Thora's Dagger

By Chet Gottfried

The exciting sequel to the award-winning

The Gilded Basilisk!

Dragons, witches, and wizards add their mix to the confusion following two raids in two different places that set into motion a race to determine who rules Farringdale and Loweswater.

The warriors Hugin (clever if not much of a fighter) and Gier (headstrong and capable when he isn't a dragon) unite again after the events in The Gilded Basilisk. Ratatoska, the blind warrior with extrasensory perception, takes the lead with Hugin in tow to warn Hildi and Gier that Thora is on the loose and intend on revenge against the four of them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReAnimus Press
• Release date: Jul 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005191108

Chet Gottfried

A freelancer in book production for forty years, Chet Gottfried lives with his wife Sue, and their three ex-feral cats, in State College, Pennsylvania. He is an active member of SFWA, with stories in Jim Baen's Universe, Aboriginal SF, and Asimov's SF, along with numerous fantasy, science fiction, and horror stories in small press and online publications. In 1984, Space & Time published his SF novel The Steel Eye to introduce its book line.For 2014, in addition to ReAnimus Press producing The Gilded Basilisk, Zetabella Publishing is producing Chet's young adult fantasy novel, Einar and the Cursed City.Chet's website www.lookoutnow.com features over a thousand pages covering his nature photography, cartoons, and games, as well as travelogues from his trips to the UK Lake District, Iceland, and the U.S. Southwest.

Book preview

THORA'S DAGGER

by

CHET GOTTFRIED

Produced by ReAnimus Press

Other books by Chet Gottfried:

The Steel Eye

The Gilded Basilisk

Einar and the Cursed City

Einar and the Myrtledale Conspiracy

Into the Horsebutt Nebula

© 2022 by Chet Gottfried. All rights reserved.

