Gwen shook her head. ‘Only I can save myself now,’ she said. She let her gaze wander round the room. It lit upon the bed.
‘And Prince Helgrim says we will be married soon,’ she added. ‘Oh, I can’t marry him! I’ve got to get… out…’ She paused.
‘What is it?’ Ilmadis asked. She could see that Gwen was thinking.
‘I’ve got it!’ Gwen said suddenly. She pointed at the bedclothes. ‘We can make ropes out of the sheets and climb down! Come on.’ She hauled a sheet off the bed and started twisting it into a rope.
Ilmadis looked on in horror. ‘Have you not looked out of the window? That will never be long enough.’
‘Of course I’ve looked out of the window,’ Gwen said impatiently, still twisting the sheet. ‘I don’t expect this to get me down to the ground. But it should be long enough to get us level with the window below…’
‘And where will that get us?’
Gwen looked up. ‘I don’t know! But it can’t be worse than being stuck in here, waiting for Prince Helgrim to come and sweep me off my feet. Here, Ilmadis, make yourself useful.’
She gave Ilmadis another sheet, and the elf copied her. Soon they had two ropes, which Gwen knotted together. She rushed to the window, and looked down.
‘See?’ she said. ‘There’s a window directly below. That must lead into another room. If we can get in there, we can start looking for some way out of this place, or at least somewhere to hide.’
Infected by Gwen’s enthusiasm, Ilmadis helped her tie one end of the rope to the bed. Then they flung the other end out of the window.
‘How is it?’ Ilmadis asked, as Gwen looked out.
‘Still a few feet off,’ Gwen replied. ‘Here, move this closer.’ Together they dragged the bed across the floor until it was directly adjacent to the window. Then Gwen and Ilmadis climbed up onto the mattress and looked out again.
The rope swung back and forth in the wind, directly in front of the window below.
‘We’ve done it!’ Ilmadis said excitedly, hugging Gwen.
‘Not yet we haven’t,’ she replied, shaking the elf-girl off. ‘Come on, I’ll go first.’
She slipped a leg over the sill. Slowly, holding the rope in one hand, she inched herself out, and clung on.
The wind was fierce and icy-cold, and tugged wildly at her hair as she began to climb down the rope. After one glance down, which revealed the immensity of the dizzying drop below, Gwen gritted her teeth and concentrated on the rope, and finding a foothold on the wall.
‘You are over halfway!’
The wind almost whipped Ilmadis’ words away. Gwen looked up briefly to see the elf-girl’s smiling face looking down at her from the window ledge. Then she continued, scrabbling for a hold, lowering herself from crack to crevice.
Suddenly, her feet were swinging in thin air. Panicking, she looked down, and her heart lurched again at the drop. But she saw that she had reached the opening of the window. A few feet more and she would reach the window ledge. She looked up, and gave Ilmadis a wave.
To her horror, she saw dark hands reach out to yank the elf away from the window. The leering visage of a swart-elf guard replaced Ilmadis’ friendly face. He must have entered the chamber soundlessly while Ilmadis was at the window. Distantly, Gwen heard a cry from her friend.
Heart thumping with fear and horror, Gwen clung to the swinging rope. What now? She could do nothing for Ilmadis; that was plain. The wind whistled around her, icy cold.
Panting, she let herself down onto the window ledge. If she could just get back up… The rope jerked in her grip. She looked up to see the guard had scrambled through the window. Now he was trying to follow her.
She burst through the window, colliding with thick drapes that closed it off from the rest of the room. Fighting her way through them, she found herself in a dark, unlit room. A crack of light at floor level showed the location of the door. She ran towards it, threw it open, and raced out into the passage outside.
‘Aha! My lovely little fugitive! Just in time.’
She halted. Coming down a winding stair to her left was Prince Helgrim at the head of a troop of swart-elves. She turned right, and saw another contingent racing along the corridor towards her.
Prince Helgrim approached. ‘You see, my dear,’ he said tenderly. ‘Fate is irrevocable. There is no escape.
‘You are mine.’
* * * * *
‘Then there’s no way we can get this ship up there?’
Hal looked round at the others. They were anchored in the pool at the foot of the falls.
