returned. Folk had gathered at Orm’s garth from widely around for the grave-ale, and the feast went apace. The berserker slipped grim and close-mouthed through the crowded yard.
Ailfrida plucked at his sleeve. “Have you seen Asmund?” she asked shyly. “He went into the forest and has not come home yet.”
“No,” said Valgard shortly.
“Ill would it be to lose two tall sons in the same month and have only the worst left,” said Ailfrida and turned away from him.
At eventide the guests met in the great hall for drinking. Orm sat in his high seat with Valgard on his right. Men crowded the benches down both the long sides of that room and lifted horns to each other across the flames and smoke of the fire, where it burned in the trench between. Women went to and fro to keep those horns filled. Save for the host family, the men had grown merry with ale, and many an eye followed Orm’s two daughters through the hazed, restless red light.
He bore a cheerful mien, as befitted a warrior with scorn for death; none could tell what lay beneath it. Ailfrida could not keep from weeping now and then, quietly and hopelessly. Valgard sat wordless, draining horn after horn until his head buzzed. He only deepened his gloom. Away from the woman and the alarums of war alike, he had naught to do but brood on his deed, and Ketil’s face swam in the dusk before him.
Ale flowed until all were drunk and the hall rang with their noise. And then a knocking on the main door cut loud and clear through the racket. The latch was up, but the sound drew men’s heed. Through the foreroom, into the big chamber, trod Asmund.
The firelight limned him against blackness. He stood white and swaying. In his arms he bore a long cloak-wrapped burden. His hollow gaze swept the hall, seeking one man; and bit by bit, a great silence fell.
“Welcome, Asmund!” cried Orm into that quiet. “We had begun to fear for you-”
Still Asmund stared before him, and those who followed his look saw it fixed on Valgard. He spoke at last, tonelessly: “I have brought a guest to the grave-ale.”
Orm sat moveless, though he paled beneath his beard. Asmund set his burden on the floor. It was frozen stiff enough to stand, leaned against his arm.
“Cruel cold was the cairn where I found him,” said Asmund. Tears ran from his eyes. “It was no good place to be, and I thought it shame that we should hold a feast in his honour and he be out there with naught but wind and the stars for company. So I brought Ketil home-Ketil, with Valgard’s axe in his skull I”
He drew aside the cloak, and the fire-glow fell like new-spilled blood on that which was clotted around the axe. Rime was in Ketil’s hair. His dead face grinned at Valgard. His staring eyes were filled with flamelight. Stiffly he leaned on Asmund and stared at Valgard.
Orm turned slowly about to confront the berserker, who was meeting that blind stare with his own jaw fallen like the corpse’s. But on an instant rage came. Valgard leaped up and roared at Asmund: “You lie!”
“All men know your axe,” said Asmund heavily. “Now seize the brotherslayer, good folk, and bind him for hanging.”
“Give me my right,” Valgard shouted. “Let me see that weapon.”
None moved. They were too shocked. Valgard walked down the hall to the foreroom doorway through a breathlessness where naught but the flames had voice.
Weapons were stacked nearby. Passing, he snatched a spear and broke into a run. “You’ll not get free!” Asmund cried, and moved to draw sword and bar the way. Valgard lunged. Through Asmund’s unarmoured breast the spear went, pinning him against the wall so that he stood there with Ketil still leaned against him, the two dead brothers side by side gaping at their murderer.
Valgard howled as the berserkergang swept over him. His eyes blazed lynx-green and froth was on his lips. Orm, who had followed him, bellowed, grabbed up a sword, and attacked. Valgard whipped forth his
Ailfrida plucked at his sleeve. “Have you seen Asmund?” she asked shyly. “He went into the forest and has not come home yet.”
“No,” said Valgard shortly.
“Ill would it be to lose two tall sons in the same month and have only the worst left,” said Ailfrida and turned away from him.
At eventide the guests met in the great hall for drinking. Orm sat in his high seat with Valgard on his right. Men crowded the benches down both the long sides of that room and lifted horns to each other across the flames and smoke of the fire, where it burned in the trench between. Women went to and fro to keep those horns filled. Save for the host family, the men had grown merry with ale, and many an eye followed Orm’s two daughters through the hazed, restless red light.
He bore a cheerful mien, as befitted a warrior with scorn for death; none could tell what lay beneath it. Ailfrida could not keep from weeping now and then, quietly and hopelessly. Valgard sat wordless, draining horn after horn until his head buzzed. He only deepened his gloom. Away from the woman and the alarums of war alike, he had naught to do but brood on his deed, and Ketil’s face swam in the dusk before him.
Ale flowed until all were drunk and the hall rang with their noise. And then a knocking on the main door cut loud and clear through the racket. The latch was up, but the sound drew men’s heed. Through the foreroom, into the big chamber, trod Asmund.
The firelight limned him against blackness. He stood white and swaying. In his arms he bore a long cloak-wrapped burden. His hollow gaze swept the hall, seeking one man; and bit by bit, a great silence fell.
“Welcome, Asmund!” cried Orm into that quiet. “We had begun to fear for you-”
Still Asmund stared before him, and those who followed his look saw it fixed on Valgard. He spoke at last, tonelessly: “I have brought a guest to the grave-ale.”
Orm sat moveless, though he paled beneath his beard. Asmund set his burden on the floor. It was frozen stiff enough to stand, leaned against his arm.
“Cruel cold was the cairn where I found him,” said Asmund. Tears ran from his eyes. “It was no good place to be, and I thought it shame that we should hold a feast in his honour and he be out there with naught but wind and the stars for company. So I brought Ketil home-Ketil, with Valgard’s axe in his skull I”
He drew aside the cloak, and the fire-glow fell like new-spilled blood on that which was clotted around the axe. Rime was in Ketil’s hair. His dead face grinned at Valgard. His staring eyes were filled with flamelight. Stiffly he leaned on Asmund and stared at Valgard.
Orm turned slowly about to confront the berserker, who was meeting that blind stare with his own jaw fallen like the corpse’s. But on an instant rage came. Valgard leaped up and roared at Asmund: “You lie!”
“All men know your axe,” said Asmund heavily. “Now seize the brotherslayer, good folk, and bind him for hanging.”
“Give me my right,” Valgard shouted. “Let me see that weapon.”
None moved. They were too shocked. Valgard walked down the hall to the foreroom doorway through a breathlessness where naught but the flames had voice.
Weapons were stacked nearby. Passing, he snatched a spear and broke into a run. “You’ll not get free!” Asmund cried, and moved to draw sword and bar the way. Valgard lunged. Through Asmund’s unarmoured breast the spear went, pinning him against the wall so that he stood there with Ketil still leaned against him, the two dead brothers side by side gaping at their murderer.
Valgard howled as the berserkergang swept over him. His eyes blazed lynx-green and froth was on his lips. Orm, who had followed him, bellowed, grabbed up a sword, and attacked. Valgard whipped forth his
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