Web of the Norns

They were coming from all directions. Men in black robes, their heads covered by cowls. Each man had a long red bow across his back and a handful of crimson arrows in his waistband. They crossed the snow as silently as falling leaves.

Their faces were the faces of the dead, grey and bloodless, with eyes that glimmered in the dark caverns of their eye-sockets.

Grant tried to make out the expression in the eyes but if there had ever been a soul behind those eyes, that soul had died and rotted and dried up many years ago. It was like trying to look into the expression of a mummy.

Aker Amen's steady voice was like unexpected sanity in a bad dream. "I wilt give myself to the test of arm, and my companion will give himself to the test of. ." He delayed and swept Grant with a contemptuous glance and muttered, "What in hell can you do? Sword, dagger, mace, bow. .?"

Grant recalled that he had one talent which might be of value in this primitive place. He had taken archery, classified as a low exertion sport, for his required gymnasium credits in college. He heard his own voice thin and hesitant.

"I think I could use one of those bows, if. ."

Aker spoke loudly. "My companion will give himself to the test of eye. Who will test me?"

There was still no reply, but a black-robed figure, taller than the others, stepped forward and divested himself of arrows and bows. He pushed his hood back, revealing an expressionless head, as hairless, smooth and unhuman as a statue's head, with eyes no more alive than stone eyes.

Watching the man, Aker stripped off his weapons and armour and dropped them in the snow, leaving himself lightly clad and younger and more supple in proportions of shoulders to belly than Grant would have thought. Grant was again suddenly shamed with the realisation that Aker was almost as young as he, for all his manly skills. The soldier stretched his muscles and arched his fingers, scanning his opponent, and estimating.

The others did not speak, even to murmur among themselves. The trees held the hush of snowfilled woods, and somewhere there was the susurration of an overladen fir branch bending and releasing its white burden to the snow covered ground.

The two men leaned forward imperceptibly; then like an uncoiling snake, in a blur of speed, the tall one in the dark cloak leaped forward with his spread fingers jabbing to Aker's face. With equal speed, Aker slapped the hand aside before it reached him, as if slapping aside an insect, and countered with an underhand swing of a balled fist. But the tall one's jab had been a feint and it was matched by a simultaneous low jab from the other hand. It might have killed a lesser man. Aker reacted with a startled grunt, and his first blow wavered off centre, glanced off the other's ribs and spun the tall one away from him. The exchange of blows and jabs was short and fierce; it ended when the other hooked one of Aker's legs from beneath him. As Aker fell, he grabbed the other to him like a cat, twisted in midair and landed heavily with his opponent beneath him.

The robed stranger struggled to his feet with Aker on his back. They fell again, their feet kicked up streamers of snow, and again the tall one's tendoned hands crept over Aker's shoulders to seek his eyes. Aker buried his face against the other's back, muffling his eyes in the folds of the hood, and shifted position subtly. The muscles of his arms sprang up in clear relief and his tunic began to split across the shoulders.

For a moment they lay still, locked in ultimate effort, both of them so covered with snow as to be white sculpted marble; then a sudden small noise shot the length of the clearing, the sound of a dry branch cracking. Breathing heavily Aker climbed to his feet and left his opponent lying limp with a broken spine.

Grant glanced around apprehensively, but the watchers remained impassive, without grief or vengeance for their dead companion.

Abruptly a bow and six arrows were shoved into Grant's hand. He looked at them stupidly until he heard Aker Amen's fierce whisper. "Shoot, you fool! Hit some small target. Their man will have to match the shot."

With a heavy pounding in his heart, Grant set five of the arrows into his belt and nocked one onto his bowstring. The bow was heavier than the ones he was used to, and had a different feel. He would have liked to have had a few trial shots first, but knew that would be impossible. His hands were still trembling, but he hoped they would steady on the pull. Glancing around the clearing he saw a scar on a tall, oaklike tree. It was white against the dark trunk and should make an easy mark,

The bow had a very heavy pull. With great labour Grant drew the arrow back its full length and let fly. He almost gasped with honor as he saw it was a full six feet wide of the mark.