This seemed like a good idea to Halli. He set his branch to some nearby drapes, and watched the fabric take and burn.
With a sudden whoof, the burning tapestry fell from the wall. It collapsed on Olaf and he was lost to view.
From directly above him, on the balcony, came sudden shouts and running feet.
Halli imagined Hord and Ragnar running down the stairs. After Olaf 's sickly pursuit, their speed and urgency unnerved him. At a limping run, he left the hall.
The passage that he took was long, dark and many cornered, with several doors that opened onto quarters for the servants. He glimpsed hunched forms in bunks, and shadowed, sleeping faces. Soon all would be awake. Halli redoubled his speed, urging his body on, hunting for some way out of Hakon's hall.
His headlong flight had stimulated the fire within his branch and now the wood was burning nicely. To delay pursuit Halli set fire to things where he could: a drape here, a basket of clothing there. The passage behind was wreathed in smoke.
At last a window: tall, slender, shuttered. Halli threw the casement wide and clambered onto the ledge. He crouched there, blinking into darkness. Cold rain hit his face and made the sweat on his brow itch.
A few feet ahead, and some way below him, he glimpsed a broad band of stones – the top of the great Trow wall that encircled the House. Beyond he could see nothing. Directly under the window hung an abyss of black; he sensed a drop that would break his bones.
Halli cocked his head back towards the passage, where footsteps could be heard approaching, and behind that the noise of distant shouts and screams. Somewhere far away, around the dark mass of the hall, a bell began to ring.
There was little time to waste. Halli threw his stick over his shoulder into the passage, stepped back as far as he could upon the ledge and, jumping from his good leg, leaped high and hard out into the night.
For an instant all sounds cut out. Rain pattered on his face. His legs bent ready.
Halli crashed down upon the wall, rolled, sprang upright, conscious of a sudden flaring pain. The bad leg – jarred, or something. No time. The bell's noise was loud outside. Other bells now rang out here and there about the House.
The stones on the Trow wall were worn and smooth and slippery with rain. Halli loped along the parapet like an injured beast, glancing this way and that – over his shoulder; across the parapet and out into the night; down on the jumbled cottages that crowded all round Hakon's hall, where lights now woke in windows and the bells rang ever louder. He was caught in indecision: he did not like the thought of what lay beyond the parapet – he recalled the height of the Trow walls and their deep black moat only too well.
But neither did remaining in Hakon's House have much to favour it.
Away along the curve of the wall, somewhere near the gate, he saw the lights of torches shifting, congregating, separating. They multiplied with ominous purpose. A great and angry glow swelled silently around them, illuminating the sides of cottages and, in an unpleasant coincidence that Halli didn't fail to notice, a jutting gallows set upon the wall. The lights fragmented: some broke off one way, some another. He heard voices raised in command, boots on flagstones and the querulous howls of dogs.
Halli blew out his cheeks and glanced behind him. Far off along the parapet he spied lights and hurrying forms.
Raising his hood to shield his face from view, he stepped to the edge of the wall and looked over speculatively. Utter blackness. Far below he heard rain thrashing on water. He hesitated, biting his lip.
A fragment of stone in the wall beside him leaped up and struck his cheek close to his eye. A broken arrow shaft skidded away along the parapet.
Halli closed his eyes, ran three steps forward and jumped.
The fall was quick enough, but oddly fractured, so that there seemed an infinity of moments in which he hung suspended, legs pumping, arms spread wide, wind striking him from below, with his stomach lurching upwards against his teeth, and his bag and hair whipping out above him, and yet no time or space to come to terms with any of this before he hit the surface and the rushing dark exploded all around.
The air was ripped away and icy blackness swallowed him.
Everything ceased: rain, lights, bell, noise.
Eyes staring, hands aloft, Halli dropped silently into the moat's black space.
A FARMER UP IN Deepdale had three daughters and Svein went along to visit them with a view to taking a wife. He found them all to be handsome enough, with long sweet-smelling hair and sturdy hams. It was hard to choose between them.
Svein said: 'I am going up to the Trow king's hall. What shall I bring you?'
