LITMIR.BIZ

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back, his front and back legs crossing each other in his efforts to escape, and the two dogs merged in a rolling tangle near the barn wall, falling over and over in a spray of snow. “Gren-del! Gren-del!” shouted Baldur.

      “Loki! Run!” screamed Peer.

      Suddenly an avalanche of snow slumped off the barn roof on top of the two dogs, burying them. There was a moment’s surprised silence as they struggled to rise, shaking themselves free. Peer caught a flicker of movement running along the barn roof, and was sure it was the Nis. “Oh, thank you,” he breathed.

      Loki got his wits back before Grendel did. He jumped out of the drift and raced across the yard towards the road. “Head him off!” shouted Uncle Baldur, and Grim tried to bar his way, swinging the blazing torch. Loki whizzed between his legs and was out of the yard and over the wooden bridge before Grendel could catch him. Grim slipped and fell, cursing. Peer and Uncle Baldur ran past, following the two dogs over the icy bridge. They were already out of sight. Where, oh where was Loki?

      A shivering howl of triumph quivered up and up until it seemed to reach the frosty stars. It lingered in the cold air, holding Peer motionless till it died away. Uncle Baldur too, was frozen in his steps. Grim came limping up, the blazing branch in one hand, the other hand pressed to his hip.

      “He’s got the little beggar,” he said.

      Tears of horror rose in Peer’s eyes. He stumbled along the kicked-up path to the millpond, and his uncles followed, Baldur grumbling: “Didn’t get to see anything. No fun at all. Call that a fight?”

      Peer blundered out of the bushes on the edge of the millpond, and stopped dead. A few yards away Grendel stood with his back to Peer, hackles raised and head lowered threateningly. At the very brink of the millpond, Loki faced him at bay. Loki’s head was up and he looked this way and that with quick, desperate movements.

      No wonder Grendel had howled in triumph. Loki was cornered. Behind him, the millpond reflected the starlight with a thin layer of milky ice. To his left, the dark waters of the sluice poured in icicles down to the rapidly freezing stream.

      Grendel’s breath steamed. The flames from Grim’s torch lit the snow to rosy warmth and glistened on every yellow tooth in Grendel’s head. He was waiting for his master’s signal to bring the fight to its end. Even across the yards of snow, Peer could see Loki shaking.

      “Good lad, Grendel,” puffed Uncle Baldur. “Get him!”

      Peer clapped his hands over his eyes, but lowered them at a shout from Baldur. Loki had turned and leaped out on to the ice. Amazingly, it held him. He slithered across it, paws scrabbling.

      “Oh Loki – go on, go on,” panted Peer. Uncle Grim gave a bellow of alarm. “Grendel! Stop!”

      He was too late. Grendel launched himself after Loki. With a splintering crash he went straight through the fragile ice and was struggling in the black water.

      Grim ran to the edge. He plunged the branch he held into the water. The flames sizzled out. “Here Grendel! Grip hold!” he shouted, but Grendel took no notice. He tried to follow Loki, snarling and raking at the ice with his claws. It broke into crazy pieces. He could smash his way across!

      Loki had reached the far bank. It was steep; he scrambled up, clinging desperately with his front paws, kicking with his back legs, but the loose snow collapsed under him and he tumbled back on to the ice.

      “Pay up,” said Grim to Baldur.

      “He’ll catch him yet,” said Baldur, watching Grendel crashing his way across.

      Loki flung himself a second time at the bank. Again his twisting body fell back on to the ice. Grendel was halfway over by now, his great strength breaking a jagged passage. Peer could not stand it. Without even thinking he filled his lungs and ran forward. “Granny!” he yelled, so loudly his voice cracked. “Granny Greenteeth!”

      Baldur and Grim glanced at him in angry surprise. Then Baldur bit off an exclamation and pointed.

      Something was happening to Grendel, out there in the middle of the pond. He writhed, splashing, biting at something that seemed to have risen beside him. It was hard to see in the bitter starlight. Could those be skinny white arms twining about Grendel’s neck, pulling him under? The chunks of broken ice danced and clashed. There was a thrashing struggle just below the surface, a choked-off bark – and Grendel was gone.

      “Granny Greenteeth!” Peer whispered, hugging himself and shuddering.

      There was a loud wail from Uncle Grim. “Grendel!”

      “She’s got him,” said Uncle Baldur, shrugging, but his mouth was set.

      On his third try, Loki reached the top of the bank and hurtled away into the woods. Uncle Grim forgot his sorrow. “You owe me, Baldur. Pay up!”

      “Later,” said Baldur. “When we’re rich. And we’d better get on with that.” He stared at Peer, who quailed, expecting to be blamed for Grendel’s awful fate. But it seemed that Uncle Baldur had taken Peer’s shout for a warning, and wasn’t thinking about that.

      “Tonight is midwinter’s eve,” he said softly, still staring at Peer. “Don’t forget, Grim, we’re invited to a wedding. It’s time we went to get the presents!”

      Peer tried to dash for it, but Uncle Baldur caught his arm. “What shall we do with him, Grim? We don’t want to take him along with us.”

      “Lock him up. Shut him up in the privy,” Grim growled. “There’s no window, and we can block up the door.”

      Peer struggled, but the two big men dragged him down the path to the mill. Uncle Baldur hauled open the privy door and thrust him inside. “You’ll not die of cold,” he joked. “Where there’s dirt there’s warmth.” He shoved the door shut and Peer heard logs being piled against it. With a last effort he beat his fists on the rough planks, screaming, “Let me out! Where are you going?”

      “To pay a little visit to Ralf ’s farm, of course,” came Baldur’s muffled voice. They clumped away, leaving Peer to gasp for his breath in the cold and stinking darkness.

      Chapter 12

       Stolen in the Storm

      “THERE’S A HEAVY snow coming,” Eirik said to Gudrun. “I can feel it in my bones.”

      “And what if there is?” Gudrun slapped the dough she was kneading. “I don’t have to worry about the weather any more.”

      Hilde, pulling on her thick-fur lined boots, looked anxiously at her mother. Gudrun was very pale these days.

      “It’s not snowing yet,” she said. “Just freezing hard.” She belted her sheepskin jacket with a piece of string, and took the lantern from its hook. “I’m going to feed the cows.”

      Eirik looked up. “I’ll help,” he offered.

      “Oh, I don’t need any help, Grandpa…”

      “Don’t be an old fool, Eirik,” Gudrun snapped. “Stay in the warmth.”

      Eirik was offended and hurt, and Hilde saw it. “If Sigurd and Sigrid come out with me, Eirik could keep an eye on them. They need some fresh air.”

      “No we don’t,” objected Sigrid.

      “You’ll do what you’re told!” Hilde hissed.

      “Can we have a snowball fight?” asked Sigurd.

      “Certainly, if you don’t go out of Grandpa’s sight,” said Hilde briskly. She pushed their boots on and pulled their woolly caps over their ears. Gudrun wrapped up Eirik till he was almost circular.

      Hilde filled her pockets with stones – handy for throwing at trolls – and bundled the little ones ahead of her out of the door. They screamed with delight and slid off across the icy yard. Gudrun appeared in the doorway supporting Eirik, who shook her off irritably and stepped

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