Olenka spat a few words in Ulfen. Declan recognized one of them: jadwiga.
“I am not a witch,” said Declan. Jadrek raised an eyebrow at him. Declan had first heard the term only a couple of months ago, but it had remained prominent in his memory. He knew the northern people were particularly suspicious of spellcasters, especially those they deemed witches. Recalling the troll attack, Declan wondered whether any of the Ulfen had witnessed his casting spells. Possibly the big one, Jadrek, had seen him directing the rolling fireball. He was not certain enough to attempt a direct lie. “I am a mapmaker.”
His pronouncement began another skirmish of arguments among the Ulfen, but Jadrek silenced them with a chopping gesture from his open hand. There was no further discussion. After everyone including the animals had drunk from the creek, they set off again.
They did not stop after sunset but continued running through the night. Several times Declan wished to ask when they would stop to camp, but soon he realized the answer. Every hour or so, they slowed to a walk, but they did not stop. He gave the stallion a rest and rode Ellasif’s pony for a while, but his offers to let one of the Ulfen ride the stallion were curtly dismissed.
After the moon disappeared beneath the horizon, they paused to drink from the water skins they carried. This time, half of the Ulfen lay on the ground for less than an hour before trading places with those who stood watch. Declan removed the steeds’ saddles and brushed their trembling flanks before lying on the ground without bothering to unfurl his blanket. It seemed only moments later that one of the Ulfen men kicked the bottoms of his feet to wake him.
They traveled all night. Even the chase from the Nolanders had been less exhausting. It was afternoon when Skywing alerted Declan that he was falling asleep in the saddle again. By then even the northern warriors were beginning to show signs of fatigue, and Declan thought it a wonder his stallion had not yet collapsed. Though bigger and stronger than the pony, the stallion had far less grit and stamina.
He dismounted and led the animal by its bridle, wishing he had a reward to offer it. Olenka overheard him apologizing to the beast while he stroked its muzzle. She produced a double handful of dried oats and fruit, which vanished the instant she held them to the stallion’s mouth. Before she could wipe her palms, the pony nosed her for its share. She scoffed, only half amused, before surrendering the rest of her trail rations. She did not reply to Declan’s thanks, but the gesture touched him. He began to believe their hearts were kind as well as brave.
When at last Jadrek halted the warriors and directed one to build a fire, Declan moved as though in a dream. He barely noticed two of the warriors running deeper into the forest at Jadrek’s command. He did not recall tending to the stallion and the pony, but he must have done so, for he awoke with a start some time later with his head resting upon one saddle, his feet propped on the other. Nearby, a fire crackled unattended. A short distance away, the Ulfen were arguing more fiercely than before. The scouts had returned.
Declan could hear every word, but understood none of them. He sat up, disturbing Skywing as he bumped the slumbering dragon with his foot. Rather than impose on what appeared to be a private debate, Declan retrieved his spellbook from his pack and began to study a new array of spells to replace those he had cast in defense of the Varisian caravan. With the principal weakness of trolls in mind, he allowed some others to slip from his thoughts and replaced them with fire invocations.
“Come,” Jadrek called to him, then turned back to the group. “This man is a friend to Ellasif. He should have a say.”
One of the other warriors interjected, but Jadrek cut him off with a raised hand. “Speak a language he can understand, Uwe,” he said.
The other man sighed heavily. He was at least five years older than Jadrek, who seemed to be about Declan’s age. Thick braids ran through his ruddy blond beard and hair. “He is not of White Rook,” Uwe said. “He has no voice here.”
“Let him speak,” said Olenka. “Even the words of an outsider may hold wisdom.”
Uwe muttered something in his native tongue. He spat. “Jadwiga.”
All eyes were on Declan. He felt like one of those insects Paddermont Grinji kept pinned on cork panels in his laboratory. He summoned his most confident smile, but it felt like a flimsy mask. “What exactly is the problem?”
“The warlock Szigo has taken her to the Charnel Grove,” said a black-bearded warrior Declan had heard referred to as Gunnar. He was missing several of his upper teeth. “It is the lair of his trolls, where they take their captives to be butchered.”
