CHAPTER 1



Elizebith ran and fell and scrambled up and ran and fell again.

The fresh-fallen leaves and tilted slope were treacherous un-

der the slick soles of her boots. Naked branches of bramble

and scrub oak clutched at her, tearing and cutting, pricking

her a thousand times about the face and hands and neck. The

giri slipped once more on a leafy rock and fell, banging her

knee. She knelt, clutching her leg and crying silently. Letting

the tears flow helped the pain—in her knee. anyway. Her

heartache was something else.



Bith was tall and dark, slim and soft, with flowing brown-

black hair and eyes that were almost luminous. She wore a

dark outfit of shin and pants with a deep blue cloak over all.

Around her middle was a wide yellow belt that matched her

fine-tooled boots. The belt's grinning devil-face buckle and

dozen small pouches marked her as a magic user.



The girl tried to quiet her breathing enough to hear the

pursuit. Far down the ravine could be heard the cursing of

men as they thrashed through the dark underbrush. Bith didn't

know how many there were, but there were enough to comb

the ravine easily without missing her. She looked up at the

fading light. The days were short now. Scaly branches made



2            RUNESWORD ^LUME ONE



a spider's web that laced the overcast twilight. The brush was

so thick it was like looking up through a latticework basket.

Even where she crouched there were branches reaching for

her soft skin. She hadn't known how thick the brush grew up

this ravine. She should have found out, she berated herself,

she should have teamed her own neck of the woods' It was

stupid to not know what lay at the head of this ravine. Did it

open into meadow, or more forest, or drop down again to

more brush? She should have found out before now, now

when she was fleeing and learning the hard way. The lesson

for today. Live and learn, she thought bitteriy. Learn or die.

Somewhere below her a man barked an oath. Her heart flut-

tered. He was close. She pinched her knee into numbness

and crept uphill through the brambles-

In truth, she hadn't lived in her tiny ramshackle cottage

long enough to leam where much of anything was. Living

alone meant so much to do- Fetch water, tend the fire, check

the snares before the foxes got to them, gather roots. This

was why men had wives and the wealthy had servants. It was

an all-day affair just to keep fed and warm. There was no

time for exploring. Or reading or studying or having any fun.

It had been a long time since Elizebith had done anything

fun.



And here she had to minister to the wants and needs of the

peasants who sought out the "witch." More wants than

needs, but who was she to talk? The reason she was so clumsy

at fetching and carrying and cooking is that she'd never done

it for herself until recently. If only she'd known how happy

she was when she was happy! She had been such a little giri.

A spoiled little girl. Never wanting for anything. She would

give anything now, even her soul, just to be able to sit quietly

and not run, run,run.



Yes, the peasants had come. They wanted a cure for a

toothache. A love potion. A physic to flush a baby from the

womb. A curse fora prosperous neighbor. Elizebith did what

she could. A toothache received the inner bark of the slippery

elm. But it was only a temporary cure. A love potion was

camphor oil applied tb me hair of the loved one, accompanied

by "good thoughts." It was a nostrum. The physic to be rid

of a baby was mineral oil. The poison killed the woman as

well if she took it improperly. The curse could be anything



OUTCASTS               3



as long as it was vile: hate added the rest. But she had known

she couldn't keep it up for long. People hated witches. (It

was a mark of the peasants' ignorance that they couldn't tell

witches from magicians.) They hated what a witch could do,

even as they asked her. They welshed on payment unless you

took it beforehand. And they waited until the last minute,

and that had been Bith's undoing. While a couple had not

hesitated to make the long journey to her hut to save a cow,

they always waited until a daughter was at death's door before

lifting a finger. This time it had been too late. Bith had tried,

but the child had died within hours. The grieving parents had

blamed the witch. She should have known. Her mother had

warned her time and again that helping people always brought

punishment. But she hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Here she was, fleeing for her life.



Bith rose and pressed through the brush, uphill. It was very

quiet up here, and there was no wind. Was the ravine closing

in? The slopes at either hand were not just grass and leaves,

but crumbly ledge. The sides were steep and not thirty feel

apart. Maybe she'd pass through this cut soon, then she could

run on the flat. Though she couldn't run much farther—she

was almost spent. A lifetime of sailing a cockleshell on a

lake and reading romances had not prepared her for a real

outdoor life. She put her hand against one rocky slope for

balance. It remained quiet. Had she lost them? She couldn't

see very well. The sky was faintly luminous but this ravine

was black as the inside of a bucket. Suddenly she bumped

her nose into another rock wall. An outcropping? She groped

with her hands. No, a turn in the wall. Then her heart sank.



This was the head of the ravine. A rocky wall all around,

a stone box. A dead end. The slopes had to be twenty feet

high on three sides. The only way open was downhill.



Bith jumped at the stone cage around her and found no

purchase. Her fingers were too weak. And she couldn't see

anyway. What to do? Jump like a mountain lion? Fly away?

She almost laughed. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

Nothing useful came to mind. Nothing. The slim giri fell to

the ground and sucked air in great wracking sobs.



She was trapped. Her captors might as well be running up

a tunnel at her. Except they weren't captors. They would kill

her when they caught her, probably tear her to pieces. They



4           RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



wouldn't even drag her back to the village to burn. Was that

better? She doubled over, fear and fatigue overwhelming her.

She hugged herself and sobbed.



A horned owl brushed overhead with a hoo, startling her.

Had she been asleep? Was that possible? Bith wiped her face

with filthy hands and took a deep breath. She felt strangely

better. She was all cried out. Did that mean she was ready to

die? On the contrary, she was beginning to feel angry. Angry

at these stupid, ignorant people who hunted her for no rea-

son. The peasant girl had died this morning, true, but not

from Bith's lack of care. She simmered with fury until her

ears grew warm. She'd get them if she could, with the black-

est magic she could conjure. But where were they?



She cocked an ear down the ravine and listened. All was

quiet. Crickets chirped far off, the last before the snow.

Somewhere a badger hissed. The air was full of the smell of

leaf mold and crushed teaberries and red sumac. Where was

everyone? Bith rose softly and felt along the stone slope. No

sound. Then she heard them. A thrashing of brush. The gut-

tural growl of men after blood. And a new sound.



Ha-rooooo! Hark. hark'. Ha-roooooo!



Dogs! They'd brought up dogs' She was surely done for

now. Never mind. There was one thing both men and dogs

feared. And she'd teach them to fear a sorceress, too.



She found a small overhang of rock and bumped her head

getting under it. She felt in a pouch with delicate fingers and

plucked out a'fuzzy lump that crackled under her fingertips.

With the other hand she touched the bole of an oak tree per-

haps a handspan thick.



And she waited - . .



As the darkness grew deeper and the sound of pursuit

louder, Bith, daughter of Morea, thought of her old home and

what it had meant. Her old home was a musty castle wreathed

in mist. Lake water had stretched away behind the castle, and

the front looked out over a hard expense of scrabble and low,

tough bushes. Brimstone bubbled from fissures along the

shoreline. Water leaked into all the lower rooms of her moth-

er's castle. A rusty iron gate with iron spikes guarded the

door. Every battlement had the cracked skull of an enemy

mounted on it- That evil place had been her home for sixteen

years. How strange that she had been content there. Would



OUTCASTS               5



she rather be there right now? She couldn't say. How strange

the way her mind worked, the mind of a spellcaster. No won-

der mortals didn't understand them. They didn't understand

themselves.



Hark. hark! Rowf! The bark of the dog exploded almost

under her feet. Bith saw a white branch whip aside, low down,

at the height of a dog's shoulder. A growl sounded off to her

left. There were two dogs. They stopped. Having found her,

stood still and sounded.



Ha-rooo! Rarf, rarf! Park rark, rark! In between calls the

beasts snapped and snarled at her, foam splashing from their

jaws. They kept her in place and notified their undeserving

masters. The noise was ear-splitting in the narrow defile.

Bith's hands were busy, as were her lips. She chanted, low

and intense.



Shouting oaths the crowd of men burst into the ravine.

"There she is!" "Hold her fast!" "Don't let her get away!"

Someone called for a flint to spark a torch.



I'll give them a torch, Bith thought. She finished her chant

and with her thumb crushed the dried firefly against the young

oak tree.



FWAASHHHH! Instantly the tree was ablaze as if it had

been steeping in a hot wind for an entire summer. The dogs

howled in fright. The men swore and shielded their eyes with

their forearms. And Bith, who had kept her own eyes tightly

closed, bolted towards them.



Hot sparks and ash floated all around them as she ducked

between the cowering dogs and into the crowd of men. She

got between two by scooching low. She had her knife out and

she poked at another to get him out of the way. He shrieked

as if he'd been bitten by a dragon and tumbled backward,

though Bith's tiny knife had barely nicked him. The man fell

against his neighbor and both went down thrashing. Bith tried

to jump clear. How many of the bastards were there, anyway?

It wasn 'tfair to send so many after one girl! Men swiped at

her and kicked out. A tangle of feet caught her and she fell.



Cries of "Got her now!" and "Hang onto her!" burst on

her ears. One man had her by the wrist. She stabbed with her

short knife but it tangled in the folds of her cloak. She bit

the dirty hand instead. It tasted of pig fat and woodsmoke.

The man let go, but brought his other fist down on her head



6 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



with a crash. Lights flashed before her eyes. Before she could

tumble to either side someone kicked her in the ribs. A laugh

stung her. Bith struggled and Sought but was powerless. Three

men flopped onto her and mashed her face into the leaf mold

of the forest floor. She might not be hacked or stoned or

burned to dead). She might smother. The panic came back,

so bright it burned her brain even as the tree burned the night

sky.



Far away she heard a man scream. It was not a laugh or a

shout, but a scream like a trapped rabbit's. Then it was cut

short. But another man took it up. Suddenly the weight on

her back was gone. A dog howled and she struggled to free

her face. What was happening?



In the flare of the burning tree Elizebeth saw a giant figure

raise a whimpering dog high overhead. The giant had the

dog's back legs in one hand and its neck in the other, and as

Bith watched, it ripped the heavy animal apart as if it were a

sheet of paper. Men howled—there was howling all around

her—as the black figure hurled the bloody pieces at them.

The chunks pinwheeled blood that rained on the villagers'

backs as they ran away. They pushed each another in their

mad scramble down the brushy slope. The figure gobbled and

croaked madly, berating and mocking them. Then it stood

still as a statue until the men's noise had faded.



Then it slowly turned towards Bith. *



The figure was huge, tall and wide. His shape was indis-

tinct under a shaggy bearskin and floppy hat- The creature

advanced over the rocky brushy terrain with sure steps that

pressed deeply into the ground. It came directly at her. He

can see ui the dark, Bith thought. Despite the wild dying light

and the smoke and roughness of the ground it could see her

as if it were daylight.



"How you?" the figure growled in the common tongue.

"All right? No hurt?'* Its grunt was painful to hear and must

be more painful to make. It reached out for her—



"I 'm all right,'' she stammered. ' 'Please don't touch me.''



The figure withdrew its great paw. Slowly it turned and

squatted and wiped its hands on the crushed grass. Then it

moved away.



Bith stood up and had to clutch at a tree trunk. She was

dizzy with shock and the aftennath of panic. Her knees gave



OUTCASTS               7



out and she sank down, grateful for even that small respite.

The oak was all but incinerated. There was only a burning

stump left, just knee-high. Bith didn't know many spells, but

the ones she knew she knew well.



Bith looked up. Would she be able to slip away from mis-

thing—when the light was gone? Should she, now that he had

rescued her?



The hulk kicked out with a foot and knocked over the bum-

ing tree. Then it half-dragged, half-carried a large dead tree

to the stump and crumbled wood onto the makeshift fire. Bith

knew that the tree was dead, but the cracking sounds told her

the creature was very strong. Strong enough to rip a dog

apart, or a magician. Stronger than any man could be.



The figure squatted again and blew at the fire. Bith saw his

face for the first time. A wide, flat nose in a wide face, small

eyes, thick brow. A hint of fangs behind the thick lips? She

knew now what this was. She had seen paintings in books in

her mother's castle.



"You're a troll."



"Hathor."



"No, you're a troll. I know."



"Me too. Me Hathor. Troll. Good one.'*



Sure, thought Bith, and I'm a fond witch. She stood slowly

and edged away from the fire, towards the downhill slope of

the ravine.



"Don't go," said the troll. "Eat."



"Eat?" Bith's stomach betrayed her. It rumbled at the

thought of food. "Eat what?"



The troll gestured with a thick finger. "Dog."



Bith shuddered. "No. I couldn't." Her stomach squeaked

so that it hurt. "Well, maybe a little."



The troll moved away from the fire. The blaze was glowing

merrily now, the only light for miles, probably. It made the

dark inside this ravine that much more intense. Bith's legs

trembled. If she didn't sit down she'd fall. Might as well be

by the fire, she reasoned. She straightened her pants and shirt,

drew her cloak around her and sat. Then she moved again to

plump her back against the fallen tree- It felt wonderful to

stop moving.



The troll came back to the fire with the torn torso of the



8



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



dog. He had an axe in the other hand. Bith watched warily

as he laid the carcass over the log not far from her head.



"Liver?" the troll asked. "Haunch? Brains?"



"Liver."



"Good." The axe came down with a whack that split the

carcass. Two more whacks freed a good hunk of—

something—which the troll tossed on the fire. Bith watched

die flesh sear and blacken. Maybe she wasn't hungry. But she

bravely fished up a stick and sharpened the end and speared

the meat. She propped it up on a rock at the edge of the fire

and held the end down with her boot.



More cracking and crushing noises sounded closely, then

a sucking noise. He must be licking his fingers, she thought.

Another hunk of meat landed on the fire with a squishy hiss.



The troll whomped the axe into the stump. Bith noticed it
was not a war axe but a felling axe. A war axe was wide and

thin-bladed, chased with fierce insignia, light with a short

handle so a man could wield it all day. This was a simple

pole axe for cutting trees. Was that good? The troll sat by the

fire opposite her. He took off his floppy hat and set it beside

him.



Bith studied him. The troll was surprisingly human. But

she knew trolls were a type of human that had taken to caves.

Or never left them. This one's features were just too—swollen.

His lips were thick and protruded slightly. His eyes were

small and close-set and recessed. His teeth were large; so

were his ears. He had no beard, but a sort of scruffy mutton-

chops. His hair was curiously soft and fine and curly golden-

red. A strawberry-blond troll, she thought. He wore only a

peasant's smock tied around his blocky body, but over it he

wore a thick cape of brown—bearskin? His fingers were thick

and coarse, with dark nails, but were nimble enough as he

poked the fire. His hands had red hair on their backs, too.

His feet were bare and the soles thick enough to walk on

coals. He smelt, too. Not an unpleasant odor, but alien: musty

and cavish-



"You pretty." he said suddenly, and Bith jumped. Proba-

bly tasty too, she thought. But he said nothing more, and her

pulse settled back down.



Strange he should say she was pretty. It had been a long

time since she had seen herself. At sixteen Bith was still



OUTCASTS               9



developing, in all the wrong places first, naturally. She knew

she looked like her mother, and men thought her mother

lovely, so she might be. But she was tall and thin and gawky,

she thought. Coltish and clumsy. Her face was acceptable.

She had long straight hair of a color between brown and black.

Her skin was pale as milk from living in the north country,

sprinkled with freckles the way the northern reaches could

be sprinkled with cornflowers in spring. Bith knew her most

arresting feature was her eyes. She was the only human she'd

ever met—besides her mother—who had silver eyes.



"What name?" the gruff voice asked.



"Name? Elizebith, daughter of—Elizebith. Bith."



"Bith," the troll tried the name. "Easy."



"You are—Hathor?"



"Hathor. Thor. Hath." He followed these names with a

string of others she couldn't understand. He finished,

"Hathor."



"Hathor. Good." Wonderful, she thought. One night of

this and she'd talk like a troll forever. "Why did you save my

life?"



"Voice."



" 'Voice,' did you say?"



"Voice."



"What voice?"



He put a grimy clawed fingernail—or were they just natu-

rally black?—to his temple. "In head. Tell me come here,

res-cue you- Did."



"What did the voice tell you?"



'*1bld me. Come here, save you." He speared a chunk of

burnt meat from the fire and took a bite, coals, ashes, and

all. "Never hear voice in skull before."



Bith tended her own meat. She sliced off a strip and ate it,

suddenly ravenous from the smell. She had never eaten dog

before. It tasted sweet. When she could, she asked, "Did it

haw a sort of imperious tone, like a king's voice? Like this?

*Go. my child, hie ye hence and ye shall be rewarded.* Did

it sound like that?"



Hathor nodded vigorously. "Yes, that voice. Just like that.

Oood."



Bith pondered mat a moment, her mouth forming an un-

i' conscious pout. She too had heard a voice lately, mostly in



10



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



her dreams or when she was distracted. It had told her to wait

or to be content or to anticipate danger or a dozen other

things. She had largely ignored it. A few short months ago

Bith had been dragged from her mother's castle by some in-

credibly stupid men who thought she was Morea's hostage.

Once they had learned she was Morea's daughter they'd de-

serted her, abandoned her in open country, alone and un-

armed, without supplies. Even before then, Bith had been

haunted by ghosts, had her dreams ridden through and tram-

pled on, but since her kidnapping, night and nightmares were

synonymous to Bith. It came with spellcasting. She had ig-

nored this new imperious voice along with the screeching

ones and the giggling ones.



"You send voice?"



Bith shook her head. "Me? No. I heard it too, is all."



"Who is?"



"I have no idea. Someone who wants something for noth-

ing, I suppose. Isn't that always the way?"



Hathor bit into his meat and said nothing. He swallowed

noisily and asked, "Where bow?"



"Bow?"



He mimicked an archer and men pointed at her. Elizebith

had no bow. She had only the clothes she stood in, her magic

pouches, and an eating knife. "I have no bow."



Hathor grunted. He got up from the fire and walked into

the dark. He returned in a moment and handed her a shaft.



It was an arrow. A short one with long fletching: blue and

red-streaked feathers she'd never seen before. The wood was

smooth, almost like glass. The bead was of some clean steel,

longer and sharper man any razor. It felt no heavier than a

dandelion. She held it up to Hathor. "It's not mine."



"Not?" he scratched his chin. "Not mine either."



"Well, wait," Bith asked. "Where did you get it?"



The troll rose and moved off into the dark. Outside the ring

of firelight he bent over something. He lifted the bulky object

and pointed to it. "In him." Bith gulped. The thing was a

corpse, the body of a villager with a rusty dagger in his hand.

"Stuck here." Hathor indicated his throat. Bith shuddered

again.



With ridiculous ease Hathor hefted the body and threw it



OUTCASTS              11



up the side of the ravine and over the top. "Wolves get it,**

he said. "Not get us."



Bith looked at the sheer wall. "How strong are you, any-

way?"



Hathor grinned for the first time. Yes, those were fangs in

his upper jaw. "Strong."



Bith slumped back to the ground with the shaft still in her

hand. She looked at the arrow and tried to guess where it

came from. Who it came from. But her brain wouldn't budge.

It was felling asleep, and so was she.



"Sleep," Hathor told her. "I watch."



Sure, Bith thought. The dog was dinner and I'm breakfast.

She dragged her cloak around, lay her hand on the ground,

and lay her head on her arm. With the fire in front and her

back to the large log and its reflected heat she was very cozy.

This was a pleasant place to be: better than burning or smoth-

ering or being hung. She'd rest just a moment, then sneak

away when the troll dozed off.



The last thing she saw as her eyes closed was the ugly troll

peering at the beautiful arrow. A strange sight after a strange

day- . . .



CHAPTER



2



Bith wandered the halls of the castle looking for her mother.



Up and down the stone passages she went. She had to

climb, for the floor slanted crazily. It was very dark inside.

Though there was light at the end of the halls, the giri couldn't

reach it. Spiders as large as dogs passed by. An ore skull

turned to watch her go, its empty eyes lit with green. A door

sprang open and a pack of bloody dogs howled. They chased

her until her lungs burned. The daughter of Morea ran for the

end of the hall but couldn't get there. A rushing noise rose

and rose, and water poured down the halls after her. A door

changed into an axe blade ten feet across. It swept into the

sky over her, edge down, and dropped. . . .



Bith screamed as the monster with the axe loomed over

her, ready to strike. She screamed again and covered her

eyes-

When nothing happened she uncovered her face. The thing

was still standing there, axe poised, a puzzled frown on its

ugly face- Then she remembered.



She remembered the growly sound of pursuit close behind,

the rasping of her breath, the cold feel of the rocks as she

was trapped, the crackling of the ignited tree, the thud of



12



OUTCASTS              13



boots into her back, the thrill of rescue from a stranger. She

sat up with a shudder and mopped rain, or cold sweat, off

her face. An early morning shower fell around her and pat-

tered gently on the fallen leaves.



The troll continued to look at her. He looked even uglier

in the grey misty morning than he had by firelight. His skin

was pale but knotty and lumpy underneath. Bith wondered

how soon she could get away from him. He growled at her.

"All right?"



Oh, that's right, she recalled. He worries about me. And

saved my life. Because that voice commanded him to. "Yes,

I'm fine." In fact she was. Her body was wracked with

bruises and stiff muscles, but it was delicious to be alive-

It was a misty, wet autumn morning. Birds grizzled to one

another about me weather and ignored Hathor's whacking.

He chopped another armful of wood and poked up the fire.

Raindrops hissed. The troll spitted some white objects like

large slugs on a stick. Bith realized they were oyster mush-

rooms that grew on beech trees this time of year. He hadn't

Just thrown them on the fire. He must have learned to spit

things from me, she thought.



"Isn't there any more meat?" she asked.



"Sure," he replied. "Lots." He fetched some and spitted

that.



"Aren't you having any?"



The troll shook his ponderous head. "No. Don't eat meat."



"You don't eat meat?" Trolls, she knew, were often can-

nibals. She was still surprised to have woken alive. "What

was that you ate last night?"



The troll grinned that toothy grin. "Can't waste."



"Did you watch all night?"



Hathor pointed to his lumpy head. "Eyes sleep. Ears

watch."



"Oh."



The two of them were quiet during their meal, her dog meat

and-his mushrooms, which he shared. Finally Bith wandered

off to neaten up. She wiped her hands and face with water

from bushes, combed burrs from her hair. She came back to

the fire and patted her belt- Everything she owned she wore

right here. She didn't even have a walking stick. There were

a few things in her hut far down the ravine, some books, a



14



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



candle, a cache of white money, but she couldn't go back

there. The brave villagers might be waiting for her return.

She would have to make her way up out of the ravine and

through the woods to the road. She wrapped some cooked

meat in leaves and stood up.



The troll stood up too. He kicked the fire apart and dumped

sodden leaves on it. He cinched up his bearskin cloak and

clapped on his floppy hat, which hid his face fairiy well. Then

he stood with the axe hanging in his hand, as ragged as a

gorsebush, as still as a statue.



"Well," she announced in a matter of fact voice, "I'll

guess 1*11 be off."



"Where we go?"



Bith bit her lower lip. She had been afraid of this. "/,"

she said slowly, "am going somewhere else. /—"



"Where?"



"I—I don't know. North, for now, I guess. Away from that

wretched village. There's a town to the north, a day's hike, I

know. And / have to get going—"



The troll shrugged. "Let's go.**



Bith sighed. She'd have to sneak off later. Wouldn't it look

lovely, she thought, her walking down the road with this mon-

strosity trailing after her. Though she had to admit no one

would bother her. No, more likely they'd run screaming. She

raised her hands and dropped them. "All right. Let's go."



With Hathor's help she clambered up and out the ravine.

The forest floor here was flat, the tree boles large. She could

see a long way. White deer tails flickered off to her left and

were gone. Something grey slunk off to her right. She noticed

the body of the man killed last night. The wolves or wild

dogs had been working on it. Ribs stuck up at towards the

sky. Scavengers ate the guts first. But then, so had she with

the dog.



The body reminded her. She turned and found Hathor

standing silently at her elbow. "Can you give me a little more

room?" He moved off a few more steps. "Thank you. Did

you bring that arrow?"



Hathor produced it from under his cloak. The thing fairiy

shone in the morning sun. It was very short for a war arrow,

not much longer than her forearm. The metal of the head was

more like silver than steel. Bith handed it back to the troll



OUTCASTS              15



without a word. She looked all around, but the forest was

now empty. She sighed and started walking north by a little

east.



They found the road. It was just a pair of ruts wide enough

for a cart and horse. It twisted back and forth, around the

trees. The road was as deserted as the forest had been. They

settled into a steady arm-swinging tramp that ate up the miles.



The rain stopped and the sun came out. The smell of leaf

mold was replaced by the scent of grass. Bith was well-

exercised by midday and sore by the afternoon, but Hathor

moved along as easily as a boulder down a hill. Neither of

them said a word all the day long. They drank their fill at a

stream and ate their meat and mushrooms and walked and

walked. The only people they passed were a young boy on

the road who led a cow, and a woodcutter. Neither gave the

disguised Hathor more than a curious glance. It was Bith, tall

and slim and raven-haired, who attracted their attention.

Maybe her "hound" would work out. It was nice not to be

alone, even if her company wasn't quite human. She was

surprised to find she didn't fear him at all now. Maybe it was

because he wasn't human.



Eventually they came upon fields and then a village as the

short day drew to a close. From their perspective on the out-

skirts it looked to have some two dozen small houses and ^

marketplace, which meant there had to be at least one inn

with a tavern. That was the place to go, Bith thought, to find

loose talk and loose change. And food. But she wouldn't be

able to get any dumb fanner to share his meal without him

expecting something in return: she wouldn't know how to

ask, anyway. Bith had led a sheltered life, but she knew

enough about men to avoid them. She had no money, nothing

to sell or barter. Except perhaps her belt buckle, but that was

me only thing left from home. She'd not pan with it. She

would have no time to work up spells, and didn't think it wise

anyway this close to that last village, not after her experiences

with the people there- Unless she was willing to sell herself—

she wasn't—it was sleeping in the woods again. And eating

mast. Or ...



"Come on, Thor. Let's take a walk. Pretend we're passing

through."



16



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



Hathor grunted something and Bith had to ask for an ex-

planation. "Horses not like me. Smell bad."



Bith stood with hands on hips looking at the town. It was

no good to stand here, for they were attracting looks of their

own. A town this small wouldn't see many magicians. Or

trolls.



"That can't be helped. Let's walk."



They strode through the center of town, turning heads and

making children point and dogs bark. They soon reached the

center. Bith took a quick look around the sleepy marketplace.

There was an inn. The Blue-Bellied Boar, with a stable be-

hind. Horses tied before it whickered when they caught Hath-

or's scent, but the two kept moving. In no time they were

past and in the forest again. Bith stopped and ordered Hathor

to find a place to camp.



"We sleep night?**



"We nap for a while. Then when it's truly dark and the

town's abed, and men are in their cups, we'll sneak back and

raid the kitchen."



"Steal?"



Bith flushed. "Well, yes, I'm afraid so," Guilt and fresh

anger sharpened her tongue-"! have no other way of getting

food, and it was filthy peasants like this who attacked my

hut! They will have made off with any money I had! We'll

just take something back!"



The troll shrugged. "What you say."



Bith sniffed and followed the troll as he entered the woods.

They found a place to snuggle among the brown leaves. They

made no fire and curled up to sleep.



Bith awoke with a start. It was pitch black all around.

Something had moved and startled her. Then she realized it

was Hathor. She would have to get used to waking in strange

places, she thought. For someone who, until a few months

ago, had awakened every morning in the same bed in the

same tower chamber where she was born, it was not easy to

accept the night and its noises. The girl pulled her cloak close

and thought about home.



Hathor loomed in the dark like a dead tree trunk. "We

go?"



Bith sighed and rose. "We go."



They stumbled to the road—or rather, Bith stumbled while



OUTCASTS              17



Hathor stepped easily—and found its white stripe in the tun-

nel of trees. Bith realized she had no idea which direction

they'd come from. She'd have to leam to orient herself better

or get lost often. Hathor understood her confusion and pointed

a gnaried finger. "Right," Bith said, "I knew that." Care-

fully and quietly they picked their way toward town.



The moon was up. The town was washed white, especially

so after the black tunnel of the road. As soon as they got to

the edge of town a dog picked up their scent and began to

bark. That woke other dogs who took up the call. Bith and

Hathor retreated. They waited until the first dog had been

kicked quiet, "It might be you," the girl said. "I'll see if I

can get on ahead. Wait here but come running if I call."



"Got it."



Whether she was quiet enough or scentless enough she

didn't know, but she got as far as the inn without being de-

tected. Through an unshuttered side window she could see a

small light and hear men's voices in conversation—late risers

talking away the night. The rest of the village was silent and

black. Elizebith slunk along the side wall and peered around

the back. By moonlight she could see the back stoop of the

inn, the woodshed, the privy and stable and smith's hut. Every

surface was splintery silver under the moonlight. Small doors

held the stalls closed in the stable. She heard a horse's hoof

strike hollowly as it lashed out in a dream. She could smell

manure, both horse and human, and sweet hay and stale wa-

ter. Lightly she picked her way to the back door. The packed

earth around the steps was sticky with mud. That was a good

sign, she thought, for it meant this was probably the kitchen

door. She put her nose to the crack under the door and sniffed.

The smell of ham and salt and cooking fat and spices made

her mouth water. No dog barked, no cat swiped at her nose.

Gently she took the door handle in hand and pressed the

thumblatch. It gave but the door did not. Barred, she thought,

to keep out thieves. Like me.



She eased out her knife and tried to work it into the crack

along the latch, to try and pry the bar up, but the frame was

built to prevent that. All right then, you bastards, she thought,

try this.



Bith fished in one of her pouches and extracted a pigeon

feather. The door itself was made of planks with some small



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



18



space between, and she stuffed the feather in between the

planks whete she guessed the bar was. She worked it in far-

ther with her knife point. Then she set both hands against the

door, cupped as if holding the bar. She whispered,



' 'Up and up, float ye high

Mimic the birds, make the sky.

Light you be, ye canfty,

Up and up, float ye high."



She chanted this three, then four tiroes while holding onto

the invisible bar, until she thought it had failed. She thought

of the food she'd miss and how hungry she'd be, and she

gritted her teeth. Suddenly the imaginary weight left her hands

and she knew it was up. She floated the bar in her mind up

and out a hair. Then she halted the spell.



The bar fell with a clatter that made her jump. Fool. she

berated herself, idiot. You should have/hated it to earth! She

waited breathlessly—her chest hurt from all this breath-

holding—but no one came to investigate. Perhaps the door

from the kitchen into the front loom was also closed. Silently

and with shaking hands she eased down the thumblatch and

pushed the door open.



The smells from me room washed over her, redoubling her

hunger, as she put her head inside. It was black. There was

no one inside. Lightly she hopped into the room and felt

around for any kind of foodstuff. Her hands touched a plate

of cold greasy meat and she recoiled. Better were the blood

sausages and hams and cheeses hanging over the fireplace.

She grabbed five objects and then realized she couldn't carry

it all. Such a glorious problem! She groped around and found

an apron. She spread that and filled it with smoked meats and

cheese, then searched for more. Some turnips and dried on-

ions and a bottle of something went onto the pile until she

reckoned she'd overstayed her welcome. She plucked up the

four corners of the apron and swung the bundle over her back.

With a wary eye on the front room door she skipped to the

back door and hopped out and down the steps.



And crashed full into some fool coming in. The comers of

the heavy apron slipped from her fingers. The plunder

thumped and bounced all over the steps.



OUTCASTS              19



"Uhh!"



"Mides and Mithra!" Bith burst out.



The blockade grunted while backing up. "What are you

doing? Hey, who are you?"



"Gel out of my way or I'll kill you!" Bith snapped. She

started to squat to retrieve the food but then stopped, unde-

cided whether she should pull her knife, snatch food, or just

run. She settled for drawing with one hand and scrabbling

with the other.



"What's going on?" It was a boy's voice, though he was

as tall as a man. "How did you get inside?"



"I will kill you!" Bith repeated. "You've ruined every-

thing'"



Inside the kitchen the front-room door creaked open and

then slammed against a table. "What's going on? Hey, stop,

there! Thief, thief!"



Bith had a sausage or something in her right hand. With it

she batted at the boy in her way. She tried to press past him

but a hammy hand clamped onto her shoulder. "You imp!

Stay—" He howled as Bith's tiny knife slashed the back of

his hand. That hand disappeared but another grabbed her by

the back of her loose hair. The long locks were almost ripped

out of her skull as she was yanked backward. She tripped and

fell, landing on her rump. The proprietor, for it could only

be he taking such an interest, steadily dragged her backwards

to keep her off-balance. Within a minute there were three

large men around her and she was still on the floor.



"Look what I caught, Bert! Lookee here! A minx after the

larder!"



"Heeeeey," said another man. "That's the witch from

Blackrock! The one we chased up that ravine! Ain't it, Ro-

gie?"



Bith looked up at their frowning, beer-blowsy faces. She

could expect no sympathy. She was a common thief in this

town and a killer witch m another. The proprietor, in an

apron and thick mustache, still had her by the hair in a po-

sition she couldn't twist out of. In the doorway she saw the

one who'd foiled her escape. It was a brown-faced boy in

faded wool with straw in his hair. A stupid stableboy.



"Yeah, that is her!" said the third man. He gave Bilh a



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



20



swift kick in the leg. "She killed Carew when she called up

that monster!"



Bith yelled, "I didn't kill anyone! An arrow did! And you

were out to kill me for no reason!"



"You shut up," Bert told her. "We'll bum you now fair

and square, with the whole village out to watch."



A shudder passed through Bith as if they'd doused her with

water. A day hadn't passed and she was right back where

she'd been. Only this time she couldn't rely on help. Oh, yes,

she could, she remembered. She raised her voice and

screamed, "Thor! Help me, Thor! Quickly!"



The last man kicked her again, but he swore as he did.

"That must be her monster!"



"Well, bar the door, you oaf! It can't break that down!"

The boy was gone. The two men stepped over Bith to slam

the door into place. Drunk and sleepy, they got in each other's

way and stumbled over the fallen bar. They almost had the

door closed when a sword blade slipped in between them,



"Back up," a voice commanded. It was a boy's voice but

a man's tone. Bert and Rogie staggered back away from the

blade. Into the room stepped the stableboy. He still had straw

in his hair and manure on his boots, but he had a boss shield

and naked sword in his hands. The sword was of an old-

fashioned design and pitted and the shield was scarred blank,

but it made an impression on the farmers.



"Cat!" barked the proprietor. He let go of Bith's hair to

wave his arms about. "What the hell are you doing? These

are friends of mine! Put that thing down!"



The boy Cal didn't take his eyes off the men as he said,

"Girt, get up and get out of here. Run!"



Bith took a moment to register herself as "Girt" and that

he was helping her escape. Then she was up and streaking

out the door. She paused only to snatch up a cheese and ham

before she pelted around the comer. She heard him call, "Go

on ahead, and I'11—un/iA—" His words were cut off with a

grunt. Bith didn't care. She ran across the village, now awake

to the cacophony of barking dogs- Halfway across me mar-

ketplace she found Hathor jogging towards her.



"You get rood?" he croaked.



"Shut up and nm!"



OUTCASTS



21



They did. Out of the village and down the inky road into

the night.



They walked swiftly for the rest of the night to get distance

between themselves and the village. By midmoming Bith was

too exhausted to go on and they sacked out in the woods for

a nap. Later they walked some more. Bith looked over her

shoulder often.



In the middle of the afternoon she glimpsed someone trail-

ing them. She pulled Hathor into the bushes to one side, but

the figure was already trotting to catch up. He wore a sword

and a light pack with a shield tied atop. The sheriff? No, he

would be mounted. A boy's voice called, "Hey, wait up! Wait

up!"



Bith stepped into the road and blew out her cheeks in dis-

gust. She waited with a curious Hathor. As the boy drew even

Bith said acerbically, "Ho, stableboy. What do you want?"



The boy shucked his pack and set it in the road. He huffed

slightly as he looked her in the eye. "Well," he puffed, "a

thank you might be nice."



Bith set her hands on her hips. "Thank you for what?

Thanks to you I spilt a week's food on the ground!"



The boy lifted his chin. He was taller than Bith, with av-

erage looks and brown hair that escaped from under his leather

helmet. He wore a soldier's helm, baldric, scabbard, pack,

and shield, and no piece of it matched any other piece. The

baldric was brown, the scabbard black, the pack green, the

shield scrubbed clean of any emblem. His clothes were plain

and patched and faded, his boots worn white. His young face

was showing some wear loo, brown from an outdoor life with

a scar on the right side. A sword tip had nicked him on the

upper lip and continued onto his chin.



The boy had a soldier's insolence, too. He burst out, "/

saved your Hfe\ I caught a meat cleaver on the back of the

head—the flat side, luckily—just for you! Thanks to me you're

not ashes blowing in the wind! They were serious about bum-

ing you! I could tell."



Bith shuddered involuntarily. She kneaded her hands and

couldn't look at him. Uncertain what to say, she said, "Thank

you, then."



22



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



The boy snorted. "That sounded like hard work! Didn't

they teach you any manners where you come from?"



The sorceress's daughter turned on him hotly. "Where /

come from / was in charge of a dozen slaves of my very own!

When I commanded something they did it or suffered the



consequences^'



The boy snorted again and looked her up and down.

"You're dressed fine, all right, like a princess. But who knows

but you stole the clothes too." He gestured at the remnants

of the netted cheese and sausage mat hung from her belt. Bith

whipped her cloak over them. He went on, "And I don't see

any dozen slaves, just one motheaten—whatever he is."



"He's a troll, and he'd gut you and eat your liver if I com-

manded him to."



The boy stepped back and put his hand to sword. But when

he looked at the troll be smiled. The troll was grinning widely

and shaking his head. "No," he growled, "no eat meat.



Only flowers."



Bith looked at her traitorous companion sharply. He lost

his grin but the boy laughed. "Oh, yes, I see how your slaves

obey. They must have feared your highness greatly. Quivered

at your name when you ordered them flogged."



Bith was beside herself. She snaried, "Do you know who

my mother is? She is Morea, the most feared woman in the

worid! And / am her daughter!"



"Morea?" The name gave me boy pause. He rubbed his

downy chin and looked her up and down again. He took in

the magician's belt and knife and myriad pouches. Then he

shook his head. "Spellcaster, maybe. But not from behind

any Mistwall."



Bith breathed, "What?"



"I don't believe you."



"You— don't—believe— me? You're calling me a liaft 1

don't believe you\ You cad\ If we were in my native land I'd

have the skin off your back for book covers! iy—"



"But you're not," the boy retorted. "So curb your tongue

and act your age, girl."



Bith sputtered and spit and finally got out, "You—you—

stabteboy\ You stand there with dirty hands and horseshit on

your shoes and you dare insult me! I should, should—

Ooooht" She turned and stalked away down the road. Hathor



OUTCASTS



23



followed her silently, trailing just behind and to the right,

like a faithful dog.



Bith had not gone twenty paces when she spun to her left

and screeched, "Where do you think you're going?"



The boy looked bland. "This way. You don't own the roads.

Or do you? Does your mother collect a toll here?"



Bith resumed walking. "I won't be seen walking with a

stableboy\"



"No, I suppose not. A princess has a reputation to up-

hold." He was still walking not ten feet behind her. "Funny

thing about this country," he mused as if to himself. "It's

more full of princesses than milkmaids. Why, you can't swing

a goose switch without hitting a princess some days. Yes, sir,

there must be a pile of queens somewhere having babies, that

every giri you meet has royal blood. Yes sir, yes sir."



Bith paraded down the road with her nose in the air.

"Hathor, kill him."



The troll only chuckled, a sound like flint on steel.



"All right," Bith said to the air. "We'll leave it at this. If

any stableboys smelling of horsesweat are still with us to-

night, we'll cut their throats as they sleep and leave them to

the wolves."



