The Sword of the Lady

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NORRHEIM, LAND OF THE BJORNINGS NEAR ERIKSGARTH

(FORMERLYAROOSTOOK COUNTY, MAINE) DECEMBER 23, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

Next afternoon Rudi grinned again as he watched Edain collecting his bets after a round of shooting with the bow-and then handing the winnings out as gifts, each to a different man than the one who'd wagered it.

Sure, and there's a wisdom of hand and eye, too, he thought.

There was plenty of room for play in the big enclosure that Eriksgarth made-the hall and house of the godhi, smaller dwellings for his carles and their families and the youngsters fostered here to learn, barns and sheds and workshops, all around a court paved with river-smoothed cobbles mostly hidden beneath hard-packed snow. The sky was bright, with traces of high cloud like a white mare's tail. The air was no more than cold, without the frigid cutting blast that made your face ache; the fresh drifts sparkled like soft-curved masses of diamond dust in the light.

And Epona is looking better, he thought happily. Still a bit of that dry wheeze, but her eyes aren't as dull. Some quiet and rest and she'll be fine.

For shooting with the bow they used the bank of a distant potato barn as a target, a curious structure like a long rectangle three-quarters sunken in the ground and with earth berms heaped up against its walls. There were clear fields beyond that, for a quarter-mile of open fenced pastureland until a holy shaw's trees stood bare-branched around the steep roof-on-roof height of a stave-hof, a temple. A bright glitter caught his eye there, paint on one of the riot of carvings.

The locals were good enough archers in their way, but not up to Mackenzie standards, and certainly not to be set against a champion of the Lughnasadh Games like Edain. The young men he'd defeated laughed and slapped him on the back; then three of them looked at each other, nodded, and each picked up one of the plate-sized wooden targets.

With a shout they threw them high, in a spread that opened like the spines of a fan. Edain's movements seemed steady, almost leisurely, but the flat snap of the bow sounded three times so quickly that the sound was lost in the hard crack-crack-crack of the points striking home in wood. The last of the targets was still man-height above the ground when the arrow punched it away. 'Fetch, Garbh!' the younger Mackenzie said.

The big shaggy half mastiff had been sitting in aristocratic indifference, ignoring the stiff-legged wariness of the local beasts as they stalked closer. Now she trotted off, to return and lay the disks at her master's feet. 'Did you miss'' one of the Bjornings said; no arrows stood in the wooden circles.'I thought I heard the strike!'

Edain tossed him one of the disks, skimming it through the air; they were like flat miniature shields a foot across, made from two layers of birch strips glued crossways and rimmed in iron. The Norrheim man held his up and whistled between his teeth, showing the neat round hole punched through near the center of it. 'This is not a little boy who's come among us!' he said. 'Ah, it's the cold steel that wins a battle,' one of the others grumbled.

Garbh returned with the arrows held gently between her long yellow teeth, lips curled daintily back. The fletching of each had been stripped off as they made passage through the wood, but they were otherwise intact. 'Not with one of those through your eye,' his friend said thoughtfully.'And through your shield first. I'd guess you could punch through a byrnie, too, eh'' 'A mail shirt' Yes, with anything like a straight hit, and a nice bodkin. But a solid steel breastplate or lames, now… no, not always through that. The surface may glance the point; you need a closer range and a little luck. Enough shafts in the air at once-an arrow storm, we call it-will do the job right enough.'

Edain finshed checking the arrows and slid them over his shoulder into the quiver. He spoke with a little slyness in it: 'You were speakin' of the cold steel' Well, my Chief there, himself, is a very fair shot, enough to keep me exercised, as it were, but a man of the sword first and foremost. Better at that than I am with a bow, if truth be told, and I've fought by his side more than once, in ambuscades, onsets, raids and pitched battles.'

He reached out and took an apple that one of the local men had halfway raised to his mouth, twitching it out of his fingers, tossing it up and catching it. Then he threw it with a sudden hard snap, the plump red fruit a blurred streak through the air. 'Chief!' he called as it left his hand.

Rudi had been waiting for something of the sort; the contests had all been friendly, but he didn't think the men of Eriksgarth would have spent this much time with their weapons on the day of a feast if the strangers hadn't arrived. Though they seemed to love games and tests of skill of all sorts, from chess to wrestling and swordplay, and this gathering was a chance for trials between many from isolated steadings.

The apple was aimed more than arm's length to Rudi's left, past what was now his sword hand. That hand flashed across his body and he turned in the packed snow of the yard, granules flying up in arcs from his boots with the speed of the movement. Steel glittered in the cold winter light as he extended in a long lunge, the point an extension of his arm in a play of motion and angle.

Tock.

The point went through the firm flesh of the apple with a surgeon's delicacy, the edge parallel to the ground so that it stopped the motion without splitting the fruit. He held the lunge for an instant, with a background of amazed oaths, then flicked the longsword's point upward and twitched his wrist to send the steel in a shimmering arc.

Tock.

This time the apple tumbled towards the ground in two neat halves. Rudi caught them with his other hand, moving like a frog's tongue after a fly, then wiped the tip of his sword on his sleeve and slid it home. He tossed one half to a grinning Edain as the broad-shouldered bowman sauntered up. 'You almost wasted a good apple, there, boyo,' he said mildly. 'The which the Goddess of the Blossom-time would not like.'

His half was tart and sweet at the same time as he crunched it; a little harder and more grainy than the breeds they grew back home in the Mackenzie duns or the Yakima lands, but palatable. Edain ate his in three bites, his cheeks bulging for a moment, and his gray eyes taking in the awestruck expressions scattered across the open expanse. Some were frankly goggling; everyone here trained to the blade, which meant they had a fair idea of just what combination of speed and control the little demonstration had required.

Now that was more than a bit flashy, Rudi half chided himself. But then, Edain's only a bit past twenty. And I'm no graybeard yet either! And we wouldn't have done it before those who weren't warriors themselves, sure. 'I think it's the custom here to push a man a bit. To see what's in him, as it were,' Edain said. 'The which Mackenzies would never do,' Rudi said, and they both laughed.

Edain went on:'They're a bit doomful here, but for the rest it's homelike enough; and they get something more lively with some beer in them.' 'That they do!' 'Has it struck you, Chief, that men are not at all unlike dogs.. especially in the way they greet a stranger''

As if on cue there was a sudden chorus of snarls; Garbh had one of the Eriksgarth hounds on its back, with her teeth holding its neck ruff. She shook it a little and then stepped back, tense and wary. 'Well, at least we're not expected to engage in arse-sniffing contests,' Rudi pointed out, which the dogs were doing at that moment, their tails wagging.

Not far away, Mary Havel-Mary Vogeler, now, Rudi reminded himself-was talking to a big young Bjorning with a battle-ax in his hands. The weapon was a bit unusual; the rear of it was drawn out into the rectangular serrated head of a war hammer. The ax-man looked over at Ingolf, who with Fred Thurston was helping some newcomers unload a roughly butchered moose carcass from their sled, a contribution to the feast and a gift to their chieftain.

The tall Richlander hefted a hindquarter over his back, with no more than a grunt at a weight greater than his whole body. 'Friend, you'll find that Mary can take care of herself well enough, you betcha,' he said mildly, and then strode over to where Harberga waited at the door of her kitchen's cold store. Fred sniggered wordlessly as he scooped up two burlap sacks of rye flour and followed Ingolf with one over each shoulder.

The Bjorning flushed, leaned his dreadful polearm against a wall and picked up the practice equivalent-a four-foot helve with a mock blade of light pine, wrapped in felt and rags; no matter how shielded, the seven-pound head of the original would smash bone like kindling if driven hard. Then he took stance, the ax slanted across his body with his hands wide-spaced near butt and helve-an expert's grip. The man was about halfway between Rudi and John Hordle in size, and from the look of him he had the shoulders to move the massive weapon quickly. When he struck the air hummed, but Rudi thought he was pulling the blow.

Mary leapt straight upward over the swing, her own chest-height from a standing start. The Bjorning had expected to strike, or at least to have the blow blocked by the longsword she wore across her back with the hilt over the right shoulder. Instead as it met only air the momentum of the strike pulled his body around irresistibly. The Ranger's hand darted out and tweaked his nose painfully; then she went into a series of backflips that left her half a dozen yards away.

Tsk, tsk, Rudi thought.

