patiently, trying first this spot and then that.
A flame stirred. It was tiny, pale blue, a bird of Surt newly hatched and frail. It trembled in the cold breeze, cowered down between two shakes, peeped a weak little song as if to keep up its own heart. But all the while it fed; and it grew; now strength flowed into it out of thewind; it stood forth boldly, flaunted bright feathers, looked around and crackled a greeting to the sisters it saw.
The timber of the hall was old and weathered. Moss that chinked the cracks had gone dead-leaf dry. Pitch in the roof drank fire as once in its pine trees it drank a summer sun.
Helgi took stance near the foredoor. “If they waken in there before this way is blocked,” he said, “we’ll have to keep them from boiling out.” He scowled. “The well-house! Best you go kindle that end right off.”
“What of our mother?” Hroar fretted. In his thrill he had hitherto forgotten Queen Sigridh.
“Oh, warriors always let women and children and thralls and such go free,” said Helgi. “But—” He broke off and spun around. From the courtyard stole a band of armed men.
At their head was Sævil. He turned to them and said: “Stoke up the fire and help these lads.
You
have no duty toward King Frodhi.”
They hastened to obey. Many already bore torches, the rest ranked themselves by the athelings. Helgi cheered. Hroar stuttered, “L-l-lord Jarl—”
Sævil stroked his beard. “I think erelong you will be my lord … Hrani,” he murmured.
“There’s an escape through the wellhouse—”
“Regin is taking care of that.”
The sheriff joined them. Firelight waxed till it skipped across metal and lured stern faces out of shadow. As yet, however, the burning was not far along. Neither noise nor heat aroused King Frodhi.
He stirred in his shut-bed. One like that is built short, for its users sleep sitting up. The mattress rustled beneath him. “Ugh, ugh!” he choked. “It’s close and black in here as a grave.” He slid back the panel. A bloody glow crept over him from the trenches.
Beside him, Sigridh asked, “What’s the matter?”
He sighed heavily before he cried: “Awake! Waken, my men! I’ve had a dream and it bodes no good.”
Much though they drank, his warriors had rememberedto lie near him. The call brought them fast out of their rest. “What was it, lord?” asked a man. In murk and reek, he seemed to bear the shape of a troll.
Frodhi snapped after air. “I’ll tell you how it went. I dreamed I heard a shouting at us: ‘Now are you come home, King, you and your men.’ I heard an answer, and grim was the tone: ‘What home is that?’ Then the shout came so near me that I felt the breath of the one who shouted: ‘Home to Hel, home to Hel!’ And I awoke.”
“O-o-oh,” crooned Sigridh.
The dogs indoors had not thus far marked, in their sleep, anything that seemed worth barking at. Now they also stirred, caught the first whiff of death, and set up a hubbub.
Those outside heard. It was needful to lull fears until the trap was sprung tight. Frodhi had two smiths who were both good handworkers and both called Var, which means Wary. Regin boomed:
“Outside it is Regin”—which could mean “raining”—
“and also the king’s sons,
fiercest of foemen;
say it to Frodhi.
Wary wrought nails,
Wary set the heads on,
and for Wary did Wary
forge wary nails.”
A guardsman grumbled, “What’s this to make a verse about? That it’s raining, or the king’s smiths are at work, whatever they make—”
Frodhi answered starkly: “Don’t you see these are tidings? We’ll find a different meaning, be sure of that. Regin swore an oath to me, and so he warns me of danger. But sly and underhanded is that fellow.”
Most who thought about it afterward felt that Regin kept his word by thus saying that Hroar—a wary one—was wreaking a crookedness which Helgi—another wary one—put to work, while Regin—a third wary one—gave warning of
A flame stirred. It was tiny, pale blue, a bird of Surt newly hatched and frail. It trembled in the cold breeze, cowered down between two shakes, peeped a weak little song as if to keep up its own heart. But all the while it fed; and it grew; now strength flowed into it out of thewind; it stood forth boldly, flaunted bright feathers, looked around and crackled a greeting to the sisters it saw.
The timber of the hall was old and weathered. Moss that chinked the cracks had gone dead-leaf dry. Pitch in the roof drank fire as once in its pine trees it drank a summer sun.
Helgi took stance near the foredoor. “If they waken in there before this way is blocked,” he said, “we’ll have to keep them from boiling out.” He scowled. “The well-house! Best you go kindle that end right off.”
“What of our mother?” Hroar fretted. In his thrill he had hitherto forgotten Queen Sigridh.
“Oh, warriors always let women and children and thralls and such go free,” said Helgi. “But—” He broke off and spun around. From the courtyard stole a band of armed men.
At their head was Sævil. He turned to them and said: “Stoke up the fire and help these lads.
You
have no duty toward King Frodhi.”
They hastened to obey. Many already bore torches, the rest ranked themselves by the athelings. Helgi cheered. Hroar stuttered, “L-l-lord Jarl—”
Sævil stroked his beard. “I think erelong you will be my lord … Hrani,” he murmured.
“There’s an escape through the wellhouse—”
“Regin is taking care of that.”
The sheriff joined them. Firelight waxed till it skipped across metal and lured stern faces out of shadow. As yet, however, the burning was not far along. Neither noise nor heat aroused King Frodhi.
He stirred in his shut-bed. One like that is built short, for its users sleep sitting up. The mattress rustled beneath him. “Ugh, ugh!” he choked. “It’s close and black in here as a grave.” He slid back the panel. A bloody glow crept over him from the trenches.
Beside him, Sigridh asked, “What’s the matter?”
He sighed heavily before he cried: “Awake! Waken, my men! I’ve had a dream and it bodes no good.”
Much though they drank, his warriors had rememberedto lie near him. The call brought them fast out of their rest. “What was it, lord?” asked a man. In murk and reek, he seemed to bear the shape of a troll.
Frodhi snapped after air. “I’ll tell you how it went. I dreamed I heard a shouting at us: ‘Now are you come home, King, you and your men.’ I heard an answer, and grim was the tone: ‘What home is that?’ Then the shout came so near me that I felt the breath of the one who shouted: ‘Home to Hel, home to Hel!’ And I awoke.”
“O-o-oh,” crooned Sigridh.
The dogs indoors had not thus far marked, in their sleep, anything that seemed worth barking at. Now they also stirred, caught the first whiff of death, and set up a hubbub.
Those outside heard. It was needful to lull fears until the trap was sprung tight. Frodhi had two smiths who were both good handworkers and both called Var, which means Wary. Regin boomed:
“Outside it is Regin”—which could mean “raining”—
“and also the king’s sons,
fiercest of foemen;
say it to Frodhi.
Wary wrought nails,
Wary set the heads on,
and for Wary did Wary
forge wary nails.”
A guardsman grumbled, “What’s this to make a verse about? That it’s raining, or the king’s smiths are at work, whatever they make—”
Frodhi answered starkly: “Don’t you see these are tidings? We’ll find a different meaning, be sure of that. Regin swore an oath to me, and so he warns me of danger. But sly and underhanded is that fellow.”
Most who thought about it afterward felt that Regin kept his word by thus saying that Hroar—a wary one—was wreaking a crookedness which Helgi—another wary one—put to work, while Regin—a third wary one—gave warning of
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