Now the Drōkh was upon them, wicked tulwar glittering in the moonlight. Like a Rutch it looked, but with straighter limbs, and greater bulk and height, Man sized; still it was swart of skin and yellow eyed, with ears flaring outward like bat wings. And Drōkha are skilled with weaponry, unlike the smaller Rutcha, who depend upon sheer numbers to o’erwhelm a foe. And this Drōkh sought to skewer Elyn upon his long, curved blade.
Darting, the Warrior Maid kept the horse between her and the foe, feinting first this way and then that, as Wind snorted bloodscent and jigged sidle steps, straining back, prancing in fear at the end of a tether, the Drōkh ducking and bobbing on the opposite side of the mare, catching glimpses of his quarry through the grey’s dancing legs, seeking a way to get at the Woman.
And Elyn could not get to her saber, for it was on the side with the Drōkh. And a tulwar in skilled hands could easily defeat a dagger; and if she threw and missed. .
Suddenly, the Warrior Maid lunged for the tether and grasped it, her sharp blade slashing through the line, cutting the wrenching mare free as the Wrg leapt forward, tulwar whistling, hacking downward.
Desperately, Elyn dove aside, hitting the ground hard, rolling, crying out, “V’ttacku, Vat! Doda!”
Snarling, the Drōkh sprang forward, his curved blade raised for the final blow. . and died as Wind’s flailing hooves crushed the back of his skull, the mare trampling upon his smashed-down corpse, the grey obeying the Warrior Maiden’s shouted battle command “Attack, Wind! Kill!”
At Elyn’s sharp whistle, Wind stopped plunging, stopped rearing up and smashing down upon this dead enemy, stopped her lunging and stood, the whites of her eyes showing, nostrils flared and snorting, legs atremble-but still she stood. The Princess leapt astride, pulling the spear from its straps, intent upon lancing Wrg from horseback. But she needn’t have bothered, for when she looked up she saw the Dwarf come running, bloody axe in hand, ready to aid if need be, his two Hrōks lying dead in ever-widening pools of dark grume.
Gazing up at this Warrior Woman in the moonlight, “You fight well, Rider,” he rasped grudgingly.
“And you, too, Dwarf,” she replied.
Perhaps. .
Perhaps. .
The same thought crossed both their minds.
Suddenly Elyn shivered. Someone just stepped on my grave-the saying came unbidden to her consciousness. But she knew that the tremble had instead come from the feeling that an unseen malevolence watched.
“Look, Dwarf, you said it yourself: ‘Evil comes afoot in the dark.’ Two nights now we’ve been attacked. Perhaps we should ride a ways together.”
“Look yourself, Woman,” growled the Dwarf, “you are a Rider. I can never be your comrade-”
“Rach!” Elyn spat. “Forget it, Dwarf! I should have-”
“Hold!” the Dwarf shouted her down. “Fool Woman! List to me ere you caterwaul! I deem we must ride some distance together. I would fain have it elsewise, but I ken something evil indeed is afoot, and we have little choice. Much as I mislike it, this truce between us must stand for another night. Even so, do not make the mistake of thinking of me as a comrade, for that I will never be.”
“Comrade! I? I think of you as a comrade?” Elyn’s voice rose in incredulous disbelief. Then she flared, “One more night, Dwarf! That’s all!”
Angrily Elyn dismounted, and began jamming items into her saddlebags. “And another thing, Dwarf-don’t call me ‘fool Woman’ ever again; I am a Warrior Maiden; I am Elyn.”
As they glared at one another, the belligerent silence between them stretched thin. . to be broken at last:
“And this jackass is named Thork,” gritted the Dwarf.
And so, bristling with hostility, Elyn and Thork gathered up their belongings and quenched the fire; and without a backward glance at the slain Drōkha, they set forth once more in an easterly direction, two mismatched silhouettes riding unto the rising Moon.
CHAPTER 7
Spring, 3E1601
[Last Year]
Each of the four Dragonships-Longwyrm, Surfbison, Foamelk, and Wavestrider-was beached on the shallow spit of land at the very root of the fjord. Amid a hubbub, a great number of Fjordsmen boarded, sixty or seventy to a boat, warriors all, each bearing arms and armor and a sea chest of clothing and other personal goods. These were raiders, and were bound upon a mission of revenge, yet would bear the Harlingar to the shores of the Land where lay the Vanadurin’s goal, ere sailing onward to extract a payment for a deed most foul done to them.
Supplies were loaded-mainly food and water. Yet, to the puzzlement of the Fjordsmen, each ship’s cargo included a small, disassembled waggon, as well as an extraordinary amount of sailcloth. Blocks and tackle were carried aboard, coils of rope, buckets and tools, and bundles and bags containing unknown stores, all borne here by Vanadurin packhorse. Lastly, Harlingar and horses were taken aboard, ten to a Dragonship-Elgo leading Shade up the ramp and down again, into the ship Longwyrm, with Ruric and Flint following after. There, too, were led sturdy tarpan ponies, two aboard each longboat, all the steeds gathered into ship’s center, separated one from the other by slender poles affixed thwartwise from wale to wale. These simple wooden-shaft stalls were common to the Dragonships, for the Fjordsmen oft’ used mounts when foraying inland from distant beaches across the water, and a total of forty horses and eight ponies spread among the four ships was not exceptional.
As each ship was laden to the full, crew and passengers alike, crowding the deck, moved to the stern, unweighting the bow, and amid groans and grunts and good-natured oaths, Men from the stad slid each ship backwards, shoving the prow off the spit and into the brine.
Finally, all four ships were afloat, ready to begin the voyage. And amid the cheering of the stadfolk ashore, Captains shouted orders and oars were manned; steerboards were pressed hard over as one side hauled fore whilst the other backed water, and the ships swung slowly about till their fierce carven visages pointed toward the distant curve of the fjord, aiming for the Boreal Sea beyond. Sails were unfurled, and each beitass set, the whisker poles trimming the square to catch what wind blew down in the sheltered fjord.
Then, majestically, in file, with Longwyrm leading and Surfbison trailing, amid the creak of oar in lock and the plash of blade in water, the four great Dragonships slid through the black bight and down to the sea.
And as they rounded the bend, young Reynor, filled near to bursting with the promise of the quest, raised his black-oxen horn to his lips and blew a blast that flew out to the sheer walls of the cleft and slapped back as if echoing peals from nearby companions. So too did all the Harlingar sound their horns, and they set the fjord to ringing with their fierce calls, until at last the ships came down through the ebon mouth of the inlet and out upon the darkling deep.
Day and night the four longboats raced across the surface of the great Boreal Sea, sails filled flush by the following winds, running like sleek Wolves upon the sapphire tides.
These four ships were the greatest of all the Fjordsmen’s Dragonboats, and never before had they plied the sea together. Yet ’twas young Reynor who had gathered this pack, riding through the harsh coastal winter to bring the Captains sailing to Skaldfjord that spring, with a payment of gold and a promise of more.