Broken Sword, The by Poul Anderson

Author:Poul Anderson [ANDERSON, POUL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, High Fantasy, Novel, Medieval
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9422-4
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1954-01-11T03:00:00+00:00

18

Skafloc and Freda took shelter in a cave. It was a deep hole in a cliff slanting back from the sea, well north of the elf-hills. Behind it was a forest of ice-sheathed trees which grew thicker toward the south and faded into moor and highland toward the north. Dark and desolate was the land, unpeopled, and on that account about as safe as any place.

They could not use much magic, for fear of being sensed by the trolls, but Skafloc did a good deal of hunting and fishing in guise of the wolf or otter or eagle whose skins Freda had brought, and he conjured ale from sea water. It was hard work simply staying alive in that wintry world, and he was ranging for game most of the time.

Dank and chill was the cave, with winds screaming in its mouth and an angry gray sea snarling on the rocks below. But when Skafloc returned from his first long hunt, he could scarce recognize it.

Now a fire blazed cheerily on a hearthstone, with smoke let out a rude chimney of branches, clay, and green hides. Other skins were a warm covering on floor and walls, and one hung in the cave mouth against the bitter wind. The extra horses stood in a corner chewing hay Skafloc had magicked from sea-weed, and the spare weapons were polished and hung on the wall as if this were a chief’s feasting-hall. And behind the bright crossed arms was a little spray of red winter berries.

Crouched over the fire and turning meat on a spit was Freda. Skafloc paused in the entrance, his heart beating faster at sight of her. She wore only a brief tunic, and her slim-legged boyish body, with its sweet curves of thigh and waist and young breasts, seemed poised in the gloom like a white bird ready for flight.

She turned a flushed, smoke-smudged face, and from under tousled ruddy hair her great gray eyes lit with gladness. Wordlessly she came to him, in a run that had all of her dear colt-like awkwardness and grace, and they held each other close for a while.

Then he asked wonderingly: ‘But how did you ever do all this, sweet?’

She laughed softly. ‘I am no bear, or man, to make a pile of leaves and be content to sleep in that for the winter,’ she said. ‘Some of these skins and so on we had, the rest I got for myself. Oh, I am a good housewife.’ Then pressing against him, shivering: ‘You were gone so long, and time was so empty. I had to pass the days, and make myself weary enough to sleep at night.’

His own hands shook as he fondled her. ‘This is no place for you,’ he murmured. ‘Hard and dangerous is the outlaw life. I should take you to a human garth, to await our victory or else to forget our defeat.’

‘No – no, never shall you do that!’ She grasped his ears and pulled his face down to hers, laughing and sobbing.

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