Gangrel shook his head. ‘I should have considered it beforehand,’ he admitted. ‘This would pose no problem, were there more of us. But we are only four. Too few to drag the ship over the rocks to the waters above; and that would take time.’ He frowned. ‘We’ll have to abandon ship. I wish we had time to sink her, so the Straw-Dead cannot use her. But we have a long journey ahead.’
‘We’re lucky to have got this far,’ Tanngrisnir said. ‘We’ve crossed Helheim, passing through perils unimaginable, and survived. We even fought off an attack by dragons, armed only with bows.
‘It is a long way on foot, but at least we have reached the right world.’ He surveyed the mountains with haunted eyes. ‘Far over those distant fells is the realm of the dwarves, where the forger of the Runeblade awaits. But before that, Svartaborg; and Gwen.’
Gangrel nodded. Eric and Hal exchanged glances. ‘We must rescue Gwen,’ Hal said firmly. ‘Never mind this Runeblade; it’s Gwen who matters.’
‘Yet one day you must accept your weird, Hal,’ Gangrel said softly. ‘Gwen matters greatly. But the Runeblade is the key to your fate.’
‘Who are you calling weird?’ Hal demanded. ‘I don’t understand half of what you say, Gangrel, but…’
‘Come,’ Tanngrisnir said, going to the rail. ‘No time for discussion. We must enter the world of the swart-elves and face this weird of which you speak, Grimnir.’ He leapt down into the shallows. Gangrel, Hal, and Eric followed and they waded to the bank together.
Broken ground stretched away into murky distance. It looked little different from Helheim. But at least Tanngrisnir said it was the right world. At last, they had made good Hal’s mistake on the underground river, when he had pitched them into the maelstrom. It seemed so long ago now!
The dwarf led the way, and the four travellers entered the sinister world of the swart-elves.
END OF BOOK ONE
* * * * *
BOOK TWO: DARK MOON FELLS
1 SVARTABORG
‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ Ilmadis said doubtfully.
Gwen looked ruefully in the mirror at the rig-out she was wearing. A wide, flounced skirt in black silk trailed on the cold flagstones, while the top half, also in black, was so low-cut as to be positively indecent. She didn’t much care for the hat, either; race-day Gothic! At least no one expected her to show off her legs.
‘I suppose this is the kind of thing swart-elves are into,’ she murmured. ‘I should be thankful it isn’t all in studded leather. Doesn’t it make me look pale, though!’
‘You’ll stand out among the swart-elves,’ Ilmadis said loyally. ‘Like a rose among thorns, ma’am.’
Gwen scowled. She tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Well, come on, then; where’s Prince Charming got to? Doesn’t he want to show his new bride off?’ Her voice was brave, but within she was quavering. Marriage was a scary idea at the best of times, but as for marrying the heir to the swart-elf throne…!
After the abortive escape attempt, the swart-elves had confined Gwen and Ilmadis to the bedchamber, ordering them to prepare for the wedding eve. A seamstress had visited them, a timid, silent thing who took Gwen’s measurements while two leering swart-elf guards looked on. The horror Gwen was now wearing had been the result.
By swart-elf tradition, it was customary for the bridegroom to parade the bride-to-be before his family and their retainers on the night be
fore the wedding. Gwen’s mother would not approve, not that she would be there. Although Prince Helgrim’s mother would be; a vicious old baggage according to Ilmadis. Hrafnsvart would be there, too, and many another, including - and this seemed in really bad taste - Prince Helgrim’s former fiancée, a cousin of his named Mordis. Gwen really wasn’t looking forward to that encounter. Handbags at dawn! Well, if the lovely Mordis complained, Gwen would offer Prince Helgrim on a plate; to her, or to anyone else. She didn’t want to marry him.
Her lip quivered. ‘Oh, Ilmadis,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t want to go through with this.’
Ilmadis put a comforting arm round her. ‘Ma’am…’ she said consolingly. ‘It’s really nothing to worry about...’
‘Just lie back and think of Midgard, eh?’ Gwen giggled nervously. ‘Oh, but Ilmadis; can’t we try to escape again?’
Ilmadis shrugged. ‘Where did that get us last time? But when you are queen,’ - Gwen shuddered at the thought - ‘he won’t keep you locked up all the time. Maybe there will be a chance to get away then.’
‘When I’m attending all those state occasions, you mean?’ Gwen replied. ‘Opening hospitals and all that?’ Ilmadis looked blank.