Declan felt a lump rise in his throat. He had seen the warlock fly off with Ellasif. By now she might already be dead and eaten.
“This is why we must attack at once,” said Jadrek.
“No,” said Uwe. “We were sent to ensure that Ellasif returned or that she was dead. Now she is certainly dead.”
“Not certainly,” said Jadrek. His eyes sought out Olenka’s for support. She nodded—somewhat reluctantly, Declan thought. “We leave no comrade in the hands of such monsters. Are we not warriors of White Rook?”
His triumphant tone was lost on the others, who turned their stony gazes to the ground between them.
“Ellasif was not banished,” a grizzled man named Ingver conceded. A winter frost had bitten off the tip of his nose and gnawed his ears down to stunted mushrooms. “She is still one of us.”
“Why did she leave?” asked Declan. Immediately he regretted the question, as the silent glares of the Ulfen weighed upon him. “It was something to do with her sister, wasn’t it?”
Jadrek nodded slowly. “Ellasif’s sister was cursed.”
“She was a witch,” said Uwe. “Every year she lived at White Rook, the jadwiga sent their monsters to claim her.”
“So what did you do?” asked Declan.
No one spoke at first. Jadrek frowned at Olenka, who turned away. Eventually Ingver broke the silence. “We gave her to the river,” he said.
“You drowned her?” Declan’s voice was a whisper.
“It was a needed thing,” said Ingver, but like Olenka he turned away.
“It was needed,” insisted Uwe. “She would have had absolute power over us had we let the jadwiga take her. Blood calls to blood, and the warriors of White Rook will never be thralls to the witches of Whitethrone!”
“And Ellasif must not be prisoner of their minions!” countered Jadrek.
“There were four trolls within the clearing,” said Saxo, a bald warrior whose beard was braided into a long rope he slung around his neck. “Who knows what else the warlock keeps inside that house?”
“All the more reason to slay the warlock,” said Jadrek.
“Better men than you have tried,” said Uwe.
Jadrek rose to the bait, stepping forward and jutting out his chest. The smaller man stood his ground, his hands loose and open at his side. He looked up at Jadrek’s livid face and said simply, “Erik.”
The name was a charm to soothe the rising tempers. Jadrek turned away, and all the Ulfen shifted slightly, as if casting their thoughts back to an ill but solemn memory.
“Who is Erik?” asked Declan.
When no one answered him, he sought their eyes. At last he caught Olenka returning his inquisitive gaze, and she said, “Laughing Erik was the last hero to go to the Charnel Grove to slay the warlock Szigo.”
“But there are six of you,” said Declan. He drew his sword and held it before him. “There are seven of us.”
“Erik had the strength of ten warriors,” said Saxo. He continued in a bard’s meter: “His sword would sing the song of blood. His shield of wood, now sundered lies.”
“Erik is dead,” said Jadrek. His voice was full of mourning for an argument he knew he had lost.
Declan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Either everything he had ever heard about the heroes of
the Lands of the Linnorm Kings was wrong, or else ...
“Did that cannibal unman the lot of you?” he said. The men turned toward him with disbelieving sneers. “I mean, did he cast a spell that made your balls disappear?”
“You dare?” said Saxo, slapping away Declan’s sword.
Declan let the weapon fall away. It took an effort not to flinch away from the man. His physical threat was daunting, but his smell was even worse. “Dare what?” he said. “Dare question the courage of men who will not aid their fellow warrior?
“I’m sorry,” he said, waving a hand in mock apology, but also to dispel the miasma of Saxo’s body odor. “I got the wrong idea. When I saw Jadrek slay that troll back at the caravan, I thought heroes had come to save us.”
“Who are you to speak to us this way?” demanded Uwe.
“Me?” said Declan. He retrieved his sword and said, “I’m the one who isn’t going to leave his friend to be eaten by trolls.”