He was a fine gymnast himself, but that sort of thing had little place in actual fighting to his way of thinking. In a fight you should move precisely as much as needed to attack or defend, neither more nor less. The Dunedain tended to be a bit showy, though.

Some of the onlookers cheered her. Others hooted in wholehearted mirth, bending over and clutching themselves or slapping hands on their thighs-as Edain had said, the two clansmen found the dwellers here a bit doomful by Mackenzie standards, but this was a joke after their own hearts. A few of the women watching called comments to the ax-bearer that would have had Rudi's ears flushing, and made the man bellow with anger in his mouse-colored braided beard. He brought the weapon up to guard and began a rush, then halted in wariness.

Now Mary had the chain unwound from her waist, both ends crisscross ing in glittering arcs as she whirled them clockwise and counterclockwise; one held a sickle-shaped blade, the other a steel ball. That was a weapon she'd taken up during their stay in Chenrezi Monastery, in the Valley of the Sun. The monks taught it, and Master Hao said she was a natural for it-it was a yin weapon anyway, suitable to her changeful nature.

The Bjorning decided to treat it as if it was a quarterstaff, and struck at the middle spot where her hands turned wrist-over-wrist to keep the chain moving. Mary dropped promptly to one knee, and let the steel links slide through her gloved palms. There was a rattling chunk as one end of the chain whipped around the ax helve, and a muffled curse as it bound hand to ashwood. The sickle struck his forearm in a way that would have laid it open to the bone if the sharp blade hadn't been encased in its leather sheath.

He pulled back, trying to free the haft and throwing his far greater weight and raw strength against hers through the metal link. Mary came with the pull and at the same instant the other end of the chain wrapped around the man's knees, whirling itself into a tangle with the steel ball thudding into his thigh muscle with paralyzing force. He began to buckle forward; Mary's booted feet struck him neatly in the stomach, her back hit the ground, and she used his own momentum to throw him roaring over her head with an arching twist and pivot.

There was a heavy, meaty thud as he landed in a patch of last night's snow not yet trampled or stained. It puffed up around him in a cloud of glittering crystal, and through it Mary pounced with a cat-screech of Sindarin that Rudi translated without effort: 'So long, sucker!'

She landed astraddle the man, her long narrow dagger out and hovering above his eye. He glared at her for a moment and then his lips quirked up in a smile. That turned into a roar of laughter, and he threw his arms wide in a theatrical gesture of surrender. 'Hrolf Homersson gives you best, shield-maiden! I give you best. What a pity you're wedded already!'

Mary simply snorted as she rose and helped him untangle himself. Ritva sauntered over and put her hands on her hips as she watched. 'I'm not,' she pointed out with cheerful helpfulness.'Are you, Hrolf Homersson' Not that I'm proposing, you understand.'

Ingolf came back from his task, working his shoulders. He spoke to Mary in the elven tongue, slowly and a bit clumsily: 'Herves'- wife — 'you can throw me on my back and leap upon me when you will, but I may grow resentful if you do it to other men… unless there's a dagger in your hand.' 'Herven' — husband-'with you I will use not the dagger of war for your eye, but the feather-duster of tickling for your man parts!'

Virginia Kane was demonstrating what you could do with a lariat from horseback; seeing one of their dodging, running number caught and dragged a few yards was another way to tickle the Bjorning funny bone, evidently. 'Their sense of a jest is something… robust, here,' Rudi observed. 'I like it well enough,' Edain said. ' That's no surprise. You near killed yourself laughing that time the cow I was milking caught me in the face with a well-beshatted tail.'

Edain snickered at the memory.'Chief, a man in his eightieth summer would have thought that funny, and him dead also, much less a boy! The expression on you! And you rubbed dung in my hair, as I remember, and we were both covered head to foot by the time we'd stopped scuffling like a pair of puppies.'

Rudi sighed reminiscently.'And then your da came out and took us by the ears and pitched us both into the pond,' he said.'Lucky it was that was a warm day and we weren't wearing anything but old kilts.'

Edain shuddered.'Lucky indeed, Chief. You ran back up the hill to Dun Juniper. I had to face me mother!'

Just then Harberga came back out the door and called, smiling: 'If the children are finished their play, the meal is ready!'

A herald more formal came out of the main doors of the hall and blew the summoning horn, a long harsh huuuuuuuuuu through the cold air.

The twin doors were twice man-height, thick oak slabs strapped with iron on either side of a framework of beams, and at the end of the long rectangular structure. The roof above towered high and steep-pitched; the gable beams crossed in snarling dragonheads above the snowy shingles, and a steady trickle of smoke came from the mortared fieldstone chimneys. Pillars on either side of the entranceway were carved in a strong stylized style.

The shapes were a red-bearded man who bore a hammer and a woman with a distaff and hair of bright gold; gold covered the elk antlers above. Within was a square stone-flagged chamber ringed with benches, trunks, pegs and racks where outer clothes and weapons could be left. Rudi was wearing his good kilt and plaid beneath his winter gear today-a kilt wasn't as warm as trousers, but it was more than enough for a while, if you had drawers on beneath.

He offered his arm to Mathilda as they went through the inner doors to the hall proper, and she took it. 'Father Ignatius is going to duck out later,' she said. 'And you're not, my heart'' 'No. I… want to see. It isn't like participating, after all.'

Is it not' he thought, but kept his silence. Well, that's between him and you at your next confession.

Bjarni had seated Rudi at his right, and Mathilda at the Mackenzie's side; those were positions of honor, and let him talk to the Bjorning chieftain. Evergreen boughs in wreaths on walls and rafters scented the air, and a decorated fir tree stood tall in the center. The feast was to be long and leisurely. Rudi enjoyed it-potato soup, roast pork, braised red cabbage, more potatoes prepared in half a dozen ways, a meat pie not quite like anything he'd tasted before'Now that's not beef, nor venison either, I think,' he said thoughtfully after he'd chewed and swallowed; the ground meat was mixed with minced onion and some herbs, and it had a musky undertone, not exactly rank but strong.'Though it's more like venison or elk than any tame beast I've had.'

He plied his fork again:'Tasty!' 'Moosemeat tortiere,' Harberga said, smiling at his enthusiasm. 'Most households here take a moose in the fall, when the frosts set in; we make all the pies then and freeze them in the cold pantry for use all winter. There's near half a ton of meat on a big moose, and the bones and sinew and hide are all useful too, but they take a good deal of killing.'

Bjarni's eyes lit and went to one of the spears on the wall; it was a long hunter's weapon, with wings forged into the base of the head to prevent an irate beast from running up it to express one last opinion of the human who'd stuck it. 'Yes, that's fine sport,' he said enthusiastically.'None better, except bear or tiger-and the stripe-cats are still rare here. There weren't any at all in this country when my father founded Norrheim; they came up later from the troll-lands.'

A scowl:'And too many of them are man-eaters by choice. Bears leave humans alone, usually, and so do wolves-though they'll both eat our stock, ayuh! But the tigers are a menace, and there are more every year.' 'They're common in Montival, unpleasantly so sometimes,' Rudi replied.

Mathilda leaned across and touched the tip of Rudi's nose; there was a tiny, barely visible fleck of scar there. 'I was there when a tiger did that to Rudi with the very end of one claw,' she said proudly.'He held it away on a spear until it died.' 'It was already wounded,' Rudi said lightly.

Then a faraway look came into his eyes.'Remember those lions we came across in the Sioux country'' 'Lions'' Bjarni asked, intrigued.'I've heard of them, but there are none here. Too cold in winter, I suppose.' 'Probably too many trees, as well; the beasts don't like close forest. They're spreading north from the desert countries, from the Rio Grande. We were being chased at the time, and sort of ran into them, and through them, at a gallop. It was lucky, in the event-they'd just had time to get good and angry when our foemen arrived expecting to cut our throats and found the lions instead…'

Bjarni and his wife chuckled, and so did the rest of the Bjornings within hearing; evidently that appealed to the Norrheimer sense of humor too. 'What's an angry lion like'' he asked. 'Every bit as nasty as an angered tiger, and they run in packs like wolves. You'-he pointed his fork at Mathilda-'wanted to keep that cub as a pet!' 'It was cute,' Mathilda said. 'It was young. I've had many a shrewd scratch from ordinary moggies who meant no real harm. One that weighed three hundred pounds, with claws like knives…'

They spoke more and pleasantly, of hunting and then local lore; evidently Norrheim was a loose federation of quasi-independent chieftain-ships, each heading a tribe comprised of bondar — yeomen-who pledged allegiance to a godhi of their choice, who lead them in war and sacrifice and presided at assembly. The farmers changed the allegiance if it suited them; Mathilda looked faintly scandalized at that, but held her peace about it. Local folkmoots called things met each spring to hear cases and vote on laws, and an Althing in the summer did the same for the whole. Eriksgarth was the senior chieftainship, its master head of the Bjornings, and home of the Althing's meeting ground.

