The Roots of the Mountains Part 45

'Nay,' said Face-of-G.o.d, 'this is partly the business of the War- leader. There are two stairs. Be content to take the southern one, and I will take the northern. We shall meet on the plain stone at the top.'

But Hall-face said: 'War-leader, may I speak?'

'Speak, brother,' said Face-of-G.o.d.

Said Hall-face: 'I have done but little to-day, War-leader. I would stand by thee on the northern stair; so shall Folk-might be content, if he doeth two men's work who are not little-hearted.'

Said Face-of-G.o.d: 'The doom of the War-leader is that Folk-might shall fall on by the southern stair to slake his grief and increase his glory, and Face-of-G.o.d and Hall-face by the northern. Haste to the work, O brothers!'

And he and Hall-face went to their places, while all looked on. But the Sun-beam, with her hand still in Stone-face's, she turned white to the lips, and stared with wild eyes before her, not knowing where she was; for she had deemed that the battle was over, and Face-of-G.o.d saved from it.

But Folk-might tossed up his head and laughed, and cried out, 'At last, at last!' And his sword was in his hand, the Sleep-thorn to wit, a blade of ancient fame; so now he let it fall and hang to his wrist by the leash, while he clapped his hands together and uttered the Wolf-whoop mightily, and all the men of the Wolf that were in the host, and the Woodlanders withal, uttered it with him. Then he put his shield over his head and stood before the first of the steps, and the Dusky Men laughed to see one man come against them, though there was death in their hearts. But he laughed back at them in triumph, and set his foot on the step, and let Sleep-thorn's point go into the throat of a Dusky lord, and thrust amongst them, hewing right and left, and tumbling men over the edge of the stair, which was to them as the narrow path along the cliff-side that hangeth over the unfathomed sea. They hewed and thrust at him in turn; but so close were they packed that their weapons crossed about him, and one shielded him from the other, and they swayed staggering on that fearful verge, while the Sleep-thorn crept here and there amongst them, lulling their hot fury. For, as desperate as they were, and fighting for death and not for life, they had a horror of him and of the sea of hatred below them, and feared where to set their feet, and he feared nought at all, but from feet to sword-point was but an engine of slaughter, while the heart within him throbbed with fury long held back as he thought upon the Bride and her wounding, and all the wrongs of his people since their Great Undoing.

So he smote and thrust, till him-seemed the throng of foes thinned before him: with his sword-pommel he smote a lord of the Dusky Ones in the face, so that he fell over the edge amongst the spears of the kindred; then he thrust the point of Sleep-thorn towards the Hall- door through the breast of another, and then it seemed to him that he had but one before him; so he hove up the edges to cleave him down, but ere the stroke fell, close to his ears exceeding loud rang out the cry, 'For the Burg and the Face! for the Face, for the Face!' and he drew aback a little, and his eyes cleared, and lo! it was Hall- face the tall, his long sword all reddened with battle; and beside him stood Face-of-G.o.d, silent and panting, his face pale with the fierce anger of the fight, and the weariness which was now at last gaining upon him. There stood those three with no other living man upon the plain of the stairs.

Then Face-of-G.o.d turned shouting to the Folk, and cried:

'Forth now with the banners! For now is the Wolf come home. On into the Hall, O Kindred of the G.o.ds!'

Then poured the Folk up over the stairs and into the Hall of the Wolf, the banners flapping over their heads; and first went the War- leader and Folk-might and Hall-face, and then the three delivered thralls, Wolf-stone, G.o.d-swain, and Spear-fist, and Dallach with them, though both he and Wolf-stone had been hurt in the battle; and then came blended together the Men of the Face along with them of the Wolf who had entered the Market-stead with them, and with these were Stone-face and Wood-wont and Bow-may, leading the Sun-beam betwixt them; and now was she come to herself again, though her face was yet pale, and her eyes gleamed as she stepped across the threshold of the Hall.

