“Mortal chatter,” scoffed Leea. She smiled her cat-smile. “I will find the caresses of trolls interesting, for a time. They are something new, at least, and hard it is to find anything fresh after many centuries. We open the gates of Elfheugh when our new earl arrives.”
Freda sank on to the bed and buried her face in her hands. Leea said: “If you wish to follow out your human brainless-ness, I will be quite glad to get rid of you. Tomorrow after daybreak, when the trolls sleep, I will let you from the castle with whatever you want to take. Thereafter you can do as you please-flee to lands of men, I suppose, and join your voice to the shrill whine of nuns whose Heavenly groom somehow never comes for them. I wish you joy of that!”
She departed.
For a time Freda lay on the bed, with darkness and hopelessness whelming her. Weep could she not, and the tears lay harsh in her throat. All was gone indeed, her kindred, her love—
No!
She sat up and clenched her fists. Skafloc was not dead. She would not believe that until she had kissed his bloodless lips-after which, if God was merciful, her heart would break and she would fall beside him. But if he lived ... if he lay sorely wounded, mayhap, with foes ringing his lair and the need of her heavy on him—
She hastened to gather what she thought would be useful. Helm and byrnie of his, and the clothes that went therewith (unfilled by him, they seemed strangely empty, more so than any other man’s dress laid aside), axe and sword and shield, spear and bows and many arrows. For herself she took also a light byrnie such as shield-mays among the elves were wont to use. It fitted well her slender form, and she could not but smile at the mirror as she set coif and gold-winged helmet over her ruddy locks. He liked to see her in that kind of dress, less boyish than playful.
The gear must needs be of elf metal, since the Faerie horses would not bear iron, but she supposed he could make good use of it.
Stockfish and other rations she added to her pile of goods, and furs and blankets and sewing kit and whatever else might be helpful. “I am becoming a housewife!” she said smiling again. The homely word gladdened her, like the sight of an old friend. Next she took certain things whose use she did not know but which Skafloc had set much store by: skins of wolf and otter and eagle, rune-carved wands of ash and beechwood, a strangely wrought ring.
When it was all packed together, she sought out Leea. The elf woman looked in astonishment at the Valkyrie figure before her. “What will you now?” she asked.
“I want four horses,” answered Freda, “and help to load one of them with what I am taking. Then let me out of here.”
“ ’Tis still night, with trolls awake and prowling about. And elf horses cannot fare by day.”
“No matter. They go more swiftly than any others, and speed is what I wish above aught else.”
“Aye, you can reach a church ere dawn if you get past the foe,” gibed Leea, “and the arms you bear may give you some protection along the way. But you cannot hope to keep Faerie gold long.”
“I have no gold to speak of, nor do I go to any lands of men. It is the north gate I want you to open for me.”
Leea’s eyes widened, until she shrugged. “ ’Tis foolishness. What good is Skafloc’s clay? However, let it be as you will.” Her mouth softened and she said, low, not altogether steadily: “Kiss him once for Leea, I pray you.”
Freda said naught, but she knew that alive or dead Skafloc would not get that kiss.
The snow was flying thick when she left. Noiselessly the gate swung ajar, and the goblin guards, who had been promised freedom for their service, waved farewell. Freda rode out with her string of horses. She did not look back. Without Skafloc, Elfheugh’s splendours were ash.
The wind whined around her and bit through layers of fur. She leaned down and whispered in her horse’s ear: “Now quickly, quickly, best of steeds, quickly gallop! Swiftly north to Skafloc! Find him with your immortal wit and senses, and you shall sleep in golden stables and walk unsaddled through summer meadows for all your centuries.”
There came a booming shout. Freda jerked erect in her seat. Terror poured through her. Nothing was more dreadful to her than the trolls, and they had seen-“Oh, swiftly, my horse!”
The wind of her gallop screamed about her, nigh ripping her from the saddle, forcing her to shield her eyes with an upraised arm. She could hardly see through the night and snow, even with her witch-sight, but she heard the roar of hoofs behind her.
Faster and faster, north, ever north, while the air hooted and bit, the pursuers yelped and the hoofbeats rolled. When she glanced back, she saw the trolls as a deeper shadow racing through the night. Could she but halt and command them home in the name of Jesus! But their earshot was less than their arrowshot.
The snow whirled thicker. Presently the trolls fell behind, though she knew they would track unwearyingly. And as she fled north she came nearer the south-ward-marching army of Trollheim.
Time brawled past like the wind. She caught a far-off glimpse of fire on a hilltop-belike some burning elf garth. The troops must be close, and they would have scouts widely across the land.
As if to answer her thought, a howl rose out of the murk to her right. She heard hoofs clatter. If they cut her off—
Athwart her path loomed a monstrous shape, a giant shaggy horse blacker than night with eyes like glowing coals, and on it a rider in black ring-mail, huge of thew and hideous of face—a troll! The elf horse veered aside, not fast enough. He reached out and caught the bridle and pulled the steed to a halt.
Freda screamed. Before she could cry on holiness, he had yanked her from the saddle, clutched her to him with one arm and clapped the other hand over her mouth. It was cold and smelled like a pit of snakes.
“Ho, ho, ho!” shouted the troll.
Out of the night, called through the windy dark by her far-sensed need, still gasping with the long run and the fear of coming too late, Skafloc sprang. One foot he set in the troll’s stirrup, lifted himself up and drove dagger into throat.
And he caught Freda in his arms.
XVII
When the troll host reached Elfheugh, a horn sounded from the watchtowers and the great brazen gates swung wide. Valgard reined in, narrowing his eyes. “A trick,” he muttered.
“No, I think not,” said Grum. “Few save women are left in the castle, and they expect us to spare them.” He shook with laughter. “As we will! As we will!”
The hoofs of the huge-boned horses rang loud on the courtyard flagstones. Here it was warm and calm, in a cool half-light that rested blue on walls and sky-piercing turrets. Gardens breathed forth languorous odours; fountains splashed, and dear streamlets ran past little arbours meant for two alone.
The women of Elfheugh were gathered before the keep to meet the conquerors. Though he had seen elf-mays on the march south, and taken them, Valgard exclaimed under his breath at sight of these.
One stepped forth, thin robes clinging to every curve, and she outshone the rest as the moon the stars. She curtsied low before Grum, so that the cool mystery of her eyes was veiled by sweeping lashes. “Greeting, lord,” she sang rather than spoke. “Elfheugh makes submission.”
The earl purled himself out. “Long has this castle stood,” he said, “and no few assaults has it beaten off. Yet you were wisest, who chose to admit the might of Trollheim. Terrible are we to our foes, while our friends have good gifts of us.” He smirked. “Erelong I will make you a gift. What is your name?”
“I hight Leea, lord, sister to Imric Elf-Earl.”
“Call him not that, for now I, Grum, am earl in this island’s Faerie realm, and Imric the least of my thralls. Bring in the prisoners!”
Slowly, heads bent and feet shuffling, the nobles of Alfheim were led forward. Bitter were their begrimed faces, and their shoulders were bowed by a weight more heavy than chains. Imric, hair stiff with his own crusted blood and blood in the prints of his bare feet, led the line. Naught did the elves say, nor even look at their women, as they were led down towards the dungeons. The commoner captives followed, a mile of misery.