Behind her came two chuckles,,one human, one trollish.

Bith stalked along and damned all men of all races.



That night the three shared a campfire.



Cal was still with them, for Hathor didn't mind and Bith

refused to acknowledge his presence. Eventually though, as

the blackness settled in and closed the sky around their tiny

pool of light, the silence pressed upon the giri. Cal stropped

his sword with a whetstone. It was a hopeless job, for the old

thing was so deeply pitted it could never shine. Bith said,

"There's not much point in sharpening that thing. It's not

much of a sword.**



Cal stroked the blade. "No. It's nose-heavy and wont hold

an edge, but it's all I have. A soldier is judged by the con-

dition of his weapon."



"Did you steal it from your former master?"



"No. I looted it from a battlefield. I don't know if it fell

from the hand of some barbarian or was left by others who



24



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



didn't care for it, or whether it had lain there since an eartier

battle. The field I was on had seen many battles, I'm told."



"Did you win the battle?"



"I don't know." Cal paused in his stropping and looked at

her bewildered face- "That seems a strange thing to say, but

I really don't. Sometimes whole armies retire from the field



and don't know."



"That's ridiculous! How can you not know if you've car-

ried the day or not?" Bith would have criticized more sharply,

but she was wrapped in this boy's blanket.



"There's nothing more confusing than a battle. The old

soldiers say that. Old sailors argue that being on a ship in a

storm is more confusing, but I don't see how it can be. Either

you're afloat or you're not. But a battle. Have you ever seen



one?"



Bith admitted she hadn't. She almost replied that she'd read

of them in books, but mat would sound foolish- In books the

hero was never in doubt as to what had happened. And he

always won. Hatbor too was intrigued. He leaned forward by

the fire attentively with his huge ears seeming to point for-

ward.



The boy settled to polishing the blade with the flat edge of

the stone. His voice settled into storytelling.



"You have to understand what happens in a battle. And

before it. One day you're training and hoping to get your

chance in a battle. Then the king sends a messenger through

the land to rouse all the knights. Your master, the local knight,

makes a speech as to why we hate the so-and-sos in the next

country over. He summons his retainers—squires, cooks,

men-at-arms—and you report to the castle. I was a squire to

a knight. Sir Edric. I only had one more year to go before

my vows. Anyway, now the laird makes a speech about this

ghastly enemy who's coming to kill you all and how you must

fight for justice and such, then you march off. And march

and march and march and march, and some men slip away

into me night and go home, and some others are caught and

horsewhipped. And me knights argue with one another about

what they know of the enemy, which is usually nothing, ex-

cept mat the old men know but no one listens to them, which

is too bad. Some of the knights beg their lords if they can't

just buy their way out of the fight and go home. You pick up



OUTCASTS              25



mercenaries at some town, filthy long-haired bastards who'll

steal anything not nailed down, and cut your throat if you

don't sleep light. You get to the big town, and the king is

there, and he makes a speech, same one you've heard already.

Some believe it. On" you go, marching some more. Finally,

one day, a rider comes gallopin' up and tells you the enemy's

in sight.



"Then everyone goes over their armor and weapons and

makes sure their cinches are tight and edges sharp, and then

you wait. For two, three days, sometimes. Your side sends

messengers to their side and they argue about where the battle

should take place and what's the maximum they'll pay for any

knights they capture for ransom and a bunch of other money

concerns. Then they announce that tomorrow will be the bat-

tle—the big day. Unless it rains, which means the ground'll

be muddy and the horses will get bogged down and maybe

hurt, which knights hate like fury. They don't care if they

lose a hundred peasant footmen, but having to kill one war-

horse is a crime. So the next morning everyone gets up while

it's still dewy, and you wait some more. Sometimes all day

and into the next and everyone wonders what happened. You

can't eat 'cause your stomach's in a knot, you can't sleep

'cause you're worried. So you just sort of stumble around and

pick fights with your friends and fidget with your weapons.

I've seen men pick their arrows clean to pieces fidgeting."



Bith interrupted him. "How many battles have you been

in?"



Cal grinned. In the firelight the disjointed scar on his lip

and chin gleamed. Someone had come close to splitting his

face. "Two. The first was lucky for it was hardly a battle at

all. We came out of the woods onto this plain and die enemy

spotted us. We had them outnumbered three to one, so they

just fumed and fled into the woods. We peppered 'em with a

few arrows and that was all. Still, you should nave heard the

men tell the campfollowers what a great battle it was and how

brave they were. My second battle, well, I'll get to that.



"Finally someone blows a trumpet and you crowd for-

ward. The lord up there on his high horse makes a fine speech

full of flowery words while a sergeant screams cuss words in

your face, and you form up. I was just a plain squire with an

old horse and my master's spare sword. It's fanny, but for all



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



26



the fear you get caught up in the fever. The words and the

pounding on shields and the screaming gets to you and pretty

soon you're screaming along with the rest and all you want

to do is get some enemy on the end of your weapon and tear

his guts out.



"This was some battle, too. Lots of men and horses on

both sides. Like you'd hear about from a bard, though there's

never been a bard on any battlefield that I've seen. We came

onto this rise and looked onto the opposite rise and there

were the enemy, and we all guessed right away we were pretty

evenly matched. So there'd be a fight, and a big one. Then

up goes the cry and we thunder forward like a giant wave,

down this hill and crash into the other fellows.



"Mars and Mercury, what a mess'. Men are screaming fit

to burst their lungs and slashing at everything in sight. They'd

chop an enemy or their best friend or their own leg if it got

in the way. It wasn't half a minute everyone was so mixed up

and turned around you couldn't tell friend from foe. Not that

it makes much difference.



"Now you have to understand that this army is made up of

individual lords, most of whom hate each other's guts. Each

lord has his own knights, and each knight has his own squire

and his own peasants. So in a battle you stay close—as close

as possible—to your knight, and him to his lord. And what

with all these knights charging right and left and every which

way, and men trying to follow them, you're doing some trav-

elling, slashing every foot of the way. And then some lord

will get cold feet and just turn and run. Or his horse will get

cut down and he goes down and the peasants stick him full

of steel till he looks like a hedgehog. Then suddenly his

knights don't have a leader anymore, or any reason to be there

except for capturing something valuable. The mercenaries

aren't going to get paid, so they just chop anyone they mink's

got money in his purse. Or if the lord runs away, his men

follow, and there's a great hole in your flank. Or two lords

will forget the enemy and decide to settle a blood feud right

there on the battlefield.



"Anyway, there's this surging and fighting and smashing

and after three minutes you're hoarse and thirsty and tired

and all you want to do is sit down and rest, but you can't, of

course. People get killed all around you, or disappear. So



OUTCASTS              27



you can't really tell if you're winning or not. No one can. I

always figured, and so did a bunch of old soldiers with scars

to prove they'd been there, that if you were still breathing

after a battle, you had won and that was that.



"And as if it weren't confusing enough, magic makes this

mess a hundred times worse! Some damned hand-waver will

be up on the hilltop—way out of arrow range—wiggling his

fingers and blowing smoke from some stinking pot—and sud-

denly there are spells all over me place. The sneaky kind.

Like a horde of knights will suddenly be bearing down on

you and you duck and cover your head, only to have them

sweep over you like fog. And you realize they weren't making

any noise. Or three giant men come running at you, and they

all look alike as brothers, and are even raising their axe the

same way. My master told me how he was once charged like

that, and he rode straight for the middle giant and impaled

him on a lance, and the other two—ghost pictures, they were—

curied up and died too. Magic, pah'. And glory too."



Cal shoved his helmet back to wipe his brow. He had goose

bumps from the memories he conjured. His voice had turned

dark and broody, as if an owl in the night had suddenly begun

to tell its sad story.



"My master knew a thing or two, but not this time. The

battle went back and forth for two hours or more, with all of

us with our arms hanging by our sides almost, when suddenly

our lord was seen being carried off towards the woods. I don't

know what exactly happened—I didn't see it—but my master

up and blows his horn and yells 'Follow me!' We did, though

we couldn^t see why. It was dark then and the battle was

winding down. Off we went into the woods, but we didn't

find nothing. It was just some illusion he saw, he reckoned.



"When we got back to the battle, it was over. We had lost,

our side said, and it was our fault because my master ran

away! My master got into an argument with another lord that'd

always hated him. They got off their horses to swing swords

but the other bastard refused, said my master had disgraced

himself. Ooh, was he mad! Other noble knights who were

fighting for the glory of the gods were squabbling like vul-

tures over dead men's goods. We got driven off the field with-

out a chance to collect any loot at all. And there was

something wrong with my master. I don't know what. But I



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



28



think he believed he was a coward somehow. And I wasn't

too proud of myself either. It's a damned fool who goes off

to war.



"Believe me," he finished, "this guff you hear about bat-

tles being glorious and romantic is just that—guff. They're

nothing more than a chance for some fat lord to get out of

his castle and kill a few of his hungry mouths and maybe

pick up some land or some loot in the process. Ach!"



Bith breathed. "But what happened to you?"



"Hunh? Oh, nothing. We camped that night and set a

guard, but the guards ran off. When I awoke everyone was

gone. Everyone, just like that. Stole my horse, too.



"Oh, was I mad! There I was, no food, no weapons, no

master, no friends. 1 snuck back to the battlefield and picked

up this stuff—" he gestured vaguely to his sword and shield

and harness—"stuff no one else wanted. I scrubbed the em-

blem off the shield with a rock and went into business for

myself."



The troll asked, "What you mean, business?"



Cal blew out his cheeks. Hunched over by the fire, he

looked very thin and young. "Well, after years as a page I

had worked my way up to squire, and in one more year I

would have made knight. Then in one day I was demoted

clear back to foot soldier- A soldier of fortune, with no for-

tune in sight.



"Anyway, I hear they're mustering some sort of army to

the east, on the coast somewhere. Maybe they can use one

more hand."



Bith yawned despite her interest in his words. "That's all

you know, that someone is mustering an army somewhere,

and you might join? What kind of a life is that?"



Caltus Talienson pursed his lips. "That's a soldier's life.

The pan you don't hear about in stories. Good night."



With that the former squire sheathed his sword and ar-

ranged it by his right side. He put the shield on his left. He

propped his head on his helmet and laid a moth-eaten sweater

over his chest as a blanket. In three slow breaths he was

asleep.



Bith looked at Hathor, who looked back as docile as a

sheep.



"Sleep. I watch," the troll said-



OUTCASTS              29



"You'll get some sleep too?"



Hathor shrugged an awkward shrug. Bith pillowed her head

on her arm and pulled the blanket to her chin. She fell asleep

with the rush and cry of battle in her ears. Men screamed

and swore and died. They cursed one another and the gods.

Horses dashed past her and arrows whizzed above. Cal swung

a sword and looked confused. . . .



Finally the night was quiet.



At midnight a stranger was sitting by their fire.



CHAPTER



3



Cal's first thought was "Vampire!"



Something woke him up. He'd opened his eyes expecting

to see either a pretty (though snotty) giri or a lumpy (but

friendly) troll. What he saw was a nightmare.



The boy snatched his sword from its scabbard and rolled

far to one side, coming to his feet, clumsy but upright. Bith

jerked awake and muzzily raised her hands in a dramatic

sorcering pose. Hathor trotted up from somewhere off in the

woods. He shouted something in trollish and lifted his felling

axe high.



The stranger at the fire lilted pale eyes and looked compla-

cently from one to another to another. After a long look round

he asked, "Yes?"



Cal let out his breath in a gasp. "Who are you? What are

you doing here?"



"Sitting," replied the pale man, "by the fire."



Cal waved his free arm to take in the forest. "That's not

what I meant! I mean—" he panted—"I mean, what are you

doing here? Besides the damned fire, I mean. Oh, hell!" The

boy had to stop talking to get his breath back.



It was the dead of night. No dew had formed. The stranger



30



OUTCASTS              31



sat and stared at the invisible flame over the coals. Cal stud-

ied the shadowed face. Although the boy had never seen one,

he was pretty sure this wasn't a vampire: it wasn't sinister

enough. But it surely wasn't a proper man.



The being was tall, taller than most men Cal had met. He

had pale, almost translucent skin, paler than a fish's belly.

His thin beard was so white it was almost not there at all.

His eyes were green like a cat's. He wore clothes very plain

but exceedingly fine-woven of a leaf green. On his head was

a soft hat with a sprig of holly, and over his shoulders he

wore a cloak of some very light material. Cal could see the

tail of something (not his tail, surely) sticking out behind and

lying on the ground. It looked to be a sword scabbard, but

was far too narrow. On the other side showed a quiver for

short arrows. A short, curved, foreign-looking bow lay across

the man's lap. What was he? Cal wondered. A jongleur? A

magician? A doctor? A prophet?



Elizebith had been studying the stranger too. Now she burst

out. "You're the one who shot the arrow!"



The pale man nodded slowly.



"You're an elf!" Bith berated herself for not realizing it

sooner. She'd seen pictures of elves in books. She had even

seen one in the flesh once. A dead one.



"Ulf?" grunted Hathor.



"Elf," Cal corrected. Which was as bad as a vampire. The

young soldier pointed his sword. He said, "Whatever you

are, sir elf, you be gone. Now. The road is that way."



The elf continued to stare at the fire.



"Didn't you hear me? Up with you, and out! We'll not

have your kind here!'



Bith said, "Cal!"



The man turned green eyes upon him and said, "You've

not heard the voice."



"Voice? What voice?"



Bith piped up. "We've heard it, sir elf! Hathor and I! This

troll."



"My name is Endril."



Cal waved a hand to shush people, though no one was

talking. "What's this about a voice?"



Bith told him how the voice had contacted both her and

Hathor. The elf nodded, "I too. As you guessed, t'was I who



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



32



shot the arrow and kept that villain from stabbing yon troll

in the back." He addressed the troll in a string of words that

gobbled and gulped. The troll replied in kind with a smile.



Cal was waving again. "Be damned to all that! What's—"



Bith said, "But why, if you shot that arrow, didn't you join

us in the ravine?"



"Why you not help us?" the troll ended. 'And how you

get past me to fire?"



Endril replied, "At the time, you were too far removed."



"We were trapped in a box! Where were you?"



"I was atop a hill opposite."



"Hill? I didn't see any hill."



"It was—some distance away."



Bith bit her lower lip. If he was speaking true, this elf had

shot an arrow from the top of a faraway hill, in the dark. and

killed a man. She didn't know if she believed it or not.



Cal stepped in front of Bith, blocking her view of the elf.

"Bith, wake up. He's hexing you."



"Get out of the way, stupid!"



"We can't have him here. Elves are evil! They curse crops

and poison wells' They steal children, they drink blood, they

do all kinds of horrible things!"



Bith shook her head until her hair flew. ' 'You don't know

anything. Elves are the fair folk who were here before men!

They live in castles and the forest and they compose beautiful

songs—they invented songs. They do ... nice things."



The soldier pointed his sword at the elf again. "And which

is it?"



The elf closed his eyes momentarily. "At any one time,

any thing is true."



"That's your answer," the boy snorted. "Nothing. Elf.

last warning. Get you gone."



When he didn't move, or even blink, Cal suddenly

screamed a battle cry and swung his sword two-handed.



la fact, Cal didn't intend to harm him. He only hoped to

jolt the elf out of his seat, to get him up and running. Usually

one close swipe of a blade was enough to make civilians run.

So his charge was more bluster than bloodlust.



But the elf was gone.



"Cal, behind you!" Bith's voice called.



He spun. There was a blur of green against the backdrop



OUTCASTS              33



of brown forest, then—nothing. Thinking the elf had ducked

behind him—already anticipating a cold dagger in the back—

Cal whipped around on his heel and slashed viciously without

looking. Something clinked. His sword arm stopped in mid-

air. The rest of him kept going. He tripped over his feet and

fell sprawling. His sword disappeared, plucked from his hand

like a feather from a bird's wing.



Standing over him was the elf. His face was blank and

unaccusing. He held Cal's sword by the blade in his left hand.

His right was empty. With no expression at all he offered the

sword back to the boy, hilt first.



Wondering, Cal took it. It was only then he noticed the elf

was wearing a glove, a metal gauntlet, on his left hand. The

white figure (who really was very tall) stepped back to the

fire, all without word 'br sound. When Cal looked again

the gauntlet was gone.



The boy stayed sitting on the ground, though he held onto

his sword. "How did you do that?"



The elf's only answer was to wave a breezy hand. They

were long thin hands with blue veins. Hands strong enough

to stop a sword thrust? That couldn't be right. And how could

a metal thin enough to make a glove still stop a blade? It had

to be magic. Elf black magic.



Hathor looked at the two humans who stared at the elf. To

the troll they all looked the same. He asked the crowd, "You

want mushrooms?"



Endril said, "Enough. 1 seek answers. Have you aught clue

as to his origin?"



Bith shook her head.



Hathor asked, "What he say?"



Cal asked, "Whose origin?"



Endril nodded as if he'd received an answer. Without

speaking he sat crosslegged by the fire. The elf spread his

hands onto the ground beside him, threw his head back, and

closed his eyes.



Caltus Talienson walked close to the fire and peered at him.

The elf sat still as a rock. His mouth was open slightly and

his face blank. Bith stood near Cal and stared also. The lower

lip clamped in her teeth betrayed her nervousness. Hathor

scratched his lumpy head and sat down. He dozed.



After a long time Endril opened his eyes and glided to his



34



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



feet. His every move was fluid and graceful, like a cat's. Cal

wondered if maybe elves were related to cats. That would

explain a lot. The elf said, "Nothing there." He turned with

his hand to his chin. studying the glade they camped in.



Endril squatted and stoked up the fire, arranging the em-

bers in some pattern, then fed on small sticks to prick up the

blaze. Soon its warm yellow light was reflected on the faces

of the four travelers.



Endril stooped low to peer into the fire as if it were a

crystal ball. He drew forth a small pouch from beneath his

cape and sprinkled a pinch of some powder on the fire. It

gave a green glow for only a second.



The elf shook his head. He hamunphed.



Now he walked around the glade, studying the trees. He

circled and touched each one, murmuring to himself in his

own language. It sounded as if he were singing under his

breath.



"'What is he rfomg?" Cal asked the two.



Hathor woke up with a grunt. Bith shrugged.



The e^f's voice came from the dark. "Boy, bring light!"



The boy sniffed at being called a boy, but his curiosity got

me best of him. Cal took a burning brand and swung it lightly

to whip up the flame- Bith and Hathor walked on his heels.



Endril stood back in the forest about fifty feet. He had one

fine hand on the bark of a thin tree. "This one would die

soon anyway, and take its neighbor." He gestured upwards.

Cal and the others looked. This slim tree was a leaner. High

up it had cracked, probably from lightning, and now it was

cocked over so it rubbed against a healthier neighbor. A

woodcutter would take it in an instant. But Endril set his

forehead against the bark and prayed for a moment. (Bith and

Cal wondered to whom.) Then the elf took out a long knife.

It had a shining white blade and a handle wrapped with silver

wire. (Cal wondered how much other stuff the elf carried

under that cloak.) He made a square cut in the soft bark of

the tree and then pried it loose. Silver wood was exposed,

and the elf signalled the light close. He peered at it closely

and frowned. "Not a druid god- What then?"



"Beats me," Cal replied- "What are you looking for?"

Bilh poked him in the arm.



Endril didn't reply. Back at the fire he pondered some more



OUTCASTS              35



as the humans and troll pondered him. He turned their way

and stared right through them. Suddenly he said to Cal, "Will

your helm hold water?"



"What?"



"Give it here." Without waiting he took it off Cal's head.

The helmet was made of bands of iron lined with leather.

Endril walked off into the dark, this time alone.



"What's he want with rW?" Cal asked.



"Thirsty?" Hathor asked.



Bith was biting her lip again. "I think . . . he's trying to

contact our—contact."



"What contact?"



"The one with the voice."



"What voice?"



Bith said icily, "The one in our heads."



Cal retorted, "/haven't heard any voice."



"Maybe he only talks to intelligent beings."



"Hey!"



Endril came back into the firelight carrying Cal's helmet.

It was full of water. The elf set it carefully by the fire. He

studied the water's surface and startled his companions when

he said, "There. "



More startling was the faint squeak that replied, "Yes, good

work." It sounded like a child talking at the bottom of a well.

Cal and Bith and Hathor crowded close. Peering into the dark

water they perceived—a face!



It was a man's face, stem and frowning, for all that it was

young. The brows were knitted, the eyes slanted and slitted,

the nose sharp cut, the mouth thin-lipped. There was a hint

of beard, though it was hard to tell. The face filled the bowl

like a man's reflection seen in a bucket. But there was no

man above. Only an elf and three astounded compatriots.



"List me," the voice said- "We have much to instruct you,

our servants."



"I'm no man's servant," Cal blurted out. "Who is this

clown?"



Endril told him. "It's a god."



Hathor asked. "That a god?"



"A little titchy one, maybe," Bith answered him. The tiny

man might have been some drowned soul frozen under ice.

"Who are you? What do you want from us?"



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



36



"You will address us as Magnificent Lord, Exalted Master,

and Ruler of the Twelve Spheres'" the god tried to thunder,

but his voice was so tiny and tinny he sounded like a kitten.

Cal and Hathor laughed outright. Bith giggled. Only Endril

remained silent.



"I've a better idea," Cal replied. "Why don't we tip over

this bowl?"



"Into fire," Hathor added. They laughed again.



The god's face twisted and he spit out in a sparrow's chirp.

"Insult us, whelps? Die, then!"



Cal's laugh stopped as if he'd stopped an arrow. With jerky

motions he scrabbled up from the ground so quickly he

clonked heads with Bith and Hathor. With a howl he jumped

clear and ripped his sword from the sheath. As the pitted

blade caught the firelight Bith saw the god's face on the blade'



"Die! Die! Die!" Cal shrieked. He lunged.



Hathor shot out a rough arm that knocked Bith over on her

back, unfortunately too close to the fire. Her sleeve fell onto

hot embers and burst into flame. Hathor himself dropped to

the ground so that Cal's thrust carried him over the troll's

back. Straddled, Hathor stood up and dumped Cal on the

ground, but as the boy landed he slashed out and caught

Hathor on the back of the leg just below the hamstring. Hathor

roared and jumped and would have fallen back onto the up-

thrust blade, except for the forgotten Endril-



The elf's boot caught Hathor square in the rump. The troll

shot forward as if launched from a ballista to crash on top of

Bith. She had been frantically flapping her sleeve to put out

the flame but had only fanned it hotter. Bith now got a face

full of smelly stale troll as the wind was knocked out of her.



Cal, meanwhile, had swung with new fury on Endril, The

elf only spread his feet and arms wide and waited. He'd

donned his metal glove again. He sidestepped the clumsy

charge and then deftly tripped the boy. Cal plowed headlong

onto the forest loam. Endril stepped on his sword arm, bent

and wrenched the weapon loose, then threw it far out into

the dark woods. He stood with both feet on Cal's arms.



It grew quiet. Cal lay on the soil and panted like a dog.

Then he blew dirt out of his mouth and rasped, "What hap-

pened?"



"You mocked a god," Endril told him.



OUTCASTS              37



"I did? Oh, that's right. I did. But what happened then?'*



Endril told him. Bith shook off Hathor's help and sat up.

She batted at her sleeve and clothing and inspected her wrists.

"Where's that idiot god gotten to?"



Endril stepped to the fire and peered into the helmet full

of water. "Still here."



The dish rocked. "Mock us, will you? We'll kill you all!

We'll send you to the darkest pits of hell! Below that even,

where your bowels will be impregnated with serpents, your

eyes ripped out with hooks, and your lungs drowned in brim-

stone fire!"



Endril squatted, looked into the bowl and addressed it while

the others crept close and did not laugh. "Before you do that.

oh Magnificent Lord, Exalted Master, and Ruler of the Twelve

Spheres, pray tell this measly servant thy name that I may

sing thy praises to all the ears of men and mortals."



There was a pause, then the tiny lipless mouth spoke. "We

have many names, but men know us most often as Vili."



"Ah," said Endril. "Many tales have I heard of Vili, the

most noble, most high, most feared, most wise of the gods

of the north. Verily, I grow faint in the majesty of thy pres-

ence." With his hands behind him Endril waved his compan-

ions back. Then he started to creep backwards himself-

" Excuse this frail one, oh lord and master, I must pause for

breath ere I swoon."



Endri] joined the three at the edge of the firelight. He sig-

nalled them even farther back among the black, looming trees.

There he told them, "So we have it. Our mysterious shade is

Vili, a god of the north."



"Who's Vili?" Cal asked. "I never heard of him."



Bith said, "I have. I've read about him. He's brother to

Odin, king of northern gods, which makes him kin to Loki

and Thor."



"Thor?" asked Hathor.



Endril nodded, but with a cant to his head. "Those tales

may be true or not. He may or may not be Vili."



"What? "Cal asked.,



Bith answered. "I know what he means. Gods lie. There

are all kinds of stories about the tricks they play or the dis-

guises they wear. To fool each other or to gull men. Loki

especially is known as the trickster, and he's Vili's cousin.



38



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



This fellow could be anyone. We have to be careful we don't

fall into a trap."



Endril nodded. "One cannot be too careful when dealing

with gods. They are more like children than adults, with dan-

gerous and arcane powers. Some are fools, some liars. But

all of them welcome flattery. Put honey on your tongue when

addressing them and you'll be rewarded. Some of the time."



"How do you know all this?" Cal demanded.



"T'is common knowledge."



"What are we to do?" Bith asked,



"Wait a minute," Cal said- "How did you know to put

out that bowl of water?"



"I didn't, I provided several opportunities for this god of

whatever to manifest himself- I opened my body to receive

him as a host. I built up the fire to perhaps glimpse a fire

fiend, t stripped a tree to see a druid god. It was water that

did the trick. Coot water."



"Hunh?"



Endril explained as if to a slow child. "This god is a north-

ern god—a cold elemental—and so needed a cool surface on

which to manifest himself. The water was cool and so he

appeared there. Your steel sword served as well."



"Why didn't he just show up in person, like a ghost or

something?''



"Watch your tongue!" Bith spit out.



Edril answered. "Yes, please do. We've enough—other-

woriders visiting us now. For your question, I suspect this

godling needs a medium through which to manifest himself

because he cannot do so 'in person.' He must be too weak

to enter this plane. Thus so far we have only heard his voice-''



Cal harrumphed. "The less we have to do with gods the

better. Especially weak ones."



"Weak ones seek weak vessels."



"Hey!" Cal blurted. Bith laughed.



"I mean," Endril continued, "this god seeks our help,

Gods always want something, usually something they can't

have. Like children and men."



"That's men, all right," Bith muttered.



"And gods crave worshippers to sing their praises. Or

mayhaps be wants something from this plane, something he

cannot fetch himself,"



OUTCASTS              39



"He won't get much with threats," Cal said. "Why should

we help him?"



"Why indeed? Let us talk. Try to discern if he is indeed

Vili. Then we can see what he wants."



'' Why not?'' Bith sighed. But her tone was too casual. She

was curious.



"I don't like this," Cal murmured.



"Then leave," the girt told him. "We didn't invite you

here anyway."



"Oh? In that case I'm staying."



Hathor laughed and shook his head.



The four again crouched over the helm full of water. They

had moved it away from the fire so it would not grow warm

and rigged a torch on a pole so they could see. The god's

face rippled like the path of a fish's tail.



Endril did the talking. Gently and subtly, with many hon-

eyed words, he asked Vili about his ancestry, his homeland,

his ideals, his reasons for summoning them. "That we might

know how to serve you, master, best."



Vili replied, though it took some time. His tiny voice

droned on and on, and the petulance in it became clearer and

clearer. The godling claimed to be the younger brother of

Odin, and anyone with siblings could read the jealousy there.

He was ignored by his brother Odin, eclipsed by his nephew

Thor, picked on by his half-cousin Loki. Only the kind Balder

would speak to him or take him seriously. The elder gods had

the tribes of the far north firmly in their grasp and they pro-

tected their influence ferociously- It was Balder who had sug-

gested that Vili move farther south to "build a following."



To this end, Vili had left the land of ice and pine and rock

and spume. He'd found a new land of low mountains and

green hills and thick forest. And a long rolling wall of col-

ored mist.



In this new land VUi found potential for followers. He

hoped to attract worthy men, men of great wisdom and

strength and heart. Men, he had heard, liked geegaws—sacred

objects, venerated relics, fine tools. So Vili had dwarves con-

struct him a set of runeswords.



"Runeswords? " The word tolled tike a bell in Cal's mind

and mouth.



"Hush!" snapped the three.



40



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



These swords were forged in the bodies of mountains and

tempered in the god's own blood. With them in hand his

priests would "gather worshippers, assemble armies, conduct

war, and conquer kingdoms!" Like his brother Odin, Vili

would forge unbreakable bonds with the earth and make him-

self supreme^



Or so he thought . . .



"What went wrong?" Bith asked.



"Nothing went wrong!" snapped the tiny god in the bowl.

"Our plan was good! It was worthy! But the men squabbled

among themselves, and then the Dark Lord came. ..." Vili's

plan fell apart. The swords—Vili wished now he'd never com-

missioned them—were scattered over the earth. "The nearest

one is to the northwest. A thrice-cursed wizard drains its

power—our power—for his own petty ends, to protect his

kingdom from the Dark Army that encroaches."



"That doesn't sound so petty," Cal opined.



"Dark—Army?" asked Hathor.



"Shhh!!!" Bith hissed.



The tiny voice finished, "And so it comes to you."



"What?" asked all four together.



"Capture the sword!" hissed the voice. "Cast down the

wizard and kill him as an example to those who would oppose

our will!"



"Why should we?" Cal asked, and this time no one

shushed him.



"Do this thing for us," proclaimed the squeaky voice,

"and we shall reward you with gifts such as no mortal has

ever yet beheld!"



"Like what?"



The face in die bowl was silent. Cal thought he detected a

pout on the thin lips.



"Well?" the boy repeated.



"Gold! Jewels! Spell books! Fabulous magic swords and

ancient crowns of kings and potions and fabric from far lands!

Priceless—"



"Ores," Cal put in. "Big ugly ones with clubs."



"Traps," said Bith. "Evil spells to drive a person mad or

put out their eyes or stop their hearts. Homunculi and incubi

and earwigs."



OUTCASTS              41



"Trolls," Hathor put in. His three companions looked at

him.



"Cowards!" crowed the god, "You are afraid! Wastrels!

Feeble ones! Pusillanimous—''



Cal flicked the edge of the helmet with his finger. Un-

bound, his brown hair fell into his eyes and he had to brush

it back. "We're all that and more, but we're not stupid. None

here would embark on a doomed quest at the behest of a god

so feeble he can't even hex a chicken."



"Beware," Endril murmured. He hadn't spoken for some

time- "He hexed you."



Cal started and touched the pommel of his sword. Endril

clamped a hand over his. The elf's hand was warm but hard

as a ring of iron. Cal tried to shake it off but couldn't. "I'm

all right!" Endril let go.



"I drink god water?" Hathor asked.



Endrit held up a white hand. "No. We've listened enough,

though. Let us talk. Or better, see. Can you, oh Vili, show

us some picture of our destination?"



"The sword?" came a squeak.



"The treasure," replied Cal.



"And the magic," added Bith.



The face screwed itself up as if in disgust. Then it faded

away.



"He gone?" Hathor asked.



Cal peered close. "Looks like. No, wait. Look!"



A room came into view, a tiny picture in me round bowl.

Everyone bumped heads to catch a glimpse. The room re-

volved slowly. Bith gasped as a workbench crowded with

books and retorts and crocks and skulls and stuffed birds

came into view. Hathor grunted at the jeweled armor and

splendid battleaxe seen on one wall- And Cal gasped loudest

of all when he beheld a sword hanging in mid-air: a sword

etched with runes along its length.



Then suddenly the sour face of their god confronted them.



"Well?" he demanded.



The four mortals were silent. They tried to look at one

another surreptiously, to gauge each other's reaction. Finally

Bith broke the silence. "How much help do we get?"



Negotiations went on for some time. The mortal party fired

questions and answers at me beleaguered god and he answered



42



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



as much as he knew (or would tell them). He could scout

ahead for them, spy around corners and amongst the enemy

(whom he would not name), warn them of trouble. Maybe

possess a soul or two as needed, enhance their abilities, speak

to them in their minds, direct them back together if they

should separate. He made many more promises they weren't

sure he could keep. But in the end they consented, in a way.



"We'll take a look," Bith said.



"From a distance," Cal agreed.



"Nothing sure," Hathor added.



"The journey costs nothing," confirmed Endril.



"Then get on with it," commanded Vili, and faded.



Endril tilted the bowl. then dumped it out. "I think his

power is spent for now."



Cal got up from his knees and stretched wide. "Unhh!

That was interesting, but I have a feeling there's a whole lot

he didn't tell us. Hunh. I've never talked with a god before,

though I've called out a few of their names when I was fight-

ing."



"Beware lest your prayers be answered," Endril supplied.



"When do we start for the northland?" Bith asked.



"Tomorrow," replied Endril.



"Good," Hathor echoed. "Sleep now."



"Not yet," said Endril. "We must make a pact."



"Pact? What kind of pact?"



"Can't that wait until we're on the road?"



"What a pack?"



"A bond. A pact of honor," the elf explained. "And no,

it cannot wait. We've been brought together and we need to

seal our friendship. Rise and attend me, you all."



Wondering, glancing at one another sidelong, Cal and Bith

and Hathor shuffled forward and tentatively advanced their

hands.



Endril shook his white head. "Not here. Here." He stood

at one side of the fire and extended one hand over it. The

flame had died to embers that threw a lot of heat. But he

stood there as still as a tree with a branch extended. Cal

joined him and put his brown scarred hand on the elf's. The

fire began to slowly bake it- The troll stuck in his hairy knotty

hand, and finally Bith's slim short-fingered one was added to

the triangle.



OUTCASTS             43



Endril nodded- "An elf takes an oath not lightly, and I

hope humans and their kin do likewise. Let us pledge. That

we shall share peril and plunder and plague together. That

we shall defend one another unto death. That we shall work

together and never at cross purposes. That we shall succor

one another and expect succor.



"As the winds have four homes and the seasons four turn-

ings, as the world has four directions and this fire four sides,

let us have four hearts. A brotherhood of four.



"So be it!" Endril finished.



The other three echoed him. "So be it!"



They dropped their hot hands. With the dying down of the

fire had come the pressing of the night. A minor breeze rat-

tled through the camp. Bith shivered and drew her cloak close

about her. Cal said, "1*11 stoke the fire for you."



Hathor said, "I get wood."



"And I will stand watch," added Endril.



Bith asked, "What do I do?"



"Sleep."



The girl was too tired to argue. She settled against a fallen

tree dragged up by Hathor and laid down. "This has been a

long day," she yawned.



Having dumped an armful of wood, Hathor laid down to

sleep in die dirt like a dog. Endril wandered off while Cal

stacked the fire.



Hathor picked his head up and looked at the starry sky.

"Not four directions. Six."



"What's that?" Cal asked him.



"Wodd has four directions. North, south, east, west—up,

down."



"Go to sleep, Hathor." The troll dropped his head back

down and slept.



"Besides," Cal mused, "we're five, including our little

god friend.'*



Bith answered sleepily, "Gods don't count. You can't de-

pend on them."



Cal chuckled. "A brotherhood of outcasts- Some bunch."



"Go to sleep, Cal."



He did.



A shimmering sword etched with runes flashed in his

dreams.



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



44



Three days walking found them far to the west. They went

directly west because Endril had said they might as well face

what they were fighting as soon as possible.



They climbed through increasingly hilly country. The for-

est thinned out as the land rose. The trees stayed in the bot-

toms of gulleys that soon became valleys and promised to

become gorges. The grass was replaced in some places by

rock. The four were often the tallest things around save for

curiously conical stone spires. Cal asked Endril if they were

fashioned by hand, but the answers he got were so vague as

to be useless.



They passed through three hamlets. Two of them were de-

serted. In the third only their money was welcome. The res-

idents—gruff and scruffy men and women—would say that

"strangers and stranger ones" had passed by and caused

"some trouble." More than that they would not tell. The

villagers sold them trail food and waterskins at an exorbitant

price. They learned this tiny village was almost the end of

civilization, that beyond there was but one valley of people

left, a valley with a castle and a village around it.



And the party learned from these downtrodden and scur-

rilous people that they had become true outcasts, for the vil-

lagers did not try to hide their contempt and fear of the elf

and troll, and even of the human magic user.



With money lent by Cal, Bith had bought herself a blanket,

a teapot, a mirror, and some other camp gear. She tucked

her supplies into the blanket and tied it across her back. She

and Cal wondered at Endril and Hathor, who carried only

their weapons. Comfort was nothing to them. Hathor ate any-

thing he could chew and he slept in the mud or the rain.

Endril found food for them—game birds and animals, roots

and grasses—but ate little himself. And the elf never slept, it

seemed. He would only sit crosslegged and rest his eyes. He

sang lilting yet monotonous airs in a strange language that

started and stopped in no particular way. The pale figure wan-

dered off at times and returned later without a sound or ex-

planation. Their companions' inhuman fortitude began to

grate on Cal and Bith as the days passed.



They tramped across heathered moors and autumn-yellow

plains. Mile after mile, on and on.



OUTCASTS              45



Endril found the newness of the land enthralling. True, he

had walked these same miles before, many times in his long

life, but each time he passed through there was something

new to sec- A robin had found a new place to build a nest in

me top of a sundered tree. Conies had split their former col-

ony in two, occupying two hilltops now. Lavender had worked

its way up from the south to grace the side of a mountain

stream. The light through the grass had a different translu-

cency as the land settled. It was all beautiful, he found, all

one with itself. But it could not compare in any way with his

homeland, and often his heart was downcast. It was then he

would dream his dreamless memories and sing of home.



Bith wished she'd worked more as a youngster, so her body

would be tougher now. She had to struggle to keep up with

the elf's swinging gait, the troll's roll, and the soldier's stolid

marching. Blisters grew and burst on her feet inside their

fancy yellow boots, burst and leaked and chafed anew. At

nights she could barely sleep for their aching, just as the hard

ground mashed her soft curves and left her stiff in the morn-

ing. She thought this an empty land, grass and rock and noth-

ing else, empty of life and laughter and intrigue, and she

often wished she were some place exciting, or even home in

her mother's castle. Her mother was pure evil. The giri knew

that now, and nothing could make her go back to that dark

structure. But this outdoor wandering life was alien to her

too; she didn't belong here, and the land seemed to know it

and oppose her at every step-



Hathor strolled and walked and plucked up food and

thought about things or didn't. Everything was colorful and

noisy and interesting. He liked the red in the rocks underfoot,

the blue in a bird's wing, the yellow and green of the grass

stalks. He watched the clouds drift together to form a thou-

sand different shapes, then drift apart to form a thousand

more. He liked the sounds the wind carried, the click of

beetle and me scurry of ants, the hoot of a sleeping ground

owl. He liked the new tastes of the roots and plants he found,

a hundred different sensations on his tongue. He enjoyed it

all and was glad he'd left behind his dank moist caves and his

cruel people.



Between Endnl's singing, Bith's silent misery, and Hathor's

complacence, Cal began to feel very alone despite me com-



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



46



pany. This land was not very different from his homeland,

and sometimes the breeze carried scents that triggered mem-

ories of childhood. Yet that homeland was lost forever, and

he came from a race of people that accepted their fate without

complaining. So it had been with his father and so with his

mother- The stony silence was comfortable in its own hard

way, for it reminded Cal of the times in which he'd marched

and sung with stout soldiers to face a common foe. In these

harsh reaches he could breathe clear air deep into his lungs.

His head was free of the cobwebs of the forest. So the silence

was not so bad.