He turned on his heel and marched away, pausing only to scoop up his packs and sling them over his shoulders. He realized a moment later that he probably should have tethered the horse and pony to a tree, but he didn’t want to spoil his dramatic exit. If he lost his nerve before he reached the forest’s edge, he only hoped the Ulfen would be gone.
Behind him, the Ulfen returned to their own language, mostly in dismissive and mocking tones. Uwe yelled after him, “You will be in Szigo’s cauldron before we reach home!”
“I’ll say hello to your balls,” Declan shouted back. Despite his bravado, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his realization that he was on his own.
Skywing? he thought. When he received no reply, he despaired that his last friend had abandoned him. Or perhaps the drake was still asleep. Maybe that was for the best. There was little or nothing the drake could do to protect him in a fight with trolls. If he were to have any hope of success, Declan would have to be cunning, like Ellasif. But despite his book-knowledge, he had to admit that he just wasn’t that clever. He was being a fool.
Jamang’s satchel rose off of his shoulder. He turned to see Olenka hefting it onto her own shoulder. She looked down at him and said, “You are a fool.”
Before Declan could respond to her apparent reading of his thoughts, he felt the weight of his own pack rise off the other side. There was Jadrek. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It means she likes you.”
The cheer of camaraderie was fleeting. The other Ulfen had chosen to return home, leaving them with only three against at least four trolls. The arithmetic of the situation gnawed at Delcan’s belly as they crept through the dark woods. When Jadrek put a heavy hand on his shoulder, they crouched and peered ahead. There was the dull light of a campfire in a clearing. Three trolls huddled around a cauldron upon the fire. The flames cast their enormous shadows upon the towering walls of a queer house formed of pine trunks.
“Let us hope Ellasif is in the house,” said Olenka, “and not in the pot.”
Jadrek turned toward her. Even though Declan could not discern his expression in the gloom, he could practically feel the admonishment radiating off his face.
“One for each of us,” said Jadrek. He thumbed the grip of his sword and murmured the name of Gorum, the Lord in Iron. As Olenka did the same, Declan sketched the wings of Desna over his heart, expecting his survival would depend more on the whims of Lady Luck than on his meager fighting ability. He supposed he should have prayed to Nethys, but the two-faced god of magic just didn’t give a damn.
The Ulfen warriors began to creep forward, but Declan hissed, “Wait. What’s the plan?”
Olenka said, “We break their skulls, you burn them.”
“That’s not a plan,” said Declan. “Your scout said there were four trolls, but I see only three. That means we need to lure the fourth one back to the others, so we aren’t surprised.”
“Good,” said Jadrek. “What else?”
“Well...” Declan hesitated. He hoped Jadrek already suspected he was a wizard, and more than that he hoped both of them understood there was a difference between a wizard and a witch. If they wanted an explanation of the difference, he realized he didn’t know where to begin. “While I am definitely not a jadwiga, I can cast a few spells.”
The others were silent, but Declan sensed that Jadrek was nodding, his suspicion confirmed.
“After our last fight, I prepared more fire, but not enough for four trolls,” he said. “Unless you two can gather them up for me.”
“Very well,” said Jadrek. “What’s the plan?”
Declan told them, and they considered the many ways it could all go wrong.
“You’ll need to run fast to get out of range,” said Declan.
“I know,” Jadrek said. “But as long as we get Ellasif out of there, I don’t care if you burn the forest down.”
Olenka sighed. Declan sympathized. She and Jadrek were taking most of the risk.
“Good plan,” Jadrek decided. He clapped Declan on the shoulder. It was a heavy blow, but not, Declan thought, outside the bounds of Ulfen affection. “We go now.”
Declan felt a moment of panic, and he almost called out for them to wait. But there was no point. He was as ready as he could be.
Olenka and Jadrek ran around either side of the clearing. They moved quickly, making just enough noise to be sure the trolls could hear them, but not so much that it was obvious they wanted to be heard. Declan kept his eyes on the clearing, where one of the trolls rose from its squat beside the cauldron and snuffled at the air. An anticipatory grin creased the creature’s bestial face. It nudged one of its fellows with its knuckles and grunted out a few words in their monstrous tongue. All three rose and turned to face the woods in three directions. Declan guessed the brutes had been hoping for a rescue attempt.
