At last, through the trees, better than a hundred yards ahead, a long, low feature could be seen. It would have been quite natural, initially, at the distance, and particularly in the light, to have mistaken it for a natural feature, an eccentricity of terrain. It seemed, on the whole, like an extended hillock, or mound.
“We will stop here,” said Ulrich.
“Why?” asked the giant, drawing up to him.
“We must wait for admittance,” said Ulrich.
“Admittance?”
“To the hall,” said Ulrich.
“Ah,” said the giant.
Such halls, or, perhaps better, lest a misleading conception be conveyed, common shelters, are encountered more frequently farther to the north. About the structure of wood, formed of stout timbers, or of great logs, if they may be found, dirt is heaped, and then packed. The hall, or shelter, is oriented north to south, that neither of its main surfaces will be exposed to the northern winds. The entrance, or back of the hall, in a sense, surely that area away from the high seats, faces north, and the front of the hall, where are found the high seats, backs against the southern wall. This particular hall was a large one, for its type, being some seventy-five yards on its long axis; twenty-five yards in width, the roof supported by the walls and two rows of timber columns, in the manner of a three-aisle house; and some four or five yards raised above the surrounding level of the forest. Within the hall itself, of course, whose floor was cut down into the forest floor, it was better than eight or ten yards from the floor, of dirt, to the rafters of the roof. The hall then is half sunken into, or half dug into, the floor of the forest. One descends to the interior floor by means of stone steps. The dirt is heaped some two thirds, or better, of the way up the walls. It does not cover the full height of the exterior walls, or the roof. In the roof, and high on the walls, there are smoke holes. Given the width of the structural timbers it is difficult, unless the holes were to be considerably enlarged, to fire arrows into the hall from the roof, or from ladders, in any martially efficient manner. The dirt packing provides some protection against fire, but, on the whole, given that the gate cannot be forced, the common weapon for reducing such a hall is indeed fire. If one wishes to keep the hall, then one must make do with forcing the gate, or cutting through the walls, at some point or another.
Such structures, it might be noted, in passing, are not designed for defense, but for housing and warmth. They do provide some security, in the sense that they are isolated, in remote areas, and that it is dangerous to approach them. Otungs, and many of the forest peoples, withdraw to, and fight from the stealth, the silence and darkness of the forest itself. Indeed, long ago, imperial cohorts perished, pursuing them in such environments. Hill forts, on the other hand, are known west of the Lothar, among the Basungs. Indeed, it was such forts that hugely stopped the advance of the Heruls into the western forests, long ago, in the winter of 1103, in the chronology of the imperial claiming stone, from the placing of which time, or, at least, history, from the viewpoint of the imperial records, began on Tangara.
The giant could see smoke, in pale wisps, emerging from smoke holes. And through some of these, and chinks in the logs, high in the walls, he could detect some flickering, as of a lighting within.
“So you have come to the hall,” said the giant, “and there is no rejoicing?”
One would suppose, of course, that the coming to the hall, from the outside, at such a time, from the dark night and the winter, when one is hungry and cold, would constitute a joyous occasion, one that would be eagerly looked forward to, and retained long afterward in the warmth of memory.
“Among the Otungs, for many years,” said Ulrich, “there has been little rejoicing.”
“I shall change that,” said the giant.
“Let us kill the stranger,” said one of the men, angrily.
“Let us clear a space in the snow,” said the giant. “We will then consider the matter.”
The fellow looked at the mighty stature of the giant, and the great blade upon his shoulder, like a flat, sheathed bolt of sleeping lightning, and looked away.
“These are important times for the Otungs,” said the leader of the Otungs. “Strangers are seldom welcome in the forests, but, at this time, in particular, we do not welcome them.”
“At this time,” said another, “it is common to kill them.”
“Perhaps I am not a stranger,” said the giant.
“This is the time of the claiming of the hero’s portion,” said an Otung.
“And the naming of the king,” said another.
“I know,” said the giant.
“At such a time, you come amongst us?”
“Yes,” said the giant.
“Why?” asked a man.
“I would speak with he who is first amongst you,” said the giant.
“I do not understand what you are doing here,” said one of the men.
“Perhaps I am coming home,” said the giant.
CHAPTER 26
“Give her,” called out Urta, the King Namer, “the drink of truth!”
“No, milord!” cried out the girl. “It is as I have said! I swear it!”
Two men seized the girl by the arms, holding her before the high seats. In the midst of the high seats on the dais was a throne, high-backed, with huge arms, of heavy, ornately carved wood. This throne was empty. To its right there was a small stool. It was from that stool that Urta, the King Namer, had arisen.
“There is the torch,” had said Ulrich, waiting outside the hall, several yards away, in the snow. “We may now enter.”
He, and his party, including the giant, had then approached the portal of the hall.
“Who is he?” challenged the gatesman, lifting his torch.
“A stranger,” had said Ulrich.
“Kill him!” said the guard.
“Do so yourself,” said Ulrich.
“You may not enter!” said the gatesman.
“I will,” said the giant. “I do. I am.”
“Stop him!” cried the gatesman, thrust to the side, staggering against the jamb of the gate.
The giant turned. He surveyed, slowly, evenly, those about the portal. “Who will do so?” he asked.
Then he had turned about, and descended the stone steps to the interior of the hall.
“Who is he, Ulrich?” inquired the gatesman.
“I do not know,” said Ulrich.
“What is that you have with you?” asked the gatesman.
“It is the pelt of the white vi-cat,” said Ulrich.
“You dare bring such a thing to the hall?” inquired the gatesman.
“It is not mine,” said Ulrich. “It belongs to the stranger.”
“You do not know him?”
“No.”
“How dare he bring such a thing here?”
“I do not know,” said Ulrich.
“Surely he does not understand its meaning,” said the gatesman.
“I do not know,” had said Ulrich.
“Enter,” had said the gatesman.
***
“Administer the drink of truth!” commanded Urta, the King Namer.
The girl was dressed now in the beads and robes, and sleeves, of the daughter of an Otung noble. Her hair had been brushed, and braided, and was inwrought with strings of pearls, brought in trade, via Heruls, from Venitzia, or Scharnhorst, as the Otungs have it. Her vesture had been provided by free women in the hall, and she had been so arrayed in a pantry, a storage room. There had been gasps of admiration as she had been brought forth, and conducted to the front of the hall.
One of the men had come forth, from the side, and looked upon her closely, as she had awaited the recognition of Urta, the King Namer. The giant had stood toward the rear of the hall, the blade now sheathed, his arms folded on his broad chest, with Ulrich, and his men.