Free The Wizard And The Warlord by Elizabeth Boyer Page A

Adills in quite a while,” he said to Rolfr. “Is there any change in him yet?”
    “No, indeed,” Rolfr said. “Come in and see for yourself. He’s been gone so long he’s getting dusty.” He led the way into their dingy quarters and lit a candle. Mikla closed the door securely and muttered a spell over it.
    “You’ll have to teach me the eavesdropper spell sometime.” Rolfr said with an envious sigh. “There’s so much that I’d like to learn, if we only had the time.”
    Mikla seemed to be thinking of something else. He paced around the table several times, bending anxious looks upon Adills, who looked as peacefully and mildly at rest as any carven statue.
    “I wish Adills would come back,” Mikla said with a frown. “He doesn’t know how we need him now. Sigurd, you admire Jotull very much, don’t you?”
    “Somewhat,” Sigurd answered guardedly.
    Mikla rubbed his hands together while he was thinking and laced his fingers when he spoke. “Jotull is new here I came here as Adills’ apprentice, but, as you can see, Adills isn’t the most attentive master, so I puttered around by myself and enjoyed it tremendously until Halfdane decided to summon another wizard to watch over the affairs of the hill fort while Adills went a-roving. We don’t know where Jotull came from, but I can tell you he’s no Guild wizard, the ones who are the best and most loyal to the Alfar of Snowfell. He might be from one of the smaller fire wizards’ schools, but I don’t think so.” He paused to let Sigurd question him, fixing his listeners with his most solemn stare, which would be impressive on an older, stouter frame, but now looked rather top-heavy on his slender form.
    “Well? Where do you think he came from?” Sigurd demanded.
    “I can’t say for certain, but I have my suspicions—Halfdane being who he is.”
    “Who is he, then?” Sigurd found Mikla’s ponderous, portentious attitude annoying.
    Mikla folded his arms to explain. “Halfdane made a vow with his own blood that he would kill Bjarnhardr, if he failed, someone of his kin would do it. Bjarnhardr killed Halfdane’s wife and family when he destroyed the original Hrafnborg, which used to he far to the east and north of here. Halfdane has a pair of gauntlets made for him by the Dvergar—the black dwarfs, who can make almost anything magical. He’ll use the gauntlets’ power to help him kill Bjarnhardr, and everyone knows how desperately grim Halfdane is once he has sworn to do something. If the Dokkalfar were worried about their leader being killed by Halfdane, they might endeavor to destroy Halfdane first by spies and treacherous means.”
    “And you think Jotull may be a spy?” Sigurd chortled. “For a moment I thought you had something intelligent to say, Mikla. I know you hate Jotull, but I think your imagination or resentment is working overlong and late. He’s a great wizard, even if he is rather hard on you and anyone else inferior to him. Unless you ve got proof, you shouldn’t make accusations like that. If he ever hears about it, you’ll be obliged to duel him, and I daresay he’ll cook your goose in half an instant.”
    Mikla smiled a strange, dark smile. “Not if he’s a Dokkalfar, Siggi. Dokkalfar don’t do fire spells.”
    Sigurd thought of Mikla’s fire demonstration a moment. “But Jotull says there’s no real distinction between Ljosalfar and Dokkalfar any longer. He says they’re all Dokkalfar, and it is true that Halfdane does all his prowling and patrolling at night, not in the daytime.”
    “Bjarnhardr’s men are out at night,” Rolfr said. “Why should he search for them in the daylight hours?”
    Sigurd shook his head. “Then that sounds to me like you’re all Dokkalfar—dark elves—and there are no longer any light elves.”
    Rolfr and Mikla exchanged a startled glance. “No, it can’t be,” Mikla said, conjuring a knob of glowing green flame on the end of his staff. “If I were a Dokkalfar I