Schlock! Webzine Vol 3 Issue 2

by Nathan JDL Rowark

  Inside he found Brynhild who asked him who he was. He gave his name as Gunnar, son of Gjuki, who wished to marry her. Brynhild wavered, telling him that she was a shieldmaiden and desired nothing but war and killing. But Sigurd, in Gunnar’s form, reminded her of her oath. Then she received him well and they remained together three nights, sleeping in one bed, although Sigurd laid his sword between them, saying he was fated to celebrate his wedding like this or die. He took from her Andvari’s ring, which he had once given her, and gave her another ring from Fafnir’s hoard. Then he rode away. Sigurd and Gunnar exchanged shapes again and then rode to Hlymdale and told Heimir what had happened.

  Brynhild travelled home the same day, and spoke to him in private, telling him that a king named Gunnar had come to her through the flames, but when she swore her oath to Sigurd on Hindarfjoll, she had said only Sigurd could do that, and he was her first husband. She left her daughter by Sigurd, Aslaug, to be raised by Heimir. Heimir concealed Aslaug inside his hollow harp to hide her from those who would wish to kill her. She was later to marry Ragnar Lodbrok.

  Meanwhile Brynhild went to her father Budli and they went with Brynhild’s brother Atli to the marriage feast. When the celebration ended, the spell wore of Sigurd and he remembered all his vows to Brynhild, but he said nothing.

  Sometime after her marriage, Brynhild went with Gudrun to bathe in the Rhine. Brynhild waded further out into the water, and Gudrun took this as an affront. When she complained, Brynhild asked why she should be her equal in this anymore than in other matters. Her husband rode through fire to win her, while Gudrun’s was a thrall of Hjalprek. Gudrun was angry and told Brynhild the truth, and proved it by producing Andvari’s Ring, which Sigurd had taken from her finger.

  Brynhild turned pale and went home without speaking to anyone. When Sigurd went to bed Gudrun asked him why Brynhild was so gloomy when she was married to the man she loved most. Sigurd questioned this and Gudrun resolved to ask Brynhild who she loved most.

  Going against Sigurd’s wishes, Gudrun asked Brynhild this question the next day, and Brynhild said she could not bear it that Gudrun enjoyed Sigurd and the dragon’s gold, when Sigurd and she had exchanged vows that Sigurd later broke. Then Brynhild took to bed, broke by grief. Gunnar came to her but she would not respond to his questions until at last she asked him what he did with the ring she gave him. She went on to say that only Sigurd dared cross the flames, unlike Gunnar who pale at the deed. Gunnar accused her of lying, and she wanted to kill him, but Hogni fettered her. But Gunnar did not want her to live in chains. Brynhild told him not to concern himself with that because never again would she be happy in his house, and said it was the most grievous sorrow that she had not married Sigurd.

  Gudrun asked why her bondmaids were unhappy and they told her that the hall was full of grief. Gudrun told Gunnar to wake Brynhild and tell her that her grief pained them. Gunnar told her that he could not see her. But finally he went to her but she would say nothing. He asked Hogni to speak with her but he got no word from the shieldmaiden. Then Gunnar found Sigurd and asked him to speak with Brynhild, but Sigurd was silent.

  Next day Sigurd returned from hunting to meet his wire. He told her he was full of foreboding that Brynhild would die. Gudrun said Brynhild had now slept seven days, but Sigurd thought it more likely that she plotted against them. Gudrun begged him to go to Brynhild and try to appease her wrath.

  Sigurd did as his wife asked but Brynhild was angry to see him, and she told him why. He insisted that he was never her husband, but she said that she loathed Gunnar and wanted to redden a blade with Sigurd’s blood. Sigurd said that it would not be long before a sword entered his heart, but that she would not outlive him long.

  Sigurd said that whenever he had not been under Grimhild’s enchantments, it had always pained him that Brynhild was not his wife, but that he had borne it. Brynhild said that he had taken a long time to say this. Sigurd said frankly that he wished she were his wife.

