long tendrils.
Jack ran after them, but more carefully. By the time he got outside, the two were already climbing the deadfall, bounding from log to log. Olaf’s foot came down hard and collapsed a small section.
“Come back!” Jack yelled. He might as well have tried to stop a landslide. The two warriors screamed their challenges—Olaf booming like thunder, Thorgil shrieking like a scalded cat. And now Jack saw their opponent rear up from the far side of the deadfall.
It was a bear all right, but huger than Jack had dreamed possible. It was more than twice the size of the dancing bear that came to the village fair. And it was a fantastic pale gold color. The creature rose up on its hind legs and swayed from side to side, snuffing the air. Its long, black claws were at the ready. If ever a berserker bear existed, this was it!
It absolutely dwarfed Bold Heart, who continued to circle. One of the beast’s feet was soaked in blood, and one of its eyes was destroyed, apparently by the crow. Jack’s hopes rose.
Then three things happened almost at once. The troll-bear caught Bold Heart’s wing during one of its lunges. It threw the bird clear over the deadfall to land in mud. Thorgil, in her rush up the logs, came down wrong and fell with her leg trapped in a hole. She screamed. The sword fell from her hand. She tried to pull herself out and failed. Jack started up to rescue her.
The troll-bear dropped to all fours and hurled itself at Olaf. The two met with a jarring crash. Olaf slashed and stabbed. The bear clawed and bit. But from the very beginning the man had no chance. Even half blinded with a wounded foot, the beast was twice his size. It grappled with its arms around his body and tore at his back and shoulders.
They rolled over and over on the top of the deadfall. Then, with a tremendous crack, the mountain of logs caved in. The center crashed down into the hollow. Logs farther out rolled free and bounced down the sides. One barely missed Jack’s head. He ducked and kept scrambling. The whole pattern of the deadfall was rearranging, with gaps opening and closing as the whole structure shifted. The hole confining Thorgil’s leg gaped and slammed shut as a huge tree trunk rolled into place.
But not before Jack had pulled her free. He hadn’t known he had such strength. He hauled her up, skittered down the still-shifting deadfall, and dashed across the valley floor without thinking. He dumped her down and fell to his knees, gasping from the effort.
Her face was white with pain, but she didn’t utter a sound. She stared up, shocked. Jack was shocked too. It had happened so quickly. He’d lost Bold Heart, Olaf, and perhaps Thorgil as well. He didn’t know how badly she was hurt.
After a long while he recovered enough to examine her leg. Her foot was twisted. He could see no other injury. “Can you hear me?” he asked Thorgil.
She nodded.
“I’m going to leave you for a few minutes. I’ve got to look for Olaf. Is that all right?”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.
Jack ran back to the deadfall. The tunnel to the hollow had collapsed. He climbed up, freezing when the structure threatened to move. He got to the top and looked down.
The center was a welter of splintered wood. To one side sprawled the troll-bear, its head crushed by a log. To the other was Olaf. He was bleeding in a dozen places. His legs were broken, and he had terrible gashes in his arms and chest. But he was alive. He raised his hand in greeting.
Jack climbed down. This part of the deadfall at least seemed stable. The hollow was filled in, and the logs had nowhere else to fall. “Can you hear me?” he asked.
“I hear,” said Olaf. The wheezing in his voice told Jack there might be more injuries than he could see. “Thorgil?” wheezed the giant.
“She has a broken ankle. That’s all, as far as I can tell.”
“The bear?”
“It’s dead.”
“Good,” said Olaf.
“I have the pain medicine Rune gave me,” Jack said. “I’ll leave it with you and go back to the ship.”
“Waste of time,” said the giant.
“No, it isn’t. Rune’s a healer. Eric Pretty-Face and Eric the Rash can carry you.”
“I’m dying,” whispered Olaf, and Jack knew it was true. There were simply too many wounds. By the time he found the ship—assuming he survived the poisonous meadow—it would be too late.
“At least let me give you poppy juice.”
“I’ll take a little,” said Olaf. “It will help me wait… until Thorgil can come.” Jack, weeping, handed him the flask. The man swallowed a few drops and waved the boy away.
Jack hurried back to Thorgil, but on the way he saw Bold Heart lying in the mud. The bird was flapping his good wing and trying to rise. “Bold Heart!” Jack cried. He gently lifted the crow and saw that although the right wing was damaged, no serious injury had occurred. The mud had broken the bird’s fall.
“I won’t leave you behind,” Jack promised. He went on to find Thorgil also attempting to rise, but her injury was worse. “I know how Father’s leg was treated by the monks,” he told her. “I can tie your ankle straight with sticks. It will hurt, but the bone will grow straight. The trouble with Father’s leg was that they left it till too late.”
He kept talking, more to calm himself than anything, as he gathered sticks and tore strips of cloth from his cloak. “I’ll do a quick job now and a better one later. Olaf wants to see you. We’ve got to hurry.”
At the mention of Olaf, Thorgil showed interest for the first time. “He’s dying,” the boy said, choking on the words, “but he killed the bear.”
Jack’s hands shook as he bound her ankle tightly and hauled her to her feet. She gasped and clung to him, hopping along on her good foot. With each hop, she caught her breath. Jack found the trip especially grueling because he had Bold Heart slung in a bag around his neck as well. They slowly worked their way back. Then it became easier because she could use her arms to crawl up the deadfall. Jack wondered at her silence. If it were him, he’d be groaning by now. The broken ankle had to hurt like fire.
They got to the crater in the middle and went down. Olaf smiled weakly. “Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter,” he said.
“W-What did you say?” said Thorgil.
“I’ve named you my daughter,” he said. The pain medicine seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “I told Skakki and Heide this before I left.”
“B-But I d-don’t want to live w-without you,” she wept.
“Is that any way to show gratitude? I am being called by Odin. I can see the Valkyries standing on the hills.”
“I’ll die with you! I’ll be sacrificed as Mother was!”
“No!” roared Olaf, and subsided into coughing. He spat blood over his beard. “No,” he said more softly. “I didn’t save you from Thorgrim for this. You have survived the battle honorably. You must go on. Your quest is not over.”
“B-But I want to d-die.”
“Well, you can’t. Nobody dies of a broken ankle.”
Thorgil burst into sobs. She tore at her face with her fingernails until Jack pulled her hands away.
“You must take the Mountain Queen’s chess piece, Jack,” said Olaf. “It’s in my travel pouch. The sun stone is for Skakki. Thor’s hammer is for you, Thorgil, daughter of my heart.” Jack found all three. The latter was a silver talisman many of the Northmen carried.
For a while Olaf was silent, breathing with difficulty. Jack offered him pain medicine, and he refused. “She will need it more.” The giant nodded at Thorgil.
As the day wore on the sun circled the horizon. It would sink into darkness for only four short hours. Olaf talked with Thorgil, growing ever weaker. Jack watched miserably. Now that the emergency had passed, he was able to assess their situation. Most of their supplies lay in the collapsed hollow below. He hadn’t a hope of reaching them. They had to travel three days to the Mountain Queen’s hall—though with Thorgil’s injury, it might take a week or more.
In a week the dragon would have digested her elk.
