“I fear for you, Skafloc.”
Quoth he:
Fear of fairest fay for chieftain makes him merry-. means she loves him.
Girl, be gay now. Gladly take I gift you give me, gold-bright woman.
Meanwhile he began undoing her girdle. Freda blushed. “Shameless are you,” she told him, and fumbled with his garments.
Skafloc raised his brows. “Why,” he asked, “what is there to be ashamed about?”
Firespear rode out shortly after sunset of the next night. A few sullen embers lay yet in the west. He and his dozen followers wore the green tunics of the chase, with cowled black cloaks flung above. Their spears and arrows were tipped with alloy of silver. About their curvetting horses bayed the elf-hounds, great savage beasts with coats red or ebon, furnace eyes and dagger fangs from which ran slaver, blood of Garm and Fenris and the Wild Hunt’s dogs in them.
Forth they swept when Firespear’s horn shouted. Drurnroll of hoofs and belling of hounds rang between the hills. Like the wind they went, between ice-sheathed trees through a night that soon was pit-black. A glint of silver, jewelled hilts, bloody glare might be seen in a rush of shadows: no more; but the clamour of their passage rang from end to end of the woods. Hunters, charcoal burners, outlaws who heard that racket shuddered and signed themselves, whether with Cross or Hammer; and wild beasts slunk aside.
From afar the witch, squatting in the shelter she had built where her house formerly stood-for her greatest powers drew from things thereabouts and nowhere else-heard the troop coming. She crouched over her tiny fire and muttered, “The elves hunt tonight.”
“Aye,” squeaked her familiar. As the noise drew closer: “And I think they hunt us.”
“Us?” The witch started. “Why say you that?”
“They are bound straight this way, and you are no friend to Skafloc, thus none to •Imric.” The rat chattered with fear and crawled into her bosom. “Now quickly, mother, quickly, summon aid or we are done.”
The witch had no time for rites or offerings, but she howled the call which had been taught her, and a blackness deeper than the night arose beyond the fire.
She grovelled. Faint and cold, the little blue flames raced across him. “Help,” she whimpered. “Help, the elves come.”
The eyes watched her without anger or pity. The sound of the hunt grew louder. “Help!” she wailed.
He spoke, in a voice that blent with the wind but seemed to come from immeasurably far removed. “Why do you call on me?”
“They ... they seek ... my life.”
“What of that? I heard you say once you did not care for life.”
“My vengeance is not complete,” she sobbed. “I cannot die now, without knowing whether my work and the price I paid are for naught. Master, help your servant!”
Nearer came the hunters. She felt the ground shiver beneath the galloping hoofs.
“You are not my servant, you are my slave,” the voice rustled. “What is it to me whether your purpose is fulfilled? I am the lord of evil, which is futility.
“Did you think you ever summoned me and struck a bargain? No, you were led astray; that was another. Mortals never sell me their souls. They give them away.”
And the Dark Lord was gone.
The witch shrieked and ran forth. Behind her the hounds, put off by the smell of him who had lately been here, barked and cast about. The witch turned herself into a rat and crawled down a hole beneath the Druid oak. “She’s near,” called Firespear, “and-Ha! They have the scent!”
The pack closed in. Earth flew as they dug after then-prey, ripping roots and yelping. The witch darted forth, changed into a crow, and winged aloft. Firespear’s bow twanged. The crow sank to earth. It became a hag at whom the dogs rushed. The rat sprang from her bosom. A horse brought down its silver-shod foot to crush him.
The hounds tore the witch asunder. As they did she screamed at the elves: “All my curses! All woe do I wish on Alfheim! And tell Imric that Valgard the changeling lives and knows—”
There her words ended. “That was an easy hunt,” said Firespear. “I was afraid we would need sorcery to track her wanderings through a score of years, maybe into foreign lands.” He snuffed the wind. “As it is, we have the rest of the night for better game.”
Imric rewarded his hunters well, but when they told him, in some puzzlement, what their quarry had said, he scowled.
XIII
Valgard found a high place at the troll court, grandson of Illrede and strong warrior with the freedom of iron as he was. But the lords looked askance at him-for he had elf blood too, and came from the lands of men; also, they were envious of a stranger who, after a tongue-spell had given him command of their speech, stepped at once into their ranks. Thus Valgard found no friends in Trollheim. Nor did he seek any, the looks and smells and ways of these folk not being to his liking.
They were, however, fearless and of terrible strength. Their warlocks had powers he doubted any human could ever wield. Their nation was strongest in Faerie by far except-maybe-for Alfheim. This suited Valgard well, for here was the means to his revenge and the gaining of his heritage.
Illrede told him what was planned. “Throughout the peace we built for war,” said the king, “while the elves loafed and intrigued among themselves and took their pleasure. There are not quite so many of us as of them, but with those who march beside us this time we outnumber them by a good lot.”
“Who are they?” asked Valgard.
“Most of the goblin tribes we have either overcome or made alliance with,” said Illrede. “They have old grudges against both trolls and elves, but I have promised them loot and freedom for such slaves of their race as we have and a place just below us when we rule throughout Faerie. They are doughty fighters, and not few.
“Then we have companies from distant lands, demons of Baikal, Shen of Cathay, Oni of Cipangu, imps of Moorish deserts, adding up to a fair number. They have come for the looting and are not wholly to be relied on, but I will dispose them in battle according to what they can do. There are also stragglers who came alone or in little bands-werewolves, vampires, ghouls, that sort. And we have plenty of dwarf thralls, some of whom will fight in exchange for freedom; and they can handle iron.
“Against this host the elves stand alone. They may be able to scrape together a few odd goblins and dwarfs and whatnot else, but those scarcely count. The very best they can hope for is aid from the Sidhe. However, I have spied out that those mean to hold aloof unless their island is attacked, and we will be careful not to do that ... in this war.
“True, the elf leaders are wily and learned in magic—but so are I and my chieftains.” Illrede’s laughter coughed forth. “Oh, we will break Alfheim like a dry stick across the knee!”
“Can you not call on the Jotuns for help?” asked Valgard, who was still learning the ins and cuts of this world wherein he found himself. “They are akin to trolls, are they not?”
“Speak never of such!” rapped Illrede. “We dare no more call the ice giants to our help than the elves the Asir.” He shivered. “We do not wish to be more their pawns than, we are already—the contending Powers beyond the moon. Even if they would answer, not we nor the elves would dare call-because if Aisir or Jotuns should move openly into Midgard, the other side would move against them, and then the last battle would be joined.”
“How does this fit with what I was taught of ... the new god?”
“Best not speak of mysteries we cannot understand.” Ill-rede moved ponderously about the cave room where they were talking by smoky torchlight. “It is because of the gods, though, that no dweller in Faerie dares do much against men, particularly baptized men. A few sorceries, a horse borrowed overnight, a stolen babe or woman, little else and not often. For they are shy of us now, but if they came to fear us too much they would send to the gods, under whose ward they are, a call that must be heeded. Worst, they might call together upon the new white god, and that would be the end of Faerie.”