They reached the thorp shortly before dark. Three ships lay at the wharf. It being small, they had had to be tethered alongside one another, with bumpers between. “Why, those are ours!” Hadding cried. “They must have come while we were gone. You’ll soon be home, lads.”
As Spent and shivering as they were, the warriors said nothing to that either. They plodded on toward the stockade. Its sharpened logs loomed before them, black against the sky, like a jawful of teeth.
Bruni met them in his house. Newly back from riding around his acres, he *vas himself muddy and weary. “We’ve lost this year’s crops,” he said. “Lightning burned three garths, too, with everything they had stored. I don’t yet know how much livestock is dead. This will be a lean winter.”
“I’ll send food from Denmark,” Hadding plighted. “Meanwhile, what of my ships?”
“I’ve housed their crews here and there amongst us,” Bruni answered. “I’ll send now after the skippers. They told me the rest went home after getting your word from my boat, for you’d have no more need of them this season. Those that got to Zealand before the blow, well, they should be safe. Those whose owners live farther off, who knows?”
Hadding nodded. Every craft had been badly undermanned.
‘And I’m afraid for our fishers,” Bruni went on. “None has yet come back. All of mine were out, and most others from hereabouts.” He shook himself. “Well, storms do scatter boats. If they aren’t wrecked, they straggle home. I’ll keep my hopes while I may. Now let’s get bathed and get drunk.”
Hadding thought upon what the elven woman had threatened for whomever took him in. He said nothing of it that eventide, nor did those who had gone with him. But it was not a merry gathering in Bruni’s house.
No fishers had made haven by morning. In all honor, Hadding must then tell his host the tale. “Mishap,” said the chieftain after a silence. “You couldn’t have known. I’d have done the same. And maybe that was only a troll making fun with you.”
“Maybe,” answered Hadding, staring beyond him. “But you and yours, who gave us hospitality, have had a sudden, sore loss. I’ll be off today, while the weather holds fait”
“That’s wise,” agreed Bruni. Hadding forgave him his haste.
Eyjolf, who had stayed in the thorp, drew the king aside. “I’ll make my way overland to Bralund,” he said.
“You might fare with better luck that way,” said Hadding.
Eyjolf looked him in the eyes. “I’ll sail with you if I can be of any use.”
“Which you hardly can. No, do you take the bear’s road while I take the swan’s. I’ll send guards along to keep you safe.”
“They yearn for their homes, lord.”
Hadding smiled bleakly. “I think most of them will be glad to give you this help and go roundabout home.”
So the king and the rest of his men split themselves among the three crews, raised masts, undid mooring lines, and left Helsingland. A westerly wind blew loud and strong, but not too foul for poling out sails and tacking. Clouds flew ragged. The sea was a herd of white-maned horses, bucking and trampling. Still, it did not seem dangerous and the passage was merely across the strait, south-southwest to Zealand. They ought to make landfall sometime tomorrow.
Folk stood ashore looking after them until they were gone over the rim of sight—and belike longer, hoping to see a fisher craft.
Clouds smoked up. Soon they had swallowed the sun. The wind stiffened further. The gurly waters ran higher and wilder. Ships rolled, pitched, yawed. Their timbers creaked loud enough to hear through the brawling and whistling around. Waves sheeted over rails and sloshed in hulls. Men bailed hard. The cold numbed their hands.
“I fear we’ll get a gale, or worse,” shouted Hadding’s skipper, as he must to be heard.
“I know we will,” answered the king. “Reef sail.”
The wind mounted. Spindrift sleeted blinding and bitter. It stung where it struck. The seas were huge and going white. Their rolling began to shock as heavily as thunder.
“Cast out a sea anchor and strike sail,” Hadding bade. He took the helm, for whatever good that oar might do. If the ship did not keep bow-on to the waves, she would founder.
Night fell. Maybe it was as well to fumble blind with the bailing buckets. Else crews might see the drow go by in his half a boat and know they were fey.
Sunrise did not lighten the world much. Wind raved, sea ramped. When Hadding squinted through the scud, he spied another of the ships. She reeled as helpless as his. He braced legs the harder and kept his post. Once in a while somebody brought him a draught of ale or a bite to eat.
Slowly through an unknown length of time, a deeper gloom showed forth ahead. Dumb with chill and weariness, they watched it become a shore where breakers burst white. Even through the wind, the rage of that surf reached them.
“Sea room!” Hadding yelled. “We’re being driven aground! Claw off!”
The knorr had eight oars, two pair forward, two aft. They were only meant to move her about in narrow spaces or a dead calm. The men who now took them were ready to drop. The skipper ordered shortened sail to help. A flaw of wind caught hold of it as it rose. Sheets tore loose from hands. The yard slewed about, the sail flapped thunderously, the lee rail went under. One of the two men at the windlass had the wit to draw knife and cut the walrus-hide halyard. An end whipped back. It left his face a mask of blood. The yard fell half overboard. The weight of the sail dragged that side deeper. Men scrambled to hew it free. Waves broke over them. Two were swept away.
Now the craft was awash, hopelessly adrift. Hadding left the little afterdeck and waded through the hull toward those of his
