Runemarks

It had cost Dorian some business-in fact, there were still folk in the valley who refused to deal with him-and it had left him with a great mistrust for the parson. Lucky for Odin it had, of course; for it meant that Dorian, of all the villagers, was the most inclined to disobey Nat’s orders.

Now he peered at the prisoner. The fellow certainly looked harmless enough. And that gag must hurt, forced between the Outlander’s teeth and held in place with a bit and a strap. He wondered why Nat had thought it so necessary that he be gagged at all. Just plain old meanness, more than likely.

“Are you all right?” he asked the prisoner.

Understandably Odin said nothing. Through the gag his breath came in shallow gasps.

Dorian thought he wouldn’t treat a plow horse to a bit like that, let alone a man. He moved a little closer. “Can you breathe?” he said. “Just nod if you can.”

Outside the roundhouse Tyas Miller was getting nervous. “What’s wrong?” he hissed. “You’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“Just a minute,” said Dorian. “I don’t think he can breathe.”

Tyas put his head around the door. “Come on,” he urged. “You’re not even supposed to be in there.” When he saw Dorian, his face dropped. “The parson said not to go near him,” he protested. “He said-”

“The parson says a lot of things,” said Dorian, leaning over to release the gag from the prisoner’s mouth. “Now, you stay outside and watch the road. I’ll not be a minute in here.”

The strap was stiff. Dorian loosened it, then cautiously drew the gag from between the prisoner’s teeth. “I’m warning you, fellow. One word and it goes back.”

Odin looked at him but said nothing.

Dorian nodded. “You’d like a drink, I daresay.” He pulled out a flask from his pocket and held it to the prisoner’s lips.

The Outlander drank, keeping his eye on the gag in Dorian’s hand.

“I’d leave it off all night if I could,” said Dorian, seeing his look, “but I’m under orders. Do you understand?”

“Just a few minutes,” whispered Odin, whose mouth was bleeding. “What harm can it do?”

Dorian thought of Matt Law and Jan Goodchild and looked uncertain. He wasn’t sure he believed half of what the parson had told him, but Tyas Miller had seen the mindsword with his own eyes, had seen it cut through flesh like steel.

“Please,” said Odin.

Dorian shot a glance over his shoulder to where Tyas was standing guard outside the door. The fellow was chained fast enough, he thought. Even his fingers were fastened tight. “Not a word,” he said.

The prisoner nodded.

“All right,” said Dorian. “Half an hour. No more.”

For the next thirty minutes Odin worked in near silence. His glam was still weak, and even if it had been stronger, the straps on his hands would have made the fingerings of the Elder Script almost impossible.

Instead he concentrated on the cantrips, those small uttered spells that require little glam. Even so, it was hard. In spite of the water his throat was still parched dry, and his mouth hurt badly enough to make speech difficult.

He tried it anyway. Naudr, reversed, would have loosened his hands, but this time it died, barely raising a spark. He tried it again, forcing his cracked lips to form the words.

Naudr gerer naeppa koste

Noktan kaelr i froste.

It might have been his imagination, but he thought the straps on his left hand slackened a little. Not enough, though; at this rate he would have to cast a dozen cantrips in order to free just one finger. After that he might be able to try a working-if there was time, and if his glam held, and if the guard-

The clock tower struck. Half past twelve. Time.

5

Meanwhile, less than a mile away, Maddy was closing steadily on the eagle and the hawk. She’d kept high above the other two, well out of their line of vision, and she was almost sure she hadn’t been seen. Now she veered a little to the right, still keeping very high, and surveyed the village with her falcon’s gaze.

She could see the roundhouse, a squat little building not far from the church. A guard stood outside it; another seemed to be looking inside. Only two of them. Good, she thought.

Elsewhere it seemed fairly quiet. There was no sign of a posse or any other unusual activity. The Seven Sleepers Inn had closed for the night, and only one light shone from inside, where no doubt Mrs. Scattergood had found some other poor soul to do her clearing up.

In the street behind the Seven Sleepers a couple of late revelers were walking home, their gait uncertain and their voices raised. Maddy recognized one of them straightaway-it was Audun Briggs, a roofer from Malbry-but it took her a few moments more to recognize the second.

The second was her father, the smith.

That was a shock-but Maddy flew on. She couldn’t afford to be delayed. She only hoped that if there was trouble, then Jed would have the sense to keep well clear. He was her father, after all, and she would prefer him-indeed, she would prefer all the villagers-to be well out of the way when the sparks began to fly.

She was reaching the outskirts of Malbry now. In front of her, less than a hundred yards ahead, the hawk and the eagle were beginning their descent.

Maddy stooped, falling steeply from her superior height. She made for the church tower, dropping down behind its stubby spike, and fluttered to a landing, gracelessly, in the deserted churchyard.

The feather cloak proved simple to release. A shrug, a cantrip, and it fell to the ground, leaving Maddy to bundle it up as best she could and thrust it into her belt. Unlike the others in their Aspects, she had retained her clothes underneath the falcon cloak. That gave her a little more time.

She looked around. There was no one about. The church was dark, and so was the parsonage. Only one light shone from under the eaves. Good, thought Maddy again. She found the path-mourning the loss of her bird’s night vision-and began to run quietly down it toward the village square, now deserted as the church clock struck half past the hour.

It was time.

In the sky above Malbry, Loki’s time was running out. He had been thinking furiously throughout his flight, but as yet no solution to his particular problem had presented itself.

If he tried to get away, the eagle would catch him, ripping him apart with her talons.

If he stayed, he faced one (or both) of two enemies, neither of whom had any reason to love him. His hold on Skadi, he knew, would last just long enough for her to realize that he’d lied to her once more. As for the General-what mercy could he expect from him?

Even if he managed to get away-during the scrap, perhaps, or in the confusion-how long would he last? If Odin escaped, he’d soon come after him. And if he didn’t, the Vanir would.

It didn’t look good, he thought as he began his descent. His only hope was that the girl Maddy would take his side. That didn’t seem likely. Then again, she could have killed him twice. She had chosen not to. What that meant he couldn’t say, but perhaps-

Behind him the eagle gave a harsh cry of warning-Hurry up, you-and Loki obediently entered his dive.

6

The night was aflame with secret stars. So the Examiner told himself as he stepped out into the cold air and, in the magic circle of his finger and thumb, saw the light-trails of a thousand comings and goings spring into life around him.

So this is what the Nameless sees, he thought, looking up into the illuminated sky. I wonder-however does It stay sane?

He staggered a little beneath his new awareness. Then he saw something that made him draw a sharp breath. Two light-trails, one violet, one icy blue, streaking like comets toward Malbry. More demons, he thought, and drew the Good Book even tighter to his thin chest. More demons. Better hurry.

He reached the roundhouse minutes later. He was pleased to see that the guards were still alert, though one of them gave him an anxious look, as if expecting censure.

“Anything?” he said in a sharp voice.

Both guards shook their heads.

“Then you are dismissed,” said the Examiner, reaching for the key. “I won’t be needing you again tonight.”

The anxious guard now looked relieved and, with the sketchiest of salutes, went on his way. The second-Scattergood, if the Examiner recalled the name-seemed inclined to loiter. His colors too seemed somehow wrong, as if he were nervous or had something on his mind.

“It’s a little late,” he said, politely enough but with a question in his voice.

“So?” said the Examiner, who was not used to having his decisions questioned.

“Well,” said Dorian, “I thought-”

“I can do my own thinking, I’ll thank you, fellow,” said the Examiner, making the sign with his finger and thumb.

Now Dorian’s colors deepened abruptly, and the Examiner realized that the man was not nervous, as he had first assumed, but actually