Ingulf the Mad by Paul Edwin Zimmer

Author:Paul Edwin Zimmer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780441370948
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1989-06-02T06:00:00+00:00

Bone-white Elf-towers thrummed with the high tide’s paean as waves surged through streets.

The two watched bearlike werewolf jaws crush screaming slaves. The bound Islander hampered the man from whose shoulders he hung: They fell behind.

Steel-clad soldiers came charging, swords swinging, out of the dark.

Dorialith tensed, eyes fixed on the bound, helpless, living bundle, all skin and bone. But Swanwhite turned away.

“I cannot bear to see more,” she said, her voice filled with pain.

A sad end it seemed to Ingulf’s mad campaign. Rakmir’s ranks broke as frightened slaves shouldered them aside, while the man appointed to bear Ingulf, now far behind, turned in the dark to fight, throwing Ingulf to the ground with bone-jarring force.

Steel-clad men ran with the bounding wolves: one slashed him down, and turned to the bound man, sword raised to stab—

But out of the pain-filled night another rushed. Above the bony ribs the stabbing wrist was caught: a shoulder pushed the killer back.

“Fool!” bellowed a dark-bearded man. “That’s the Islander who bears the fire-sword!” Bound, Ingulf lay still, his shoulders painfully twisted, his robe, blood-stained and dark, half-tom from bony limbs and chest left bare.

“I want him alive.” Dorialith heard the dark-bearded man’s voice. “He knows who sent him, and (the other fire-sword! We’ve got to make him talk!”

The crystal globe went dark as Dorialith bounded from his chair.

“I must go to him!” he exclaimed. “Swanwhite—”

But she was gone.

Stepping to the window, Dorialith saw her bare body flash into the sea, and then the head and shoulders of a white seal rose from the waves, swimming outward, away fiom shore, to the north.

The White Seal

VILDERN WAS GLAD HE HAD CHOSEN TO TAKE THE LEAD, RUNNING CLOSE BEHIND THE WOLF-PACK: OTHERWISE HE WOULD SURELY HAVE MISSED THE BUNDLE IN THE TOM TARTAN ROBE.

A moment later, and he would have been too late. Barely able to believe his eyes, he had been running toward the slave who had borne the bound Islander, when the man had thrown his burden down and turned to face Reikil.

But he had caught Reikil’s arm in time, and now the Islander lay at his feet. He bent down to look at the face closely.

No, there was no mistake. This was the man he had seen waving the fire-sword.

But the sword was gone, the man unconscious, and his hands were fettered. What could have happened? If he had been betrayed by one of his lieutenants, why had he not been killed? If he had passed the sword on to some subordinate himself, because of injury or illness, why the fetters? It made no sense.

At least it explained the ease of this victory. Women and children were screaming all around as wolves and werewolves pulled them down. Had this Islander still commanded, Vildem was sure, there would be real fighting going on, instead. But as it was, the fighting-men were hemmed in by the fleeing crowd, and seemed utterly helpless.

He would be happy enough to leave this slaughter to Grom and the others, who enjoyed it. He knew it was a sign of weakness, but this might give him the excuse he needed .

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