The Broken Sword

XVI

Illrede’s folk took sun-shelter and rested through a couple of days, for the struggle had worn them down too. Thereafter they set south, half by land and half by sea. The ships reached Elfheugh harbour the same night. Their crews went ashore, plundered what buildings they found in the open, and waited around the castle for their fellows.

The land troops, with Grum and Valgard at the head, went more slowly. Horsemen scoured the countryside, and whatever small bands of elf warriors sought to fight were slain-not without loss to the trolls. Outlying garths were looted and burned, their folk chained into long lines that stumbled neck linked to neck and wrists lashed together, with Imric in the lead. The trolls made merry with food and drink and women of Alfheim, and did not unduly hasten to reach Elfheugh.

But by their arts, or by the mere lack of word from their men, the castle dwellers knew at dawn of the battle night that Imric had lost. Later, looking down from their high parapets to the campfires that ringed them in, to the black ships drawn up on the strand or riding at anchor in the bay, they knew it had been no double loss but a dear victory for the invaders.

As Freda stood thus staring out of a window in her bedchamber, she heard the faintest rustle of silken garments. She turned and saw Leea behind her. In the elf woman’s hand gleamed a knife.

Pain and malice were on Leea’s face, making it no longer the face of an idol carved in ivory by an ancient southland master. She said in human speech: “You weep dry tears for one whose love is raven food.”

“I will weep when I know he is dead,” answered Freda tonelessly. “But there was too much life in him for me to believe that he is now lying stark.”

“Where then might he be, and what use is a skulking outcast?” Leea’s pale full lips curved upward. “See you this dagger, Freda? The trolls are camped around Elfheugh, and your law forbids you to take your own life. But if you wish escape, I will gladly give you it.”

“No. I will wait for Skafloc,” said Freda. “And have we not spears and arrows and engines of war? Is there not ample meat and drink, and are the walls not high and the gates strong? Let such as had to remain in the castle hold it for those who went forth.” Leea’s knife sank. She looked long at the slim grey-eyed girl. “Good is your spirit,” she said at last, “and methinks I begin to see what Skafloc found in you. However, your rede is a mortal’s-foolish and impatient. Can women hold a fort against storm when their men are fallen?”

“They can try—or fall like their men.”

“Not so. They have other weapons.” A cruel mirth flickered across Leea’s countenance. “Women’s weapons; but to use them we must open the gates. Would you avenge your lover?”

“Aye-with arrow and dagger, and poison if need be!”

“Then give the trolls your kisses: swift as arrows, sharp as knives, bitter and deadly as poison in the cup. Such is the way of the elf women.”

“Sooner would I break the great law of Him above and be my own murderer than whore of my man’s slayers!” flared the girl.

“Mortal chatter,” scoffed Leea. She smiled her cat-smile. “I will find the caresses of trolls interesting, for a time. They are something new, at least, and hard it is to find anything fresh after many centuries. We open the gates of Elfheugh when our new earl arrives.”

Freda sank on to the bed and buried her face in her hands. Leea said: “If you wish to follow out your human brainless-ness, I will be quite glad to get rid of you. Tomorrow after daybreak, when the trolls sleep, I will let you from the castle with whatever you want to take. Thereafter you can do as you please-flee to lands of men, I suppose, and join your voice to the shrill whine of nuns whose Heavenly groom somehow never comes for them. I wish you joy of that!”

She departed.

For a time Freda lay on the bed, with darkness and hopelessness whelming her. Weep could she not, and the tears lay harsh in her throat. All was gone indeed, her kindred, her love—

No!

She sat up and clenched her fists. Skafloc was not dead. She would not believe that until she had kissed his bloodless lips-after which, if God was merciful, her heart would break and she would fall beside him. But if he lived ... if he lay sorely wounded, mayhap, with foes ringing his lair and the need of her heavy on him—

She hastened to gather what she thought would be useful. Helm and byrnie of his, and the clothes that went therewith (unfilled by him, they seemed strangely empty, more so than any other man’s dress laid aside), axe and sword and shield, spear and bows and many arrows. For herself she took also a light byrnie such as shield-mays among the elves were wont to use. It fitted well her slender form, and she could not but smile at the mirror as she set coif and gold-winged helmet over her ruddy locks. He liked to see her in that kind of dress, less boyish than playful.

