From the passage the hersir in his gorgeous panoply was advancing alone, with dignity, and yet almost at a run. We soon saw that it was Smider. His glance, alert and commanding, swept the terrace and fixed upon the remnant of the horde, crumbling fast over the edge of the precipice. A grim smile lighted his stern features. He turned quickly in his course and bounded up beside us. At a word from him, the saluting warriors rushed down to join their comrades. We had no further need of a shieldburg.
In an instant I was up to clasp my foster-brother. Flushed and eager with heartfelt joy, he crushed me in a second bear-hug; then, kneeling, he kissed the foreheads of the maidens.
"Good tidings, brother!" he shouted. "I hurried before, to join the battle. The others come after with Bera and the Hammer-drott."
Thyra clasped the hersir's hand.
"We thank the Father," she murmured. "He brought you safe to our rescue."
"It was almost too late," said Jofrid, and she gazed longingly at the passage.
"True, brother," I added; "the maiden speaks true. But for our learning of the Orm secret, we should all have perished."
"That I feared. Yet none can be blamed for loitering. I journeyed with all speed to the Giol, and there I found the bridge strand cast loose by the dwerger. So I must travel far around by Vergelmer. Yet I reached Updal in good time, and the Allthing speedily sent me forth, hersir of the host. We marched at hunters' pace, and should have covered the journey a ring sooner. But in the heart of the forest, mammoth herds blocked the Fire Street. We had to build rafts and pass around through the swamps. Then we rushed on, and all else fled before us. We halted a little way off, while forerunners went forward to spy out the terrace. They brought tidings of the Thorling battle, and we, greatly rejoiced, rushed in to aid the forestmen. But my heart turned to water, when, charging through the archway, we beheld the Thorling slaughter.
"I thought you had perished. A Thorling woman told how the beast-men had followed you into the Orm-ring. We drove the horde back beyond the altar, and, mad for vengeance, I led a chosen band into the Orm-ring. Beast-men streamed up from the Orm-caves. We ran down whence they came, slaying all as we passed, and so chanced upon the maidens and Balderston and Rolf, down below the Fafnir cave. The swart carl had but remounted the stairway to tell that your light was near, when you rushed after."
Chapter XXII. The Pyre.
Two rings had passed, and the Rune host yet lingered on the blood-stained terrace. But Fafnir had yielded up his treasure. Hundreds of art-lovers, skilled and strong, had, after careful measurements and numbering, removed all the panes of crystal glass from the dome of the Orm ring. Others removed the supporting columns, and slung their divided sections to poles, ready for transport. Even many of the blood-stone panels, selected for the beauty of their gold-inlaid figures, had been torn from the walls of the Vala's bower. The purpose was to reconstruct the dome in Biornstad, with a bronze frame.
The massive gold spider-web was left in place, for not all the host of Updal could have borne it away. The spider-web of the torture chamber, however, with its wondrous burden of jewelled insects, was cut out in sections and brought up, together with such of the lighter furniture and exquisite jewelled flower panels as had escaped the insensate fury of the dwerger. Even more precious than this were the jewelled bowls of the Orm eyes.
When at last the stream of treasure ceased to flow out from the Orm-ring, another stream poured back in. Thousands of waiting workers crowded through the passage with burdens of white brush and crimson logs. Half up to the gigantic gold web of the dismantled dome they heaped the court with fuel. Then others followed, bearing sorrowfully the bodies of the Thorling dead. Last of all, three hundred slain Runemen were carried to the great pyre.
As the last corpse was born up the red altar, we grouped ourselves about Thord on the shattered Orm-head. Wan and hollow-eyed with suffering, the giant lay stretched upon a litter, one splint-bound ankle extending beyond its footless mate. Henceforth he was to be a cripple. The utmost of my skill had barely saved the other foot. Yet the man's indomitable spirit rose above the loss and the anguish of his injuries. Already he was planning his work Hammer-drott - such time as he had thought to spare from Bera.
