Stag-Hall was almost exactly as he’d seen it in the vision, the white walls, the banner and the sod houses. The tents were not present, only an open field where a pair of young goatherds tended their flock. Alfrik led them through the orderly streat towards the meadhall, up shining stone steps and through the massive open doors. The doors were easily twice as tall as a man, banded with bronze that was kept burnished by older children - indeed, two children were scrubbing at a lower band with thick pads of dried rushes. The sentry barked an order to one of the idle warriors as they entered the doors, and the warrior nodded casually and went past them to take Alfrik's place at the guardpost.
They went past three central hearths before the space opened a bit with a long table and low dias at the far end. Men and women worked in the space, cooking, tending weapons and cooking, weaving and crafting, a low murmur of community filling the air with the wispy smoke of peat. Volund choked back a sob, thinking of the ruins of his father's hall, of the men and women who would work there no more.
The Lord sat upon a massive wood chair, the arms and legs carved ornately with depictions of battles and men. He wore a broad crown of gold, jewels shining in the torchlight and the light of the sun streaming through the doors as the sun set.
A tall woman stood to the left of the Lord, her eyes widening a bit when she saw Hervor. Volund watched the woman carefully, another black eyed and golden haired woman, and he wondered at the tribe they must have come from. Indeed, she wore a long dagger of the same style as his mother's, and many ivory pins slid through her braids. Her right hand clenched, then relaxed to rest upon her belt. She straightened her shoulders, and could have been his mother's sister.
As they came into the space before the Lord, warriors closed in to either side. Hervor stood at his left shoulder and just behind him; he could feel her breath on his neck, the tension in her body - she was battle-ready. A skald came forward from the Lord's right, wiping his fingers on a piece of leather. "Who comes before the lord of the Danes, Hroth, and his sage wife We'al? Unferth, do you vouch for this boy and his woman?"
"The boy is earnest and hard-traveled. By Hrunting's honor, I will vouch for this manling and the shieldmaid who follows him." Unferth, the short sentry who had led them to the Meadhall, drew his sword, holding it with the blade down, and struck his breastplate with the hilt.
Volund almost protested that Hervor was certainly not his woman, but she nudged him sharply in the ribs. "My thanks to Unferth and the honorable Hrunting. I am Volund, son of Hrulf, and we come to bring warning to you, Lord Hroth of a Dread Ravager come up from the fens. Two days past, it fell upon our meadhall and killed my father and his warriors. I am charged to ask you to summon The Geat, Lord Hygelac's nephew."
The hall fell silent. The skald turned towards the lord. "This is a worthy tale, Lord. Would you know more?"
Lord Hroth nodded. "Tell me the tale of the fall of Lord Hrulf's hall."
Volund hung his head a moment, collecting his thoughts.
In blackest night, the silence fell, voice hushed,
The fires went out, the hounds wait silent dark.
Armor creaks loud in void, rasping sword and spear
Shieldmen rose to their feet, quiet as ghosts
Shieldmaids push back babes and mothers, child and elders.
The Hall Lord bellows his righteous fury
A deep booming blow lands harder and fast
Warriors stand fast before the threat beyond
Stout timber shrieks, barred doors split asunder
The men cry havoc, the shieldmaids defend
The Ravager swings the tree-like cudgel
The dead scatter before its wroth fury
Lord Hrulf among the first to fly beyond
Innocents vanish into the bolt-hole
Safe with one candle among them, breathless.
Sigrun summons her son, her Lord's last get,
She thrusts into his hands the Blackwood Spear.
"Run fast, Volund, seek Lord Hroth swiftly now,
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Tell him quickly - Summon the Geat."
The hall fell silent as Volund’s words fell away. Warriors began to mutter amongst themselves, a ripple of voices like waves on a pond. We’al laid a hand on her husband’s shoulder, and the lord nodded curtly. The skald struck the stones of the mead-hall floor with his staff, and the warriors shouted a war-cry in praise.
Standing, Lord Hroth raised his hands for silence. “Well said, boy, for one untrained in skaldic forms. I shall send a boat with a messenger to the Geats, and we shall offer glory and riches to the nephew of Lord Hygelac.”
“I would go, my lord,” said Unferth. “Allow me to seek out Lord Hygelac’s hall and seek the aid of the greatest warrior of our times.
"Very well. Sail the swan-road and seek the lord. I do not know the name of this nephew of Lord Hygelac, but perhaps our neighbor will send us aid. As for you, boy," Lord Hroth pierced Volund with a shrewd look. "You will stay and be a danegeld should the Geat demand a youth with the gifts of the skald."
Volund felt Hervor shift at his shoulder. "My lord, with respect, I would return to my home."
"I know Lady Sigrun by reputation, she is kinswoman to my Lady We'al. If she yet lives, your home is secure. If she has died at the hand of the Ravager, the dark spirit of the fens, then your home is lost. In either case, you are best served to stay here. Learn to fight with my warriors, learn the word-ways of the skald." Lord Hroth sat on his high seat, and a boy brought him a cup.
