break his arm.
All the strength drained from his ruined left arm as the Northman raised the hot bar again. Ericson's face was a twisted mass of veins and sinew. He grimaced so hard and wide that his mouth threatened to open up over his entire face. His eyeballs rolled in their sockets.
He's going berserk, thought Ogden fleetingly. He'll tear me apart. Ogden braced himself and stepped toward his attacker, throwing all of his weight into a low, sweeping punch. His fist caught Ericson just below the ribcage, and the north-man's dirty breath blasted Ogden's face.
'Huh!' Ericson grinned even wider, white flecks dotting his beard. 'Ha!' He smashed his forehead into Ogden's face. The innkeeper felt his nose go flat with a sickening crunch. Red light exploded behind his eyes. He felt his brain rolling untethered in his skull, and the earth rolled in waves beneath him. He tried to step back, but his legs betrayed him. He fell back hard, and the impact chased the wind out of his lungs. Ogden lay helpless on the snow.
Ericson loomed forward, a giant against the white sky. With both hands he raised the poker above his head. The black bar rose higher and higher, Ogden thought, high enough to pierce the roof of the world. And then he saw that Ericson himself was rising.
'No!' The hoarse cry was Portnoy's, but all Ogden could see was the great awkward figure of Ericson flying through the air. He heard a heavy thump and an inarticulate grunt. His limbs still felt stringless, but Ogden rolled toward the sound.
Not five yards away lay Ericson, stunned and blinking. A big shadow moved toward him on the snow, and Portnoy's heavy steps followed close behind, quickening in a charge.
The Northman rose to meet his new attacker, his rage broken but his desperate will intact. The poker remained in his grip.
'Portnoy, don't!' Ogden tried to yell. His voice was as weak as his battered body. The lad wouldn't have heard even the most thunderous bellow, from the way his head lowered in determination.
The lad closed as Ericson swung his bar. The weapon struck Portnoy's big round shoulder and bent, but the blow did nothing to slow him. Both giant figures crashed to the ground, and Ogden imagined he could feel the resulting tremor. He tried to stand but managed only to put his hands and knees beneath him. He looked up to see Ericson and Portnoy rising from their tumble. Port-noy now held the iron stoker.
The Northman looked at the mangled weapon in Port-noy's hand, then at the face of his foe, who seemed none the worse for the mighty blow. He turned and fled.
Portnoy started after him.
'Wait!' wheezed Ogden. His voice was returning, and with it some strength. He pushed himself up to one knee and pointed vaguely toward the fleeing Northman. 'Look where he's going.'
Ericson ran awkwardly, his feet sliding on the icy surface of the pond. As Portnoy and Ogden watched, the northman's feet shot out, and he hit the ice with a terrific crack. Even at this distance, Ogden could see the blue lines form under the Northman's fallen body.
He tried to stand, but first one and then his other leg thrust through the broken surface into the frigid water. Jagged teeth of ice grated and groaned, and the Northman sank deeper. He scrabbled for a hold, but found none. Ogden saw his adversary's eyes meet his one last time, and then the northman's face fell still. Without a cry, Ericson slipped into the icy pond.
'… and when we searched the pond where he'd been chopping, we came up with the bag.' Portnoy's voice had dropped low and frightening. He was developing a talent for storytelling. It was not easy for him, for he had always been awkward around crowds. He left out the parts where he'd been most frightened, and that helped, too.
'What was inside?' Enid whispered theatrically. She had heard the story earlier, but more villagers had gathered at the door to the Hart, waiting for Lord Donnell and Ogden to finish their private discussion of the day's events. Among them stood Lord Donnell's guardsmen, themselves commanded to wait outside with the rest. Like the other villagers, they burned with curiosity about the death of the wizard Cole. Fortunately, Portnoy was there to satisfy their curiosity at once.
'The wizard's cat!'
After an initial 'oh' of understanding, the audience was suitably puzzled.
'His cat?' Mane had arrived late and was mystified by Portnoy's revelation.
'It was his familiar, you see. If a wizard's familiar dies, so does he.' Portnoy hadn't known that for certain until Ogden had said so, and even Ogden had to consult Megan, who everyone was pretty sure was a witch, even though she didn't have a familiar of her own.
'Oh!' Now the listeners nodded and nudged each other.
'Uncle Ogden saw milk and a broken bowl at Niall's house. Niall was too mean to set out milk for a cat, so he must have put it out to lure the poor thing close. Then he grabbed it, popped it in a potato sack, and drowned it in the pond.'
'So Niall killed Cole without ever leaving his cottage,' Enid concluded for him. Mane gave her and Portnoy a suspicious glance. It made Portnoy feel uncomfortable and vaguely proud.
'Why didn't you see the cat's footprints coming up to Niall's house?' asked one of the older villagers, quite sensibly.
Portnoy nodded, expecting this question, too.
'The cat walked over across the pond, where the wind had blown away the snow before it could settle. Where it walked from the pond to the door, Niall had stamped out its tracks with his own. That's why his trail was so ragged. He had to go everywhere the cat had-'
Behind Portnoy, the front door of the inn opened. Out walked Lord Donnell, a tall, lean man who wore his dark beard neatly trimmed. His blue winter cloak was finer than those around him, but not so fine as to seem out of place. Behind him stood Ogden, his broken arm bound and splinted, and hanging in a clean linen sling. His broken nose was darkly bruised, but packed full and near to its original shape. The faces of both men were aglow, and not entirely from sitting too close to the hearth.
'Let the gossip begin!' declared Donnell. His eyes were weary from his journey and from the unfortunate news- not to mention Ogden's ale-but he seemed satisfied if not cheered by his constable's report.
'I suspect you're a bit late for that,' said Ogden, looking at Portnoy. The big lad looked like a child caught stealing a neighbor's apples.
'But I thought it would be all right to-'
'Oh, it's all right, lad,' interrupted Donnell. 'But did you give the whole story?' He turned to address the crowd as a whole. The setting sun made his shadow huge against the wall of the inn. 'Did you tell how you fought Niall Ericson single-handed, defeating an armed Northman warrior with your bare hands?'
'Well…'
'You did that?' Mane's suspicious stare transformed into a look of awe. He never saw Enid's own gaze of unsurprised affection as she smiled at Portnoy.
'I knew you were leaving out your own part,' said Enid.
'Well…'
'Well, then,' said Lord Donnell, ushering the eager crowd into the warm confines of the Hart, where they would hear the rest of the story from Ogden himself. 'Let the gossip truly begin.'
The Rose Window
I hope against hope that no one ever reads this.
I suppose I learned the truth the day before yesterday, but it all started a few weeks before that. You see, I was there when the Abbey of Byfor was torn down. I had to go. Loremaster High Tessen had been my mentor. It was like paying my last respects to an old friend.
