The Broken Sword (13 page)

They were, however, fearless and of terrible strength. Their warlocks had powers he doubted any human could ever wield. Their nation was strongest in Faerie by far except-maybe-for Alfheim. This suited Valgard well, for here was the means to his revenge and the gaining of his heritage.

Illrede told him what was planned. “Throughout the peace we built for war,” said the king, “while the elves loafed and intrigued among themselves and took their pleasure. There are not quite so many of us as of them, but with those who march beside us this time we outnumber them by a good lot.”

“Who are they?” asked Valgard.

“Most of the goblin tribes we have either overcome or made alliance with,” said Illrede. “They have old grudges against both trolls and elves, but I have promised them loot and freedom for such slaves of their race as we have and a place just below us when we rule throughout Faerie. They are doughty fighters, and not few.

“Then we have companies from distant lands, demons of Baikal, Shen of Cathay, Oni of Cipangu, imps of Moorish deserts, adding up to a fair number. They have come for the looting and are not wholly to be relied on, but I will dispose them in battle according to what they can do. There are also stragglers who came alone or in little bands-werewolves, vampires, ghouls, that sort. And we have plenty of dwarf thralls, some of whom will fight in exchange for freedom; and they can handle iron.

“Against this host the elves stand alone. They may be able to scrape together a few odd goblins and dwarfs and whatnot else, but those scarcely count. The very best they can hope for is aid from the Sidhe. However, I have spied out that those mean to hold aloof unless their island is attacked, and we will be careful not to do that … in this war.

“True, the elf leaders are wily and learned in magic-but so are I and my chieftains.” Illrede’s laughter coughed forth. “Oh, we will break Alfheim like a dry stick across the knee!”

“Can you not call on the Jotuns for help?” asked Valgard, who was still learning the ins and cuts of this world wherein he found himself. “They are akin to trolls, are they not?”

“Speak never of such!” rapped Illrede. “We dare no more call the ice giants to our help than the elves the Asir.” He shivered. “We do not wish to be more their pawns than, we are already-the contending Powers beyond the moon. Even if they would answer, not we nor the elves would dare call-because if ffisir or Jotuns should move openly into Midgard, the other side would move against them, and then the last battle would be joined.”

“How does this fit with what I was taught of … the new god?”

“Best not speak of mysteries we cannot understand.” Illrede moved ponderously about the cave room where they were talking by smoky torchlight. “It is because of the gods, though, that no dweller in Faerie dares do much against men, particularly baptized men. A few sorceries, a horse borrowed overnight, a stolen babe or woman, little else and not often. For they are shy of us now, but if they came to fear us too much they would send to the gods, under whose ward they are, a call that must be heeded. Worst, they might call together upon the new white god, and that would be the end of Faerie.”

Valgard winced. And that night he went to Asgerd’s shallow grave and dug her up and took her aboard a small trollboat. South-west he sailed on such a witch-wind as Illrede had taught him how to raise, until he came to a hamlet on the Moray Firth in Scotland.

Beneath snowclouds and darkness he bore the wrapped shape to the church. Into its graveyard he crept, and in an offside corner dug a hole, and laid her in it, and covered it so that none could see he had been there.

“Now you are sleeping in holy ground, sister, as you would have wished,” he whispered. “Wickedness have I wrought, but now mayhap you will pray for my soul-” And looking bewildered about him in the murk, with a fear gripping him who had never been afraid before: “Why am I here? What am I doing? She is not my sister. I am a thing made by witchcraft. I have no soul-”

He growled and loped back to his boat and sailed northeastward as if devils were on his track.

Now came the time of the troll hosting. Illrede was too shrewd to gather his forces in one spot where elf scouts could see how large they were. Each part of his fleet sailed from its own harbour, with a wizard or other skilled one aboard a flagship to see that all came to the agreed meeting place at the same time. This would be somewhat north of the English elflands, so that the trolls could land on empty beaches rather than against strongholds. Illrede meant to break the elf sea power at that spot, and afterward move south by water and land alike until he had overrun the island. He would then leave part of his force there to root out any elves who had not died or yielded, while his main fleet went across the channel to Alfheim’s remaining provinces. Some of his army would meanwhile have marched overland from Finnmark, Wendland, and the troll homes east of these. Thus the trolls would attack the Elfking from west and east-and) as soon as England was wholly conquered, north-and smash him.

