The Broken Sword (16 page)

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 southward-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 ringmail, 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.

When the troll host reached Elfheugh, a horn sounded from the watchtowers and the great brazen gates swung wide. Valgard reined in, narrowing his eyes. “A trick,” he muttered.

“No, I think not,” said Grum. “Few save women are left in the castle, and they expect us to spare them.” He shook with laughter. “As we will! As we will!”

The hoofs of the huge-boned horses rang loud on the courtyard flagstones. Here it was warm and calm, in a cool half-light that rested blue on walls and sky-piercing turrets. Gardens breathed forth languorous odours; fountains splashed, and dear streamlets ran past little arbours meant for two alone.

The women of Elfheugh were gathered before the keep to meet the conquerors. Though he had seen elf-mays on the march south, and taken them, Valgard exclaimed under his breath at sight of these.

One stepped forth, thin robes clinging to every curve, and she outshone the rest as the moon the stars. She curtsied low before Grum, so that the cool mystery of her eyes was veiled by sweeping lashes. “Greeting, lord,” she sang rather than spoke. “Elfheugh makes submission.”

The earl purled himself out. “Long has this castle stood,” he said, “and no few assaults has it beaten off. Yet you were wisest, who chose to admit the might of Trollheim. Terrible are we to our foes, while our friends have good gifts of us.” He smirked. “Erelong I will make you a gift. What is your name?”

“I hight Leea, lord, sister to Imric Elf-Earl.”

“Call him not that, for now I, Grum, am earl in this island’s Faerie realm, and Imric the least of my thralls. Bring in the prisoners!”

Slowly, heads bent and feet shuffling, the nobles of Alfheim were led forward. Bitter were their begrimed faces, and their shoulders were bowed by a weight more heavy than chains. Imric, hair stiff with his own crusted blood and blood in the prints of his bare feet, led the line. Naught did the elves say, nor even look at their women, as they were led down towards the dungeons. The commoner captives followed, a mile of misery.

Illrede arrived from the ships. “Elfheugh is ours,” he said, “and we leave you, Grum, to hold it while we lay the rest of Alfheim under us. There are still English, Scottish, Welsh elfholds to be taken, and many elves skulking in the hills and woods, so you will have work enough.”

He led the way into the keep. “We have a thing to do ere leaving,” he said. “Imric took our daughter Gora, nine hundred years ago. Let her be brought forth to freedom.”

As the king’s men followed him, Leea plucked at Valgard’s sleeve to draw him aside. Her gaze was intent. “I took you for Skafloc at first, a mortal who dwelt among us,” she breathed. “Yet I can sense you are not human-”

“No.” His lips twisted upward. “I am Valgard Berserk of Trollheim. In a way, though, Skafloc and I are brothers. For I am a changeling, born of the troll-woman Gora by Imric, and left in place of the baby who became Skafloc.”

“Then-” Leea’s fingers tightened on his arm. Her words hissed. “So you are the Valgard of whom Freda spoke? Her brother?”

“That one.” His voice roughened. “Where is she?” He shook her. “And where is Skafloc?”

“I … do not know … Freda has fled the castle, she said she was going to seek him … “

“Then if she was not caught on the way, and I have heard nothing of such, she is with him. Ill is that!”

Leea smiled, with closed lips and hooded eyes. “At last I see what Tyr of the Aisir meant,” she whispered to herself, “and why Imric kept the secret-” And to Valgard, boldly: “Why think you that is bad? You have slain all the seed of Orm but those two, and have been the means of bringing what is worse upon them. If you hated that house, as you must have done, what better revenge could you want?”

Valgard shook his head. “I had naught against Orm or his house,” he muttered. And looking about him in sudden bewilderment, as if waking from an uneasy dream: “Though I must have hated them to have worked so much harm-on my own siblings-” He passed a hand over his eyes. “No, they are not my blood, are they … were they?”

He broke away from her and hastened after the king. Leea followed more slowly, still smiling.

