The word died in his throat as he staggered backward, but his anger buoyed him, keeping him from falling.

Then the dragon's red eye flicked toward him. The creature reared up. As it did, Rune caught a glimpse of a white spot on its chest, a circle of darker, bronze scales surrounding it. In the split second it took him to raise his s.h.i.+eld, a stream of fire spit forth from the monster's jaws.

The wooden s.h.i.+eld burst into flames. Rune dropped it and fell to his knees, his hands over his head, a silent cry of terror in his throat as the dragon screamed over him, its body as big as a longs.h.i.+p, the heat from its scales scorching him, the wind whipping rocks and grit into his mouth, his nose, his ears, even his tightly shut eyes. He scrabbled over the ground like a rat, half crawling, trying to flee the dragon's flames, its hurricane roar. Suddenly, he found himself toppling over a rock, then rolling over and over, unable to check his fall, stones bruising his shoulders, his thighs, his head; trees and bushes scratching his limbs; his world a whirl of white-gray mist and pain.

EIGHT.

THE SOUND OF BLEATING WOKE HIM. SLOWLY, HE OPENED one eye. Light seemed to pierce his brainpan. He shut his eyes tight. one eye. Light seemed to pierce his brainpan. He shut his eyes tight.

After a little while or a long time, he wasn't sure which, he heard another baa baa.

Carefully, he opened his eyes again, squinting against the brightness. He was lying on his back. Far above him, the sky shone white-blue, a single feather of cloud floating across his view. When he turned his head to the right, a pair of eyes startled him. A large white goat balanced on a boulder, flicking its ears and watching him. He blinked-one of its eyes looked yellow, the other one blue. That couldn't be right. He looked away.

He sat up slowly, every muscle a ma.s.s of pain, every bone a bruise, and tried to think. He was still on the mountain, but how far he'd fallen, he didn't know. The mist had lifted. The dragon-where was the dragon?

Surveying the ground for scorch marks revealed nothing; nor could he hear the telltale rumble of a dragon in flight.

Gingerly he stood, the rings of his mail coat clinking as they settled into place. His sheath was still strapped to his belt, but his sword was gone.

Rune gave a low cry and lowered his head to his hand. His s.h.i.+eld burned, his sword gone, the dragon nowhere to be seen, and for the second time, he'd been no more than a coward. Worst of all, he hadn't avenged Amma.

He searched the ground around him for the sword, then followed his trail of broken trees and disturbed bracken upward, looking for it, but the path petered out and the sword remained hidden. So did any sign of the dragon.

Below him, the goat sprang off its boulder and bounded down a path only it could see.

Aching and miserable, Rune followed it down the mountain.

He had almost made it to the bottom when he found the body. The smell of burned flesh made him gag. He forced away the memories of the bodies he had buried and then, cringing at what he feared to discover, edged toward the charred remains, more work of the dragon.

The corpse was too badly burned for him to recognize. All he could tell was that it had been a man, a warrior wearing mail and a helmet, and that he had died faceup, his mouth open as if he had been screaming in defiance, his sword in his hand.

Rune dropped to his knees and looked at the sword hilt, its interlacing patterns surrounding a fire-red garnet. Finn's sword.

"No!" he cried, and pounded his fist into the earth. he cried, and pounded his fist into the earth.

Finn, the king's shoulder companion, his dearest friend, his heir; Finn, who had taught Rune to wield a sword, who had patiently guided his hand on the hilt, who had always treated him fairly and sometimes even with kindness.

He thought of Wyn finding out her beloved father was dead. He thought of the king, whose eyes had filled with tears when his golden hall burned. Now his best warrior was gone, and the dragon was still alive.

They would be glad that Finn had died fighting. Already the warrior maidens would be winging their way here to escort him to an exalted seat in Valhalla. He would need his sword there.

Even if Rune had had the strength, he had no tools to dig a grave. Instead, he looked skyward and said the ritual words that would send Finn on his way. Later, perhaps the king would place a runestone here to mark Finn's fight.

A few paces away, he saw a huge linden s.h.i.+eld, its leather handgrips faceup, as if Finn had flung it away. He must have realized what Rune himself had been too stupid to see-fire burns wood, even wooden s.h.i.+elds. He shook his head. He had been so close to the creature. If only he had raised his sword instead of his s.h.i.+eld, the dragon might be dead by now.