The sound of marching feet rang out in the corridor outside. Before Gwen could even prepare herself, the doors rumbled open, and Prince Helgrim strode in, flanked by his guards. He extended a hand to the blushing bride-to-be.
‘Come!’ he commanded. With one last glance at Ilmadis, Gwen rose, and went with him. What else could she do?
Prince Helgrim and the guard took Gwen at a brisk pace through the high-roofed corridors of the great castle, past knots of waiting servants, who bowed or curtsied low as the prince and his unwilling fiancée passed. They reached the top of a high staircase that led down into a hall where swart-elf courtiers and soldiers were gathered. Gwen’s heart pounded as Prince Helgrim led her directly down the stairs, and the eyes of all turned to watch their progress.
At the far end was a throne, smaller than the one Gwen had seen before, but the figure sitting upon it could only be Hrafnsvart the Black. Lining the path to the throne, where a long black carpet stretched across the room from the foot of the steps, were the courtiers. As Gwen passed them, she glanced fearfully to left and right, scanning their faces. Swart-elf men and women, overdressed even for an occasion like this, attended by scantily clad slaves, crowded either side of the carpet, all cheering and applauding the couple as they approached the throne. All except one.
As they came out of the crowd and approached the foot of the throne, Gwen caught a fleeting glimpse of a young swart-elf woman standing a little to one side. Clad in a low-cut black kirtle, with two leashed wolves at her side, her face was a vision of frustrated satanic beauty. She gazed at Prince Helgrim in silent hatred, her eyes burning with infernal loathing. For a second, her eyes met Gwen’s. A message seemed to flash between them.
Then the swart-elf had vanished into the crowd, and Prince Helgrim was commanding Gwen to kneel in the presence of the king.
* * * * *
Hal awoke in darkness. Without a clue as to his location, he sat up.
Twisted rocks surrounded them. The cold ashes of a campfire lay nearby. Tanngrisnir crouched in the shadow of the rocks, looking out across the dark plain. He turned to look curiously at Hal.
‘Not time for your watch yet,’ he said.
Hal sank back. He knew where he was now; Svartalfaheim; possibly one of the most dangerous of all worlds, with the exception of Muspellzheim, the world of fire. So Gangrel had told them. And somewhere up ahead they would find the castle where they assumed Gwen was a prisoner.
Fleeting recollections of the dream that had woken him nagged at the back of his mind, chaotic impressions and images almost impossible to put into words; seas, islands, ships in full sail; a dark and malignant figure… He had woken with the name Ulf-Hedin on his lips. It meant nothing to him.
Slowly, he drifted through other dreams, until Eric woke him for his watch.
Standing at the edge of the rough circle of rocks, Hal looked out across the gloomy plain. As ever, the Dark Moon Fells towered on the distant horizon, looking in their brooding immensity like titanic sentinels guarding the murky land. According to Gangrel and Tanngrisnir, the mountains formed a rugged backbone to the world of Svartalfaheim, and were home to the cities and castles of the swart-elf aristocracy. Beyond them, on a plateau far above sea level, were the Dark Moon Plains, on the edges of which dwarves had established their settlements. Some of the dwarves had allied themselves with the swart-elves, but most fought an ongoing guerrilla war against their traditional foes, and had done ever since Lofar - one of Tanngrisnir’s ancestors - led them from their halls of stone in Niflheim into this disturbing world.
For the life of him, Hal couldn’t see why they’d come here.
Dawn never came in these lands, which were, in Gangrel’s words ‘far from the Sun,’ and Hal and his companions took their rest whenever they were too weary to continue. Once Hal’s watch was done, however, it was time for them all to wake, gather their possessions, and continue their tramp across the sloping plains of Svartalfaheim.
‘Two more days’ journey,’ Gangrel announced, when Hal asked him how long it would take them to reach the mountains. The old man fixed Hal with his single eye. ‘If we follow the banks of the Gioll to the mountains for a day, then we will require another day before we reach Svartaborg, high among the peaks.’
Eric grimaced at Hal. ‘More walking,’ he said. He surveyed the rushing stream to their left. ‘But we must have come a long way. The river’s smaller than it was when we were sailing up it.’
