Snow-Walker Read Free

voices withdrew into the room. Coldness ebbed; the freezing fear slowly loosened its grip. Jessa heard Thorkil’s shudder of breath, saw his hand was shaking as he gently moved aside a fold of the cloth so they could see part of the hall.
    Someone was sitting in the Jarl’s chair, looking no more than a bundle of rich fabrics. Then he pushed his hood back, and Jessa saw it was a very old man, thin and spry, his hair wisps of white, his look sly and sidelong.
    â€œThey leave tomorrow,” he was saying. “As you expected.”
    Astonished, Jessa stared at Thorkil.
    The woman laughed, a low peal of sound that made a new surge of fear leap in Jessa’s stomach.
    The old man chuckled too. “And they know all about Thrasirshall, the poor waifs.”
    â€œWhat do they know?” she said.
    â€œOh, that the wind howls through it, that it’s a wilderness of trolls and spirits on the edge of the world. Not to speak of what the hall contains.” He spat, and then grinned.
    They could just see the woman’s white hands, and her sleeves. Gently Thorkil edged the curtain a little wider.
    Gudrun stood in the light from the window. She was tall and young, her skin white as a candle, her hair pure blond and plaited in long intricate braids down her back. Her ice blue dress was edged with fur. Silver glittered at her wrist and throat; she stood straight, her sharp gaze toward them. Jessa felt Thorkil’s instant stillness. Even from here, they could see her eyes had no color.
    â€œHow did they take their news?”
    â€œThe girl, quietly. Master Thorkil squealed, but Ragnar stopped that.”
    Gudrun laughed. “Even the Jarl needs his pleasures. I allow him a few.”
    â€œBut there is one thing you may not know.”
    Her eyes turned on him. “Be careful,” she said lightly. “Even you, Grettir.”
    He seemed to shift uneasily in the chair. Then he said, “Ragnar gave the girl a letter. It was for Brochael Gunnarsson. It was a warning.”
    She laughed again, a murmur of amusement. “Is that all? What good will that do? Let them take it, by all means.” With a rustle of silks she moved to sit by him; Thorkil edged the curtain to keep her in sight.
    â€œNone of it matters.” She rested her white fingers lightly on the old man’s shoulder. “Everything is ready. Ragnar is sending them there because I slid the idea of it into his mind, just as he speaks my words and eats and sleeps as I allow him.”
    â€œBut the letter?”
    She shrugged. “He has a corner of himself left alive. As for those two, I have my own plans for them.”
    She put her lips near his ear, dropped her voice low. Jessa strained to hear. “I’ll have my hand on them,” the woman said. Then she whispered something that made the old man grin and shake his head slyly.
    â€œYou have the great powers, Gudrun. Not many can touch you.”
    Instantly he was silent, as if he knew he had made a mistake. She leaned forward and ran the sharp point of one fingernail gently down his cheek. To her horror Jessa saw it leave a trail of white ice that cracked and fell away, and a blue scar in the skin as if some intense cold had seared it. The old man moaned and clutched his face.
    Gudrun smiled. “Be careful, Grettir. No one can touch me. No one.”
    She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. “Remember that.”
    She got up and wandered to the table, then to the fire. “As for the creature in Thrasirshall, you and I know what he is.”
    She stretched one hand over the flames; thrust it close. Jessa saw a single drop of clear liquid fall from the white fingers, as if, she thought, they had begun to melt in the heat. As the drop hit the flames they hissed and crackled, leaping into a tower of fire. Smoke drifted around the hall; it hung in long snakes that moved around the woman’s waist and feet, slithering over the flagged floor,