https://ReAnimus.com/store?author=Chet+Gottfried

Cover by Clay Hagebusch

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~

To Nemmy,

Fiercely loving and fiercely independent

~~~

Table of Contents

Map

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Map

(If you have any difficult viewing the map, you may view it online at

www.ReAnimus.com/authors/chetgottfried/dagger_map.jpg )

1

Exchanging Daggers

Thursday Night

Hugin stared at the ceiling of his inn. He never paid much attention to it before, but how often did he find himself lying flat on his back among the rushes that covered the floor? Yes, definitely a fine ceiling and something worthy of his pride. Look at those beams. Solid. The beams were oak, whereas most inns in Loweswater or Farringdale had pine. Hugin thanked his good fortune in acquiring such an inn, a gift for services rendered, services as a warrior. With his success Hugin readily abandoned his sword in favor of filling tankards.

However, his most pressing thoughts went into another direction. Hugin realized that no matter how fine the ceiling in particular or the inn in general, his most urgent decision had to be, Should he roll to the left or the right?

Standing in front of Hugin was Gautrek, an oversize farmhand who had his legs braced apart and who held over his head a long bench, suitable for seating six people and also made from oak. Its heaviness was lethal. To retreat backward would mean going into the hearth, and Hugin didn’t look forward to burning off his hair. He was proud of his hair, a sandy blond and wavy. He didn’t want to be known as a bald innkeeper. That meant dodging to the left or right to avoid Gautrek’s anger. And what did Hugin do to deserve the farmhand’s animosity? Nothing more than suggesting that Gautrek had drunk enough and should ride back to his farm.

One alternative was staying perfectly still. The inebriated farmhand was more than likely to hammer the bench anywhere except on Hugin, but could Hugin afford to take the risk? What if Gautrek smashed him where he lay? Wouldn’t Hugin feel foolish not having attempted to move? Well, not if he were dead, so he better make his choice. But should he roll to the left or the right?

What’s going on?

The calm, clear voice of Ratatoska rolled over both men, and they froze for different reasons. Typically, Ratatoska covered herself in weapons, but since marrying Hugin and their managing the inn, she eased up somewhat, tonight’s armament being a pair of throwing daggers strapped to a belt around her waist.

Gautrek answered before Hugin could say a word.

Nothing, ma’am. Eh . . . me and Hugin were discussing whether I should leave now or have another drink first.

She studied him for a moment. Put the bench down where you found it. Straighten the table you knocked over, and then go home. Farmer Olaf expects to see you at work early in the morning.

Yes, ma’am. Gautrek gently lowered the bench and then righted the table next to it. He moved both until they seemed to be how he had found them. Gautrek staggered to the door, opened it, and gingerly stepped outside. A blast of late winter air blew in while the door was open, but he quickly closed it after him.

Hugin groaned, considered how he might avoid the forthcoming lecture, decided it was impossible, and so struggled to his feet and dusted himself off. Perhaps a change of conversation would delay Ratatoska’s annoyance?

I wonder whether I should light his way to the stable and make sure Gautrek takes his own horse? What if he takes Broadbeam by mistake?

How hard did Gautrek hit you? First, the moon is almost full, so there’s plenty of light outside. Second, Jon wouldn’t let him touch your precious mare.

Hugin remembered Ratatoska lecturing Jon. Well, correcting him would be a more appropriate word. From a lackluster worker, Jon had become diligent in taking care of visitors, horses, and the stable. Jon would have run away if he could, but few people had any doubts about Ratatoska’s tracking abilities as well as her readiness in keeping promises—or threats. Hugin admitted that his attempt to change the conversation didn’t work. Perhaps now was the time to try the direct approach?

Thanks for coming along—I appreciate your help—but I had the situation under control. Well, almost under control. I’ve an ax behind the bar, but I didn’t want to hurt Gautrek. He’s a good customer. True, he tends to be unruly when he’s a bit the worse for drink, but you have to expect that, given the circumstances. Hugin saw that his explanation wasn’t going over too well. Nevertheless, he kept trying. It’s a rough country, and farmhands don’t need to drink much before making a fuss.

Ratatoska walked over to Hugin and brushed off a wisp of straw from his hair. She was the ultimate warrior even though blind because her other senses—magical to be sure—more than compensated for her blindness. Her cloudy gray eyes with the fixed-size pupils held him in place.

That’s the fourth fight you’ve lost this winter.

The fourth? Are you sure?

Were there others I don’t know about?

He held out his arms. I could use a hug, dear.

She punched him in the stomach. Hugin doubled over and gasped for air.

He wheezed, Was that necessary?

You’d be better off with weapon practice instead of a hug. Come to think of it, you could lose a few pounds too, which exercise would accomplish. I had no idea how quickly a man could develop a paunch. You’re starting to go bald too.

Hugin straightened up with all the dignity he could summon. You’re in a foul mood tonight. It isn’t that Gautrek threw me down, something which might happen to any warrior, but not you of course. The point is, You don’t like keeping an inn. I thought we’d enjoy running the Bearded Dwarf together. It has to be a better life than tramping around the countryside and assassinating people.

Ratatoska said calmly, I’m not an assassin. I’m a tracker who happens to be proficient with weapons. Besides, the ‘Bearded Dwarf’ is a dumb name for an inn. All dwarves have beards.

I had a better name in mind, but you rejected it. Calling this place the Gilded Basilisk would have attracted way more people than the few who come here.

It became Ratatoska’s turn to take a step backward. You’ve got to be kidding me. After all the trouble the basilisk caused, that name—including yours—would have been a curse. No one would come here.

Anticipating her comment, Hugin had prepared a brilliant reply, but he was interrupted by what began as a thin scream that rose in intensity before being suddenly cut off.

Hugin and Ratatoska looked at each other, their argument totally forgotten.

What’s that? he asked.

Upstairs.

They both raced to the spiral stairway that rose from the center of the common room to the levels above. The first landing led to all the guest rooms, which were empty despite Hugin’s best efforts to publicize the inn.

Nothing here, Hugin panted.

Next floor.

Ratatoska reached it first, but Hugin was close behind.

Aveline! Ratatoska fell to her knees beside the young woman and cushioned her head. Aveline was lying on the floor, opposite what should have been a barricaded door but which was partially open. She wore a night shift and her hair was loose. Evidently, a disturbance had woken her from sleep, and she left her room to find out what it was. Blood from a narrow wound in her chest flowed freely.

Aveline struggled to talk. I . . . she . . . And then she coughed a little blood and died in Ratatoska’s arms.

Hugin had knelt by the two women. He slowly stood up and looked through the open doorway into what had been a sealed room. Ratatoska had insisted that they bar the door because it led into the workshop of the wizard Jolsvinn, who had built the tower they now used as an inn. Neither Hugin nor Ratatoska wanted anyone going through Jolsvinn’s possessions. The inherent magic was far too dangerous.

Aveline’s twin sister Giraldi came down the spiral stairway, saw what had happened, shrieked, and ran over. She sat on the floor next to her sister and Ratatoska and sobbed. Ratatoska attempted to sooth Giraldi by stroking her hair.

The sound of something either dropped or knocked over came from inside the room.

Ratatoska and Hugin exchanged glances.

In a hushed tone, he asked, What was that?

Closest to the partially open door, Giraldi attempted to turn and rise, but Ratatoska stopped her by taking a firm grip on Giraldi’s arm.

Don’t go in, Ratatoska told her. It’s too dangerous.

Hugin didn’t have any such constraints. He stood up, cautiously opened the door wider, and peered inside.

It’s too dark to make— Hugin fell silent on seeing a flash of light. A thrown dagger pinned his arm to the door.

Ratatoska was immediately next to him and threw a dagger that matched the trajectory of the one that had pierced Hugin. A groan came from the room and then nothing more.

What’s happening? Giraldi asked.

I’m wounded, Hugin muttered.

Shush, Ratatoska said and stood still a few moments. There’s a lot of work ahead of us. She turned to Hugin, who was squirming, trying to free himself from the door. Stop that, Hugin. You’re making it worse. Be still, and let me take care of that. Ratatoska drew out the dagger from Hugin’s arm with one sharp motion, and then her sensitive fingers felt around the wound. It’s not too serious, but I’ll have to bind your arm. Giraldi, go and tear some cloth into bandages.

With a hand Giraldi wiped her tear-stained face and left them.

Ratatoska whispered to Hugin, That will help distract her. Poor Giraldi—to come across her murdered sister . . .

Who attacked me?

You mean, which person. Ratatoska shrugged. There were three of them, but it doesn’t matter. The danger is over—no one is inside.

No one has left the room—unless Jolsvinn had installed a secret door.

Ratatoska shook her head no.

And there are no windows, Hugin continued. Jolsvinn valued his privacy—when he was at work. You’ve killed whoever was in there—in the dark.

