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  It was during one of these business absences of Uggi’s, when Halla was by herself on Dragon Mountain, polishing the jewels, that a thunderstorm burst almost overhead, and right out of the centre of the blackest cloud bounced a winged horse who came down with all four hoofs together almost on Uggi’s doorstep and struck fire out of the rock. He was a strong, hairy-hocked, broad-backed, thick-necked, hog-maned horse with coarse wing feathers, and he had need to be strong because the young woman on his back was the kind that could have pushed over a hay-stack with one hand. And indeed she needed to be, for she was a Valkyrie and often she had to pick up a young hero with a spear through him at full gallop, and throw him over her crupper, or carry him under one arm up to Valhalla, and that at a time when he could do nothing to help himself. The young woman dismounted, took her helmet off, so that the red hair rolled out from under it in two great plaits, scratched herself through her chain mail and asked: “Have you such a thing as a needle and thread, child? My petticoat’s gone again.”

  Halla, who suspected from her manner that she was one of the All-Father’s wish children, hurried to bring her what she needed. While the Valkyrie, whose name was Steinvor, mended her gathers, taking big stitches and occasionally pricking her finger and swearing, they chatted. Halla apologized for having nothing to give the horse; Steinvor herself had taken a cup of mead. “We can’t grow anything up here,” she said, “not so much as a crowberry. Everything gets singed sooner or later.”

  “So I should suppose,” said Steinvor. “And you wouldn’t catch me waiting here a week. Steady, boy, steady; whoa there!” she called to her horse, which was fidgeting. “He can’t stand the smell of dragons,” she explained.

  “Dragons have no smell!” said Halla indignantly.

  “That’s what you think, my dear,” said Steinvor, wrinkling her nose, “but I can tell you, it’s rank. Look, why don’t you walk out? Oh, I don’t mean going back to mankind, it’s easy to see that’s not your line. But there’s my game. Why not join the girls? I’ll speak to All-Father myself. And it’s a great life.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Halla politely, “but I don’t think I’d like it. You’re always choosing heroes, aren’t you—touching them? And I hate them!”

  “They don’t always appreciate being chosen!” said Steinvor, and laughed a short loud laugh, like a horse. “We pick them off before they’ve had time to do all they’d like. But All-Father’s going to need every one of them when it comes to the Last Battle, and meanwhile they can think they’re leading the life they’re accustomed to. Anyhow, who cares about them. The game is, picking them out. It beats pig-sticking every time.”

  “You bring them in to help All-Father in the fight against the Midgard Serpent?” said Halla doubtfully. “Of course, I haven’t actually met the Midgard Serpent—”

  “Ahha!” said Steinvor. “And you don’t know which side you’re on, you and your dragons! I see, I see!” And she jabbed Halla in the ribs with the butt-end of her dagger—she was cleaning her nails with the point of it.

  “The dragons always speak most respectfully of All-Father,” said Halla, anxious not to say the wrong thing.

  “So they might, so they might,” said Steinvor. “I’m not at all certain, all the same, whether or not they’re on All-Father’s side. They’re probably related to the Midgard Serpent. And you don’t want to be caught on the wrong foot, do you? Come along with me, child; the horse is used to carrying two. I’ll speak to All-Father, it’ll be quite all right—” And she seized Halla by the arm and began hauling her over to the horse like a land girl with a calf.

  “No!” screamed Halla. “No, I don’t want to—I’m a dragon—”

  “Nonsense,” said Steinvor, and almost got Halla on to the horse when she gave a twist, bit like a dragon, clawed like a bear and attacked Steinvor’s petticoat gathers, which, as she knew, were the vulnerable part. Steinvor, unused to being attacked by those she carried off, who were still usually so surprised at having been killed that they never moved a finger, let Halla go. “I’m ashamed of you child,” she said, “wanting to live with smelly dragons when you might be in Valhalla. I don’t know what the Norns will think, I’m sure, but I shall certainly tell them.” And she kicked her heels into her horse’s side and bounced back into her stormcloud with a great clap of thunder that echoed through all the mountains.

  Poor Halla sat down and cried. If the Valkyrie meant it and the Norns were to alter her fate! And which side were the dragons on? And did they smell? Hroar, who was a reddish-green dragon with snaggly front teeth, came sailing up. She asked him, cautiously, whether he knew which side the dragons would on at the last battle. “We shall be on the winning side, of course,” said Hroar.

  “But will that be All-Father’s side?”

  “Don’t bother your head about all that,” said Hroar, coiling himself affectionately round her rock. “All-Father goes back to the beginning. So do the dragons. What comes from the beginning will be there at the end. Have some of these Gods been worrying you? Was it that Loki?”

