  Edmund reached out to grasp Elspeth by the arm, pointing urgently while he tried to speak with no breath. ‘They think we’ll camp just there! That’s when they plan to attack. But if we don’t stop …’

  Elspeth nodded briefly and whispered a few words to Fritha. The tall girl set off at once, moving rapidly but in complete silence. Edmund hoped she would be able to guide them as swiftly up the lethal-looking slope in front of them. If they could just reach it before the nithingar realised that their intended victims had not stopped … maybe the men would not attempt the climb in darkness, or maybe Fritha could find them a safe ledge from which they could fight … though there was no sign of any ledge on the black cliff that loomed ahead.

  Edmund crept onwards, trying not to think of falling from the rock, or of the knives of the men just below them. Make no sound, he told himself, bringing each foot down as softly as he could … but he could not quieten the sound of his own heart thundering in his ears.

  The hunt was on again.

  Chapter Ten

  A year before this, Ioneth said, three strangers came to visit Erlingr.

  They told him of a sword that was being forged in the southern lands, which would have the power to kill Loki. The blade would unite the endurance of stone, the sharpness of metal, and wood’s power to heal itself. And when the sword came here, it must take into its substance something of the Ice people. They asked Erlingr to find one who was willing to give his life to the sword.

  Erlingr sent them away, but the thought stayed with her that she – Ioneth – might be the one they sought. And she crept after the strangers, and asked them what she must do.

  Edmund had wished it was still daylight when they began scrambling up the mountain, but now he was glad of the darkness. He had felt horribly visible as they crept up the remaining track, and still more so when the rocks closed in and they were forced to scramble. It was almost as hard as he had feared. The weak moonlight showed the outline of each rock, but not the smaller obstacles. Edmund felt desperately for footholds, banging his shins and elbows against unseen snags, and fearing that every slight sound would alert the nithingar below. When Elspeth, just ahead of him, trod awkwardly and sent a shower of loose pebbles towards him, he lost his footing, sprawled for a moment on the rough stone, and involuntarily looked down. He was sure he caught a movement on the path below – but there was still no sound, and he forced himself to focus only on the climb.

  ‘It gets narrow here – be careful!’ Fritha called softly from above.

  Edmund signalled frantically at her, telling her to be quiet, but she had already turned back to the rock face. A few paces further on, Edmund saw what she meant. A gap had opened up between the mountain and the ice to their left; the rock fell away in a narrow fissure, while the ice stuck out above it in a s
helf more than a foot wide. To the right, another stream of ice now flowed, its surface steep and glassy-smooth. Above him, Elspeth had slowed her pace as she searched for handholds and footholds. And suddenly, shockingly, there were voices below them – no longer stealthy whispers but harsh cries of anger and surprise, and running feet. The nithingar had realised that their prey were escaping.

  Elspeth’s eyes widened. She hauled herself up with reckless speed to join Fritha. Edmund scrambled to use the same handholds that she had used, suddenly conscious of his own heavy breathing and that of Cathbar behind him.

  Fritha spoke quietly to Elspeth, who passed the message down. ‘She says that just above is where the track turns under the ice, into the mountain. But it’s a steep drop and very dangerous in the dark: we should really wait for daylight. She doesn’t think they’ll dare to come up this far.’

  ‘We’ll wait,’ said Cathbar.

  It did seem as if the men below them were unnerved. As the voices came nearer, Edmund could hear them arguing. He stood pressed against the rock, listening, his head a bare inch from Elspeth’s foot. He heard the word uvettar – ‘evil spirits’ – several times, spoken in tones of fear and anger. At length there was a clatter of movement from below, and at the same moment he felt a tug on his sleeve as Cathbar pulled himself up.

  ‘Go higher!’ the captain hissed. ‘They’re saying there are spirits in the rock here, and we must have something worth stealing to take such a risk. Find a place above to hide – go!’

  Edmund’s heart was thumping afresh as he relayed the message to Elspeth. She only nodded as if she had expected this, but he wondered how Fritha must be feeling as she began the ascent again. He tried to peer up beyond Elspeth’s legs, but everything above her was lost in the darkness.

  At least the climb was a little easier here. Fritha led them up a series of ledges almost like steps, broader though steeper than the track below. To their left, the crevice still yawned, growing deeper and wider so that the shelf of ice above no longer covered it and its bottom was lost in darkness. Edmund found himself huddling against the ice stream to his right as he climbed, and saw Elspeth above him doing the same. Fear had banished his earlier tiredness; there was nothing now but the climb, the black rock and moonlit ice … and the crunch of pursuing boots below them.