He clenched his teeth and got to work. First he rolled in the grass to wipe the venom off him. Damp softness and smell of soil were like a friendly, stroking palm. Thereafter he searched about. Mad with fear, the horses had broken their tethers and bolted into the woods. Nicked and blunted, his sword was nearly useless. He took Hardgreip’s instead, for she had no great skill with it. Their garb and gear were strewn everywhere around. He gathered what he could and cleaned vileness from it as best he was able. When he found a stream he would wash everything fully.
Hardgreip had been hugging herself and shivering. “Grow small,” he called aloft. “Else you’ll make too much noise and show too clearly, plowing through the brush.”
She dwindled and stood before him, hands clasped above her loins, tangled locks falling past bowed head to hide her face. “What shall we do?” she asked meekly.
“Anything can find us if we keep to the path,” he said. “We’ll get far off it and trust the wilderness can hide us. Tomorrow we’ll strike south, going by the sun, and ought to come on lands of men sometime.”
“That should be wise for you.” He could barely hear her.
“No, now, you are not foredoomed,” he said with more cheer than he felt. “We overcame this troll. Let the rest beware.”
“Maybe I can have you by me for a few days yet,” she sighed.
They donned their clothes, loaded up their outfits, and set forth. The way was slow and hard. Though the moon shone bright enough to drown out most stars, its light seeped between the leaves in patches, spatters, and dim edgings. Hadding made his way well-nigh inch by inch. For all his woodcraft, he stumbled against logs and boulders. Undergrowth snared his feet, branches whipped his face. As he pushed awkwardly through unseen brakes, he thought how everything swished and crackled, and what a trail he must be leaving. Formerly Hardgreip would have taken the lead, deft as a wolf. The will seemed to have bled out of her and she dumbly followed him.
“Come morning, we can rest as long as we like,” he said once. The words rang so empty that he spoke no more. His breath went in and out, hot and harsh.
Suddenly he felt the ground slope downward. He knew not whether it was into a dale or merely a hollow. By day he could have chosen whether or not to go around. In this murk he deemed that to keep straight ahead was belike less bad. At least he should find water somewhere below. Thirst smoldered in his mouth and throat.
Down he went. Black shapes became hazy. As steep as the ground was, he misunderstood why. He believed he was only in a thicket where the leaves overhead blocked off even more light than before.
The wood opened. He burst out into heavy fog. It billowed soundless around him, moonful but blotting up sight. A few trees and bushes stood blurred, everything else was a wan nothingness.
“Hoy,” he muttered, “we’d better turn back.” He looked after Hardgreip. He saw her not. The fog swirled and dripped.
Dismay smote him. She must have blundered from him in their blindness. But she could not be far off. “Hardgreip!” he howled. “Stay where you are. Call and I’ll seek you. Hard-greip!”
A shriek went saw-toothed.
Something snarled. Wings beat on high. Feet bounded. Brush foamed and snapped. There went noises of ripping and breaking. The woman screamed. Over and over she screamed.
Hadding drew his sword. “Stand fast, Hardgreip!” he called. “Fight! I’m coming!”
He plunged about, high and low, right and left. The fog smoked thicker. The wildwood scratched and snagged. The racket’ seemed to be from everywhere and nowhere. After a while it lessened. He heard growls and thought he heard bones crunch between jaws. Then he was alone in utter stillness.
Not until after sunrise did he find the blood-soaked earth, the blood-smeared leaves, and the blood-red scraps. He buried what he could.
IX
Now Hadding wandered friendless through days and nights that he lost track of. Sometimes he slept in a yeoman’s house, saying little about himself and taking leave early in the morning. Oftener he laired in the wilds and lived off what he could catch. Mostly he bore south, though he knew it brought him ever nearer his foes and he with not one man to stand beside him. This was the way he had said he would take, and he cared naught what might lie at the end of it.
Yet he was young. Slowly the horror and grief went from him and hope awakened. He became altogether healed when he reached the shore and for the first time beheld the sea.
Woods decked the downward-rolling land almost to the water’s edge. Close by they thinned out until only scattered evergreens, dwarfed and wind-gnarled, grew amidst harsh grass. The strand was shingle, round gray rocks where kelp lay strewn in ropes and yellow-brown heaps. The day was bright and windy. No great surf arises along the Baltic Sea, but waves ran high, scud blowing off white manes, green and gray out to a blue worldrim. They rushed and crashed and shouted in their strength. Gulls flew like snow. Their mewing called him outward. The air tasted and smelled of salt. He drank deep of its keenness and laughed aloud.
Shedding his clothes, he ran out and plunged. This was no quiet lake. Here he wrestled and frolicked with the water. When he ducked below, he could keep his eyes open in its brininess and see how weed swayed and fish flickered through amber depths. Head up again, he spied two seals not far off, sporting like himself. When he waded back ashore, even the chill of the wind on his wet skin and the itch of salt afterward welcomed him to the home for which he had always longed.
After a while hunger and thirst nudged his thoughts earthward. He must find water he could drink.