But when a many were gotten in, and the first-comers had had time to handle their weapons and look about them, a cry of the utmost wrath broke from Folk-might and those others who remembered the Hall from of old. For wretched and befouled was that well-builded house: the hangings rent away; the goodly painted walls daubed and smeared with wicked tokens of the Alien murderers: the floor, once bright with polished stones of the mountain, and strewn with sweet-smelling flowers, was now as foul as the den of the man-devouring troll of the heaths. From the fair-carven roof of oak and chestnut-beams hung ugly knots of rags and shapeless images of the sorcery of the Dusky Men. And furthermore, and above all, from the last tie-beam of the roof over the dais dangled four shapes of men-at-arms, whom the older men of the Wolf knew at once for the embalmed bodies of their four great chieftains, who had been slain on the day of the Great Undoing; and they cried out with horror and rage as they saw them hanging there in their weapons as they had lived.

There was the Hostage of the Earth, his shield painted with the green world circled with the worm of the sea. There was the older Folk- might, the uncle of the living man, bearing a shield with an oak and a lion done thereon. There was Wealth-eker, on whose shield was done a golden sheaf of wheat. There was he who bore a name great from of old, Folk-wolf to wit, bearing on his shield the axe of the hewer.

There they hung, dusty, befouled, with sightless eyes and grinning mouths, in the dimmed sunlight of the Hall, before the eyes of that victorious Host, stricken silent at the sight of them.

Underneath them on the dais stood the last remnant of the battle of the Dusky Men; and they, as men mad with coming death, shook their weapons, and with shrieking laughter mocked at the overcomers, and pointed to the long-dead chiefs, and called on them in the tongue of the kindreds to come down and lead their dear kinsmen to the high- seat; and then they cried out to the living warriors of the Wolf, and bade them better their deed of slaying, and set to work to make alive again, and cause their kinsmen to live merry on the earth.

With that last mock they handled their weapons and rushed howling on the warriors to meet their death; nor was it long denied them; for the sword of the Wolf, the axe of the Woodland, and the spear of the Dale soon made an end of the dreadful lives of these destroyers of the Folks.

CHAPTER XLVIII. MEN SING IN THE MOTE-HOUSE

Then strode the Warriors of the Wolf over the bodies of the slain on to the dais of their own Hall; and Folk-might led the Sun-beam by the hand, and now was his sword in its sheath, and his face was grown calm, though it was stern and sad. But even as he trod the dais comes a slim swain of the Wolves twisting himself through the throng, and so maketh way to Folk-might, and saith to him:

'Chieftain, the Alderman of Burgdale sendeth me hither to say a word to thee; even this, which I am to tell to thee and the War-leader both: It is most true that our kinswoman the Bride will not die, but live. So help me, the Warrior and the Face! This is the word of the Alderman.'

When Folk-might heard this, his face changed and he hung his head; and Face-of-G.o.d, who was standing close by, beheld him and deemed that tears were falling from his eyes on to the hall-floor. As for him, he grew exceeding glad, and he turned to the Sun-beam and met her eyes, and saw that she could scarce refrain her longing for him; and he was abashed for the sweetness of his love. But she drew close up to him, and spake to him softly and said:

'This is the day that maketh amends; and yet I long for another day.

When I saw thee coming to me that first day in Shadowy Vale, I thought thee so goodly a warrior that my heart was in my mouth. But now how goodly thou art! For the battle is over, and we shall live.'

'Yea,' said Face-of-G.o.d, 'and none shall begrudge us our love.

Behold thy brother, the hard-heart, the warrior; he weepeth because he hath heard that the Bride shall live. Be sure then that she shall not gainsay him. O fair shall the world be to-morrow!'

But she said: 'O Gold-mane, I have no words. Is there no minstrelsy amongst us?'

Now by this time were many of the men of the Wolf and the Woodlanders gathered on the dais of the Hall; and the Dalesmen noting this, and wotting that these men were now in their own Mote-house, withdrew them as they might for the press toward the nether end thereof. That the Sun-beam noted, and that all those about her save the War-leader were of the kindreds of the Wolf and the Woodland, and, still speaking softly, she said to Face-of-G.o.d:

'Gold-mane, meseemeth I am now in my wrong place; for now the Wolf raiseth up his head, but I am departing from him. Surely I should now be standing amongst my people of the Face, whereto I am going ere long.'