He laid the s.h.i.+eld by Finn's side.

As he did, something near the warrior's head caught his attention, a piece of fire-blackened metal. The Thor's hammer amulet Finn had worn around his neck, its leather thong burned to ashes. Rune reached for it and pulled his hand back in surprise-it was still warm.

He looked at it, thinking of Finn, then dropped it into the pouch he wore on his swordbelt. Wyn would want it.

The moment his feet finally hit flat ground, he heard the jingling of a bridle and the clopping of hooves. A rider was coming around the mountainside, whistling a complicated melody as he rode.

Rune relaxed his shoulders in relief-he'd know that sound anywhere. Ketil Flat-Nose.

As the young man rode into view, he pulled his horse to a halt, looked at Rune, and turned his tune into a long, low whistle. "By the hammer, what happened to you?"

Rune glanced at his bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y arms. He wondered if he looked as bad as he felt. "I-I fell," he said.

"From the top of the mountain?" Ketil's eyes widened with disbelief.

"Just about," Rune said. He cringed inwardly. Since Ketil had been made one of the king's hearth companions last winter, the two years between them had seemed like much more, as if Ketil had become a man while Rune was still a boy. A boy who couldn't even handle his own sword. "What are you you doing here?" doing here?"

"Dragon-hunting," Ketil said, grinning and slapping his sword. Then his face turned somber. "Well, scouting, really. I was just at your farm. Did anyone-?"

Rune shook his head and looked at the ground.

"It's a bad business," Ketil said. "Yours wasn't the only burned farm I found."

"I know." It was far worse than Ketil realized, but suddenly Rune found it hard to find words for what he needed to say.

"The king sent out scouts; we're supposed to see who survived and to tell able-bodied men to join him. I saw Sigurd; he's on his way to the king right now."

Rune looked down, gathering his breath. "Ketil," he said, more loudly than he meant to. He looked steadily up at his friend, who stared back at him in surprise. "Ketil," he said again, his voice dropping low. "I found Finn."

"Found?" Ketil gave him a puzzled look. "Oh." He let out his breath as the realization hit him. "Oh, not Finn." He closed his eyes briefly. "Where?"

Rune gestured behind him. "Up the mountain. Four or five furlongs. He died well."

"The dragon?"

Rune nodded.

Ketil stared up the mountain. "He was the best of us. Next to the king, he was the very best."

They stood for a moment in silence before Rune said, "I saw the dragon."

"I heard-the other morning when you came running into the stronghold."

"No, I mean today."

Ketil's eyes widened again, and again Rune got the impression the older youth didn't believe him.

"Up on the mountain. That's why I fell," he added. He hung his head. "I lost my s.h.i.+eld-and my sword."

Ketil kept staring at him. Finally, he spoke. "If you saw the dragon, why aren't you burned?"

"I am am, I mean, my s.h.i.+eld is. I don't think it was trying to kill me." He hung his head as shame filled him. "I don't think it saw me as a threat."

"What were you doing up there?"

"Trying to kill it." Rune caught Ketil's eye again. "To avenge Amma."

Ketil looked him up and down, as if he were a seasoned warrior judging an errant boy, the way Finn had looked the time he took away Rune's sword.

"I'll see to Finn," Ketil said in a different voice, a dismissive one. "There was a horse grazing around the bend. Yours?"

Rune nodded.

Ketil watched him for a moment longer, as if deciding something. "You need to go to the king, you know. He wants all able-bodied men." Then he kicked his horse's sides and urged it up the mountain.

Able-bodied? Men? Rune snorted in disgust. Rune snorted in disgust.

Hairy-Hoof's neck felt warm as Rune leaned his head into it. She nickered at him, reaching around to nuzzle for a treat, but he had nothing to give her. "Sorry, girl," he said, and then pulled himself onto her back. "Ow." "Ow." His tailbone was as bruised as the rest of him. If it hurt this much to sit, how would he ever ride? His tailbone was as bruised as the rest of him. If it hurt this much to sit, how would he ever ride?