They didn't take a census here, but Rudi estimated from what his host said that the Norrheim folk were about as numerous as the Clan Mackenzie; threescore thousand or a little more, and growing fast, more by births now than by outsiders joining. 'My father made us a people,' Bjarni said proudly.'He knew what must be done-when to speak, when to show an example, and when to break heads. Folk who were cast adrift in a world made strange saw it. Others of his Bjorning kindred who came north with him became godhi of their own tribes too, as he set them here or there to help put the land in order. I remember a little of the beginning of it; I was six when the Change came, and we left Springfield. That was a thorpe near Boston.' 'Boston!' Ingolf said, from the other side of the chieftain.'I've been to Boston… if your father made his escape from there, and took his people with him, then he was some sort of a man.'

The lamps were lit on their iron wheels and hoisted up the pillars as the evening proceeded; there was unstinted food, drink, song-Rudi came to keenest attention as a harper performed-stories sad or merry or moving-and chanted ancestral epic: 'There was a man named Orm the Strong, a son of Ketil Asmundsson who was a yeoman in the north of Jutland; and this was before the Dane-lands were one kingdom. The folk of Ketil had dwelt there as long as men remembered, and held broad acres. The wife of Ketil was Asgerd, who was a leman-child of Ragnar Lothbrok. Thus Orm came of good stock on both spear and distaff sides, but as he was the fifth living son of his father he could look for no great inheritance. So Orm was a seafarer, and from his youth spent most of his summers in viking — '

The ways and arts here didn't have Dun Juniper's quick bright shifting glitter, with its ever-present tang of the Otherworld. But there was a deep steady sonorous music to it all, one that had its own harsh magic and strong-boned beauty and spoke to his blood.

Eventually, Bjarni rose-for the first time since the feast started, except once when he'd darted over to quiet two half-drunken brawlers by the simple expedient of grabbing their necks and banging their heads together hard enough to make Rudi wince. Their friends had laid them out under the tables, and the rest had gone on unconcerned with the fallen serving as footstools. Now he hammered the hilt of his seax on the table, and silence fell, more or less; he spoke into it. 'Bjornings, and guests come from far lands! Tonight our luck is strong. The seidhkona Heidhveig has come to Eriksgarth and will take the High Seat of prophecy and speak. Let all here behave in seemly wise, as do true men and true women.'

Men moved the table before them, and placed a high carved chair with arms on the dais before the hearth. Heidhveig entered from the door that led to the house; Rudi had seen little of her until now, and his hosts had merely said that she rested and felt out the wights-which was what the Norrheim folk called the spirits of place. Now she paced slowly through the hall, an old woman in a midnight-blue cloak and gown with a cap of black lambskin. Her wrought staff went thunk… thunk… as she walked down the row of pillars, helped by a stern-faced middle-aged woman and several others who were younger but nearly as serious. 'Who's the other woman with a staff'' Rudi murmured. 'Thorlind Williamsdottir-she really runs the seidh group these days. She was one of the first ones Heidhveig trained as a gydhja, a godwoman.'

Mathilda started to cross herself, then refrained; it would be impolite, under the circumstances. Instead she touched the place on her tunic where the crucifix rested below. The helpers set another box on the dais so that the old woman could climb onto the elevated seat; it had a cushion embroidered with ravens, and two carved from wood stood on the seat back. The younger gydhja sat on a low stool next to the tall seidhjallr, the Chair of Magic. Heidhveig held her staff between her knees, gripping it with both gnarled hands as if it were an anchor planted in the ground.

Bjarni's sister Gudrun took a basin of water and moved around the great room, sprinkling each one with drops flicked from a twig and murmuring:

The younger godwoman took a drum and began to beat it; a walrus-ivory ring skittered across the taut surface, making the beat throb with a burring tone that filled the hall. She spoke from her stool, her voice low and hieratic: 'This hall is hallowed for Heimdall's children,

Safe we sit at the sacred center.

Who will dare the waiting darkness'

Who will walk the way of wisdom'' 'I will,' Heidhveig said.

The seeress' voice was hoarse but strong. Rudi felt the skin prickle on his neck and between his shoulders as she pulled the thin veil draped around her shoulders over her head, so that it hid her face. When Thorlind spoke again, her words seemed to come from a depth-from a cave, perhaps, or a wildwood, or simply from the deeps of time: 'Sink down, then, and be at ease. You know the road well, the way through the Wood between the Worlds, and the plain of Midgard that lies within. Fare onward, wise one, down and around beneath the root of the Tree…'

Rudi found his own eyes closing, images forming behind them as the woman went on, leading them from world to world and depth to depth, to the very walls of Hella's kingdom, that he had never expected to see as a living man. 'Down and around we fare, until we come to the Eastern Gate. Here we must wait. For one and one only the gate will open…'

Rudi sighed, resisting the unexpected attraction of that passage to the Otherworld. He could feel Matti sitting stiff beside him, and squeezed her hand, as much to keep himself firmly grounded as to comfort her.

Thorlind spoke again: 'The gate to knowledge gapes before us.

Seeress, is it your will to go through'' 'It is,' the seeress said.

Thorlind began to sing; one by one the rest of the Bjornings joined in. The tune was strange, full of odd sharps. It had a feel of ancientry to it, like old stone still strong but covered in moss and worn with the rains and frost of countless years:

Thorlind chanted: 'The spell is spoken, the Seeress waits Is there one here who would ask a question''

For a long moment Rudi thought nobody would; the tension in the hall was palpable, almost like a taste of something sharp and acrid at the back of the mouth. Eyes gleamed in the shadows about.

Then the godhi stood. He cleared his throat and spoke in a voice that carried through the hall: 'I've a dispute with the men of the Hrossings. Both tribes have used the land between the Old West Road and Blood Creek for pasture in the summer and for hunting, but our numbers grow and we need to clear and till land there. Bjorning steadings are closer and the empty land should be ours alone, at least as far as the river. How shall we end this quarrel' Will Godhi Syfrid see reason, or shall we take it to the Althing and the law-speakers' Or must swords be drawn''

The gydhja spoke: 'Cease not, seeress, till said thou hast,

Answer the asker till all he knows.' 'I see the autumn woods,' Heidhveig said, her voice distant.'The stags are fighting. They clash their antlers, tear up the soil, grunting and heaving. The does are watching. Oh… there are wolves in the woods. They circle and leap, carry off some of the does…'

There was a sharp intake of breath in the Hall, and a moment of silence before the seeress went on. Her voice was less distant now, as if she had come halfway back to the world of men: 'I see now the meaning. You and Syfrid are so busy butting heads you don't see what's going on around you.'

The tension broke in laughter; Bjarni flushed but flung up a hand for silence, and the seeress went on: 'Watch out, or the human wolves will destroy what you're fighting over.'

There was a ripple of comment in the hall; Rudi thought he heard approval. 'Ask for a meeting. You may have to give up something to make peace, but that's better than losing all. It's an ill time for good Norrheim men to draw blades on each other. This you know, would you know more'' 'Thank you, seeress,' Bjarni said drily.'I think I understand.. '

The gydhja spoke, her tone formal:'Well hast thou asked and well been answered. Is there another who has a question''

A woman stood, young enough that some of the awkwardness of girlhood still clung about her. Rudi would have judged her to be two years short of Edain's twenty. Loose hair of a dark yellow color like old honey fell past her shoulders, confined by a headband, which probably meant by the custom of these folk that she was unwedded; at least, most of the women older than she wore theirs braided and bound. Her hands knotted in front of her until she forced them still, licked her lips and stood proudly erect, ignoring the eyes upon her and the murmur of surprise. When she spoke her voice was firm and clear, though light: 'Sigurd Jeansson, called the Bold, my betrothed, has been gone since the fall harvest. He went north in viking with the men of Westmanland-thorpe to seek tools and trade goods in the dead cities, so that we might take up land and make our own homestead this spring at snowmelt, and be wed. When will he return to me''

The gydhja chanted: 'Cease not, seeress, till said thou hast,

Answer the asker till all she knows.'