His eye. strangely softened, were now fixed upon the Thorling princess, who stood bowed with grief, in the midst of her people, - the scant remnant of the once powerful forest-folk. Smider, near by, was addressing the Thorlings, and the pauses in his eloquent speech were filled with the clash of shields from the encircling bands of Runemen. He was urging the forest-folk to become children of the Rune.
A tremendous din of steel and welcoming shouts followed the hersir's speech; but the Thorlings stood silent and gave no sign until Bera had spoken.
"Warriors of the Rune," she said, "in the name of a harried and broken host, I give thanks for this offer. If I know the hearts of my people, I can answer that no Thorling craves to linger in wretched solitude on the bloody plain where his kin and folk fell to the ravening beast-men. It is my wish that they accept your generous offer; yet they are a free people, and now without a chosen leader. Set up the Arch of Odin, and such as are willing will pass under."
"How of yourself, maiden?" questioned Smider.
"That is yet to be seen, replied Bera, and she stared about her with uncertain look. Thord groaned at the answer; - what of her love, if she doubted how to act? I felt Thyra's hand tighten its clasp, as her heart throbbed in sympathy with the Icelander's anxiety. But Jofrid turned from Balderston with a smile of bright promise.
"Have no fear, Smiter of the Snake," she said. "Though despair has seized upon Bera's heart, all will be well with you."
"That I doubt," muttered Thord, and he stared gloomily down upon the terrace, one huge hand tugging at his fiery beard.
From among the Rune warriors, four skalds with headless spears had stepped forward and set up the shafts on the terrace, the pointless tips bound together by a peace-thong. Already the Thorlings were forming in line to pass beneath the Arch of Odin. But Bera did not lead them. For a little she lingered beside a group of maimed warriors who stood, stern and silent, eying their departing fellows with ill-concealed contempt. Soon, however, she turned from these grim watchers, and passed quickly by the Rune host and on across the terrace to her brother's castle. Through the broken gateway of the out-wall, we could see her turn at the entrance of the keep and gaze back at us. Then she disappeared in the gloomy recess of the massive arch.
What might be the woman's purpose?.... We stared across at the huge pile in silent anxiety. Presently Thord uttered an exclamation and pointed with shaking finger at the castle tower.
"Smoke!" I muttered.
"The castle is afire!" cried Balderston. "She has set fire to her home. Let us hasten to drag her cut!"
"Stay!" commanded Jofrid. "There is no need. She comes of her own will. She has another thought than that."
"She comes!" repeated Thord, and we saw the woman rush out upon the terrace, a blazing torch in her hand. Behind her volumes of black smoke poured from every door and loophole of the castle.
"Now I know! exclaimed Thyra. "She is minded that none shall linger in this dreadful place. All must now come with us to Updal."
Thord shook his head.
"Yonder are warriors who will not come," he said. "Look; they laugh to see the smoke roll out from the castle; yet none pass through, the spear-arch. All others have gone under - they still stand apart - and Bera joins them!"
"You have read their purpose aright," replied Jofrid. "Now they turn to climb the altar, and Bera follows with her torch."
"Harken!" whispered Thyra, and she drew close to me, shuddering.
Slowly the maimed warriors were mounting the crimson steps, their grim faces alight with wild joy; and as they passed to their doom, they chanted exultingly a fierce song of Ragnarok. One by one, they clambered up the altar, through the passage and up the corpse-strewn pyre, and as each man reached the summit of the ghastly heap, he flung him
self upon his sword.
Last of all came Bera, in one hand a sword, in the other the blazing torch. She looked neither to one side nor the other. Her eyes were fixed and staring, her powerful features rigid with stern resolve. Already she was passing us without a sign, when Thord raised himself up on his litter and cried out in bitter despair: "Bera, stay! - Turn to me, Bera!" The woman faltered, but she did not turn.
"I go to my people," she answered mournfully. "The slain call upon me to join them."
Thord raised his clenched fist overhead.
"Come, then, and bear me to the pyre," he commanded. "Does Bera believe I crave this life - when she goes hence?... Come, dear one! You bore me from the dwerger, - bear me now to the pyre."
The giantess panted. Slowly she turned about until her grief-stricken gaze rested upon the Icelander.