The fourth troll bellowed to the west of camp, the direction where Olenka had gone. The three trolls by the camp turned as one in that direction. In the same instant, Jadrek streaked across the clearing. He swung his hammer down to smash the thigh of the nearest troll. The beast wailed louder than a pack of wolves. Jadrek ran past, turning his body to sweep his warhammer in a horizontal arc. He struck the second troll with an audible crack to the spine. The beast opened its massive maw toward the sky, but no sound emerged. It clutched at the small of its back.
The third troll reached for Jadrek just as Olenka burst out of the forest. Behind her, the pines bent to either side as her massive pursuer shouldered them out of its way. Shadows flickered over the troll’s gray-green skin, giving it the appearance of a foul pond into which someone had cast a load of garbage. The troll’s claws, each big enough to grasp Declan around the waist, clutched for Olenka. For a second, Declan feared the troll would grasp the warrior’s long red braid and reel her in like a fish.
“Run,” Declan whispered. “Hurry up and run!”
Jadrek and Olenka ran into each other, shoulder to shoulder. They turned together, his hammer and her sword striking low. Jadrek smashed a foot, sending his troll into a spasm of barking and hopping. The point of Olenka’s blade swept up, trailing a crimson plume, but the troll’s claws slashed down across her jerkin, taking with it a thick swath of leather and a spray of blood. She cried out, a sound more angry than fearful, and spun away to flee beside Jadrek.
They ran five or six steps together, then Olenka stumbled. She stood to run almost instantly, but she was a few steps behind Jadrek and only a few steps ahead of the nearest two trolls.
Startled and confused, the other two trolls hesitated. Declan worried that Jadrek had injured them too badly for the ploy to work. The big warrior must have shared his fear. He taunted them with shouted insults and vulgar gestures. They came after him, but Declan feared they were still spread too far apart. His timing had to be perfect.
He cast the spell when Jadrek was about ten yards away. He estimated it would just miss Olenka, but as the sp
ell slipped from his mind and took form in reality, one troll lunged forward and grasped the shield maiden by the ankle.
A chaotic network of silvery gossamer formed between the trees nearest the trolls. It glimmered for an instant, barely real, before clotting to form a dense, sticky barrier. The weight of the trolls stretched the webs and bowed the trees. Their roars blew like storms through the conjured barrier, but the webs held fast.
So did the grip of the troll holding Olenka’s leg.
Declan uttered a curse so vile he surprised even himself.
“Do it now!” Olenka shouted, kicking with her free foot. It was no use—the troll’s grip was far too strong to break. It dragged her into the webs, and she sat up to hack at its wrist.
“I can’t,” said Declan. He knew she would be caught in the blast.
“Do it,” demanded Jadrek, skidding to a stop beside him. He ran back toward Olenka, placing himself in the same deadly spot. “Hurry!”
“This is a bad idea,” muttered Declan, but the next words he uttered were those that evoked the most powerful spell he knew. He squeezed his hand tight and felt the prick of heat upon his palm. It was no use waiting—it had to be now. Declan cocked his arm and hurled a fiery orb no larger than a pebble toward the webbed trolls. As it flew toward them, it blossomed, expanding to engulf the entire mass of webs.
The explosion blew Declan’s hair back from his face. He felt the heat on his skin as he closed his eyes against the blinding flash. The plan had been to follow the first spell immediately with another, but he dared not hurl another fireball until he could see Jadrek and Olenka. He blinked and peered into the brief inferno.
It had vaporized the webs and blasted the bark from the trees. Flames danced up the pines to hiss in the oily fir needles. Pinecones popped and spun down from their bows, spreading the fire to the neighboring trees. Below them, silhouettes of the trolls capered in pain and terror. Two ran into each other, falling in a tangle of long limbs in their desperation to escape the flames. Another turned, blinded and amazed, just before emerging from the flames. The fourth ran howling toward the house of pines, jabbering for help from within.
Winter Witch Page 19