It was one bright morning they sighted their first goal. En-

dril, in the lead, reached the top of a slope and announced,

"There it is."



Bith, then Hathor, then Cal in the rear, joined him on the

flinty crest. They drew a sharp breath at the strange sight. On

this cloudless day in this cloudless clime, far to the west. they

beheld the common enemy of all the speaking races.



The thing was a line of cloud, or fog: a storm cloud come

to ground. The bank was tall, very tall, reaching almost to

where normal clouds would fly. The clouds that formed this

bank were not still. They roiled and boiled and fluttered and

rippled up and down its sheer face. Color flitted through the

cloud like a dirty rainbow—grey where it touched the ground,

a tinge of purple here, a jot of red there, green where the sun

hit it along the top, with orange streaks. But none of the

colors were beautiful. They were the colors of bruises on

skin, of mold on vegetables, of dried blood or vomit, of sun-

bleached bones and things long dead.



But the most curious feature of the cloud was its straight-

ness. True, the wall of cloud billowed out here or receded

there, but its front edge was as cleanly cut as if with a knife.

The tremendous wall ran from north by east to south by west,

and it stretched from horizon to horizon and obviously be-

yond. It was all the eye could see in looking west, a giant sea

wave poised to come crashing down on all civilization.



Cal said aloud to no one in particular, "So that's it. eh?"



"Aye," replied Endril. "The Mistwall,"



CHAPTER



4



"It's beautiful," said Bith.



"No, it's not," Cal snapped. "It's a curse on all man-

kind!"



Bith shook herself as if in a trance. "I—I suppose you're

right. It's full of color, but there's something wrong with

it. . . ."



The four stared at the long wall of bilious cloud without

moving or speaking.



It was Endril who broke the silence. "I remember when it

was far to the west. Very far. I remember when it didn't exist

at all." The elf's gaze was fixed in space, but not upon Mist-

wall.



Cal found the regular swirling of the mists arresting and

hypnotic, like watching water pass under a bridge. If a man

stared too long he could slip quietly over the edge. . . . Cal

shook himself. He turned his back and rubbed his eyes. A

few more minutes of this and the whole party would march

off into its depths. "Maybe we should get away from it. Out

of sight.''



No one answered. His three companions just stood and

stared. The soldier reached back—without looking at the dis-



47



48



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



tant Mistwatl—and grabbed Elizebith by the arm. Roughly he

jerked her down below the brow of the slope.



"What? Let go of me, you—ruffian!"



Hathor looked up at Bith's cry and jumped down beside

the girl. He growled at Cal to let the girt go. Cal did, but he

asked her, "Feel better?"



Bith looked around and put her hand to her throat. "Well,

yes. I do. Thank you, I guess."



"It's going to be a Jolly journey with that thing always at

our left hand."



"Maybe we'll get used to it."



"Never."



Endril alighted beside them without a sound. "Shall we

resume our trek?''



The three of human stock stared at him. Cal asked,

"Doesn't that wall do anything to you?"



Endril shook his head. "It saddens me. I suppose it's our

fault it's here."



' "The wall? How do you reckon it's your fault?''



Endril didn't answer. He set off down the slope, swinging

his short bow as if it were a willow switch.



"Hey, wait up'" Cal called. He took Bith's hand and helped

her along. They slid down the scree to the shaley bottom of

a slope. They set off north along a goat trail, out of sight of

the Mistwall.



Cal caught up with Endril. "Slow down, you! What did

you mean, it's your fault?"



Endril almost shrugged. "Is omission or commission the

greater crime? At the first coming of the Dark Lord we elves

did nothing. We discussed it at length, but dismissed it as yet

another manifestation of man's ignorance and urge for self-

destruction. Too late did we leam it was more, something

that may eat up the land permanently. We never thought you

capable of that. We were wrong."



"You could have stopped the Dark Lord, yet you didn't do

anything? That's horrible!"



Endril watched the sky to the north. "We did nothing.

Perhaps we couldn't have stopped it. We didn't try- That is

the worst crime of all."



Bith and Cal both trotted to keep up with the elf. Hathor

strolled along far behind, in no hurry to catch up. Endril



OUTCASTS             49



slowed his stride somewhat. The girl asked, "What do you

know of the Dark Lord? Is he human?''



"I don't know."



"Why not?"



Endril gave her a look that in a human would have been

irritation. "Why anything? He—or she, or it—is what he,

she, or it is. 1 know only that it is not elven. What more need

I know?"



Cal spit out an oath and stopped in his tracks. Bith stood

beside him. In a moment the elf had passed over a hill. Hathor

walked up chewing on a piece of sapling he'd cut. Cal asked

Bith, "What do you know about the Dark Lord?"



"I? Nothing. Nor—well, nor my mother, either. She's

wondered for years about him, or it. Asked every—traveller-

mat came to our castle. But no one knew. Not even his priests

have a clue."



Cal's tone was snide. "Oh, yes, your castle again."



Bith put her nose in the air. "And who are you to be doubt-

ing me? You forget the state of your person—and your boots."



"Horseshit," Hathor supplied.



Cal barked, "That's enough out of you, troll. And you too,

princess. If you're so high and mighty, where is this castle of

yours?"



"My castle—my home—is beyond that veil."



"What? Really?"



Now was Bith's turn to be snide. "Oh. Now you choose to

believe me."



Caught, Cal was suddenly flustered. "Well, yes. I guess

so. But how can you have a home beyond the veil? Only evil

beings dwell there."



"And now you say I'm evil. I can't say I care for your

conversation."



Cal waved his hands uselessly. "Look, I don't know what

to believe. All I've ever heard is—"



"I'll tell you this," the giri's voice was direct. "I am a

princess, because I am Morea's daughter, and Morea is the

most powerful woman in the world. And the most evil. And

if you stopped to think for even half a moment, you might

wonder this: Why is her only child, heir to her throne and all

her power and all her wealth and all her gramarye, out here?—



50



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



wandering in the wilderness, no home, no shelter, alone and

penniless, with only the clothing on her back? Why?"



Then Cal was alone, for the giri had turned and stalked

away, up the slope where the elf had gone. Hathor followed

her.



Cal contemplated their receding backs and the sigh of the

silent plain. Damn! but he was tired of bringing up the rear

and listening to the quiet! And having sensitive people bark

at every word he spoke! Soldiers were entitled to grumble

and to question: it was one of their few joys. And he had his

pride. . . . But so did the others. The poor always had the

most pride—it was all they could afford- Maybe they were all

on edge in these eerie wastes. The empty wind whistled

around his ears and he shuddered. Cal's pride wasn't worth

a crooked copper out here. He Jogged to catch up.



"Hey! Bith, Hathor. wait up! Let's not fight! Hey!"



He walked as best he could alongside the girl, but as she

had the center of the narrow trail through rock and heather,

he had to stumble along on the side or walk behind her. He

talked fast.



"Look, I'm sorry if I doubted you. Or said that you were

evil. That wall makes me edgy. And sad."



"Sad? Ha!"



"No, really, it does. Because I come from the Lost Lands,

too. In a way." He saw a glimmer of interest in Bith's eyes.

He kept talking as their party stepped out across the heathered

plain. The Mistwall had come back into sight, filling the

western sky. They didn't look at it.



"My father, Talien Berefordson, had a small fief in the

west, at the northern tip of an island. I don't remember it

very well. I was just a baby when the wall first appeared—

I'd never even seen it before today. I remember my mother

saying it was the queerest cloud structure, not like a storm

coming on, but like it was alive. One day my people realized

that it wasn't just a cloud bank, for the fisherfolk who sailed

into it seldom came back. Some who did came back mad.

Some complained of nightmares, awful ones. so vile they

killed themselves, sometimes after killing others. My father

could see it was poison, but he didn't know what to do.



"Then one day—my mother told me all this, mind—an

army of monsters came out of the mist. There were ores and



OUTCASTS              51



giants and other kinds of misshapen things. No offense,

Hathor. My father, who never listened to the council of any-

one in his entire life, finally decided to set out with his army

to drive them away. Thai I remember, little though I was. I

remember my father had a pennant, a green one with a red

eagle with a fish in its jaws, a sea eagle. The strongest man

in the army carried it in a boot on his saddle, and it fluttered

in the breeze. The army rode off one day when it was dark

at noon.



"They didn't come back. Not one man out of a hundred.

Not a single horse. We could only assume they were all

dead."



His voice was running out like the end of a rainstorm. His

pace slowed, as did his audience's: one girl and one troll.

Cal talked on, but more to himself than to anyone else.



"When they didn't come back after many days, and the

wall had drawn closer, my mother bundled me up and we

fled, with only one servant and a horse. We never had much.

We travelled east. My mother died. The servant was old—-

Hamish, his name was—and he put me in the service of Lord

Edric. You know what happened after that."



Cal had stopped walking altogether. The unceasing wind

plucked at his garments and sent the loose threads of ragged

ends streaming. His brown bangs-blew into his eyes and wisps

fluttered about his ears. "Then Hamish died. I'd nothing left

of my father's estate, or my mother's either, all gone behind

that evil wall of mist. Nothing but the memory of a big man

bearing a pennant. A red eagle carrying off a fish. I've thought

of painting it on my shield, but there's no one can vouch for

me."



Hathor shopped chewing and threw away his stick. "Sad,"

he said. He seemed to be remembering something himself.



Bith put a soft white hand on CaTs brown one. "I'm—sorry

to hear all that, Cal- It is sad. It really is. That's something

like what happened to me. I lived in a castle that was always

in the mists- Sometimes I wonder if I could travel back inside

and go home. But I don't think I can. . . ." She stopped and

rubbed her nose. "Ooh, this wind is tiresome. Could we—

should we find a place to camp for the night?"



The three stood together as the shadow of the wall overtook

them. Lying along the west, it eclipsed the sun and created



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



52



a false twilight before the real dusk. The wind took on a new

life and edge, with a smell of corruption. "Yes, let's," Cal

said. "But not within sight of that wall."



"You know, we can't go on like this."



"Like what?"



"Wandering around without any plan or sense," Cal re-

plied.



"We've a plan," Bith said. "We're bound for the north,

now. And Endril's the only one of us who wanders, and he

always comes back."



The four of them were hunkered around a campfire. They

had found a hollow among some low hummocks. The land

around was clad in tough grey weeds and tall grass that hissed

in the eternal wind. But down here only the holly sprig in

Endril's hat was rimed. It took a lot of cutting with Hathor's

axe to get stems for firewood, but they had enough for the

night. The elf had returned with a rock goat they roasted on

a spit.



With his new contrition, Cal was weighing his words so

not to offend. He waved his sharpening stone as he talked,

trying to recall how his father had made suggestions. "It's

not just Endril's wandering, it's our whole manner of travel-

ling. We've been lucky, but we're going to get in trouble

sooner or later. Especially now that we're in dangerous coun-

try. More dangerous. Look at the way we hit me bushes."



Even in the firelight they could see Bith blush. "What I do

in the bushes is none of your business^."



"No, no, not you personally. We all have to hit the bushes.

But we need to have some sort of plan for—hitting the bushes

or going for water or taking point or whatever. I mean," Cal

couldn't took at Bith for blushing himself, "with a bunch of

soldiers, if a guy has to, uh, hit me bushes, he just goes a

short way off where everyone can see him. Not that they look,

but he stays close enough that no enemy can pick him off.

You wouldn't believe how many men get killed with their

pants down. But we're always getting out of sight of one

another. If anyone starts tracking us we'd get picked off in a

day."



Endril asked calmly, "What would you have us do?"



OUTCASTS              53



"I don't know! Something, some plan. And we should have

a leader."



"Who?" Bith asked. "You?"



"No, not me necessarily. But someone should be in charge.

Not for everyday stuff, but in case we have to make a decision

quickly. That's when a leader counts."



"We've done all right so far," Bith commented. "I don't

think we need to turn ourselves into soldiers. From what I've

seen of soldiers, that would be a step down—for a lizard-

man."



Cal said nothing. He stropped his sword blade viciously.



Bith drew a blanket around her shoulders. For a time the

only sound was the sough of the wind through their hollow

and the crackle of the fire. "It is a strange life we lead,

though. The Mistwall has displaced Cal and me, we find.

What about you, Hathor?"



Hathor was cutting the goat hide into strips and braiding it

with the end looped over his big black-nailed toe. He looked

up, surprise in his beady eyes. "Hunh? Me?"



"Yes, you. Why do you wander?"



"Oh," his croak had an embarrassed sound. "Not like my

home. It not a nice place."



"Why not?"



"Oh, trolls not nice people. Kill anyone who not a troll

and eat them. Not much food in caves. Mushrooms, white

fish with no eyes, nothing else. Bats no good, no meat on

'em. So trolls come out at night, catch deer or bear, possum,

people. People slow, easy to catch. But very salty and tough."

The troll had not noticed his companions' faces, or he would

have stopped talking. But he was warming to his subject.

"We not stay out in the daytime because sun hurt our eyes.

No can see good. And elders say sun bum us, make us blind,

kill us. We stay in dark.



"But one night, me got lost in woods. Stuck out when sun

come up. Thought me would die in sun. But no. See lots of

pretty colors. Green grass. Flowers all over, white ones, yel-

low ones, even blue ones. Birds in trees, and little red flowers

even on trees! Liked it, didn't go back. Learned to eat other

things. No meat. Hair turn red."



Cal stopped in mid-strop. "What?"



Hathor pointed to his flat head. He'd removed his hat, as



54 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



he always did at night. The humans realized now it was as a

sun shade that he wore it. "Stop eat meat—not much, any-

way—hair turn red. No troll ever have red hair before."



Cal asked, "Is that true, Endril?"



"I never saw one with red hair before."



Bith said, "It's probably the sun that changed your hair

from brown to red, Thor- Not the lack of meat-''



The troll pulled at his lip with a craggy finger. Then he

grunted and continued his braiding.



Bith said, "And you, Endril. What brings you to the land

of men?"



Endril sat without saying anything for some time. Hathor

slid the goat off the spit onto a flat stone and used his axe to

quarter it. He handed the sections out. Each ate with a knife

and his or her fingers. The silence stretched out, and finally

the elf filled it. His voice matched the night breeze in the

way it lifted and fell. It was sonorous and other-woridly.



"The lands of men and the lands of elves overlap," he

began.' 'Some of each are common, some not. Before, a long

time ago, elfhome ranged wider and farther. Magic, or per-

haps something else, has leeched some of it away. Now

elfhome recedes like the tide, as the ocean once receded from

the land herself. This spot we occupy was once under water.

You can often split a rock and find a seashell inside."



Cal gave a grunt that sounded negative, but he said noth-

ing. Bith and Hathor chewed on strips of goat and listened

raptly.



"The land, the ocean, the wind, the sun, all run in cycles,

waxing and waning, growing and shrinking. Nothing ever

goes away, it only bides its time. In times past the land gave

rise to the speaking races. First elves. Then came men and

others. Something is lost as each new race arises. Elves are

most a product of the land."



Cal asked, "More than men?"



"Yes. Humans do not live with the land, they live on it."



"What's the difference?"



"The difference is in how the races treat Mother Earth.

Humans take from the land and give nothing back but their

bodies when they expire. Elves give back as they take. They

give more, and improve the land."



Cal pointed with his greasy dagger. "Wait a minute, what



OUTCASTS



55



do you mean, 'improve the land'? Humans do that. Ifapassel

of humans travel to a valley that's empty, that has nothing in

it but grass, and they build houses and plow the soil and bring

forth a crop, if they thin the forest so you can move through

it and divert a stream to create a pond full of fish and do like

things like that, how can you say they haven't improved it?

There was nothing there before and there's suddenly plenty!"



"If you say so, man. But that you can think a valley full

of grass is 'empty' speaks volumes."



"I don't understand."



"No, you do not."



Cal and Endril glared at each other for a while, then Bith

put an end to it. "Be that as it may . . . ummm . . . Endrit,

I have a question. I have heard that the lands of the elves-

improved as they are—are ever so much more beautiful than

the lands of men. Is that not true?"



The elf replied, "It is."



Cal snorted.



"And I have furthermore heard that elves love their land

more than their very lives. That they suffer homesickness and

loneliness in the extreme, more so than any humans can even

understand. Isn't that true?"



The elf's reply this time was quieter. "Yes. It is."



"Then why do you choose to travel the lands of men?"



Endril didn't reply, and Bith repeated the question, but

gently. Finally the pale figure spoke. "I—have no choice."



"Why not?"



EndriPs face was as solemn as they'd ever seen it. "I—am

no longer welcome in the lands of the elves."



It was Bith's turn to say nothing. Cal asked, without ran-

cor, "Why? What did you do?"



The elf sat, saying nothing, looking at nothing, for the

longest time. Then he rose and walked away into the black-

ness.



Cal stood up. "Hey, come back! Hey—" He trotted out of

the firelight, but there was nothing to see.



The boy sat back down. He stirred the fire with a crooked

stick and then tossed it in. "Great. He's gone."



"What do you care?"



The soldier glared at the magic user. "He's off again! Wan-

dering all over hell and gone, leaving us in the lurch to get



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



56



our throats cut! And what did / do anyway? You're the one

started asking him questions'"



"Some questions you shouldn't ask."



Cal raised both hands to the sky. "Oh, excuse me, your

royal highness\ I'm sorry if I want to know something about

the people I break bread with, and stand watches with, and

turn my back to! I'm sorry if I want to know whether 1 can

count on someone in a fight, or whether they'll disappear like

a wisp of smoke!"



"You think the magic users will run out on you too, eh?"



"I didn't say mat!"



Bith slammed herself back against a grassy hummock. She

folded her blanket just so and snuggled down inside, then

arranged her cloak about her shoulders. "I'm done talking.

Good flight^"



"What about setting a guard?"



"You like it so much, you stand guard!"



Hathor had already lain down and pulled his hat back on.

Cal did a poor job of banking the fire and then flopped down

himself. He spread his blanket loosely over himself. He po-

sitioned his sword alongside his right leg and his shield at the

left. He said to the air, "Fine, fine. Good night yourself, all

of you. I hope you wake up alive."



"Cal!"



The regal voice shouted in CaTs ear even as a drumming

trilled along his spine. Soldier's instinct shot him into the air.



Something was charging at him from the dark. His mind

registered simply Not one of ours and he swung the sword

while putting up his shield.



A club clomped against his wooded shield even as his blade

bit into the attacker's side. Cal could tell by the feel that the

edge had cut into muscle before fetching up against bone.

The depth of the cut and the sag of his opponent's body told

him it was a mortal wound. He shoved the body away—it

would act as a partial shield on his left—even as he put back

his right foot to spin to that side.



Sure enough, another assailant was coming up fast be-

hind—a coward who had held back just long enough to let

his companion rush in and draw attack. Cal completed his

turn, hooked his shield around. Since he was already moving



OUTCASTS              57



in that direction, he used the momentum of the swing. Back-

handed, he threw power to his shoulder and tensed his fore-

arm, cracked his wrist at the last moment, and connected

with something soft. He dragged his shield back across for

protection, but he'd done enough damage to stop bis oppo-

nent. The creature (he sensed it wasn't a man) was down

before him in the dark. Cal looped his arm over his head and

added another stroke to his invisible enemy. The tip of the

sword split a spine and his foe crumpled.



Cal stomped his feet to get his balance and sucked cold

night air to wake himself up. So far he'd done no thinking—

every action had been pure training. And even as he awoke,

his instinct was running down a list. What to do next? Get

his back to a wall, or promontory, or the fire, or any unpass-

able obstacle, preferably one that would stop missiles. There

was nothing solid here, so it had to be the fire. But only

temporarily, for it would light him up while his enemy held

the darkness. What next? Gauge the number of enemy as best

he could. A pattering in the earth under his feet said they

were all around. Not too many, maybe four. He'd killed two,

and that made sense. Six was a common number for a patrol.

There were sounds above the gurgling of the dying. Some-

thing was growling in an almost human tone, but something

else was snuffling. Dogs? Impossible to tell bow many. Four

live enemies then, two or more dogs. Bad odds, though the

fire at his back helped. What to do? Run to a safer position,

maybe keep going. But—first check the state of his compan-

ions. His eyes had taken in nothing but one slim shape as

he'd moved in battle. Endril was still gone men, and now

Hathor was missing too. Damn them! He'd told them—never

mind. Work with what you have.



"Bith!" he hissed. "Wake up! We're under attack!"



"Hunh?" A sleepy murmur sounded from the ground. He'd

been up and killed two somethings and she hadn't even

woken! "Wha—?"



"Bith, damn you, wake—Crom!"



Cal jumped forward. Two dark shapes had materialized

from the grass over the giri. Cal couldn't see them well, only

their shapes as they blocked the stars just above the horizon.

But it was enough. He took one, two. three short solid hops—

for the worst riling you could do in a fight was to fall down—



58 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



and screamed and swung. He prayed that Bith would keep

her head down. "Hyaaaaa!!!!!"



A monster shrieked as Cal's swing chopped into its arm.

He'd meant to only nick the beast and let his sword travel on

to also sting the other. Incapacitating two foes was better than

killing one outright and leaving the other whole. But it was

hard to judge the distance in almost total darkness. He smelt

UK copper tang of blood as the thing retreated. The other

ducked and latched onto Bith with impossibly long arms. It

tugged at the giri, who came fully awake for the first time.

Cal hopped in, way too close—close enough to get fingers

stuck in his face—but the beast was centered on the girl and

not paying attention. These whatevers were poorly trained,

the soldier was relieved to see. He crashed his blade onto a

bare back. He heard skin split and ribs crack and then the

thing was down. Two foes dead, two wounded. Where were

the others, and the dogs? Could he and Bith get away quick

enough?



"Bith! Get—ahh\"



Bith had been dreaming of home again. She'd heard the

screams of prisoners in the dungeons, the cries of ravens out-

side her window. Then something was looming over her,

stepping on her. Wide awake (or so she thought) Bith rolled

over in a tangle of blanket and cloak.



And collided with Cat's leg. Off balance, the boy fell square

on top of her. Bith oojed and Cal tumbled clear.



"What are you doingf" the girl demanded.



"Shut up! We're under attack!"



"Attack?"



"This way!" Cal snatched her billowed sleeve and pulled

her close to him. "Stay at my back and keep quiet!"



"Where are Hath—"



"Shut «p!"



Bith shut up. She hooked her hand in the back of Cal's belt

and stumbled along in the dark after him. She discovered that

the grassy hummocks that has seemed so smooth and uniform

in the daylight were suddenly full of chuck holes, rocks, roots,

and ridges. She tripped again and again until she learned to

put her feet flat. She thumped into Cal's back a half dozen

times as he shuffled and stopped, ducked forward and

crouched, backed up and crabbed along sideways.



OUTCASTS              59



"Where are we goingf" she finally had to whisper.



"There's a—where is it?—pocket with some trees—

somewhere here-1 found it earlier when I walked around. We

should be able to—is that it? Yeah!—get under the leaves—

Watch it!"



Bith heard only the rapid patter of feet and a low growl.

Then Cal grunted and slammed full into her. A hideous snarl-

ing split the darkness where Cal had stood. The boy rasped,

"Leggo my—hand, you foKsy—Bith, use a sleep spell!"



"I don't know one!" the giri wailed.



"Don'(?—well, what do you—get a-way\"



Bith didn't know what to do- Cal had to be wrestling with

a dog, but she couldn't see a thing. That was it! Light would

help! With clumsy fingers she dug in her pouches and pro-

duced a dried firefly. Chanting as quick as she could without

mangling the spell, she flicked the tiny carcass into the grass

a dozen feet away.



Fire broke out and quickly licked among the dry grass.

Within seconds there was light enough to read a book as a

patch of grass blazed in the night. Bith shielded her eyes from

it and looked for Cal.



The boy was in trouble. A wolf almost as tall as Cal had

him by the sword hand. It was a fierce-looking beast, long

and gaunt and ribby with shaggy patches of grey-white fur.

Its head was wide and flat and the black eyes shone like

lamps. Fortunately, Cal had on his leather gauntlets. But the

wolfs jaw was locked on his sword arm and could not be

shaken off.



Cal turned from the light with a curse. 'Wo/ We're blind

enough!—" He gave up talking and tried to slam the wolf

with his shield. He tried to kick its belly or back legs, tried

to wrest his arm loose to get in a blow with his sword. But

the animal was as clever as it was sturdy. It danced on its

back feet to keep out of range even as it dragged its victim

forward and off-balance, all the time snarling quietly with its

muzzle locked shut.



Bith fingered all her pouches as she tried to think of another

spell that could stop the wolf. Then something hit her from

behind and she went sprawling. Claws skittered along her

sides as teeth snapped on her hood. The giri gasped. If she

hadn't had her chick hood up, the teeth would have met in



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



60



the back of her head. Then she went flat on her face under the

full weight of the body. She bleated, "Cat! Help me!"



Cal sucked wind and smacked twice at the wolf's head with

the iron edge of his shield. - The blows rapped on the tough

skull with no effect. He switched tactics, shucked his shield

from his left arm, and fished for the dagger on his belt. But

the wolf twisted its powerful neck and knocked him over

sideways. His sword thrashed against the grass. "Bith! Get

away!" he shouted. The wolf thumped both huge front feet

onto his chest. By the light of the burning grass he saw two

rows of yellow teeth draw back to rip out his throat.



The jaws suddenly snapped shut. The wolf's nose dropped

like a rock to bang Cal's nose, then the full weight of the

beast thudded onto him. It was dead weight. Something had

killed the wolf.



The boy shoved away the smelly carcass and rolled onto

all fours. He hunted for his sword as he looked for the an-

swer.



Tall and dark against the grass fire, Endril the elf stood

poised over Bith and her attacker. From white hair to long

grey cloak to thin bony arms, his soft outline was like a

ghost's. At the end of his arm was a slim black blade that

had transfixed Bith's wolf as he had dispatched Cal's. He

whipped the almost-invisible blade out of the dying wolf's

body. With his boot he shoved the carcass clear of the giri's

body. He caught her by the upper arm and lifted her. She

thanked him shakily.



Cal recovered his shield and sword, pulled his baldric round

straight and approached Endril from an angle where he could

be seen. "You! Where have you—"



The elf shot a hand in the air. He canted his head into the

wind. "Hist! T'isHathor!"



"What about him?" Cal asked, but Endril was off, loping

across the prarie with long strides. Cal swore and ran after

him. Bith trailed along.



Topping a hummock brought them back to their campsite.

The fire had died down to coals, but there was enough light to

see Hathor fighting for his life.



The troll had tossed away his hat and bearskin cloak. In

the red firelight he looked much like his enemies. These were

a pair of dog-like men wielding clubs. They were just over



OUTCASTS              61



five feet tall and stooped. Short bristly hair stood up all over

their bodies, growing in a mane that travelled from their

crowns down their spines. Their shoulders and arms were

wide and powerful, their legs bent curiously like a dog's.

They wore no clothing other than their native spots. Most

disturbing was their faces. They had receding brows and

pointed ears, and elongated snouts with dark noses like a

hound's. Their teeth were yellow and long, curled in snaris

uglier than the wolves' had been.



The two worked as a pair. One waved his gnarled club in

Hathor's face as the other circled. Animal-like, they were

quick to jump back whenever the troll swung his long felling

axe. At each swing the foremost beast would dance back while

his partner got in a solid rap. Even as the three breasted the

ridge they heard a painful crunch that made Hathor stagger.

The two yipped and raised their clubs for the final blows.



A clear singing call arrested their arms and made them

mm. Endril leapt down the slope with his sword swishing in

the night sky. The creature behind Hathor bleated and turned

to run. The elf overtook him and ran the blade through his

back. Cal charged breathlessly for the other assailant, but

Hathor's axe made a noisy thwack! that folded the beast over

like a sapling. In a frenzy the troll set both feet wide and

slammed the axe again and again into the lifeless body.



The crunching, chopping, smashing sounds made Bith ill.

"Thor!" she shrilled. "Stop, Thor! Please, stop!"



Hathor slammed his axe down a final time and stopped.

Spent, he held onto the handle and panted like a bellows.



Cal trotted back up the slope and scanned what he could

see of the horizon- Only the wind moved. A cool night breeze

dried the sweat on his brow and chilled his damp clothes.

When Cal was satisfied all was clear, he rejoined the party

by their ravaged campsite.



Hathor had snatched up a scrap of filthy clothing that he

used to wipe his axe clean. Cal wiped his blade on the grass,

then stropped it with his stone to bring back the edge. All

the while he kept casting about, turning around in the dark.

Endril studied the faces of their dead enemies. Only now did

Bith realize there were more than two dead bodies on the

ground. Where she had been sleeping were two more. She



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



62



joined Endril and grimaced at the ugly masks of death. She'd

seen these things before.



"Well," Cal panted, "What are they?"



The first sneak thieves, the ones Cal had killed, were like

deformed men, skinny and shrivelled, but with knotty arms

and legs. Their faces were mostly massive bony brow ridges

and heavy jaw. Their teeth were snarled and fanged. Their

skin was a dirty grey, and they wore only scraps of learner

armor that must once have belonged to men. Clubs studded

with obsidian lay near their bodies.



Endril pointed with his invisible blade to the first attackers.

"These be ores, common ones. Hardy, stupid, vicious. Not

terribly strong or able, their strength lies in numbers, and the

way their commanders drive them. There are other types of

ores, taller and stronger, wiser, crueller."



He stepped to the others and pointed out the snouts. Lines

of black trickled away from the monsters: fleas and mites

deserting a cooling body. "These be gnolls, hyena men. They

are only half sane but with a wolf's cunning."



Bith shuddered. "And were those wolves that attacked me

and Cal over the hill?"



Endril frowned, his face long and vampiric in the half-

light. "Too large for wolves. They must have warg blood.

Bred by the dark lords, most likely."



Hathor had finished cleaning his weapon. He stooped now

for his cloak and floppy hat. "Should move camp," he

growled. "More come, maybe."



"Yes, that would be best," Endril agreed. "These may be

an isolated raiding party, or the vanguard of a larger group.

The sooner the better—"



"Nothing's going to be better for quite some time!" came

a bark from the edge of the firelight. It was Cal. "We'll just

walk square into some other disaster. We might as well get

ourselves killed here as anywhere!"



His three companions stared at him.



"Don't give me those looks! The lot of you are responsible

for this! We're lucky, damned lucky, to be standing here at



all."



Hathor said, "We fight—"



"Cut it!" the boy interrupted. "Any more fighting like

this and we'll die, singly and painfully! Look what happened!



OUTCASTS



63



Bith fast asleep, and me—I admit that. No idea where Endril

is or even if he's coming back! Hathor who knows where

when the fighting starts, and then having to fend for himself

back here because Bith and I are fleeing to a stronger posi-

tion! A fine lot of babes in the woods we are!" Cal rubbed

at a raw claw mark on the side of his face. In doing so he

found his right glove was mangled along with the hand be-

neath. He stripped off the ruined glove and threw it on the

ground.



The wind sighed. Ashes swiried in the fire pit. Endril said,

"Let us move camp before we speak again." He, of course.

had nothing to pack, nor did Hathor. Bith rolled up her blan-

ket and camp gear. Cal savagely jammed his blanket into his

light pack and slung it over his shoulder. He tramped off to

the north.



The others trailed along, Bith stumbling like Cal in the

dark. Endril and Hathor moved as easily as if it were full

day. After Bith had jolted herself a dozen times, her fatigue

and exasperation gave vent to her innermost thoughts.



"You don't need to protect me just because I'm a woman,

you know!" she said to no one in particular.



Cal turned around and walked backwards. "What?"



"You always protect me because I'm a woman, I said!"



Cal snorted. "Gid is more like-it. And it's not true. We

protect you because you're a mage and defenseless. You've

got nothing but empty hands and belt full of geegaws to keep

off the beasties when they come at you. And, you know, it

would be right handy to know exactly what spells you do

know. When those wolves were ready to bite our faces off I

asked you for a sleep spell, and then I learned you don't have

one. I thought every magic user knew that spell!"



"Shows what you know about spelling!"



'' I won't get much older to learn anything at this rate. What

spells do you know?"



Bith did not answer as they trudged along.



Cal turned back to the trail and his voice carried over his

shoulder. "Sec? Secrets. Wonderful. I don't know nothing

about spelling, or much else except swinging a sword. But

I'll tell you, when I travelled with soldiers and knights at

least I knew what we didn 't know. We didn't have any secrets

that counted. But with mages and elves and trolls it's a sur-



64 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



prise every minute. Too bad you almost have to get killed to

learn something. Never mind, I can see I'm wasting my

breath."



The party did not go far, only a mile or so. Endril said

they could not really hide if there were more ores around,

for they could sniff out their trail. But they found a flattish

dish rimmed with brush that would be shelter from the wind

yet leave them free to flee in any direction if necessary. They

didn't bother with another fire. Wrung out from their exer-

tions and lack of sleep, the humans and troll fell to the ground

and rumbled to make themselves comfortable. Endril squat-

ted in their center and gazed around the horizon.



Cal had grumbled quietly every step of the way. Now he

raised his voice and asked tiredly, "Who's got first watch?

Or are we to trust in the fates again?"



"I will watch,*' Endril replied. "T'was I who was remiss

in leaving the party."



Cal grunted.



Hathor mumbled, "Sun come up, we practice fighting. To-

gether. Be good fun,"



Bith said sleepily, "Haven't we done enough fighting with

each other today?"



"Sleep," Endril told her.



Cal propped himself up on one elbow. "You know, Bith,

the reason we protect you is because you're one of us. Like

it or not."



Bith yawned. "S'nice—to have—friends."



And practice they did over the next few days. At breakfast

and dinner, before turning in or while walking- They also

talked. They worked out some simple battle orders and for-

mations, they discussed which spells Bith might use to sup-

port their actions. They formed wedges with Hathor the

axeman in the middle, Cal and Endril flanking him, and Bith

acting as backup. They worked out watches and schedules

and smoothed rough edges. They still maintained their se-

crets and privacy, but at least they knew where and when to

expect each other.



Endril still wandered afield, but he told them when he

would return—usually. And it was while wandering one day

that he made a discovery.



CHAPTER



5



"Hoy!" came a distant shout. They turned and looked up

the trail, which wound its way into a broken land of head-

high rocks and fissures. Endril stood in the middle distance,

a black scarecrow shape against the white sky. He waved his

bow and called something they couldn't hear in the wind.

"Wonder what he's found now?" Cal said.

"Probably some exotic mushroom," Bith replied.

"I like mushrooms," Hathor added.

Bith smiled. "Come on. Let's see what it is."

Endril led them into the rocks, down ravines that dipped

and climbed, to stop at the bottom of a gully. This was almost

a pass through the hills. The walls were fragmented and

craggy, in some places only head high, in others towering

above. They were shot through with cracks and pockets and

probably caves higher up. The floor was smooth in the center,

trod by a thousand feet, speckled with fallen rocks.



Endril pressed his ear against a stone wall. He waved them

to it. "Listen."

"To what?" asked Cal.

Bith put her ear to the crack. It was about nine inches wide.



65



66 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



She strained to hear and then started. "It's a voice! Calling



for help!"



Cal listened. Faintly, weakly, far back, he too thought he

could hear a cry for help. Or it could have been the wind.



Hathor was more sure. "Someone there, all right. I got

good ears."



Cal stepped back and looked at the wall. It was more frac-

tured here than solid. In fact, now that he studied it, the space

was pan of a huge rift jammed with rock. Din and weeds

had settled into the hollows.



"How could anyone be alive in there? Is there a cave or

something? They would have had to crawl in from the other

side. Or come up from underground. It might be—fairies or

some kin."



Hathor had his blocky head to the crack. "It Vili.*'



"Vili? In there?"



Cal brightened. "Hey, that reminds mei When those ores

attacked the other day, a voice shouted to wake me up. It

must have been Vili."



"He's good for something, anyway," Bith observed. "But

he should be able to float out of there."



Endril nodded. "It is strange. Vili hasn't much power in

this plane, but he should grow stronger as we go further north.

But then, the closer we come to the sword the more his power

is drained. Or so I guess."



"Why doesn't he just jump out onto my sword as he has

before? How much effon can that be?"



"Draw your sword," Bith suggested.



Cal did, but no face appeared. Hathor called into the crack,

"Vili! Come out to sworo!"



"What will you?" piped a small voice.



The adventurers bumped heads to peer at the blade. In the

foggy pitted surface of the sword they could see a man's face

as if under water. In the wan sunlight it looked a demon's

face, like the one on Bith's belt buckle.



"What were you doing in that cave?" Bith asked the tiny

god.


"Cave?" squeaked Vili. "I am in no cave, but am rather—

here and there. And busy. What do you require?"



Cal waggled the blade. " You asked us for help. Now you're

out, what do you want?"



OUTCASTS              67



The sword waggled itself. "Addle-pated fool! Cretin!

Crack-brain! I am in no cave! Now leave usi" The face van-

ished.



The four stood for some while looking at the crack in the

wall and at each other. Hathor listened. "Someone still in

there."



"Someone else?" Bith asked.



Hathor shrugged.



After a time Cal said, "We're not moving, so I suppose

we've decided to free him."



"I suppose," the girl agreed.



"How shall we do it?"



They talked. Cal asked Bith if she had some spell that

could "suck him out of there." Bith told him no. She did

float a light spell inside, but it couldn't penetrate very far.

Hathor suggested they return to a tree they'd passed earlier

and cut it as a lever. They dispatched him to fetch it. Cal

climbed the wall and inspected the top for promising cracks.

The stones were locked tight and tamped down flat. It looked

as if a tor to the left had split and collapsed into a side ravine.

Dwarf trees decorated the top. Cal searched for an entrance

to a cave beyond, but there was nothing. Bith recalled a spell

that might help and they discussed its use. Endril brewed tea

and spitted a brace of ptarmigan as they waited for Hathor's

return. Eventually the troll returned dragging a tree trunk that

Cal doubted anyone else could lift.



As they ate the sparse meal Cal aired some thoughts. "I

-still wonder what kind of being can live under a pile of rocks.

Have you looked at that wall and the cap? There are trees on

top of there hundreds of years old! What kind of thing can

live in a cave for hundreds of years?"



Endril stared at the sky and said nothing. Bith bit her lip.

Hathor said, "Not trolls."



The elf said slowly, "Many things live long by man's stan-

dards. Elves, fairies, turtles. Demons, giants, rock lizards.

You cannot judge a soul by its age."



"But what if it's .not a real person? What if it's an old magic

trap or a will o' the wisp or something?''



Their magic user said, "We'll never know what it is until

we dig it out."



"Curiosity kills cats," the boy told her.



5i,



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



68



"But never soldiers?"



"Never. Drink and the pox kill soldiers."



Hathor spoke. "We help him because he need help,"



No one could rebut that, so they finished their meal and



began.



Cal used his work-worn dagger to pry a rock loose from

the wall. Together the three males set the lever into the socket,

wiggled it into place, and heaved. Boulders groaned and

shifted. Soil clouded around them. A section of wall tumbled

down and they repeated the process. And more. Grit settled

onto their faces and slid down their necks. A leg-breaking

rock dropped practically on CaPs foot, making him Jump.

With wiggling and straining and dropping the bar and not a

little cursing they eventually gouged a hole six feel deep. But

then they fetched up against a boulder that showed no edges.

It could have been any size and it completely blocked their

path.



Cat rubbed a dirty sleeve across a dirty face. "That son of

a bitch better really be in there. Your turn, Bith." The men

sat down to watch and sip water and get their breath back.

Cal did, anyway. Endril and .Hathor seemed hardly put out.



The giri crept into the hole and scooched forward to the

offending rock. She seemed calm enough, but her lower lip

betrayed her, clamped as it was in her teeth. The giri leant

sideways to gather some light. With her small knife she

scooped a hole at the lower edge of the boulder and into it

placed a fresh green weed. She then trickled water from a

skin down the face of the rock and onto the weed. Then the

men could just hear her whisper in a queer cadence.