He said: 'Beloved, I am now become thy kindred and thine home, and it is meet for thee to stand beside me.'

She cast her eyes adown and answered not; and she fell a-pondering of how sorely she had desired that fair dale, and now she would leave it, and be content and more than content.

But now the kindreds had sundered, they upon the dais ranked themselves together there in the House which their fathers had builded; and when they saw themselves so meetly ordered, their hearts being full with the sweetness of hope accomplished and the joy of deliverance from death, song arose amongst them, and they fell to singing together; and this is somewhat of their singing:

Now raise we the lay Of the long-coming day!

Bright, white was the sun When we saw it begun: O'er its noon now we live; It hath ceased not to give; It shall give, and give more From the wealth of its store.

O fair was the yesterday! Kindly and good Was the wasteland our guester, and kind was the wood; Though below us for reaping lay under our hand The harvest of weeping, the grief of the land; Dumb cowered the sorrow, nought daring to cry On the help of to-morrow, the deed drawing nigh.

All increase throve In the Dale of our love; There the ox and the steed Fed down the mead; The grapes hung high 'Twixt earth and sky, And the apples fell Round the orchard well.

Yet drear was the land there, and all was for nought; None put forth a hand there for what the year wrought, And raised it o'erflowing with gifts of the earth.

For man's grief was growing beside of the mirth Of the springs and the summers that wasted their wealth; And the birds, the new-comers, made merry by stealth.

Yet here of old Abode the bold; Nor had they wailed Though the wheat had failed, And the vine no more Gave forth her store.

Yea, they found the waste good For the fearless of mood.

Then to these, that were dwelling aloof from the Dale, Fared the wild-wind a-telling the worst of the tale; As men bathed in the morning they saw in the pool The image of scorning, the throne of the fool.

The picture was gleaming in helm and in sword, And shone forth its seeming from cups of the board.

Forth then they came With the battle-flame; From the Wood and the Waste And the Dale did they haste: They saw the storm rise, And with untroubled eyes The war-storm they met; And the rain ruddy-wet.

O'er the Dale then was litten the Candle of Day, Night-sorrow was smitten, and gloom fled away.

How the grief-shackles sunder! How many to morn Shall awaken and wonder how gladness was born!

O wont unto sorrow, how sweet unto you Shall be pondering to-morrow what deed is to do!

Fell many a man 'Neath the edges wan, In the heat of the play That fashioned the day.

Praise all ye then The death of men, And the gift of the aid Of the unafraid!

O strong are the living men mighty to save, And good is their giving, and gifts that we have!

But the dead, they that gave us once, never again; Long and long shall they save us sore trouble and pain.

O Banner above us, O G.o.d of the strong, Love them as ye love us that bore down our wrong!

So they sang in the Hall; and there was many a man wept, as the song ended, for those that should never see the good days of the Dale, and all the joy that was to be; and men swore, by all that they loved, that they would never forget those that had fallen in the Winning of Silver-dale; and that when each year the Cups of Memory went round, they should be no mere names to them, but the very men whom they had known and loved.

CHAPTER XLIX. DALLACH FARETH TO ROSE-DALE: CROW TELLETH OF HIS ERRAND: THE KINDREDS EAT THEIR MEAT IN SILVER-DALE

Now Dallach, who had gone away for a while, came back again into the Hall; and at his back were a half score of men who bore ladders with them: they were stout men, clad in scanty and ragged raiment, but girt with swords and bearing axes, those of them who were not handling the ladders. Men looked on them curiously, because they saw them to be of the roughest of the thralls. They were sullen and fierce-eyed to behold, and their hands and bare arms were flecked with blood; and it was easy to see that they had been chasing the fleers, and making them pay for their many torments of past days.

But when Face-of-G.o.d beheld this he cried out: 'Ho, Dallach! is it so that thou hast bethought thee to bring in hither men to fall to the cleansing of the Hall, and to do away the defiling of the Dusky Men?'