  Brynhild told him it was not to be, that she would not have two husbands nor would she deceive Gunnar. She reminded him of how they met on the mountain and exchanged oaths, but now that everything had changed, she did not want to live on. Sigurd told her that he had been unable to remember her name, that he did not recognise her until she was married, to his deepest sorrow.

  Brynhild said she had sworn to marry the man who rode through the flames, and she would hold that oath or die. Sigurd said he would rather abandon his wife and marry her than let her die. Brynhild told him that she did not want him or anyone else. Sigurd went from her, stricken by grief.

  When he entered the hall, Gunnar asked him if Brynhild could speak now. Sigurd told him that she could, and Gunnar went to see her. He asked her why she was so unhappy and how she could be cured of her sorrow. Brynhild told him that she did not want to live because Sigurd had betrayed her, and betrayed Gunnar no less, when he came to her bed. She foresaw the death of Sigurd, or of Gunnar, or of herself.

  Then she went out and sat under the wall of her chamber, lamenting grievously, saying that everything was hateful to her if she could not have Sigurd. Gunnar came to her again and she told him that he would lose everything, power, wealth, life and wife unless he killed Sigurd and his son.

  Gunnar was distressed by this. He spoke to Hogni about it, and Hogni advised him against killing Sigurd but Gunnar said they would urge their brother Guttorm to do it. He told Brynhild to rise and be happy but she said they would not share the same bed until Sigurd was dead.

  Gunnar decided that it would be justifiable to kill Sigurd for taking Brynhild’s maidenhead. They took a snake and a wolf and cooked their flesh, then fed this to Guttorm to make him grimmer by nature, and offered him gold and power if he would kill Sigurd.

  Next morning Guttorm went to Sigurd’s chamber but when he saw the man he had come to kill lying next to his sister, he turned and went. He came back again later, and Sigurd’s eyes blazed so fiercely that Guttorm lost his courage again. But the third time he went, Sigurd was asleep, and Guttorm drew his sword and stabbed Sigurd so deeply the blade entered the bed beneath him. Sigurd awoke, tore the sword from the wound, and flung it at Guttorm, cutting him in half.

  Gudrun woke drenched in blood and she began to sob. Sigurd rose up on the pillow and told her not to weep since her brothers still lived. He said that Brynhild brought this about, that he never failed Gunnar or gave him cause to want to work his death. Then he died.

  Gudrun moaned as he died, and Brynhild heard this, and she laughed at her sobs. Gunnar found her laughing and said that this was not because she was happy, and that she was a monster and fated to die, and deserved to see her brother murdered before her eyes. Brynhild said that she wished to die, and Gunnar tried to persuade her against it, but Hogni said she should not be discouraged. Now Brynhild took a great deal of gold and said she would give it out to anyone who wished for it. Then she took a sword and stabbed herself beneath her arm, and lay back on her bed. She said that anyone who wanted her gold could take it. She prophesied the fate of the Gjukungs and particularly Gudrun. Then she asked Gunnar to build a pyre and place herself upon it beside Sigurd with two men at his head, two at his feet and two hawks. A drawn sword should be laid between them. Gunnar did as she had asked, placing Sigurd on the top of the pyre with his three-year-old son who Brynhild had had killed, and Guttorm’s body. When the pyre was ablaze, Brynhild laid herself upon it and she died there. Her body burned alongside Sigurd.

  All who heard of this said that no one equal to Sigurd remained, and that never again would a man of his like be born. His name will never be forgotten in the northern lands as long as the world endures.

  Grief-stricken, Gudrun fled into the woods where she lived until she came to the hall of King Half. She remained in Denmark with Thora, Hakon’s daughter, for three and a half years, weaving a tapestry showing Sigmund’s fleet sailing off the coast, and another showing the battle of Sigar and Siggeir.

  When Grimhild learnt where Gud
run had gone, she sent her sons to speak with her. They did so, arriving in great splendour, and although she trusted none of them, she forgot all this when she drank a potion prepared by Grimhild. Then Grimhild persuaded her to leave King Half’s hall and to marry Atli, who had asked for Gudrun’s hand in marriage when he heard of Sigurd’s death. But still she mourned Sigurd’s death.