”Swift are the elf warriors,” said Illrede, “but I think the trolls will move faster for once.”

“Give me in charge of England,” begged Valgard, “and I will see that no male elf outlives my earldom.”

“I have promised that to Grum,” said Illrede; “but you, Valgard, shall sail with me, and in England I will make you second to Grum only.”

Valgard said he was well content with this. His cold eyes measured the lord Grum, and he thought to himself that the troll might easily suffer a misfortune-and that would make him, Valgard, earl as the witch had said.

He boarded the flagship with Illrede and the royal guard. A big vessel it was, with high sides and a dwarf-made, iron beak for ramming, dead black save for the horse skull which was its figurehead. The troJJs aboard had arms and armour of alloy, though most carried also the stone-headed war tools which had weight to suit them. Illrede wore a golden coronet

on his black helmet and furs over the dragonskin coat on which even steel did not bite. The others were likewise richly clad. They were a boisterous, overweening crew. Valgard alone wore naught of ornament, and his face was set in bleak lines; yet his iron axe and the iron he wore made him an object of fear to the trolls.

There were many more ships in the royal part of the fleet, most of uncommon size, and the night rang with shouts and horn-blasts and tramping feet. Troll vessels of full length moved slower than elf, being broader and heavier and made with less skill, and morning found them still at sea. The trolls took shelter beneath awnings which shut off the hated sunlight, and let the ships ride, invisible to mortal eyes not given witch-sight.

The next night found the whole fleet assembling. Valgard was awed. It seemed to carpet the waters out to the horizon, and every vessel swarmed with men save those which bore the huge shaggy troll horses. Nevertheless, so well were the captains drilled in Illrede’s plans that each went straight to its proper place.

Various were the ships and crews that sailed against Alfheim. The long, high, black troll craft formed the centre, a blunt wedge with Illrede’s at the point. To starboard and larboard were the goblins, some manning troll-built vessels and some in their own slim red snake-prowed ships; merrier than the trolls were they, clad in fantastical garb over their silvery armour, and wielding for the most part light swords and spears and bows. Then the wings of the fleet spread outlandish pinions: great pike-bearing Shen and katana-wield-ing Oni, in painted junks; lithe imps in slave-rowed galleys, with engines of war mounted on the decks; barges of the wings demons from Baikal; iron-plated dwarfs; monsters of hill, woodland, marsh, who used naught but tooth and claw. All these were officered by trolls, and only the most reliable were in the first line, which was also anchored by more troll craft at the ends. A second wedge came behind the first, and beyond this were reserves that would go wherever they might be needed.

Horns hooted from troll ships, to be answered by goblin pipes, Shen gongs, imp drums. Clouds smoked low around masts, and the sea churned white from oarblades. Will-o’-the-wisps crawled over yards and tackle, casting faces into blue highlights. Winds sighed overhead, and harrying presences rode through the moon-flecked, snow-sullen clouds.

“Soon we join battle,” said Illrede to Valgard. “Then you may find the revenge you seek.”

The berserker answered not, only stared ahead into the darkness.

For more than a month after the elf raid on Trollheim, Imric worked hard. He could find out little about the enemy, for Illrede and his warlocks had screened their lands heavily with magic, but he knew that a force was being gathered from many nations and likeliest would strike first at England. Hence he strove to assemble the ships and men of his realm, and sent abroad for what help there might be.

Few came from outside. Each province of Alfheim was readying itself alone; the elves were too haughty to work well in concert. Moreover, it seemed that well-nigh all the mercenaries in Faerie had been hired years before by Illrede. Imric sent to the Sidhe of Ireland, promising rich booty in the conquest of Trollheim, and got back the cold word that enough wealth already gleamed in the streets of Tir-nan-Og and the caves of the leprechauns. Thus the elf-earl found himself standing nearly alone.

Nonetheless his strength was great, and as it swelled night by night in the hosting of the elves the stern joy among them grew likewise. Never, they thought, had so mighty a force come together in Alfheim. Though doubtless outnumbered, it must be immeasurably better man for man and ship for ship; and it would be fighting near home, in waters and on beaches that its people knew. Some of the younger warriors held that not only could England’s elves beat off the troll fleet, they could unaided carry the war to Trollheim and break its will to theirs.

