dark. I heard a Great Owl hoot above me and took it as a good sign.
Uther lay where I had left her, on the furs in the small, grassy clearing. She was surrounded by Quicks. Sven held a torch, and the orange light shone down on the brawny wolf.
She looked smaller than when I’d first seen her, tall and muscled, in the tent with my sister. Her beautiful face was pinched with pain, and blood oozed from her wound each time she took a breath.
The Quicks had cut her bonds, though two of the archers stood with bows raised as a precaution.
Uther gestured with two fingers for Gyda to draw near.
“You’re the one who wants to find the path to Esca’s jarldom.” Her voice rumbled in her broad chest, deep but weak. I had to strain to catch each word. “I saw your ache for Esca’s sword—I saw it glowing within you the first time we met.”
Gyda rubbed her skull with her palm and then dropped to her knees beside the wolf-priest. “Yes. I am the one searching for Esca’s forgotten lands.”
“I tried to burn you and a Quick some weeks ago. You escaped and took the archer with you.”
“Yes, wolf. His name is Melient. He has returned to his Quick companions and freely roams this forest, no thanks to you and your wolves.”
“My wolves are all dead.” Uther slowly lifted her hand and rested it on Gyda’s head, like an Elshland monk offering a blessing. “I did not tell Morgunn how to find the key to Avalon. She begged me, yet I did not tell her. Without it, she will never find the sword … I didn’t want her to find it. She has too much chaos in her blood. She is a wolf, not a jarl.”
Gyda kept her head bowed, savalikk, and let the Fremish priest rake dirty fingers through her short hair.
“There is a tunnel through the Skal Mountains. It was built by Fremish stonecutters in the age of the sagas and leads to Esca’s jarldom in the Green Wild Forest—it is the only path that still lies open to his forgotten lands. You must go straight north from here. Follow the Mort Darthur River until you reach the base of Imp’s Ear Peak. There you will find a Fremish wizard in a small hut beside a sky-blue troll-stone. The wizard will be young, beautiful, and mischievous.”
Uther’s voice faded. She put a hand to one of the arrow shafts in her side, took a breath, and pulled. The arrow slid out, followed by a splash of crimson. “I want to die. Skroll is coming for me. I can hear her footsteps echoing through the trees…”
Gyda pressed her hand to Uther’s wound, and blood seeped between her fingers. “Tell me how to find the door, wolf. You will tell me this before you die.”
Uther sighed deeply, and her giant frame rattled, rib cage shaking. She put her hand to the leather pouch at her waist, opened it, and pulled out a small statue. The figurine was part woman, part owl, with large, staring eyes, and two hornlike tufts of hair. “Here, druid. Skroll has ordered me to give this to you—she has changed her mind and now approves of this quest to find Esca’s sword. Show this trinket to the wizard and then make the trade. He will know what it means.”
Gyda took the statue and clutched it to her heart. “Thank you, wolf.”
Uther took another deep breath and yanked the remaining arrow from her torso. She dug her dripping red fingers into the dirt beneath her and opened her mouth wide.
“Skroll,” she shouted. “Skroll.”
The queen of the wolves died in blood, screaming for her god.
It was a good death.
* * *
I had hoped to interrogate Uther about Morgunn and the wolf-priest leader Sinthe, but she died too soon.
Perhaps it was for the best.
My sister had run off to drown herself in yew berry juice and rampage the Skal Mountains with another pack of wolves.
I’d failed her.
I would not run after Morgunn again and risk my friends’ lives trying to rescue her.
I would help Gyda obtain Esca’s sword. I would keep this oath. My companions had helped me find my sister once, and I would not ask them to do it again.
* * *
Madoc taught the basic steps of the Amber Dance to the Quicks that night.
“We are archers at heart,” Sven said, “but we carry knives and need to know how to use them.”
“I thought you only