Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 169: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Swain’s Justice them the folk look for justice. I have known you, Lord Jarl, since you were shorter than my sword, and on the whole 1 have been proud that I had a share in bringing you into the Islands. It is my hope that you will not act so that I shall be shamed in my connection with you.” Jarl Harald flushed anew as the words sank into his brain, but when Swain con- cluded he squared his jaw and offered his hand. ‘Honest speech is best,” he said. “It requires you to solve the difficulties I find myself in, Swain. And I will be guided by what you say. For surely what a Jarl should be known for first of all is justice. Justice I will strive for in this matter.” “In that event your reputation will not suffer,’ answered Swain. “My own hope is that Thorbiorn will be brought to reason and offer manbote to Thorarinn’s family and due compensation to Jarl Rognvald. I am a rough fellow, myself, and I know how easily a rough fellow can be induced to practise conduct which he may later have cause to regret.” The chiefs all said that this was a very handsome way of looking at the trouble, and it was suggested that Swain might be appointed an emissary to argue Thorbiorn into readiness to accept adequate fine and punishment. “T will do so gladly,” promised Swain, ‘“‘if Thorbiorn indicates his willingness to re- ceive me. We shall know better what to expect after we have entered Caithness.” They sat late that night over the ale- drinking, and when they broke up there was a feeling that they might yet avoid coming to blows. “T am an old man,” said Jarl Rognvald, “and it has been my hope that my people would be satisfied with my rule, for I have striven always to deal honestly by them.” “Tt is not in the nature of people to be satisfied with anything,” muttered Erik Bitling to Swain as they left the high table to seek bed room. “Be still, little man,” rebuked Swain. ‘The ale is sour on your stomach.” V Vy THE two farls and Swain crossed ONT the Pentland Firth with one hundred men and twenty horses in three boats, and landed at Thorsa. They made inquiry in the vicinity for Thorbiorn, but 167 none of the Caithness folk would say where he was, for Thorbiorn was well-liked and eke feared in those parts. Jarl Rognvald consulted with his followers, and they de- cided to journey inland to the valley of the Kalfadal *, where lay the lands of Thor- biorn and his kin—such as Hosvir, his brother-in-law, and his cousins, Liotulf and Hallvard Dufa’s son. That night they made camp in the open, and they were all sitting around the fires, discussing the best way to come at Thor- biorn, when one of the guards came to Jarl Rognvald’s side. “Lord Jarl,” he said, “‘there is one out in the darkness, crying like a woman, and some of us fear that it is either an evil spirit or Thorbiorn, trying to trick us.” Jarl Rognvald crossed himself, as did Jarl Harald and several others. “Now, Christ save us from the Evil One and all black magic,” exclaimed Jarl Rognvald. “Harald, I never heard that Thorbiorn had traffic with the war-locks.” “‘Nor did he,” said Jarl Harald. Swain scrambled to his feet. “T have withstood the blackest magic that witch Frakork could make,” he said. “It should go hard if I might not resist some spirit howling in the night. Lead the way, fellow, and I will make trial of this crying thing.” So he went with the man—whose name was Bjarni Aslak’s son, from Westrey— out upon the hillside, and sure enough, there came to their ears a distant sound of wailing, such as is made by a woman in time of grief. “Humph,”’ said Swain, “that is a human voice or I am as great a fool as you, Bjarni. Also, I could swear I have heard it before.”’ And he strode forward to the hilltop, placed his cupped hands to his mouth and sent a hail booming across the rugged dales. “Ho, you who cry in the night! What sorrow nags your Here are a warm fire and food for the taking.” An instant of silence, and then the woman sobbed again. “T am alone and frightened,” she wailed. Swain threw down his shield, and ran down the far side of the hill toward the voice. “T am Swain Olaf’s son,” he called. will not harm you.” “Swain!” sobbed the voice. * Calder Burn. Af “Swain! Is GO DOOLK (C@ S|