Cold air soothed his warm, clammy skin at first, but when his sweat began to freeze, each step through the hated crunching snow made him a little colder. Soon, his mind grew hazy, and he focused on keeping his wits about him, trying not to fall unconscious. That would be just the thing. Freezing to death in the street after passing out.

  If only he could make it back to his bed, he’d be fine. Vidar kept telling himself this over and over as he walked. To occupy his thoughts, he considered what he had learned. The rune in the palm of his hand drained essence. When he imagined the circle in his mind, he could sense that essence still in there—Torbjorn’s. Vidar drew on it and found the excess running through his system gave him a small boost of energy and cleared his mind.

  The circle of interconnected runes around the dragon must have been placed there to drain the monster. This meant the essence still in those runes belonged to the long-dead dragon. Since it was still present after all this time, whatever they intended to use it for hadn’t worked according to plan, Vidar figured. Also, if he’d taken the dragon’s essence into himself, he would probably have exploded on the spot.

  This new discovery also meant that connecting runes together was a possibility. Perhaps this was already a known fact. He’d have to check with Alvarn. Perhaps you could even combine runes to create something different, like a kenaz and a sowilo rune together giving light and warmth at the same time. A topic worth investigating.

  Vidar was getting close now, nearly there. Almost home. Each step took a little more out of him than the last. His gait was slow and his mind hazy. He pulled from the rune again, giving himself another small boost.

  Vidar focused on Ida. The thieves’ guild thought she was responsible for the death of Yallander. From what Torbjorn said, the previous leader’s replacement was looking for Vidar as well. Things were getting complicated. They really needed to find Ida and give her an algiz rune.

  He was finally at the house. Even from a distance, Vidar saw the small window that opened into his own room. An incredibly bright light shone through.

  “What in the hell are they doing in there?” he groaned.

  The door to the building was heavy and Vidar more fell inward than pushed it open. After climbing the stairs, he saw light shining bright in the narrow gap between the door to his room and the floor.

  “What?” he asked out loud as he pulled on the locked door. “Let me in!”

  The lock clicked open and a very red-faced and sweaty, but happy, Siv stood before him with a wide, bright smile covering her face. One hand was on her hip and the other in the air as she made the sign for rune. A wall of heat and light struck Vidar like a blow, and he staggered to the side, grabbing the wall for support, his eyelids fluttering.

  Siv made a concerned sound then. Erik and Sven came rushing out to grab Vidar before he collapsed. As they entered the room, he saw the source of the light and the warmth. The girl had triggered every single rune in the entire room, and it was stifling.

  “What’s wrong?” Erik asked after a concerned glance from Siv.

  “Siv, you managed it,” Vidar said. “You triggered the runes.”

  Then he passed out.

  He woke in the night, his shirt soaked through with sweat, his head swimming. A glass of water waited for him on the small bedside table, and he downed it gratefully. Most of the sowilo runes had run out, and only two kenaz runes in the communal room still gave off light.

  Ever so carefully, he removed the coat and then the drenched shirt, throwing them to the floor. His skin was pale and shone with sweat. Vidar was, even through the haze of sickness, surprised at how emaciated he looked. He’d always been on the thin side, but not like this. Once he got better, he’d need to put a bigger emphasis on getting his meals.

  Head still spinning, he opened the window. Cool air drifted in and he breathed in a sigh of relief.

  At some point, he woke in a small lake of sweat with Siv holding out another glass of water. He sipped it, coughed, then downed its contents gratefully. Vidar was gone again before his head fell back onto bed.

  When he woke again, Vidar felt weaker than he’d ever been before. The bedding clung to his skin but he noted he wasn’t sweating as bad. A dim brightness from the window gave just enough light to see by. Vidar fumbled for his coat and the kenaz runes within. His limbs moved as if through syrup, just like his thoughts, but he realized the pain from his hand was much improved. It still throbbed, but he was able to move his fingers a little even through the bandages.

  His throat was parched and his stomach was a dark hole of hunger. Opening the door to the common room, Vidar frowned. Small lanterns lit the area rather than kenaz runes. They must’ve fully ran out during the night. Piles and piles of wooden discs littered almost the entire floor. It seemed impossible to him that the two boys could’ve collected so much already. A small cask stood on the table and he shuffled over and grabbed a cup. Clear water splashed into the bottom and he drank and drank until it seemed he could feel the water swirling around in his gut. Only then did he dig into the food. A piece of hard cheese sat on a plate with a few apples and some small pieces of bread. Vidar inhaled it all.

  Papers lay strewn across the table and Vidar saw Siv’s progress before him. She was putting together short, simple words in a neat hand. At some point, she’d stopped drawing the runes and he thought he saw why. The few she’d drawn were almost perfect. To practice them more must’ve felt like wasted time.

  One of the pieces of wood in a pile beside the table caught his eye and Vidar frowned, picking it up. A kenaz rune adorned one side of it with red painted lines recessed into grooves in the wood. He picked up another one. Same thing.

  “When did they have time with all this?” he asked.

  Snores was the only reply.

