herself, she pushed them away and staggered through the prostrated ranks of Vikings to stand before the strangers. Her aides — blood relatives, sons by their looks — followed behind her at a respectful distance. Through black, bloodshot eyes she peered first at de Marigny, then at Silberhutte, all the while nodding her head of long, matted yellow hair. When finally she spoke, not all of her words were immediately intelligible to the pair, but their overall meaning was clear.
`So you have come, as I said you would: two strangers flying in from the sea on the wings of a bat. Two whose fates are totally entwined with those of the clan of Thonjolf the Red, for good or evil I know not. Two of you, blown on the winds, emissaries of Ithaqua!'
`Aye, we have come,' the Warlord took the initiative, `and it is good that you greet us thus.'
You speak the tongue strangely,' the crone answered, `but you do speak it. This, too, I foresaw.'
`And who are you, witch-wife?' de Marigny inquired.
`I am Annahilde, mother of Erik and Rory.' She placed scrawny hands on the arms of the pair now come up close behind her. 'Annahilde, widow of Hamish the Strong.'
She turned to Silberhutte. `You are much like Hamish in his younger days. Six years gone, he too was . . . was called by Ithaqua.' For a moment her visage grew yet more bleak and her eyes filled with horror. Then she shook back her wild yellow hair and peered about her, like someone waking from a nightmare.
The prostrated Vikings were beginning to stir, their patience with Annahilde's demands almost at an end. Not all of them held their eyes averted; two or three were openly, ominously grumbling together. The newcomers had noticed this, and Silberhutte, continuing his role as spokesman, decided to relieve the situation.
`If these are Thonjolf's people,' he said, 'where is the chief, Thonjolf himself? We would speak to him: Also, get these people up on their feet. Emissaries of Ithaqua we are, but before that we were ordinary, humble men.'
'Ah, no!' she shook her head in denial and grinned, showing a mouthful of badly stained but surprisingly even teeth. 'Ordinary men you never were, nor will you ever be humble. As for these — ' She flapped a scarecrow arm to indicate the prostrated ones. `Up, dogs of the sea — on your feet. Ithaqua's emissaries grant you this boon, that you, too, might stand in their presence.'
As the Vikings sullenly got to their feet, she continued: `You ask for Thonjolf? Thonjolf the Red, who is also called Thonjolf the Silent? He is at Norenstadt, summoned there by Leif Dougalson, king of all the Viking clans. Word is out that a raid is in the offing. Thonjolf attends a great meeting of the chiefs but should soon return. Only his oaf of a son Harold is here, and he lies drunken in the meeting-house.' She tossed her head to indicate the enclosure to her rear.
'You talk of a raid,' de Marigny queried. 'What sort of raid?'
She nodded, grinning. 'Soon all Vikings will put on metal and sail their dragons against the people of the Isle of Mountains. Ithaqua has commanded it; he has set the hand of Leif Dougalson and the Vikings against the mountain isle.'
Here she paused, then laughed loudly and grasped their elbows. 'Aye, and your arms, too, will find work on that bat-haunted isle! Have I not foreseen it? Bat wings beating in the mist blood and terror and great winds blowing — and all in the name of . . . of Lord Ithaqua!' And it seemed to the two men that she spat the Wind-Walker's name out on the sand.
By this time the Vikings were back on their feet, and the two newcomers were able to see their Numinosian hosts more clearly; from which moment onward they began to feel a certain gratitude for the doubtful affections of the witch-wife. For the clan of Thonjolf the Red, while only four or five dozen in number, was almost without exception a clan of giants among men. Even the stripling youths of fourteen or fifteen years were well over six feet tall, while
`So you have come, as I said you would: two strangers flying in from the sea on the wings of a bat. Two whose fates are totally entwined with those of the clan of Thonjolf the Red, for good or evil I know not. Two of you, blown on the winds, emissaries of Ithaqua!'
`Aye, we have come,' the Warlord took the initiative, `and it is good that you greet us thus.'
You speak the tongue strangely,' the crone answered, `but you do speak it. This, too, I foresaw.'
`And who are you, witch-wife?' de Marigny inquired.
`I am Annahilde, mother of Erik and Rory.' She placed scrawny hands on the arms of the pair now come up close behind her. 'Annahilde, widow of Hamish the Strong.'
She turned to Silberhutte. `You are much like Hamish in his younger days. Six years gone, he too was . . . was called by Ithaqua.' For a moment her visage grew yet more bleak and her eyes filled with horror. Then she shook back her wild yellow hair and peered about her, like someone waking from a nightmare.
The prostrated Vikings were beginning to stir, their patience with Annahilde's demands almost at an end. Not all of them held their eyes averted; two or three were openly, ominously grumbling together. The newcomers had noticed this, and Silberhutte, continuing his role as spokesman, decided to relieve the situation.
`If these are Thonjolf's people,' he said, 'where is the chief, Thonjolf himself? We would speak to him: Also, get these people up on their feet. Emissaries of Ithaqua we are, but before that we were ordinary, humble men.'
'Ah, no!' she shook her head in denial and grinned, showing a mouthful of badly stained but surprisingly even teeth. 'Ordinary men you never were, nor will you ever be humble. As for these — ' She flapped a scarecrow arm to indicate the prostrated ones. `Up, dogs of the sea — on your feet. Ithaqua's emissaries grant you this boon, that you, too, might stand in their presence.'
As the Vikings sullenly got to their feet, she continued: `You ask for Thonjolf? Thonjolf the Red, who is also called Thonjolf the Silent? He is at Norenstadt, summoned there by Leif Dougalson, king of all the Viking clans. Word is out that a raid is in the offing. Thonjolf attends a great meeting of the chiefs but should soon return. Only his oaf of a son Harold is here, and he lies drunken in the meeting-house.' She tossed her head to indicate the enclosure to her rear.
'You talk of a raid,' de Marigny queried. 'What sort of raid?'
She nodded, grinning. 'Soon all Vikings will put on metal and sail their dragons against the people of the Isle of Mountains. Ithaqua has commanded it; he has set the hand of Leif Dougalson and the Vikings against the mountain isle.'
Here she paused, then laughed loudly and grasped their elbows. 'Aye, and your arms, too, will find work on that bat-haunted isle! Have I not foreseen it? Bat wings beating in the mist blood and terror and great winds blowing — and all in the name of . . . of Lord Ithaqua!' And it seemed to the two men that she spat the Wind-Walker's name out on the sand.
By this time the Vikings were back on their feet, and the two newcomers were able to see their Numinosian hosts more clearly; from which moment onward they began to feel a certain gratitude for the doubtful affections of the witch-wife. For the clan of Thonjolf the Red, while only four or five dozen in number, was almost without exception a clan of giants among men. Even the stripling youths of fourteen or fifteen years were well over six feet tall, while
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