You’ve forgotten about invisibility, but that wouldn’t work against me. Whether it’s dark or light doesn’t influence me one way or another, as you well know. As for whoever was there, I do hope I’ve killed the wretch. Aveline deserves that as a minimum and much more, not to mention payback for your own injury. As for how anyone left the room, Jolsvinn must have established a link between him and another wizard. You need two wizards, at least, to make it work. The link is a magic tunnel between here and somewhere else. That is uncommon magic, and the two wizards would have to trust each other absolutely. Consider: Would you want another person to have instant access to your most private quarters? The two wizards might be friends, but friendship isn’t enough because friendships end and quarrels develop. The trust between Jolsvinn and the other wizard had to be secure. Since Jolsvinn is dead, the magic must go back many months to when he was walking about. We know who the other wizard must be, which means that we’re in big trouble and Hildi and Gier are likewise in extreme danger.

Giraldi returned, handed the cloth strips to Ratatoska, and sat by her dead sister.

Thank you. Ratatoska released the pressure she had maintained on Hugin’s arm and wrapped strips of cloth around the entrance and exit wounds. It’s lucky that the dagger only damaged your left arm. You’ll be able to fence or practice fencing.

Without a shield? Hugin asked.

Stop moaning. You don’t need a shield while practicing. Ratatoska tied a knot to keep the bandages in place. I’ll check your arm in the morning. If it looks bad, we’ll wash the wounds and try again. I don’t think you need stitches, but we’ll see.

Maybe wash it out now?

Ratatoska ignored him. Giraldi.

The young woman looked at Ratatoska. Yes?

Are you up to a nighttime ride?

I think so.

The moon is almost full, so you’ll have plenty of light along the way. You better take Jon with you. He’s not much, but at night an enemy may mistake him for a warrior and hesitate before attacking the two of you. But not to worry. I doubt whether they’ve had any time to arrange a trap or ambush along the road to Fairmill, but you never know. We’ll be as cautious as we can at this stage. Your father will want to know about Aveline as soon as possible.

Giraldi stood and shuddered. I don’t wish to be the bearer of such news, but if I have to—

Hugin interrupted her. Why not send Jon? Why should Giraldi have to make the ride?

It’s for her own safety, Ratatoska replied. Yes, no one is in the room—now—but that does not mean the bad guys won’t return. They could prepare better on the next attempt. I don’t think they’ll try again tonight, but they might. Stranger things have happened. She went over and hugged Giraldi. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important. I’d send Hugin, but I need him here. Besides, you’re a witness and can give your father a better report than Jon could.

I’ll go, but I want to lay out Aveline’s body first. I couldn’t leave her like this even if I lose an hour or two.

That’s good enough, Ratatoska said, and we’ll help you. Now listen: Tell your father to send a messenger—wait, better make that two messengers at least—to Hildi and Gier. The twins’ father was Gerald, who everyone called Beard and who lived in Fairmill, the capital of Loweswater. The abbreviated war of the previous fall between Farringdale and Loweswater had ended with Hildi and Gier becoming the rulers of both countries, and Hildi had appointed Beard to oversee Loweswater. Hildi and Gier will want to know as soon as possible what has happened and also what is beginning to happen. The first step for your father is to search Fairmill. Yes, I’m confident that’s the most likely place, the other end of the link to Jolsvinn’s workroom. But recommend caution to him. Our ‘visitors’ will probably have made their escape from Fairmill already, but maybe your father will get lucky. He’ll come across someone wounded by a dagger or find blood in an unexpected place. If he’s lucky, he’ll find a body with one of my daggers in it. Here, take this. Ratatoska gave a dagger to Giraldi. That should match what Beard will hopefully find. That should be all the proof he needs for tonight.

Who is Beard supposed to be looking for? Hugin asked.

Haven’t I told you? Ratatoska waited a few seconds but Hugin’s face remained blank.

I’d like to know too, Giraldi said.

Ratatoska looked from one to the other. Thora, of course. Who else but Rognvald’s younger daughter, the one who Rognvald promised to Jolsvinn if all their plans worked out. I suspect that Thora and Jolsvinn were already familiar with one another. Jolsvinn must have taught her magic, which explains the link between here and somewhere in Fairmill. The first obvious place for Beard to check is everywhere that Thora has been lodging. More than likely, she has a secret place from which she visited Jolsvinn without anyone knowing about the visits.

So she’s dangerous, Hugin said.