  Siv opened her door. Her eyes widened with surprise and she pointed at him, then back at Vidar’s bed.

  “I’ve slept enough,” Vidar said. “How long did I sleep?”

  She held up three fingers.

  “Three days?!”

  Nod.

  Dumbfounded, he looked around the room again. All these runes made much better sense now. “What did I miss?”

  Siv made the sign for rune.

  “I can see that. What else?”

  Shrug.

  “Well, I’m feeling a lot better now. You haven’t found Ida?”

  She shook her head and made a simple sign.

  “That means no?”

  She nodded and made a different sign.

  Vidar repeated the first sign, no, then the second, yes.

  Siv smiled.

  “We have to find Ida, Siv. The thieves’ guild is looking for her. They think she’s the one responsible for the death of Yallander, a thieves’ guild leader in Andersburg.”

  Her eyes widened and she hurried over to find a piece of paper with some space remaining on it. Biting her lower lip in concentration, she wrote three short words before handing the paper over.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Ida kill him?”

  When Vidar looked up at Siv, her hands flashed thrice.

  He shook his head. “You have to slow down or I won’t be able to follow.”

  Siv repeated the gestures and Vidar repeated them: Ida, kill, him.

  “No,” he said, repeating the previous gesture to sign no at the same time. “I did.”

  Her eyes widened and he quickly explained, “They were trying to kill me. It was self-defense.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Also, Torbjorn is dead. Also self-defense.”

  Siv narrowed her eyes.

  “He kidnapped me and tried to get Ida’s location out of me. Then, when he realized I didn’t know where Ida is, he started asking about where to find you.”

  She scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it over. It read “how” without a question mark at the end. Still, it was impressive writing progress for just a few days of learning by herself. For some reason, the letters stayed put, allowing him to read without issue. Perhaps his mind and body were just too tired to sabotage him.

  She made a sign. How.

  Vidar mirrored the sign, then answered, “Torbjorn wasn’t careful enough.”

  That answer, however vague, seemed to satisfy her.

  “Torbjorn is dead?”

  The question came from over by the corner, where Erik was getting up, rubbing his eyes.

  “He is,” Vidar confirmed.

  Erik looked like he was considering how he felt about that, but then shrugged. “Is there any food left?”

  “You have done a fine job with gathering materials. Did you find out why the gates are closed?”

  “Good thing we’ve been building muscle digging graves. Dragging wood around all day has been a real pain in our asses.”

  “The gates?”

  “For our safety,” they said.

  Vidar raised an eyebrow but Erik just shrugged and punched his still-sleeping friend. “That’s what the soldiers said. Do you want us to find more wood or do we have enough, you reckon?”

  “This is enough. Any more and we won’t be able to walk through the room.”

  “What’re we supposed to do, then?”

  “I don’t know. You still refuse to learn rune crafting?”

  “I’m not touching that witchery,” Erik said.

  Sven sat and yawned. “I’ll learn.”

  Erik’s head whipped to face his friend. “What?”

  “Don’t see no harm in it. Serious coin, no? Why not?”

  “It’s dangerous, for one.”

  Sven shrugged. “Eh.”

  “Well, I’m not doing it.”

  “Fair enough,” Vidar said. “Oh, I actually do have a job for you, then.”

  “What’s that?”

  Vidar gave him the location of his father’s house and a description of his little sister, handing him a small algiz rune. “Wait for my sister to exit, then give her this and tell her it’s from me and that it’s a secret.”

  “I’m not good with those sorts of things,” Erik complained.

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  Vidar gave Sven the same lesson he’d given Siv and set the boy to attempt triggering a kenaz rune. To Siv, he explained how to channel essence from herself into the rune and what to expect once she managed it, urging her to be careful.

  “Remember,” he said, about an hour later. “Don’t tell anyone about what I’m teaching you.”

  “Why not?” Sven asked, looking up from the rune he had yet to trigger.

  “The rune scribes’ guild will have our heads if they find out.”

  Vidar was suddenly pulled by his shoulder, almost making him stumble and fall.

  “What the hell are you saying?” Erik barked, getting far too close for comfort. “This thing we’re doing, it’s illegal?”

  “Nothing you’re doing is illegal, Erik, I don’t think,” Vidar said. “Me, Siv, and Sven though? Absolutely. Why do you think no one else is doing it?”

  Erik’s rush of anger died away as easily as it’d bubbled to the surface. “Because it’s witchcraft?”

  “Anyone can do this. There’s nothing witchy about it.”

  When the stubborn adolescent didn’t reply, Vidar continued, “I’m going out.”

  “Maybe you should stay in bed a little longer?” Sven asked, and Siv pointed to the lad and nodded.

  Vidar shook his head and turned away after grabbing a small bag and filling it with runes. “I’ve lost too much time already. Who knows when the dragon will return.”

  “What does the dragon have to do with anything?” Erik asked.

  “Everything,” Vidar said, buttoning his coat as he left the room.