Heidhveig sighed and bent her head beneath the veil.'I call the raven to my aid and take her form. Together we wing northward over mountain and forest and lake. I see a mighty river, and on its banks bare-branched trees beneath a sky like steel; ice floats in the water. A great bridge of the old world spans the broad flood, half fallen, and the current foams beneath it. Tall fire-scorched ruins rise on an island to the west. Was it to the Royal Mountain that he was to have gone'' 'Yes.' 'I can see boats on the river, a long canoe heavy with cargo, the Hammer painted on it and eight paddlers within. One is tall and ruddy, with black hair and a war sark of dark leather sewn with steel rings; he has a scar that turns a streak in his beard white. Is this your man''

The girl nodded, and the seidhkona continued: 'The other boats pursue it. They are many and fierce, some with their faces painted, some with strings of fingerbones about their necks. A man in a red robe with a rayed sun upon his breast leads them.'

Rudi's breath hissed between his teeth. I know your mark, ill-wreaker! he thought savagely.

The voice of the seeress went on: 'They are shooting arrows-'

The girl gasped and stretched out a hand to the table to support herself. Her fair skin went chalk white, and her eyes very wide. 'Men fall in the canoe that flees; it slows, it cannot escape. It turns and drives towards the boats that pursue. More arrows fly, and then spears and hatchets. The man in the ring-sark takes up a great ax and leaps into the boats of those that harry him, into the midst of many foes. He is laughing as he strikes, he calls on the Allfather to receive him-'

The old woman fell silent again, then went on with a curious gentleness: 'If this is the boat your man was in, I fear he will not return to you. I am sorry. There is no more.'

The girl shook. Her voice choked as she spoke: 'All men are born fey. My Sigurd met his fate unflinching and feasts this Yule with the einherjar in Vallhol-'

The words stumbled into a moan, and her face twisted as she struggled and then gave way to thick tears, and her knees buckled. Two older women caught her, and helped her from the room amid a murmur of sympathy.

The gydhja spoke, her words formal but with concern in her tone: 'How fares the seeress'' 'Well enough to continue. I sense there is need in this room, questions that must be asked and answered. Go on!' 'Is there another who has a question''

A man rose; he was in his thirties, weather-beaten and thick-bodied.'I've cleared old scrubland for a new field on my steading, land not planted since the Change; I've grubbed up and burned the brush and spread the ashes and plowed them under. It lies fallow beneath the snow. Should I seed it with barley when spring comes''

Rudi suppressed a wry smile. It seemed a little odd, after the last…

But it isn't. That man has put his own sweat into the work, and his family's well-being depends upon the results.

Thorlinda chanted: 'Cease not, seeress, till said thou hast,

Answer the asker till all he knows.'

The seidhkona spoke in a cooler voice: 'Hmm. I can see a field where a crowd of green-clad folk are dancing, but as they circle, others clad in black attack them and most of them fall. I think this means that if you plant there, a blight will get most of your crop. Would you know more''

The thickset man swallowed, but answered calmly:'Is there anything I can do'' 'I am looking at the barley wights… I am asking… He says to make offerings to the landwights there. Ask their help, sing to them, and they will tell you what the field needs. This you know. For now there is no more.' 'Thank you, seeress.'

Thorlind spoke:'Well hast thou asked and well been answered. Is there another who has a question'

Others asked, and were answered. Rudi took a long breath when silence fell, then stood. He was uneasily aware of how the attention of all focused on him.

But this is a true seeing. I must know! 'My friends and I are on a… quest. Will we reach our goal safely, and find what we are seeking when we get there'' 'Cease not, seeress, till said thou hast,

Answer the asker till all he knows.'

The seidhkona was silent for a long moment, then sighed. The sound made the back of Rudi's neck bristle; this was not a rite of his folk, but there was a power here, like a weight greater than the world could bear. As if it would tear through at any moment. And more coming; he could feel it gathering in the air, like the stretched tension before a thunderstorm. 'Ah… This is the one for whose question I was waiting, the one whose wyrd is wound with the fate of the world. At the foot of the Tree the Norns are weaving, but your choices are the thread. Need has bound you together, need impels you. Stay true to one another and you will find your island… I see an island, and something that shimmers.'

The veiled figure gasped:' I see a Sword! Shining brightness! Might is locked within it! Is that where you are going' This is very strange… Would you know more'' 'Yes, Lady, if you will.' 'Deeper I fare and farther I see… A darkness that opposes you there, a troll in the shape of a man. Beware, Son of the Raven! There is a Power behind him, more foul than any Jotun. If you fail, I see the doom of Midgard. You have questioned whether this was the Wolf Age-if this quest fails, Ragnarok will come!'

Her knotted hands clenched, and he could hear her labored breathing:'Would you know more'!' 'How fares-' Thorlinda began.

The seidhkona shook her head, a stir through the fabric of the veil. 'No-there is more to be said. This is a war of Powers. The wings of the raven swirl around me… oh… the Lord of the Ravens is near, near…'

Rudi heard his own heart pound, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was not ill and dreaming in a mountain cave now, and it was a fearful thing to meet that One. 'Does He have a word for me'' he said steadily.

The seidhkona twitched several times, straightened, and then leaned forward, resting one elbow on the arm of the chair.

A rustling stirred through the room, almost a moan. Rudi stood calmly, his hands by his sides, but he knew why that sound had been wrung from this hardy folk-and felt his hand twitch in turn, as if it reached for the hilt of a blade that was not there and would be no use even if it was. The Bjorning seeress was a woman of eighty years and more, never tall and now a little bent, stocky like an ancient oak stump, her body still obedient to a fierce and driving will but failing nonetheless.

Yet now it was as if a man sat there-a tall man, whose movements were fluid strength, and whose face was hidden by a hood, not a veil. He laughed, and the deep sound made the hair stir on Rudi's arms, a long low chuckle rolling inhuman in the nighted Hall. Shadows gathered, moving on the walls with the dance of the flames. 'So, Son of the Bear,' the voice said.'I see that you remember our last meeting, on the mountainside where you walked the blade-narrow bridge. I have counseled many a chieftain. What would you ask of me''

Rudi licked his lips and met that gaze. The Old Man was no enemy to him… but he was perilous even to his friends. 'If I gain the Sword of the Lady, will I defeat this enemy'' he asked boldly. 'To gain the Sword will not bring certain victory, but defeat is certain if you fail. Yet victory for your cause may be your own bane, Artos, King to be.'

Ah. When speaking with a God, don't ask things you already know! 'I understand that choice, lord. I have accepted it. I will do what must be done, and pay the price of it gladly, for my folk's sake, and for this fair world that the Gods have given humankind to be our cherished home.'

A rustle, and Mathilda stood beside him. Rudi started a little, taken from the diamond focus of his concentration; her fists were clenched at her sides, and her breast heaved, but her voice was controlled and he knew the courage that must have demanded. The more so as her faith held such suspicion of all spirits save their own. 'And does Rudi get nothing' If there is… if there must be.. does he get no mercy, no reward for his courage''

The hooded face turned towards her, and Rudi thought he heard a tinge of kindness in its stern tone.

For boldness is something this One loves, he thought. And there is no braver heart than my Matti! 'Mercy is not in my gift, Frigga-of-battle,' the Power that had possessed the Bjorning wisewoman said.'Neither for myself nor for those who call on me for victory. I can give a little time, but within that time only you can grant this man the reward he desires, the reward the man desires, and not the King. Be brave, be true, and you shall lay his son in his arms!' 'King!' Rudi heard someone mutter, as Mathilda staggered back and sat, stunned.'The Wanderer grants the stranger kingship from his own hand!'

The voice of the one on the high seat went on: 'The Bear's Son is not my man, though one of those who rides with him is-and worthy of me he shall be, and worthy of his warrior sire, when he avenges his father's death!'

Frederick Thurston bowed; his dark face glowed, as if seeing beyond the walls of Eriksgarth to a path that led upward. Upward across a bridge sparkling with color, beneath gigantic stars, towards roofs thatched with spears of glittering gold where auroras crackled. Beside him Virginia grasped his arm, glaring at the speaker as if she would spring to protect her man even from this, and the voice chuckled again before it continued. 'But though he does not make offering to me, the man called Artos comes of blood that bears much might; the blood of the Juniper Lady in which runs wisdom from beyond the world of men, the blood his father shed willingly to stand between his folk and their foes, dying and yet in death winning the victory that brought them peace. The Son of the Bear shall add to that might, for he is fated to great deeds. If he wins his victory, his shall be a line of Kings that lives long in glory and forever in the tales of men. If he fails, all fail with him; and then comes the doom of Midgard.'