That’s obvious. I’ll bet that Thora has advanced far enough along the way from being a beginner to being a fully qualified wizard, without anyone suspecting the truth of the matter. And as for being dangerous, put Thora at the top of the list. She has much to be angry about: Jolsvinn, her lover, killed; her brother and sister killed; and her father and mother for all practical purposes prisoners in Pinehaven. She wants revenge.

Okay, Hugin said, she has the motive, skill, and the means. But why now? Why has Thora waited all these months after the fighting between Farringdale and Loweswater stopped?

Ratatoska shook her head. I wish I knew. But from a practical standpoint, the answer doesn’t matter. We have to stop Thora before she causes more upheaval and deaths. She sighed. Life had settled down. Maybe a little too settled, but peace is better than war. Okay, enough chat. Let’s get started. I don’t think that Thora is as prepared as she’d like to be. Something went wrong here, and we may stop her before she’s too well under way.

Have you ever met Thora? Hugin asked Ratatoska.

No, Jolsvinn was too discreet. He could be very sly.

So how do we recognize her?

Ideally she has a dagger through her heart, and Beard will find her.

And if she doesn’t have a dagger sticking out of her?

I’ve heard her described as a strawberry blonde, and she’ll make her presence known one way or another. Thora won’t keep hidden because she needs allies, and we’ll find her through them—or through her actions.

Hugin hated to keep asking questions, but he saw no alternative.

How do we begin?

We’ll help Giraldi carry Aveline to her room, and then we’ll search the workroom and try to figure out how much is missing. I doubt whether they took as much as they wanted. They were interrupted. What we have to do is get rid of anything of magic that could be useful to them.

Hugin frowned. I was hoping for an early night’s sleep—you know, with my arm and all that. I need my rest.

Not tonight, dear. By dawn we’ll be going to Hildi and Gier ourselves, to give them a complete warning and all the facts we know. We have to discuss and make plans before the worst can happen. They haven’t been ruling the combined Farringdale and Loweswater very long, and anything could upset the balance of their power. You don’t believe that everyone is content with those two in control? Other nobles want what they consider their proper share, which doesn’t include our friends. And in addition to all that, Thora wants her inheritance, Loweswater, as well as revenge. I’d guess that she thinks our inn—Jolsvinn’s tower—by rights belongs to her.

How do we get rid of his possessions? Hugin asked. We talked about burning everything, but you decided that it was too dangerous, letting loose all that magic.

Ratatoska patted him on his good arm. Don’t worry. I’ve a plan to get rid of Jolsvinn’s stuff once and for all. I only regret that we haven’t done so before. It means a little legwork, but that won’t bother your arm. She smiled at Hugin. You’ll benefit from the exercise.

2

A Force of Twelve

Thursday Night

Twilight faded into night in Griesdale, and long shadows thrown across snow-covered fields faded into an overall darkness. The brothers Devin and Aldan rode northward along a narrow trail by a minor stream. Aldan led the way, since he traveled that route more often than Devin. On their left rose the hills and trees that separated the eastern lands of Griesdale from the remainder of Farringdale. On their right were the fields and pastures that made their valley so desirable. Farther to their right and out of sight was the uneasy border between Farringdale and Somerdale. Griesdalers learned by experience the necessity of protecting their land.

The brothers had ridden a circuit through Griesdale to the smaller farms to ascertain the leanings of the farmers, who tended to keep to themselves and whose main concerns were crops and livestock—unless anything occurred to shake up the established order of their lives. The coming into power of Hildi and Gier seemed a million miles away from the farmers’ daily affairs, but the rumors unsettled them. They worried that come the spring Hildi would install a special tax to help finance the reconstruction of Pinehaven. Invaders had done terrible damage to the city the previous fall, but why should Griesdalers have to pay compensation for that? Pinehaven wasn’t their city. They didn’t have any cities. The brothers had their mission and encouraged the unrest.

Aldan and Devin were approaching the abandoned farmhouse—the destination that their father chose for meeting them—when Devin’s horse lost its footing on an icy patch of the trail. Devin went flying into the air and landed in a snow drift.

Aldan caught Devin’s horse by the reins, dismounted, and led both horses to his younger brother, who was sitting in the snow.

Are you hurt?

Devin ran his hands down both legs, stood up, and brushed snow off himself.

Only my pride.

Are you sure?

I haven’t broken anything, but I’ve more than enough bruises.

Aldan laughed. That doesn’t surprise me. This is the third time you’ve fallen today.

You’re keeping count?

