to run back into the shelter of the Spiderweb Castle. But run he did not, for the bloody spell of the sword was upon him.
‘The moon approaches full,’ said Alfric, his voice clear-carrying across the strength. ‘Know you who I am? Know you what? The moon grows, and my strength likewise. My Change is almost upon me. My Change can be willed if thus I wish.’
Thus spoke Alfric Danbrog. He was drunk, intoxicated by the moon, by the sword’s own slaughter-lust, by a beserker-bom rage of exultation. All this was plain from his voice, and the giant sank back at the sound of it, for the monster was a cowardly creature at hear.
‘Come!’ said Alfric. Challenging. Demanding. ‘What stands against you? This?’ So saying, Alfric brandished the blacksword Bloodbane. The blade ran with silver and with fire. ‘Come,’ said Alfric, ‘this is nothing to fear. It is but a splinter.’
But the giant, frightened of this battle-boast warrior, submerged and withdrew.
‘Well,’ said Alfric, in disappointment. ‘Be like that, then.’
And then he sheathed the sword, and sanity returned, and he began to shudder, and a cold sweat broke out on his skin. Then he picked up Sulamith’s Grief — he had dropped that weapon while focusing on his challenge — and set forth for the swampshore.
When Alfric reached the shore, a nagging crying was still coming from one particular grassclump.
‘Oh well,’ said Alfric, with a sigh. ‘I suppose I can’t leave the thing.’
And, with the greatest reluctance, he went to investigate. As he had feared, there was a baby lying in the grass. It was swaddled in some dirty sheeting and cradled in a basket.
Alfric picked up the basket. The handle promptly tore free, precipitating the baby to the ground. There it bawled prodigiously. Alfric chided himself. He should have known nobody would be so foolish as to waste a good basket on a surplus baby.
What now?
If he picked up the basket then the rotten fabric would probably tear apart. If he took the whining creature from the basket then it might well excrete liquid wastes all over him.
‘A curse on copulation,’ said Alfric.
Then he went to his horses, cut up one of the horse blankets, and brought back a piece the right size for baby-wrapping. He lifted the still-squalling thing from its basket. Its enfolding sheeting was damp, and smelt faintly of ammonia. Alfric shuddered, and quickly wrapped the creature in the blanket so only its face was exposed.
Then a voice roared:
‘You! This is your doom!’
Alfric turned, and saw the swamp giant Kralch standing far out in the mudmuck. A moment later, Kralch hurled a huge handful of mud in Alfric’s direction. Dodge? Duck? Alfric did not dare to do either, for the baby might have come to grief had he indulged in athletics.
Instead, Alfric turned his back to meet the mud, holding the baby close to his bosom.
Sklappersplat!
The mud burst around Alfric, nearly knocking him off his feet. The reek of it almost made him throw up. A fish kicked on the moonlit grass not half a dozen paces away, displaced from its home by the mudthrowing.
Alfric hastened into the cover of the trees.
The giant threw another handful of mud, but this time missed. Nevertheless, it screamed in triumph, slapped the swamp with its three-fingered hands and howled obscenities to the night air.
‘How childish,’ muttered Alfric.
When he got to his horses, he dumped the baby into one of the saddlebags, and was shortly on his way home.
Though he did not know it, his homeward journey was not to be uneventful.
CHAPTER TEN
Alfric was only halfway back to Galsh Ebrek when he met with a stranger.
The circumstances of their meeting were thus:
Alfric was riding along when he saw the surface of the path had been disturbed. Such disturbance would have been invisible to any ordinary human by night, at least in a place so dark and overhung by trees; but to Alfric it was very clear.
Presuming that it was possible that bandits might have hastily dug a pit in that place, Alfric swung down from the saddle and drew the silversword Sulamith’s Grief.
In open ground, Alfric might have stayed in the saddle. But here his options were limited. He could not spur his horse forward, because a suspected pit lay ahead. He could not retreat on horseback, either, because the pack animals behind him quite blocked the narrow path. Nor could he ride into the forest to either side, because the path ran between banks too steep for a horse to climb them; and, besides, the forest was low- {branched and undergrowthed, which would have made riding either impossible or suicidal.
Warily, Alfric scanned the trees to either side, and shortly spied a single figure almost hidden by the undergrowth.
‘You!’ said Alfric. ‘Step forth!’
No response.
Alfric stooped, picked up a stone and shied it at the figure. The stone clattered through the branches, barely missing the stranger.
‘I see you well enough,’ said Alfric. ‘Step forth, or I’ll cut you to pieces.’
Moving slowly and furtively, the figure crept into the open. Did it have longbow? Crossbow? Throwing stick? No. A sickle, that was all.
‘Drop the blade,’ said Alfric.
The figure dropped the blade.
Alfric advanced.
His opponent retreated.
Alfric stepped on the sickle, trapping it under his boot.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘I will kill you, for you are doubtless a bandit. Do you wish to make a confession before I lop off your head?’
‘Master,’ said his intended victim, speaking in an old man’s voice. ‘Master, lop me not, for I have treasure in my cave. Treasure to make you rich.’
‘You have, have you?’ said Alfric.
‘Truly.’
‘You’d better not be lying. If you are, I’ll cut off your sex and leave you to bleed to death.’
‘Oh, I’m not lying, master, not lying at all.’
‘Then tie up my horses while my blade keeps watch. Then lead on to this cave. Is it far?’
‘A hundred paces, no more.’
As the old man was tying up the horses, the baby began to cry.
‘What’s that?’ said the old man.
‘What does it sound like?’
‘A baby.’ ‘Why, and a baby it is. If you’ve any more stupid questions then keep them to yourself.’
‘If it’s a baby,’ said the old man, ‘I-’
‘It is a baby! I’ve told you that twice, now.’
‘My, you haven’t half got a temper!’ said the old man. ‘AH I was saying was maybe we’d best bring it inside.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Alfric. ‘You keep your hands off it. And remember — I’ve a hand free for my sword.’ He picked up the blanket-wrapped baby. ‘Very well. We’re ready. Lead on.’
The old man was lying about the distance to his lair, for the cave proved to be a good 150 paces distant. But Alfric forgave him for that.