'Gold and silver,' said the eldest, 'so that I can wear it about my neck.'
'A cooking pot and ladle,' said the second. 'For mine have broken.'
The youngest smiled. 'Oh, just a pretty little flower from the moorside to gaze at while I think of you.'
Svein went off up to the hall. It was his second visit. This time he went in deeper than before, past the burning fire and the hanging bones, to the Trows' living quarters. They were all asleep in pores and fissures and he was able to kill a good many without difficulty. He saw a staircase leading down into the earth, but it was getting late, so he hunted about, found gold and silver, and a cooking pot and ladle, and left. On the moor he picked a flower. Then he came back and gave the daughters what they'd asked for.
'Have you made up your mind between us?' they said.
'Yes,' said Svein. 'You, the eldest, are clearly a vain sort of trollop, while you, the youngest, are appallingly fey. I'll pick you, the middle one, for your common-sense request.' So he went home with the middle sister, and she made him a very fine wife.
And that was Svein's second visit to the Trow king's hall.
III
14
SVEIN WASN'T QUITE SIXTEEN when his father died, but when he took charge people knew about it. The first thing he did was gather everyone in the yard.
'Take a look around you,' Svein said. 'What do you see? Cottages and cabbage fields, mud and manure. All that's going to change. I intend our House to be the greatest in the valley, and for that we need more lands. There are lots of other farms nearby, and we need to get them under our control. We'll take our swords now and go and persuade them.'
One of his men said: 'But we're not used to battle. All we know is farming.'
'That's another thing,' Svein said. 'Every night, when the Trows come prowling, you all cower under your beds. We'll have no more of that now I'm your leader. It's time for our enemies to fear our House.' He drew his sword. 'Any objections?'
No one had any objections. They went to get their weapons.
His ruse had not fooled them. Crouching low in the shadows of the gully, he heard the many-throated wail welling up beneath the rain, rolling over the wet slopes of the hillside and breaking on the crags above as the dogs came bounding and splashing up the stream. Turning his head, he pressed his face into the grass for a moment, willing himself to move. If he did not climb up and out of the gully now, they would very soon clear the rise and see him. He imagined the pack's speed, its hunger for the chase; he imagined the men following on behind, grim-faced, with their flails and scythes, their knives and lengths of rope. They would not go to the effort of bringing him back to the House now, not when they had come so far. They'd pick the first tree with a strong enough branch and have done with it.
He closed his eyes, pressing his head hard into the grass and mud, smelling its dark, sour smell. It would be easier not to run. They had been following him all day and now his knee was swollen; it had stiffened even in this short delay as he waited here under the leaden skies, hoping they would follow the false trail, the loop downstream. But they'd got the scent even through the water; now they were right on his heels again. Even if he ran, it could not be long before they brought him down. It would be easier to stay put.
Just below the rise, where the stream descended in a little series of waterfalls, a fresh volley of barks erupted. T
hat would be where he'd gashed his arm; they'd found the blood on the rock. The sound tore through fatigue, gave Halli purpose. He wrenched his head back, forcing himself to look up the gully side. It wasn't steep. He could do it, even with his knee. Grasping the grass with both hands, he hauled himself upwards. His bare feet slipped in wetness, his fingers stubbed against stones; he fell back a little way. Then his toes found purchase and he pushed up with greater force. The knee complained, but no worse than expected. Hand over hand, digging his fingers into the turf, Halli climbed the slope. A few moments later, oblivious to the scratches, he was pulling himself through hanging spirals of briar and bramble and out onto horizontal ground.
Ahead of him the ridge slope fell away to the west in a lumpen mess of dips and protruding rocks. Beyond rose a blue-grey mass, a blanket of trees draped, half folded, over the bones of the hill. A forest. A forest meant shelter. Better try for it than remain out in the open and be torn apart.
Stumbling, limping, Halli flung himself forward onto the open hillside.
A darker grey than the clouds behind, smoke threads from the burning House spread silently against the sky.
He had lost the first boot in the black stillness of the moat, somewhere between touching down on the soft, yielding mud and the final panicked kick that brought him upwards into air. It was already gone when his head broke surface into rain, as he flapped and floundered towards the edge, protected by darkness from the arrows. Away to his left, on the surface of the water, he saw a dancing square of reflected fire.
To begin with he thought he had evaded them, that they had stayed to fight the blaze. He had crossed several fields with that hope swelling in his breast, until he had climbed a little way and could properly look behind him. Then, from the lower slopes of the ridge, with grey dawn blooming above the sea and Hakon's House aflame, he saw the lights of the search party shifting and congregating beside the black disc of the moat and heard the hounds take up their cry.
Cairns up above, sea to the east: inevitably he would be driven west, back up the valley – and they had known this too. They had moved swiftly on the lower ground to cut him off, going by paths unknown to him. He had only recently crossed the shepherd's track into the bracken when the first outriders of the pack came rushing up and flung themselves, twisting and slavering, upon his scent. And that would have been the end, right there, if he hadn't stuffed his remaining boot deep between two rocks, as far down as he could push it, and splashed away across a stream. The respite saved him. While they worried away at the hole, howling, snarling, he climbed on, wading whenever he could through the little streams that ran like veins down to the sea.
But the day had worn on, and they had never lost his trail. And now Halli's resources were almost at an end.
Shortly before he reached the forest the pack burst out upon the hill. He knew from the frenzy in their barks that they had seen him. Trees or no trees, it was not long now.
He fell down a bank, under the spreading eaves of the edgemost oaks, to discover the first dry ground he had felt that day and – away to his right – a wooden post, marking a House boundary. The hero's features were lost beneath a covering of thick green moss, but part of the body was still free of it, and Halli thought he saw the faintest trace of purple dye upon the pitted wood as he stumbled by.
Purple meant Arne's lands, which meant—
No. The House would be far away. He would never reach it in time.
Halli ran blindly into the wood's dimness, ducking under branches, ripping through tangled wastes of dead brown ferns. His feet ploughed up gouts of fallen leaves, plunged into unexpected hollows, caught against root and thorn. He fell, rose and plunged on – only to fall again soon after. His weariness could no longer be overcome: soon, when he fell, he would not rise. Grasping a bough for support, he righted himself once more and started to negotiate another mass of bracken. On the third step, his leg gave way. He tumbled forward, hands outstretched – and found the ground falling away steeply before him. Head over heels down the slope he went, ferns bending, soil flying, over and over—
And out, suddenly, painfully, upon the level dirt and pebbles of a forest road.
Stones settled, ferns subsided. Halli no longer moved.
He lay where he was – on his back, legs sprawled, one knee bent – staring up at the net of branches above the road. The sky beyond was darkening to night. This made him smile a little: he had kept them going all day, which wasn't such a bad effort. But it was ending now. There was no point trying to prolong the inevitable. Get it over with. Have done.
He closed his eyes, waiting, listening . . .
Yes. Here they came.
Halli didn't bother to move or stir, or even pay much attention to the noise, so it was only when it was very close that he realized its distinctiveness. It wasn't dogs or a company of men, but a crisper, more solitary sound.
In a spirit of listless curiosity Halli raised his head a little and saw a single horse and rider trotting swiftly along the track through the gathering gloom.
There were purple sashes on the bridle.
With a guttural cry, Halli lifted a bloodied hand.
The rider squealed, the horse reared; its hooves made anxious patterns in the mud, not overly far from Halli's head.
Something in the squeal made Halli open his eyes wide. He stared up at the rider, at the slender silhouette outlined against the sky, and felt hope course sickeningly through him.
'Aud?' His voice was cracked, unrecognizable.
Rain began to patter on leaves. The horse shifted. Away in the forest the dogs were silent, but they would be close; they would not take long to find him.
The rider had given him the briefest of glances, then looked away. She flicked the reins; the horse moved forward, its front hooves stepping delicately over Halli's legs.
'Aud! It's me. Halli Sveinsson!' In despair he levered himself onto an elbow and tried to rise. 'Please! '
'Halli—?'The horse stopped. The girl gave a sudden laugh, short and sharp like a fox's bark. 'Great Arne, it is! What are you doing?' The voice was amused, but artificially so, with wariness and bafflement underlying.
He got slowly to his feet. 'I'm sorry to startle you.'
'The horse was startled. Not me. I squealed to calm it down.' Her hair was loose and damp with rain, her face paler than he remembered it, though perhaps it was the light. She sat rigid in the saddle, holding the reins ready. He sensed her thoughts racing. 'Great Arne,' she said abruptly, 'you look terrible. You're so thin.'
'Yes, well, I haven't eaten much recently.' A sound in the undergrowth, somewhere up the slope; he spun round, staring back into the forest shades. 'Listen—'
'By the smell of it you haven't washed either,' the girl said. 'Not for a long time. Did you see how the horse reared when she caught your scent? Last time she did that there was a dead bear in the path, and it didn't smell half as bad as you, though it must have been there a week at least. It was all swollen and sticky and covered in flies.'
'Yes. Aud—'
'What are you doing, Halli?' She spoke with something of the tart detachment he remembered from their first meeting in the orchard.
Halli looked behind him again. No time to waste, no time at all. Yet he knew he couldn't hurry her. He did not know her well enough to plead outright – if she was frightened or unnerved, she'd just ride off and leave him. 'Listen, Aud, it's hard to explain right now, but you remember you said I could come and visit you sometime? Well, I – I thought I'd take you up on the offer. But perhaps first we could—'
Aud stared suddenly up into the woods. 'What was that?'
Halli took a deep breath. 'Dogs. Hunting hounds. They're after me.'
'Who are?'
He hesitated. 'Some people.'
Aud Ulfar's-daughter considered him coolly, adjusting her hood, pulling her cloak tighter against the late afternoon chill. 'Some people?'
'That's right.'
A flick of fair hair had escaped a
braid and fallen over the side of her face. She blew it aside and looked at him. 'You wouldn't care to be more specific?'
Halli shuffled from one foot to another, staring agitatedly behind him. 'In truth it is something of a personal matter, which I would rather keep to myself than bandy to the four winds, but notwithstanding that I would be so extremely grateful if you could just help me out by—'
'How delightful for you,' Aud said abruptly. 'Well, I mustn't hold you up. No doubt you've many hours yet to run. May I suggest you limp away east again, out of Arnesson territory? I don't want blood spilled here. Goodbye.'
Again the horse moved forward; this time Halli flung himself bodily in front of it, speaking at great speed. 'It's the Hakonssons!' he cried. 'All of them, or most! If they catch me, they'll string me from the highest tree! Aud, help me now and I vow I'll be for ever in your debt!'
She raised her eyebrows then; a grin flickered on her face. 'I must say I'm intrigued. What did you do this time to make them quite so angry?'
Somewhere in the trees at the top of the rise a cacophony of barking erupted, peaked and fragmented as the hounds rushed on. Halli clasped his hands together in what he hoped was a decisive, manly and yet subtly imploring gesture. 'Please, I'll tell you everything, only not right now . . .'
Down the slope the pack ran, slipping, tumbling, snapping at fresh scent.
Aud scratched her chin. 'Well . . .'
The leaders were hustling through the ferns.
'. . . All right, then. Hop on.' She reached out a hand and swung him up. With a tug of the reins the horse was away and galloping, just as the first dogs fell out onto the road.
Night fell; the moon rose, softly illuminating the rushing trees. The side of Halli's head bounced repeatedly against Aud's shoulder, and her hair flicked back and forth against his face. He bore it well.
At last the horse's canter slowed. Halli looked up. Ahead, amid a dark circlet of trees, rose the outlines of a House – smaller than Hakon's; bigger, he thought, than Svein's, though without the surrounding wall. A cluster of buildings, lit with merry coloured lights, bright, joyful and welcoming. In the centre rose an elegant hall, illuminated windows running down its length. Faintly on the air Halli smelled good things to eat, and his heart leaped at the thought of feather pillows, hot water and well-stocked banquet tables.
Heroes of the Valley Page 16