walked beside Freda, saying naught but often casting his glance upon her.
She was younger than him, with a trace of endearing coltish awkwardness still in the long legs and slim-waisted body. She bore her head high, and the shining hair seemed to crackle in the frosty moonlight-but he thought it would be soft to the touch. As they came down the rugged slope he steadied her, and the little hand was engulfed in his calloused paw.
Then all at once there rang between the steeps the bull bellow of a troll horn, and another answered it and another, echoes snarling back from cliffs and blowing ragged on the wind. The elves stopped dead, ears cocked, nostrils aquiver while they searched the night for trace of their foes.
“I think they must be ahead, to cut off our retreat,” said Goltan.
“Bad is that,” said Skafloc, “but it would be worse to go blundering down the black gorge and have rocks hurled at us from above. We will make our way beside it instead of through it.”
He blew a battle call on the lur horn carried for him. Elves made the first of the great curving lurs and used them still, though men had forgotten them since the Age of Bronze. To Freda and Asgerd he said: “I fear we must fight once more. My folk will ward you if you speak not those names which hurt them. If you do, they must scatter, and trolls standing out of earshot can slay you with arrows.”
“It would not be good to die without calling on-Him above,” said Asgerd. “However, we will obey you in this.”
Skafloc laughed and laid a hand on Freda’s shoulder. “Why, how can we but win when such beauty is to be fought for?’ he asked gaily.
He told off two elves to carry the girls, who could not keep up when the pace grew swift, and had others form a shield-burg around them. Then, at the head of a wedge formation, he proceeded over the ridge towards the sea.
Lightly went the elves, springing from rock to crag, ringmail singing and weapons agleam in the moonlight. When they saw the trolls massed black against the wan night-bridge of the gods, they raised a shout, clashed swords on shields, and ran to the fight.
But Skafloc drew a quick breath at the size of the troll force. He guessed the elves were outnumbered some six to one-and if Illrede could raise that horde this fast, what might not his full strength be?
“Well,” he said, “we shall have to kill six trolls apiece.”
The elf archers loosed their shafts. The slower trolls could not match the moon-darkening clouds which sighed again and again over them. Many sank on the spot. But as ever, most arrows rattled harmlessly off rocks, or stuck in shields, and all were soon spent.
The elves charged, and battle burst in the night. Roaring troll horns and dunting elf lurs, wolf-howling troll cries and hawk-shrieking elf calls, thunder of troll axes on elf shields and clangour of elf swords on troll helmets, stormed to the stars.
Axe and sword! Spear and club! Cloven shield and sundered helm and broken mail! Red gush of elf blood meeting cold green flow of troll’s! Auroras dancing death-dances overhead!
Two tall shapes, hardly to be told apart, loomed in the strife. Valgard’s axe and Skafloc’s sword clove bloody trails through the locked and swaying warriors. The berserker foamed with the rage that had come on him, bawled and smote. Skafloc was silent save for panting breath, but scarcely less wild.
The trolls had hemmed in the elves on every side, and in that press, where swiftness and agility counted for little, troll strength came into its own. It seemed to Skafloc that for each gaping grinning face that sank before him, two more rose out of the blood-steaming snow. He had to stand his ground, while sweat rivered off him to freeze in his breeks, and grip his new shield and strike without end.
Thus it was Valgard who came to him, mad with the berserkergang and with hatred for everything elfly-most for Imric’s fosterling. They met well-nigh breast to breast, eyes glaring
She was younger than him, with a trace of endearing coltish awkwardness still in the long legs and slim-waisted body. She bore her head high, and the shining hair seemed to crackle in the frosty moonlight-but he thought it would be soft to the touch. As they came down the rugged slope he steadied her, and the little hand was engulfed in his calloused paw.
Then all at once there rang between the steeps the bull bellow of a troll horn, and another answered it and another, echoes snarling back from cliffs and blowing ragged on the wind. The elves stopped dead, ears cocked, nostrils aquiver while they searched the night for trace of their foes.
“I think they must be ahead, to cut off our retreat,” said Goltan.
“Bad is that,” said Skafloc, “but it would be worse to go blundering down the black gorge and have rocks hurled at us from above. We will make our way beside it instead of through it.”
He blew a battle call on the lur horn carried for him. Elves made the first of the great curving lurs and used them still, though men had forgotten them since the Age of Bronze. To Freda and Asgerd he said: “I fear we must fight once more. My folk will ward you if you speak not those names which hurt them. If you do, they must scatter, and trolls standing out of earshot can slay you with arrows.”
“It would not be good to die without calling on-Him above,” said Asgerd. “However, we will obey you in this.”
Skafloc laughed and laid a hand on Freda’s shoulder. “Why, how can we but win when such beauty is to be fought for?’ he asked gaily.
He told off two elves to carry the girls, who could not keep up when the pace grew swift, and had others form a shield-burg around them. Then, at the head of a wedge formation, he proceeded over the ridge towards the sea.
Lightly went the elves, springing from rock to crag, ringmail singing and weapons agleam in the moonlight. When they saw the trolls massed black against the wan night-bridge of the gods, they raised a shout, clashed swords on shields, and ran to the fight.
But Skafloc drew a quick breath at the size of the troll force. He guessed the elves were outnumbered some six to one-and if Illrede could raise that horde this fast, what might not his full strength be?
“Well,” he said, “we shall have to kill six trolls apiece.”
The elf archers loosed their shafts. The slower trolls could not match the moon-darkening clouds which sighed again and again over them. Many sank on the spot. But as ever, most arrows rattled harmlessly off rocks, or stuck in shields, and all were soon spent.
The elves charged, and battle burst in the night. Roaring troll horns and dunting elf lurs, wolf-howling troll cries and hawk-shrieking elf calls, thunder of troll axes on elf shields and clangour of elf swords on troll helmets, stormed to the stars.
Axe and sword! Spear and club! Cloven shield and sundered helm and broken mail! Red gush of elf blood meeting cold green flow of troll’s! Auroras dancing death-dances overhead!
Two tall shapes, hardly to be told apart, loomed in the strife. Valgard’s axe and Skafloc’s sword clove bloody trails through the locked and swaying warriors. The berserker foamed with the rage that had come on him, bawled and smote. Skafloc was silent save for panting breath, but scarcely less wild.
The trolls had hemmed in the elves on every side, and in that press, where swiftness and agility counted for little, troll strength came into its own. It seemed to Skafloc that for each gaping grinning face that sank before him, two more rose out of the blood-steaming snow. He had to stand his ground, while sweat rivered off him to freeze in his breeks, and grip his new shield and strike without end.
Thus it was Valgard who came to him, mad with the berserkergang and with hatred for everything elfly-most for Imric’s fosterling. They met well-nigh breast to breast, eyes glaring
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