Bith finished with a shake of her head and scrambled back

out of the hole. She stood poised, like a ferret over a rabbit

hole, watching.



Cal asked, "Well? Are you—"



"Shhhh!!!"



Grrrruuuunnmmnnnn.



"What's that?"



Aeeeerrrrrmnn. Grrmnnuuuuu.



It was the boulder. It was growing. It was swelling like a

gas bubble, like a loaf of bread dough.



Cal whistled. "Whoa! That's something!"



Bith raised a hand in the air-"Yes, but-—"



OUTCASTS



69



As the rock expanded it shoved at its neighbors. The boul-

der pressed outwards from the hole. Cracks ran up the face

of the rock wall. Dirt under pressure geysered from the top.

As if in a dream, Bith watched the course of her destruction

run. The boulder showed no signs of stopping.



"LOOKOUT!"



The wall above them gave way as the whole side of the

ravine split open. Bith spun and caromed into Cal. Out of the

corner of her eye she saw her companions disappear. Endril

was off the ground and gone like a grasshopper. Hathor leapt

at the wall behind him, dug his fingers into soil and rock,

and clattered up the slope like a squirrel up a tree. Cal caught

the girl and almost knocked them both down. She pushed at

his chest.



"RUN!"



With a crump! the side of the ravine fell flat on the place

they had stood seconds before. The earth shook so hard that

Ca! fell to his knees. Bith landed on top of him. She was

surprisingly heavy for so small a thing, he noticed. But she

was very soft. Then the two were coughing in the gout of

smoky dust that plumed up and down the ravine. Lamely the

boy snatched Bith's sleeve and scrambled for air somewhere

down the trail.



The two finally stopped where -the weak autumn sun fell

on them. Every move made dirt trickle from their clothing

and start them coughing again. They sat down and gasped

for breath.



"Good spell," the boy hacked.



"Thank—you."



Eventually the dust settled. Endril and Hathor and Cal and

Bith reformed and gingerly picked their way down the now-

blocked ravine.



They found their tiny hole had grown into a pocket clear

to the sky, twenty feet high and wide and deep. The keystone

had fractured into a dozen pieces from the stress of expanding

and then shrinking. In the process it had shattered the whole

wall and tipped it onto the ravine floor. Cal grunted and

grunted again. "That's some spell, all right. Does it always

work that well?"



The other males murmured assent. Bith looked embar-

rassed. "Never, never this well. When I've used enlarge bc-



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



70



fore it made things twice their size, not—ten times. I—I think

my powers are—more powerful here. But I don't know why."



At the back of me new pocket they could see a tiny Mack

hole that went straight back- Cal said, "That must be where

our mysterious captive—"



"Ho." Hathor had turned around to point to me opposite

wall of the ravine, high up. "Look there.'*



The others turned. There was something poised along the

wall, watching them. Its four-legged shape was silhouetted

against the sky. Cal asked, "Is it a goat? Shoot it, Endr—"



The elf shouted, "It's a—"



The thing leapt thirty feet to hit the ravine floor with a

thump! Bith screamed and covered her head as the thing

landed right beside her,



It was a monster. Big, long, and low. Body like a lion. A

tawny belly and brown back, black claws, white teeth. A

brassy smell. Tiny wings and a human face.



Bith ducked and skittered past the unmoving men. She put

herself behind the stolid troll and this horrendous menace that

had fallen from the sky.



"Thor! Your axe! Hit it! Quick! HIT IT!"



But the troll didn't move. Neither did Cal or Endril. All

three of them stood where they had turned, staring.



Bith shot a glance past the troll's wide shoulders. Bal and

Bast, what was it? Everything in her first nightmare impres-

sion was true. A perverted form of lion with grey vestigial

wings and a mockery of a human face. That face stared back

at her, stared with wide brown eyes, deeper than any ani-

mal's. Eyes as deep as a well, as a bottomless pit ...



Bith shook her head. Dizzy, she stumbled over a rock and

fell. The shock of hitting the ground seemed to wake her-

What was wrong with her? Ah! She was succumbing to a

spell! This was the way she'd felt when her mother had dem-

onstrated control spells to her daughter. But a monster that

spelled? Then she knew what it was.



It was a sphinx, the monster with eyes that could hypnotize

small animals and weak beings. And men, for some reason.



The men!



"Hey!" Bith shoved at the men's backs. Nothing hap-

pened. She put her hand in front of the elf's eyes and waggled



OUTCASTS



71



his head. He stood still as a statue. "Cal! Endril, Thor! Wake

up! Oh, please wake up!"



The beast growled and padded towards her. Panic over-

whelmed her and she ran. She hunkered down behind a boul-

der, and peeped over the top with tears distorting her vision.



Bith watched the lion-thing as it sniffed at the fronts of the

three men—or one boy, one troll, and one elf. Damn Endril,

she thought, he of all people should have been able to resist

the spell! Men were so clumsy at anything cerebral! Bith

watched the tufted tail twitch in anticipation of a meal. What

to do? To make a spell work—any spell—she'd have to run

over there and touch the monster, which would get her bitten

in half. What could she do to badger a sphinx? Ignite it?

Confuse it? Enlarge it? (That was a brilliant idea!) Oh, wait!

Animals hated loud noises. Now if she could just find the

right sort of rock . . .



Bith scuttled around, swearing at herself and the monster,

and the men and the rocks of this canyon. Then she spotted

a stone that looked promising. It was of tough stone with a

dark vein of necking in it. She looked again towards the mon-

ster. It had pushed the men over like dummies. It twitched

its tail and checked Bith's movements. It licked its chops: it

wanted to eat now. Bith bit her lip. She wasn't even sure the

spell would work. She rolled the- rock in her hands as she

tried to remember her mother's words.



Whatever she said must have worked, for the rock began

to glow. And glow. It grew hot in her hands and Bith almost

dropped it. But that would be death. Clumsily she juggled

the glowing stone, trying to look at the sphinx and yet not

look. Then she yelled, "Hera and Hermes help me\" and

threw it.



The explosion in the tight canyon was incredibly loud. Rock

splinters shot everywhere. They whined around her ears and

ricocheted off the walls to plink into her hair. Too late she

thought to duck. But then she hadn't totally believed it would

work. A blast spell was for experienced sorcerers, not nov-

ices. To do it right one should first place a hold spell on the

object, then work the blast spell, then get clear and release

the hold. What would her mother say if she saw this clumsy

attempt?



But it had worked. The sphinx gave a horrid sob and leapt



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



72



high in the air (so high that men thought they flew) and landed

far down the canyon. That was more than Bith could have

hoped for. She whipped her cloak free of her legs and sped

to Endril and the rest. The men were all three face up and

rigid as statues. Violently Bith wrenched at Endril's shoulders

and shook him.



"Wake up! Wake up, you sanctimonious old curmudgeon!

You're going to be eaten\" She slapped the elf's pale face

and felt his shoulders sag- An eyeball twitched, but no more.

He was slipping into unconsciousness. Bith let him go and

he fell back limp as a dead fish. She crawled the short dis-

tance to the recumbent Hathor and pounded on his chest.

Maybe the troll was made of sterner stuff.



Another sob whooped in the canyon, not far away. The

sphinx was coming back.



Down the canyon it padded, wary of another blast but

driven by hunger. It hopped across boulders as lightly as dan-

delion fluff. Its face was horrible to see. The twisted human

visage had been pulled like putty, tugged forward and round

in the cheeks so it resembled the way the sun was portrayed

in books. But its mouth was bared in a lion's grimace that

showed a lion's sharp teeth. Bith could even smell it now: a

stink of ammonia and rotten meat. She gave up on the troll

and fumbled for another rock, but none were the right color.

The sphinx topped the nearest boulder and loomed over her,

blacking out the sky. Could she wield Cal's sword? She won-

dered what a lion's claws felt like when they struck.



She never found, out. As the giri cowered and waited for

death, something grey leapt clean over her head and into the

sphinx's face. There was a snari of surprise from the monster,

then a grunt as it was rocked back. It tumbled from the rock

with something like a great grey spider attached to it.



The battle that followed was shrill and violent. There was

a tumult of screeching and snariing and howling and ripping

that boomed up and down the ravine. The magic user's cu-

riosity overcame her common sense and Bith latched onto a

boulder to pull herself up where she could see.



Something—they thrashed so wildly Bith could barely make

it out—had appeared from somewhere to attack the sphinx.

The new thing was built like a man, but like no man could

be. It was grey all over, naked as a snake, with short legs



OUTCASTS              73



and two long arms. It had a bald pointed head and big mouth

with sharp teeth. And it was big—it made the huge sphinx

seem no larger than a hound dog.



The giant fought as savagely as the animal. It had clamped

its teeth into the sphinx's muzzle. One long arm had the

sphinx by a forepaw, and the other hand (or claw) was twisted

into the monster's mane. Because its muzzle was locked in a

powerful jaw, the sphinx could bite nothing. Having one fore-

paw trapped in the air meant it couldn't get its balance, and

with the man-thing pulling down on its mane, the sphinx's

head was tilted painfully.



The sphinx could still sound though, and it did in that

painful half-sobbing, half-roar that set Bith's teeth on edge.

It keened with pain and rage and humiliation all rolled into

one, as if the thing knew it was an abomination with no

ancestors, no home, no love or companionship or reason to

be. The tortured wail echoed up and down the canyon as the

monster felt itself being overpowered.



The grey giant kept after the beast. With its own shark's

teeth drawing blood from the sphinx's torn lips, he dragged

down inexorably upon the mane while shoving up on the fore-

paw. The sphinx thrashed madly in the air for a minute, then

was flipped over on its back. It went down with a crash!

Claws windmiUed in the air and connected. A rear paw stud-

ded with talons whipped around and scored across the giant's

chest. Bith shuddered and closed her eyes. The big man's

back was towards her, and she thought surely he must have

been disembowelled. He'd crumple over and die and the beast

would live, and come after her. She started to back over

the rocks when there came a scream—the sphinx's.



The giant was still alive, still in command. He held the

monster's head down with his left arm, pinning it to the

ground. The flailing forepaw was now locked in his teeth.

Before the sphinx could rake him again, the giant raised a

knotty fist high into the air and slammed it down on the cat's

ribcage. Bith beard bones break. The fist sailed up and down

again, and again, and each time it pulped bone like tinder.

Blood spurted from the cat's nose. The fist rained again and

again until the sphinx stopped moving. The giant spat out the

limp forepaw and pushed away from the sphinx.



The cat, however, was not dead. Quick as a thought, as a



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



74



blur, the beast jerked upright and launched itself at the giant.

It crashed into the grey man's chest and spilled him over.

Slobbering blood and drool, it fastened its teeth into his face

and hung on.



Bith wanted to scream. She felt as if she hadn't drawn a

breath since the battle had started, and it seemed she'd been

here forever. The giant had to be dead now. What would

happen then?



But the giant was unkillable. The two long arms with those

rock-like fists rose on either side of the sphinx as it twisted

its jaws and tried to rip the giant's face off. When the two

fists struck just below the ears the lion-thing was staggered.

Rattled, it let go. Its eyes glazed over. The giant's short legs

kicked and the creature slid off his body. The sphinx's jaws       ^

clacked as its chin banged a rock.



Immediately the giant was up and on it. He grabbed onto       ^

the fallen animal's back legs and lifted. Grappling, scrabbling        :



for purchase, the giant folded the monster over backwards,        ''•



and pressed, and shoved, and strained, until the beast's back



legs were almost over its head. Bith hissed through her teeth



and peeked between her fingers. She knew what was coming,       f



With a snap! the sphinx's spine broke. The beast gave one       ^.

last bleat and stopped moving. The color faded from its eyes.       %

The giant let go and the carcass dropped to the ground. The       „

grey giant stood and watched it, unmoving. Rivers of blood       ^

trickled down the stone-like surface of his body. All the blood       ^

was from the cat.



Then he turned and noticed Bith.



The girl stared, as hypnotized by the giant as she had been       ^

by the sphinx. She didn't know whether to be thankful it had

saved her life, or fearful that it had saved her for last. Still

staring, Bith crept backwards and slid over the edge of the

boulder.



She hurried to where her three male companions still lay

like toppled trees. She took Endril's face in her hands and       '•

patted his cheeks and pried open his eyelids. "Endril! Wake

up! I think we're in trouble again! Wake up! Please!"             ^



After few moments the elf did rouse- He slowly reached      f*

up a hand and rubbed his face. Then he sat up and looked       S;



around. "What's happened?"                                ^



Bith waved both hands. "You saw a sphinx and it hexed       j.'



OUTCASTS              75



you. And Cal and Thor. Understand? But a—giant—or some-

thing came from—I don't know where—and killed it. But now

he's just on the other side of this boulder— oh\"



The elf peered up at the apparition that loomed over them.

Tall on the boulder, taller against the sky, the giant seemed

taller than the sides of the ravine. Blood and foam and hanks

of brown hair still clung to his narrow chest. As they got

their first good look at him, they realized he was the strangest

being that Bith or even Endril had ever seen.



The giant was over seven feet tall, but his proportions were

all wrong. He had a long head, pointed on top, entirely free

of hair, with long pointed features uniformly grey. His eyes,

pupils and whites, were grey, even his teeth. His skin had a

fine soft sheen like a river-polished stone, or a lizard's hide.

His shoulders and chest and hips were narrow. His arms were

longer than a man's would be, and his legs shorter and bowed,

so his hands hung almost to his knees. The hands and feet

were equally long, twice as long as a man's, with cat claws.

The hands scratched at the long gashes made by the sphinx's

black talons, gashes that showed only as fine white lines.



The being stared down at them for a time, then turned and

hopped away. After a few moments me giri and elf could

hear tearing, rending noises. And the champing of jaws.



"What's been happening?" Endril asked again.



Bith told him the full story, for the elf could remember

nothing after glimpsing the black eyes of the sphinx.



Endril's face was unreadable. He said, "Why didn't you

just run away?"



Bith rubbed her chest, which hurt for some reason. "What?

I—I don't know. I was thinking of too many different spells,

or something." Her hairline hurt too, and when she rubbed

h she found a bump and blood.



Endril rose. "Or something." He roused the boy and the

troll by pouring water from a skin onto their faces. He whis-

pered, "Be cautious. We are not out of the fire yet."



Cal and Hathor finally got to their feet. Bith spilled her

story yet again. At the end the elf pointed. Together the four

peeked over the boulder to look at the giant.



The tall creature was just finishing the sphinx. It had

cracked open the cat's skull and scooped out the brains. He'd

split the belly and gulped down the internal organs, twisted



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



76



off the legs and munched on the rump and thighs. As the four

watched in mixed awe and horror, the giant splintered the

leg bones and dug out the marrow with dagger-like fingertips.

Bith and Endril grimaced in disgust, but Cal and Hathor found

they were hungry.



Suddenly the giant turned and addressed the party in a

surprisingly deep voice.



"You are well?"



The party shook their collective heads at the words. It was

Endril who finally asked, "Good sir ... what, pray, are

you?"



The giant belched and rubbed his chin. He was now en-

tirely covered in gore: dirt, blood, dried spittle, hair, grease.

"I? I am a stone giant. Not so big for I'm not old- Ratcatcher

is one of my names. Vamog is another. Ratatosk and Grim-

bod, Thunderer and Smite. Before I was trapped in yon hole

I was called Mountain Back Breaker. That is the name I shall

use in these days."



"Mountain Back Breaker?" said Cal.



Cal straightened his baldric and checked his sword. The

giant's stony fists, swung at the ends of those whip-like arms,

must be fearsome weapons. They'd be even deadlier if he

chose to expose his talons. Cal thought a fighter couldn't be

better equipped, bom with built-in maces, daggers, and war

hammers.



The giant looked all around the ravine, up at the sky and

seemingly beyond. He scratched his chest idly. "Much has

changed."



Bith, trying not to look at the naked giant, looked rather

at the gaping hole they'd dug and broken open. "You were

trapped behind that stone? How long were you in there? And

haw did you get in there?"



The deep voice boomed, ' 'I was cast there by demons on

a lark. We giants and demons have fought since time un-

known. A pack of them thought it amusing to drop a moun-

tain on me." He looked around again. "Ifs been some time."



The party didn't have much to say to that. Cal asked, "Why

did you say your name was VUi when Endril here heard you?"



"I told you. I have many names. Vili is one, after the god

of the north country."



OUTCASTS              77



"That's what I'd call a vast coincidence, for we are in Vi-

li's—the god's—service these days. Funny you should men-

tion that name to us, of all of them you and the gods have."



The giant only grunted. He picked a bone splinter out of

his teeth. "Strange is fate. Glad I am I called my name.

Trapped in there, it has been my sorrow to hear everything

said by those who've passed this way for many a year. Yet

always I was helpless to make myself heard. Hope of rescue

has been mine a countless thousand times, yet always it came

to naught. I am in your debt."



Endril replied, "And we in yours- You killed yon monster

while we were helpless."



"Yes."



Cal filled the silence. "I still think it's a big—"



Bith cut him off. "Cal."



The soldier shut up. He reckoned the giant was lying, and

he didn't like it. He didn't like anything about this character.

The point on his skull reminded Cal of the sharks' fins he'd

seen trailing fishing boats. Cal looked around at his compan-

ions for some help but they just watched him. He resigned

himself to dealing out the harsh words. "Fine, look, uh—

Backbreaker—you're free now, free to go wherever you like.

We've places to go—"



"And I with you. I would see the world and its changes."



His bony hands joined were a lump of stone larger than

Cal's head, and the boy stepped back. The giant's knuckles

popped like rocks shattering in frost.



Cal shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. We are four and we

plan to stay that way. Am I right, fellows?"



Endril said nothing. Hathor frowned. Bith bit her lower

Up. "Where we're going it might be nice to have someone

strong with our party—"



"That my job," Hathor interjected.



"Well, of course, yes, Thor," the giri corrected herself.

"But to have two mighty fellows would be even better."



Endril spoke. "Do you know the reaches to the north of

here?"



The giant bobbed his pointed head. "Aye. I am from the

north country, the far stony hills."



Cal tried again. "I don't think it's a good idea to sign

anyone else on now. We've just worked out our strategies—"



78



RUNESWORD VbLUME ONE



Bith countered, "Why are you in such a huny to be rid of

him? We were in no hurry to be rid of you!"



"Yes, you were! You weren't going to be seen with a

stableboy, remember?"



"That was a long time ago."



Cal hesitated. He wasn't himself sure why he wanted to

leave this giant behind. Some warrior's instinct just told him

to stay clear. But here was Bith complicating things. And

glaring at him. "Fine, fine. Never mind. What's one more?

Let's be walking north."



The giant nodded. "Let's. I would stretch my legs.'*



Bith said,"Ummm ... do you think . . . you could . . .

find something to wear? It's, ummm, cold at night. . . ."



Endril had retrieved his bow and inspected the string. He

said to the giant, "She would have you cover your naked-

ness."



The giant glanced down at his filthy body. "This? T'is not

a tradition among us to wear the skins of dead things."



The elf pointed to the split hide of the sphinx. "Where we

go it is- I suggest you garb yourself in yon skin. T'will ease

our minds."  '



The giant shrugged and picked up the skin. He ripped off

some loose strings, poked rents in it with his fingers, and

pulled it over his body. It covered what was necessary to

cover, Bith was glad to see.



"Fine," Endril said. "Does that suit you, good Bith?"



Bith nodded, her cheeks afire. She strapped her blanket roll

over her shoulder and took off after Cal down the canyon.



Cal, in the lead for once, stopped and checked on his com-

panions. Endril was nowhere to be seen. Bith strode along

with her decorous sway and her head held high. Hathor

stumped along behind her like a dog. Mountain Back Breaker

trod along in his sphinx skin.



Cal faced forward and marched. He grizzled to himself,

"That fellow ought to charm the locals. A. fine kettle of fish.

Soon we'll be an army of outcast misfits and still have no

leader."



So saying he passed from the head of the ravine and out

on the flat again. Far to his left the great wall of cloud clung

to the earth like dirty wool. It was sunset and the cloud cast

a shadow on the land before it. A long and dark shadow.



OUTCASTS              79



Six days later they were still marching over the yellow plain.

They could see the land dipped ahead, all across the horizon,

and they wondered where the land went.



Endril popped into sight up there, as sudden as a hare. As

usual, he'd been on point. Now he waved them down with

long sweeps of his hands. They hunkered into the tall grass

and waited. Endril joined them, practically on his belly -



"We arrive. There be scouts about. Follow me to shelter.

Keep low, off me skyline."



The party crept awkwardly through the grass, across scree.

and into a rocky fissure. The fissure terminated at the edge

of a bluff that overlooked a wide valley. The strung-out party

reached the edge and stopped one by one. Endril first, flow-

ing like a ghost, Cal scuffling in his broken boots, Bith with

her light step, Hathor with his sturdy stamp. And bringing

up the rear came Backbreaker, scrabbling as much with his

arms as his short legs.



They gazed down into the valley and were silent.



The valley ran east-west. The eastern arm flowed out of

sight. Green conifers and red-yellow hardwoods dotted

the slopes of yellow grass. The western arm was shut off by the

Mistwall, tall, silent, roiling. On the opposite side of the

valley, two or three miles away, the land rose again in a gentle

slope before striking mountains that ran off into infinity. The

peaks were stark, inhospitable. They looked impassable. This

valley, then, was where the fabled and mysterious highlands

began.



Directly across from the party, caught between the fertile

valley floor and the sharp mountains, was a flattened slope,

or shelf. On this shelf was a castle with a small village around

it.



Castle Cairngorm.



The castle perched at the farthest end of the shelf. Behind

the shelf dropped off into a chasm. The castle was not big as

castles go, nor were its grounds or the village expansive. But

it was singulariy awe-inspiring in that the stone structure lit-

erally hung upon the lip of the shelf, as delicately balanced

as a butterfly on a leaf- It reminded Cal of a seagull riding

placidly on the crest of a giant wave. The castle was squat,



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



80



with a single tower: the tower was actually stepped over the

chasm, or so it looked from the party's angle.



What was on the other side of this chasm they could not

tell, for the Mistwall pressed close around the castle in a

semicircle, as if eager to eat it up, but afraid to begin.



The front of the settlement, the landward side, was ringed

by two stone walls upon which soldiers could be seen. So the

place was inhabited.



And pressing as close to the front of the castle as the Mist-

wall did the back, covering the valley floor, was an army.



It was a varied and multicolored army, with little unifor-

mity and no obvious discipline. The adventurers on the bluff

could see pennants and cooking fires and spits and tents and

lean-tos and pots and bones and garbage scattered over what

had been fertile fields. There were figures of all sizes, some

knee-high, some twice taller than a man. All of them moved

with curious crabbing motions.



The mob looked like a sprawling nest of spiders.



Endril pointed his short bow to where a steady stream of

figures issued forth, like a black train of ants, from the Mist-

wall itself.



"Behold," the elf pronounced, and his voice was so omi-

nous they all felt a chill.



"The Dark Lord's Army."



CHAPTER



6



It was Endril who spoke first. "Magic."



"Eh?" The humans had been hypnotized by the sight of

the awful army—there were so many of them!



"Magic," he repeated. "Yon castle, how it hangs in the

air. Some powerful talisman holds it thus, else it would have

tumbled into the depths long ago. *Tis magic and not mortar

at work. I should not be surprised if it's that which we seek."



"Hunh?" said Cal.



"He means," Bith translated, "it's probably Viti's sword

keeping that castle up. There are very few other artifacts that

could, especially in such remote regions and shabby sur-

roundings. I wonder that I never heard of this castle's wizard,

With such power, his name should be known far and wide."



Cal adjusted his baldric, loosened his sword in its scab-

bard, then shot it home. "I could have said that castle was

our goal without knowing anything about magic."



"And how's that?" Bith asked.



"Because if a god needs us to find a sword, where else

would it be but between the Mistwall and an army of ores?"



The five travelers looked down at the valley and collec-

tively sighed. Endril sat down and set his back against a slope.



81



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



82



Bith smoothed her cloak behind and perched on a rock. Cal

took out a dagger to point out aspects of the army and mutter

to himself. Hathor sat at the edge of the fissure and swung

his big, dirty, hairy, black-tocnailed feet like a child. Back-

breaker scratched a hairless armpit.



After a long time—long enough for me sun to drop behind

the Mistwall and so elongate its shadow far across the doomed

valley—Cal spoke. "That's it, then."



"What?" Bith asked him.



"We can't do it."



"We must," replied Endril.



Cal shook his head, "There's no way."



Bith looked from one to the other. "What are you talking

about?"



"This task, this trip," Cal answered. "We're done. We

tell Vili to go fish up a tree. We're finished."



"We gave our bond," Endril intoned.



"We gave our bond," Cal replied with heat in his voice,

"to venture north and see if we can retrieve VUi's sword.

Well, we did, and here we are, and 1 for one say we can't do



it."                                                                           ii



Bith asked, "Are you afraid?"



Cal pointed to his chin with his dagger. "There's a stupid

question. I've a scar right here to prove I'm not. I've fought

in battles, two anyway, and I needn't prove anything to some

girt raised on her mother's lap and fed on white bread. I'm a

soldier to the bone, and I can tell you you might as well fall

on your sword here as walk down there. Five people do not

attack an army. It wouldn't be brave, it'd be plain stupid."



As if in echo, a howl sounded from me valley below. The

noise was neither human nor animal.                           ;



It was quiet for a while, then Endril said, "To walk away

would not, methinks, be as simple as you describe. Gods

have long memories and hold grudges to suit. We've prom-

ised Vili to try and he will expect it of us, or find ways to

make us pay. And we gave our bond."



Cal asked, "Will you lead the charge?"



"There are other ways than direct attack."                    -r



"Such as?"                                             -;



' 'Outflank them."                                       , f-



"Have you no eyes? They encircle the castle."



OUTCASTS              83



"Not to the mountains."



"Those mountains are sheer rock! And if there are scouts

over here—" Cal remembered that and lowered his voice

"—there are bound to be more over there. A fly couldn't get

through those lines."



The troll's gruff voice startled them. "Caves."



Cal asked, "Where?"



The troll pointed to the mountains. "In mountains."



"How can you tell?"



"Can just tell."



Cal shook his head some more. "Ores come from caves.

They'd be thickest there."



"Infiltrate the army," said the elf.



"Good luck. We're white as ghosts compared to that lot.

Bith especially wouldn't get past the first flank. Not whole."



Beside him the girt shuddered, but Cal didn't try to retract

his words. It was madness to proceed, and Cal was wary of

the elf's powers of persuasion. He'd have them marching to

the walls in a parade, singing, if he talked long enough.



Indeed, the elf turned to Bith. "Could you fly over them?"



Bith shook her head.



"We must join them, then," Endril said.



"Take prisoners." Hathor grunted.



Cal asked. "What? What good-would taking prisoners do?

No one would ransom them."



Hathor pointed to the three fair people, then Backbreaker.

"Take you prisoners. Him, me. Tie you up. March to edge

of army, ask to see leader. Walk right through. No one touch

us."



"Why would no one touch us?"



"Whole army afraid of leader. Prisoners be brought to him.

Anyone interfere, cut head off. We walk right to wall, jump

over."



Cal waved a hand in the air. "Wait a minute, Hathor. Let

me get this right. You 're going to tie us up and lead us down

there as prisoners, right through their lines, to the leader's

tent? And how do you know about their leader?"



The troll ignored Cal's second question. "No, take you to

wall."



"Not I," This from Endril.



Cal whipped his head around. "What do you mean, not



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



84



you? Who's the one carping about our bond? Who's the one
keeping us here?"



Endril was placid. "You are the one keeping yourself here,

so blame not others. But no, I cannot go amidst that army.

The smell of an elf would bring a thousand ores on a rampage

that no leader could stop. I'd be hacked to pieces in a trice.

That part is impossible."



Cal asked, "But we lesser humans get to be trussed up like

chickens? How do you propose to be of any use?"



"I can enter the castle by my own ways. But none can

come with me. As it is, I may not arrive at all."



Cal pointed his dagger. "Look, I've had it up to here with

your high-and-mighty elfness! Anything you do is fine for

you, but not for us\ We're just sheep to be led to the slaugh-

ter—where arc you going?"



Endril stood and swung his bow in his hand. "Hathor's is

a suitable plan- I shall endeavor to meet you inside the castle

walls when you arrive. If I do not arrive, then I never shall.

May you walk in peace.** He climbed the shelf and looked

around. Then he crept out onto the grassy plain, into the

gathering gloom.



Cal put his hand to his hilt and trotted after him. He hissed.

"Hey, you! Wait up! Who do you—where'd he go?"



Bith scurried up beside him. Together they crouched and

peered into me dusk. They could still see some distance across

the plain, and there was nothing to obstruct their vision. No

trees, no rocks.



Cal kicked the toe of his boot- "Damn him' Damn him to

whatever hell he fears. What a—a srwl'."



He turned to look at Bith and found Hathor and Back-

breaker looming in me near-dark. Their outlines against the

grey sky were chilling. Hathor had a coiLof rope. "Good

plan, start now. We tie you up."



Cal backed around and this time drew his sword a good

four fingers from its scabbard. "Hold on, here! I haven't

agreed to a thing yet! We're still just talking—hey!"



Hathor lunged and with one sweep of his foot knocked Cal

sprawling. The heavy-muscled body crashed onto his chest

and knocked die wind from him while the nimble and broad

feet pinned his arms. Cal was as helpless as a trout on the

shore. Bith cried out once before Backbreaker covered her



OUTCASTS



85



mouth and entire face With his monstrous hands. Cal un-

leashed a truly spectacular string of swear words as the coarse

rope was wrapped around his torso. Hathor unhitched the

boy's baldric, and slung it and his shield over one shoulder.



Five minutes later, bound like squabs, Cal and Bith were

being frog-marched down the long slope towards the valley

and its invading army.



Hathor towed the humans along with no more trouble than

a child dragging a branch. Backbreaker stamped behind.



The first pluck at Hathor's memory came as he reached the

floor of the valley. Across the tall billowing grass came a

whiff, an odor, a scent—of home. The rope around the two

humans jerked taut as they caught the smell, but Hathor

dragged them on. Along with the rotten-egg and low-tide

smell of the Mistwall came the stink of ore dung and urine,

bad meat, unwashed bodies, dried blood, rancid hides, pus,

corruption, vomit, and the thousand other smells of several

thousand soldiers packed in one place. Hathor flared his nos-

trils and took a deep breath. To someone raised in a warren

of dank caves inhabited by cannibal trolls since the beginning

of time, it was like old times. Hathor discarded his man's

hat, tightened his grip on his axe, and marched.



The humans twitched at the end of their rope but Hathor

just hauled harder. The captives had two choices; walk or be

dragged. The giant Mountain Back Breaker chivvied them

along.



Exposed by firelight, the black mass of troops resolved into

detail.



The first thing they passed, at the outer fringes of the army,

was a trio of ogres. These were he-ogres, each as wide as

two men. Evidentally they preferred the outskirts where they

had room to move. They wore wide bullhides clumsily

stitched and stretched across their hairy backs and legs. They

looked not at all sinister, but rather like fat greengrocers

blown out of proportion. But one with a gleaming bald head

wore two human skulls in helmets as earrings. The ogres

watched the troll and giant and their prisoners pass without

comment.



The next group was a large party of ores, some thirty or

so, small hunched creatures with craggy faces and pointed



86 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



ears. They wore scraps of armor or nothing at all. They looked

greedily at the trussed humans but fearfully at the striding

troll and giant. One of them yipped like a coyote as they

passed.



Hathor jerked to a halt. He turned in surprise and found

Cal leaning back on the rope. The boy had planted his boots

against a rock and snubbed the rope tight. Hathor quickly

released his hold and Cat tumbled backwards. The troll

stomped angrily and loomed over the boy. The fangs in his

lower jaw champed as he shouted, "What you do? Get up or

I kill you!"



Cal stayed where he was. Bith had stopped too and hun-

kered down behind him, trying to make herself small. Cal

swore a soldier's oath and hissed, "Thor! This is madness!

We'll never get out alive!"



Hathor kicked with his bare feet at Cal's boots, and it was

me boy who winced. The troll raised his felling axe high aloft

and shook it- "You get up now!" he thundered. "Or I break

born legs and drag you!"



Cal's eyes shot hate at the troll. Bith's flickered to one side.

Approaching them was a party of three beings. Trolls, just

like Hathor.



The lead troll was as big as Hathor and even deeper in the

chest. His grubby hair was the same washed-out color as his

greasy fur vest and kilt. He sported a bandolier with three

hatchets in it. The other trolls were smaller. One wore a

wrapping of grimy cloth and carried a war club studded with

obsidian. The other wore only a loincloth. A hideous pucker

covered one whole side of his face. The eye on that side was

white as a boiled egg. He carried a mallet.



The foremost of the trolls rumbled something to Hathor in

his own tongue. It sounded to the humans like a dogfight. He

appeared friendly enough towards his brethren, though die

grimace on his face revealed four yellow fangs. Hathor only

growled something short and turned back to his prisoners.

He wrenched savagely on the rope, hard enough to bring a

bleat of pain from Bith.



The one-eyed troll stepped around the leader. With a snari-

ing laugh he started to say something to Hathor, but was cut

off. Hathor roared, "I said, go away\" and lashed out. The

back of the heavy woodsman's axe caught the troll square in



OUTCASTS



87



the face. Cal and Bith heard a sickening crunch. Blood flew.

The troll went down to writhe on the trampled grass. Hathor

hauled the two humans to their feet by main strength. He set

off through the army without looking back at his kin. Cal did

look. The two trolls had walked away and left their compa-

triot twisting in the grass.



"Bast and Belial!" Bith whimpered. "Did you see what

he did?"



"I saw," Cal grated.



The girl glanced over her shoulder, but the sight of the

grey-skinned alien Backbreaker was unnerving. "Some-

thing's wrong with Hathor."



"Nothing's wrong with him. He's gone back to his own

kind, is all."



Bith quavered, "I can't believe that."



"Believe what you want."



"What will happen to us, Cal?"



Cal stared straight ahead without seeing anything. "If we're

lucky, someone will kill us right away."



Bith bit her lip and cried without tears.



Cal was glad it was full night now, for it meant less to see.

Dogs scuttled up to bark at them, skinny cowardly things that

fought with each other. Dead ones roasted in the fire. One

pack fought over the guts of their brother. Ugly trophies and

war booty were to be seen at every hand. A lady's velvet

gown, torn and stained with blood, hung on a spear along

with a scalp. A gilt hand mirror winked from a scabby shield.

One ore tore leaves from a book to transport fire. Others sat

on a green woven carpet. Cal counted with hard eyes every

helmet on every hideous head, all of which had to be hu-

man—or dwarven-made, for none of the lesser speaking races

could work metal. He counted over two hundred before he

gave up. There were men's swords, men's shields, men's

spears, and more.



The noise was equally horrid. A hooting went up ahead

where two small beings knife-fought by a fire. Far away a

bubbling scream went on and on, the product of torture.



Every step—dragged foot by foot—brought the two humans

deeper into the Dark Army and brought them more attention.

Dark twisted shapes pointed and gibbered and laughed at the



88



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



two prisoners. Cal kept his eyes forward and looked at noth-

ing. Bith kept her eyes on Cat's back.



Hathor trudged along with slit eyes. He growled or spat at

anyone who even hinted at getting in his way. He tried to

recognize the minions of the Dark Lord's army. They were

mostly ores in all shapes and sizes. There were a handful of

giants, at least two tribes of trolls, gnolls like upright jackals,

tiny twisted pink piglets, and some species of speaking races

that Hathor could not identify. He saw females of various

races too. Dull-eyed, they tended fires or scraped skins or

carried water while me males jeered them. They were as

skinny and filthy as the dogs, with less spirit. Far off, over

the shorter ores, Hathor could see patches of bronzed skin.

Those were men, soldiers who had turned their hand to the

Dark Lord's service. Their heads swivelled and fixed on me

smallest in Hathor's party—they'd spotted a human woman at

half a mile in the dark. Calling to one another, they picked

up their weapons and started to push their way through.



Hathor scanned as he walked, looking for some sign of

authority. He was far enough across the valley now that he

had to pick up his chin to see the castle at the top of the hill.

The pitch of the hill was steep, steep enough that a man

would need one hand for his weapon and one hand to climb.

And the slope was flinty and crumbly, supporting no weeds

or trees. In the reflected light of fires he could see, some two

hundred feet away, the first wall. Helmeted heads with dark

faces underneath peered over it, motionless. A hundred feet

behind that was the second wall, and just behind dial, the

blackened castle. From here Hathor could see its outlines

were soft. The castle was old and crumbling. The well-lit

houses around it were tiny. The two walls that protected die

community had fresh stonework and no moss. There were no

living invaders on the slopes. Only a goat could rest there.

But there were occasional bodies prickled with arrows. Dogs

pulled at them.



Hathor scanned the terrain to either side of him. Ahead, at

the front edge of the army and closest to the wall (though not

close enough to invite arrows) were the army's only tents,

therefore those of the leaders. A half-dozen small tents formed

a ring around a very large one. Flagpoles made an avenue to



OUTCASTS              89



this tent. Pennants stirred in a night breeze. Large guards

faced one another across this corridor.



A shout from their left made Hathor turn around. A cluster

of soldiers—men—were coming their way. They had their

heads high and their swords loose.



Bith gasped. "Quick, Hathor! We must away! They'll take

me!"



Cal grunted, "He doesn't care."



The giri shuddered. "Please, Hathor! They'll kill you to

get me! They'll cut you down!"



Hathor turned right abruptly, so abruptly that a cluster of

ores did not part quick enough. He crashed his axe onto the

head of one and then kicked the body out of the way with his

big feet. He shoved onward through the crowd in the direc-

tion of the tents, towing his prisoners behind. He heard a

growl behind as Mountain Back Breaker snaried at someone.



The crowd was thicker here—and more foul—and they

clustered around. The human soldiers shouted after Hathor.

A fight was in the air and the bloodthirsty crowd wanted to

see. Hathor broke free of the press and found himself in the

only open space—the corridor of trampled grass leading to

the largest tent. The soldiers were not far behind. He jerked

at the rope to snub his prisoners tight. A flag hung just over-

head, brushing the troll's curiy hair.



"What now?" Cal spit in his face, "You collect a re-

ward?" Bith only bit her lower lip.



The two humans' eyes widened in surprise as Hathor

hissed, "Turn around. I loosen ropes. You can hold them?"



Cal frowned. Bith was quicker to recover. She whispered

too. "I can put a hold spell on them. Oh, Thor, I knew you

were still with us! But what shall we do?"



The troll nodded a fraction of an inch up the hill. "Run

for wall. I don't know if we can make it, but we try. Those

men close. You right, Cal, this bad idea."



Cal only grunted, but it was a relieved grunt with a hint

of apology, a soldier's only acknowledgement that he had

been wrong. He spun around as if he had been slapped and

presented his bound hands for Hathor to "tighten." Bith did

the same. Cal heard her whisper a spell and suddenly his

bonds were tighter than before. But she shot him a quick,



90



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



tight, smile. Cal smiled back, then frowned anew as the troll

spoke.



"Hey? where Backbreaker go?'*



The others looked. The giant was gone. Tall as he was, he

should have stood out easily. But there was no sign.



Cal croaked, "Good riddance—"



Hathor jumped. A laige ore. grey-faced, with spiky black

hair sticking out all over, loomed over them. He wore shiny

black armor like a turtle's shell. He carried a halberd.



"What you do here?" he growled. Hathor growled in re-

ply- The ore pointed with a forefinger like a dagger. "What

these?"



