golden cups shook with it. “We are living the life of heroes.” Her voice rang out through the cave, bouncing off the walls, soaring up to the shadowed ceiling high above.
The other children joined her, small fists pounding on strong wood.
“Heltar,” I cried out.
“Heltar,” echoed Ink and Gyda and Madoc.
“Heltar,” the children shouted.
* * *
When everyone had drunk too much mead, especially the children, a rogue Jade Fell boy by the name of Safir began to sing one of the Frey songs, a sad, sweeping melody about the Boneless Mercies’ fight with the giant in a Skal Mountain cave.
We sat savalikk as Safir moved from verse to verse. Even the youngest of the children, a girl of five with wispy blond hair and a feisty look in her eyes, was silent and still.
When Safir finished, I told the story of Olli from the Blood Frost Saga, of how she journeyed on her own to the Skal Mountains to find her sister, Eela, and recover the magical sword Eela had stolen from an Elsh hedge-fighter.
Afterward, the yawning children began to wander off to their comfortable beds. The flames died, leaving bright red embers. I and my three companions, half drunk on moongold cider, fell onto a pile of furs near the largest of the braziers and nestled into the fire’s amber glow as if it were a soft golden quilt.
I slept deeply.
* * *
“Torvi.”
I opened my eyes slowly, trying to shake off my dreams.
Pellinore’s hand was on my shoulder, the ends of her red braids touching my cheek. She held a torch in her fist.
“Torvi, come. I’ve already woken the druid. Someone has asked to see the both of you.”
I wriggled out from Madoc’s arms. Gyda gave me her hand and pulled me to my feet.
We followed the girl across the cavern, weaving around the beds of sleeping children. Pellinore stopped at a tapestry in the far corner, the one that depicted a group of men and women hunting a boar through a sunlit forest.
We slipped behind the hanging. Pellinore led us down a narrow passage, down and down, past milky-white cave stags, past a small rust-red pool, crimson droplets cascading from above.
We stopped in front of a small alcove, glowing with the light of two braziers in the corner. A girl sat cross-legged inside on a comfortable bed of sheepskins, her pale eyes watching us. She wore a plain brown robe. Her head was shaved to the skull, and her skin was dusted with bright pink powder.
Gyda silently pulled her knife and then shifted into the first stance of the Amber Dance. “Pig Witch,” she whispered.
“Druid,” the girl replied.
Pellinore stepped between them and held out her bony arms. “Peace, mystics.” She glanced at Gyda. “This is Elm. We found her wandering the caves a few weeks ago. A band of Jade Fells summoned her people to them to perform a pig ritual. When they didn’t like the prophecy, they slaughtered all but Elm, leaving her to die alone in the caves.”
Gyda lowered her dagger. “I’m sorry for your loss, Strega.”
The Pig Witch nodded. She rose to her feet and went to the druid. They were of a similar height, though the witch was much younger. “Pellinore has asked me to read for you. She believes your quest is important. Are you willing?”
I knew how much Gyda hated the Stregas, and I knew how much she wanted Esca’s sword. I could guess her answer.
“Yes, I’m willing.”
Elm touched the side of her nose with one finger and then smiled. “You can return to your hatred of us Pig Witches tomorrow. Tonight, I give you a vision. Wait here.”
Elm disappeared for a few moments and returned with a white whisper bat, held gently between her two small hands. She murmured a stream of words into its ear, and it went limp in her grasp.
“Your knife, druid.”
Gyda handed her Butcher blade to the witch. Elm took it and dropped to her knees. She sliced the poor bat open from wing to wing.
The druid turned away, as did I. We had seen many beasts killed on the road, for food, for survival, but we loathed using animals like this, for prophecy.
Yet this girl was trying to help us. I straightened and made myself watch.
Elm slid her fingers into the slit in the bat’s belly, and blood ran down her wrist. The Pig Witch began to shake, the trembling jolting her slender spine. The whites of her eyes turned a faint milky red.
Aslaug had told me