So did Marcovefa. “Enough of this foolishness!” she said. “You want me to find out whether you’re right, don’t you?”
“If you can.” Ulric sobered as fast as he’d got silly. “I mean, I know we’ve been in trouble before and we’ll be in trouble again. If we didn’t land in trouble again, it would be because we’ve given up on everything we’re trying now—or else because we’re dead. That’s not what I’m worried about. Something not very far away is going to mean trouble for us pretty soon—or I think it is. The hair at the back of my neck thinks it is.”
“Well, we will see.” Marcovefa took two thin, flat, nearly transparent crystals out of a rabbit-hide pouch she wore on her belt. When she held them parallel to each other in front of her face, they remained transparent. But when she turned one so it was perpendicular to the other, the square where the two of them met became dark.
“How do they do that?” Hamnet asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcovefa answered with a shrug that said she also didn’t care much. “But when I look through the darkness, all I see is what put us into danger.”
Don’t look toward Gudrid, Hamnet thought. He’d already lost that fight—lost it twice, to Marcovefa and to Liv. His chances of winning it now didn’t strike him as good enough to make reopening it seem worthwhile. “What do you see when you look through the . . . the . . . ?” He groped for a word to describe the crystals.
“Spars, we call them—spars from the land of ice,” Marcovefa said, which struck him as an oddly nautical name to come from a mountaintop above the Glacier. “As for what I see . . .” she went on. She slowly turned in a complete circle with that curious darkness held in front of her right eye.
When she started a second revolution, Count Hamnet was sure that whatever Ulric Skakki had imagined was imaginary. When, facing southeast, she suddenly stopped, he was sure that what he’d been sure of a moment before was wrong. Few sensations were more disconcerting than that; it was as if an earthquake had shaken the country inside his head.
“Well, you are right two times now,” Marcovefa told Ulric.
“What is it? Do you know? Can you tell?” he asked. Somehow, by not gloating, he sounded more smug than he would have if he’d bragged about how fine his hunches were.
Marcovefa shook her head. “Something, that’s all. Maybe it won’t be trouble now that we know it’s there. Or maybe it will be worse.” Hamnet wished she hadn’t added that.
“Let’s go deal with it, whatever it is,” Ulric said.
“Would we do better running away?” Hamnet asked.
“I didn’t looked for you to play the coward, Thyssen,” Trasamund said.
“I’m not, by God,” Count Hamnet replied. “There’s trouble, and then there’s trouble. Some kinds you can face; others, you’d do better to stay away from. If you run toward one of those, you’ll be sorry afterwards . . . if you’re still around.”
“He’s right,” Marcovefa said, which silenced Trasamund. She looked at Hamnet again. “I don’t know this time. We’ll just have to find out—or else run away without finding out.”
“If we do that, it’ll come after us, whatever it is.” Ulric Skakki spoke with mournful certainty. “I say we need to see what’s what.”
Hamnet didn’t argue any more. He walked over to his horse and swung up onto it. So did the others. He winced when he saw Eyvind Torfinn and Gudrid on horse back. They made him wonder if he wasn’t bringing trouble with him instead of riding toward it. But Marcovefa seemed willing enough to let them ride along. Some people here already thought Hamnet had spoken up once too often. He kept quiet now.
Marcovefa and Ulric leading the way, they rode out. Hamnet Thyssen kept close to Marcovefa, but let her stay in front. She smiled at him over her left shoulder every so often, as if his attentiveness amused her. It probably did. What a warrior could do to keep an accomplished shaman safe . . . Is keep other warriors away from her, Hamnet thought. Spells reached farther than swords, but swords could strike faster.
What they rode through seemed ordinary Raumsdalian countryside. “So many ups and downs,” Trasamund grumbled. The Glacier had never lain this far south, never ground everything flat beneath its massive weight. Hills and dips persisted here, where they’d been leveled up in the lands the Bizogot was used to.
Forests lay well back from the road. Hamnet’s head swiveled from left to right, from right over to left. If the trouble came from either side, he’d be ready for it. He’d see it, anyway. After a moment, he realized that might not be the same thing.
If the trouble came from straight ahead, he’d see it from even farther off. He hoped he would, anyhow. If the trouble was some gigantic pitfall . . . He shook his head. He couldn’t believe Ulric would have sensed such a thing. And it wouldn’t be a danger unless they came in this direction on purpose.
Marcovefa also seemed alert. She was as bright as a songbird: head up, eyes sparkling, nostrils flaring with excitement. Hamnet wondered if he was imagining some of that, but he didn’t think so.
Sure enough, a moment later she started to laugh. “So that’s what this is all about,” she said.
“What?” he asked.
“They thought they could set a trap for us.” Marcovefa held up a hand as she reined in. Everyone else stopped, too.
“What kind of trap?” Count Hamnet asked.
“I don’t know—yet,” she said, pointing out toward the peaceful-looking landscape ahead. “Whatever lies beyond that.”
“Beyond what?” This time, Ulric got the question out ahead of Hamnet. It seemed more than reasonable enough to the Raumsdalian nobleman.
Not, evidently, to Marcovefa. Her nostrils flared again—this time, Count Hamnet judged, in exasperation. “Some sort of sorcerous barrier lies ahead,” she said, as if to a group of idiot children. “Whatever is behind it, Ulric Skakki, is the trouble you rightly felt.”
In back of Hamnet, Audun Gilli spoke in a low voice: “I don’t sense anything up ahead.”
“Neither do I,” Liv answered, also quietly. “But her wizardry is stronger than ours. She may be right.”
“I know,” Audun said. “That’s what worries me.”
“What do we do now?” Even Trasamund’s big voice was unwontedly soft.
“We smash the barrier. Then we smash what lies behind it.” Marcovefa sounded as eager as if she were a young girl going to her lover.
“Just like that?” Hamnet said.
“Yes. Just like that.” She aimed a peremptory forefinger at the barrier only she could sense. When she spoke again, she used her own dialect of the Bizogot tongue. Ulric might have been able to follow it, but Hamnet couldn’t.
He also couldn’t deny it had an effect. The peaceful scene ahead wavered, as someone’s reflection in a pool would waver if he dropped a pebble into the water. Then it disappeared, as a reflection would if someone dropped in a handful of pebbles. It had concealed a swarm of sabertooths and lions and dire wolves and short-faced bears. Roaring and snarling, they sprang toward Hamnet and his comrades.
XIII
DID WE REALLY have to ride toward this?” Hamnet Thyssen asked. Without conscious thought, his hands strung the bow and found an arrow to set on the string.
“To tell you the truth, I would have been glad enough to do without it,” Ulric Skakki replied. He was readying his bow with quick competence, too.
Marcovefa started laughing again. Hamnet and Ulric looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. So did everyone else, which made Hamnet feel a little—a very little—better. In the next minute or so, unless he was luckier than he deserved to be, he was much too likely to end up torn limb from limb.
“Will you share the joke?” he asked.