The speaker's head turned, and the folk in the hall bore it as they could, meeting it or turning their heads aside or covering their eyes. 'All of you! If you would stand with the Gods, then I bid you help him. The sword he seeks is more potent than Tyrfing, forged for the hand of a King!'

Only breath disturbed the stillness.'So, Son of Bear, Son of Raven, High King of a realm called Montival that is yet to be and may never be-is that what you wanted to know''

Rudi shook his head.'The Crow Goddess gives me battle fury, but even the gift of the Dark Mother may not be enough against this foe. Will you, lord, give me battle craft to face him''

The laugh rumbled again, more gently this time: 'Wise is he who asks for wisdom! That gift, at least, is within my power. Watch for the ravens. They will show you the way.'

Rudi bowed for a moment.'Thank you, lord. And when my victory is won and I sit on the throne of the Ard Ri in Montival, always shall you and yours have welcome and honor in my lands.'

Thorlind the godwoman spoke; her voice wavered between fright and firmness: 'Allfather, we thank you also, but be kind to the seeress, who loves you. Please let her go now, gently, without harm-'

She rose and stood before the chair as the seidhkona first straightened and then sagged, and caught her as she slumped forward. Love and terror and pride warred in her voice as she spoke: 'Heidhveig, Heidhveig, my teacher, come back to us, please. That's right-'

The limp form of the old woman stirred, and a hoarse sound came from beneath what was once more a veil. Thorlind's words grew stronger: 'The vision fades, the voice grows silent. Return now, wise one, where we wait to welcome… Can you see the Gate' Raven will lead you towards it. Good, now you're through-Let's just get you out of this chair…'

Bjarni Eriksson moved forward to help her. They eased the seeress out of the seidhjallr and into an ordinary chair. Harberga brought a glass of water and held it to Heidhveig's mouth. The gydhja picked up the drum again struck it, the taut hide thuttering: 'Now it is time to return. Arise,

Move swiftly and easily, pass around the wall

From the east to the north, from gate to bridge.

Now it is before you, broad and fair.

Cross and ascend the road

Up and around, past Modhgudh's tower…'

Swiftly the journey was completed. Thorlind and the men who'd come with them helped their mistress down from the dais and away to her bed in the house. A rising babble of voices rang out with an edge of hysteria in them, until Bjarni leaped up to the dais and roared: 'Quiet!'

The redbeard's chin thrust out as his eyes went back and forth over his folk, cold and blue. When silence fell he put his hands on his sword belt and spoke bitingly: 'We've heard the words of the High One, through the holy seidhkona. He spoke of great deeds-of war and maybe even Ragnarok. Whatever happens, we will meet it-meet it like Bjornings, like free men and women of Norrheim, not like chattering magpies or frightened children! All men die; in the end, even the Gods shall die. The seidhkona is old and deserves rest, but she went under death's shadow to bring us this word. Honor her courage with courage of your own!'

The hall fell quiet again, but there was less tension in it. 'Now go and sleep, and think about what we've heard.'

He jumped down and walked to Rudi before he spoke again, quietly: 'And you and I, my friend, will think and then we will talk. There are things I must know, if I am to steer wisely… and mine is the hand on the tiller here.' 'And I will tell them gladly, Bjarni,' Rudi said.

Then he smiled.'You can see that there's more than one spoon in this stewpot, and some of them of an exceeding longness!'

Talk they did, and after a night's sleep they spoke into the next day, when Heidhveig joined them; she looked better than Rudi had expected in body, and less nerve-wracked than many others in Eriksgarth by the fore-seeing. 'You're well, I hope, Lady'' he said, rising and bowing as her pupil helped her towards the hearth.

She grinned at him, indomitable.'At my age, you're either well or dead. I'm not dead yet. This is just an act to get a handsome young man like you to give me an arm.'

He stepped forward and put an arm beneath her hand; it gripped him like a handful of walnuts. He guided her into the cushioned armchair nearest the fire, with Thorlind on the other side. Despite the light words, he could hear her breath whistle a little between clenched teeth as she sank down into the seat. Thorlind fussed with a rug she tucked around. The old woman pushed her hands aside with a good-natured chiding: 'We're in front of the fireplace!' 'We were telling my story,' Rudi said, as he took seat again across from her.'And trying not to let it go back to the beginning of the world, so! Well, you'll need to know a little of how the Change took us, in the High West-though I was born about this season of the first Change Year. Born on a battlefield, near enough-'

He sketched it in. The details were unfamiliar to them, and what tales had crossed the continent were hopelessly garbled, but the gist of it seemed easy enough to grasp; it was not altogether different from what they or their parents had experienced. 'Lady Juniper!' the seeress said, at one point.'Juniper Mackenzie

… Tell me, boy-she's short and slight, is she, and with hair brighter red than a fox, green eyes, and a voice like water flowing by moonlight' With a County Mayo brogue she could put on when she wished, that she learned from her mother, and you learned from her'' 'You know my mother'' Rudi said, stopping in an astonishment shared by the others.'You've met her''

Then he smiled and slapped his forehead.'Oh! From before the Change'' 'Yes. She used to play with the consort Siobhan ni hEodhusa put together for the Principality of the Mists. It was a great loss to the Kingdom of the West when she moved north again. If anyone lived, she would. But you say that nothing is left in California'' she added wistfully. 'I fear not, except in the most remote mountain parts of the north and east,' Rudi said gently.'It was… very bad there, from what the Dunedain explorers have found of late.' 'So Kalk saw in his vision, before the Change. So my heart said,' she said.'That's why I and my family moved here, and just in time.'

Then she shook her head and looked shrewdly at Mathilda. 'And your father was Norman Arminger, and your mother Sandra, girl''

Mathilda nodded warily; her parents had collected enemies, and though they hadn't spoken often of the old world she'd heard rumors enough.

Heidhveig laughed shortly.'And Norman ended up cutting himself out a kingdom from the chaos at the sword's edge' Why am I not surprised.' 'He was Lord Protector,' Mathilda said.'He died in battle… well, to tell you the truth, he and Rudi's father killed each other in single combat… when I was ten.' 'Your sires killed each other'' Bjarni said, a brow going up.

Rudi spread his hands:'But not before we'd sworn the oath of anamchara… which made us as soul brother and soul sister.' 'Ah,' the Bjorning said.'Yes, sometimes one duty has more might than another. Also, a fair fight that men chose freely… well, that may end a feud, not start one.'

Mathilda nodded and went on:'My mother… Sandra is Lady Regent now, until I'm of age… twenty-six that is. A few months less than two years from now. She held things together in Portland after he died.' 'Why am I even less surprised at that'' Heidhveig said dryly. 'You, ah, knew them, lady' You were in the Society'' 'You might say that…' she said wryly.'But that was another world-literally. I had another name then. I was another person then, and not just because I was a lot younger.'

Then, softly for a moment:'That world went down in ice and fire and terror, before you two were born. Let all the old feuds die with it. From what you say, Norman and Sandra did great things, deeds terrible and grand, that few others could have accomplished. For good and ill both.'

Farther down the hall, Odard Liu and Ritva Havel were playing their lutes, a crowd of appreciative Bjornings surrounding them-they knew the guitar here, and the harp, but didn't seem to have many lutists. The baron's voice rose in a song he'd composed some time ago, but with altered words. Mathilda flushed a little to hear it:

'He thinks he's a troubadour,' she said apologetically, as cheers greeted the song. 'Well, then he probably is,' Heidhveig said.'I've heard far, far worse.' She reached across with the staff and prodded Rudi's bare knee below the kilt.'Go on, lad, go on.'

Rudi cleared his throat; more than any women he'd met besides his mother and Matti's, Heidhveig seemed able to make him feel like a boy again without even trying. 'Well, two years ago-two years and a month, it was Samhain Eve, and that an omen in itself-Ingolf here rode into Sutterdown, the Clan's only town, having as he thought shaken off the Prophet's men in the passes of the Cascades. They were waiting for him instead, disguised as harmless travelers, and-' 'That's a wild tale,' Bjarni said when it was finished, shaking his head.'I wouldn't credit half of it, if it weren't for the seidhkona. Even so, it'll take a while to settle my mind around it. How large the world is! How little our share of it seems now, that was so broad yesterday!'

