But he had Alfhild ahead of him. At the end of the way, he sprinted into the yard. Leif owned less land than Geirolf, his buildings were smaller and fewer, most of his guests must house outdoors in sleeping bags. Hauk paid no heed. "Alfhild!" he called. "I'm here!"
She left the dough she was kneading and sped to him. They hugged each other hard and long, in sight of the whole world. None thought that shame, as things were. At last she said, striving not to weep. "How we've longed for you! Now the nightmare can end."
He stepped back. "What mean you?" he uttered slowly, knowing full well.
"Why" She was bewildered. "Won't you give him his second death?"
Hauk gazed past her for some heartbeats before he said: "Come aside with me."
Hand in hand, they wandered off. A meadow lay hidden from the garth by a stand of aspen. Elsewhere around, pines speared into a sky that today was bright. Clouds drifted on a nipping breeze. Far off, a stag bugled.
Hauk spread feet apart, hooked thumbs in belt, and made himself meet her eyes. "You think over-highly of my strength," he said.
"Who has more?" she asked. "We kept ourselves going by saying you would come home and make things good again."
"What if the drow is too much for me?" His words sounded raw through the hush. Leaves dropped yellow from their boughs.
She flushed. "Then your name will live."
"Yes" Softly he spoke the words of the High One:
"You will do it!" she cried gladly.
His head shook before it drooped. "No. I will not. I dare not."
She stood as if he had clubbed her.
"Won't you understand?" he began.
The wound he had dealt her hopes went too deep. "So you show yourself a nithing!"
"Hear me," he said, shaken. "Were the lich anybody else's"
Overwrought beyond reason, she slapped him and choked. "The gods bear witness, I give them my holiest oath, never will I wed you unless you do this thing. See, by my blood I swear." She whipped out her dagger and gashed her wrists. Red rills coursed out and fell in drops on the fallen leaves.
He was aghast. "You know not what you say. You're too young, you've been too sheltered. Listen."
She would have fled from him, but he gripped her shoulders and made her stand. "Listen," went between his teeth. "Geirolf is still my father my father who begot me, reared me, named the stars for me, weaponed me to make my way in the world. How can I fight him? Did I slay him, what horror would come upon me and mine?"
"O-o-oh," broke from Alfhild. She sank to the ground and wept as if to tear loose her ribs.
He knelt, held her, gave what soothing he could. "Now I know," she mourned. "Too late."
"Never," he murmured. "We'll fare abroad if we must, take new land, make new lives together."
"No," she gasped. "Did I not swear? What doom awaits an oathbreaker?"
Then he was long still. Heedlessly though she had spoken, her blood lay in the earth, which would remember.
He too was young. He straightened. "I will fight," he said.
Now she clung to him and pleaded that he must not. But an iron calm had come over him. "Maybe I will not be cursed," he said. "Or maybe the curse will be no more than I can bear."
"It will be mine too, I who brought it on you," she plighted herself.
Hand in hand again, they went back to the garth. Leif spied the haggard look on them and half guessed what had happened. "Will you fare to meet the drow, Hauk?" he asked. "Wait till I can have Grim the Wise brought here. His knowledge may help you."
"No," said Hauk. "Waiting would weaken me. I go this night."
Wide eyes stared at him all but Thyra's; she was too torn.
Toward evening he busked himself. He took no helm, shield, or byrnie, for the dead man bore no weapons. Some said they would come along, armored themselves well, and offered to be at his side. He told them to follow him, but no farther than to watch what happened. Their iron would be of no help, and he thought they would only get in each other's way, and his, when he met the overhuman might of the drow. He kissed Alfhild, his mother, and his sister, and clasped hands with his brother, bidding them stay behind if they loved him.
Long did the few miles of path seem, and gloomy under the pines. The sun was on the world's rim when men came out in the open. They looked past fields and barrow down to the empty garth, the fjordside cliffs, the water where the sun lay as half an ember behind a trail of blood. Clouds hurried on a wailing wind through a greenish sky. Cold struck deep. A wolf howled.
"Wait here," Hauk said.
"The gods be with you," Leif breathed.
"I've naught tonight but my own strength," Hauk said. "Belike none of us ever had more."
His tall form, clad in leather and wadmal, showed black athwart the sunset as he walked from the edge of the woods, out across plowland toward the crouching howe. The wind fluttered his locks, a last brightness until the sun went below. Then for a while the evenstar alone had light.
Hauk reached the mound. He drew sword and leaned on it, waiting. Dusk deepened. Star after star came forth, small and strange. Clouds blowing across them picked up a glow from the still unseen moon.
It rose at last above the treetops. Its ashen sheen stretched gashes of shadow across earth. The wind loudened.
The grave groaned. Turfs, stones, timbers swung aside. Geirolf shambled out beneath the sky. Hauk felt the ground shudder under his weight. There came a carrion stench, though the only sign of rotting was on the dead man's clothes. His eyes peered dim, his teeth gnashed dry in a face at once well remembered and hideously changed. When he saw the living one who waited, he veered and lumbered thitherward.
"Father," Hauk called. "It's I, your eldest son."
The drow drew nearer.
"Halt, I beg you," Hauk said unsteadily. "What can I do to bring you peace?"
A cloud passed over the moon. It seemed to be hurtling through heaven. Geirolf reached for his son with fingers that were ready to clutch and tear. "Hold," Hauk shrilled. "No step farther."
He could not see if the gaping mouth grinned. In another stride, the great shape came well-nigh upon him. He lifted his sword and brought it singing down. The edge struck truly, but slid aside. Geirolf's skin heaved, as if to push the blade away. In one more step, he laid grave-cold hands around Hauk's neck.
Before that grip could close, Hauk dropped his useless weapon, brought his wrists up between Geirolf's, and mightily snapped them apart. Nails left furrows, but he was free. He sprang back, into a wrestler's stance.
Geirolf moved in, reaching. Hauk hunched under those arms and himself grabbed waist and thigh. He threw his shoulder against a belly like rock. Any live man would have gone over, but the lich was too heavy.
Geirolf smote Hauk on the side. The blows drove him to his knees and thundered on his back. A foot lifted to crush him. He rolled off and found his own feet again. Geirolf lurched after him. The hastening moon linked their shadows. The wolf howled anew, but in fear. Watching men gripped spearshafts till their knuckles stood bloodless.
Hauk braced his legs and snatched for the first hold, around both of Geirolf's wrists. The drow strained to break loose and could not; but neither could Hauk bring him down. Sweat ran moon-bright over the son's cheeks and darkened his shirt. The reek of it was at least a living smell in his nostrils. Breath tore at his gullet. Suddenly Geirolf wrenched so hard that his right arm tore from between his foe's fingers. He brought that hand against Hauk's throat. Hauk let go and slammed himself backward before he was throttled.