Swordmistress of Chaos by Robert Holdstock, Angus Wells

resented the almost casual discussion of her future. ‘Am I some chattel to be thrown to the victor? I tell you both: I’ll pick my own man, and whoever seeks to argue that will have no joy of me.’
    ‘A sea-queen!’ Gondar bellowed. ‘A veritable daughter of the All-Mother! You please me, pretty one, as much for your spirit as with that body. For too long I’ve had weak-spined women, too frightened to say me nay. So,’ he paused, letting his crewmen drink in his words, ‘we’ll stay our bout until I’ve defeated your champion. For that we shall return to Kragg.’
    ‘No; said Raven, her own voice penetrating deep into the sudden silence. ‘You must defeat me.’
    A great stillness settled over the wolf-boat, so quiet that the gentle lapping of the waves sounded unnaturally loud. Mouths gaped wide in amazement, and eyes stared at the blonde amazon who dared argue her bed with Gondar Lifebane. For long, dangerous moments, Raven watched the giant. Spellbinder’s hand hung close by the hilt of his dagger, his body tensed to move on an eye-blink’s warning. But then the tension evaporated in the gale of laughter bellowing from Gondar’s widespread lips.
    ‘So be it!’ He shouted. ‘If fight you I must, then so I shall. We sail for Kragg! Turn her north, my wolves. And pray to the All-Mother for my victory.’
    Still chuckling, he turned away, calling for men to guide Raven and Spellbinder to the tiny cabin set below the raised stern. There, food and mulled wine was brought them, and dry clothing. After a while, their armour was returned, though the only weapons Gondar permitted them were the daggers and the throwing stars mounted like ornaments on Raven’s belt.
    For two days they remained in the spartan room, the only outlook a tiny window set below the poop. On the third day they were summoned on deck and allowed to remain in the open until nightfall. That became the pattern for the remainder of the voyage, which took some seventeen days, each passing sunset bringing a colder night than the one before, until they needed cloaks to warm them when the sun’s rays died from the sky. They saw no other vessels, and the sea remained calm, Gondar maintaining an amused distance, though his eyes roved eagerly over Raven’s body whenever she appeared on the poop.
    She used much of her time to learn from Spellbinder the history of Gondar’s sea-rievers.
    They came, he told her, from the rocky island of Kragg, a sea-bound wilderness to the north of Worldheart. Too inhospitable to afford better than the meagrest of livings, the island had spawned a hardy, sea-faring race, cheerfully accustomed to attempting incredible voyages. Fisherfolk at first, they had gradually turned to rieving, cutting holds for themselves on the southern shores of ice-bound Quwhon and anywhere else that they could win a standing. Angered by their growing depredations, the grandfather of the present Altan had taken a great fleet out of Karhsaam to rid the world forever of the irksome islanders.
    The Altan, Quez Z’yrfal, had perished with the bulk of his navy. The tattered remnants had struggled back to the east bearing horrendous tales of a massive sea-fight in which the free wolf-ships had smashed the great slave-galleys of Z’yrfal’s fleet.
    The forces of Kragg were led by Gondar’s forebear, Utt the Beheader, and rumour had it that Utt had taken Z’yrfal’s skull himself, to mount as an ornament in his war-hall. Battle-maddened by his victory, Utt had attempted an invasion of Kharwhan. And met total defeat. He died in the struggle and the skull of the Quez Altan, Z’yrfal, had disappeared. The succession, by birth and by sword, had gone to Valand Uttson, the Beheader’s son. From Valand it passed to Goril, and from him to Gondar.
    Now Gondar Lifebane reigned in Kragg, a warrior-king as ferocious as his ancestor, Utt, and just as ambitious of conquering the fabled riches of Kharwhan.
    ‘But what of the skull?’ Raven asked. ‘If we