down. But Olaf said the hollow had been there many years. Its floor was deep in pine needles, and Jack saw places where animals had lain. A faint barnyard smell hung over the place.
The air was slightly warmer. But not too warm, Jack thought happily as he and Olaf turned their backs so Thorgil could take a bath. Jack heard her gasp and then curse richly as she splashed. He heard her wiping off her clothes with damp clumps of moss.
“You can turn around now,” she called. She still didn’t smell good, but she was passable.
“Do you know what’s following us?” Jack asked.
“Maybe nothing,” said Olaf. “With any luck, it’s too afraid of the dragon to come out.”
“Keep your voice down. Jack and I saw one yesterday.”
“You weren’t in a talkative mood,” Olaf said. “Anyhow, the dragon’s digesting an elk right now. She won’t be hunting for at least a week, but whatever it was in the forest doesn’t know that.”
“Whatever
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Olaf said crossly. “We’ll rest here awhile and then push on. It’ll take three days to reach the hall of the Mountain Queen. It looks near, but the last part’s steep and slippery.”
Olaf cleared away pine needles and drew a picture in the dirt of the route they would follow. It was straightforward enough: Follow the river to its source at the foot of the mountain. If they hadn’t encountered trolls by then, they would climb until they did. “Jotuns patrol their territory regularly,” said Olaf. “You can tell they’re near—I don’t know how to describe it exactly—by a tickling in your mind. Kind of like whispering.”
“Whispering?” Jack said. “I’ve been hearing that ever since we arrived.”
“That’s interesting. I haven’t,” said the giant. “Maybe you pick things up more easily because you’re a skald.”
“Or maybe because he’s a witch,” said Thorgil.
“I’ve been meaning to ask this,” Jack said. “What’s to keep the trolls from attacking the minute we
“First of all, because we’re not trying to hide, they’ll be curious. They’ll ask our business before trying to beat our brains out. That gives us time to produce the chess piece.” Olaf beamed as he laid out this strategy.
“Are you sure that’s how they’ll react?” Jack said.
“Pretty sure.”
“I’ve written a poem,” Thorgil announced suddenly.
They turned to look at her. She stood and bowed as though they were in a fine hall rather than a drafty burrow.
“Maybe we’d better get going,” said Olaf. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”
“Don’t you like my poem?” Thorgil said.
Olaf sighed. “Give it a rest, Thorgil. You’ll never be seven feet tall no matter how much you stretch, and you’ll never fly no matter how fast you flap your arms. Some things aren’t meant to be. Girls can’t write poetry.”
“Keep your voice down. You’re a better warrior, but you’ll never outdo him as a skald.”
A sudden cry from Bold Heart made them all freeze. The crow flew shrieking round and round the top of the deadfall—Jack could see him through gaps. The quality of his cries made them all draw their weapons. The roof overhead quivered as something heavy climbed on top.
Chapter Twenty-eight
GLORY
“What is it?” whispered Thorgil.
“I don’t know,” Olaf whispered back. His head reached the roof of the hollow, and he held his sword ready to stab whatever it was through the gaps. The timbers groaned and shifted slightly.
“Shouldn’t we go outside?” said Jack.
“Maybe our chances are better here. We can hold it off in the passageway.”
They saw a huge, hairy foot plunge through a gap. Olaf chopped at it. The creature screamed and black claws tore out strips of wood as it regained its footing. Jack’s face was sprayed with blood.
Bold Heart sailed past another opening. The monster growled and swayed back and forth. Branches and pine needles rained down. Thorgil gazed up at the logs with a wild and joyful expression on her face.
“We have no chance at all if the roof comes down,” urged Jack.
The creature roared as Bold Heart made another pass. “I think that bird is
“He’s giving us a chance to escape,” said Jack. Both Olaf and Thorgil turned to him.
“Escape is for cowardly thralls,” Thorgil sneered.
“And getting killed is for idiots,” said Jack. “That thing is too big for all of us put together.”
“I have never, ever, fled from battle,” rumbled the giant. “I am a berserker from a great line of berserkers. I would not shame my sons.”
“Your sons won’t know anything if we all die!” cried Jack.
“
“You can write one for me, too,” Thorgil shrilled. Her voice tended to get squeaky when she was excited.
“What about the quest? What about finding Mimir’s Well? What about saving Lucy?” Jack despaired of making any dent in Olaf’s stupidity. All the while the creature bounded back and forth over the deadfall, probably chasing Bold Heart, who was still shrieking and attacking. The logs groaned and debris showered down.
Olaf took out the flask with the wolf’s head on its side. “Oh no!” cried Jack. “You can’t go mad now! You’ve got to escape and save Lucy!” But the giant ignored him. He drank most of the liquid and handed the rest to Thorgil. The strong smell of wolf-brew made Jack’s nerves tighten with alarm. He felt like running—but whether from or toward danger he couldn’t tell. Olaf started to breathe heavily. Thorgil began to pant. The pupils of her eyes opened wide. They both whined.
“I think that foot belonged to a troll-bear,” Olaf said, his voice almost a growl as the bog myrtle took effect. “Besides dragons, there’s no more dangerous beast. I doubt we shall survive this battle.”
“Ours will be a magnificent death to be sung about until the end of time,” said Thorgil.
“Fame never dies,” said the giant.
“Fame never dies,” she agreed. She sounded drugged.
“Why does everyone want to die?” cried Jack. “What’s wrong with living?”
Olaf and Thorgil panted like dogs, tongues protruding from their mouths. Suddenly, they howled and rushed into the passage, banging against the sides as they followed its twists and turns. Branches scraped Thorgil’s arms and face. They tore holes in her tunic. She never paused. Olaf roared. Saliva streamed from his mouth, flying off in
