I woke thrashing on the couch where I’d fallen asleep, panic and horror at war within me. My whereabouts penetrated the dream-fog, and I sighed, relaxing all at once. My body was screaming at me, my shoulders and neck so tense I didn’t think I’d be able to turn my head in either direction. Pain ate into every joint like a vile acid, and my eyes burned as if someone had filled them with salt. Next to me, the enchanted golden spear lay on the floor.
“Hank?” asked Jane, her voice groggy. “What’s wrong?”
“Farmathr!” I snapped. “Where does this damn platform take us?”
“Don’t worry, it’s safe.”
“No, I think you’d better tell me.”
“What is it, Hank?” asked Frikka. “What have you seen?”
“This particular path takes us to another FTTN stronghold, almost identical to the one we just left,” said Farmathr. “It’s the first stronghold in Kleymtlant, at the point where the Dragon Spine Mountains turn northeast.”
“On the east side of the mountains?” I demanded, the memory of my dream, the snake-thing flinging itself into the air, leaping unbidden to mind.
“No, the west side. Why?”
“What is it, Hank?” asked Meuhlnir rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Danger?”
I told them all about the dream, about the big snake-thing, the sea dragons, Hel’s army far to the north, blocking the only entrance into Pilrust. I told them about Hel changing into a black dragon and chasing me, shuddering at the memory.
Frikka nodded once, face solemn.
“You knew of this? Of her army?” demanded Meuhlnir.
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
Frikka turned her gaze to meet his, a bland expression on her face. “No.”
Meuhlnir shook his head, eyes awhirl with strong emotion. “I don’t understand you,” he seethed.
“It is no matter, Meuhlnir. Uhrluhk binds us.”
“But we could have prepared—”
“And,” Frikka continued, talking over him. “Uhrluhk can change.”
“Look, you two can argue this out later,” I said. “My immediate concern is whether this platform will dump us into the Dark Queen’s lap.” All eyes turned to Farmathr.
“Pilrust? No. This platform’s path ends 10 days’ ride to the southwest.”
“And does my sister know of this method of transportation? Or just Vowli?” asked Freya.
Farmathr shrugged and cut his eyes away. “Who can say what another knows?”
“That’s not an answer,” growled Mothi.
“And yet, it is my answer. In any case, it’s too late to worry about such things. There is no way to stop this platform or to get off before it reaches the end of its path.”
Trapped, I thought. Might as well be in a nice, gift-wrapped box. Kuhntul’s original warning flashed through my mind. A betrayer, she’d said. A traitor. Could it be Farmathr? From Meuhlnir’s face, I guessed he was thinking similar thoughts.
“Besides,” said Farmathr. “From the next station, a back way—a hidden way—leads to the place you seek.” He smiled with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “And I know where it lies.”
“Without meeting the Dark Queen’s troops?” I demanded.
He scoffed with a sardonic grin plastered on his face. “Such unanswerable questions you lot have.” He held up a finger, as a minister might, mid-sermon. “But, but, I will say that I doubt this path will lead us into conflict with the Dark Queen’s army.”
It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but it was the best we would get from Farmathr. My irritation with the man grew, and so did the ache in my neck. I looked at Veethar and quirked my eyebrow.
“The big snake,” he said.
A small smile curled the corners of my mouth. The intuitive connection that was growing between us was similar to the one Jax, my old partner in the New York State Police, and I had shared. Thinking of him sent a pang shivering through me and stirred that pot of anger at Hel and Luka that I’d been suppressing.
“Without seeing it for myself, I can’t be certain.”
I nodded.
“The behavior you describe could be attributed to a lidnormr—a dragon of the stone.”
“Great. More dragons,” muttered Jane.
“Are we being pursued by the Dark Queen’s troops and one of these lidnormr?”
Veethar shrugged as if to say: it was your dream, not mine. He cut his gaze to his wife.
“Not necessarily,” said Frikka. “In dreams, even when they are not troymskrok, things may not be what they seem.”
“That’s helpful,” groused Meuhlnir.
Frikka shot him an angry look. “Shall I lie?” she demanded.
“What might this lidnormr represent?” I asked in the hopes of forestalling an argument between the two.
“A powerful adversary, a great evil, even Ivalti’s army.” Frikka shrugged. “Until we have a better understanding of your prophetic dreams, we must take the dream’s message to heart.”
“And what is that—if you are allowed to say…” said Meuhlnir.
“That despite the danger that follows us, we must not rush in blind.”
“Grand,” Meuhlnir muttered.
“Things are not clear at this time,” said Frikka.
“And if they were, would you tell us?” demanded Meuhlnir.
“Leave her alone,” said Sif in an iron voice.
Meuhlnir threw up his hands and stalked off toward the front of the platform.
“He’s a touchy one,” said Farmathr, with a derisive lilt in his voice. Sif glared at him, but Farmathr seemed not to notice.
“One thing is clear,” I said into the frigid silence. “We can’t go head-on against the army I saw camped at Pilrust.”
“No,” said Veethar.
“So, unless one of you knows another way into the Herperty af Roostum, we must follow Farmathr’s secret path.”