Hathor glanced around him. The crowd was thick on all

sides. There was seemingly half an army between them and

the bottom of the slope. They could hear the voices of the

men soldiers swearing filthy oaths as they tried to push

through. Hathor looked for a way out- He snaried at the ore

and spit on the ground.



"Prisoners."



The ore pointed at the big tent. "They go there."



The troll netted his axe. and tried to think. The flags flapped

overhead and the humans looked up. The rope in Hathor's

hand suddenly snapped taut. He looked at Cal and then looked

up-



Overhead were standards: pennants and banners, each one

a different color and pattern, each one representing a king or

kingdom, a particular army, or a large and prestigious band

of heroes. There were so many standards they could not even

be set side by side, but were rather clustered like sheaves of

spears. There must have been hundreds of them, each one

representing a portion of the worid lost to the Dark Lord and

his army.



Cal stared upwards as if hypnotized, fixed on a single sheaf

of pennants. To Hathor they looked much the same: a yellow

streamer with a red dragon, a blue square with four crowns

filled with stars, a orange and white striped flag with a black

bar, a green rectangle sporting a red eagle with a fish in its

beak. . . .



"My father," the boy whispered. "My father . . ."



The ore guard prodded Cal with his halberd- The boy

jumped sideways but did not otherwise move. He only wlus-



OUTCASTS              91



pered again and stared upwards. The ore raised his pike high

to split me human in half—



The shaft of his halberd slammed against something solid.

Twin grunts sounded. The head of Hathor's axe had stopped

the ore's halberd as solidly as a rock. The two weapons be-

came the focus of a contest. The ore flexed his muscles and

pressed downwards: Hathor gritted his fangs and pressed up.

All this time the blade of the halberd quivered inches over

CaTs head, but the boy was oblivious. He whispered and only

Bith could hear him. "So he's really dead. He's really, re-

ally—dead. Dead . . -"



Bith tried to do what she could with her hands tied. She

shoved the boy with her shoulder. "Cal. Cal' Wake up. Cat!

Please!" Another shove almost sent him sprawling. "Cal,

we have logo!"



The boy shook his head and looked at her as if at a stranger.

He glanced back towards the sky.



Hathor huffed, "Hyah!" and threw off the ore's halberd.

He stared the ore down, picked up the tail of the rope, and

dragged his prisoners into the dim tent of the Dark Army's

leader.



The night air had been chilly, but it was hot inside this

tent. The interior was lit all with yellow, from a hundred

candles, from torches, from the glint of gold. The floor of

wheat had yellowed from lack of sun. There were blond rugs

and skins piled around. The light reflecting on the canvas roof

suffused the glow. After the dark night and dark things they

had seen, the inside of the tent was dazzling as a fairyland.



The inhabitants were not. The sagging canvas, itself hot

and stale, trapped an eye-smarting stink of stale sweat and

spoiled food that was worse than outside. Dark as spiders

were myriad guards and hangers-on, whispering or croaking

or arguing with one another. These were mostly the larger

buriy ores that stood outside as guards, along with some trolls

and coarse men and some olive-skinned creatures, hairless

and fish-eyed, that none of the party recognized. The first

humans Bith noticed were the concubines who lolled around

the throne. They were huge coarse women clad only in taw-

dry makeup and body tattoos and rolls of their own fat. No,

there was only one dazzling person in the tent.



The man on the throne.



92



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



He was the biggest man any of the three had ever seen.

Cal, who had seen some large soldiers, reckoned his height

at close to seven feet. As it was, he was taller sitting down

than Cal was standing up. The man's skin was brown from

the sun, a healthy glow that contrasted sharply with the dark-

loving creatures who served him. His body rippled with mus-

cle: his skin looked tighter than a snake's. But something had

happened to his body, or was happening. It was somehow

pushed to it limits. His chest was overiarge, bigger than a

barrel, and they could hear his abnormal breathing from where

they stood thirty feet away. His features might once have been

handsome, but now they were—what? overdeveloped? His

chin, his ears, his nose, his brow, all were enlarged. Even

his teeth were big as a horse's. His hair was thick and blond,

yet lifeless, like sun-baked thatch. Cal thought he had never

seen a man so fit and yet so on the verge of dying in his life.

The man—the leader of the Dark Lord's Army—stared at them

with wide white eyes with yellow centers. He raised a hand

as big as a lion's paw and waved mem forward.



Hathor gently pulled on the slack rope between them. To-

gether the three advanced across that hot, steaming space.

The crowd quieted as Hathor, Bith, and Cal stopped in the

middle of me tent. Their legs would carry them no further.

It grew very still in the tent. The only sound was the hoarse

breathing of the giant before them.



When the three didn't move and the silence drew on, the

leader left his chair—a throne of gold, with more gold and

jewels heaped around it. He advanced upon them without a

word. They could see now he wore a breechclout of some

tawny hide that still bore a tufted tail like the sphinxes. Oth-

erwise he was naked except for jewelry. His chest was hung

with pendants and chains, his arms were adorned above and

below the elbows with bands of copper and gold and silver.

His shaggy head with its tiny gold circlet brushed me tent

in places. He towered over the three. Cal, who was tall. had

to crane his head back to look at the man. His chest heaved

and they could smell his breath, curiously sweet. Sweat

rolled down the leader's breast and trickled off his nipples.

His mouth hung open as he panted like a horse run thirty

miles.



Twice the man licked his lips as he looked down at the



OUTCASTS              93



party. Cal felt his legs turning to water. Bith wanted to cry.

Hathor wished he were back in his cave deep below ground.

The man reached out a great hand and brushed the boy and

troll aside. He spoke only to Bith.

"What brings you here?"



CHAPTER



7



No one, especially Bith, knew what to say to this golden giant

and his strange question, so they said nothing.



The silence in the yellow-hued tent dragged out. The var-

ious retainers watched their master and waited. Cal and Bith

and Hathor stared up at the man, as trapped and helpless and

confused as flies in a web.



The leader of the Dark Army spoke. "No answer, good

woman? It's unlike you. You've always had a loose tongue

and a sharp wit. Or is it the other way around?"



The man's eyes were staring yet unfocused. Cal looked at

Bith, Bith looked at Hathor, Hathor looked at Cal. All three

swallowed. They were suddenly thirsty. Maybe it was the

giant's panting that did it.



The leader put his massive hands out in the air. He waved

them gently and leaned towards Bith. "Speak! How is it we

find you here on the wrong end of a rope? Is your magic

gone? If so, we are all in dire straits indeed!"



Bith let go her lip from her teeth and stammered, "S-sire—"



"Sire!" The giant barked and made her jump. "Sire! She

calls me sire!'' He roared with laughter and the retainers about



94



OUTCASTS



95



tittered along with him, though cleariy none understood the

joke.



"Sire! A goodly jest, Morea! What unguessable misfortune

has befallen you?" The giant leaned close and peered into

Bith's tiny face- "Gog and Magog, what queer times we live

in!"



Cal and Hathor were dumbfounded. What had he called

Bith? Morea? But that was the name of Bith's—



The name—and the truth—had tolled like a bell in Bith's

mind. Tossing her nose in the air and straightening her back,

she gave a haughty shake of her head. "So," she pro-

nounced, "you've recognized us."



The giant laughed again, a deep hearty laugh that rattled

their breastbones. "No man who'd seen you would forget

you- It's said all through the Mistlands—"



"Stop!"



The man stopped.



Bith shrugged her shoulders, a ripple that made her lithe

body shimmer bewitchingly. She rapped a command, a ring-

ing cry in some obscure language. Then her hands were free

and entwined over her head. The ropes had fallen behind her

onto the dead grass. The crowd murmured.



Bith proclaimed, "I need my false bonds no longer then.

The ruse had failed."



"Yes," said the giant, though he was now as befuddled as

anyone else. Cal found himself wishing for a cool day and a

clean hot battle—or anything he could understand.



Bith wiggled her fingers and the giant stepped back. "Feed

us," she commanded. "Bring wine."



The leader barked and servants scuttled away. He back-

stepped to his throne and waved Bith after him, deferentially.

She came, demurely- The leader of this vast army cleariy

considered her an equal. He shouted for a chair and one was

brought, a heavy wooden chair carved with intricate designs.

Bith nodded towards the painted hariots and they were dis-

missed. Hathor and Cal tried to remain invisible.



Bith was served wine and fresh fruit. She ate decorously

and talked with the leader (whose name Cal and Hathor still

didn't know). Conversation flickered back and forth between

the two like fire between dragons. It ranged through a half

dozen languages that only they could follow.



96 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



The talk went something like this:



He: "I ask you again, what brings you here in these cir-

cumstances?"



She: "Circumstances change."



"The Mistwall?"



"It moves, docs it not?"



"We drive it like wolves before sheep."



"Or it drives you."



"Soon we'll have all the speaking races under our thrall."



"And what is your position then?"



"Exalted leader. Supreme among men. Second only to the

Dark Lord. Almost a god. And you?"



"I?"



"Yes, you. Would you stay here?"



"In this chair?"



"Don't tease. At my side."



"There's room there only for a sword."



"At night a man needs a woman."



"Morea is more than a woman."



"Queen, then."



"Empress?"



"As you wish."



As they bantered back and forth, Cal whispered to Hathor,

"What the hell are they talking about?"



Hathor muttered without moving his lips. "Don't know."



"He keeps calling her Morea. That's her mother. And

something about an alliance," Cal said.



"More than that," the troll replied-



Cal hissed, "Don't you start talking like them. We'll all

go mad." He thought a moment. "We better find out his

name. It's clear Bith doesn't know it."



Hathor grunted again. He took a step and caught a passing

ore by the arm. He squeezed as he demanded, "What his

name? Quick!"



The ore twisted as he replied. "Schlein. Him Schlein,

leader all armies."



Hathor released the creature. He asked Cal, "How we tell

Bith?"



"Beats me- What are they doing now, arguing?"



The conversation had become even more arcane—some of

it in elven, some in the Old High Tongue and some in a



OUTCASTS             97



weird, clacking cant. Schlein's voice had taken on an abrasive

edge. The giant was fingering his beltline. Cal couldn't tell

if he was straightening the tilt in his kilt or reaching for a

knife. Bith's voice grew shrill as a crow's.



"I'll not be subservient to any man, god, or demon in any

of the seven planes' I say you grant me a retinue now, access

to a laboratory now, and such materials as I need, now and

when I have had time to gather my intelligence and energies,

then and only then shall I speak more of marriage or other-

wise!"



Schlein's tone hovered somewhere between placating and

commanding. "You misinterpret my advances, mistress. I

need to know better your—skills, so we can together—"



Hathor and Cal had crept forward, Cal shuffling because

his hands were still bound behind him. They stood behind

Bith unnoticed, though retainers and guards pressed closer,

Hathor nodded at Cal. The boy girded his loins, waited for

a pause and then spoke as quietly as he could into Bith's ear.

"Mistress, wouldst you and Exalted Schlein . . ."



Schlein, who'd obviously been planning his next attack on

Bith, snapped his head around. "How dare you' Interrupt

UJ? Guards' Take these two out and kill them! Drain their

blood and prepare them for the fire!"



Hathor's and Cal's eyes flew wideiapen. Bith leapt up from

her seat and waved her arms. "Kill my retainers? How dare

you! No one kills my staff but mtf!"



In his turn Schlein leapt up, rocking his heavy gold throne.

He stabbed out a hand and had slapped into it the hilt of a

great jeweled sword that glittered in the torchlight. "I darel

You forget your place and position! No witch woman can

resist me, mistress of the sacred arts or not! Guards' I say

kill these two and roast them! They'll grace our table and

Morea herself shall eat their hearts!"



Bith rotated her hands and rattled a short arcane phrase

like a curse. Crushing something in her left hand, she reached

up and put her right hand on the sword hilt. She smiled

sweetly up into Schlein's face and the giant paused, uncer-

tain. Then a column of flame shot up the blade of his sword

and ignited the tent.



Dusty and dry from a thousand suns, the sheet of canvas

became a sheet of flame within a heartbeat. Schlein howled



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



98



and dropped his sword. The adventurers smelt scorched flesh.

Bith jumped away from his swinging paw and bumped into

Cal. The tent flooded with smoke and the screams of fifty

dark minions. Schlein howled curses and called a dozen or-

ders at once that no one heeded. Cal called to Bith, who

stood six inches away, "What do we do?"



"What else? We run!"



Everyone else was doing the same. A torrent of fetid flesh

pushed and shoved and screamed to get out the doorway of

the tent, shoving others to progress to safety. It was impos-

sible to see in the eye-smarting smoke. The stench of the

room, the heat, and the smoke left nothing to breathe, and

the party's lungs cried for air. Hathor kept a heavy hand on

his two friends as he half-helped, half-dragged them towards

a wall. Blackness gaped where someone had picked up the

side of the tent- Hathor brushed at rumps with his axe and

shouted for his friends to follow.



They popped outside into what now seemed pure, sweet,

night air. They had collected two deep breaths when Bith

called, "Come on! This way!*'



The gid tucked her cloak up and bolted. She ran past the

front of the tent and towards the slope and the distant wall.

Hathor took off after her with long dog-like lopes of his bowed

legs. Cal struggled to keep his balance as he ran.



"Hey, hold it! I'm still tied!"



Bith whirled, chirped a word, and Cal's bonds fell away as

if cut with a knife. Pins and needles shot fire up his arms.

He waggled his hands to get some life in them as he ran after

the whippet Bith and her sheepdog Hathor, who handed him

back his sword and shield.



Confusion was king around the leaders' tents. Guards, re-

tainers, servants, women, and soldiers ran hither and thither

on whatever errands they chose to pursue. They ran toward

or away from the tents as their whim took them. People called

for buckets, for blood, for battle, and for booty. Men waved

swords in the air and shouted without knowing why. Ores

shrilled and slapped one another in their fear. Dogs barked.



Bith pulled her hood up and ducked her head. She twisted

and turned among the crowd unnoticed. Hathor nudged or

threatened people with his axe, but did not hit anyone for fear

of getting bogged down in a fight. Cal put an ugly grimace



OUTCASTS              99



on his scarred face and made no eye contact. Strung thin and

constantly moving, they dodged and darted their way to the

front line.



Then they were in the clear. Cal looked up. Two hundred

feet away, up a forty-five degree slope, was the first wall. It

was lined with more helmets now, and more torches. He

panted, "Do we just run up there?"



Bith was hunkered down, trying to look small. She

snapped, "What else would you have us do?"



Cal looked right and left. "1 see no archers down here, but

the defenders up there will probably nail us before we get

half way- We're caught between two forces."



"But we're friends."



The boy gasped, "Yes, but the people up there don't know

that! They'd probably shoot first and wonder later."



"Well, we can't stay here'."



Hathor grunted agreement.



Cal bit his lip. "You're right, but ... All right, try this.

Hathor and I will go abreast. You go before us."



"Why me?"



"Don't argue, damn it! Pull back your hood so they can

see you're a human woman—giri. Then they won't shoot, I

hope."



For the first time Bith noticed just-how many rotting bodies

there were on the slopes, and how most of them were fes-

tooned with arrows. She hesitated before she said, "All right,

let's try it. I don't want to go back to Schlein,"



"Me neither," Hathor and Cal said in unison.



Bith pulled back her hood. Her face was flushed and lovely

in the flickering firelight. "Here we go!"



Together the three mounted the slope.



They were halfway when a shout sounded behind them.

The shout was picked up to carry throughout the army. The

trio imagined they could hear the booming voice of Schlein

thundering above everyone else. Cal called, "Keep going!

Don't look around! That costs time!" They scrabbled with

their hands up the flinty slope.



A black arrow hit the slope wide of them. It came from

behind. "Don't stop!" Cal shouted. "Ores arc lousy shots!"

With that something knocked off his leather helmet. He let it

tumble down the slope.



100



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



Bith's yellow boot slipped on the scree and she fell and

banged her face. Blood started from a scrape on her chin.

Cal and Hathor both reached for her but she shook her hands

at them, "Never mind! Climb! We're almost there!"



And they were. Another thirty feet would bring them to

the foot of the wall- Of course, getting over it was another

concern, but even so Cal shouted, "We're going to make it'

Hel-h up there—"



His voice was cut off as something grabbed his boot and

slammed him to a halt. He spun, clawing for his sword. In

the black night against the grey slope, black shapes scuttled

among the still ones. A swarm of large ores were after them—

and were upon them.



The ore attached to Cal clutched his boot in one hand and

a jagged knife in the other. With an animal howl he raised

his arm to plunge down the knife. Cal kicked him in the face

with his free foot. That ore fell over backwards into another

and the two skittered a dozen feet down the slope. Then Cal

was up with his antique sword and swinging.



He swopped overhand for the head of the next advancing

ore, but instead lost his footing on the treacherous slope and

fell himself, hard on his rump. Bith bleated behind him: he

must have just missed her with the backswing of the sword.

Hathor roared and pitched a rock that caught another ore in

the chest. The creatures paused in their ascent. Three humans

with weapons in hand faced them from the advantage of

height. There was no way to carry the attack. Instead the

monsters settled for shouting and howling and chucking rocks

of their own. Cal tried to keep his guard up and rise at the

same time, but he didn't dare: he'd pitch headlong and be

among them in seconds. Bith shouted too but did nothing

else, since she couldn't touch an enemy to spell him. The

only other spell she could think of was a light spell, which

was not a good idea. Steel-headed arrows struck sparks all

around them. Rotten shots or not, enough shafts sent their

way would find a mark.



Something—a thrown axe—bounced off Cal's shield. The

blow knocked him off balance. Hathor hooted and shuffled

his way even as a giant black shape rose before him. An ore

had a war axe raised high, ready to split Cal in half. The boy

winced involuntarily. This was going to hurt.



OUTCASTS



101



A zap! sounded, and a crunching noise. The shape fell over

backwards to crash on the slope. Then another arrow buzzed,

and another, all striking targets. These arrows came from

behind die adventurers—from atop the wall.



The ores howled with rage and disappointment, then took

to their heels as a shower of red-fletched arrows fell among

them. Hathor, Cal, and Bith risked a glance over their shoul-

ders to sec—a ladder!



"Come on!'* a mustached man called from the wall. He

waved his gauntlet wide. "Quick! Before they change their

minds! Get up!"



The three got. The ores howled loudly but without convic-

tion. Probably, Cal thought, they planned to storm the castle

in the next few days. They'd have their revenge then.



Then he was behind the wall and things didn't seem so

very bad.



The castle defenders were all good folk and true, men and

women with blond hair and clear blue eyes. There were about

a hundred and fifty of them all together, all warriors.



The mustached leader introduced himself as Barin, house

cari of the kingdom. "Welcome to Cairngorm, friends! What's

left of it, anyway. We didn't know what to make of you lot

coming up that hill. Thought you-were some suicide squad

driven mad to attack, or something. We've seen stranger sights

along these walls. How ever did you get through that army?"



"You were right. We're suiciders," Cal told him with a

soldier's black humor. "And I'm not sure how we did it."



"It was Hathor did it," Bith replied- The three stood on

the wall and looked out at the dark valley spread before them.

It looked much the same as me view from the opposite side.

There were enemies thicker than locusts as far as they could

see. "He pretended to be delivering us as prisoners. It got

us through."



Barin signalled to a younger man for a torch. He held it up

close and studied each one of the three. He peered especially

at Hathor. "You'd be a—troll, now wouldn't you, son?"



Hathor grinned and the man stepped back from the fangs.

"Yessir. Good troll."



"Never was there a stouter heart, or more honest," Bith

added.



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



102



"Pulled our tails out of the fire," Cal agreed. His voice

was overiy gay. "We were for the stew pot. Mercury and

Mob! Good job, Hathor! But don't ask me to do it again."



Hathor grinned so his fangs shone. His face was ugly in

the torchlight without his battered hat to obscure it. "No. Cal

was right. Was bad idea."



"But we're here," Bith breathed. She glanced back at the

boiling army of monsters and suddenly had to sit down. Cat

and Hathor joined her.



Bario snapped his fingers, a dull sound with his gauntlets

on. "Forgive me my manners. You must be fell tired. Farm,

fetch some wine, will ye? There's a dear. That's one good

thing about the end of a siege. We get to kilt the livestock

and pillage the cellar. Fresh meat and all the wine we can

soak up." He smacked his lips.



The weary adventurers were given flagons of honeyed wine

and black bread, roast meat and cheese. "We've broached

casks and sampled wine until we're pickled. Good for these

cold nights, it is. We've even watered the goats with wine.

Flavors the meat and saves trips to the well. We ain't leavin'

nothing for the ores."



Cal wolfed a huge chunk of meat, washed it down with

wine, and then asked, "S'good. Bith, what were you and

Ugly there—Schlein—arguing about? Did he really think you

were your mother? That can't be right."



Bith huddled small as she ate. "No, that's what he thought.

A lot of people mistake me for my mother."



"How can they? Doesn't she look—older?"



Bith shook her head and her dark hair shimmered. "No.

She keeps her looks with spells. It costs other people theirs,

but she keeps them. She's that way."



Cal asked, "Is that why you're in no hurry to get home?"



Bith didn't reply.



Sergeant Barin cleared his throat. "What I want to know—

not that I've followed anything you've said thus far—is why

you've fought your way into this castle. This place is doomed,

you know."



Bith sniffed and raised her scraped chin. Cal thought she

looked glad for a distraction. "We're here to speak to your

leader. The chief mage. We—uhh—have an important mes-

sage for him."



OUTCASTS             103



Barin shook his head. The ends of his scruffy mustache

waggled. "That's too bad. He ain't here."



"He's not?"



"Nope." Others shook their heads around them. The de-

fenders of the castle all had the same gestures. They all looked

alike, like an extended family. "No, ma'am. He went up into

his tower one night and never came down. There's been no

sign of him since."



"He's deserted us," a woman proclaimed.



Barin shook his head some more. "We don't know that,

daughter. He could have gotten into some mischief. He could

have been trying some spell to save us all and had it backfire,

for all we know. We mustn't speak ill of our lord."



"Nor the dead."



Barin just shook his head.



Cal looked along the wall and to the castle and the dark

mountains beyond. The moon was up, and it cast a glow upon

the upper peaks. "Why defend, then? Why not just pull out?"



Barin frowned. "No reason, really. 'Cept this is our home.

We've lived here going back so many generations no one

knows when we came, or where from. We're hanging on as

long as possible. The bastards haven't made any serious

moves towards us yet. Mostly just noise and mock advances

for the young 'uns. They're still gathering here in the valley,

spilling out of the damned cloud like bees swarmin' on a

summer's day. We can bide a bit. Maybe Criegsten will come

back with some plan. There's always hope. But any road, if

he don't, we'll just slip over the mountains at night. We know

the hills and the caves and no amount of ores can stop us

getting out."



"I wish we'd known the back route coming in," Cal mum-

bled. He asked for more food and was given it. The defenders

watched them incuriously, like cows. Only Barin had any

intelligence in his pocked and seamed race.



"What about—" Bith started. She stopped and looked

sideways at her companions, who nodded. "What about a

sword, a fabulous sword? Is it still here, or has—what was

his name?—your master taken it?"



Barin nodded his head. "Criegsten of Cairngorm. Lord

Criegsten sometimes. Master of Multhothy, he called him-

self, though he never did tell us where Multhothy was. We



104 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



asked him often enough, around the fires late in the winter,

when he was in his cups, about it, Multhothy that is, but he

never told us. It was a secret, he said. He liked secrets, he

did. Likes 'cm, I should say.'*



"The sword?" Bith prompted.



"Oh, that's right, you asked about the sword. Forgive me.

I'm a garrulous old man surrounded by children who've heard

it all before. That's what comes of being uncle to every

blooded being within five leagues. It's nice to see some new

faces, let me tell you. You must be the first brown-haired

wench inside these walls in three generations."



"The sword?"



"Oh, yes. Yes, it's here. Up—" he turned and lifted his

arm to point high, high—"way up there- In his room. Hangs

in the air, it does. We wouldn't touch it."



"Hangs in the air?" Cal asked.



"A simple enough spell," Bith told him. She asked Barin,

"May we see it? We promise not to touch it."



"Well," Barin rasped his stubbly chin with his horsehide

glove. "I don't know. 1 suppose so, seeing as how you've

come all this long way, through that bunch. I suppose. Soon

as you've finished your food I'll show you. Er, no, I'll have

Erin show you. There are four hundred seventeen steps up to

that eyre."



Bith set her wooden cup on the stone wall. "We're done.

Aren't we, Cal. Hathoi?"



Cal the Prepared and Hathor the Ever-Hungry each

snatched up as much food as they could and stuffed it into

their shirts. They wiped bread crumbs off their chins and

hefted their weapons. "Right. Whatever you say, Bith. Lead

on."



Barin fished out of his pockets a ring of three keys, all

brass. He pointed out the biggest one to Erin as he gave it to

her. "Escort them up to Criegsten's keep to see this sword,

but don't let them touch it. You understand? No one's to touch

it. Them were Criegsten's words. His final words to us,

maybe." The trio promised they wouldn't touch the sword or

anything else.



And off they went on the last leg of their long journey.



The hill rode even steeper up to the second, smaller wall.

Cal opined the inhabitants must be bom with one leg shorter



OUTCASTS             105



than the other. He paused to check the valley floor once again.

The oroan army roiled and bubbled, but there seemed no sign

of imminent attack. Their guide, Erin, growled. "Them were

the best fields in the northern reaches. Used to be a river

bottom. Ten feet of topsoil. Now they'll never grow anything

again, we're thinking."



They passed through the gate and into the midst of the

small village. Like the inhabitants, the tiny houses all looked

alike. Even the yellow dogs that came out to bark at them all

looked alike. Cal smiled and reached out to pat one. He had

seen villages like this before: he'd grown up in one.



Either Cal's show of interest or the task of being a guide

set Erin to talking. She told them about Cairngorm in a mo-

notonous drone. The party discerned more from the way she

talked than from the actual words.



Like most frontier settlements, the people were not bril-

liant. They survived by hard work and hardship. Between the

short growing season, the isolation, the raids by animals and

enemies, the land gave up its produce sparingly, and to sur-

vive the people had become like the land. They went into the

fields with a hoe and a spear. Children learned to churn butter

and hunt deer, to card wool and chop wood, to cut wheat and

kill bandits. People knew their jobs and were set in their

ways. Yet if the land made them hard, it also made them

content, proud of their ability to survive and even prosper in

the wilderness. They guarded what they gathered jealously,

but once someone was "family" they showered him or her

with generosity. They laughed silently at the same old tired

jokes.



Of the wizard, Erin could tell them that Criegsten arrived

from "the outside" about thirty years ago. He was very wise,

they decided. (Bith sniffed. Anyone who could read would

seem a genius to this lot.) He was very old. (That made sense

to Cal- He'd heard those who used magic either lived a very

long or a very short life.) Criegsten kept to himself, moved

into the vacant castle alone, but helped whenever anyone

asked. (Hathor liked that.) Why he'd "deserted them in their

hour of need" Erin couldn't understand, but her voice was

more hurt than angry.



The people had been here forever, she declared, but not

perhaps for much longer. Raids by "ores" (they called all



106



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



their enemies ores, even the giants) had intensified in the last

few years. Several outlying families had been slaughtered.

Everyone had had to relocate inside the walls. The Mistwall,

once just a smear on the horizon, had advanced to within a

stone's throw. It had been halted, thanks to Criegsten's en-

chanting "the magic sword" and setting it up as a barrier.

But forty days ago ores had begun to spill from the Mistwall.

The people resisted their every advance. There were four

hundred Caimgormers all told, more than two hundred able-

bodied warriors. But four hundred could not resist four thou-

sand with more arriving daily. The end of Cairngorm was not

far off.



They came to the foot of the castle.



Seen up close, it was small, as northern castles tended to

be. It was a multitude of kinks and crannies, spires and crooks

and doubled ramparts that no one needed, with a deceptively

small core. It was also more crumbly than they had supposed.

It was carved from the same flint that made up the slope. It

seemed strong, except that the tower did indeed hang over

me cliff further than any mason could fashion. Three natives

guarded the single door. Their guide accepted a torch and led

them inside.



It was up, up, up, and up some more. They walked up

hundreds of steps, each worn with a deep dish in the center.

The interior of the castle was very plain, mostly cut-stone

walls with no ornamentation other than old wooden shields

and faded banners. The light of the torch dipped and bobbed,

sparkled on mica necks, frightened mice and bints in nests.

Bith thought this a dreary place to be a woman. Hathor won-

dered why humans went to the trouble of building above

ground when caves were ready made and more varied. Cal

walked with a catch in his throat, for the place reminded him

of home.



Up they went, nose to tail, up winding stairs and straight

ones, across balconies and through arched doorways, and up

again. Finally they turned into a tiny twisted stairwell where

Hathor's shoulders brushed the walls. They stopped on a

landing. Erin faced a door with an ornate brass lock. Bith

took the torch and held it above her head, for no one could

pass. The warrior woman fumbled with the key and men

turned the tumblers with an eerie screech.



OUTCASTS             107



The room they entered was black, but it took on an eldritch

glow as they advanced with the torch. Erin lit torches in iron

sconces. The party filed into a fairly large room, a space

bigger than the public room of most inns. Scarred tables lined

three walls and two tables stood in the center. Wooden boxes

and tin pails full of dusty animal parts or greasy liquids stood

on the floor. Beakers and vials and burnt trays and candles

and books littered the tables. Poles and nags and other junk

filled the corners. The rafters that stretched high into the

conical roof were hung with multitudinous dusty things: a

stuffed owl, a net full of sea shells, a horse tail, a thin bone

fully six feet long. The stubs and wax of a thousand candles

were stuck to everything. The room was scented heavily with

brimstone and charred wood, saltpeter and fermented leather,

formaldehyde and mint, cabbage and dust.



Erin pointed across the room. Illuminated by a queer fairy

glow, the adventurers could see a huge arch that lead out onto

a tiny balcony. The balcony overlooked the Mistwall and

nothing else.



At the mouth of the arch, half in, half out of the room, a

slim black cross was silhouetted against that roiling rain-

bowed wall.



A sword hung in mid-air.



The runesword.



CHAPTER



8



"Don't touch it,'* Bith said.



Cal had immediately stepped over to the swoni. Now he

squatted for a better look at it. "Why not?"



"It's spelled. To touch it might banish the spelt."



The warrior woman Erin said, "You're not going to touch

anything anyway." She rapped the haft of her spear on the

stone floor for emphasis.



Cal lit a candle from a torch so he could peer at the sword.

The thing was beautiful, the most beautiful artifact he'd ever

seen, weapon or otherwise.



The sword was outwardly very plain, but it had lines as

perfect as a virgin's body- The pommel was a round emblem

with a rune engraved on each side. The handle was wrapped

with gold wire. The crosshilt tapered in slim lines to a pair

of matching knobs, each again etched with a rune. The blade

was slim both in thickness and width—not much thicker than

a knife blade, no wider than three fingers. It looked to be as

long as Cal's arm: the perfect length, he thought. There was

no chasing on the shining shank, but there were runes written

tar down the blade around the cutting edge. The letters were

nothing Cal had ever seen before. Straight here, curiicued



108



OUTCASTS



109



there, linked and separate. The edge of the blade was so fine

the boy could not even see it.



Bith came over and peered close at the sword's engravings.

Cal could see the freckles on her nose reflected in the blade's

surface. He asked her, "Can you read the words?"



"They're not words, they're runes."



"What's the difference?"



"Words are made of letters, which are abstract lines that

represents sounds. Runes are pictures. You don't read them

as much as you interpret them. They carry more power than

words, too."



"Why?"



"Because. Let's see ... The one here on the pommel,

that would be the most ppwerful one because it's closest to

the heart. It looks like a mountain. See the snow on the peak?

Or maybe it's sunlight. A mountain might mean power, or

solidity. Or it might stand for the home of a god, or the god

himself. Or a country or empire. Or masculinity."



The boy held the candle close. "How can one picture stand

for so many things?"



The girl sat back on her haunches, balanced on her yellow

boots. "It probably doesn't. A picture, or symbol, has dif-

ferent meanings in different cultures. Look at an owl, for

instance. To one people it might mean wisdom. To another

it might mean death is imminent. Or it might just symbolize

night. You can't know what meaning the picture carries un-

less you know the stories that go with it, what people think

of it. I don't even know if these are dwarf runes or human

runes. Or something else."



Cal sighed. "I get the idea, sort of. Anything else?"



Bith pointed to a rune on the hilt. "This is a wing."



"Means flight?"



"Or speed. Or all of a bird's powers: toughness, far sight.

This looks like an eye next to it. so it probably does mean
far sight. . . . This looks like a deer, maybe for fleetness. I

don't recognize any others. The mountain is significant,

though. Maybe mis sword's name is Mountaintop or Moun-

tain of Light or—"



"Mountain of Light? Wow! Is that its name?"



"I told you, I don't know."



no



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



Cat crept closer to the sword and Bith waved him back lest

he tumble onto it. He said, "We could ask Vili."



"You ask Vili."



Cal did, calling the god's name, offering his own worn

sword, peering into the magic one. At one point they thought

they detected a flicker within the shining surface of the rune-

sword, but the god did not appear. Erin watched them un-

easily.



Bith said, '*lf Vili is around here, or in there, he's probably

too weak to manifest himself. All the power from the sword—

and Vili himself—would go into holding back the Mistwall-

Vili is trapped inside an artifact of his own making, not an

uncommon fault of people who dabble in magic."



A snore startled them. Hathor had lain down on the stone

floor. The giri got up and walked off to look at the rest of

the room.



Cal sat on his hams and stared at the sword. His hands

itched to pluck up the sword and make a practice swing. A

strong blade with a long reach, it would cleave the air and

anything else effortlessly. The gold wire around the handle

and the fat button pommel would give it weight and heft and

a good counterbalance. The polished crossbill would feel like

silk along the fingers. Mountain of Light' My! but he wanted

this sword! With a weapon like this a man could do any-

thing—slay a dragon, lead an army, conquer the world!



How long the boy stayed there, staring at the sword, he

didn't know, but he started when someone touched his shoul-

der.



Bith yawned, "Let's go, Cal."



"Go?"



"Yes, go." Bith—who had bags under her eyes—nodded

towards the door. Three more Cairngormers had joined Erin.

"They want us out of here. I'm about to drop anyway."



"Nonsense," Cal replied, but he swayed on his feet.

"Well, maybe a short rest. Say, why don't—"



"You sleep here next to the sword? Forget it."



Cal frowned. "What, can you read minds, too?"



"I can read yours." She plucked at his sleeve. "Let's go

before they drag us out. I want to try sleeping in a real bed

for once. It's been weeks."



Cal huffed, but he was too tired to argue. It had been a



OUTCASTS             111



long day and a longer night. He and Bith routed Hathor.

Together they were escorted to temporary sleeping quarters-

The last thing Cal muttered was, "I wonder when we'll see

Endril again."



Bith tossed on a stormy sea. Waves threw her from wave

crest to trough, curled over and crashed down to bury her.

No matter how many spells she tried she was helpless,

knocked under the water a hundred times only to surface

again, snatch a breath of air, and go back down. The water

was black and white. Fish sailed overhead. Suddenly a huge

white sea worm burst from a wave alongside her. Its black

maw drove straight for her. She couldn't move. She was

pinned against the sea- The mouth bit her in half. . . -



Morea's daughter jerked awake. Someone was shaking her

shoulder. She tried to roll over and almost fell from the bed.

She was tangled in blue blankets.



It was a bright autumn morning. Frost rimmed the edge of

a cut-stone window and sparkled in the light. Erin, the tall,

blond, and dull warrior, had been the one shaking her.



Bith kicked the last of the covers loose and sat up. She

wiped her forehead and found sweat.



The Cairngorm woman said, "We've captured someone at

the castle gate!"



"Hunh, what? Someone?" Bith panted, couldn't catch her

breath. "Can you be a little more—specific?"



The woman's brow clouded. "We've captured someone at

the castle gate."



Bith tried, "Yes?"



"It's a tall man. dead white, with a short bow. He says—"



"Bow? All in green? He's ours."



The woman blinked.


Bith held the covers to her breast. "I'll be right there. Just

give me a moment, please."



Alone, the giri poured water from an ewer into a bowl and

rinsed her face. The nightmares were back. After sinking

deliciously into a real bed and clean blankets, here she'd

awoken practically on the floor, her mind conjuring demons.

She wondered if the dreams meant anything. Not that she

could remember them. She combed her hair and looked out

the window. Down in the valley, ores continued to spill from



112



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



the Mistwall- There were thousands of them. Nightmares

asleep and awake, she thought. It wasn't fair. She wondered

if her mother was ever bothered by nightmares. And if she

ever wondered where her daughter was . . .



Bith shuddered. She napped her clothing in the air by way

of cleaning it, and joined Erin.



In the main hall of the castle, a trio of natives stood with

drawn swords. In their center was a loose-limbed Endril. He

greeted Bith with a nonchalant wave.



Cal and Hathor were brought in. When all three vouched

for the elf the guard dispersed, but they didn't go far. The

humans, troll, and elf were invited to sit down at a long table

laid with a hearty breakfast. Barin came in, escorted by a

half dozen look-alike family members, and the meal began.

There was oatmeal and raisins, cold tongue and cold shoul-

der, small beer and cakes. The party ate well in the strained

atmosphere. Cleariy the presence of the elf upset people.



Bith tore bread and asked, "All right. Master Elf, how did

you gain the inside of these walls?"



"I walked."



Bith sniffed delicately- "I suppose my question was pooriy

aimed. Our real question is, why could you just 'walk' when

we could not?"



Endril stared at her innocently with his pale blue eyes.

"You could not have followed the way I came."



"And why not?"



Endril almost shrugged. "No human could."



Cat blew out his breath and reached for more beer. The

soldier wanted to chastize the elf for walking off so abruptly,

for leaving them in the lurch, for not telling them more. But

he held his tongue. It would accomplish nothing. Besides,

the elf seemed even quieter and more reserved than usual.

Could one of the fair folk be melancholy? And even for an

elf. Endril looked very pale. as if he'd been wounded. Cal

said, "Never mind, Bilh. We should be glad he's back."



Bith shook her head but agreed. The castle defenders shook

their heads around them. The breakfast talk moved to the

state of the orcan army. It was largely dormant in the bright

sun, Barin told them. The monsters might try a push to-

night—they used the dark for their own purposes. Barin said,

"The Dark Army was stirred by your passage the way mud



OUTCASTS             113



puppies are aroused by a stick." The elders of Cairngorm

were trying to decide whether it was time to send the old

people and the children into the hilts.



They had finished their meal and were talking when a sol-

dier ran into the hall. "Come quickly!"



"What is it?"



"Hurry!"



Everyone pressed out the door. Something was happening

beyond the outermost wall. Some commotion. A block of

ores and others—looking tike spiders again from this height-

were rushing the walls. No, they were pursuing someone,

pegging arrows and spears at a tall figure who sprinted before

them. The arrows found their mark but bounced off. Finally

the grey figure—in a pointed helmet?—attained the wall. He

disappeared for a moment, then reappeared as he vaulted

over. He dropped into a knot of castle defenders.



Endril said, " 'Tis our companion, the giant."



Cal snorted. "Backbreaker? I thought we'd seen the last of

him. Where's he been?"



The party could see the grey stone giant—it had been his

pointed head they'd seen and not a helmet—wave his long

arms in earnest conversation with the smaller blond humans.

Finally the lot of them turned and pointed up me hill, and

the giant stepped from their ranks." He loped up the hills in

great strides, no more discommoded than a hare, and joined

them before the gate.



No one greeted the giant. Cal reflected that the others must

be as uncomfortable with Backbreaker as he was. He was just

too—sinister, alien. Powerful? The boy asked, "What kept

you?"



The giant called Mountain Back Breaker lifted his raptor's

hands. "I fell in with some other giants. They wanted to talk

to me. It's been a long time since I met kin."



