The Islands of the Blessed

“That troll is my brother,” Skakki said. “But I’ve left him with the ship. Kindly announce to Bjorn that the son of his best friend, Olaf One-Brow, is here.”

The man looked startled. “You’re Olaf’s son? You were no bigger than a bog rat the last time I saw you.”

Skakki narrowed his eyes. “And you haven’t gotten any handsomer, Big Half.”

“Aye, everyone says that.” Big Half scratched his bristly cheek. “Come out here, Little Half. See what the tide washed up.”

Another man squeezed past and stood, hands on hips, observing them. Jack was enchanted. He was no taller than the boy’s shoulder, but his head was unusually large. To support it, his body was thickset and strong. “You’re a dwarf!” Jack cried.

“I’ve kneecapped men for saying less than that,” said Little Half.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Jack apologized. “I’ve always heard stories about dwarves living in hills and making gold rings. They gave the Mountain Queen a throne of gold and diamonds.”

Little Half spat not far from Jack’s feet. “If I could get my hands on gold and diamonds, do you think I’d be living in this pesthole? I’m just an ordinary man concentrated into a small area.”

“He’s my brother,” explained Big Half. “Mother always said I was so big, there wasn’t enough left over to make him.”

“Garm’s fangs! Do you see that?” cried the dwarf, pointing excitedly. “It’s Bjorn’s best horse come home again—and who’s that riding him?” Thorgil was approaching slowly, keeping pace with the Bard. Jack hadn’t paid much attention to the shield maiden’s looks, but now he saw her through Little Half’s eyes.

She wore a sky blue tunic over a green dress and soft leather boots. Her legs were visible because she rode astride, but they were cased in purple leggings that had certainly caught the dwarf’s attention. Around her neck was an amethyst necklace, most certainly a gift from King Brutus. Thorgil had chosen not to wear a veil, and so her fine, wheat-colored hair flowed in the breeze and her cheeks were rosy with sunlight.

“Oh, the pretty creature,” murmured Little Half, clasping his hands. Thorgil allowed Big Half to help her down, and Jack noticed that the man’s face had broken out with sweat. Thorgil thanked him sweetly. She whispered something into the stallion’s ear, and he turned and galloped back to the heath.

“That was Bjorn’s best horse,” Big Half protested.

“He’ll return when I call him,” Thorgil said. “This is Dragon Tongue, whose fame is renowned throughout the nine worlds.” She nodded grandly to the Bard, who looked faintly surprised by her behavior. Jack certainly was. They were trying to allay the fears of the islanders, not remind them of the Bard’s well-known powers.

“I’ve heard of Dragon Tongue,” Little Half said uneasily. “They say that he can drive men mad by blowing on a wisp of straw. They say he melted a hole in the Mountain Queen’s fortress.”

Jack was intrigued. This was a tale he’d been trying to pry out of the old man without success.

“That was in my youth,” the Bard said, sighing. “Alas, age falls upon us all.” He leaned on his staff as though it were the only thing holding him up. “It would be good to rest somewhere,” he said pointedly, looking at the gate.

“You can’t spend the night here,” Little Half said rudely.

“But, brother, only the other day the king said he wanted visitors—”

“Shut your face,” snarled the dwarf. Jack was amazed by his hostility, and Skakki looked surprised too. Hospitality demanded that a Northman offer lodging, especially to an old friend.

Big Half looked unhappy, but he went back inside and dragged out a stool. “Rest yourself on that, Dragon Tongue. I’ll fetch you something to eat, and something for you, too, pretty lady.”

“Allow me to introduce Thorgil, my heart-sister,” said Skakki, indicating that she had been adopted. The brothers bowed and Thorgil accepted their homage as though it were the most natural thing.

“I am heart-daughter to Olaf One-Brow, but my mother was of the line of King Hengist,” she said proudly. Now Jack understood what she was up to. She’d always felt shamed because her mother had been a thrall. Thorgil herself had been a thrall most of her life, and the bitterness of it had eaten into her soul. She wasn’t going to pass up a chance to act like royalty.

“A princess!” cried Big Half. “Oh, my, my, my! To think that we’d be so lucky. Wait till I tell the king.”

“I told you! No visitors tonight,” objected Little Half.

“But a princess—” The brothers went off to confer, and Jack caught fragments of the conversation: enemies, dangerous, hogboon, and now and then, princess. Finally, they came back and Little Half said they would ask the king for permission.

“I didn’t know Bjorn was a king,” Jack said when the brothers had gone.

Skakki shrugged. “If he wants to call a group of turf houses a kingdom, I don’t see the harm in it.”

The Bard had settled himself on the stool and was examining the wall closely. “There are markings here, Jack. Do you recognize them?”