  CARCASSONE by Lord Dunsany

  When Camorak reigned at Arn, and the world was fairer, he gave a festival to all the weald to commemorate the splendour of his youth.

  They say that his house at Arn was huge and high, and its ceiling painted blue; and when evening fell men would climb up by ladders and light the scores of candles hanging from slender chains. And they say, too, that sometimes a cloud would come, and pour in through the top of one of the oriel windows, and it would come over the edge of the stonework as the sea-mist comes over a sheer cliffs shaven lip where an old wind has blown for ever and ever (he has swept away thousands of leaves and thousands of centuries, they are all one to him, he owes no allegiance to Time). And the cloud would re-shape itself in the hall's lofty vault and drift on through it slowly, and out to the sky again through another window. And from its shape the knights in Camorak's hall would prophesy the battles and sieges of the next season of war. They say of the hall of Camorak at Arn that there hath been none like it in any land, and foretell that there will be never.

  Hither had come in the folk of the Weald from sheepfold and from forest, revolving slow thoughts of food, and shelter, and love, and they sat down wondering in that famous hall; and therein also were seated the men of Arn, the town that clustered round the King's high house, and all was roofed with red, maternal earth.

  If old songs may be trusted, it was a marvelous hall.

  Many who sat there could only have seen it distantly before, a clear shape in the landscape, but smaller than a hill. Now they beheld along the wall the weapons of Camorak's men, of which already the lute-players made songs, and tales were told at evening in the byres. There they described the shield of Camorak that had gone to and fro across so many battles, and the sharp but dinted edges of his sword; there were the weapons of Gadriol the Leal, and Norn, and Athoric of the Sleety Sword, Heriel the Wild, Yarold, and Thanga of Esk, their arms hung evenly all round the hall, low where a man could reach them; and in the place of honour in the midst, between the arms of Camorak and of Gadriol the Leal, hung the harp of Arleon. And of all the weapons hanging on those walls none were more calamitous to Camorak's foes than was the harp of Arleon. For to a man that goes up against a strong place on foot, pleasant indeed is the twang and jolt of some fearful engine of war that his fellow-warriors are working behind him, from which huge rocks go sighing over his head and plunge among his foes; and pleasant to a warrior in the wavering light are the swift commands of his King, and a joy to him are his comrades' instant cheers exulting suddenly at a turn of the war. All this and more was the harp to Camorak's men; for not only would it cheer his warriors on, but many a time would Arleon of the Harp strike wild amazement into opposing hosts by some rapturous prophecy suddenly shouted out while his hand swept over the roaring strings. Moreover, no war was ever declared till Camorak and his men had listened long to the harp, and were elate with the music and mad against peace. Once Arleon, for the sake of a rhyme, had made war upon Estabonn; and an evil king was overthrown, and honour and glory won; from such queer motives does good sometimes accrue.

  Above the shields and the harps all round the hall were the painted figures of heroes of fabulous famous songs. Too trivial, because too easily surpassed by Camorak's men, seemed all the victories that the earth had known; neither was any trophy displayed of Camorak's seventy battles, for these were as nothing to his warriors or him compared with those things that their youth had dreamed and which they mightily purposed yet to do.

  Above the painted pictures there was darkness, for evening was closing in, and the candles swinging on their slender chain were not yet lit in the roof; it was as though a piece of the night had been builded into the edifice like a huge natural rock that juts into a house. And there sat all the warriors of Arn and the Weald-folk wondering at them; and none were more than thirty, and all were skilled in war. And Camorak sat at the head of all, exulting in his youth.

  We must wrestle with Time for some seven decades, and he is a weak and puny antagonist in the first three bouts.

  Now there was present at this feast a diviner, one who knew the schemes of Fate, and he sat among the people of the Weald and had no place of honour, for Camorak and his men had no fear of Fate. And when the meat was eaten and the bones cast aside, the king rose up from his chair, and having drunken wine, and being in the glory of his youth and with all his knights about him, called to the diviner, saying, "Prophesy."

