into eyes through the tricky moonlight.
Skafloc’s blade clanged on Valgard’s helm and dented it. Valgard’s axe chopped splinters from Skafloc’s shield. Then Skafloc got in a sidewise cut that laid open Valgard’s cheek so that the teeth grinned forth. The berserker howled anew and laid on a thunderous hail of blows, knocking the blade aside, banging on the shield till Skafloc’s left arm was ready to drop off and blood drenched the cloth bound over the earlier wound in it.
Nonetheless he watched his chance; and when his foe stuck a leg too far forward, Skafloc hewed down deep into the calf. He might have disabled, had his edge not been blunted from use. As was, Valgard hooted and fell back. Skafloc followed.
A blow as of a falling boulder smote his helm, casting him to his knees. Illrede Troll-King had loomed beside him and swung a stone-headed club. Valgard came back with axe aloft. Though his ears rang and pain was an iron band around his temples, Skafloc rolled aside. The weapon struck ground. Battle-crazed, an elf in the shield-burg took a step out of it to cut down the berserker ere he could free his axe. Illrede’s mallet hit and broke that warrior’s neck. Valgard lifted his axe and brought it down through the hole in the line, on to the elf behind. But it was into the burden he bore that the axe sank.
The shield-burg closed and moved against man and troll, who retreated from so many spears. Skafloc got back up and led them away. They left their dead behind. Illrede likewise rejoined his guardsmen. Valgard stayed where he was, alone, for the fit had passed from him.
Swaying on his feet, painted with blood, he stood over Asgerd’s body. “I did not mean that,” he said. “Indeed my axe is accursed-or is it me?” He passed a hand over his eyes, puzzledly. “Yet … they are not my kin, are they?”
Weak after the fury, he sat down beside Asgerd. The battle moved further away from him. “Now there are only Skafloc and Freda to kill, then all the blood I once thought my own is shed,” he mumbled, stroking her heavy golden braids. “And it might be well to do it with you, Brotherslayer. Elfrida. too, if she still lives. I could kill-why not? She is not my mother. My mother is a great horrible thing chained in Imric’s dungeons, Elfrida, who sang me to sleep, is not my mother-”
Ill went it with the elves, however valiantly they fought. In their van, Skafloc shouted to them, rallied and ordered and led them. His blade yelled death. No troll could stand before that whirling steel, and with his men he slowly carved a seaward way.
For a space he faltered, when Goltan fell with a spear through him. “Now I am one friend poorer,” he said, “and that is a wealth not gained back.” His voice rose anew: “Hai, Alfheim! Forward, forward!”
And so at last a remnant broke through the trolls and retreated to the beach. Valka the Wise, Flam of Orkney, Hlokkan Redlance, and other great elves fell in the rearguard. But meanwhile the rest won to their ships. Some among them, in full sight of the trolls, ran about the slope above, scattering what booty remained. This softened the attack, for Illrede would rather,get back his treasures than lose many more folk.
Enough elves were alive and somewhat hale for the under-manning of about half the ships. The rest they set alight with fire spells. Then they launched and boarded and rowed painfully out of the fjord.
Freda, huddled in the bottom of Skafloc’s dragon, saw him standing tall and bloody against the moon, making rune signs and uttering words she did not know. The wind shifted aft, became a gale, a storm, and with iron-hard sails and bow-bent masts and twanging tackle the ships leaped forward. Faster and ever faster they fled, like the spindrift, like the clouds, like dream and witchcraft and moonlight over the water. Skafloc stood in the spray-sheeting bows and sang his warlock song, unhelmed hair flying and ragged byrnie ringing, a shape out of
Skafloc’s blade clanged on Valgard’s helm and dented it. Valgard’s axe chopped splinters from Skafloc’s shield. Then Skafloc got in a sidewise cut that laid open Valgard’s cheek so that the teeth grinned forth. The berserker howled anew and laid on a thunderous hail of blows, knocking the blade aside, banging on the shield till Skafloc’s left arm was ready to drop off and blood drenched the cloth bound over the earlier wound in it.
Nonetheless he watched his chance; and when his foe stuck a leg too far forward, Skafloc hewed down deep into the calf. He might have disabled, had his edge not been blunted from use. As was, Valgard hooted and fell back. Skafloc followed.
A blow as of a falling boulder smote his helm, casting him to his knees. Illrede Troll-King had loomed beside him and swung a stone-headed club. Valgard came back with axe aloft. Though his ears rang and pain was an iron band around his temples, Skafloc rolled aside. The weapon struck ground. Battle-crazed, an elf in the shield-burg took a step out of it to cut down the berserker ere he could free his axe. Illrede’s mallet hit and broke that warrior’s neck. Valgard lifted his axe and brought it down through the hole in the line, on to the elf behind. But it was into the burden he bore that the axe sank.
The shield-burg closed and moved against man and troll, who retreated from so many spears. Skafloc got back up and led them away. They left their dead behind. Illrede likewise rejoined his guardsmen. Valgard stayed where he was, alone, for the fit had passed from him.
Swaying on his feet, painted with blood, he stood over Asgerd’s body. “I did not mean that,” he said. “Indeed my axe is accursed-or is it me?” He passed a hand over his eyes, puzzledly. “Yet … they are not my kin, are they?”
Weak after the fury, he sat down beside Asgerd. The battle moved further away from him. “Now there are only Skafloc and Freda to kill, then all the blood I once thought my own is shed,” he mumbled, stroking her heavy golden braids. “And it might be well to do it with you, Brotherslayer. Elfrida. too, if she still lives. I could kill-why not? She is not my mother. My mother is a great horrible thing chained in Imric’s dungeons, Elfrida, who sang me to sleep, is not my mother-”
Ill went it with the elves, however valiantly they fought. In their van, Skafloc shouted to them, rallied and ordered and led them. His blade yelled death. No troll could stand before that whirling steel, and with his men he slowly carved a seaward way.
For a space he faltered, when Goltan fell with a spear through him. “Now I am one friend poorer,” he said, “and that is a wealth not gained back.” His voice rose anew: “Hai, Alfheim! Forward, forward!”
And so at last a remnant broke through the trolls and retreated to the beach. Valka the Wise, Flam of Orkney, Hlokkan Redlance, and other great elves fell in the rearguard. But meanwhile the rest won to their ships. Some among them, in full sight of the trolls, ran about the slope above, scattering what booty remained. This softened the attack, for Illrede would rather,get back his treasures than lose many more folk.
Enough elves were alive and somewhat hale for the under-manning of about half the ships. The rest they set alight with fire spells. Then they launched and boarded and rowed painfully out of the fjord.
Freda, huddled in the bottom of Skafloc’s dragon, saw him standing tall and bloody against the moon, making rune signs and uttering words she did not know. The wind shifted aft, became a gale, a storm, and with iron-hard sails and bow-bent masts and twanging tackle the ships leaped forward. Faster and ever faster they fled, like the spindrift, like the clouds, like dream and witchcraft and moonlight over the water. Skafloc stood in the spray-sheeting bows and sang his warlock song, unhelmed hair flying and ragged byrnie ringing, a shape out of
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