She looked at Rudi:'The Church Universal and Triumphant, eh' I knew a little about them before the Change. They were… strange.. and obnoxious sometimes… but they didn't traffic with malevolence or try to turn men into less than beasts. They've been corrupted, to serve the enemies of humankind… and of the Gods.' 'Corrupted by who'' Rudi asked.

Bjarni shivered a little, and his wife laid a hand on her belly over the child. 'Asa-Loki,'neath the mountain, chained and raging…' Harberga quoted softly.

Heidhveig nodded.'As good a name as any. And unless they're stopped, even one as old as I may yet live long enough to see that One riding with a face of poison to Vigrid Plain, on the last morning of the world.'

Father Ignatius nodded crisply and signed himself.'Good will triumph over evil in the end,' he said.'But it doesn't happen without us working and, yes, fighting for it. Nor is any victory certain until the last days.'

Rudi shivered slightly, staring into the fire where white flames danced over the red glow of the coals. 'I've had… visions. Some, I think, of what the world might have been if the Change had not come. Some of what might yet be, if the CUT triumphs. Both… bad. Very bad indeed. And their common feature that men no longer walk the earth, though in some of them things in our shape do. In others, the very soil and air are dead.' 'I've seen those too,' Ingolf said, his battered hands clenching on his knees.'Only on Nantucket, though. God… Gods… that was weird! But I saw things in Corwin while I was a prisoner there that were enough to turn your stomach; and things that would make your hair crawl, things that just shouldn't be. They've got plans for the world and I wouldn't want them to come true. Those breeding pits-' He shuddered. 'Then we must see that they don't come true,' Mathilda put in.

Bjarni's big capable hands gripped the arms of his chair. 'I know that the seidhkona's vision was the truth. Thor's Hammer, I heard it! I'm a true man; I'll stand with the Gods-which means with you, Rudi-with all my main and my might. But I can't call on every fighting man in Norrheim to march a thousand miles and more to battle an enemy they've never heard of. They'd hoot me off the Thingstone! And-'

He looked at his wife again; love and pain were at war in the glance they shared.

Rudi nodded.'You can't leave your steadings and families unguarded. I wouldn't expect you to.'

Bjarni's mouth quirked.'The Wanderer is at home everywhere and nowhere; he has all the world of Midgard to ward and all the sons and daughters of Ash and Embla to guide, and more besides. But this'-his gesture took in the hall, and the lands beyond-'is my world, my tribe and folk, the world my father built, the one I want to hand on to my children when I lay my bones beneath the howe. Yes, and watch over afterwards.'

His fist pounded the arm of his chair.'But what does it matter if I guard the borders of Norrheim now, and in a generation or two or three etin-craft and troll-men flood over us like a tide!'

Rudi tapped a finger on his chin:'I think there was more than one message in the seeing you made, lady Heidhveig; and more than one meaning to every message. A certain One we've both met is crafty and subtle. You may not have noticed, Bjarni, but the… Old Man's.. word was not the only part of the vision you need to ponder.'

At Bjarni's surprised look he went on:'That unfortunate honey-haired lass who lost her man north of here' Well, that's the way we've come, and the Cutters have been at work there too; hence the man in the red robe with the sun sign on it. That was an adept, an evil magus…' 'A trollkjerring, we would say,' Heidhveig said.

Rudi nodded:'Stirring up the wild bands, those you deem troll-men, so. They'll move those against you, I would guess. What other dwellers there are in that country are few and weak, and the Prophet's ambitions are not limited to Montival. Corwin aims to bring all of humankind under their sway in the end.'

Bjarni had looked… not fearful, but apprehensive, before. Now his face firmed into a thing of slabs and angles; that was a threat he could understand in gut and bone. 'You see as clearly as Heimdall! That I can tell the Althing, and be believed!' 'And that will serve our common cause,' Rudi said.'Otherwise those men will fall on allies of ours, and enemies of the Enemy, further west.' 'But as for us, we need to get to Nantucket,' Mathilda said. 'Your, ah, High One himself said it. Without the Sword of the Lady, we'll surely lose. Mary, intercede for us!' 'The old tales have a number of such swords in them,' Ignatius said, half as if to himself.'Many were born by paladins of the Light. Arthur's Excalibur, of course. Durendal, that Roland bore at Roncevalles against the infidel. Perhaps they were less metaphorical and more substantial than my teachers thought. I don't think the pagan elements matter, in the end.' 'Tyrfing,' Harberga said.'Though I'm glad it's not that blade.' 'Getting to Nantucket… there I can help you,' Heidhveig said. 'I came out here with my family before the Change because of a… feeling you might say; and because Kalk told me he foresaw a great troubling of the world while I was dickering with him over a harp.'

Rudi couldn't quite hold back a blink of surprise. Heidhveig smiled and stroked one knotted hand over another. 'Yes, I made music once. I stayed with Kalk and his people at the coast through the first month after the Change, before Erik Waltersson arrived; Kalk was pagan too, and a student of the old crafts, and I put them in touch with each other when I heard the Bjornings had come.' 'From which meeting many deeds came in turn,' Bjarni said.

Heidhveig nodded.'I stay there still when I'm not traveling between garths working seidh… or just visiting the great-grandchildren, nowadays.' 'He's called Kalk the Shipwright,' Bjarni said.'He makes ships and much else, at the garth he built by the sea after the Change.'

His hand indicated the carved pillars of the hall, and the grim magnificence on the walls; by implication, the dragonheads that reared proud from rafter and roof-tree outside. 'All the finest woodworkers in Norrheim trained with him and his folk. They've cunning smiths and fine weavers there too, and wise in many other arts. Kalk collects craft skill, as some men do gold or horses or fine weapons; and his sons and grandsons are the same.'

Heidhveig took up the tale.'The Shipwright's men are great traders and fishermen, and often in viking…'

Rudi's eyebrows went up, and she chuckled. 'Oh, that's changed meaning here. They go to the dead cities and hunt for goods they can use or barter. As far as New York, sometimes.' 'Hmmm.' Ingolf rubbed his short-cropped beard.'I was in the same trade, though overland; I think we were the only Midwesterners to reach the east coast and survive. So far, at least. Vikings' You'd need something like that. Salvage work's… well, there are treasures, right enough, but yah, they're hard to get at. I can see why you used that word.'

Bjarni shrugged.'We trade in peace with the Isle of the Prince, and with the English Empire and the Norrlanders. And the Icelander folk. Those of them who stayed there and didn't go back to the ancient homelands-to Norrland, it's called now-or to England, offer to the Aesir now too. Not much trade in any one year, but it's welcome.'

He scowled.'And besides the troll-men who haunt the ruins, our folk fight with the blaumenn sometimes, southward, over salvage rights.' 'Blue-men'' Rudi said. 'The English call them Moors,' Heidhveig said.'They're from Senegal, really. They're numerous but their lands are metal poor, not having as many cities from before the Change for mining and salvage.' 'My foster father, Sir Nigel Loring, helped keep the Isle of Wight alive through the Change, and was a leader in the resettlement of England before he had to flee from Mad King Charles,' Rudi said thoughtfully.'He mentioned trouble with them.' 'No, they're not friendly to outsiders at all, though I suppose they have their own reasons which seem good to them,' Heidhveig said.

Bjarni inclined his head towards Fred Thurston, sitting astraddle a bench among the group around Odard. He was laughing, his head thrown back, with a mug of the dark Bjorning ale in his hand, and Virgina stood with her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist. 'I thought he might be one, from his looks, but he seems a fine young fellow, and I'd judge him a good man of his hands already.' 'Few better, none braver,' Rudi said crisply.'No lord could want a better… gesith, you say'' ' Gesith — companion' Yes, or hirdman.' 'And no warrior a better comrade,' Rudi finished. 'He'd better be a strong man, to keep up with that she-cat,' Harberga said.'She's a wild one, if I've ever seen any.' 'She has reason to face the world like a drawn blade,' Rudi said soberly.'They're well matched; Virginia's shrewder than you might think from her manner, and Fred uses his head for more than a helmet rest, too. And doesn't lose it when the steel's out.'

