The next day the dragon ships rowed into the harbor and were beached on the sand while Lord Thordis and all his men waded ashore.
"Where is the town of the Wolves?" Thordis cried. "Only two nights ago we saw a large Balar burning on the mountains, so the Wolves must have been here then, yet now, in some way, they are gone. I thought we would find riches here, men to kill and women to pleasure in. Is it possible we landed at the wrong harbor?"
"This should be the place,” his son answered, "but there are no houses, no pits of grain, no cattle and no people. Nothing but a barren shore with only one tree, a giant oak, so largest would take long to cut down. But it is a sacred oak and must not be harmed. Somehow the Wolves have escaped us and nothing remains to profit us for the labor of the voyage. We can do nothing but sail on and hope for better fortune in the days to come."
"Now here is a wonderous sight,” exclaimed Lord Thordis. "An my eyes do not deceive me, up in that oak, caught between two branches, is the mighty Thor hammer of the Wolves, used by Lord Balder when he was young. I have heard our singer of songs tell of Balder's killing a giant with it. When we sailed here I wanted that hammer more than riches, for they buy little of lasting worth; more than the slaughter of men, for we can do that any day; more than the capture of women, for one woman is very like all others, and they all age and lose their beauty. So we will cut down the oak and then I will kill with Balder's hammer and, after me, my sons and their sons will kill with it, for Thor sent it from the skies and none can withstand it. That hammer is a weapon like to which there is none other and I must have it.”
“Touch not the oak, Father," pleaded his son, "for it is a sacred tree, favored of the gods, and harming it will bring us much woe and little gain.”
But Lord Thordis paid no heed and, taking his battle axe, strode to the tree and gave it a cut so deep that he could not pull out the axe. A strong wind made all the branches shiver, and Balder's hammer fell through the air and crashed into Lord Thordis's helmet, scattering his brains on the sand. Seeing their Lord die, all the Norsemen stood very still with fear deep in their hearts, for they knew this killing had been sent by the gods.
While they were still wondering, a storm came from the ocean and a high wave dashed the fifty ships far Inland and all the Norsemen were destroyed by the fury of the water. But the giant oak withstood the storm, for its roots were dug deep into the earth and all its branches were sturdy.
Then Pan made a magic so that lightning would never harm the oak nor winter winds tear its branches; and Balder lives on, well content in his new home.
2. The Sword and the Eagle
This is the second of the series of stories DAVID H. KELLER, M. D. wrote around the legends of Cornwall; and while some this "history of the Hubelaires” is rooted in recognizable myth and legend, much is original with the author. A number of the stories in the series appeared in WEIRD TALES and other magazines in the 20s, 30s, and 40s; we see now that there were many more previously unpublished than most of us suspected. And one of Dr. Keller's last projects was to put the Cornwall series in order; so each chapter, which is a complete tale in itself, we shall run a section of the "Argument from Dates” which will bring the reader up to the time of the current story.
As Harold, lord of the Wolves in Armorica, strolled among the stone houses which sheltered his family, he watched the children playing merrily while the women worked and the men perfected themselves in the use of the sword, spear and hammer. The Wolves had be at peace for many years but none the less were always preparing for a war which they hoped would never come. Mountains surrounded the small valley where the cattle and geese were herded by the older children. Six dragon ships rose and fell with the waves in the little harbor. Some of them were very old and had been used by the Wolves when they fled from Jutland.
Lord Harold was pleased with all he saw; but he was gravely concerned about the peculiar personality of Edward, his only son. Though Edward was a likeable lad, there were moments when his father despaired of bis ever becoming worthy of being Lord of the Wolves, for he seemed both unable and unwilling to realize that some day he would rule and, perhaps more important, marry and have a son who in turn would rule after him.
Turning to the forest that stood thick and tall behind the village, Harold found his son seated on a bed of thick club moss, resting against a tree and playing on a harp. For moments Harold stood looking at the young man, who continued playing, seemingly unmindful of bis father's prescence. Finally, the tune finished, he looked up with a smile. "It is new. How do you like it, Father?” he asked. "When I have perfected it I will teach it to our harper, who will fashion words to go with it; perhaps a song that will remind us of the former greatness of the Wolves."
"It is sweet music," his father replied, "but I have more important matters to about. Instead of sending your time playing the harp you should adventure among our neighbors, find a comely maiden and mate with her. Surely there must be one who is worthy of being the bride of the future Lord of the Wolves and the mother of still another Lord to rule when you and I are both dead. Our ancestors, mindful of their responsibility to increase the number of Wolves and provide for an heir who would become ruler, hesitated not to marry the Pictish women when they settled here in Armorica. Your debt to the Wolves is no less than theirs. You should realize that it is your duty to provide our family with a future Lord."
"You are a young man, Father, and many years will pass before you journey to Valhalla. I admit the need of there always being a Lord to govern the Wolves, but just now it does not seem to be a matter of immediate importance. Quite some time ago we discussed the advisability of my marriage. I followed your advice, and spent some weeks away from home, entertaining the dark people with my harp and fighting their best warriors, two at a time, disarming them with no blood-letting. That caused much amusement and they marvelled at my ability to use both arms equally well in swordplay. But the maidens liked my music and swordsmanship better than they did me. Besides, I met none who quickened my heart or roused any desire for her. So I returned and continued playing the harp."
Thus ended the argument as always.
The next day a little dark man came to the town of the Wolves and sought a private conference with Lord Harold.
"I bring you news and advice," he said softly. "Some time ago I visited the ancient home of your family in Jutland."
"All I know of that place was told me by my father, Odin," Harold replied. "He was the oldest son of Holga, who was the oldest son of our Lord Balder. My father was only a boy when the family left Jutland but he remembered those last days and often talked of them. He said all the Wolves sorrowed greatly to row away and leave their Lord Balder, sitting before his house with the Thor hammer across his thighs. He must have perished in the blood-letting of the savage Norsemen. What of the home of the Wolves?"
"A few small mounds of moss-grown stones are the only traces of the town. Evidently all the houses were razed and scattered. But where stood the house which, I judge sheltered your Lord there now stands a giant oak. I slept beneath it for one night and the wind-swept branches sent me a very strange dream, for it seemed that the oak tree spoke and told me that it had once been Lord Balder, who was transmuted into a tree when his people fled. And. as his transition was completed, every house fell apart and the stones were scattered as children's drawings in the sands are made smooth and naught remains of their work when the tide flows in. Thus the Norsemen found only the giant oak."