“You’ll thrive in my service,” he said, “an able man like you.”
“I trust that I am as able as Your Highness believes.”
Again, I dared glance at him, and he gave the ghost of a grin, mostly to himself. “I can recognize ability. Be prudent and loyal, Jorgen. You’ll find my daughters.”
That night, as I slept on a hard pallet in the citadel, I had a dream of trolls in palaces beneath the earth. This was a dream like no other I had known, and I awoke resolved to follow it. Before we departed, I sought out the chamberlain, still thinking of such places — crevices, caves, and pits in the earth — and I asked for a length of strong climber’s rope. Then, as the sun climbed the morning sky, we left with heavy wallets on our shoulders, packed with provisions.
Three of us set out. One of my companions was lean, a bony captain of the royal guard. He had a balding head and a great bristling mustache. Long ago, he’d fought as a sea-raider, and still he had a predatory look — piercing gray eyes, a nose like a hawk, and a weak chin that made him seem more beaky. The other was a stout young lieutenant with a bushy red beard. He was stiff in one leg from an old fall on horseback, but he limped along heartily, as fast as my normal pace. The chamberlain ordered us outfitted with rations, fine new bows and broardswords, fresh shirts and leggings, and tough, warm boots.
There are pretty tales about our quest; some have returned to my ears from across the icy sea. A man may flee vengeance or wrath, but not the distortions of his legend.
On the first day, I left the forest road, taking a deeper path among the ancient trees, sensing — as my dream had suggested — that this was the way to the enchantments that we sought. “Where are you going?” the captain said, standing with his long arms akimbo, head thrust forward and legs planted wide apart. The lieutenant stood at his side, resting his weight on a long, gnarled climbing stick. A bird flapped by, a jet-black crow the size of an eagle. It landed on a yew branch above us, watching and preening.
“Follow me or not,” I said, “this is the path to the King’s daughters.” The crow cawed as if in agreement. I told my dream, and my companions agreed to join me. We pushed on, deeper into the forest and the mountains, encountering many strange beings. There were hairy, black spiders larger than cats, but they scuttled from our path. Wolf howls followed at a distance, those and the lonely cries of a beast I could not name, something huge, I thought, by the loudness and depth of its voice. We saw leathery creatures like bats, with evil teeth set in the faces of men. The songs of birds were all about us, some melodious, others far more harsh.
Many times, we came to long, narrow bridges over deep scars in the land, and these we had to cross — else turn back defeated. Oh, there were adversaries: three bridges were guarded by saber-toothed lions the size of horses; another three by shaggy, grizzled bears as big as small trolls. Finally three dwarfs, each with diabolical vigor and strength, each more powerful than the last. But always we prevailed. I could tell a tale of sinew and iron and blood, of the foes we slew before I faced the trolls.
We hate trolls. They call to the terrors in our souls — perhaps to our guilt, for their crude enchantments have not saved them from our cunning, our engines, from the enigmatic help of the Bright Ones. Fewer and fewer of the lumbering brutes are seen.
The third dwarf was a tiny, bald-pated man, no taller than my hip bone — but he fought like a demon or a wildcat, armed with a double-bladed ax. Finally we overcame him. I sheathed my broadsword, but plucked up the ax, where it fell from his hands under the weight of our blows. Lifting it took a terrible effort. “I’ll split your skull,” I said fiercely. “Tell me where the Princesses are.”
“Spare my life. I’ll tell you.” I made no reply, but stayed my hand. He made a desperate movement, pointing to a narrow winding path that was barely recognizable as such. “There is a bare mound at the end. Atop the mound is a shapeless stone, and under that a pit.” He chuckled to himself, like one demented. “Let yourself down, and you’ll come to another world. There you will find the Princesses.”
I lowered the ax, easier than raising it, and his bald skull split like an eggshell.
The path was long, and always it continued upward. At the end of three days we came to a derelict structure, a stone house, and here we took shelter for the night, while a storm raged in the woods around us. Next morning, the storm had passed; we woke to bird song. My companions hunted for game, while I stayed to guard our wallets, with what was left of our rations. We ate rabbit, cooked over a fire while the lieutenant sang bawdy songs in a fine bass voice and the captain told of journeys on long ships, tales of far lands that he’d seen and plundered. We stayed a second night, then a third, and naught disturbed us.
Finally we set off, at my insistence. I walked in front, then the lieutenant, half walking, half swinging his body around the climbing stick. Last came the captain, guarding our rear, eyes narrowed and sword drawn. After some thousands of paces, we came to the mound, and I cursed the time we’d lost.
Seldom was I glad of my comrades, for often they had fancies of their own — but our battles with lions, bears, and dwarfs were the exceptions. This time was another: the shapeless lump of black star stone was so heavy that it took all our combined strength to roll it over, and then with much grunting and resting and starting again. We grew stinking and short-tempered. It was lucky we were strong. When he peeled his shirt from his sweaty torso, the lieutenant was like a wrestler, with a deep chest and powerful limbs, no matter the crablike tendency in his gait.
Late in the day we finally shifted the stone. Where it had been was a dark pit, deeper than our eyes could see. “Measure it,” the captain said, so I took my length of rope and lowered it into the pit with a cubit of old tree root knotted to its end. Only when we played out the entire length did it reach the bottom.
We retrieved the rope, and anchored it beneath the star stone’s edge. The captain tried it first, putting his foot through a strongly knotted loop that we tied. Minute by minute we played out the rope, lowering him into the pit. We’d agreed to pull him up if he tugged three times. As he descended, we played out far more rope than I had brought with me, but still he descended, even as we wondered at it. His voice grew faint: “Further, yet,” he said. Time passed, the sun low in the sky. Then there was a firm tug at the rope — and two more — so we pulled him up, the lieutenant a fine man for that heavy job. When we dragged the captain out of the pit, he was soaked through and shivering. His thin hair and blond mustachios dripped. “It’s cold and dark.” He wrapped his arms about his chest, rubbing himself desperately for warmth. “It smells of ancient dead things — but that’s not the worst of it. The rope seemed to grow longer with every touch I made against the side of the pit. Then, finally, I came to a lake of freezing water with drifts of ice. In I went with a splash, as far as my neck, then further, and never touched bottom.”
We returned to the deserted house, where we made a crackling fire to warm him, wondering what to do now. There were no bawdy songs that night. The lieutenant and I ate dried beef from our wallets, tough to chew, yet tasty, while the captain tossed and cursed in his sleep.
Next day, he was fit and recovered, something I would never have believed. Encouraged, the lieutenant wanted to try the pit. He passed me his climbing stick, and stripped to make a swim of it. Though he left behind his broadsword, he carried a dagger in his teeth. We lowered him with great difficulty, for he was so heavy, and the captain, wiry and tough though he was, lacked the lieutenant’s burly strength. As the sun journeyed upward, we persevered, and I wondered where all this rope had come from. Then there was a tug at it, and two more.