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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] Someone beat frantically on the door, scarcely to be heard above the weather. Valgard made a beast noise and opened it. His fingers sought the neck of the troll who stood wet and weary before him. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "I will begin with you," he said. Foam flecked his lips. The messenger struggled, but troll strength was too little to break that hold. When he sprawled dead on the floor, the berserkergang left Valgard. Weak and trembling, he leaned against the doorjamb. "That was unwise," he breathed. "Perhaps he had others with him," said Leea. She stepped out on the landing and called: "Ohe, down there! The earl wants to speak with any who lately arrived." A second troll, likewise spent and reeling, a bloody gash in his cheek, shambled into sight, though he did not try to climb the stairs any farther than that. "Fifteen of us set out," he groaned. "Hru and I alone are left. The outlaws dogged us the whole way." "What word were you bearing?" asked Valgard. "The elves have landed in England, lord. And we heard, too, that the Irish Sidhe, led by Lugh of the Long Hand himself, are in Scotland." Valgard nodded his gaunt head. XXVI Under cover of an autumn storm, Skafloc led the best of the elf warriors across the channel. He was chief of that host, for the Elfking stayed behind to command the rest in driving the last trolls from mainland Alfheim. To take England, the king warned, would be no light task; and if the trolls should repulse the invaders, Britain would be a rallying point for them, later a base for counter attack. Skafloc shrugged. "Victory goes with my sword," he said. The Elfking studied him before answering: "Have a care about that weapon. Well has it served us hitherto; nevertheless it is treacherous. Sooner or later it is fated to turn on its wielder, maybe when he is most sorely needed." Skafloc paid scant heed to this. He did not outright wish to die-there was, after all, much to do in the world-but who knew if he would not be spared for many years yet? However that might be, he did not mean ever to try to get rid of the sword. It gave him what nothing else could. Wielding it in battle, he did not go berserk; indeed, hisawareness was never more keen, his wits never more swift and sure. But he flamed upward, out of himself, no longer alone, altogether one with what he was doing and that which he did it with. So might it feel to be a god. So, in different wise, had it felt to be with Freda. In hidden Breton bays he gathered ships, men, and horses. He slipped word to the elf chiefs in England, that they should start hosting their scattered folk. And on a night when gales cloaked the northern world, he took his fleet across the channel. Sleet-mingled rain drove out of a sky that was black save when lightning split it open; then each last drop on the wind and grassblade on the earth stood forth starkly white. Thunder rolled and roared through the clamorous, battering air. The waves seethed white with foam and spindrift, booming out of the west and snarling far up onto every shore. Not even the elves dared raise sail; they rowed. Rain and sea dashed in Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html their faces and drenched their garb. Blue fire crawled over the oars and the reeling dragon heads. Out of the dark reared England. The elves pulled until it seemed their thews must snap. Surf bawled on beach' and reef. The wind caught at the ships and sought to hurl them onto rocks or against each other. Skafloc grinned and said aloud: Cold and lustful are the kisses which Ran's daughters, white-armed, give us: laughing, shouting, shaking tresses hoar and salt-sweet, high breasts heaving. From the bow of his rolling longship he saw the headland which was his goal; and for a moment longing overwhelmed him. Quoth he: Home again the howling, hail-streaked wind has borne me. Now I stand here, nearing ness of lovely England. Shedwells past that shoreline. Shall I ever see her? Woe, the fair young woman will not leave my thinking. Then he must give his whole mind to the struggle to round the cape. When the fleet had done this, it found sheltered waters for landing and a small troop of elves waiting to help. The ships were grounded, dragged ashore, and made fast. Thereafter the crews busked themselves swiftly for war. A captain said to Skafloc: "You have not told us who is to stay and guard the ships." "No one," he answered. "We will need our men inland." "What? The trolls might come on the fleet and burn it! Then we would have no way of retreat." Skafloc looked about the lightning-lit strand. "For me," he said, "there will be no retreat. I will not leave England again, alive or dead, till the trolls are driven out." The elves regarded him with more than a little awe. He hardly seemed a mortal, tall and iron-clad as he stood, the demon sword at his waist. Wolf-greenish lights flickered far back in the ice blue of his eyes. The elves thought he was fey. He swung into the saddle of his Jotun horse. His call struck through the wind: "Sound the lur horns. We ride after prey tonight!" The army set off. About a third of them were mounted. The rest hoped soon to get steeds. Like French or Normans, rather than English or Danes, elves on land fought by choice as cavalry. Rain sluiced over Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html them, fallen leaves scrunched soddenly under them, lightning cracked, the wind thrust cold with the first breath of a new winter. After a while they heard the remote brassy bellow of troll battle-horns. The elves hefted their weapons and smiled in the flickering glare. Rain-streaming shields came onto arms and the lurs dunted again. Skafloc rode at the head of the wedge. He felt no joy just then. The thought of more slaughter wearied and sickened him. Yet he knew it would be otherwise when he unsheathed his blade, and so he could hardly wait for battle. The trolls appeared, a darkling mass on the great rolling down. They must have sensed the newcomers and gone out from a nearby castle, belike Alfarhoi. Their force was to be reckoned with, albeit smaller than the elves. A full half of it was mounted, and Skafloc heard someone behind him say merrily, "Here is where I get four legs under me." The chief on his right was less high-hearted. "We outnumber them," he said, "but not by enough to roll over them. This would not be the first time brave warriors have beaten a bigger host." "I do not fear they will defeat us," replied Skafloc; "still, it would be bad if they killed very many, for then the next fight might indeed be our last." He scowled. "Curse it, where is the main body of England's elves? They were to meet us erenow. Unless the messengers were caught on the way-" The troll horns sounded to battle. Skafloc drew his sword and swung it above his head. Lightning made it flare blindingly, dripping blue fire. "Forward!" He spurred his horse. And the glory of power surged upward in him. Spears and arrows arced overhead, unseen and unheard in the storm. The ripping wind made it hard to aim, and so the clatter of weapons was quickly begun. Skafloc leaned forward in his stirrups and hewed. A troll struck at him. His sword bit through both those arms. Another rode close, axe lifted. The blade screamed around into that one's neck. A pikeman jabbed; the point glanced off Skafloc's shield, he cut the shaft in twain, his horse trampled the troll into the mud. Axe and sword! Clang and spark-flash! Cloven metal, rent flesh, warriors sinking to earth, devil-dance of lightning! Through the clangour rode Skafloc, smiting, smiting. His blows shuddered in byrnie and bone, shocks [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |