The Anvil of Ice

by Michael Scott Rohan

  Then the breeze slackened, and they blessed the mist as it fell again. There was no alarm, no hail of challenge, no creak of catapult winders; the watch had not noticed them. Kermorvan grabbed Elof by the shoulder. "Into the bows, you and Maile, and listen out well! There was one running in toward the shore, we can take him right now if we're quick! Boarding party, arm! Helm—"

  Elof scrambled back to his perch with Maile the bosun on his heels, and they hung there listening, relaying whispered commands back to the helm as dark outlines loomed out of the mist around them. A faint thudding rhythm drummed through the hull under them, and the rise and fall of the oars quickened in time with it, the bows leaped and plunged hissing through the dark smooth ocean. The corsair craft weaved on an insane race through the fleet, slipping under bows and bouncing over wash. "Aft, Maile," said Kermorvan's voice from behind them, "and to your post! We're through the thick of them now, and on his heels. Hear?"

  Ahead of them now was a deeper, slower sweep of oars, the slow rumble of a drum and harsh voices chanting. Something or somebody was not chanting but wailing, on a high rising note of utter misery. Old memories rose bitter in Elof's throat. He turned to Kermorvan. "Well? Where shall I—" He stopped in astonishment.

  In the figure that stood there he saw nothing of Kermorvan. A high helm of dully gleaming metal, richly worked, reared on his head, and below it a mask visor in the form of a face, regal and proud but with a dire rage and cruelty in its slanted eyes and flared nostrils. A shining steel collar circled the throat, and below that a casing of dark mail from head to toe, set with plates at shoulder, arm and knee, and bound about with a great belt of leather bearing axe and long dagger; a long fur cloak hung from his shoulders, mailed boots covered his feet and steel gauntlets ringed with heavy faceted studs covered his hands, in which a great two-handed sword stood bare. Only mouth and chin were left clear of the metal, and the set of the thin lips accorded well with the vicious mask above. Like the statue of some war good brought to life in that fell mist he seemed, or some deadly machine of destruction. Even his voice was tinged with metal. "They grow bold indeed, those eaters of mansflesh. They amble home, where once they would have fled." He paced forward, wrapping the cloak about him to muffle the ring of the mail. "Nevertheless they will be ready to fight quickly enough, and they have one deadly way to meet our attack. The very blades of their sweeps are set with steel edges, and kept sharp, so they can be swung along the gunwales of a foe alongside, with terrible effect. No boarding party can pass—unless a way through is cut at once, before their archers can muster. A murderous task, standing and hacking at those sweeps—for that you need a strong sword and a stern will. I know, for I took that post in our last attacks, and many perished because I could not lead the boarding party. Will you now take it?"

  Elof looked at him, and after a second he nodded. "Where must I stand?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. Kermorvan led him a little way aft, to where ten crewmen were gathering, bearing all manner of blades and axes, but wearing as armor only light steel caps and studded leather jerkins, many of Ekwesh type, and small round shields. He could see how many might die without a fully armed man to lead them aboard.

  "We have armor for you, if you will—no? Then there's your post," the hard mouth whispered. "Up on the gunwales with you the moment we strike, and keep a hold on the for'ard shrouds here. Two sweeps at least we need cut away, a third if you can manage. Then follow us, or stay to fight off any who try to board us in turn. But hopefully we will keep them too busy for that little trick! So—we are ready. Hold tight now, all of you." The mask glared out into the mist, then aft to the tiller. "Are we within range of her, skipper? Very well, then. Rowers, to ramming speed."

  The words were quiet, but there was a greater shout in them. The drumming on the deck grew louder, faster, and the rowers flung themselves forward on their oars, and back, gasping in great breaths as their backs strained, till the whole ship seemed to blow like one vast seabeast. It bounded forward, the serpent-head reared up at the prow in imitation of its terrible original, and the mist flew by them in shredded streamers. A mad exaltation seized Elof, and though he knew the risk, he sprang up to the gunwales, wrapping an arm round the deadeye, to see his bright ram-skeg go hissing across the water, like some vast arrow fired at the high inchoate wall of black and white that loomed up clearer and clearer ahead. Then the bow wave under it swelled suddenly and steepened, runneled between the two hulls—

  The mist exploded upward, and a giant hand plucked at his legs and lifted him off the gunwales; the deck dropped away from under him like a gallows floor. For an instant he hung from the deadeye by one arm, frantically clutching his sword, then the deck swooped up to meet him again with a jarring, stinging impact. He reeled and saw a vast flat serpent-head rise and strike at him; he hewed wildly at its neck, there was a splintering of wood, and the sharp-edged sweep dropped away. He spun round on the shroud, leaned out as far as he dared and hacked down on the next sweep. The shaft cracked and was driven downward to jam against the planks of the corsair ship, splintering there as both vessels rose in the swell. He was just swinging back to the other sweep when the shroud was plucked like a harpstring in his hand and a figure swept past him from above, leaping into the gap he had opened and crashing down on the rail of the Ekwesh ship. With a cry of "Morvan morlanhal!" Kermorvan swung his huge blade, and Elof saw two black-clad bodies bounce over the rail and slither down into the boiling water. Behind him grapples were flung, hooked on, and the corsairs went swarming across to where he cleared a space. Then the next sweep lanced violently forward, and Elof barely managed to swing his legs up under him before it crashed into the deck where they had been, planing great swaths from the planking. His boots slammed down on the haft, jamming the blade deep in the deck, and he severed the head with a blow. On the Ekwesh rail above came a chorus of yells and screams, and he stared up unbelieving as a charge of Ekwesh warriors washed over the boarding party and broke in eddies of disarray against Kermorvan's sword. Now the masked figure was running forward, the boarders behind him in an arrowhead, and against the huge sword nothing stood, not shield or blade or the bodies of men; Kermorvan cloved a clear path down the flank of the ship to the stern, out of sight.

  Elof saw an Ekwesh archer scramble up on the foredeck for a clear mark, then be pitched overboard, skewered on an arrow shot from the corsair's stern. But another arrow sang down, one of the rowers coughed and sagged over his oar, and the others ducked, still pulling away at their killing pace. Archers were gathering behind the high rail, ready to fan the corsair with arrows and cut off the boarders. "Time we was 'opping, sir smith!" bellowed the captain. He yelled something to his own archers and bounded across the gap. He barely made it, hung by his hands; two Ekwesh moved to shoot, and fell with arrows in their throats as he clambered up.

  Shocked as Elof was by the bloodshed, something boiled over in him now; he scrabbled up the shroud till he was above the milling Ekwesh deck, waited a moment as the ships rose and fell, then sprang. An arrow grazed his side as he leaped, he landed but fell askew and lost his sword. A dark-robed shape loomed up over him, he rolled aside and a blade clove the deck by his ear. He kicked out hard, the robe collapsed like a tent, and he had his sword and stabbed down hard. The robe doubled up around it, convulsed once with a dreadful choking yell and was still. He staggered up, staring appalled, fascinated at the gouts of scarlet on the black metal; he, he had shed it, here was his revenge! And then an Ekwesh with a spear was running at him; he saw the spear rise and fall in remembered butchery and cut violently at it. The spear flew asunder around him, its wielder stood an instant with a wide scarlet seam the length of his hide breastplate, then fell bubbling in a heap.

  Torn between horror and exultation, Elof staggered drunkenly down the pitching deck; the Ekwesh ship was being driven relentlessly away from the rest of the fleet as the corsair rowers kept up their thrust, and more and more of the Ekwesh oarsmen had to leave their oars to fight. High on the
sterncastle, bodies of archers strewn around him, stood Kermorvan now, a terrible figure in mail that ran scarlet, raining blows on the Ekwesh who came boiling up from below decks, to be hewn down before they could even join the struggle. Others clambered up through the rowing benches, but were caught by the corsairs as they reached the main deck. The air quivered with weapons clashing, the corsairs' hoarse warcries and the jarring howls of the Ekwesh. Blood pooled on the deck, greasy and slippery underfoot, and Elof saw the headless body of a warrior go skidding right across it and tumble through a hatchway; hysterical screaming erupted from beneath. Suddenly he was back in the ruins of Asenby, with the old Headman dead at his feet and the women howling around him, being weighed up by those terrible eyes—and then the eyes were there before him, yellow and blazing with insensate hatred. With a horror of madness he lashed out at them. Something bit burning into his shoulder, he saw a dark-robed figure go cartwheeling and spinning away down the deck, thin limbs flying in all directions, and only then knew he had struck down a real man, and no mere illusion. The sword that had grazed his shoulder clattered at his feet and went rolling after its wielder, who lay sprawled against the base of the sterncastle. Elof stumbled forward and reached the sterncastle just as Kermorvan came clattering down the ladders, brandishing his sword, broken halfway down the blade, and hailed him. "That's that! She's ours!"

  Elof moved past him and turned over the figure of the man he had struck. The eyes glared back at him, wide open and alive for all the great cut that had disabled his leg. "A chieftain, by his robe," said Kermorvan, lifting it casually on his broken swordpoint. Something clattered at the man's belt, long as a dagger, and Elof stooped swiftly to snatch it away. But as the cold thing touched his fingers, he stared in utter amazement. A crook-headed shaft of bronze metal it was, a broad ring hooked through its lower end, the strange, rich patterns and characters on it half worn to glossy smoothness by the passage of many hands, many years. He knew it so well, yet saw it now with altered eyes. He clutched it tight, that well-remembered thing, and the wash of cold yellow flame within seemed to shine between his fingers, to tingle against them, so strong was it. Had the old Ekwesh also perceived something, and kept it for that, as something numinous?

  "This…" gasped Elof. "It came from my town… he was the animal who sacked it!"

  "And many others, no doubt. We'll bind this carrion and take him aboard alive, lads. I would have words with him, and we have no time now!"

  "All 'ands to unloading!" roared the captain. "Move yer scuts, d'you want another shipload of these 'ere savages about our ears? Strip this rat-pit from stem to stern!"

  The corsairs scuttled this way and that, picking up discarded weapons and armor, stripping the dead of ornaments and prising up the grilles that covered the hold hatchways. Kermorvan took no part in this, but went slowly to the rail, leaned on it and fumbled to unfasten his helm with blood-greased fingers. Elof, hooking the goad to his belt, undid the fastening for him, and Kermorvan sighed gratefully as he slid the mask off; it had left a deep bruised score in his face. "Kerys! That was sickening!" he said, licking dry lips.

  "You looked to be enjoying yourself," muttered Elof, trying with trembling fingers to scrape the blood off his own sword.

  "So might you in the exercise of your craft and mystery," said Kermorvan thinly, "forgetting for a moment where the sword you make may find a sheath! I am no berserk; I am glad to have returned these beast-folk their own physic in full measure, good weight, yes! But joy in it as they do, no. This is a larger ship than ever we have taken before, and more heavily crewed—by Hel, what's that?"

  There was a sudden outbreak of noise from below decks, where most of the corsairs were forging, and Elof remembered the screams he had heard. But before either of them could reach the main hatch there was a trampling of feet, and a horde of women spilled on deck—fair-skinned women, evidently sothrans, with one or two children clutched among them. At the sight of Kermorvan in his gory armor they stopped short, almost toppling lastcomers back into the hold, shrieked again and huddled together. He looked almost as confused, gestured helplessly and began trying to explain to them that they were safe and would be taken back home. It was his red hair and clear voice that calmed them, more than anything he said, and the firm way he ordered the corsairs to look after them; they seemed almost as frightened of the corsairs as of the Ekwesh. At last all twenty-two women were lowered one by one into the corsair ship, some shrieking and struggling in the rope harness; they were simple folk from farming villages, and most had never been in a boat before the raiders had seized them. Great bales of plunder were lowered after them, and last of all the old chieftain; some of the bolder women mobbed him as he was bundled down, clawing, kicking and spitting. Then Kermorvan swung himself down into the corsair's bows. Two crewmen brought spearshafts forward; with them and Elof he levered the ram free of the shattered timbers, and the two ships bobbed apart.

  "So easily freed!" he marveled. "But it bit deep as a daggertooth! And not a mark on it, not a tine bent out of place—smith, may I never mock your mumblings again!"

  But Elof was looking up at the Ekwesh deck, where a dull red glow was rising. The captain bellowed at the rowers, and they pulled away, but before they had gone two strokes' distance flames crackled into the Ekwesh rigging, burned around the mast and licked at the furled sail. They pulled harder for all their weariness, afraid of sparks in their own tarry rigging, and as the hulk retreated in the mist they saw the bindings flare and the high sail come crashing down, to vanish in an instant in a sheet of fire. "I hope the Devourer likes his meat cooked!" said Ker-morvan drily. "I found fire burning in some kind of shrine upon the sterncastle, carefully enclosed in metal and brick. What smoked there as an offering I will leave unsaid. I kicked it over. Now let them search!"

