invisible woman. "If you don't know who she was or where she went-" "I swear I don't, sir." "I believe you. In that case, tell me this. Why would the Aelf offer one of our women to Grengarm?" "Why, I've no notion, sir. Do you?" "Maybe. Grengarm was a creature very like Garsecg, yet Grengarm seemed real here in Mythgarthr. Remember Toug? He was from Glennidam, a village where they worship the Aelf." "That not right, sir. Nobody ought to do that." "None of us should, at least. I don't think it would be terribly difficult to explain why the people of Glennidam do, though it's wrong just as you say. A better question, one I thought of much too late, is why the Aelf let them." Gerda's face showed plainly that she did not understand. "You mentioned Ler, mother. Suppose that Ler, with the Valfather and Lothur, were to appear before us, sacrifice to you, and offer you their prayers. What would you do?" "I" Gerda looked baffled. "Whywhy I'd say there was some mistake or maybe they were making a joke." "Exactly. But the Aelf, who should say the same, do not." I watched the moon rise above the empty landscape. At last Gerda said, "I guess they like it, sir." "Lie down," I told her. "Go to sleep." When the moon had risen high enough for me to make out the mountains, I got up and saw to the tethers of our mounts. Those of Berthold's horse, and Gerda's, were still tight, as was that of Uns' placid brown mule. Cloud's had never been tight, and I removed it. Already bedded down, Cloud nuzzled my face and brought to my mind the image of a wild boar, huge and savage, rooting on the other side of the little river. I nodded, slung my quiver behind my back and strung my bow. Parka's string sang softly beneath my fingers, the songs of men reaping and the songs women sing to children with heavy eyes, songs of war and songs roared in taverns, songs of worship sung at altars when blazing logs consumed whole oxen and Overcyns with horned helmets and hair like fine-spun gold appeared in the smokeall these and many more blending into a single anthem of humanity, to which certain birds piped an accompaniment. "Good pig!" Gylf licked his lips. "Want him?" I said I did. "Long way. I'll drive him." Before I had taken two strides, Gylf was out of sight. In the blind dark under the trees, I reflected on the few, poor remarks I had directed to Uns, Berthold, and Gerda, and their questions and comments. Then, for a hundred cautious steps or so I whispered Disiri's name. Gylf had located the boar; his snarls and the angry grunts of the boar rode the soft night wind. Jotunland, I thought. This's Jotunland. Empty and cold and a little too dry. Bold Berthold had spoken of digging deep wells, wells whose fearful construction required months, wells that failed even so in dry years, of carrying bucket after weary bucket into the fields, and of vicious fights between Angrborn over access to wandering brooks that never reached the sea. So that was another puzzle. Large and strong as the Angrborn were, they might have lived anywhere. Why did they choose to live here? Had the gods of Skai indeed driven the Giants of Winter and Old Night from the sun? Or had those Giants chosen their abode? Knights like Svon and Garvaon and Woddet had never driven the Angrborn north of the mountains, surely. The snarling hound and the angry boar were nearer now, and I had reached a strip of moonlit water. Somewhere along here, Gylf would drive the boar into the shallows, then out again onto the other bank, if the boar still lived. If Gylf had dodged the boar's slashing tusks up to that point. An arrow here might end the hunt, or as good as end it. I nocked a shaft and relaxed for a second or two to look up at the moon. It was beginning to snow, even while the moon still shone, so that the silver light seemed wrapped in mist, beautiful and threatening. We had traveled slowly, and would travel slower still tomorrow; and though we had not been comfortable, we would be less comfortable still.
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