Cal scratched the scar on his upper lip. "I didn't see any

big fellows like you last night."



The monster lifted his hands again.



The boy asked, "What did they have to say to you?"



"Much- Nothing. Talk of the big people. My father died.

I have been away a long time."



Nobody could top that. Cal rubbed his scar. "Well . . .

Let's get back to the sword."



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



114



Endril said, "Yes, let us. I have yet to see this monu-

ment."



They filed into the castle and climbed the myriad stone

steps to the tower.



Cal ran directly to the sword. In the morning light it glit-

tered like a jewel.



"Don't touch it." Endril's admonishment cut into his rev-

erie.



Cal reflected the elf had been with them for only ten

minutes and already he was giving orders again. "Can't I

even breathe on it?"



"No," Bith cut in. "Nor drool either. It's hexed. Don't

you be."



Endril said. "See here." He stepped to the balcony and

signalled the boy to follow. The elf pointed down.



Down, down, down, so far and so far underfoot that Cal's

knees turned to water, was the floor of a dry canyon. The

boy had to grip the edge of the low balcony—small comfort-

but Endril looked over as unconcernedly as a bird. "Do you

still doubt that the object of our quest here holds up this

balcony? Certainly no natural or contrived strut keeps this

shelf in place. Touch that sword and it may be your last act,

short of screaming, before hitting the bottom of this gorge."



Cal glanced up at the Mistwall. They could see the far wall

of the chasm, but the cloud started just above it. It was the

only thing in sight, really. Seen up this close, the closest they

had come to it, the wall had a maddening and hypnotic qual-

ity. The colors that made up the wall roiled not in circles,

but rather tumbled upwards and yet downwards at the same

time, like a rainbow waterfall gone mad. It drew the eye and

held it like some massive fire—a fire racing to consume the

watcher. Endril touched his shoulder and Cal shook his head.

He averted his eyes downwards but saw only space. He backed

into the room.



Endril followed. "Somehow this sword also holds the

Mistwall at bay. Recall you our view from across the valley?

And see there and there? The wall has a belly sucked in with

its midpoint here."

"It must be very powerful, then," Cal said.



Bith spoke behind them. "Powerful, yes. But like a fire,

it's too hot to grasp without tongs."



OUTCASTS             115



Cal looked at the two, then at the swoid before them. It

was unreal the way it hung, a foot above the floor, touching

nothing. "But you're just guessing about the sword. If I did

pick it up, nothing at all might happen."



Endril nodded in that maddening way he had. Then he

flinched as some twinge touched him. He'd limped consid-

erably coming up the stairs. Cal suspected his right leg had

been wounded recently. The elf cleared a bench of books and

sat down gingeriy. He continued. "True. But then, you might

not be able to move it at all. It might be rooted in that spot

as if driven into anvil and stone."



Cal stared at the sword in helpless frustration. "I want to

find some way to get my hands on it."



"Let us look then, and see what we find. To break a spell

we need the spell maker. Let us find the wizard, or the wiz-

ard's words."



Erin barked, "You'll not touch a thing! Barin said so!"



Endril turned on her with gentle eyes and gentle voice.

"Would you have us find your wizard?"



"Barin said—"



Bith mumbled under her breath for some time. Now she

reached out a soft hand and touched the warrior woman's

shoulder. Erin shivered and stared at the magic user—stared

as a bird stares at a snake.



"Erin," Bith's voice was silk on glass, "We're . . . your

. . . friends . . . aren't we?"



"Y-y-yes."



"Good. That's good. Friends are nice. Now, why don't - . .

you go ask Barin ... if ... we ... can help find your . . .

wizard? That's what you want, isn't it?"



"Y-yes."



"Good. Good. Go ask Barin."



The soldier woman turned and clomped off down the steps.



Bith sighed. Endril nodded to her. Cal frowned- "I didn't

know you had—what do they call it?—suggestion powers."



The mage lifted her pert nose. "I have a lot of powers."



"You better not use that spell on me, or any of the rest of

us."



Bith made a face in imitation of his serious one. Cal

frowned deeper and the girl laughed. Hathor grinned a toothy

grin.



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



116



Endril waggled a hand at the room. "Bith, let us see what

other powers you command. There was a magic user in this

room at one time and now there is none. Can you discern

whence he's gone, and how?"



Bith bit her lower lip as she looked around at the mess.

Every table, every space underneath, every comer, every nook

and cranny was littered or stuffed with junk. Finally she said,

"I can't guarantee anything. There may be some sign or script

as to where he's gone. But he could just as easily have fallen

over the balcony drunk. Or been spirited away. I'll try, but

it will take time."



The elf said, "We have time. Some little anyway. Try as

you may."



"All right. First things first. Why don't you all stand by

the doorway?" The elf, the soldier, the troll, and the giant

shuffled through the crowded room out of her way. Back-

breaker had to crouch, with knuckles on the floor to keep

from hitting his head in the rafters.



Bith fished in a pouch and came up with a double pinch of

something. She pushed her sleeves up and stuck her fingers

in the air. "Watch for anything that glows," she said, and

began a sonorous chant that built quickly.



"Come to me, things unseen,

You 've the pulse, I the mean,

Now I scry the ways inside,

Unto tome let no spark hide!"



Bith repeated the phrases until she had the cadence just

right. Then she snapped her hands to flick the magic dust

into the air.



The men gasped as—just for a moment—objects in the

room lit up. Green, blue, gold, orange, red, white, a dozen

things flashed on and off in an eyeblink. Most of all, the

sword winked like a glimpse through a furnace door—bright

yellow, white hot, searing on the eyeballs. Then the show

was over. The restored room was dull and grey by compari-

son.



The magic user stood pursing her lips.



Cal said, "That was fabulous, Bith! I've never seen any-

thing like it! Do you do that often?**



OUTCASTS



117



Bith was distracted.

expected more,"



"What? Oh, that was nothing. I



"More?"



She put her hands on her hips. "Yes, a lot more. With this

many objects in the room, so little magic. It's odd . . ." She

ended with a sniff.



"It's had some effect," Endril commented. He watched the

roiling mass of the Mistwall.



"Is it getting closer?"



"No. But it's moving more fiercely, as if agitated."



Cal asked, "Could your spelling have done that?"



Bith drummed her fingers on the back of a chair. "I don't

know . . . Well, what next7"



None of them had an answer. In the silence there came the

sound of shuffling on the stairs and hoarse breathing. Soon

Barin appeared at the door. He staggered into the room and

immediately took a chair. Erin came in behind him and helped

him sit.



"Odin and Isis, I'm too old for this trip!" he croaked- "I

could almost let the Dark Ones have this castle. How did old

Criegsten do it? He must have had magic in his legs."



Bith continued to scan the room with her hands on hips.

"That might have been one place."



The sergeant rubbed his mustache. "That Criegsten. He

was a queer sort. I always thought a lot of his tricks were

smoke and mirrors, and knowing his audience was simple.

Have you any clue as to where he went?"



Everyone shook their heads. Bith said, "We haven't made

an intensive search yet. We were, uh, wondering how to pro-

ceed. Have I your permission to poke around in here?"



Cal piped up, "Can we, for instance, take up yon sword?"



Barin waved a hand as he fought for breath. "Touch what-

ever you want—except that sword. Criegsten said it was the

only thing holding up the castle, for what his word was worth.

I have to admit some of die underpinnings in the hall look

awful dicey. Sure something's holding up this pile of rock,

and it ain't money nor faith. No, go ahead and fool with

whatever you want, except the sword. Take it alt. We're none

of us magic users and can't use it. The Dark Army'll just get

it."



Bith's frown did not go away, but she rubbed her hands. A



118 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



mage turned loose in a wizard's cave was like a wild boar in

a marketplace. The giri hunted for sacks.



Endril murmured, "Let us remember our purpose here,

Bith. To leam the whereabouts of this Criegsten and to see if

indeed we can take the sword with us." His companions

blinked at the last phrase until they remembered the outsiders

in the room. The Cairagormers might not take kindly to the

idea of destroying the sword. "We can load bags while you

look. Find some trace of a spell, or record in a book. Or a

doorway or portal. Or means of escape."



Bith pointed. "Cai, Thor, would you move all the open

books to this table, please? And find a crate for the closed

ones? Endril, sort through that stuff and remove all the pro-

saic gear, please. Let's see. Barin, can you tell me, sir, when

was the last time you saw Criegsten?"



"The last time? Oh, that would be ... Well, what's today?

When did the army first start to leave the wall?"



"It was twenty-some days ago," Erin supplied.



Barin squinted. "Was it? But I had dinner with him just

the other night. . . ."



"It was before the full moon. Father."



Bith asked, "Could he have left the castle without your

people knowing it?"



Erin asked, "Walking, you mean?"



"Or flying? Did he fly?"



"Not that I ever saw."



Bith chewed the end of her thumb as she looked around.

Cal and Hathor were gingerly moving books as if they might

explode. Backbreaker had sunk into a comer to doze. Endril

stood on the balcony and watched the Mistwall and the sky.

The tips of his lank white hair flickered in the breeze. The

magic user said to no one in particular, "I see nothing big

enough for a portal. No mirror or tapestry. No throne. Hathor

thought this mountain was honeycombed with tunnels. Is that

true?"



Erin sniffed and put a hand on her guardian's shoulder. The

old man was asleep. "True enough. It's part of our escape

route. We keep them clear and check them often. There are

naught but bats and worms down there. The tunnels wander

up and down. Most are useless. We collapsed some long ago.



OUTCASTS



119



None go down to the valley, so the ores can't attack from

underground."



Bith had turned to the books that lay open on the tables.

There were over a dozen of them, all different sizes with

pages odd-shaped and mismatched, stained and mouse-

gnawed. The parchment pages were largely blank. Here and

there were tiny lines or scratches or drawings inscribed in

faded ink.



Bith wet her fingers and gingerly touched the edge of one

book. When nothing happened she raised the page and

crooked her head to peer at it with the light behind.



"What are you doing?" Cal asked her.



"Hmmm?"



"What are you looking for? There's nothing there."



Bith brushed the page and peered with her nose no more

than an inch off the page. She mused, "Maybe. He was the

secretive type. ..."



"Hunh?"



"What?" Bith looked up. "What do you want?"



"What are you looking at?"



"I'm looking for rebuses."



"What?"



Bith frowned. "Honestly, haven't you learned anything?

Do you know how to read?"



Cal's flush answered the question, but he snapped, "I know

better than to stare at blank pages like some stupid hypno-

tized chicken!"



Bith's frown turned to confusion. "What do you mean,

*hypnotized chicken?* They've no brain."



"Now whose education is lacking?"



Erin said from across the room. "He means when you draw

a line in the dust from a chicken's nose."



"Chickens don't have noses," Hathor said. He was chew-

ing on some root he'd found.



"Beaks, then."



"Why," Cal ground his teeth, "arc you poring over those

blank pages?"



"These? They're not blank."



Hathor came over and stared close. Munch, munch, munch.

The root had the consistency of a chair leg. "Naked."



Bith looked down, "What?"



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



120



Cal stepped past the troll and jabbed a grimy finger, pin-

ning flat the page in Bith's hand. "Where—are—the—

words?"



The girt brightened. "Oh! They're right here. They're just

sealed."



"Sealed?"



"Masked."



"You mean, invisible?"



Bith shook her black hair. "Well, it looks like it, though

it isn't, really. They have a conceal spell on them."



"Can you see them?"



"Oh, no. No one can until the spell is lifted. At least, 1

don't think anyone can. No, I can't. I just have to decide

which ones to unseal, is all."



"And how do you decide that?"



"You read these little rebuses here, if dial's what they are."



It was Cal's turn to peer close. "These little squiggly lines?

That's just spider scratching, or art, or something, ain't it?"



Bith shook her glossy head again. "No, no, no. They're

little words or phrases twisted to make a drawing. They're

called rebuses. Like when you're first learning your letters

and die tutor writes the word 'reindeer* all twisted so it makes

a little picture of a reindeer, starting at the tail and making

the legs and finally the horns. It's to help you remember the

word. You see them all the time, on cave walls or doorways

or blades and such. Don't you?"



Cal shook his head. "No. Wait. Is that what's on the blade

there?"



"What? No, no. Those are runes."



Cal sighed. He pointed to the page again. "Why don't      s-

those pages look like any writing I've ever seen before?"         /'



"I told you, these are rebuses. Mages use them all the time       ^

to note what spell is really on the page once it's unsealed.       ;



Look here, see this one? It looks like an olive branch, but       ^

really it has the word 'peace* written into it. So it's probably       ^

some kind of friend spell. See?"



Cal peered closely, as did Hathor. (Crunch, crouch in Cal's

ear.) Cal did notice that the etching on the olive branch

seemed oddly un-baridike. He conceded, "Well, maybe. But       ^

a friend spell won't do us any good."                           |£



"But it might not be a friend spell. Surely you don't be-       ^



121



lieve everything you read, do you?" Bith waved a breezy

hand at the man and troll's glassy stare. "Don't you see? It

might be a trick. This page might contain a hate spell, or a

love potion. You can write any rebus you want, after all. Or

the page might really be blank, and this is just the page he

intended to inscribe a friend spell on later. Or it could just

be a description of some artifact he knew of that had a friend

spell, or just anything at all."



Cal rubbed his forehead. Hathor scratched his ear with his

root. Bith went on. "See this? This page refers to another

page somewhere else. The book is full of cross-references to

confuse people. Or there might be two masks on the same

page, one covering another. Or three. Or it might be trapped.

There are spells to hold, you know."



"What good is that?"



"To protect your work from snoopers. A stranger might

unmask a page and start reading. Surprise! he trips a hold

spell. That freezes him like a statue—he stands there until

the writer unfreezes him."



Cal burst out, "That's awful! You could die waiting for

someone to come back!"



Bith shrugged. "Of course. Many have. Why do you mink

every magic user's den has at least one skull lying around?

He or she didn't find that in the middle of the road." Every-

one in the room except the giri looked around. There were

three skulls and one jawbone showing in the room. "Or the

page could blind you, or drive you mad, poison you slow or

fast, or just kill you outright with a lightning bolt."



Cal and Hathor backed away from the table.



The gid gave a merry laugh. "I don't think we have to

worry about that here. Much, anyway." She turned and

nipped that book shut and tossed it to the back of the table.

She pulled another close as Cal and Hathor retreated across

uw room.



"Gorm and Ghast," Cal muttered. "I'd take a clean sword

thrust on the battlefield rather than pore over these things.

It's like shoving your hand into a box of serpents."



Bith looked up and was surprised to find herself alone at

the table. "Oh, come now, it's not that bad. There are tricks

you leam to protect yourself, protections that you wear or

carry in your pockets."



122



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



"Do you have any?"



"Some. Of course, you never know if they're going to work

against a particular spell. An enchanter will never sell you a

protection against another spell of his own making. That

would be foolish. But there's probably nothing in these books

that can hurt me. Actually, if something does spring at me,

I'll know I'm close to what we want."



"Hell of way to find out," Cal muttered.



Hathor agreed. "That like pulling down rock to see if it

foil on you."



Bith murmured, "Umm hmm."



From the opposite wall Cal called, "But can you find what

we want in one of those books?"



Endril spoke from beside him, his voice so quiet the boy

and troll jumped. "There's no guarantee the books can tell

us anything about where Criegsten has gone, or why. That's

just a starting point. After the books she may have to inves-

tigate all these artifacts separately, then search the room it-

self."



Cal looked around at the jumble. "That could take weeks'."



The elf nodded. "Years, more likely, to find all the secrets

in this room. And then probably not all of them, or even half.

Mortals are too short-lived to leam much."



Cal gritted his teeth and said nothing.



Bith laughed again. "Don't you worry, Endril. I'll have

what we need pretty soon. Within a day."



Hathor finished me root with a crack that set all their teeth

on edge. "I go look around," he announced. "Look at

caves."



Cal watched the giri's slim back, bent over me books, and

the elf's bland face, ageless and unseamed- "I'll go with

you," he said. "And find something to do."



"Check the state of the Dark Army," Endril told him.

"You have a soldier's eye. See if they're massing for an attack

or a cutting-out expedition."



"They're not going to wait any weeks, that's for sure."

Cal muttered as he followed the troll down the stairs. Back-

breaker had left the room some time earlier. Assisted by Erin,

Barin awoke and dragged himself out of his chair to make his

creaky way down the stairs. Endril and Bith were left in the

room. The elf walked to the edge of the balcony. He stood



OUTCASTS             123



with his toes projecting through the stiles until they hung over

the chasm beneath. He stared at the Mistwall as if staring

could penetrate its depths.



Alone in the room, Bith closed another book and stacked

it against the wall.



Days passed.



By the end of the first day Bith had pored over every book

twice. Cal had taken another long nap and then polished his

antique sworo. He came in often to gaze at the runesword.

When he crouched low and the room was still he imagined

he could hear it singing. Endril watched the Mistwall from

die balcony or was gone. No one knew where. Hathor and

Backbreaker were likewise absent.



By the end of the second day Bith had thrown three books

out the window.



Cal practiced swordfighting with some of the young men

and women, but most were busy packing and putting rood

by. Endril wandered the hills behind the town. Hathor and

Backbreaker were still gone.



By the end of the third day Bith was throwing artifacts off

the balcony, some of which glowed even as she threw them.



Cal chafed at the Lack of work and fighting. He borrowed

a heavy bow and took potshots at the-Dark Army. He argued

with Endril that they should "do something." The elf ig-

nored him and dried flowers on a flat stone. Hathor and Back-

breaker poked among the hills. The defenders of the castle

asked Cal which side the troll and giant were on.



By the end of the fourth day Bith was setting fire to artifacts

before throwing them out the window. Cal and Endril won-

dered if they should ask her why, but decided not to.



Cal noticed that no one else was issuing forth from the

Mistwall. Did that mean the Dark Army was complete? The

force seemed to be massing, stirring. The Caimgormers were

almost ready to flee. Cal announced that if nothing happened

soon be was leaving with the castle defenders, but he was

going to snatch the sword off the balcony just before leaving.

Eadril said nothing. Hathor and Backbreaker came back and

reported there were caves under the hillside "full of bats and

nothing else."



By the end of the fifth day the men voted to disturb Bith.



124



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



What they found was not encouraging. The room was al-

most empty. Bith was haggard, with grey bags under her eyes,

stained hands, and a white-hot temper.



"Wrong? I'll tell you what's wrongV she shrilled. "That

lying old fossil Criegsten was a fake\ He was a fraud and an

idiot1. Look at this stuff!" There wasn't much left to look at:



a stuffed owl, brass candlesticks, a box of odd metal parts, a

few books, some other things, "This is./wiA! Trash\ Hwnbug\"



The men asked, "What?"



"He faked everything! There's not a magic spell in one of

these books that would work, or that a child couldn't do with

his eyes closed! And these things'. Residual magic as old as

the hills! My grandmother's shoes had more—" The girt

paused to snatch up the stuffed owl, march to the open win-

dow, and pitch it off the balcony, "—more magic and were

more interesting than these—trinkets! And he claimed to have

forged the runesword1. He took credit for dwarven work! He

couldn't conjure a homunculus from a quart of demon blood!"

She paused for breath and huffed, "Barin was right. All

Criegsten ever did was cheat\'11



Cal, Hathor, and Backbreaker looked around the room and

didn't know what to say- Endril tried- "All you say is no

doubt true. good Bith. With all your knowledge, you would

know. But how is it me runesword hangs in the air?"



The giri waved a tired hand. "Oh, that. Anyone can do

that- Once the object's in place it stays there until disturbed."



"But it does keep the Mistwall at bay?"



Bith sighed. She peered in the sword's direction. "Yes, it

must. I can And no notes on it. Nothing. He hasn't written

any fresh notes— lies— in years. But he did prop it up there.

I don't even know where he got the sword, for that matter."



"Barin doesn't know either."



The magic user sniffed. "He probably stole it from some

blind beggar."



Cal asked, "Can we move it, then?"



Bith flapped her arms. "NO! Not until we know what will

happen! You want to get us all killed? You want this place to

drop out from under us? Or have the Mistwall slam down on

us? Or something worse—lightning, blindness, who knows

what?"



The elf offered, "But—"



OUTCASTS             125



"I told you, there's no discussion of it anywhere. And I

don't know where the fool disappeared to either, not that I

want to find him- There's no mention of a portal or a teleport

spell or a carpet or walking hole or anything'."



At their back someone spoke. It was Erin, obviously come

to find out what the commotion was about. "Did you look in

the cellars?"



Everyone turned. "What?"



The woman stammered as everyone stared at her. "I—I

asked if you'd—looked in the cellars. Just before he disap-

peared Lord Criegsten spent much time in a comer of the

cellar. He wouldn't let us near, and we—"



Very quietly, very icily, Bith said, "Please show me."



Not much later Cal, Endril, and Hathor stood with her in

a small set of chambers deep in the heart of the castle. The

rooms were tiny with rounded ceilings, carved from rock

before the castle above had been assembled. The light of

torches was absorbed by dry bare walls. The floor underfoot

was slippery with dust and grime. There was nothing in the

room except a rotted tapestry nailed to the wall.



The giri ranted some more. "Here! Bast, Bathsheba, and

Baal, why didn't somebody tell me about this room earlier'?'1

Bith waved her arms until the sleeves of her shirt flapped like

wings. "How am I supposed to learn anything if people don't

tell me about these things in \hs first place?"



Backbreaker, too tall for the room, hung back in the stair-

well. Erin stood behind him. "You never asked, you know,"

she put forth from the darkness. "You just wanted to see his

room in the tower, and we let you—"



Bith pushed up her sleeves with stained fingers. "Oh, shut

up. I'll bet this is where he went."



She reached out and snatched down the tapestry. Unfortu-

nately she hauled down with it a sheet of dust and mold that

set them all hacking and coughing. They had to retreat to me

stairwell. Bith rubbed her eyes with dirty hands, which made

them itch abominably. When they could go back into the

room, a stark pale wall stood behind the remnants of the

tapestry.



"Look you—hack— there," she announced. And sneezed.



"Looks like a wall," Cat said.



Bith swore. "Idiot."



126



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



With a grand gesture she wet her fingertips and traced a

wide circle on the wall. Then-she rolled out a short chant,

her detect spell. The wall shimmered like water, then die

circle turned black.



"See? It's a hole."



"Worm hole," Hathor said. He had a parsnip in his hand

which he munched on.



Bith tsked, "No, no, no. It's not a worm hole. It's too big.

It's a portal hole, made with magic. A sort of melting spell

that turns the rock into a gas. Slow but powerful. You need

fifty pounds of holed cheese to even start it."



Hathor walked to the five-foot hole and stuck his head in.

Munch, munch. "It's worm hole."



"We'll see. Fetch torches."



"Finally!" Cal leapt up the stairs. "Action!"



A few minutes later they had three torches. Cal strapped

his scabbard and shield across his back to keep his legs free.

Hathor shed his bearskin and carried his felling axe. Endril

held his short bow with an arrow alongside it. Backbreaker

went unarmed as ever.



Cal looked in the hole- "Hathor, why don't you go first?

You're used to mucking around in caves, and you can see in

the dark, right?"



"Yeah."



"I'll go second- Endril can bring up the—"



"1*11 go first," Bith interrupted.



"What?"



"I found this portal, I'll go first. It might be magic-trapped.

Get out of my way."



Cal stepped aside. The girl stepped to the hole and lifted

her foot high to enter, careful with the torch near her hair.

The boy shrugged and pointed Hathor after her. Cal went

next, followed by Endril and Backbreaker. Erin watched them



go-



The hole went straight for about fifteen feet, then slowly

bent to the right and down. The bottom was like a trough,

so they had to walk with one foot placed in front of me other.

The floor was not smooth, but rippled like the bottom of a

quick-moving stream. Hathor crouched on two bare feet and

his one free hand. Cal had to stoop: almost immediately he

developed a crick in his neck. He envied the troll, who moved



OUTCASTS             127



as easily as a monkey. He could not hear the cat-quiet elf

behind him. He did hear Backbreaker's grainy skin rasp along

the cave walls. The giant probably had to crawl on all fours.



Around the bend and down they went. The descent was

gradual at first, then slanted farther. Any more slant would

force them to cling to the walls. That would be difficult, since

the floor was slimy in spots. The light was strange, a mixture

of bright flashes of torch and sudden black shadows when

someone occluded one or more. The only sound was the

scrape of leather or giant skin on a wall.



They had no idea how far they crept. At one point they

passed through an intersection of tunnels. The side passage

went up and down, very steep. Cal asked about it.



Bith called from up front, "A powerful mage could fly

through these tunnels."



"But I thought Criegsten was a fake. And why would any-

one melt their way through a mountain when they could just

walk away from the castle?"



"I don't know. Perhaps he wanted to be mysterious."



Cal muttered, "Perhaps he was crazy."



The floor's slant became steeper. Cal could feel his toes

jam as his hobnails tried to bite. The ceiling rose and became

rougher as they entered part of a natural cavern. Bith gave a

grunt of disgust.



"What is it?" Cal called.



"It's— ugh— some mess of grey gunk. A lot of it."



"Worm shit," came Hathor's voice.



"Will you stopf It's not—"



Her scream filled the cavern and pierced their ears.



CHAPTER



9



The thing coming at Bith was an enormous whits ring with a

serrated edge around a gaping hole. The hole was big enough

to swallow the giri easily.



The worm (Bith had the fleeting thought that she'd been

dead wrong) completely filled the tunnel they stood in. It

should have—the worm had drilled it. The worm was a moun-

tain of white flesh; its maw just went on and on with receding

rings.



Bith stifled another scream. She didn't have time for an-

other spell, and couldn't have touched the worm if she wanted

to. She simply chucked her torch down its throat and ducked.



The flaming brand flew into the worm's maw and disap-

peared. The beast didn't even slow down. All Bith had done

was blind herself temporarily. At least she wouldn't see that

mouth close shut on her and snap her in two. She squinched

up her face and felt another scream escaping.



She'd forgotten she was not alone. A hand snagged her

tunic and jerked her backwards- More hands landed and car-

ried her straight back. Bith felt as if she had tumbled off a

cliff and fallen into friendly branches. Then the hands on her



128



OUTCASTS             129



were cool, dry, and scaly. Backbreaker loomed above, eyes

luminous in the dark.



By the light of the giant's eyes and a sputtering torch Bith

saw the men attack. Cal's poor sword and Endril's slim one

winked and disappeared and shone again like summer light-

ning. For a second the girl's lonely heart sang as she thought

they were leaping to defend her. But no. they wercJUSt saving

themselves as well. The men flanked the troll with practiced

precision. The worm rippled towards them like a loathsome

tide.



The attack was Hathor's. The troll raised his felling axe in

both hands. At home in the tunnels, he knew just how high

he could heave it and not hit the ceiling. His hairy arms

swelled as the steel head rose, bobbed, and then chunked into

the worm's lip.



The worm stopped. Hathor struck again. Up went the arms

and the long axe haft and then down with a meaty smack.

One more blow whacked a hunk out of the monster's maw.

A white slab as big as an inn table writhed with its own life

on the round tunnel floor. Hathor was shouting as he swung,

lustily howling in trollish, the noise like thunder. Cat shouted

too with the meaningless oaths of a soldier and even Endril

sang in a clear ringing tone.



The worm had stopped, even retreated a fraction, and the

three warriors advanced- Hathor twisted the next blow, sank

it sideways, and a larger chunk of worm flapped and fell

away. The maw was half gone, and white pus dripped where

it had been hacked. Hathor had swivelled to whack at the

right side when something black engulfed the five of them.



Bith felt something wet and cold and infinitely disgusting

slap her in the face. It immediately began to bum and itch.

And it crawled. With a shriek she clawed at herself to get it

off. The goo smeared everywhere, and everywhere it landed

it burned and crawled. She shrieked again until she got some

in her mouth, and that alone shut her up. Flailing her hands

down her body, she located a clean section of her tunic tails

and wiped her face clean, spitting and spitting again and again

and damning herself for ever going down any damned tunnel.

As she scraped her ears clean she heard a new kind of shout-



"Hathor!" It was Cal. "HATHOR! Where are you?"



130



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



"Gone," Endril's voice was clear and inhumanly calm.

"It's taken him away."



"Well, for—" Cal's suggestions after that were unhelpful.



Only the cat-shine of Backbreaker's eyes gave them any

light, and that a deceptive one. Endril called for a light. Cal

fumbled with a torch and burned himself relighting it. He

picked up his sword from the floor, unmindful of the glop

clinging to it. Bith shuddered from head to toe as the black

stuff all around continued to move.



"What is this?"



"Never mind!" Cal snapped. "We have to go after Thor!"



"But what happened!"



Endril finished mopping black goo from his face. "It vom-

ited this—discharge of slime at us. A defense like a skunk's,

I reckon. Then it snatched up our troll."



Tears started in Bith's eyes. "Hathor is eatenV



Endril shook his head. "Swallowed, mayhap, not con-

sumed. He'll more likely to suffocate if we don't—"



"Then let's!" Cal snapped. And he trotted off down the

tunnel with torch and sword. Bith and Endril and Back-

breaker trotted to catch up with him, slipping and sliding on

the slimy smooth floor.



The tunnel hooked sharply right—Bith wondered how a

worm could eat through rock like cheese—then the light dis-

appeared. They heard a "Whoop!" that trailed off and ended

with a thud. Endril slid to a stop, but not soon enough. The

tunnel floor took a sudden bend downwards, and the elf was

too far along. His slick soft boots had no purchase on the

floor and he followed Cal. His final words were, "Your

sword, boy! Put down your—" Thud.



Bith snagged a dry patch of wall and stopped, breathless.

The stone giant hovered behind her like a rock outcrop. She

listened. The soft sound of swearing came up the tunnel, in

man's tongue and elven. So they were safe.



Or were they? Left in the dark, Bith crept forward a hair

more and peered at the opening. She stood on a lip of stone

and sensed a vastness out in the black before her. A breeze,

cold and musty, trickled past her cheek.



"Cal, Endril, are you all right?"



"Aye," came the elf's voice from the darkness below.



OUTCASTS             131



Ca! got his torch lit yet again. Its soft flare showed their

surroundings. Bith and Cal gasped.



The tunnel had emptied into a larger cavern. A luminous

sheen—moss or slime or foxfire—reflected the torchlight like

a bronze mirror. This underground worid was not brown dirt

or grey stone, but a luscious soft red with yellow streaks that

chased each other in maddening swiris. Stalactites dripped

stone from the lofty and irregular ceiling. The floor of the

cavern had been covered with stalagmites, but these were

broken off and crushed underfoot. Just as well, Bith realized,

or Cal and Endril might have been impaled. The cavern

stretched away in two directions, maybe sixty feet high,

maybe thirty feet wide. The worm hole—she felt a tightening

in her chest: she'd been so sure mere was no worm—continued

on the opposite side of the cavern, high up, as if a god had

threaded a giant needle through the mountain.



Cal held the torch high and the red-yellow light of the cave

shimmered in a thousand thousand facets. "No sign of

Hathor. No, wait."



The torchlight shimmied and bobbed and danced. Then

Cal said, "Here's his axe."



Bith leant even further forward, in danger of losing her

footing. She wondered how she'd get down to the men—they

were almost twenty feet below her. Backbreaker still stood

just behind her, immobile. She called, "Is there blood?"



Endril had joined Cal. The elf took the torch. "I don't

know. Let me look—"



The firelight was suddenly magnified a hundred times, as

if someone had ripped off the roof of the cavern. A giant

white form, big as a sailing ship, spurted from the worm hole

opposite. Cat yelled, Endril shrilled, and Bith froze as the

worm returned. It was the same one—could there be more

man one?—for it bore the hack marks around its mouth. The

worm poured from the hole like a cataract of water, straight

for the opposite hole where Bith stood. The giri shuffled her

feet, slipped, whimpered.



Something—Backbreaker—shoved her from behind. She

tumbled from the tunnel.



The worm's mouth dilated.



Bith fell. Inside.



132



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



The girl shrieked as the edges of the mouth passed her.

Then the light was gone as the throat snapped shut.



Bump, thump, clump, wham! Bith fetched up against a cold

wall. The surface under her—then next to her, then above

her—twisted like a bed in a nightmare. Her hands found some

ridge and she grabbed hard. The roof, also ridged, banged

against the back of her head. She was going to be crushed in

the throat of a giant worm! Bith found herself praying and

crying and wishing she were back in her mother's castle,

sitting on the balcony with her cats and looking out over the

misty lake. But she remembered her mother and how she had

mocked her daughter's weak stomach, and Bith hung on and

gritted her teeth. If for no other reason than to show her

mother up, she had to survive.



And in fact, she wasn't dead yet. Or even close to it. As

the seconds passed she found herself still clinging to one

ridge, held in place by the other. Nothing else happened. The

worm was still moving, undulating like a ship at sea, but the

ride was smooth. Bith tried to take stock. She fought down

panic by concentrating on spells. Which one could get her

out of here? Any of them? Fireballs? Glow? Levitate? Ignite!

Yes, surely this—flesh—would bum if she got the spell off

right. But how would she breathe in the smoke? And imagine

the stench!



The worm took a dive downward. Bith felt her hair falling

down her back. Was it stuffy in here already? Would she

suffocate before she could get off a spell? It was so black!

Something flopped across her hands and she recoiled from

the touch. It was hairy, like a big spider. But warm. And the

smell was familiar.



Carefully she unpried one aching hand and put it out for

the object. It was soft and grimy with—hard nails? It was a

hand? A foot! Hathor's!



"Thor! Thor!" the girl cried, "I'm so glad to find you! I—

Thor?"



She tugged at the foot. It felt limply from her grasp. Was

he dead? Had the troll suffocated? No, he was too tough to

die. And too nice. The girl let go to lock both hands onto

the foot. She dug her fingers in alongside the ropy tendon

and felt. Yes, there was a pulse! It would be all right. Unless



OUTCASTS             133



they both suffocated. Or were crushed, or swallowed further,

or drowned in black slime.



The worm dropped with a stomach-wrenching lurch. It

bucked and twisted and rolled on its back until Bith's brain

shook in its pan. She tried to think of what to do, but was

too dizzy and weak. Then suddenly the beast shuddered all

through its frame. And she could—see—light?



A gash in the worm's side opened and light spilled in. The

gash shut and the blackness returned. Then it cracked open

again and stayed that way. Something slim and shining pen-

etrated the crack.



A voice called, "Bith! Are you in there? Bith!" It was Cal.



"Here," the giri squeaked. She gathered her breath and

shouted, "Here!"



An arm holding a torch shoved inside, followed by Endril's

head- "There you arc. And Thor. Would you like to come

out?"



Bith gasped. She had to press with her back to get free of

the embrace of the dead worm. Then she crawled over Hath-

or's body and was helped through the split. She pointed Cal

and Endril back to the troll and they tugged him free.



The giri clung to the elf while the boy dragged the troll to

a level spot on the cavern floor- Bith looked around. The

giant worm lay on the floor of the-elongated cavern, as huge,

white, and repulsive as the Mistwall itself. It was dead white

with heavy creases at intervals where the segments joined.

There was twenty feet of it showing in the cavern and more

inside the tunnel beyond—she had no idea how long it really

was. The thing twitched feebly, the spasms making it jump

three feet at a time. The gash that Endril and Cal had hacked

in the side—Bith wondered how they had known where to

hack and not cut their fellow adventurers—oozed white pulp

like tree sap. Evidently the worm had snatched up Hathor,

retreated, then come back and shot across the upper part of

the cave to engulf Bith. She wondered if the thing had used

an intelligence for that or had merely followed blind instinct

and sucked up everything in sight. She looked at the monster

worm and felt her knees go weak.



"We were lucky to get you free." the elf said quietly. "It

was suspended over our heads. Cal leaped up and struck. He

must have hit something vital. It almost fell on us."



RUNESWORD VbLUME ONE



134



Bith opened her mouth, but only a squeak came out.



Aside from being out cold and unbelievably filthy—as they

all were—the troll seemed unharmed. They patted his cheeks

and pumped his chest and after a few moments he came to.

He worked his face in a goggle-eyed fishy way before he sat

up.



"Where's my axe?" he asked.



Cal gave it to him. Hathor lay back down with it clutched

to his chest.



"Do we bury you now?" the boy asked.



The troll opened one eye. "Don't like worms to eat me."



Everyone laughed with relief. Cal quipped, "He probably

didn't like you much, either. I'm surprised he didn't puke you

up."



"Washed my feet. Taste good."



"Think," said Endril, "how this experience has increased

our knowledge by leaps and bounds. Now you two know how

a worm feels when fed to a fish."



"I think I'll become a vegetarian like Hathor here." Bith

giggled. "I'll stick to corn and roots and mushrooms."



"And dogs," Cal added.



They all laughed at that, but the laughing died down as

they noticed a rumbling that built and built like a storm com-

ing in overhead.



"What's that? An earthquake?"



Endril was up and reaching for Hathor. "We should move,

I think. This worm—"



Wasn't dead. It must have been only stunned. For suddenly

it gave a massive hump in the middle. A long clean split

appeared far down its body, away from the gash. The giant

frame jerked, once, twice. Then with a nerve-shattering rip

the still-living segment of body separated from the dead sec-

tion. The however-many feet of invisible body tore free and

disappeared into the tunnel, but not before leaving something

behind.



The party of adventurers howled as the central artery of the

worm squirted a waterfall of black glop into the cavern. The

same crawling sticky filth that had been shot at them eariier

now returned in an avalanche. Too late tliey tried to dodge

out of the way. The ichor spilled all over their upraised arms

and down their necks. Blinded, they couldn't see the torrent



OUTCASTS            135



that hit them, but they could feel it. Endril managed to wipe

his eyes clean and push at them. "Run! Go that way!"



Stumbling, cursing, scratching, the party banged into sta-

lagmites and slipped on patches of slime until they clunked

into a wall at the end of the cavern.



The swearing went on for some time in various languages.

Pinned in the comer, Bith clawed her face clear, though she

thought bitterly she'd never feel clean again.



A whiff of fresh air wafted around them from yet another

worm hole in the wall- Only Cal had a torch. He'd juggled

shield and sword and torch since they'd gotten inside this

mountain. He made to strike it alight with flint and steel yet

again but Bith stopped him.



The cavern did indeed end here, tapering away to a junc-

ture of floor and ceiling- The giri moved to the hole and stuck

her head inside. The hole sloped downwards, and far, far

down, she thought she could see a sheen of reflected light.

Or maybe it was just spots before her eyes caused by the

intense darkness. She pointed out the hole to her compan-

ions.



Cal grunted- Endril said nothing. The boy got the torch

burning and held it high. The entire floor of the cavern was

no longer red and yellow but black and squirming. The carpet

of whatever it was—what was it, anyway? Bith held her sleeve

up to her face. By the intermittent light she could make out

the black goo. It was a combination of tiny, tiny insects and

their residue. Mites, of some sort, and the crud they gener-

ated. A colony of parasites living in the intestines of the

worm. Bith shuddered and scrubbed some more.



Endril said, "We're safe for the moment."



Bith snapped, "I can't believe we survived an attack by a

giant worm only to be trapped in the comer by bugs."



"We haven't had the best luck, or judgement," Endril ad-

mitted.



Bith continued, "And we're no closer to this damned wiz-

ard. He could have gone anywhere! Why didn't you tell us

about these caves, Hathor?"



The troll shrugged. "Did. Backbreaker and 1 explore.

Found bats and nothing else."



"What about this worm?"



Another shrug. "Worms move fast. Go miles in a day



136



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



looking for food. Saw hole but didn't see worm. He came

back. Sorry."



The giri sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry, Thor. It's not your fault.

We were just surprised, is all. Oogh. I hate bugs!"