Illrede sat in Imric’s high seat. His gaze was fixed on the inner door, and he chuckled softly when he heard the tramp of his guardsmen. “They are bringing Gora,” he murmured. “My little girl, who once laughed and played about my knees.” He put a heavy hand on the changeling’s shoulder. “Your mother, Valgard.”

She shambled into the hall, gaunt, wrinkled, bent over from the centuries of crouching in darkness. Out of her skull-face the eyes stared, empty save where ghosts swam deep within them.

“Gora-” Illrede half rose and sank back again.

She blinked around, almost blind. “Who calls for Gora?” she mumbled. “Who calls for Gora calls for the dead. Gora is dead, lord, she died nine hundred years ago. They buried her under a castle; her white bones uphold its towers against the stars. Can you not let the poor dead troll-woman rest?”

Valgard shrank from her, lifting a hand as if to ward off the thing that stumbled over the floor towards him. Illrede reached out both arms. “Gora!” he cried. “Gora, know you not me, your father? Know you not your son?”

Her voice came windy and remote through the hall. “How can the dead know anyone? How can the dead give birth? The brain which gave birth to dreams is become the womb of maggots. Ants crawl within the hollowness where aforetime a heart beat. Oh, give me back my chain! Give me back the lover who held me down in the dark!” She whimpered. “Raise not the poor frightened dead, lord, and wake not the mad, for life and reason are monsters which live by devouring that which gives them birth.”

She cocked her head, listening. “I hear hoofbeats,” she said low. “I hear hoofs galloping out on the edge of the world. It is Time riding forth, and snow falls from his horse’s mane and lightning crashes from its hoofs, and when Time has ridden by like a wind in the night there are only withered leaves left, blowing in the gale of his passage. He rides nearer, I hear worlds sunder before him-Give me back my death!” she shrieked. “Let me crawl back into my grave and hide from Time!”

She huddled sobbing on the floor. Illrede signed to his guards. “Take her out and kill her,” he ordered. Turning to Grum: “Hang Imric by the thumbs over hot coals until we have conquered Alfheim and can give some thought to his reward.” Rising, he shouted: “Ho, trollsmen, make ready to fare! We sail at once!”

Though the host had awaited a feast in Elfheugh, none who saw the king’s face dared protest, and erelong most of the black ships were sweeping southward out of sight.

***

“So much the more for us,” laughed Grum. He regarded how pale Valgard was and added: “Methinks you would do well to drink deep tonight.”

“So I will,” answered the berserker, “and ride to battle as soon as I can ready a host.”

Now the troll chiefs gathered the women of the castle and took whom they wanted before turning the rest over to the men. Grum laid his remaining hand on Leea’s waist. “You were wise to submit,” he grinned; “therefore I cannot well let you fall in rank. Earl’s lady shall you still be.”

She followed him meekly, but as she went by Valgard she smiled sidelong at the changeling. The berserker’s gaze could not but follow her. Never had he seen a woman like this; aye, with her he might forget the dark-haired witch who haunted his dreams.

The trolls gorged and guzzled for some days, then Valgard led men against another castle which held out yet, for a number of elves had managed to reach it. Though its size was not great, the walls were high and massive, and the defenders’ arrows kept the trolls a good ways off.

Valgard waited through daylight. Near sunset he sneaked under cover of brush and rocky outcrop until he was almost under the walls without the drowsy light-bedazzled elves seeing him. At dusk the horns blew to battle and the trolls rushed forth. Valgard rose and with a mighty cast sent a grappling hook over a merlon. Up the rope tied to it he swarmed, to the very top, and winded his horn.

The elf sentries charged at him. Despite the iron he wore he had a desperate fight. But the trolls quickly found the rope and followed him. When they had cleared a space, others beneath could set up ladders. Soon the force was large enough to hew its way to the gates and open them for the rest.

There followed a wholesale slaughter of elves. More were taken captive and led in chains back to Elfheugh. Valgard plundered and burned through the countryside around, and returned with a huge booty.

Grum gave him sullen greeting, for he thought Valgard was getting too good a name among the trolls. “You could have stayed with the garrison you left,” he said. “This place has scant room for both of us.”

“Indeed,” murmured Valgard, measuring the earl with his chill pale eyes.