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He gave no sign of having heard her.

Ivarr hefted his axe in one hand and edged closer. “Bear?”

A sudden twinge of worry sent Gytha to her knees beside the bear’s great head. “Alexander,” she said again. She ran her hand between his eyes, over the top of his head, and then around his ear, where she stopped and rubbed gently. “Are you all right?”

Still he did not move, and her worry grew. “Alexander!” she said more sharply. “Wake up, please. You’re scaring me.”

He gave a soft, almost inaudible grumble, and then twitched his ear. “What?” His deep, rumbly voice was so faint she bent closer to hear him.

“I was worried about you.” Gytha sat back and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

There was only silence for several breaths, until Gytha almost thought he had fallen asleep again. Finally he said, his voice low and hopeless, “I would rather die here with you than in that dark hole.”

Gytha’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Her father knelt beside her and studied the bear. “Are you dying now?”

The bear took a deep, rattling breath. “Soon.”

Gytha looked at her father. “Can you understand him now?”

“Yes.” Her father had a strange, cautious tone. He put the axe aside and shifted to see the bear’s face from another angle. “Can I touch your face?”

The bear answered without opening his eyes. “Do whatever you want.”

Cautiously Ivarr touched the bear’s muzzle. When the beast did not react, Ivarr stroked his fur gently and then, with careful fingers, examined the deep scar that ran down the bear’s muzzle. The livid red had faded to dark pink, puckered a little at the edge of the bear’s eye. Ivarr hesitated, and then moved his head closer to listen to the bear’s breathing.

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” he said at last.

The bear was apparently lost in sleep and gave no more response, even when Gytha gripped his fur and shook his shoulder.

“There is nothing I know to do for him,” said Ivarr at last. “I don’t know what kind of sicknesses bears suffer, but we can feed him a little if he wakes.”

Gytha wrapped her arms around the bear’s great head and buried her face in his fur. “I’m sorry,” she said into his neck. “I’ll go back, if that’s what it takes. I don’t want you to die.”

But he did not wake.

Chapter 9

That night, Gytha dreamed of an endless horde of ice goblins running over the great tundra toward her, holding all manner of weapons made of ice. The sound of their steps was like ice crashing against stone, and the sound of their screaming was like broken glass, magnified into a crescendo of noise so great and terrifying that she woke with her heart in her throat.

Sigrid murmured sleepily, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a dream.” Gytha was trembling. She pulled on thick trousers, boots, her father’s coat, and a hat, and stepped outside.

The bear still lay in the same spot, though he had shifted a little onto one side. Gytha nestled into his chestwith one arm resting on his great shoulder. She threaded her fingers into the thick fur of his neck.

Neither her soft words nor her touch garnered any reaction, and her worry grew. She pulled her legs up and leaned into him, feeling the strength and solidity of his chest against her back.

Curled against him, she dozed with her head pillowed on his neck and her back warm against him. Only when the sun rose and spilled bright and golden across her face did she blink back to wakefulness.

“Alexander.”

A soft, growly sort of groan met her ears.

“You’re awake!” She knelt again by his face. “Are you sick?”

He blinked. “No.”