By lying flat on his stomach, it turned out. It was the only way he could stay on. He tried various other positions first, but none of them worked, and he thought he would have to make his way on foot to the king's hall again. Then, in defeat, he collapsed forward, hugging the horse's neck, and found that the pain wasn't as bad that way. When he urged Hairy-Hoof forward, she tossed her head as if to ask him why he was being a fool, but finally she began to trot.

As Rune flopped up and down on the horse's back, his mail jingling, he cringed at the thought of somebody seeing him this way, especially Ketil or one of the other warriors. Or worse, Wyn. She might not say anything, but she could convey deadly scorn with the simplest glance. But now...he remembered the Thor's hammer amulet and the reason he was carrying it. Wyn would have other things to think about than him.

The ride seemed endless, and several times Rune sat up, enduring the pain so he could get a better sense of direction. It was fully dark by the time he came to the path that led to the stronghold. As he came out of the trees, he gasped.

Fires, everywhere. Where was the king? Heart in his throat, Rune urged Hairy-Hoof into a gallop, ignoring his aching tailbone.

The closer he got, the more flames he saw, as if the dragon had scorched the entire settlement-houses, stables, everything everything. Now, closer by, he saw light-a torch?

"Halt!" A man's voice came hurtling out of the darkness.

Rune reined Hairy-Hoof in, breathing hard and blinking as a man as tall and thin as a spear stepped forward, holding a torch high, his sword unsheathed.

"Show yourself!" the man commanded.

"Gar?"

"Who's there?" It was definitely Gar's voice.

"It's me, Rune. Ketil said we were supposed to-"

"All right, all right, go on."

"But, Gar, what's happening? Did the dragon-"

Again Gar cut him off. "I'm a guard, not a messenger." He motioned impatiently with his torch. "Hurry up."

Rune nudged Hairy-Hoof forward, and suddenly the sight before him resolved itself in his tired eyes and brain. The settlement wasn't on fire after all-those were campfires he was seeing. Of course. The king's hall had been burned, so people must be gathering outside.

He felt relief wash over him and was glad he hadn't said more to Gar.

The closer he got, the more foolish he felt. As he dismounted and led Hairy-Hoof to the stables, men who stood talking in groups beside the campfires glanced at him, firelight making weird shadows on their faces. Somewhere meat was sizzling, and it made his mouth water. He hadn't eaten since early morning.

Outside the stables, he heard the unmistakable sound of a blacksmith hammering. At this time of night?

Once he'd settled Hairy-Hoof and found her some oats, he stood in the lane, listening, watching. He heard a man saying something in a low voice, and then a woman answering, saying, "No, he's not back yet."

It was Thora, Finn's wife. She didn't know.

Rune dug in his pouch for Finn's amulet. He stood looking at it, feeling its weight in his palm, remembering Finn's blackened body on the mountainside. Then he started forward.

Thora stood in her doorway, looking at something in the distance, the light from a nearby campfire s.h.i.+ning off her eyes. She turned, startled, as Rune approached.

"Finn," he said.

"He's not here."

"I know," Rune said, his head down. He took a ragged breath, then raised his eyes to hers.

Her eyes widened, and he saw her nostrils flare before she shot out her hand to grip his forearm. "He's dead. Isn't he?"

He swallowed, then lowered his face in a half-nod. It made it easier to turn away from her terrible gaze. He couldn't make himself look up again.

"Tell me," she said, her nails digging into his skin.

As he looked up, he realized that Wyn had glided forward out of the shadows to stand behind her mother. "He died fighting the dragon. I-I wasn't there. I found him. Here." He reached out his hand, and Thora took the hammer-shaped amulet from him, staring at it as if she didn't recognize it.

Then she looked back at him, rage written across her face. "You took this from him? You took my husband's goods from him?"

"Mother."

Over Thora's shoulder, Rune saw Wyn, her eyes huge in a face drained of color.

"You-you carrion crow! He needed this!" Thora shouted, shaking her fist at him, the amulet locked within her grasp.

"I thought you would-" Rune started at the same time Wyn spoke.

"Mother, stop." She met Rune's eyes. "Leave us." She turned and led her mother into the dwelling, shutting the door behind her.

As he stood in the darkness, his skin p.r.i.c.kling with horror, Rune heard Thora crying out, "Finn!" "Finn!" in a long, trailing wail. in a long, trailing wail.

A hand clapped his shoulder and he whirled.

The king.