“Don’t sound so grim,” said Farmathr. “Has this ride on the platform been uncomfortable? Dangerous? Was I wrong about the pursuing army being unable to follow us?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and turned away. I walked up to stand next to Meuhlnir. He stared into the blackness we presumably raced into at great speed. The lack of wind, the lack of vibration, the lack of visual cues of our speed combined to make it seem as if we were standing still.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
“I know what you mean. I keep getting the feeling we are being herded, despite our best efforts.”
He looked at me askance, one eyebrow arched.
“The sea dragons made us travel overland,” I said. “After that, the tretyidnfukl on the walls of Suelhaym made us travel with Lottfowpnir’s caravan, leaving Kuthbyuhrn’s cave as the only way to get to the western side of the Dragon Spine Mountains, where the denizens of the Great Forest of Suel channeled us north, and Ivalti’s army kept us from going too far north, or from gaining sea transportation in the Stormur Syow—not that we’d want it.”
Meuhlnir nodded, stroking his beard. “And we rode east to avoid the ambush set by Ivalti’s army and ran right into Farmathr.”
“Yes,” I said. “And here we are, trapped on this platform, hurtling ahead into the unknown, an army at our backs and a larger army guarding the only direct route into Pilrust.”
“Again, pushing us into Farmathr’s waiting arms, so to speak.”
“Yes.”
“What do we do?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but grin. “I was going to ask you…”
He chuckled at that, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “We can fight our way through almost anything, but we can’t stand against armies of the size you’ve seen.”
“And we can’t pop open a proo and go around them.”
“No, we can’t. And the party is larger than we expected.” His eyes darted over my shoulder toward the Isir standing behind me, no doubt glancing at Freya and Pratyi.
“Can we stop this platform using the strenkir af krafti?”
“To what end? To go back?”
I shrugged. “Having any option is better than having no options at all, right?”
He rocked his head to the side, mouth grim. “Whether pursuers wait on the platform behind us or not remains unknown. We don’t know what would happen to us in these tunnels. What did he call them? ‘Lectrics and plasms.”
“I understand what electricity is, and so do you, God of Thunder.”
He grinned at that and shrugged with a crooked smile.
“I’m not sure what plasms are, but I assume it’s a method of transmitting power. Something the Geumlu used. But all of that is academic if we can’t stop the platform.”
“Can we try without damaging some important mechanism?”
It was my turn to grin and shrug. “No idea.”
“I also have no idea, and until we do, it would be reckless to poke at things we don’t understand. That’s a good way to get killed.”
I gazed into the tunnel’s inky darkness. It struck me as strange that there wasn’t even a light on the front of the platform and no lights in the tunnel at all. “Can she really do it?”
“Predict the future? Yes, Frikka’s been—”
“No, not that.”
Meuhlnir’s gaze crawled over my face. “Oh…you mean the dragon in your dream.”
“Yes. Can the Black Bitch turn into a black dragon? It could be important.”
He chuckled but sobered after a moment. “In your dream, was it a complete change?”
“As opposed to…”
“As opposed to the change the oolfa perform—halfway between man and beast.”
“She ran at me and changed mid-step. After that, she was flying—a sleek, black-scaled dragon.”
“And you saw no human features?”
“No, she was all dragon, I think.”
“Ah. I doubt it’s within her power. True shape-shifting has certain challenges to it. It takes even more power than what the oolfa do. That’s why, in your experiences with my brother and the Dark Queen, they took on aspects of animals, but remained human in the larger sense—they don’t have enough power to make a complete change. Bigger, stronger, yes, but still mostly human.”
“Even breaking the Ayn Loug?”
“Yes, even eating the flesh of men does not grant such power.”
I remembered my first lesson from Althyof—how he’d intimated that what he did as a runeskowld was beyond the capabilities of what Meuhlnir and the other Isir did with the Gamla Toonkumowl—and nodded. But still, I wondered what was possible with runic magic. Althyof had said that what the Dark Queen did approached what a runeskowld could do. I wondered if she’d had some Svartalf teaching her, though I’d never seen her do anything such as what Ivalti had done. “Interesting,” I said.
“Is it?” he murmured, one eyebrow quirked up.
“If she can’t make such a change, then it must symbolize something she can do, right?”
Meuhlnir stroked his beard. “I hope not.”’
I waved Althyof over, and he came, a sour expression on his face.
“You mentioned before that the Dark Queen could do something that approaches casting runes, yeah?” Meuhlnir arched an eyebrow at me.
Althyof grimaced and nodded.
“Using your art, is…shape-shifting possible?”
The Tverkr’s eyes opened wide. “I…uh…” He glanced at Meuhlnir.
“Or maybe with the Svartalfar version?”
Althyof cast a baleful glance at me. “Of the two, theirs is the perversion of the true Art. There is nothing a Svartalf can do that we cannot.”
“Is that a yes?”
Althyof nodded, but his expression was aggrieved. “I think it might be possible.”
“Think or know?” snapped Meuhlnir.
Althyof turned his gaze on him, with an air of indolence. “I say what I mean, Isir.” He nodded at me and walked toward the back of the platform.
“Interesting,” I murmured.
“Is it?” murmured Meuhlnir.