The gear must needs be of elf metal, since the Faerie horses would not bear iron, but she supposed he could make good use of it.

Stockfish and other rations she added to her pile of goods, and furs and blankets and sewing kit and whatever else might be helpful. “I am becoming a housewife!” she said smiling again. The homely word gladdened her, like the sight of an old friend. Next she took certain things whose use she did not know but which Skafloc had set much store by: skins of wolf and otter and eagle, rune-carved wands of ash and beechwood, a strangely wrought ring.

When it was all packed together, she sought out Leea. The elf woman looked in astonishment at the Valkyrie figure before her. “What will you now?” she asked.

“I want four horses,” answered Freda, “and help to load one of them with what I am taking. Then let me out of here.”

“ ’Tis still night, with trolls awake and prowling about. And elf horses cannot fare by day.”

“No matter. They go more swiftly than any others, and speed is what I wish above aught else.”

“Aye, you can reach a church ere dawn if you get past the foe,” gibed Leea, “and the arms you bear may give you some protection along the way. But you cannot hope to keep Faerie gold long.”

“I have no gold to speak of, nor do I go to any lands of men. It is the north gate I want you to open for me.”

Leea’s eyes widened, until she shrugged. “ ’Tis foolishness. What good is Skafloc’s clay? However, let it be as you will.” Her mouth softened and she said, low, not altogether steadily: “Kiss him once for Leea, I pray you.”

Freda said naught, but she knew that alive or dead Skafloc would not get that kiss.

The snow was flying thick when she left. Noiselessly the gate swung ajar, and the goblin guards, who had been promised freedom for their service, waved farewell. Freda rode out with her string of horses. She did not look back. Without Skafloc, Elfheugh’s splendours were ash.

The wind whined around her and bit through layers of fur. She leaned down and whispered in her horse’s ear: “Now quickly, quickly, best of steeds, quickly gallop! Swiftly north to Skafloc! Find him with your immortal wit and senses, and you shall sleep in golden stables and walk unsaddled through summer meadows for all your centuries.”

There came a booming shout. Freda jerked erect in her seat. Terror poured through her. Nothing was more dreadful to her than the trolls, and they had seen-“Oh, swiftly, my horse!”

The wind of her gallop screamed about her, nigh ripping her from the saddle, forcing her to shield her eyes with an upraised arm. She could hardly see through the night and snow, even with her witch-sight, but she heard the roar of hoofs behind her.

Faster and faster, north, ever north, while the air hooted and bit, the pursuers yelped and the hoofbeats rolled. When she glanced back, she saw the trolls as a deeper shadow racing through the night. Could she but halt and command them home in the name of Jesus! But their earshot was less than their arrowshot.

The snow whirled thicker. Presently the trolls fell behind, though she knew they would track unwearyingly. And as she fled north she came nearer the south-ward-marching army of Trollheim.

Time brawled past like the wind. She caught a far-off glimpse of fire on a hilltop-belike some burning elf garth. The troops must be close, and they would have scouts widely across the land.

As if to answer her thought, a howl rose out of the murk to her right. She heard hoofs clatter. If they cut her off—

Athwart her path loomed a monstrous shape, a giant shaggy horse blacker than night with eyes like glowing coals, and on it a rider in black ring-mail, huge of thew and hideous of face—a troll! The elf horse veered aside, not fast enough. He reached out and caught the bridle and pulled the steed to a halt.

Freda screamed. Before she could cry on holiness, he had yanked her from the saddle, clutched her to him with one arm and clapped the other hand over her mouth. It was cold and smelled like a pit of snakes.

“Ho, ho, ho!” shouted the troll.

Out of the night, called through the windy dark by her far-sensed need, still gasping with the long run and the fear of coming too late, Skafloc sprang. One foot he set in the troll’s stirrup, lifted himself up and drove dagger into throat.

And he caught Freda in his arms.