"Hey, what happened to Backbreaker anyway?" Cat asked.

"He disappears more often than Endrif here."



Bith pointed. "He was up there—behind me. He tried to

pull me back when the worm lunged. No, wait a moment.

He pushed me."



"Pushed you?"



The magic user thought hard. "I think so. I think ... he

tried to push me clear of the worm's maw."



"Or into it?" Cal asked.



"Now why would you say that?"



The boy shrugged and waggled his sword. "I don't know,

but I haven't trusted him since the day he signed on with us.

He's been pretty chummy with Hathor here, though."



Hathor shrugged again. "He just follow me. Not talk much.

I not like him either."



Bith combed her crusted hair with her fingers. "Well, never

mind. He'll turn up again. Like a bad penny."



"Are these insects coming at us?" That was Endril.



"And how," said Cal. "Let's try this bole. Thor?"



The troll twisted among them easily—Bith recalled he could

see in the daik—and stuck his head down the hole. "Hunh.

Goes to bottom of ravine, must be- Smell fresh air, big fog

wall- Water, too."



"Clean water?"



"Yep, spill from inside mountain. I go?"



"Go."



The troll hopped into the round passage. He set both hands

and feet against the circumference and scuttled away like a

spider. The other three waited in the circle of firelight. It was

quiet. The puddles of bugs gave off a slight hissing-crunching

sound, like surf on a gravel beach.



After a while Hathor's voice carried up from the hole,

sounding hollow and distant. "Hay! Come here. Found some-

thing. ''



Cal called down, "Whaaaattt?"



A pause. "You see. Something good. "



"Good? "Bith asked.



OUTCASTS             137



Cal shrugged. "Better there than here." He snuffed out

the torch, tightened his gear, and entered the tunnel. Bith

climbed up behind him. Her leather-soled boots slipped on

tile smooth floor. Endril came last.



Cal was muttering ahead. "The slope gets steeper."



"What?" Bith asked.



"I said, the slope— whoa! WHOOOOOAAAA!"



"Cal!"



Cal was gone. The giri and the elf froze. They heard only

a faint banging and scraping and a stream of receding pro-

fanity. Bith inched forward and saw where the tunnel did dip,

smoothly but almost straight down before heading up again.

The sheen of light was brighter now, strong enough for her

to see her hands. She called, "Cal! Cal! Are you all right?"



Silence.



"Ca-"             _,



"I'm fine. " The voice came from far away. "Come on

ahead, but do U on your—rump.''



"My what?"



"Slide. You'll be fine."



Bith looked back at Endril. The elf waved an elegant hand.

Bith signed and sat down carefully. She drew on her gloves

and tucked her hood over her head. Then she scooted forward

an inch, then another, then—she was sliding!



Like Cal, she let out a Whoo! as she slid and banged and

swooped around corners. The ride was rough and scary, but

exhilirating too. Down and down she went, faster and faster,

sliding on her tunic and cloak with occasional braking with

her hands. She wondered if she'd fetch up against some wall,

but recalled that Cal had survived.



Then suddenly she rounded a corner and the light blinded

her. The tunnel ended and she flew into space with a bleat.

But strong arms caught her and set her down gently on a

rocky slope.



Peering between her hands, Bith took a step and staggered.

The strong hands—they were Cal's—tugged her aside. She
got her vision back just in time to see Endril shoot from the

hole above her and crash onto me shale slope.



Bith turned to Cal. "Why didn't you catch /urn?"



Cal grinned at her. His teeth were white in a face black

with slime and dust. "What fim would that be?"



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



138



The elf sat up rubbing his elbow and the back of his head.

He got his eyesight back and located his companions.



The crowd looked around. They were indeed where Hathor

had said: at the bottom of the chasm behind the castle. Rock

walls loomed on two sides. The Mistwall roiled above one

side in its queer U-shape. Above the other, the tower balcony

projected at a dizzying height. If they walked to the left far

enough they would enter the valley. To the right, the canyon

narrowed as it wound into the hills. The floor of the chasm

was fallen rock, some sparse grasses and scrubby trees. It

was also littered with the stuff Bith had pitched off the bal-

cony in days past.



The giri put one hand on the wall and looked up- "We

came all the way from up rfiere?"



Cal grunted. "Yep. We have to go back up, too."



"Why do you say that?"



"Come here. Look what Thor found."



Hathor was hunched over farther down the slope. He squat-

ted awkwardly, like a crippled duck, and took small steps

sideways. Bith put her feet carefully lest she fell.



Bith called, "Hathor! Hey, Hathor' What's the big idea of

letting us tumble down the slope?"



The troll turned curiously. Cat laughed. "He didn't slide.

He walked. But a human can't do it the way he did.''



Bith sighed anew. "I keep forgetting how disparate we all

are."



"Disparate?"



"Different. We've nothing in common, really."



"Except that we're all mad as hares in spring."



Bith laughed. "There is that."



Hathor stood up when they arrived. He grinned his wolf's

grin- "Fun?"



Bith rubbed her backside. "Fun. Oh, yes. I can't wait to

do it again."



Cal said, "Look what we found."


Hathor handed her a slim bar of silver. The girl accepted

it and weighed it in her hand. It was about eighteen inches

long and slim as her finger. It was round on the ends and

entirely smooth. Something about its heft tickled her mem-

ory. She bobbed it in the air a few times. It felt somehow



OUTCASTS             139



aliw, as if it were fluid and not solid. More quicksilver than

silver, she thought.



"It's a wand."



Cal nodded. "That's what we thought. And look here."

He held up a small metal bracket.



"A belt buckle?"



"Unh, unh. Tbo small. I'd say it's a shoe buckle."



Endril came close and looked without touching. He stroked

his pointed chin.



Hathor had resumed his scavenging. He suddenly grunted

and stooped and came up with some white nuggets. He

poured them into Bith's other hand. She peered. "They're—

teeth."



Endril murmured, "Human."



The giri chirped. "Ah! I was right! The old fool felt off

the balcony drunk and scavengers ate him."



Cal shook his head. "Try again."



Bith just looked confused.



€     Cal asked her gently, "What happened to you in me tun-

<    nels?"



"What happened to me? I got covered in muck."

y     "Before that."



"I got—swallowed by a worm."



"And?"



"Why arc you asking me all these questions? You and En-

dril cut me loose. Me and Hathor."



"Right. Now suppose you were a wizard being clever and

poking around in a bunch of caves. And you got snatched

up, swallowed by a giant worm. And you pass out from lack

of air, like Hathor did. Then what happens to you?"



Bith stared at the small white teeth in her palm. Then she

recoiled and dropped them. They rattled on the shale. ' 'Yuck!

Ugh! Yew! That's disgusting!"



Cal nodded. "Sure is."



Endril picked up a tooth and looked close at it. "So the

magician was swallowed and digested, and all that survived

were his teeth."



"And the metal. It all passed out the worm's back end and

rattled out that bole. Down to here."



Bith was rubbing the palm of her hand against her filthy

pants. She had not, however, dropped the silver wand. Endril



140 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



tossed the tooth over his shoulder. "So much for finding our

magician."



"In one piece, anyway. We're stuck with the problem of

taking the sword by ourselves."



Endril said gently, "We are to destroy the sword, Cal."



"Well, maybe."



Bith looked up at the Mistwall, over at the castle balcony,

and both ways down the ravine. She asked bleakly, "Why

don't we just walk down this canyon and keep going?"



Endril stroked his chin. Cal stirred the fallen teeth with the

toe of his boot. Hathor walked back to their party with an-

other scrap of metal. It was a crumpled badge cut in the shape

of a crescent moon, made for sewing on clothing. Cal offered

to hold it, since it was silver.



Hathor scratched his neck. "Wash?" he asked.



Bith shook her head. "Oh, yes, the water. Lead us to it!

Please."



The water was farther down the canyon. It was no more

than a trickle that spilled from the rocks and emptied onto

the shale. A twin line of tough green chased it across the

rocks. The people took turns scooping water in their hands.

They mopped their faces and necks and scraped the gunk off

their clothing. They drank their fill and felt much better.

Eventually they sat down in a circle of rocks and propped

their backs as comfortably as possible. Even with the Mist-

wall looming over them the sun was warm and pleasant. Cal

produced jerked meat from a pouch. Hathor shared his ubiq-

uitous roots. The four munched and chewed and talked over

their dilemma.



"Well." said the soldier philosophically, "at least we

learned where the wizard went. He came to a bad end."



"Ouch," said Bith.



"Yep, he's been passed to a better place."



"Stop it."



"Yessir, he should have had a more noble outcome ..."



"Cal!"



The boy ripped jerky with his teeth. His fingernails were

as black as Hathor's. "Does this mean I can pluck the sword

up and run with it?"



"No, it doesn't mean that."



"How about if I promise to ruafast^ Very, very fast."



OUTCASTS             141



"Can you run faster than the roof can collapse?"



"Sure."



"It is not just the castle that concerns us," Endril said.

"We must think of the Mistwall. I am sure if we touch the

sword it will envelop the castle, maybe the whole valley. We

cannot allow that. We need time for both ourselves and the

defenders to get clear. No one goes into the Mistwall and

returns, as so I've heard." He stopped and the three males

looked at Bith- "Well, almost no one."



Cal countered, "What about those ores and other beasties?

If they come out of the Mistwall they must be able to go back

into it. I say it's grandmothers' tales to frighten children. It's

just a bank of fog you can walk in and out of. It just stinks,

is all. Right, Bith?"    »



"No. The smell of evil gets into your head and poisons

you. You'd become one of them before you saw daylight

again."



"Not me."



Endril said, "Let us hope we not test it. The student might

not survive the lesson."



Hathor said, "Bith should grab sword, jump off balcony.

Fly down here."



"1 can't fly."



"Oh."



; ,    "Suppose we tie a rope to it, then throw the rope off the

balcony," Cal offered. "Then we come down here and jerk

the rope."



Bith shook her head. Her grimy hair flopped around her

face. "You don't understand. It's balanced there as if on its

point. One touch will undo the spell. I think. Or, as I said

'   before, you may not even be able to move it, as if it were

fixed in stone. There may not be a solution to this prob-

lem. ... I don't know. We're just going round in circles."



"Circling or no," Endril said, "we must see that sword

\   does not fall into the hands of the Dark Lord. Whoever or

whatever he is, having even a minor god like Vili under his

thumb would give him power too awful to consider."



Cal rose and stretched his legs. "I'd be willing to just grab

it and run. Give me a clear shot down those stairs and stay

out of my way. We'll see what collapses first.''



142



RUNESWORD VbtUME ONE



Bith snapped, "How many times do we have to say it! You

can't—"



Hathor interrupted them both, "Where sun go?"



"Eh?" The party looked up.



"The Mistwall," Endril whispered. "It's moving."



It was. Whereas before they could look and see clear sky

above the face of the fog, now they are looking at the bottom

of it. The greenish smokey cloud had drifted across the can-

yon. Even as they watched, the balcony grew dimmer, harder

to see through the mist.



"How can that be?" Cal asked.



The elf stared up at the castle, his long face somber as an

eagle's. "Perhaps it's time. The Dark Lord's forces are in

place. Perhaps one big push of magic is enough to engulf the

castle. Or perhaps someone's moved the sword."



"Moved the sword? No, I want the sword!"



Bith retorted, "Cal, we've told you! You can't have it!

You're obsessed with the thing."



The soldier shook his head. "No. I'm not! I just want a

chance to hold it once before we destroy it."



"Hist! Listen!" said the elf. He had his head cocked like

a dog.



Hathor grunted, but the two humans could hear nothing.

"Now what?"



"Storm," said Hathor.



"Not a storm," Endril corrected- "Shouting. War cries.

The Dark Army is attacking.''



"We've got to get up to the tower!" Bith said.



Cal hitched up his belt. "Which way?"



Bith looked around. "Not up that tunnel. Hathor is the

only one can scale that."



The troll hefted his axe. "Know another way. Backbreaker

and me find it."



Bith asked, "What do you suppose that giant's up to, any-

way?"



Cal snorted. "Who cares? Let's go."



Hathor led the way, though he went in the direction op-

posite they would have guessed. He led them up the canyon

away from the castle, past the spring. From there he mounted

a tumble of stone and crawled onto a ledge. He reached down



OUTCASTS             143



a mighty arm and pulled the others after him. Two more lifts

brought them to a cave.



"It's good we have you, Thor," Bith panted. "We couldn't

climb (his ourselves."



Hathor grinned. "Easy. Come. Quick way back."



The way was easy enough, if long. They negotiated an ok)

riverbed, then a series of switchbacks. They went under-

ground half the time, through caves or along ledges the resl-

Occasionally they walked the bottom of a sharp cleft that had

BO rocks to impede them. Hathor explained this was part of

the back way the defenders had mentioned as their evacuation

route, which they kept clear of debris. "Met scouts in here

when walked these past days."



They met someone now. Hathor hushed them and pulled

them back into a niche. This spot was a wide track with rock

walls that almost met overhead. Cal snuffed out the torch in

dK sand underfoot. The party froze and listened. Soon they

all heard it, a reassuring sound: a chattering like a flock of

magpies. Children calling to their friends, entreating their

parents to be carried, singing and laughing. Hathor stepped

out and raised a homy hand.



The families of Cairngorm were well equipped to travel.

Each man, woman, and child bore a pack and cloak and

carried something in their hand. Several led donkeys piled

with sacks of food and firewood and tents and geese tied by

the feet. At the sight of the party the children squealed and

ran to their mothers. The warrior men and women hefted

their axes and swords, then let them drop. "Friend Hathor,

Bith, Cal, Endril! Advance," called a tall man in front. He

was, as with all the rest, blond and blue-eyed and shaggy-

maned,



"What transpires on the wall?" Endril asked.



"The enemy rises in a wave to sweep over Cairngorm. Not

all the arrows in the world could hold them back. It looks

like a black carpet thrown against us. We could see it coming

all morning. They left their normal camp activities after

breakfast and drifted to the tents. Someone tall gave a speech

fora long time. Then they turned and swept upon us not three

hours ago. Barin didn't even try to hold the first wall. We

shot our lot and fell back. We are the first wave to leave, with



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



144



the children and mothers and elders. The rest hang back to

make sure none are left and see we are not overtaken."



"The castle still stands?" the elf asked.



"Aye, for now, but not much longer. 'Tis a sad day," he

told them. his voice grown hoarse, "By nightfall Cairngorm

will be gone from the face of the earth. But not from our

minds or hearts. Eh, good people?"



The crowd raised their weapons and their voices in a lusty

cheer that rang against the walls. But the silence that followed

was just as loud.



"Go then, good people, and may the spirits guide you on

your way," Endril told them. "Yours is not the first village

to fall under the Mistwall's deadly embrace, nor shall it be

the last. But like all bad storms, it will blow away eventually

and leave the earth fresh and clean."



The yellow-haired people nodded, but their faces were so-

ber. Without many more words they passed by the party and

down the slope towards the unknown.



The party of four were quiet when again they stood alone.

Cal asked Endril, "Do you believe that stuff about the Mist-

wall being rolled back some day?"



Endril replied, "All things come to an end. Alt. But a land

may lie dead at the bottom of the sea for a millennium before

it feels the sun again, and a lot of beings come and go in

darkness during that time."



"That's very encouraging, Endril," Cal told him bitterly.

"You're as uplifting as a lark."



"Live some." the elf replied, "before you judge."



On that sour note the party trudged uphill towards their

goal.



"Stop here." Hathor said after they had gone another few

hundred yards.



Cal asked, "Why?" The way before them was another

stretch of cave, open and clear.



"Secret." The troll pointed to a dark space way above

head height. He crouched down with his hands against the

wall and motioned someone to get on his back. "Climb."



Endril did as the troll suggested. Hathor straightened his

powerful legs and the elf snagged the ledge. He swung up

light as a squirrel into the space.



OUTCASTS             145



"It opens up," they heard him say, "into another pas-

sage."



Hathor grinned and squatted again. "Shortcut to castle.

Backbreaker and me find."



Cal helped Bith onto Hathor's back. He said, "The castle

defenders don't know it's here?"



"Nope. No one go in for years.**



When Cal was on the ledge he reached down and offered

his hand to pull Hathor up. He wished he'd offered his left

hand instead of his right because his shoulder creaked in its

socket. The troll was heavy.



The four brushed aside ancient cobwebs and peered down

die tunnel. Cal said, "It's black. Looks hand-hewn."



"Goes under wall."



"What wall?"



"Castle wall, big one." The troll sketched a circle around

his waist.



"The outer bailey wall? That surrounds everythingf"



"Yup, Old tunnel to valley floor. River bed, 1 think. But

big stones on other side. We couldn't move."



"But how—"



"Side tunnel goes to castle. Come."



"He's right, Cal," Bith interrupted. "Enough talk. Let's

go."



"But I can't believe the people who live here don't—"



"Come on!"



Hathor had taken the lead again, without benefit of torch.

Cal strove to light his as they shuffled along in the intense

blackness. He dropped his flint and couldn't find it, then gave

up as the rest of the party left him behind. Bith gasped as she

stumbled. Endril and Hathor, in the lead, had no trouble

seeing. Cal brought up the rear, as usual. This was his pre-

ferred position, one a soldier takes pride in holding, but today

he could have done without it. It was tiring being a second-

class citizen in the dark behind trolls and elves. He stumbled

often over fallen rock.



Suddenly the boy plowed into Bith's back as she banged

into Hathor. Endril had somehow gotten out of the way. Cal

sputtered but the troll shushed him. "Listen!"



Cal listened. "I don't hear any—"



"Rawwwwwwwwwrrrrrrr!!!!"" The shout all but knocked



RUNESWORD VDLUME ONE



146



Cal and Bith over. The sound was deafening in the close cave,

goose-pimply in its unhuman basso.



It was Hathor who had shouted. A battle cry. He was

charging down the tunnel and swinging his axe at some flick-

ering light ahead. He added a very human, "Follow!" Endril,

Cal, and Bith followed, with their ears ringing and their blood

pounding, towards what they knew not.



Hathor screamed around a comer into a maelstrom of hairy

faces and jagged weapons and flickering torches. Cal and

Bith had only a second to register the scene.



In a three-way juncture of tunnel stood a knot of ores, evil

humans, and piglets. The humans alone carried birch torches.

Fresh-sharpened steel shone on the edges of war spears, bat-

tieaxes, mattoxes, and short swords. All else was black or

hair or dirty grease, me smell of which filled their nostrils.

Past the first knot—there had to be twelve enemies within

arm's reach—a long dim line of more evil soldiers trailed off

into the dark of the leftmost tunnel. Every evil face was turned

towards them in astonishment.



Standing tall amid the group, stooped by the low ceiling,

was Mountain Back Breaker.



Cal grabbed Bith's shoulder to pull her behind him. Endril

dove to the right to avoid the troll's backswing.



"Elf! Elf!" shouted a chorus.



Hathor howled again and swung his felling axe high. The

troll's howl was echoed by a dozen throats. The axe flew in

a murderous arc and plowed into the first three enemy sol-

diers.



Blood sprayed in the air, scattering the firelight in all di-

rections.



CHAPTER


10



There were three enemies down on the dusty floor of the

cave. The troll's broad axe had severed one man's arm: he

lay on the floor screaming as blood gouted from a stump. An

ore had fallen back showing lungs through split ribs. A piglet

was dead from a smashed head. The others—ores, men, and

all—pressed backwards momentarily from the horror of the

attack.



Hathor kept them staggered. He was spattered with others'

blood. His lace was a fanged and screaming mouth. And his

axe swung back and forth as if he were cutting wheat. Min-

ions of the Dark Army clawed and fell over each other to get

out of the way.



Cal stood frozen as he tried desperately to guess what was

going on. That a whole troop of dark soldiers could be here,

sneaking to the castle through these tunnels, when only Back-

breaker and Hathor had known the tunnels were here, had to

mean that—



"Backbreaker's betrayed us! The bastard\" Cal's voice

shook with rage. "He's opened the tunnel for them! I'll fix

/urn!" He changed his grip on his sword to wade into the

attack. Behind Bith began to chant.



147



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



148



*No," interjected Endril, his voice inhumanly calm. He

caught the boy's leather sleeve in a strong grip and dragged

him sideways.



CaTs boots skidded. He jerked a vicious elbow. "What are

you doingf"



The elf didn't answer. He shoved the boy up the tunnel

towards the castle, then grabbed Bith with the other hand and

moved her. The palms of her hands were luminous and smok-

ing. She shook his hand off and continued her spell.



"Hathor's bought us time," Endril explained. "We're in

the proper tunnel now. Thor! Join us!"



"Elf!" a voice screeched. "Kill elf!"



During this short interval Hathor had felled another five

soldiers. His swings were wild and uncontrolled as he threw

all his strength into them. Now he stopped suddenly and

backed up, turned and crashed into Bith.



The giri staggered and recovered, then ducked past me troll

back towards the enemy. "Stand clear!"



Bith slapped her hands on the bodies of two dead ores. Her

fingers had to be flat or she'd blow her fingernails off. Raw

energy churned from her heart, rushed down her arms like a

boiling cataract, then left her palms in a blinding flash.



With a whoosh! twin jets of flame gushed from her palms.

The tiny intersection lit up. Fire crackled and spat as hair,

leather, wood, and skin ignited. The flame was blinding, the

stink appalling. Cal controlled the urge to retch. Endril

barked, "Run!" and they ran.



With Hathor in the lead and Endril behind, the party gath-

ered speed and pelted along in the dark. The two humans

never were sure who was where. All they knew was that it

was very dark. They held a hand in front of their faces for

protection. The howls and screams were left behind.



Hathor called back, "Good spell."



"I just wish I could snoot fireballs from a distance!" the

girt gasped.



On they ran. The humans missed their footing often but

thankfully never fell. As their breath began to bum in their

lungs Hathor warned, "Slow! Wall here!"



He trotted and stopped. Cal rearranged his baldric. Bith

panted and leaned on the wall. Endril pressed past them to

help Hathor.



OUTCASTS             149



"What is it? A door?"



"Wood wall. Break through."



There came a grunt and then a crash! of splintered wood.

Hathor kicked again with his bare feet. He ducked through

the hole. A strong vinegary smell surrounded them. Cal

groped with his hands and thumped up against something

solid and round. Bith and Endril followed.



The elf turned immediately. "Bith, can you do your fire

spell again?"



"Hunh? What? I guess so, yes. Where arc we?"



Wood clattered. Endril found Bith's hand and set it gently

on a pile of kindling. "Fire this." The giri fumbled out an-

other firefly (her last, she reckoned) and gasped the ignite

spell. The fire crackled into life.



They were in yet another part of the cellar beneath the

castle. The wine cellar. Huge barrels and hogsheads taller

than a man lay on their side, some tapped with bungs, some

obviously empty. A stairwell was at the far end of the cham-

ber. The wall they had broached from the other side was

made of white-washed planks laid sideways. It made up a

wall—a false wall—behind two barrels.



Endril reached out and shoved at a barrel- It didn't move.

He shoved another and it rocked. "Empty, Cal, grab hold

and we'll roll it in front of the hole.



Hathor had run to the stairwell, presumably to scout. The

elf and boy got the barrel off its stand and wrestled it in front

of the hole to the tunnels.



Bith frowned at the smallness of the blaze. She rubbed her

palms, which were painfully red. "I'm sorry, that's all I can

do right now."



Endril fanned at the small blaze with his hat. "It will suf-

fice. Would we had some brandy."



Cal the soldier had done some scouting of his own. "Maybe

we do. This can't hurt, anyway." He held up a small glass

bottle from a sideboard.



Endril pointed at the tiny blaze. Cal whipped the bottle

against the stone ceiling. It shattered and rained liquid onto

the barrel. Flame leaped and licked up its side. Cal threw

three more bottles—"It's a shame to waste this!"—and got die

blaze roaring. Smoke filled the low room and made them

cough. The three shuffled to the stairs and ascended. After



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



150



they bad passed the thick door Endril slammed it shut, but

there was no lock to engage.



They were in a short, sunken corridor that slanted up

to the rest of the cellar rooms. They could see light at the

top. Voices sounded. Then down the corridor stepped three

Caimgormers bristling with weaponry.



The closest man swiveled his shield in their direction and

took a firmer grip on his short sword. "Where the devil did

you come from?"



Endril nodded. "Yon wine cellar. There's a passage be-

yond the back wall full of your enemy."



"There be no passage through that cellar. We'd know of

it." The three, two men and a woman, shuffled their feet to

get elbow room and a better look at their opponents. They

were black with muck and grey with cobwebs. Hathor, with

blood across his face and chest, was a particularly unsettling

figure.



"You don't or you'd have blocked it," Endril corrected-

"My troll discovered it just these past days- And now a horde

of ores are in it and coming rast."



"I don't think so. I think we better take you to Barin—"



Hathor cocked an ear. "They here."



With a smash! the wine cellar door burst open. Ores howled

and screamed and gibbered as they flooded out the door.



The adventurers were gone. They bolted past the natives,

who fell in close behind.



In the catacombs under the castle stood the rest of Caim-

gorm's army. The blond men and women warriors—more than

two hundred of them—had gathered together, said goodbye

to their homes and fields, and marched in orderly retreat into

the cellar. The dark had finally come. Some had cried, some

had sworn, some were silent. Many had grumbled over a

missed fight.



Now as the screaming ores came into sight a howl of equal

rage and intensity welled up from the natives. Weapons shot

into the air. The orcan invaders and the human defenders had

glared at each other across two stone walls and a stretch of

no man's land for a long time, and all were eager, glad even

with a fierce joy, to close and hack and maim and kill. The

noise threatened to shatter eardrums as the battle was on.



Vili's adventurers were caught square in the middle.



OUTCASTS             151



Cal shouted, "Form up! Make a wedge! Form up!"



He yelled for effect and planted himself in the leftmost

position. Hathor fell in beside him. Endril flanked on the

right, further away from the troll in the center, for Hathor

was right-handed and swung his axe from that side. The elf

had a wall at his right as a giant stone shield. Bith was behind

them. Their practice on the plains paid off now. This

"wedge," as they called it, was a tight unit that could with-

stand attack on three sides, with a magician for backup.



The formation centered around the axeman. A strong fighter

with an axe was a terrible thing in battle, for he could knock

down enemies like wheat. An axeman could smash through

any defense, go where he wanted, and stop anything: it was

sergeants with axes that surrounded a king on the field. Yet

an axeman needed swordsmen to watch and protect him from

a sudden thrust, for he needed both hands on his weapon and

he carried no shield. His swordsmen were in mm safe as long

as they stayed close (but not too close). With a magician

behind them to weave spells and confuse the enemy, the for-

mation was almost invincible.



The party's arrival timed with me first charge by the Caim-

gormers, and they matched up on the end of a battle line that

snaked through the twisted cellar. They held the enemy at

bay. Maddened ores saw too late the giant troll and his axe,

and their howls turned to cries of anguish just before Hathor

smashed through their shields and shoulders and heads. Any-

one reaching in with a blade to pink the troll received a thrust

in the throat or eye from Endril's waspish sting, or a good

honest shot from Cal Talienson's poor but burnished blade.

It was not long before Hathor had a knee-high pile of bodies

before him.



The shouting and the clash of armor was frightening, and

the stone rooms were hot. Sweat ran in their eyes. Cal

shouted, "Look there! I'd like to stab that son of a bitch!"

Past pillars and stone walls they could see Backbreaker. The

giant used no weapons but his fists, which he flailed high in

the air and brought down on human defenders like twin

sledgehammers.



"I'd like to do something^' Bith shouted from her cramped

position behind the soldier.



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



152



"Conjure some water!" Hathor panted. He feinted a swipe

at a knot of glaring ores.



"No time." That was Endril, calm as ever. The elf hopped

forward and spitted a man through the heart. Cat wondered

if, since a pitched battle couldn't excite him, anything could.

"We needs get upstairs and quickly. After—"



"The sword, we know!" Cal interrupted. "How do we get

there?"



"We know the castle. These ores do not." Endril said. It

seemed strange to be discussing ores when the very same

were jabbing at them from five feet away, but such was war.

He pointed his dripping sword to a passageway thirty feet

down the wall. "That portal takes us up a back stair to the

main hall. Let us go thither."



Cal grunted. They couldn't just back out and leave a hole

in the ranks, but the battle seemed to be shifting away from

them. It was hard to tell in the dazkened cellars. Hathor's pile

of bodies was almost a hill the enemy had to climb. And the

Caimgormers wanted to be away down a fax passage anyway.

The boy hitched up his belt and made sure of his footing on

the blood-slippery stone. "Right! We can disengage! Let's-—"



Hathor interrupted, "Company!"



A pack of four savage men, blond and blue-eyed servants

of the Dark Lord, had just arrived in the cellars ready for

war. Their eyes lighted at the sight of three males and one

•woman. With a hoarse shout they raised shining weapons

high. In a steady line, and without dropping their defense,

they slid over me pile of bodies. They had swords or short

bill-hooks and square shields bound with iron. They wore

copper-studded armor and iron helmets. Larger and stronger

than most men, they had obviously practiced as a unit them-

selves. They laughed horribly and taunted their victims as

they closed.



They got a surprise.



"Only four?" Cal jibed, and he added a string of epithets

to insult their manhood that made Bith blush. It was calcu-

lated to make the men mad, and it worked. The end man

roared and left the line to strike the boy down from superior

height.



Cal expected that and countered. Instead of drawing his

shield close to absorb the blow, he flung it wide and high.



OUTCASTS             153



^



,0.

,',1?1



The brute balked momentarily as the edge of the shield

clipped the underside of his arm. "Hat" Cal barked. Too

late the barbarian whipped his own shield around to hit Cal

in me face. The boy had made one expert stab at the bottom

of the leather armor. The man was pierced through the gut

without realizing it. Cat only had to fend him off until his

strength departed and he died.



Endril had his metal glove and his slim, balanced blade.

He crouched low, dangerous as a mountain cat. His end man

advanced warily. It looked too easy. It was. As he roared for

a traditional attack he learned how difficult it is to kill an elf.



Endril's attack came not in the center, but to the outside.

Where this man expected a blow on his shield, Endril side-

stepped and slashed the man on the outside of his weapon

arm. The black blade cut like a fish knife, and it opened red

flesh to show white bone along half his forearm. Another

flicker, and the underside of the arm was cut clean through.

The man's arm was effectively sawn through except for the

bone. Blood began to blossom as if from a split wineskin.

Aghast, the man back-stepped and twisted his bead to look. En-

dril ended his life with a surgical stab just below the ear.



The two men in the middle concentrated on the axeman

before them. for they had done this before. While the first

baited the troll, trying to elicit a rash stroke, the other cocked

his sword arm behind him, me trap hidden by his shield. If

the first barbarian could get the axeman to overreach or stum-

ble forward—for nothing threw a man off-balance more than

to slash with an axe and strike nothing—his companion would

take both arms off with one hard blow. But Hathor could not

be baited. As the man before him ducked in and weaved

back, Hathor started to swing but held it. Yet each time the

man stepped in he threatened to stab Hathor. Three times this

happened, in and out, the man actually laughing at his prow-

ess, while his companion waited. Once Hathor stumbled and

the man got in a lick that pinked his shoulder, just missing

me ear. Hathor looked for his companion swordsmen, but they

were still engaged. Even Bith was gone from his peripheral

vision. He ground his fangs and muttered trollish oaths under

his breath. The second man kicked out with a steel-toed boot

and clipped his knee. It didn't hurt, but it distracted. Another



154



RUNESWORD \bLUME ONE



thrust by either would put Hathor off-balance or push him

back and he'd be done.



Then suddenly the first man made to hop forward and could

not. He tried to get back and couldn't. Shielding himself, he

glanced at his feet to see what he was stuck in. There was

nothing. His feet weren't even touching the ground.



He yelped some oath. His companion looked confused.

The first man was taller, suspended in the air a foot. And

rising. He windmilled his legs and began to tilt backwards.

Flailing only made him spin more. Soon he was horizontal,

facing the ceiling. He howled. His companion, both hands

full, dithered around and finally decided to tow his friend

clear of the fight. He kept his shield up and snaked a sword

hand into his friend's belt. In that moment Hathor struck.



The troll threw back his axe and swung hard, knowing he'd

connect. The axe hummed and hit the men with a meaty

whack! The air-home barbarian lost his right leg below the

knee. Knocked clear, he spun out across the room in a diz-

zying circle, jetting blood. His companion stayed where he

was, an axe head buried in his chest. Hathor stood at the end

of the hickory haft and watched the man's face turn from red

to white. Then the fellow's eyes rolled up in his head and he

dropped in place. So deeply was the axe buried that Hathor

had to brace his foot on the body to wrench it loose. The

severed leg lay between them.



The troll turned to find Bith sunk on her haunches. Her

hands hung limp beside her. Sweat lined her brow.



"Was that you?"



The girl gulped and nodded. "I'm not supposed—to be

able to levitate—anything more than I can—lift. And I didn't

have to—touch him!"



"You save my life."



"Did I? I was—only trying to help."



Cal straightened and shoved his man clear. He toppled onto

the stone floor with a crash. "Only jbur^" (he boy roared.

"Come on, the rest of you! Come on!"



Endril's hand on his collar arrested him. He towed Cal

away from the fight. "Let us go."



The fight had moved away into other parts of the cellar.

Cairngorm was making an orderly retreat. Only dead natives



OUTCASTS             155



n



(



y>

^



•od dying marauders were left behind. The party herded

themselves out the door and up a set of stairs. Endril led.



On the second set of stairs they came up behind two ores

who jabbered to one another. They never heard the elf. He

lanced the two of them and pitched them like bales of hay

over me heads of the party to smash on the steps below.

"Always blathering when they should be fighting," the elf

commented.



These stairs brought them to the foyer before the main hall.

la the hall itself a troop of something-or-others overturned

lables, smashed candlesticks, and set fire to tapestries. The

beasts were fat underground dwellers, pasty and slug-like,

with bloated races and sparse white hair. They shrilled when

(bey saw the adventurers pass the door. The first one around

die corner got his long nose sliced off by Cal. That one dis-

appeared to be replaced by another who also stuck his nose

out and also got it sliced off- The soldier put his back to the

door and waited with a cocked aim for the next.



"Come on, Cal!" Bith called down from the stairs.



"I'll bold the bridge!" me boy called.



"No, you won't!" Endril barked.



Cal gave a soldier's reply, short and sweet. He added, "You

can't tell me what to do!"



The other three had paused on the wide stairs. Endril said,

"You come now or I'll hoist you over my shoulder!"



Bith called, "And we'll get the runesword and you won't!"



The boy groused. He checked the doorway again—he could

hear clucking inside—then bolted away and up the steps. It

was well he did, for in the next instant a dozen slugs charged

around the comer with slender spears. They ran so fast and

so clumsily they clanged the iron tips against the wall Cal

had vacated. They looked around stupidly and finally spotted

the party disappearing up the stairwell. They squealed and

gave chase.



In a short while the adventurers had knocked aside a few

more looters and gained the wizard's tower. But at the top of

the narrow stairwell they found the door closed and the key

missing from the brass lock. Endril slammed against the door

without budging it.



"Bith," Endril said, "can you dismantle this door?"



156 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



The giri peered past him to see. "Umm. I guess so. I can,

uhh, use a fire spell, or an enlarge. Or maybe a—uhh—"



"Never mind. Step you back. Thor, knock it down."



"I*U mind those—whatever they are," Cal called.



Bith said, "I'll go with you."



It didn't take long for Hathor to hack out the lock in the

old wooden door. Endril called Cal and Bith to him. Threats

had kept the slugs at bay. The party stepped into the wizard's

chamber. It seemed to the humans like years since they had

been there last, but in fact it had been only early morning.

The room was darker now for the Mistwall blotted out the

sun. It was hard to say whether the fog seeped inside the

balcony or not.



Hathor and Cal dumped a sturdy table and set it before

the ruined door. They wedged junk into the stone floor to

hold it in place. They turned and found Bith and Endril look-

ing at the runesword. It hung in pristine beauty, suspended
like a diamond in mid-air.



Cal joined them. He stared at the perfect sword. "What now?"



"I don't know," Bith said.



Nor did any of them.



A hammering sounded on the door along with a squealing

of slugs and deeper hum of something big. The door and the

table bracing it creaked.



"Well," said Cal, "do something'."



"That's very helpful, Cal," Bith snapped. "What would

you have us do?"



The boy waved his hands. "We're supposed to destroy it,

right? So how do we do that?"



"I don't know."



"Nor I," put in Endril.



Cal swept an ami around the room. "Days and days of

reading all those books and you can't find a spell to ruin a

sword?"



"I told you! There was no mention of the sword!"



Cal leaned closer for a look- Bith said, "Don't touch it."



"Bith, to destroy it we have to touch it first, don't we?

Look, they forge swords in coal fires. Can't your fire spell

melt it?"



"No. It wouldn't be hot enough."



OUTCASTS             157



"All right, wouldn't it just break if we slammed it against

the floor? I've seen swords break from lesser Mows, espe-

cially if they're cold."



"I doubt that would work."



"What if we throw if off the balcony? Anything would

break falling from that height onto rocks."



"Maybe . . ."



Hathor too had hunkered down for a look. "That not

work."



"How do you know?"



"You can tell. Read steel. Tough," the troll shrugged. Then

he grunted. "What that there?"



"Where?" Everyone peered close.



"There. Look like Vili."



The four people put their heads together to squint at the

blade. Was it imagination, or was there a face deep in the

steel, as of someone reflected m a foggy mirror, or seen

through smoky glass?



"It's Vili," agreed the elf. "He's saying something."



"What?"



"I don't know. I can't make it out."



Cal said, "He probably wants us to sacrifice ourselves to

his glory."



The door jumped in the frame..Someone must have brought

up a pole to use as a ram. Another thump elicited a splinter-

ing sound. The door would not sustain many more blows.



"Well, what are we going to doV Cal asked again.



Bith fluttered her hands in the air. Endril stood loose-

limbed and stroked his chin. Hathor brought out a stone and

quickly stropped his axe blade.



The door shattered into a dozen pieces. The table got

knocked aside. The pole used to batter it down was chucked

inside. A confusing jumble showed blades and armor, white

hair and black pug noses, shaggy heads and iron helmets. A

trio of chittering slugs were ejected into me room, presum-

ably to draw fire. Behind them came a phalanx of tall ores

and humans, at least five of each. careful and slow with weap-

ons foremost.



Hathor stampeded forward with his axe at port arms. En-

dril whipped out his slim, black blade and took a stance to

his left. Cal raised his worn sword and shield.



158



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



The ores and humans grunted as they surveyed the room

and the three defenders before them. A barbarian pointed out

the shining sword to his partner. The slugs picked themselves

up and scurried to one side. The largest ore, a black monster

with notches in his ears and white scars etched on his face,

waved left and right for the line to fan out. A wide attack

was called for.



The deienders could see the battle would be swift and short.

In the silence before the storm Endril said, "Bith, do what

you will."



"But I don't know what to do!" the giri wailed.



The maulers took a step forward. They gripped and re-

gripped the haft of their weapons. The leader grunted some-

thing in orcish-



Cal said, "I know what to do."



Without turning around he Cook three long steps backwards

onto the balcony. He tossed his old sword aside and caught

the pommel of the runesword.



The suspended weapon came away as easily as if a squire

had handed it to him. As everyone in the room watched the

boy took a small practice swing, then a wider one. The sword

was alive. Cal could feel it- In one second he came to know

that sword more intimately than he'd ever known anyone or

anything before. It was feather light in his hand, yet it had a

deadly, quivering weight in the nose that would carry through

any obstacle. The balance was perfect, better than an empty

hand. A man would never be betrayed and pulled off-balance,

never tire from swinging it. In a stark moment of frozen time

Cal knew everything there was to know about swordsman-

ship, about fighting, about living, about dying. When he

moved the shining blade, it hummed ancient runes of power.