  "But you want other ships!" said Elof. "If you capture these—"

  "I cannot use them, and nobody would buy such things. I might infiltrate a fleet more easily, but after the fighting I need smaller, faster craft like this—ten, fifteen oars a side, not thirty! Craft that can outrun the Ekwesh for short stretches, as we must do now, yet carry goods and men enough!" He grimaced. "And women. I foresee trouble, before all's done!"

  But despite his misgivings, the women seemed to settle down well enough, more so perhaps because they had no homes to go back to. The corsairs, too, were quiet, for they had the exhaustion of battle and of rowing to keep them so. But great stores of supplies had been captured from the Ekwesh, and they were promising themselves a feast ashore. Six had been slain, another two had wounds they would die of, but the rest were luxuriating in the sheer joy of being yet alive. Kermorvan and Elof and the skipper took their turns at the oars with the rest, and they kept up a fair speed. They had to row for some hours through the mists, but at last these thinned and blew away, and they were able to hoist sail and make northward for another of their secret landings, a small hidden cove among the tall cliffs of a bay, invisible from seaward. Then Kermorvan called crewmen to take his oar and Elof's, and went aft to where the Ekwesh chief lay bound, guarded from the women's spite by a corsair too wounded to row: One woman plucked at Kermorvan's sleeve as he passed. "Sire, let us at him! Please! He…" She choked. "There was all our menfolk, even the little ones—took us off aship with our daughters—mine only ten—and then that one, he, he came and he took…"

  Kermorvan looked at Elof. There was no girl of that age among the women, had been none anywhere on the ship. Gently he detached the sobbing woman's hand. "He lives only to tell what he knows. You have looked on horror enough; I am sorry. I will see justice done for you, as befits my station."

  "I, or you," he added to Elof as they waved away the guard. "For you have a score also to settle with this creature."

  Elof shook his head. "You may have the high justice; I do not. And, whatever else, I see a sick old man." He stooped over him to loosen his bonds, and was spat at for his pains.

  "You—you I remember now!" He spoke the Sothran to
ngue quite clearly, as if he had been taught. "Many years, but I forget not… Brat the great shaman took…" He leered horribly, and his breath wheezed in his throat. "Should—have slain you then, eaten your liver—and him also, may he rot! For he has brought me to this, me and my clan!"

  "What," said Kermorvan in grim perplexity, "just by sparing this one's life?"

  "No, fool!" gasped the old man. He seemed to seethe with his grievance, and be only too willing to spit the venom of it at any who would listen. "Great warrior, even you will learn! Face him, and learn… I am no fool! Would not have come south so far, so soon, but at his behest! Foolish counsel, while so much fat on bones of Northland! Too far, too soon, too little force…"

  "Then why did you obey this man's behest?" asked Kermorvan quietly, kneeling down beside him. "Is he of a powerful clan?"

  "Clans!" The laugh was like nails scratched on slate. "He destroys clans—lowers chieftains—brings old ways of Aika' iya-wahsa down! Would have us unite with Otter, Eagle, Frog, our old foes, to crush by the force of many, like the Ice… Some will do it—I say never, many I speak for—till he wields his power, and then all is night, the heads bow before him… Fear none dare resist… Blade that never strikes a blow… My curse upon it, and the curses of all the ancestors of my clan, upon him, upon you, filth that you are—dung of the dog, beach carrion, couplers with animals—Mai-yehsa' sekaw'hai …" The chieftain's voice cackled and crowed away into mumbling in his own tongue.

  "Where was your fleet headed next?" demanded Ker-morvan. "Straight for home?"

  But the chief refused to speak any but his own tongue, even with Kermorvan's sword at his throat, though he still stared around at them all with quick turns of the head and fierce yellow eyes, exactly like an ancient buzzard. He had had his say, and turned stubborn and silent the moment he was asked a question. "Pain will not move this one!" said Kermorvan at last. "Better make an end of it now. Elof, you have no more to ask of this old serpent—Elof?"