"I cannot do your bidding!" she cried. "You have much to live for. Before you is power, and renown greater than yet you have won. But I - I am the last of a broken people. The heroes call me to join their band. Why should I falter? - Where the grey leaders have shown the way, should the queen of the pack shrink to follow? And what is this life, that I should fetter my free spirit with the bonds of the Rune? Can I, Bera of the Orm, stoop to Odin's Arch?"
"Talk not of Rune bonds," answered Thord, his voice full of scornful reproach. "It is another cause that turns Bera from love and life. Rather than wed a maimed man, she seeks death."
Beneath the sting of the cruel taunt, the woman quivered as though Thord had struck her. That he should doubt her love was more than she could bear. With a wild cry, she flung down both torch and sword, and sprang to the side of her hero. Kneeling, she bowed her head beneath his extended hand, and her bosom heaved with bitter sobs. She gave no heed to Jofrid's quick cry - "Take heart, Bera. There is great joy before you."
But then Thord's great arms drew her to him, and she was comforted.
"Bera is fettered, even as another one I know," I whispered, and Thyra hid her face against my shoulder.
"Dis heah coon's mighty 'spicious dat 'gratulashums am in o'dah," observed Sergeant Black. Apt as was the remark, none answered. Our attention 'as fixed on Smider.
The hersir came quickly up the altar steps to the spot where Bera's torch lay flickering.
"Bear up the Hammer-drott," he commanded. Rolf and I grasped the foot of the litter, but Bera herself took the head. As we aised our burden, Smider whirled the torch about his head, and handed it, flaring, to Thord.
"The host forms in marching order," he said. "All now awaits the end. Take the brand, Smiter of the Snake; for yours is the honour of lighting the pyre."
The Icelander hesitated and glanced around at Bera. But at sight of her face, he grasped the torch and drew himself up in the litter. His deep voice rolled out over the terrace, mellow with joy and triumph.
"Behold, Men of the Rune! - behold how I honour the Snake! The hand which has smitten the Orm, now makes him an urn for the heroes!"
With the words, the torch was hurled from the giant's grasp into the brush-strewn passage. Where it fell flames leaped up; then whirled forward as the draught swept them down the passage in under the pyre.
Smider raised his sword overhead, and the host, with a joyful shout, wheeled about for the homeward march. Fylki after fylki, the spoil-laden warriors swept past below us, across the terrace and out through the lofty archway.
From the rearmost company warriors chosen to bear Thord's litter turned aside and mounted the altar. Already they had taken their burden from us - they were wheeling to descend, when, without a moment's warning, blank darkness fell upon the terrace. The great torch on the Nida Mountains was extinguished.
Bewildered by the sudden change, we stared blinking about us. Pale tongues of flame were flickering up from the pyre, and across the terrace the fire shone with a lurid glare through the smoke of the burning castle, but neither lightened the dense night. Half frightened, we sought to grope our way down from the altar, but Bera called upon us to stay.
"Hold!" she cried. "There will soon be light."
Expectantly we turned to the North and peered out into the blackness that rose like a wall from the abyss. We had not long to wait. As suddenly as it had vanished, the far-off torch flared up again through the night with redoubled brilliance, but now its hue was no longer crimson, - it was as vividly blue as the blue coruscations of electricity.
Spellbound by the mystery, we stared in mute wonder until Jofrid broke the silence.
"The blood-rings are ended!" she cried, and as the flames of the pyre roared aloft between us and the blue light, the girl drew herself away from Balderston's arms. Swiftly the flames streamed skyward, a mighty, whirling pillar of fire. We shrank back, but Jofrid faced the roaring pyre with all the calm dignity of her valaship. A glad light shone in the grey eyes as their gaze followed the flames towards the mist-veiled heavens, and her freed spirit voiced its happiness in a chant of solemn joy-
"Behold the doom of the Snake!
The power of the dragon is broken.
No more shall men bow to the evil -
Nidhug has torn his last victim.
"Up from the pit wends the Rune host,
Back to the sun and the green-land;
Out of the evil and darkness,
Up to the land of the Father."
The End
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