The songs sang in his head like lightning on a winter's day.

With this sword he was a master.



In slow motion Calais Talienson brought die blade around

to face his enemies. None had moved. Nothing in the room

had moved since he'd touched the sword.



Cal could see everything clearly, in the tiniest detail: the

curled legs on a flea on the wrist of a red-haired man, traces

of worn engraving on the sword of the gnoll before him, a

drop of sweat at the tip of an ore's mustache. He could see

every flaw in their armor, every notch in every blade, every



OUTCASTS             159



weakness and hesitation. He could hear the heaibeats of his

foes and bis friends. He could feel the stone floor under his

boots shift in its bed.



Still no one moved.



As lightly as a butterfly preening its wing, Cal swept the

sword behind him. The runes sang to him, rang in his ears.

He could hear a choir of angels urge him on from distant

hilltops. And inside him rose a bubble, a wave, a flood, a

shout.



Cal roared, "VIW" at the top of his lungs. Then he was

moving faster than the wind. He was upon the enemy.



The first assailant was a man with blond braids who wore

studded leather. He carried a gnariy spear set with obsidian

behind the long steel blade. Before the man could blink, Viii's

sword swiped through the man's shoulder, his spear, and his

chest with no more trouble than cutting a flower. The man

hadn't even fallen before Cal attacked the next. This was an

ore, grey-skinned and black-haired, wiry but tall- Cal's re-

turning backswing caught him at the neck and took off his

head neatly- Before that blood could spurt Cal completed a

loop and killed the next ore as he tried to flinch out of the

way.



A long spear came at him from the second rank. Cal

watched it come. He tossed his. shield away because it ham-

pered him. With his bare hand, he pushed the man's wooden

spear aside, caught it and pulled. He thrust the runesword

straight into the belly of the owner, twisted the blade to free

it, and drew it back. The dying man's hand stabbed out to

punch him and Cal jumped forward. He drove his shoulder

into the man and bowled him backwards into his fellows who

crowded the top of the stair. As they fell in a tangle Cal was

already spinning to the left, careful to always swing the sword

away from himself, seeing everything, reveling in his power.



The red-haired man with the fleas tried to run, but Viii's

sword flicked across his back, splitting his wire-laced armor

and severing his spine. The man folded in half. His scream

sounded to Cal like a cow lowing in the fog. The master

swordsman completed his spin and found three more enemies

staring at him with wide eyes and open mouths. Cal laughed

again. They too would go down like wheat before Viii's

scythe. The sword was thirsty, and gods like a blood sacri-



160



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



flee, the more the better. Vili's handmaidens sang from the

clouds and filled the chamber with music. The runes built in

his mind, revealing all the answers mankind could ask and

many more beside. Cal was more than a man now. He was

like a god himself.



To his friends he was a blur. At the first shuffle from the

ores Hathor had readied a blow, but in another second he'd

had to Jump back out of Cal's way lest he catch a taste of the

humming blade. Endril had also moved back. Bith put her

hands to her mouth and tried to stifle a scream. It was fright-

ening to see Cal this way- The boy had taken three short steps

since meeting the enemy, and he'd killed three men at every

step. He moved fester man a rabbit before a hound, fester

than a windstorm breaking branches in a forest, fester than

an eagle pouncing. The runesword whipped through the air

like a hummingbird. Blood geysered into the air, bringing a

smell like hot metal. The clash of arms and armor was hor-

rendous as me sword blade cut through steel and copper and

iron. Broken weapons ricocheted off the walls like hail. The

dying screamed or burbled or prayed and the living shrieked

and cursed. Cal danced and spun, cut and thrust, hacked his

way clear, jumped into another group of living enemies and

turned them into dying men.



Hearing the noise of the battle, more ores crowded from

the stairs into me room, lusting after battle and blood. They

received only a quick death from a blade they barely saw.

Soon Cal the master swordsman could barely set his feet down

on me stone floor. Attackers were writhing bodies on the

floor and the boy was standing on them, yet he didn't notice.

Nor did he notice as an ore jabbed a spear into his back above

die kidneys—the ore simply died a second later. A slug

smashed a bludgeon into Cal's kneecap to no effect. One huge

barbarian got in a sword thrust to Cat's groin, but the only

reply was a jab through the jaw into the brain. Still Cal killed

with the blade, tireless and unstoppable.

"Venus and Vulcan, they're killing him!" Bith bawled.

"He kill them," Hathor corrected. "All of them."

The three had retreated to the balcony. Endril took his eyes

off the majestic Cal and looked around. "And us besides.

Note you how the mist closes in."

"Yes," Bith said with a hand to her fece. "It stinks\"



OUTCASTS             161



"It's more deadly than just poison," Endril agreed. "It

will overwhelm us soon. Moving the swoid has indeed un-

leashed it."



The air was seemingly gone from the room. In its place

was the greenish vapor of the Mistwall, a smell of low tide

and swamp gas and things newly dead. It thickened me air

so that even Cal, no more than fifteen feet away, was hard to

see.



Bith suddenly felt a trickle of something on her head. She

looked up and got dust in her eyes. What? . . . Then she

realized what it meant: if dust was filtering out from stone

that had sat in one place for many hundred years ... she

tried to say something but could only squeak as ...



The balcony creaked ominously. It was only a mild grind-

ing, but the noise froze the three of them. Then the handrail

at either side disappeared, separated from the building, gone

in the fog without a sound.



Bith jumped into the room to stand on the spot the rune-

sword had occupied. This brought her closer to the fighting,

the screaming, the splash of blood and crunch of bone and

flesh. A dead ore stared up at her with wide yellow eyes. A

dying man leaked blood at her feet. She bit her knuckles.

The whole mess had happened so fast, within seconds. The

ores had burst through the door, Cal had turned into a su-

perman with the runesword in his hand, and now the tower

threatened to collapse. Panic overwhelmed her. Bith covered

her eyes and prayed to be home with her mother.



Hathor barked out, "No!"



A gray mass came through the door by stepping on and

over soldiers. He was too tall for me doorway and had to

duck. Then Backbreaker's pointed head reared above the

crowd. He was covered from the neck down with blood and

his hands dripped gore. He even had Mood in his mouth

where he had bitten people. People, Bith thought, the brave

defenders of Cairngorm. How could they ever have trusted

this monster?



Backbreaker, if that was his true name, gobbled orders in

some arcane language. But me ores and humans in the room

did not respond. In mindless procession they had poured up

the stairs to attack whoever was in the room, only to find,

three at a time, that a boy with a sword proved unkillable.



162



RUNESWORD VbLUME ONE



Cal was still jumping, dancing, swiping, calm and cool and

altogether unhuman. He cut down men and skewered ores

and backslashed gnoils, all with a savage joy. Then he saw

Backbreaker and his eyes flashed. The giri and-the troll and

the elf saw his reaction cleariy. The old Cal was still inside

somewhere. With a howl their friend threw himself at the

traitorous giant.



Backbreaker had seen enough to know he must avoid the

sword. Quickly he seized a villain in each hand and threw

them like dolls at Cal. The swordsman swiped one in half

with the unbelievably sharp sword, but he was bowled over

by the other. As Cal went down Backbreaker threw another

victim on top of him. Then a half a dozen enemies closed in

with spears and knives. They were eager to kill this slashing

wonder, eager to carry a piece of him away to show their

comrades.



Hathor howled and leapt at the pile of bodies. He sank his

axe blade in a man's back, but two more took that one's place.

Endril protected the troll by cutting an ore's wrist to the bone.

Then the elf dragged the giri forward.



"Come," he said in a calm voice that cut through the noise,

"arms will not suffice. We need a spell."



Bith's legs quivered so badly she thought she'd fall. This

wasn't adventure: it was death, death, death everywhere! "A

sp-spell? What spell? I ca/i'f!"



Endril continued to drag her towards the melee when all

she wanted was to run away. "Any. A good one." Then he

slashed another thing's shoulder—Bith couldn't even tell one

race from another in the writhing, pitching pile of bodies—

and kicked the unfortunate aside. Backbreaker stood in the

doorway and pointed and cursed and gibbered like a demon.



The elf stooped, poking flesh randomly with his sword. He

trapped an arm against the stone floor. It was Cal's free hand.

Bith wondered that he was still alive. The boy's hand writhed

to claw and tear even as the rest of him was buried. Above

Hathor shouted again and again as he fought to free Cal from

the mess. Endril snatched Bith's hand and forced it onto Cal's.



Bith's mind rattled around inside her skull- A spell to help

Cal, to save all of them? Why her? Why couldn't it be some-

one else? Why hadn't she just gone home? A howl from

Hathor rocked her backwards and she almost lost the hand.



OUTCASTS             163



Blood squirted from somewhere and splashed on her breast

and her hair. They would all be awash in blood soon. They'd

spill theirs onto the stone floor of a wizard's crumbing castle

if she didn't do something.

ButnAor?



CHAPTER



11



Bith pressed her hands to the side of her head only to find

they were smeared with blood. She wracked her brain and

wept openly. Which spell? What could do any good?



Cal was buried alive. If only he could push them off, if he

were stronger, like hulking Hathor—



She had it.



Fumbling in her belt pouch with one hand, fumbling with

the other to hold Cal's hand, she dug out an acom and pressed

it tight against his palm. Cal's hand squeezed it.



' 'Grow, thing, grow, fast not slow,

Fill thy vision onto the sky.

In slipping your bonds and going beyond,

You rise. the largest of all the rest. "



Had Bith had time to consider, she may have selected an-

other spell. Confuse, or invisibility, perhaps even levitate.

But she forgot- She had never done an enlarge spell on a

human before, just dogs and cats and birds- And she had

forgotten that ever since she'd passed through the Mistwall

into the free lands, her spells worked twice or ten times better



164



OUTCASTS             165



than they ever had. Or that Cal was already under a spell, a

divine enchantment that made him strong and brave and vi-

tally aware. Or that he was holding onto a sword that embod-

ied the powers of a god.



She remembered all this and more in a moment, though.

For Cal's hand—all anyone could see—suddenly ballooned to

the size of a troll's. Then to the size of an ogre's. Then a

giant's. Then . . .



The pile of bodies that had swamped Cal was rising. Endril

took Bith's hand and urged her back. Hathor retreated with

them. They watched with open mouths.



Cal's enemies, who had thought to be in control, were con-

fused. They jabbered and looked around and banged their

heads on the rafters. Some were too slow. Living and dead

alike were caught amidst rafter-junk and pressed against the

ceiling. Enemy carcasses gave off a ghastly crunching sound.

A boot as big as a barrel suddenly popped out of the pile to

the right. Then a great hairy head tike a brown haystack ap-

peared at the other end. A column of steel showed among

black and red shapes. It was wider than a bench, longer than

a coffin. It had runes carved on it.



The floor leaned dangerously now. The whole tower was

tilting towards the chasm. Endril and Hathor and Bith looked

to their only escape. It was through the tiny doorway that was

blocked by a dozen ores, a screaming Backbreaker, and Cal's

expanding form. Bith watched a gap between two flagstones

gape like a fish's mouth. The balcony crumpled and disap-

peared behind them. "We've got to get out of here!"



"There he so!" Hathor shouted.



Cal the giant emerged from underneath his enemies. They

spilled off him like leaves. Men cursed. Ores whimpered.

Everyone fell back. Backbreaker barked at the horde to stay

put. but Cal was taller than Backbreaker just sitting up. The

young giant banged his head against the far wall, cracking it.

He put out a bleary hand and shoved it away. Daylight spilled

into the room- Everyone, friend and enemy, shrieked and

bolted for the stairs as the tower shuddered.



"Come!" Endril called. He caught Bith's upper arm and

charged with his sword out straight- Hathor put both hands

on his axe handle and used it as a bar to shove people aside.



The tip of Endril's sword caught the traitorous Backbreaker



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



166



square in the open mouth. The monster jumped with surprise

at a Mow that should have killed him. He snatched at the elf

but could not reach. Endril paused only long enough for

Hathor to knock two men down the stairs, then he slung Bith

like a bag of clothes after the troll- The elf produced a long

white knife and slashed at the giant's ribs, but the blade

skipped off. Backbreaker reached again as Endril bounded

away and down the stair.



The last thing they heard from the room was a trio of

screams and a crunching noise. Then the stairs lurched as a

gobbling growl of stone sounded. Sunlight spilled down the

stairwell.



Bith yelled, "What?—"



Endril had his back to her, for he faced up the stairs. "The

tower is gone."



"What? Oh, rw\ Where's Cal?"



Endril said nothing. He only urged them downwards-

" Hurry. The rest of the castle may follow."



"But where's CaH"



"He's dead\ Move!"



Bith trotted along with one hand on Hathor's shoulder. With

the other she wiped away tears. "It's my fault. My fault. . ."



Hathor kicked retreating ores headlong down the steps.

They had practically a free path. Bith noticed for the first

time the troll was wounded in many spots. He had been

pinked in the neck, chopped in his red hair, sliced on the

arm. He limped from a leg wound that ran blood all the way

to his broad bare feet. But he never complained.



A roar behind made her turn. Endril was a dozen steps

above her, skipping backwards light as a squirrel. He still

had his slim black sword in his right hand, his impervious

glove on his left with the white knife. Backbreaker was after

him like a personal demon. He screamed and piped and

hooted and howled with the noise of a thousand mad dogs.

He slashed with his talons at Endril *s face and arms. but

always the elf moved nimbly out of the way. Almost always.

His sleeves were in tatters, and Bith guessed the fair skin

underneath was too. After what seemed an age they all

reached the bottom of the stairs. Hathor slid in front of Bith

and raised his axe in the air. Backbreaker, not ten steps up,

looked as large and as fierce as a crazed dragon.



OUTCASTS             167



"Go!" Endril called. "He's after Bith'"



"Me?"



"Go. now!"



Hathor shifted his axe, took Bith's fine and trembling hand

in his own calloused hairy one. and pointed towards the sun-

light of a distant door. "We go that way."



"But the Dark Army's out there!"



"In here too. Castle fall on us. Run!"



Enemies scampered past and ignored them. Blocks rained

from the roof of the castle and thudded on the floor. Hathor

half-carried the giri out to the dazzling light.



The space in front of the castle was clear and amazingly

quiet. Ruins of the village smoldered, having been burned to

the ground by the ores. Many dead dark shapes lay scattered

about, and a few fair ones. There were live dark shapes close

by, too. A handful of gnolls and trolls stood well back from

the castle so as not to be hit by falling rubble. Down the

slopes the bulk of the army still clung to the valley floor like

a carpet. Endril, Bith, and Hathor cast about for an escape

route. The nearby marauders noticed the trio and grinned

evilly- They shuffled towards the party. Then the color drained

from their faces as they pointed past them towards the Mist-

wall.



"Form a circle," Endril warned.



Bith asked, "Wait. . . What are they pointing at?"



The three adventurers turned and looked.



Rising above the Mistwall, coming from the canyon behind

the castle, something huge blotted out the setting sun.



Was it a tree, impossibly tall? Or some pillar of a moun-

tain? Or a waterspout? It was too tall to be anything living.

But it was.



It was Cal.



The boy that was their friend, that Bith had teased, that

Endril had argued with, that Hathor had joked with, strode

towards his enemies, ninety feet tall.



Bith marvelled at me vastaess of the magic before her.

Perhaps her magic had been enhanced by the runesword. Or

perhaps it had been the presence of the dead magician in the

tower room, the old faker who could not protect his people.

Or maybe it was something within Cal. Whatever had done

it, here he came, tall as a god.



168



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



Cal moved slowly, as if in a dream, but he covered ground

like a cloud. His legs were thicker and taller than tree trunks.

His clothes napped in the breeze like a storm. His head was

lost in the brightness of the autumn sky. A sound rolled out

too, a sound like thunder. It was laughter from a true giant.



Cal marched full into the teeth of the Dark Lord's Dark

Army.



BOOM, BOOM. BOOM. The valley shook under his foot-

steps. The army ran screaming. A boot as big as a house

swept forward in slow motion. A pack of giants and ogres,

no bigger than ants to this giant, scattered in terror as that

boot crashed in their midst. Two were kicked a hundred feet.

One disappeared under Cal's hobnailed sole. Then the other

boot stamped down. Enemies gibbered and cowered and died.

Men, gnolls, trolls, ores, and a dozen other races ran and

screamed and tripped over one another. They either died or

they didn't as the giant's feet trod among them. They were

helpless to save themselves.



A phalanx of something—they were too far for Bith and

the others to see who they were—lifted bows under the shouts

of an officer. A dozen skinny shapes released a flurry of ar-

rows at the giant's head- The tiny shafts struck home in the

giant's face, but they only made him turn. Cal lashed out with

the runesword.



The mumble and grunt of runes was loud and weird, a

chorus of the damned. The blade hummed through the air.

The sword had grown along with its owner and was now a

shining rainbow of death thirty feet long. Before the archers

could move or even scream the blade overtook them. Like

grasshoppers trapped among wheat they were scythed in half

to rain in bloody gobbets. The laugh came again. It was a

deeper rumble now, not the laugh of their friend Cal, Bith

realized, but the laugh of a god come to earth to play. Vili

was there, owning Cal's body and using it.



A fireball shot into the sky and sizzled by the giant's dark

head. Cal swung around. Bith saw the source, too. A figure,

the tall, golden, god-man Schlein, stood in front of his tent

with both arms before him. Another electric charge coursed

through him, sparkled along his arms, and shot into the sky

to land in Cal's hair. It trailed flame up the side of his head.



T



OUTCASTS             169



^

"y-



s-



»



but the giant merely swiped at it with his hand and the fire

went out. Angry, Cal-Vili took a step.



His left foot came down and blotted out another handful

of soldiers. Then the right boot swung, slowly, inexorably.

Schiein lost whatever spell he was mustering. A hundred ban-

ners and poles skittered aside before a worn leather toe. The

leader of the Dark Army disappeared in a fireball just as the

boot connected. Schlein's tent and the one behind it were

kicked into the sky like a pig's bladder in some game. Bith

saw a wink of gold disappear toward the mountains. At first

she thought it was Schlein himself, somehow riding his fire-

ball, then she realized it was his golden throne.



The giant Cal, or Vili, reached down with monstrous

fingers towards the scorched spot where Schlein had disap-

peared. Bith could not see for what.



A grunt sounded behind her. The giri turned to find Hathor

and Endril being pressed for their lives.



The traitor Backbreaker had burst out the door of Castle

Cairngorm onto Bith and her companions. His grey statue's

face was twisted and ugly, his mouth a gash, his eyes wild.

Talons were raised high in the air like a bear's. He came off

the bottom step with a tremendous leap designed to carry

him through Endril and Hathor and onto Bith. Right at that

moment, the girt was more frightened than she had ever been

in her life.



Yet Endril and Hathor held like a stone wall. The troll

swung his axe overhead in a man-killing blow that made him

grunt. Endril lunged straight with his slim black sword for

the monster's throat. The axe blade thudded onto Backbreak-

er's shoulder and bounced off. The slim black blade caught

in the hollow of his throat and bent with a crink. But Back-

breaker was rocked. Elf and troll followed up with more

blows, but so did the giant.



His hands hissed through the air. One caught in Hathor's

back like a net filll of fishhooks. The troll was unprotected

without his thick bearskin. He sucked wind as the claws were

dragged forward and off his shoulder. Blood flowed from a

half dozen weals. Endril, faster than the eye could follow,

fended off the slash on his side with his metal glove. But the

claws came back quicker than a cat's. Hathor dropped his axe

and fumbled for it even as his own blood made his hands



170 RUNESWORD VDLUME ONE



slippery. Endril slashed with his white knife, but every stripe

yielded only a dulled edge. The giant's skin was as tough as

soapstone.



Nor was Backbreaker their only attacker. The white slugs

were back, gibbering and quaking. They did not join in the

fight, but picked up stones to hurt. Bith noticed the stolid

trolls rolling up the slope towards them. Another few minutes

would find the three of them surrounded by a horde of evil

ten deep.



Endril didn't look back as he called, "Bith! Run! Fly!"



"I won't leave you here!" she shouted, though her voice

shook.



"It's you he^s after! For the price on your head! Fly and

he'll leave us!"



A price on her head? Hers? Bith could barely believe it-

She certainly didn't believe that Backbreaker would give up

the attack on Endril and Hathor if she fled. And she couldn't

just leave her brave friends here to die, even if that fate befell

her also. Should she try another enlarge spell, on Hathor?

But Cal seemed to have lost his mind. And she didn't know

if she had die energy for it—she might pass out from the

effort. Here she was again, wondering what to do while peo-

ple died around her. Why had she taken up her mother's pro-

fession? "I won't leave!" she called again, to give herself

courage.



"Then summon Cal! We need him!"



"How?" she asked the air, for Endril was gone behind the

giant. Dwarfed by his size and bulk, me elf resorted to prick-

ing him in the back. Hathor had given up trying to regain his

axe. Instead he dove forward and grappled the giant around

the waist. Backbreaker roared for the first time in pain. Hathor

had bitten him deep in the side with his white fangs. The

giant responded by ripping deeper into the troll's back. The

peasant smock parted like a spider's web, as did the tough

skin beneath it.



Bith cried, "Stop that!" and raised both hands. Almost

before she knew it her shoulders and arms tingled. A blast of

fire shot from her hands and wreathed the giant's face. But

the monster merely blinked and shook his head and reached

for her again. He ignored the troll's bites, Endril's jabs, and



OUTCASTS             171



BIS own blindness to get the girl. Bith had no choice. She

turned and ran.



Right into the pack of trolls.



A brawny arm shot out and rapped her in the breastbone

so hard she sat down. She gasped for air as a dozen calloused

hands plucked at her shoulders, her hair, her legs. The trolls

meant to carry her off bodily. Bith jabbed her arms out straight

at me lead troll, but another troll knocked them aside and her

spell fizzled, sparks dribbling from her fingertips. She lacked

(be power to light a candle anyway. Someone clamped her

hands. Trollish heads blocked out the sky. Bith was helpless.

She put her head back and screamed, ' 'Endril. I can't!''



Fast as he was, so fast he could often see humans blinking

and thinking, Endril the elf had nonetheless been knocked

backwards by an elbow to the face from the giant Back-

breaker. The stumble actually saved his life, for unbeknownst

a gnoll had come up behind him to slip a spearpoint into his

kidneys. Endril slashed backhand with his short knife and

opened the doggish face from muzzle to jaw. The gnoll fell

away and Endril got clear- He swept the horizon with his

acute vision and missed nothing.



What he saw was both good and bad.



The Dark Army was gone. Only a rabble was left. A con-

fused mob of villains skittered around the giant Cal's feet

with no plan except to escape personal destruction. They ran

up the valley, up to the walls, back towards the Mistwall.

Anyone who stood still was squashed, any group that mus-

tered an attack was either kicked out of existence or stomped

on, or buried under a handful of soil and rock ripped from

the walls around Cairngorm.



The giant had stomped in ever wider circles, and now he

was far down the valley near the Mistwall. Even as Endril

watched the giant reared back his head and blew a mighty

breath that swept into the fog bank and pushed it back. Putrid

colors roiled and coiled and bubbled anew as the cloud gave

up land it had claimed. Cal—or Vili in his body—blew again

and shoved the Mistwall back a quarter mile, then a half.

Then he started a game of sending monsters home. Many of

the evil ones near the wall had run for its shelter, and Cal

helped them along. With seven-league strides he kicked a

dozen monsters like toadstools so they disappeared into the



172 RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



foggy bank. Cal scooped up a handful of caterwauling men

and ores and gnolls on his sword and flipped them far over

the top of the cloud. Then he stomped his feet hard, once,

twice. He hopped into the air and came down with CRASH

that shook the entire valley and rattled rocks from the teeter-

ing castle behind Endril. The whole structure slowly caved

in on itself. The giant roared in delight at the consternation

and destruction of me Dark Lord's army.



But while Cal was winning a one-man battle with the Dark

Army, his three small companions were losing theirs. Hathor

still clung to Backbreaker's waist, but it was only iron will

that kept him there. His back was in shreds. Endril could

scarcely believe he had any blood left to shed. Bith was bur-

ied somewhere under a pile of grasping trolls. She would be

safe enough, he reckoned, since the price demanded her in-

tact. But more enemies were encircling the three of them,

and only a miracle could save them now. A miracle, or a

god.



Endril fished under his cloak and drew out his short bow.

With deft and long-practiced fingers he strung the unbreak-

able string and nocked an arrow. If ever be had to make a

trick shot, it was now. He dodged the cowardly white mon-

sters and drew back his arrow. He adjusted for the wind,

aimed, held his breath, and loosed.



Whether it was the sharpness of the razor arrowhead, the

strength of the draw, or me uncanny aim, Endril never knew.

But it worked. The giant Cal smacked a hand to his brow.

He rubbed at me sunken arrow as a normal man might mas-

sage a fly sting. He looked around for the source of the pain

and saw his friends in trouble.



With a roar that rattled the hills Cal picked up his giant

feet and crashed them down. With one stride he covered half

the valley. With the next step he covered another quarter,

with the third step, an eighth.



Endril slashed behind him with a knife to keep gnolls at

bay. Bith was screaming a blue streak, using some of Cal's

oaths, and Hathor was still biting Backbreaker as they tum-

bled on the ground. "Help is on the way!" the elf sang in a

voice that pierced the wind.



"Helppppppp!!!!!!!!!!" Bith squawled.



Endril looked down me valley again. Cal had arrived at die



OUTCASTS             173



first wall of Cairngorm. But instead of towering over it. he

had to hop. Endril peered and blinked. Something was wrong.



Cal was shrinking. It was hard to tell, with so strange a

perspective and looking down a hill at a wall, but the boy

was definitely not ninety feet tall any more. He was still taller

than the castle, but be had to put a hand on the wall to hop

over it as a shepherd would vault a fence. Cal raced up the

slope, covering less ground with every step. Endril groaned.

At this rate he'd be normal-sized when he arrived. What had

happened? Had Endril's arrow awakened the Cal inside the

giant's body and negated the magic? Had pain countered the

spell? Or was it simply wearing off? Whatever the cause,

Endril prayed to his woodland gods that he hurry.



Cal climbed the hillside in ten-foot leaps. Endril sang

again, and Backbreaker looked up from where he was maul-

ing Hathor. Suddenly the giant shoved Hathor free. Here was

something worth fighting. The traitor gave a bawl that pierced

eardrums as he raised his hands high.



Cal was puffing when he arrived. He was still abnormally

tall, as tall as Backbreaker. He was obviously befiiddled as

to exactly what was going on. But the boy held the sword as

if it were a talisman. He faced the fearsome blood-soaked

Backbreaker squarely.



The stone giant shrieked and leapt full at the boy. Cal

sucked a deep breath, threw his arms back, and brought the

sword forward-



With one mighty crack the runesword cleft the stone giant

in half from pointed head to pointed crotch,



Backbreaker, it seemed, had no blood in him, but rather

bile like molten metal. As his stone-cased body split a gout

of liquid fire pinwheeled into the air. A gobbet splashed onto

Cal's sleeve and immediately set it on fire. Molten caustic

dribbled down the shank of the runesword and burned his

gloves. More acid sizzled onto the ground, etching a hole in

the flint slope and crisping the grass. The two halves of the

body collapsed together and began to bum, fierce and hot as

a blacksmith's forge, too hot to watch.



Cal dropped the runesword and frantically stripped off his

horsehide gloves. Gnolls howled and slugs gibbered in fright

at the flames. Endril slashed with his knife to get clear and



174



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



to Bith's side. Hathor, exhausted and bloody, managed to roll

over and sit up. The trolls holding Bith stood dumbfounded.



Then Cal himself howled. He had picked up the pommel

of the sword. It had no blade, only a melted hunk no longer

than his fingers. "Oh. NO!"



The pause that followed the giant's destruction lasted only

a moment. The remains of Backbreaker made a bright and

cheery blaze that shrank rapidly. The gnolls grunted queries

among themselves. The slugs shuffled around the helpless

Hathor. The trolls retained their grasp on Bith so she could

not flee.



Endril summed up the situation. The trolls were the threat.

There were more man ten of them, and they had Bith. Endril

addressed them in their own tongue. "Will you loose the

woman now? Schlein is gone, his army scattered. You have

no one to ransom her to."



The leader of the trolls, a tall beast with yellow fangs and

finger bones on a thong around his neck, glanced down into

the valley. The Dark Army was still in chaos, but not as badly

as they had been five minutes ago. Knots of black monsters,

whipped by their superiors, advanced towards the wall.

Someone had raised a few standards before the only standing

tent. The valley floor might be littered with dead, and many

black trails led back towards the now-distant Mistwall, but

there were scores of enemies left. The troll chief nodded that

way and barked, "We take her there. They pay us."



Endril nicked blood from his short knife. "She's one of

us- She stays."



The troll leader glanced behind Endril. Hathor was on his

feet, weaving and weaponless. Cal had thrown down the stub

of the runesword. He hunted for another, but found none.

Bith was on her back with at least five hairy feet pressing her

flat.



The troll chief laughed harshly. "We kill you easy. Eat

your livers."



Endril took a step forward. Bith squirmed and clawed at a

trollish foot. Cal drew his dagger and handed Hathor his

bloody axe. The two limped to join the elf. The three stal-

warts stood together again, if only for a short time. The trolls

hefted their clubs and spears and grinned at the easy prey.



Endril spit out one word between his teeth. "Try."



OUTCASTS             175



The wind flickered around them as they all stood frozen.

It was a rising wind with a howl in its teeth.



Or was it the wind?



Cal glanced up the slope towards the castle Cairngorm. He

put a tattered and bumed sleeve to his forehead to wipe his

eyes. The howl grew louder, more articulate, separate yet

united.



Cal roared with laughter and the trolls frowned.



"Look!" the weary boy called. "Look there! Oho! Look!"



CHAPTER



12



Howling, shouting, banging their swords against their shields,

cheering, singing, crying, the people of Cairngorm charged

down the hill. They were fewer now, not many more than a

hundred, but they came in a wave as if a thousand. Their

noise was a war cry and a hymn and a shout of joy all rolled

into one.



The sight of them decided the gnolls and slugs. With a

whine and a squeal they bolted down the slope for the wall.



The trolls argued among themselves at this new turn. Half

of the party watched for only a second, then turned and fled.

Three others held Bith down as the leader barked. The troll

next to him argued some point and was struck in the face. In

that moment Endril leapt. One clean swipe of his knife opened

the chief's throat. He died gurgling. The other three picked

up their feet and ran. They didn't get far. The forefront of

the Cairngormers' charge, the youngest and fleetest, overtook

them and cut them to pieces.



By now the remnants of the Dark Army in the valley had

noticed the charge, and with it all ambition fled. Ravaged by

a giant, deprived of their leader, denied the safety of the

Mistwall, and now attacked anew by a relentless and revital-



176



OUTCASTS             177



ized enemy, they broke. Throwing weapons to the wind and

knocking down their brothers, the Dark Army left the field a

scattered rabble. The thin trails-leading to the Mistwall be-

came a solid flood. At their heels came human men and

women fighting for their native soil. They watered it now

with alien blood.



The four champions of Vili watched the charge go by with

immeasurable relief. Hathor fell over backwards, the last

dregs of his awesome strength gone. Cal soon joined him on

the ground. Bith was already there, and she made no effort

to rise. And so even Endril sat down cross-legged with his

friends. The air was cool and clear and quiet.



Hathor the troll lay on his back and mopped blood from

his face with what was left of his peasant's tunic. Then he

rummaged under his shirt and drew forth a dark root of some

kind. Spitting on it to knock off the flecks of blood, he bit

off a huge chunk and began to munch methodically. He

counted the colors of the twilight sky.



Caltus Talienson, ex-master swordsmen, picked up the stub

of the runesword. It had cooled, but it looked more like a

melted candle than a sword. There was about nine inches of

blade intact. He tapped the end against a rock to see if it

broke. It didn't. With a sigh he brought out a whetstone and

experimented with sharpening what blade was left.



Bith of the Lost Lands, daughter of Morea, straightened

her wide yellow belt with the devil's head belt buckle. She

rearranged the dozen pouches, buttoning down their tops

or drawing their strings tight. She tucked the silver wand

into her belt until it felt right. Then she pulled out a bone

comb and tugged at the burrs and sticks in her glossy black

hair.



Endril the elf set his crooked sword and his hands on his

lap. He closed his eyes, let his face relax, and began a so-

norous song that barely registered on human ears.



And so Erin Barinsdotter round them a while later, when

the last of the Dark Army had been dispatched or driven

beyond the Mistwall. Erin too crouched down. She regarded

each of them in turn with her open and honest blue eyes.



Finally she said, "What happened?"



No one spoke and she repeated the question. Twice.



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



178



Cal put down his stone and sighed deeply. "That's a

good question. I don't think I know. The last thing I remem-

ber . . ."



"We thought you were dead," Bith said. "I'm glad you

weren't- . . ."



Slowly, piece by piece, the story was put together there on

the sunny slope below the ruins of Castle Cairngorm. Bith

explained how her already-augmented enlarge spell must have

been farther augmented by Cal's holding the runesword—or

something. Endril speculated that either Vili had seized con-

trol of Cal's enormous body, or Cal's mind couldn't function

well under the strain of running such a large form—or some-

thing. Hathor mentioned that Backbreaker was no giant, not

with that fire inside him. He was—something else—the heat

of which had been enough to slag even the magical rune-

sword, which in turn had been the only thing capable of cut-

ting his stony hide. Hathor guessed their traitorous partner

had been a demon, honey-tongued and hollow-hearted. Bith

asked about this "price" on her head, and Endril replied he

didn't know for sure: he'd heard it bandied about by the trolls

at some point. Presumably Schlein had put out a bounty after

Bith demeaned him in front of his followers. Exactly what he

wanted with Bim no one knew, Bith included.



They all agreed they would be crowbait had not the Caim-

gormers returned. Erin explained that they had just van-

quished the foes m the cellars and escaped out a back tunnel

when the Mistwall receded and they decided to return for a

look. She thanked Cal profusely for that, since it seemed the

Mistwall would be held at bay for some time now, maybe a

few more years even, and they could remain and possibly

find some permanent solution, or at least a decent place to

retreat to. Cal said he couldn't take credit for much. He didn't

remember a lot of it—as a giant his mind had been full of

wonder and glory and strength but not a lot of sense.



Sometime during the discussion. Castle Cairngorm gave a

quiet groan and slipped over the edge of the ravine. It shat-

tered with a quiet huff and cloud of dust at the bottom. The

rock shelf was left bare. Erin said the castle had been falling

down for years anyway. The warrior woman left them after

that to tend to wounded and start fires for some supper. The

four companions were alone again.



OUTCASTS             179



Cal asked Hathor, "Don't those wounds hurt?"

The troll peered at his shoulders and forearms and hands,



which were covered with more seeping gashes than skin.



"Not much. Yours."



"1 don't have—-" Then Cal noticed that yes, he too was

riddled with them, including a bee sting-like welt on his fore-

head he couldn't explain. But there was little pain. Scratches

itched more than anything else. "These should be—"



"A reward," piped a tiny voice they all recognized, "for

a sterling performance."



Cal held up the stub of runesword so they all could see.

Vili's tiny face was like frost on the blade. A long face with

a forked beard and mustache and long drawn eyebrows. A

tricky face, like a fox's.



"This is our reward!" Cal asked. "A balm for wounds

suffered in battle? We got them on your behalf."



"You fought on your own behalf," the tiny god told him.

"We only demanded you destroy the sword. Good work."



"You're free with your compliments but little else," Bith

chimed in. "Where's our big reward? Remember. 'Anything

you want?' "



"Well . . ." squeaked Vili, "We can not grant just any-

thing right now—"



"Nothing, he means," croaked Hathor.



"—We have not a lot of power remaining. The channel

through die sword hath drained us. We fade already ..."



It was true, his face was winking out like a reflection on a

cloudy poof.



Endril said, "Convenient, how he fades when we have de-

mands."



Cal shook the sword pommel. "That's for sure. Hey, you

weasly little crumb. You stay right—"



Vili was gone.



"I'd like to^>e giant around him," Cal said, "and stomp

him into the ground."



"Next time we drink him," Hathor said, "then piss him

out onto fire."



Bith giggled and covered her mouth. Cal and Hathor

laughed a deep belly laugh. Endril smiled.



"He'll be back soon enough, I warrant," the elf said.



180



RUNESWORD VOLUME ONE



"Remember he mentioned swords'? This was only the first.

They'll be others, and he'll be after us to destroy them too."



"Fat chance," said Cal. He held up the stub of a sword

and then threw it away in disgust. It clanged tar down the

slope. "I just wish we had something to show for all this

besides scars."



Bith pointed a slim and dirty finger. "Cal, what's that green

thing sticking out of your shirt front?"



Cal tugged at it. "This? I don't know. What is it?" He

tugged at the green cloth and it came free, a lump stitched

with red, "Why it's—"



"Your father's banner!" Bith cried.



It was. Cal held the flag up. It was not large, only two feet

by three, and simply made- A red eagle took off for the sky

with a red fish in its beak, all against a green background.



"But how did I get this?" the boy asked.



Endril replied, "You must have picked it up from the ban-

ners before Schlein's tent. Yes, I remember seeing you stoop

for something amidst your rampage."



Cal hung onto the flag. It snapped in the fresh wind like a

real sea eagle, proud and free and glad to be back in the right

hands.



Bith said, "There you are, Cal, there's the best something

you could ask to carry away."



Cal couldn't speak. He hugged the banner to his chest and

put his head down. Everyone else was silent for a moment.



Finally it was Bith who said, "Not bad for a stableboy.

Few of them have their own personal banners to carry into

battle."



Cal cleared his throat. His voice was still husky as he said,

"And you're still a princess, even without an entourage."



Bith lifted her hands. "No entourage? Look at me. Sur-

rounded by ancient and learned elves, sturdy, loyal trolls, and

seasoned warriors. One of each, anyway."



"Yes, an unlikely entourage," Endril said. "A deposed

princess, an errant knight, a gentle troll, a lost elf. Four more

disparate beings I doubt you could find in this worid, yet look

at us. We've learned to work together and laugh together, to

survive, to trust one another—'tis no mean feat. And we had

one thing correct from the very start. We were meant to be



OUTCASTS             181



four. Like the seasons, like the winds, like the quadrants of

the sky. No more, no less."



Cal stood up. He rocked a moment on his feet, but finally

stood steady. "And where are we four for next?"



The others stood up, Hathor with help. Bith replied, "I'm

not leaving this village until I've had a bath."



"Of course, your highness," Cal quipped. "And your en-

tourage will be glad to fetch you hot water. We can use a few

days to replace our tackle too. I need a new sword, and we

must get Hathor some real clothes instead of tho&e scarecrow

rags." The troll grinned and poked Cal in the shoulder with

a knotty finger. "But where then?"



Endril stroked his chin. "There's a forest to the north of

here, a beech forest, not far from a waterfall and a small

village. Lovely to see this time of year. Very peaceful."



Cal glanced at the others and winked. "And when, Endril

old friend, were you last at this oh-so-lovely village?"



Endril returned his hand to his chin. "It would have been

some seasons ago, perhaps . . . two hundred and fifty?"



Cal, Bith, and Hathor all nodded. Then together they said,

"Why not?"



About the Author



Clayton Emery is 36 years old, happily married with a

small son and a wife in medical school. He has been a dish-

washer, a carpenter, a zookeeper, a farmhand, a surveyor, a

teacher, and a volunteer firenghter, among other things. He

writes computer manuals for a living and fiction when he can.

His books include The 4D Funhouse with Eari Wajenberg;



me Tales of Robin Hood series; and a forthcoming murder

mystery, A Man on a Flying Horse. A displaced Yankee, he

currently lives in Cincinnati.