  Going down the stairs made his legs tremble and his knees almost gave out, but he finally managed to make his way down and out of the building. With the sun up and no clouds in the sky, the light reflected on the droves of snow, blinding him. The cold air going down into his lungs made Vidar cough, but it also brought with it a sense of refreshment, of health. His hand itched something fierce and still pained him, but it was much improved. The veterinarian would not get the satisfaction of cutting it off after all.

  As he walked toward the rune scribes’ chapter house, trying to figure out a better way of getting in touch with Alvarn without having to lurk outside his school, he fingered one of the empty runes in his pocket. The recessed lines told him it was a kenaz rune without having to look. Vidar transferred a little essence into the rune and then removed it from the bag, then repeated the process with another. No one would buy empty runes, after all.

  Once his fingers and hand transitioned from that tingling sensation to numbness, he stopped. Rendering his only functional hand useless was not prudent. When people glanced his way, and they had a tendency to do that a lot for some reason, probably the smell, he always glared back. Vidar wasn’t too worried about the thieves’ guild attacking him anymore, not when they didn’t suspect him for Yallander’s death, so these onlookers were just looking down their noses at him.

  The incessant itching in the palm of his left hand kept drawing his attention. Vidar focused and saw the circle in his mind. Torbjorn’s essence still remained, undiminished. Curious, he drew some from the rune and into himself. The numbness in his hand was immediately restored.

  “Interesting,” he said, drawing the attention of a street merchant selling bread with some tomato-based fish mush spread over a slice.

  “Bread ’n fishes?” the man asked, rubbing his hands together to work some warmth into his fingers.

  Vidar’s stomach rumbled. A moment later, he was wolfing down two slices of rough bread with reddish paste between them, having paid a few copper coins from Torbjorn’s pouch.

  Continuing up the straight street that’d eventually lead him to Alvarn, Vidar continued rejuvenating runes and then replenishing his own essence from the rune in the palm of his hand, imagining how amazed Alvarn would be once he learned what the new rune was actually capable of. They needed a name for it.

  Not having fully recovered, the weakness reared its ugly head. Vidar had to stop and regain his breath. Panting, with sweat making the shirt cling to his chest and back underneath the coat, he drew more from the rune to give himself a little vigor, not really thinking about what he was doing. It worked to a degree. Going over what was the natural limit in his body still made him nauseous, and the fact it was Torbjorn’s essence only served to worsen the effect. Despite those drawbacks, it did let him catch his breath and feel a little stronger.

  “Health has fled you, little scribe.”

  Vidar spun to come face-to-face with Lytir sitting with his back to the wall of someone’s home, out in the open where Vidar should’ve spotted him coming up the street.

  “Lytir! Where did you come from?”

  “Never left. Lowly creatures such as I are ever present upon the streets where boots tread day in and day out.”

  “You knew about the dragon before it arrived. Who are you?”

  The smile never left Lytir’s face, but he neither confirmed nor denied Vidar’s assertion. “A demon, an angel, a lowly vagrant begging for scraps.”

  “Will the dragon return?”

  “All beings return to dust in the end. And so shall you, as well, little scribe. Now tell me, why is your constitution in such a fraught state?”

  Vidar held up his hand. “Burned my hand.”

  “Not on a dragon’s flame, I’d wager.”

  “No,” Vidar muttered. “A stupid spear.”

  Lytir’s eyes shone with interest. “A formidable weapon to harm one as mighty as you, little scribe. Is it still in your possession?”

  Vidar kept a close eye on the vagrant’s expression and saw a hint of disappointment when he answered. “No. It crumbled to dust when I touched it.”

  “A pity.”

  “You know the weapon I speak of,” Vidar said, forming the words as a statement, rather than a question.

  “Someone such as I needs a keen interest in all things martial.”

  “I’m going to make that spear anew and slay the dragon when it returns.”

  “Protecting your kind is often seen as a noble goal, even in the end.”

  “I get the sense that you’re more than you seem and that you’re trying to help me, since you warned of my room burning to the ground,” Vidar said.

  Lytir kept that same mischievous smile but did not reply.

  “But I don’t understand who you are or what you’re trying to achieve.”

  “All I wish is to eke out a paltry existence for as long as I am able.”

  “Either tell me something of use or leave me be, Lytir. I’m a busy man these days.”

  Lytir stood and stretched out to his full height, towering over Vidar. When he spoke, Lytir’s voice sounded deeper and gravelly. “The rune burned into your flesh is named styrka. Fitting, when you consider its use. Prepare yourself, little scribe, for the skybound menace returns two sunups hence to dig for its roots. Be wary of priests, Vidar, for your days of leisure are over.”

  “The dragon will return the day after tomorrow? How do you know this, Lytir?!”

  Lytir’s smile widened even further. “I hear whispers. I see shadows. Both are foes, neither friends. Crushed between those who were and who will be again. Unless?”

  “Unless what?” Vidar asked.

  “Prepare yourself, little scribe. Know that you have a friend in me.”

  Lytir’s face returned to its normal fixed and pleasant smile, and he sat back down and pulled a book out from under his still-dry tunic. The title read A Dance of Shadows.