Bjarni nodded.'Of course, he's an Odinsman. Why, the High One claimed him in person! That's a great honor, though not one I envy; I'll stick with my old friend Thor.' 'And if he's good enough for Odin, he's good enough for me,' Heidhveig said, with an odd half-chanting tone in her voice.

When they looked at her she shrugged.'Classical reference. Now, we were speaking of Kalk Shipwright… Kalk's stubborn-more now than ever, he's even older than me! — and he won't want to risk a ship. Most are laid up this time of year. But I think he'll listen to me. And if not to me, then to the High One. Though he offers mostly to Njord and Freyr, himself.'

They spent some time thrashing out the details; when Rudi's party would leave, how Bjarni would help with the journey to the coast, and how to send out messages warning the rest of the Norrheim tribes that trouble was foreseen. The conversation wound up as the celebrations began again in earnest.

Rudi joined in the laughter and applause as thirteen masked youths in gaudy-raggedy costumes entered and cut capers, tumbling and playing pranks.

Then the children in the hall called out their names, seeking to chase them down and tag them: 'Stiff-Legs!' one cried, and clutched the sleeve of a figure who had stilts under his too-long breeks.

The others were caught one by one, some trying to climb the pillars until they dropped back into the shrieking crowd: Gully Gawk, Shorty, Ladle Licker, Pot Scraper, Bowl Licker, Door Slammer, Skyr Gobbler, Sausage Snatcher, Window Peeper, Sniffer, Meat Hook and Candle Beggar.

When they were captured the tumblers handed out shoes stuffed with toys and candied nuts and other treats. Harberga carried a broom around the hall and beat them forth with it, the youngsters following in a chain dance, before relenting and announcing: 'Come, those who wish to come; stay, those who wish to stay; and farewell, those who wish to fare away, harmless to me and mine!'

That brought the rest of the grown folk in for the evening meal-which for a Yule feast started in midafternoon. 'We drink sumbel this evening,' Bjarni said to Rudi when it was well under way and his wife was away putting their daughter to bed. 'You know that custom''

Rudi nodded.'My half sisters' mother, Signe, is a follower of your Gods and so are many of her folk,' he said.'I've been at sumbel in Larsdalen, and the other Bearkiller holds. Perhaps you do it a bit differently, though.' He grinned.'For a start, they like to drink it with wine; they've many fine vineyards there. The western side of the Willamette is better for the grape.'

Bjarni sighed.'I've never drunk wine, except a few bottles found by Vikings… salvagers. They sound like an interesting lot, these Bearkillers of yours. With a fine fair land.'

Then Bjarni's smile grew crooked:'Perhaps they're more interesting in a tale of far away than as neighbors!' 'They're not my Bearkillers, as Lady Signe would be the first to tell you! Though I've many friends among them, my uncle Eric for one, and my blood father's young namesake by Signe is a very likely lad. And they are a warlike lot,' Rudi admitted.'But only in a cause they think righteous.'

Bjarni snorted.'I've seen a fair number of fights, Rudi Mikesson, over matters great and small. But never one yet where both sides didn't think they'd rightful cause to bash the other.' 'A point, a very palpable point,' Rudi agreed.'But I'm certain and sure they were always wrong if they fought against you, my friend!'

Bjarni bellowed laughter.'True!'

Harberga returned.'Swanhild's sleeping hard,' she said.'They do, at that age,' she added to Rudi. 'That they do!' 'You don't have children yet, surely'' she asked, her eyes flicking to Mathilda. 'No, but the little lass reminds me of my youngest sister at that age. Fiorbhinn will be turning ten now; it's a grief to me to miss so much of her life in the swift-changing years. Her hair and eyes are just that shade, and she was always active as a squirrel, until she drops in her tracks.' ' Fiorbhinn,' Harberga said, as if tasting it.'A pretty name. What does it mean'' ' True-Sweet, in the old tongue,' Rudi replied.'After a famous harp, you see. And well named, for she could sing true almost as soon as she could talk at all. And Swanhild'' 'Swan-battle. Also well named, especially since she learned the word no!'

The last remains of pies and pastries were cleared away, the last children not quite old enough for the ceremony shepherded off to their beds, and horns and horn rests were set out-like Bearkillers, the Bjornings considered that the proper vessel for solemn toasts, oaths and boasts. Four youths and four maidens brought in a litter; on it was a gold-sheathed wooden image of a boar done life-size, with the tusks of a real one and a wrought golden ring in its mouth. They carried it around the inside of the long rectangle of the tables, and folk did it reverence.

When the golden boar was set before the chieftain's seat, Rudi noticed that it stood in a wooden tray of dirt. 'That's earth from the first hof'-which meant temple, more or less-'of the Bjorning kindred, that my father brought north and mixed with the soil here at the land-taking,' Bjarni said.'We swear all the greater oaths on this boar, the Oath-Swine of the Bjornings.' 'That's a strong rite,' Rudi agreed. 'Yes, it's the holiest we have; and this the season for the most powerful oaths.'

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Father Ignatius politely taking his leave, and frowning a little when Mathilda and Odard shook their heads and stayed. Rudi wasn't too concerned; he'd gathered that there were still some Christians around here, and that they came to this type of ceremony, if not the blot — sacrifices. It would be difficult to be a member of the community if you didn't.

Bjarni rose and spoke: 'Bjornings and guests! Now we drink sumbel; to the Gods, in memory of the ancestors, and to make boast and oath. Take care when you do, for to make oath before all is to lay your words in the well of Wyrd, binding the fate of all. My uncle Ranulf Waltersson shall be thul of this sumbel' An older warrior in his forties nodded, with his arms crossed across his tunic; he was darker and leaner than his nephew, but had a family look of him.

– 'and none shall dispute his judgments. Let the Valkyries fill the horns!'

Harberga and Gudrun led a group of women-kin of the chief, for this was a duty of honor and high regard-to pour mead from the pitchers they carried. Most of the drinking so far had been ale, and usually not very strong ale at that; this mead was heady, smelling of flowering meadows gone, and itself a boast of sorts-being made from honey it was expensive in this land where life lay sparely, and only a great chief could bestow it so lavishly.

Bjarni's horn was bound and tipped with rune-graven gold, and bore a carving of a woman carrying a horn to a man who rode a chariot pulled by goats. He held it high: 'I drink to Odin, to Freyr and Freyja, to Njord, to almighty Thor, and to all the Gods and Goddesses. Hail, Aesir, hail Asynjur!' 'Wassail!'

Rudi raised his horn and drank; the mead was dry and strong, and left a slight catch at the back of his throat. There was nothing in his faith that forbade it. Some of the dwellers signed the Hammer over their horns before they lifted them; a few used the Cross. Some touched the mead with a finger and then their foreheads rather than drinking; Harberga did, he noticed, probably for the unborn babe's sake.

Bjarni lifed his horn again:'I drink to our ancestors, who made Norrheim with their might, their main, their craft and luck. Most of all, I drink to my father, Erik Waltersson, Erik the Strong. Drink hail!' 'Wassail!'

The Bjorning chieftain paused and took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was matter-of-fact. 'Most of you were here when the seidhkona took the high seat last night. Through her the Allfather spoke, and laid a duty on all those who would stand with the Gods to aid our guest, Rudi Mikesson of the Mackenzies, called Artos, Son of Bear and Raven.'

He stepped down from the dais and laid his free hand on the golden ring clenched in the jaws of the gilt boar; there was a tense hush, for that was the oath-ring of their folk. Swearing on it bound doubly. 'As first bragarfull, I swear to make Rudi Mackenzie my blood brother; to have the same friends and the same enemies, to give each other sanctuary without stint, to share our goods, to foster each other's children at need, and each to avenge the other's death on any foe and give him his rites if he falls on foreign soil. This I swear by almighty Thor.'

His uncle Ranulf stood; the thul could object to an oath.'You swear more than you can perform, Bjarni Eriksson, for blood brotherhood needs the will of two. Will our guest support your oath''

Rudi nodded.'I will,' he said, calmly but forcefully.

He rose as well, and they stood facing one another across the golden boar. He drew the sgian dubh from his sock-hose and nicked the flesh at the base of his right thumb. Bjarni did the same with his seax. They clasped hands, letting the blood mingle, then raised them to allow a drop to fall on the holy earth; then each ran a drop into his mead horn and offered it to the other to drink through linked arms. 'Drink hail!' 'Wassail!'

A murmur ran through the hall as the two resumed their seats; the oath bound the Bjornings as a whole, through their chief. Rudi thought most of them were satisfied; he was himself. Bjarni was a man you could trust to have your back; their acquaintance had been brief, but intense.