The lord drank deep, and gestured to Unferth. "If you're going to take the swan-road, your departure is now, while you have light enough to see."
A slender girl came to Volund and Hervor, leading them to a hearth nearby. she gave them bedding and bid them to lie in sight of the high seat. Lord Hroth had pulled We'al onto his lap, drinking deeply from his cup, gesturing to the skald to entertain the workers and warriors filing into the hall.
The Lady watched Volund and Hervor intently, dark eyes locking with Hervor's black gaze. What communication passed between the women was beyond Volund's understanding. They were given meat and mead, and the mead quickly went to Volund's head, along with the singing and shouting of the warriors and workmen. He was lulled to a restless sleep, Hervor keeping watch beside him.
Volund woke when Hervor placed her fingers against his cheek. She was looking towards the door. The hall around them was silent but for snores and the crackle of banked fires. He tried to sit up, but she scraped her fingernails across his cheek in warning. Breathless, they listened and watched and waited. After a moment, he heard it. Faintly, outside the walls, he heard a bellow. The moaning wail rose in the night.
The warriors did not stir, even the watchman at the door. The cry repeated itself, closer than it was just a moment ago. Volund’s blood ran cold, and he groped for his knife at his belt. His mother’s blackwood spear was out of arm’s reach, but Hervor held her shortsword at the ready.
She bent close, lips almost touching his ear. “Wait, Volund. There is something…”
There was movement near the door. Straining his eyes, he made out the crouched form of a child struggling with the massive crossbar. After a moment, a man moved up next to the child and helped remove the bar, setting it to the side with a faint scraping against the paving stones. The distant bellow sounded again, louder yet again. Volund turned his head towards the high seat, looking for the Lord and Lady of the hall, but the dais was empty, the skald curled sleeping on a folded goat-skin with his three stringed harp near to hand.
The man at the door pulled it slightly ajar, and then backed away, disappearing into the shadows at the back of the hall. With the jar slightly open, the cry was louder, and the men nearest the door woke, groggy, fumbling for weapons in their haste. The footsteps of a massive Beast ground sand against the evenly cut stones of the pavers, and Hervor heard the heavy thud of something hard being struck against the straet. The roar came again, and a massive hand curled around the door, ripping it open.
The Shadow Stalker stood in the doorway, framed by starlight in the dark night behind it. It shrieked again, crushing the skull of the watchman where he cowered next to the threshold, and the first of the warriors of Hart-Hall rolled to their feet. They bellowed their outrage and two charged the Beast together, spears held at an angle to cut at the creature’s belly and chest. The boiled leather girdle protected its softer flesh, and the groin as well, but one of the metal spearheads drew blood near the massive breast.
It screamed, enraged, and brought the tree-trunk cudgel down on top of the skull of the warrior who had wounded it. It beat the man again and again, reducing him to pulp and splinters of bone. The other man valiantly tried to prod the monster again, and for his efforts the great foe reached across and grabbed him by the arm. Volund heard the man’s neck snap as the Ravager shook him violently.
Waiting, breathless, Volund expected the creature to advance into the Meadhall. Instead, it retreated into the darkness, dragging the body of the second man behind it, bellowing into the night. He turned and met Hervor’s eyes, chilled by the very wrongness of this moment, in stark contrast to the destruction of his father’s hall. Hervor pulled him to his feet as the hall erupted into chaos.
“We must abide, Volund. They have sent for the Geat. Your mother saw this come to pass, you must trust her and speak to no-one about what we saw here tonight and saw three nights past in our own hall.” He started to protest. “No one, boy. Trust me. Trust Sigrun, and We’al.”
Volund froze, staring at her, and then nodded. “I will abide,” he answered, and she released his arm.
The lord emerged from the curtain behind the high seat, the private rooms of the Lord and Lady of the Hall. He strode down the length of the Hall to the fallen guardsman and warrior, rage contorting his rugged features.
"What foul perfidy is this?" he shouted, turning to face the people of the Hall. Warriors quietly closed and bolted the great doors. Volund found his mother's blackwood spear and pulled it into easy reach. Hervor saw and nodded her approval. "Skald," the lord shouted. "You will speak the tale of this night, the bravery of these men who have fallen, and the one taken away by the craven beast. Let no man forget their courage!" A ragged cheer rose from the people of Hart-Hall.
Next to the fallen warrior, a wailing woman knelt, holding a battered and broken hand to her breast. She was heavy with child, her arms still strong and tanned from work and practice with arms. Volund wondered that the shieldmaid was without her armor. The warrior women of his home wore their armor until the birth of a child, and only set it aside until the child was weaned. He glanced at Hervor, and his companion's face was grave.
At last, the hall settled into an uneasy quiet, taking watch by turns with the torches brightly lit.