Carefully they moved out over the smooth dark floor. Judging from the muffled thump of the hooves, it wasn’t stone but trampled earth, Jessa thought. The flame above Brochael’s hand was tiny; it flung a huge distorted shadow of him back across their faces. The others were barely visible, glimpses of eyes and faces. As they crossed it she knew the hall was even more huge than it had seemed from outside. Here and there weeds and fat pale mushrooms sprouted, glistening wet in the candle flame. All around hung heavy silence, and far behind, the pale crack of the doorway glimmered.
“Over here,” Brochael whispered. He shaded the flame with his hand and turned to the left, walking more quickly. He came to something dark and bent over it; then he picked it up.
“Look at this.”
It was a carved horse, a chess piece. It was as long as his arm.
They gathered around it, fingering the rotting wooden mane. Other chess pieces lay on the floor, scattered around, broken and softening into the soil. Kari kneeled and touched one, lingering over it.
“Long dead,” Brochael said stoutly, but there was a question behind it. Kari took his hand off the king piece and looked around in the darkness. “A wolf is listening,” he said.
Far off, as if to answer him, one howled in the wood.
“They won’t come in here,” Jessa said.
He looked at her strangely, but said nothing.
Walking between the huge chess pieces, they crossed to the end of the hall. Here a doorway led off into another room, pitch black. Weapons in hand, they went in.
This room was smaller; a pale window at one end showed them a patch of stormy sky and two stars glinting. Wind roared through it. Debris was scattered here too, and in one corner a tree trunk had sprouted up and died and fallen years ago; now it lay in a sprawling tangle.
Brochael slapped it. “This will do. Plenty of kindling. We can watch the doorway to the hall.”
“There’s another door down there,” Skapti muttered, straining his eyes into the gloom. “This place is a warren.”
Brochael stuck the candle into a crack in the tree trunk and began to gather scraps of wood. They snapped easily, dry and loud.
It took no time to get a fire going; the flames lit the corner of the great room but little else. The travelers dried themselves out and ate wearily, then wriggled into blankets almost without a word. Jessa was glad to be warm. As she tossed to find a comfortable position, she thought of the old man, back at Ulf ’s. He had said something about a great hall. The thought eluded her; she was too tired to chase it. Sleep swallowed her instantly, like a great wolf.
Hakon had first watch.
He propped his chin on his sword to keep awake, but that was no use; soon he was nodding and had to get up and prowl about in the dark.
He crossed to the doorway and gazed out, into the black spaces. For a moment he had thought that something had shuffled out there, but everything seemed still. Far across he could see the crack of the outer doorway, paler than the surrounding blackness.
The others were asleep; it would be better not to wake them unless he was sure. If it was nothing, Skapti would have something bitterly sarcastic to say. Jessa too, if he knew her.
He stared out, puzzled, into the hall. The silence of the great ruin was complete. He thought of the warped doors, the dust over everything. No one could be still here.
Then, this time nearer, he heard it again. A chink of sound.
Gripping his sword hilt with both hands, Hakon stepped cautiously out, sliding his foot against rubble and stones. Out in the invisible heart of the hall, a patch of moonlight fell briefly through a roof hole and vanished; he glimpsed sleet spiraling down and for a moment something long and gray that moved through it and slid into the dark. His heart thumped. It had looked like a wolf.
He waited, breathless a moment, then took a silent step back. At once a cold hand slid around his mouth and clamped down; a sword point jabbed in his back.
“Don’t move. Make a sound and I cut your throat.”
The swordpoint was a cold pain between his shoulder blades; even breathing out made him wince with the sharp stab. The hand lifted from his mouth and took his sword quickly. Rigid, Hakon squirmed with fury. He wanted desperately to call out, but dared not. And yet the others were depending on him. He opened his mouth but it was too late; the hand clamped back.
“How many of you are there?” the hoarse voice whispered.
Hakon shook his head.
“How many?” The hand lifted slightly.
He managed a yell, half-stifled, but loud; then he was turned and shoved face-first into the wall, a bruising blow that burst in his forehead, and to his astonishment and fear the room growled about him; it rumbled and shook, and the floor tilted and he fell into a slither of stones.
Twelve
A wind-age, a wolf-age, till the world ruins;
No man to another shall mercy show.
Jessa woke to a roaring and rumble that made the floor shake. Pain sprang in her fingers; for a moment she thought they had been bitten off; memory and sleep confused her. Far off in the building something slid and smashed. One of the horses was whinnying with terror; as she watched, Brochael’s pack slipped from the tree trunk and crashed down, spilling water and food and coins that rolled and rattled.
Skapti hauled her up.
“What is it?” She gasped.
“Keep quiet!”
Silent, they waited, letting the long echoes fade. The walls quivered once, and were still.
“An earthquake?” Skapti breathed.
Something crashed out in the hall, settling to stillness.
“Could be.” Brochael stood tense. “If so, we should get outside. There’ll be others.”
“It could have been something else,” Jessa muttered.
“A giant, walking?” Skapti suggested.
They were silent, despite the scorn in his tone, imagining the great figure of Galar pacing through his hall. Then behind them, in the firelight, Kari said, “Brochael. Hakon’s missing.”
They all turned instinctively. “The fool!” Brochael said. “What was he thinking of? Has he gone outside?”
“No. The birds would say.” Kari looked preoccupied. Abruptly he said, “I think there’s someone else here—out there in the hall.”
They gazed apprehensively at the black archway. Then Brochael walked up to it, and even his great bulk was tiny in its shadows.
“Hakon?” he breathed.
A small, strangled murmur came out of the darkness. Then Hakon’s voice, sounding strained. “I’m all right, Brochael, but there’s someone with me.”
“Who?”
Only silence answered.
“Get me some light,” Brochael snapped.
Carefully Skapti went and pulled a smoldering branch from the fire; he lit the candle with it. Light glimmered on the wild eyes of the horses as they backed and snorted.
“Leave the boy alone,” said Brochael hotly. “If he’s hurt…”
“Listen!” Hakon sounded breathless. “He’s got a sword at my throat. He says he’s alone and wants no trouble, but if you attack, he’ll kill me.”
“We should all get outside,” Skapti muttered. “That earthquake…”
“I know! But Hakon first. Come on.”
They stepped out behind him, through the arch.
The candlelight was weak; eventually it showed them Hakon, crouched among a pile of stones with his knees up under him and his head dragged back; a blade glimmered under his chin. In the faint light, someone else stood behind him, gray and shapeless. Dust was spiraling everywhere, and what looked like snow drifted through the roof gaps.
“Let him go!” Brochael snarled.
Hakon was dragged, clumsily, upright. The shadowy figure was tall and lean. But no giant.
“If I do,” a low voice said, “then we meet as friends?”
“For our part.” Skapti was dangerously quiet.
They waited. Then Hakon stumbled forward and stepped away quickly, as if he had been released, and they heard the long shiver of steel returning to its sheath.