‘We come closer and closer to the mountains,’ Tanngrisnir said from behind them. ‘Look ahead, following the line of the river upwards. Now; see that gorge in the mountains?’ Hal saw a point where the gap between two peaks was larger than the rest. ‘There the river tumbles down in the Giallarfoss. Beside that is the peak where Svartaborg lies.’
Hal grunted. ‘Is that where all the swart-elves live?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t we going to have a pretty hard time of it, in that case?’
Tanngrisnir shook his head. ‘Not all swart-elves live there,’ he replied. ‘They have settlements all along the mountains, and some down in the plains on either side. To the west of here are many villages. There is a town beside the pool at the foot of the Giallarfoss, just as there is at the top. At one time the swart-elves had many villages across the Dark Moon Plains, but my people put an end to that.’ He paused. ‘But, aye, we will encounter difficulties when we reach Svartaborg. Nevertheless, there is no other way we can rescue Gwen.’
‘What will we do when we get there, then?’ Eric asked. ‘I heard you and Gangrel discussing it last night, as I nodded off. What’s the plan?’
Gangrel halted suddenly.
They had come to the crest of a rise, beyond which the ground dipped into a hollow. To their left the river wound round the side of a barren hill. A small walled settlement of huts huddled at the bottom of the rise.
‘We wait here,’ Gangrel said, moving into cover and beckoning Hal and Eric to join him, ‘while our dwarven friend goes down to the village below.’
Hal looked at Tanngrisnir, and blinked. A change had come over their friend, subtle but distinct. His face seemed twisted, his posture surly. Even his eyes seemed darker, evil. He ignored the other three, crouching behind the rocks, and began to swagger down the path towards the settlement.
‘What’s happened to Tanngrisnir?’ Eric said. ‘He seems to have changed.’
‘And where’s he going?’ Hal added.
‘He is going down to the village,’ Gangrel replied. ‘Rumour has it that a certain merchant dwells here, one who can smuggle folk into Svartaborg for the right price. Tanngrisnir has decided to pose as a wandering dwarf mercenary, the kind of rogue who fights for any lord, swart-elf or dwarf chieftain. The merchant is also a dwarf, and was himself a mercenary in his youth. Tanngrisnir intends to play on th
e old dwarf’s sympathies.’
Hal and Eric exchanged glances. Hal bit his lip. This all sounded dangerous. How did they know they could trust this old dwarf?
‘Is that a dwarf village?’ he asked.
Gangrel shook his head. ‘Most of the inhabitants are low-caste swart-elves; serfs, peasants. Their lords treat them as little more than slaves. They herd goats among the rocks and grow edible fungi and lichen. It is a hard life, and short.’
‘It sounds really bad!’ Eric said. ‘Don’t they ever rise up against the lords?’
‘Frequently,’ Gangrel replied. ’Not that it does them much good. The most they can hope for is to become robbers, and prey upon unwary travellers.’
Hal looked around him, shuddering. ‘You mean we could be set upon by robbers?’ he asked.
Gangrel nodded. ‘Robbers, or the men-at-arms of a swart-elf noble, for that matter,’ he replied. ‘These are dangerous lands. But as long as you remain with Tanngrisnir and me, you will be safe. Tanngrisnir has known this country since his youth, and I have been here once or twice.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Hal asked, shuddering. ‘I can’t see any reason why anyone would want to come here.’
‘I was searching for knowledge,’ the old man replied enigmatically, and he lapsed into silence.
* * * * *
‘I never want to do that again!’
Gwen sat down on the edge of the bed, her face a mask of despair. ‘Help me out of this thing, won’t you?’ Ilmadis moved forward to assist Gwen as she tore off the wedding dress.
‘Was it so terrible, ma’am?’ the elf maiden asked.
‘Oh!’ Gwen groaned. ‘It was the worst social occasion I’ve ever been to! Swart-elf small talk is the pits!’
Ilmadis carefully folded the dress as Gwen began replacing her normal clothes. ‘Were you not afraid to be among so many mighty warriors?’ she asked, as she busied herself.
Gwen paused, and put her hands on her hips. ‘Mighty warriors?’ she grimaced. ‘Mighty tedious, if you ask me. All that bowing and scraping, and nothing but “so now our dominion over the worlds is complete,” and “the Foretelling is fulfilled in favour of the swart-elf nation,” and “when the fire giant comes, all will be prepared,” and… What is it?’