  And the diviner rose up, stroking his grey beard, and spake guardedly--"There are certain events," he said, "upon the ways of Fate that are veiled even from a diviner's eyes, and many more are clear to us that were better veiled from all; much I know that is better unforetold, and some things that I may not foretell on pain of centuries of punishment. But this I know and foretell--that you will never come to Carcassonne."

  Instantly there was a buzz of talk telling of Carcassonne--some had heard of it in speech or song, some had read of it, and some had dreamed of it. And the king sent Arleon of the Harp down from his right hand to mingle with the Weald-folk to hear aught that any told of Carcassonne. But the warriors told of the places they had won to--many a hard-held fortress, many a far-off land, and swore that they would come to Carcassonne.

  And in a while came Arleon back to the king's right hand, and raised his harp and chanted and told of Carcassonne. Far away it was, and far and far away, a city of gleaming ramparts rising one over other, and marble terraces behind the ramparts, and fountains shimmering on the terraces. To Carcassonne the elf-kings with their fairies had first retreated from men, and had built it on an evening late in May by blowing their elfin horns. Carcassonne! Carcassonne!

  Travellers had seen it sometimes like a clear dream, with the sun glittering on its citadel upon a far-off hilltop, and then the clouds had come or a sudden mist; no one had seen it long or come quite close to it; though once there were some men that came very near, and the smoke from the houses blew into their faces, a sudden gust--no more, and these declared that some one was burning cedarwood there. Men had dreamed that there is a witch there, walking alone through the cold courts and corridors of marmorean palaces, fearfully beautiful and still for all her fourscore centuries, singing the second oldest song, which was taught her by the sea, shedding tears for loneliness from eyes that would madden armies, yet will she not call her dragons home--Carcassonne is terribly guarded. Sometimes she swims in a marble bath through whose deeps a river tumbles, or lies all morning on the edge of it to dry slowly in the sun, and watches the heaving river trouble the deeps of the bath. It flows through the caverns of earth for further than she knows, and coming to light in the witch's bath goes down through the earth again to its own peculiar sea.

  In autumn sometimes it comes down black with snow that spring has molten in unimagined mountains, or withered blooms of mountain shrubs go beautifully by.

  When there is blood in the bath she knows there is war in the mountains; and yet she knows not where those mountains are.

  When she sings the fountains dance up from the dark earth, when she combs her hair they say there are storms at sea, when she is angry the wolves grow brave and all come down to the byres, when she is sad the sea is sad, and both are sad for ever. Carcassonne! Carcassonne!

  This city is the fairest of the wonders of Morning; the sun shouts when he beholdeth it; for Carcassonne Evening weepeth when Evening passeth away.

  And Arleon told how many goodly perils were round about the city, and how the way was unknown, and it was a knightly venture. Then all the warriors stood up and sang of the splendour of the venture. And Camorak swore by the gods that had builded Arn, and by the ho
nour of his warriors that, alive or dead, he would come to Carcassonne.

  But the diviner rose and passed out of the hall, brushing the crumbs from him with his hands and smoothing his robe as he went.

  Then Camorak said, "There are many things to be planned, and counsels to be taken, and provender to be gathered. Upon what day shall we start?" And all the warriors answering shouted, "Now." And Camorak smiled thereat, for he had but tried them. Down then from the walls they took their weapons, Sikorix, Kelleron, Aslof, Wole of the Axe; Huhenoth, Peace-breaker; Wolwuf, Father of War; Tarion, Lurth of the Warcry and many another. Little then dreamed the spiders that sat in that ringing hall of the unmolested leisure they were soon to enjoy.

  When they were armed they all formed up and marched out of the hall, and Arleon strode before them singing of Carcassonne.

  But the talk of the Weald arose and went back well fed to byres. They had no need of wars or of rare perils. They were ever at war with hunger. A long drought or hard winter were to them pitched battles; if the wolves entered a sheep-fold it was like the loss of a fortress, a thunder-storm on the harvest was like an ambuscade. Well-fed, they went back slowly to their byres, being at truce with hunger; and the night filled with stars.