From Orkney and Shetland came Flam, son of that Flam who had fallen in Skafloc’s foray and wild to avenge his father. He and his brothers were among the foremost skippers in Faerie, and their dragon fleet darkened the water as it swept southward. Shields blinked along the wales and wind hummed in the lines and the hiss of cloven sea at the bows might well have come from those serpent heads.

Out of the grey hills and moors of Picdand marched the wild chieftains with their flint-headed weapons and their leather breastplates. Shorter and heavier than true elves were they, dark of skin, with long black locks and beards blowing around their tattooed faces, for there was likewise blood of troll and goblin and still older folk in them, as well as Pictish women stolen in long-gone days. With them came certain of the lesser Sidhe who had entered with the Scots centuries ago, strong gnarly leprechauns leaping goat-like, tall beautiful warriors striding in shimmery mail with spears held high or riding in rumbling war-chariots that had sword blades on the hubs for mowing of men.

From the south, the hills and cave-riddled shores of Cornwall and Wales, came some of the most ancient elves in the island: mail-clad horsemen and charioteers whose banners told of forgotten glories; green-haired, white-skinned sea folk, who kept a grey veil of salt-smelling fog about them for the sake of dampness on land; a few rustic half-gods whom the Romans had brought and afterwards abandoned; shy, flitting forest elves, clan by clan.

The lands of Angle and Saxon did not hold so many since most of the beings who once dwelt there had fled or been exorcised; but such as still remained heeded the call. Nor were these elves, poor and backward though they often were, to be scorned in war, for no few among them could trace descent to Wayland or to Odin himself. They were the master smiths of the earldom, having some dwarf blood, and many chose to fight with their great hammers.

But the mightiest and proudest were those who dwelt around Elfheugh. Not alone in ancestry, but in beauty and wisdom and wealth, the lords whom Imric had gathered about him outshone all others. Fiery they were, going to battle as gaily clad as to a wedding and kissing their spears like brides; skilled they were, casting terrible spells for the undoing of their foes and the warding of their friends. The newcome elves stood in awe of them, though not thereby hindered in enjoying the food and drink they sent out to the camps or the women who followed in search of sport.

Freda was much taken with watching that host gather. The sight of those unhuman warriors gliding noiselessly through dusk and night, their visages half hidden to her eyes and thus made the more eerie, sent waves of shock and delight, fear and pride, through her. By holding high rank among them, Skafloc, her man, wielded more power than any mortal king.

But his lordship was over the soulless. And she remembered the bear strength of the trolls. What if he should fall before them?

The same thought came to him. “Maybe I ought to take you to what friends you have in the lands of men,” he said slowly. “It may be, though I do not believe it, that the elves will lose. True it is that every omen we took was not good. And if that should happen, this would be no place for you.” “No-no-” She regarded him briefly with frightened grey eyes, then hid her face on his breast. “I will not leave you. I cannot.”

He ruffled her shining hair. “I would come back for you later,” he said.

“No … It might happen that someone there, somehow, talked me over or forced me to stay-I know not who that could be, save perhaps a priest, but I have heard of such things-” She recalled the lovely elf women and their way of looking at Skafloc. He felt her stiffen in his arms. Her voice came firm: “Anyhow, I will not leave you. I stay.” He hugged her in gladness.

Now word came that the trolls were putting out to sea. On the last night before their own sailing, the elves held feast in Elfheugh.

Vast was Imric’s drinking hall. Freda, sitting by Skafloc near the earl’s high seat, could not make out the further walls or get more than a glimpse of the vine-carved rafters. The cool blue twilight loved of the elves seemed to drift like smoke through the hall, though the air itself was pure and smelled of flowers. Light came from countless tapers in heavy bronze sconces, whose flames burned silvery and unwavering. It flashed back off shields hung on the walls and panels of intricately etched gold. All of precious metals and studded with gems were the trenchers and bowls and cups on the snowy tablecloths. And though she had grown used to delicate eating in Elfheugh, Freda’s head swam at the many kinds of meat, fowl, fish, fruits, spices, confections, the ales and meads and wines, that came forth this evening.