I’ve a bet with Kallen, who was the eldest of the three brothers and who was also waiting for them at the abandoned farmhouse. I went with four or fewer falls, and he bet six or more.

Looks like you’ll win.

We’re not there yet. Aldan grinned.

What did you bet?

Does that matter?

I suppose not.

I don’t get it, Aldan said. You’re three years younger than me, but you always overwhelm me during our fencing bouts. And I consider myself a good fencer. In wrestling, you often win although I have a good thirty pounds on you and some inches in height and reach. You’ve mastered archery like no one else in all Farringdale. No one can come close to you. You also excel in tracking. And talk about good looks. Half the eligible women in Griesdale are all but begging you to court them. In everything and every way you come out on top except for one thing—despite all your skills and attributes, you can’t ride a horse to save your life. With anyone else, I would have finished this ride well before dark. Not with you. Why? Because you’re always falling off. I don’t understand it at all. What’s so difficult about riding? Why is it such a challenge for you?

Devin sighed, took the reins of his horse from Aldan, and mounted. He’d never live down his inability to ride no matter what else he accomplished.

My horse slipped on ice. That could happen to any animal, and so it threw me. Falling happens to everyone now and again.

Especially if you happened to be dreaming about Jerl. Aldan laughed. Although I have to admit, she is a good reason for anyone to forget what they were doing, but I should warn you once more: Looks aren’t everything. Jerl can’t cook, mend, or make clothes, nor is she interested in keeping a house tidy or having anything to do with farmwork. She spends all her time with her damned lute. Even if she does have a beautiful voice, is that enough? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Well, Jerl can ride better than you can, but that isn’t saying much, is it? If her father Rolf didn’t keep a servant, who he can ill afford, he would be worse off than he is, if that’s possible. How could Rolf afford a dowry? Impossible, that is, unless someone lends him the money, which isn’t likely, since the lords of Farringdale kicked him out of Pinehaven. Whatever the situation, Father would draw and quarter you if you ever made an offer for her. Let’s face it: Jerl isn’t an asset for a family with pretensions.

I’ve noticed that you spend a fair amount of time with Jerl.

Aldan shrugged. I like women, particularly beautiful women, but I’m able to see who would make a suitable match.

Aldan, my horse slipped on ice.

Maybe, but it doesn’t take snow or ice or mud or embankments for you to slide off or be thrown into the air. Riding isn’t one of your skills. For instance, when was the last time you entered one of our horse races?

I’ve never owned a horse that could race well, Devin said.

That’s a fact. You’ve always sought the easiest, quietest, oldest horses. But that doesn’t stop you. You still fall off.

Will you tell me what you bet with Kallen?

I bet my sword Bell-ringer against his sword Skull-splitter.

You’d give up Bell-ringer for me? Devin asked.

What do you think? I’d tie you onto your horse after the fourth fall if it came to that.

They reached the farmhouse without further incident. Years of neglect had bleached the wood to a light gray, and planks covered what might have been windows. Light leaking from various cracks indicated signs of life within.

A fine place for a secret meeting, Devin said sarcastically.

Maybe. But no one is around, and its location is ideal: an easy ride to Pinehaven—if necessary. What more could you ask for if you wanted to start a revolution?

They dismounted and took their horses to a ramshackle barn that had no roof. A dozen or so other horses were munching straw, and a warrior there promised to see to their mounts.

Walking back to the farmhouse, they saw that Kallen was waiting outside for them. After the three brothers exchanged greetings, Kallen asked, How many?

That surprised Devin. Why would Kallen want to know the results of their ride to the farmers before they told their father?

Three, Aldan answered.

That also surprised Devin. He and Aldan had gone to more than three farmsteads and had spoken to many warriors. Then Devin realized what it was about: that bet, which meant that Aldan wasn’t joking. His two brothers actually bet on how many times Devin would fall during the ride.

Aldan and Kallen looked at each other, with Aldan grinning and Kallen frowning. It occurred to Devin that the bet wasn’t about a sword. If not that, then what was the bet? Did the bet involve Jerl? Aldan joked about Jerl, but Kallen never mentioned her apart from referring time to time to the pleasing voice of the young singer. Both his brothers attracted women. Aldan, like Devin, was tall and blond, whereas Kallen took after their father and was dark and stout. Whatever their interest, Jerl was Devin’s, and he would defend her. Or was he being jealous? Perhaps. Devin knew one thing for certain: They wouldn’t