A young woman stood and raised her horn. The looks and exclamations and a few gasps told him that this was not expected. 'I drink to Odin, Lord of Ravens,' she said.'And I ask him to witness the oath I shall make.'

It was as if the room held its breath. Rudi recognized the girl who'd asked after her man Sigurd at the divination, though she looked to have aged a decade in a day.

But the long amber-blond hair was shorter now-roughly hacked off below the ears, a man's style among the Bjornings. And she was wearing a belted tunic and breeks and boots, not the gown and long apron; all her clothing was in black or dark blue. These folk didn't make as much of the differences between men's dress and women's as Mathilda's did but from what he'd seen they were more particular about it than Mackenzies, especially on formal occasions like this.

The clothes had some significance here, something that he wasn't quite grasping. Bjarni's mouth had closed in a grim line, and Harberga was frowning. An older man and woman seemed caught between anger and tears; probably her parents.

The tall young woman walked down and crossed to the Oath-Swine; as she did the lamplight glittered on a pendant she wore, a valknut, a set of three interlaced equal-sided triangles with the points upright.

Now that I know. It is Odin's mark. I think She laid her hand on the ring and spoke:'This I swear and promise: that I will have vengeance for my betrothed, Sigurd Jeansson; I will be a shield-maid until I have taken a wergild of lives tenfold for his, taken them by my own hand-'

The thul stood, and more quickly than before.'Asgerd Karlsdottir! To speak these words in sumbel is to link our fates to yours in the well of Wyrd! If you fail, all of us bear the ill luck that falls on the foresworn. What sith, what recompense, can you pay if fulfilling this oath is beyond your might''

The ravaged face lifted.'If it is beyond my might, it is not beyond my main, my soul strength. If I fail in this oath, the price I offer is this: my life. I will fulfill my oath, or I will die with my face to the foe.'

Rudi hissed slightly between his teeth. If ever I saw someone in most desperate earnest, this is she, he thought. 'This is a dreadful oath,' the thul said.'By it you deprive your kindred of strength, not only yours but that of your children who might be.'

Proudly, she replied:'I am a free woman of Norrheim, and of the Bjorning folk, and of age. I have said what sith I will pay to support my oath. May I swear, or not'' 'All men are born fey. All women, too,' Ranulf said heavily.'You may swear; your oath is accepted.' 'So I swear, by Victory-Father. Drink hail!'

She did more than take a draught; she drank steadily, until the horn shed only a drop when she held it upside down. The Wassail was ragged; when it died down, Asgerd turned and looked Rudi in the eye. The mead had put red in her cheeks, but her voice was still cold: 'Since the High One commanded us to aid Rudi Mikesson of the Mackenzies, and his foes are those who slew my man, I will fulfill my oath in his service if he will have me. I am trained to arms, I can use sword and spear, and I am better than most with the bow. I've hunted and trapped and know the ways of land and water. There are deer and wolves who could testify to it, if they lived! But if he will not, I will follow nonetheless.'

Hmmm. That I didn't expect either, he thought, a little dismayed.

Then his gaze turned professional. She was tall for a woman-a hair less than his half sisters, perhaps the slightest touch taller than Mathilda-and looked fit.

She moves well. And there's nothing wrong with her nerve, I'd judge. Apart from that He looked over to Ranulf; he'd gathered that the brother of the Bjorning founder was an arms master and one of his nephew's right-hand men. 'All our folk are trained to weapons play,' Ranulf said.

It was a little grudging, but with the air of a man who wouldn't bend the truth about the trade he loved. The same judicious appraisal went through the rest. 'Though women usually put it aside when they wed, and few ever fight except at greatest need, when their home garths are attacked. Asgerd isn't as strong as a man with her inches, of course, but she's strong for her weight, and quick, and more skilled than most girls her age. Sigurd Jeansson was a fine fighting man, often in viking, and he sparred with her much. Nor have I seen her flinch from a blow on the practice field, even the hardest.'

Asgerd nodded.'My Sigurd said he would have no coward, no weakling, to be mother of his sons or to guard his steading when he was away.'

Unexpectedly, Edain spoke as well.'I saw her shooting at the range earlier,' he said.'She's got a good eye. The archer's eye. Not the heaviest bow, but she's sure, and fast; she'd pass trial for the First Levy at home. Though there's room for improvement, of course.'

She shot him a look of startled gratitude; there was even the hint of a smile in it. Rudi nodded; that settled the question of her skill with the bow. Archery was something an Aylward took very seriously. 'I will accept your service, Asgerd Karlsdottir,' he said.'But I will tolerate nothing reckless or heedless. So, before we leave Eriksgarth you must swear to me by my own people's oath. I give you fair warning: that oath will bind you tightly. My war band has but one will, and that one is mine.' 'I will swear that oath.'

Asgerd walked slowly back to her seat and sat; Rudi judged her stunned by success… and not the least regretful.

That brought a clamor of young Bjornings wanting to enlist with the questers. Rudi picked carefully, just enough to replace the Southsiders killed or too badly wounded to continue, six men and another woman.

Looking for adventure, I think, he decided. Or for a trip away from troubles; or perhaps for gain, rising with a King newcome to power and willing to risk all for it. Or such reasons mixed together. Not a bad start. I've been questing for the Sword; but once I have it, I must build a host. 'And that is all for now,' he said firmly; he thought Bjarni looked a little relieved.'When I return with the Sword, we shall see what we shall see. I fear that my blood brother will need all the strong sword arms he can muster before then, and need them here.'

There were pleased nods from the yeoman landholders at that. Several heads of household rose and pledged to take in their wounded or horses; others swore to provide gear or goods to those who'd joined him, even costly items like mail shirts. Which was welcome; they hadn't brought along all the gear of their fallen, there being no space in the sleds to spare. Bjarni caught Rudi's eye and nodded.

Rudi stood. Ogma of the honey-tongue, be with me now, he thought, then pitched his voice to carry: 'Folk of Eriksgarth, of the Bjornings, of Norrheim, by now you know somewhat of my story. Hear also what my mother said when she held me over the altar in our nemed, our sacred wood, when she gave me my name and made prophecy: 'Sad winter's child, in this leafless shaw Yet be Son, and Lover, and Horned Lord!

Guardian of my sacred Wood, and Law His people's strength-and the Lady's sword! 'This was the fate laid upon me at my birth; Orlog, you say. Here I swear to take up this destiny, and the Sword. I will defeat the black evil of Corwin, and free those it holds in thrall. I will be Ard Ri in Montival; I will be High King. To my own people I will be land father and give good lordship and fair judgment; in my lands each shall hold his own, and each folk shall follow their own customs and Gods and laws, subject only to the common good. To foreign friends-such as yourselves-I will offer the open hand of welcome and alliance, and see that none trouble any who come to trade or visit. Only to the reiver, the evildoer, the oppressor and the invader shall I show the edge of the Sword, but to them it shall be a sword of fire indeed. So I swear, by the Gods of my people, by the Maker of Stars, by the Lady of the Ravens who has held me under Her wings; and also I swear by great Odin, Victory-Father, who has given me of his strength and wisdom here and elsewhere.'

He took the oath-ring in his hand.'So I swear; so shall I do. And if there comes a day when the King must die for the people, then I will go consenting, with open eyes. Drink hail!' 'Wassail!'

Mathilda smiled at him over her horn, but tears trembled in her eyes. She rose: 'I have sworn service as vassal with Artos the High King already. Here I swear that I will take him for my man, for my war captain, for my King, and keep faith with him in all ways so long as life is in me. Drink hail!' 'Wassail!'

Edain stood in his turn.'I started on this quest a boy, following a friend. Along the way I've found a King to follow, who's still the best friend and comrade a man could have. I swear I'll stand by him as best I can, all my life long. Drink hail!' 'Wassail!'

The others followed; the twins swore their pledge in liquid Sindarin, causing a little confusion. Odard went last, and stood silent for an instant. When he spoke his voice was low at first: 'When I started this journey, I came because of the Princess more than Rudi. There was bad blood between my family and his… A man's mind is never all of one thing, nor does he know himself or all his reasons beneath the masks he wears. They deceive even the wearer. But by following Rudi, I've found enemies worth fighting, and a man… a King… worth following. I will follow him, and raise my sons to follow his. Drink hail!' 'Wassail!'