The Thrall of Leif the Lucky eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 319 pages of information about The Thrall of Leif the Lucky.

The Thrall of Leif the Lucky eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 319 pages of information about The Thrall of Leif the Lucky.

“It is my opinion that good omens have little to do with this land,” he returned.  “It bears every resemblance to the Giant Country which Thor visited.”

“I believe it is Helheim itself,” quavered Kark.

The Wrestler glanced at the thrall’s blanching cheeks and laughed a long soft laugh.  Such a display was one of the few things that moved him to mirth.  Suddenly he caught up the bowerman as one picks up a kitten, and, leaning out over the side, dropped him sprawling into the long-boat.

“Here, then, is your chance to enter the world of the dead in good company,” he laughed.  He stood guard over the gunwale until Leif and the other ten men of the boat’s crew were ready to go down; pounding the poor wretch’s fingers when he attempted to climb back, while a row of grinning faces mocked him over the side.

The unpromising aspect of the shore did not lessen as the explorers approached it.  If they had not made an easy landing, on a gravelly strip between two rocky points, they would have felt that their labor had been wasted.  From the sea to the ice-tipped mountains there stretched a plain of nothing but broad flat stones.  They looked in vain for any signs of life.  Not a tree nor a shrub, nor even so much as a grass-blade, relieved the dead emptiness.  When they caught sight of a fox, whisking from one rocky den to another, it startled them into crossing themselves.

“It is over such wastes as this that the dead like to call to each other,” Valbrand muttered in his heard.

And his neighbor mumbled uneasily, “I think it likely that this is one of the plains on which the Women who Ride at Night hold their meetings.  If it were not for the Lucky One’s luck, I would prefer swallowing hot irons to coming here.”

Then both became silent, for Leif had faced about and was awaiting their full attention before announcing the next move.  “I dislike to see brave men disgrace their beards with bondmaids’ gabble,” he said sternly.  “Fix in your minds the shame that was spoken of Biorn Herjulfsson because of his lack of enterprise.  The same shall not be said of us.  Rolf Erlingsson and Ottar the Red and three others shall follow me; and we will walk inland until the light has entirely faded from the highest mountain peak yonder, and the next point below is yellow as a golden fir-cone.  The others of you shall follow Valbrand for the same length of time, but walk southward along the shore, since it may be that something of interest is hidden behind these points—­”

A howl from Kark interrupted him.  “I will not go!  By Thor, I will not go!  Spirits are hidden behind those points.  Who knows what would jump out at us?  I will not stir away from the Lucky One.  I will not!  I will not!” Gibbering with terror, he clutched Leif’s cloak and clung there like a cat.

For a moment the chief hesitated, looking down at him with disgust unutterable.  Then he quietly loosened the golden clasp on his shoulder, flung the mantle off with a sweep that sent the thrall staggering backward, and marched away at the head of his men.

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The Thrall of Leif the Lucky from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.