  “No—no—”

  “I saw a nasty little rainbow at the far side of Blasted Heath—did one of them come running down? You’d know All-Father, wouldn’t you?” he whispered smokily. “Walks around in disguise with his hat over one eye, pretending to be a Wanderer, but there’s always something about him. And he goes around with two ravens—can’t trust them. It’s said they’re on the side of men—reminding him of what’s best forgotten—and the same with Baldur and Thor. But we mustn’t think too much about it: we must be brave and stick to what we know, to being dragons. You’re not crying, are you?”

  “No,” said Halla, gulping. “I know what’s right.”

  Chapter Four

  The Hero

  So things went on and Halla ceased worrying about what the Norns might or mightn’t have been told. They did not appear to be doing anything different to the web of her own destiny. Perhaps after all Steinvor had no access to the Norns, no knowledge of the tree Yggdrasil, nor indeed of much else which might go on under All-Father’s hat. And slowly Uggi’s treasure grew and the treasure cave was further hollowed out, Uggi working with claws, Halla with paws. Sometimes they would visit other dragons and inspect their treasures, and Uggi would advise the young dragons to be careful and systematic in their taking of tribute and, even though there appeared to be a superabundance in the fields of mankind, to make use, not only of flocks and herds, but also of reindeer and elk and such. But, in case it might hurt Halla’s feelings, none of them mentioned the edibility of bears by dragons.

  But if dragons have a fault—and they will laughingly admit that this is so—it is a certain graspingness, an inability to compromise. And it was probably this tendency in Ljot, one of the young dragons, which led to the rebellion when, first, he was refused his tribute, and then, when the people of the Dales, his particular subjects, had been successful in this, the anti-dragon movement spread to others. This began when, instead of driving one or two choice oxen up to the rocky edge of the pastures and then hurriedly retreating, the men began to drive their herds back into caves with bars across their mouth or even stone-built byres. When Ljot, not a very large or experienced dragon, and indeed less than two hundred years old, attempted to take his tribute, a number of men with spears ran at him, shouting very rudely, and he had barely time to take off.

  One of the difficulties of mankind is that they have the vice of inventiveness. It would be an easier world for dragons if this were not so, or if it could be kept within bounds, used for the better working of gold, setting of jewels, or such trading activities as bringing treasure from far countries within reach of dragons. But instead, mankind develops against all dragon interests. Instead of wattle and wooden palisades, which are bad enough, they build in stone. Their swords become sharper, their armour more effective. When Uggi was a young dragon, as he had often told Halla, there was poking of sharpened stakes which, all the same, might hurt cruelly. Shields were of hide
. Swords were of bronze, but unless by some unusual accident, it was seldom necessary to come into close contact with them. Arrows were seldom effective, although they were bronze-pointed; whereas in Uggi’s grandfather’s time there had been nothing but flint and bone points.

  But now swords were of iron and much sharper and stronger. Spears had bronze or iron blades, were much longer and more unpleasant. Bows and arrows were heavier and could do serious injury. Armour was disconcertingly flame-resisting. In fact, dragons were practically defenseless in a cruel world.

  Still, one must persevere. The other dragons advised Ljot to start ravening; if necessary, to fly in the early morning and pick up a child or two who might have run out of the house before the men were about. Or a woman going out to milk. This should be effective in recalling his subjects to their duty. If the King of the Dales happened to have a daughter of suitable age and edibility, it could be suggested that she would be an acceptable offering. Ljot would then be able to take it easy again and all would be well.

  Ljot, however, must have blundered, or underestimated the barbarity and ingenuity of his subjects. Instead of a plump daughter, the King of the Dales had a scraggy and muscular son. There was coming and going, a trap laid—a fat bullock, a hook. It was all very distressing. Ljot should have been more careful. When it was over, the other dragons divided up Ljot’s treasure according to the old rules, and held a council. Although he kept it from Halla, Uggi was uneasy, more uneasy than he had been in all his long life.

  The Council of Dragons met for a full night on Signal Hill. From far to the north and east dragons glided and undulated in, long glitters and streaks wavering past the still stars and thin half-hoop of moon. The further dragons were strangely bewhiskered and tentacled; some wore nightcaps or shawls of mist. The oldest spoke only in proverbs of admitted wisdom but not applicable to the present situation. The various Master Dragons gave their opinions, backed by examples out of history. A necessarily successful policy was bound to follow from the correct working out of well-known economic rules. The only difficulty was that mankind was not conforming to them. There was argument on the tightening or loosening of custom, quoting of precedents. Should there, for instance, be a mass attack by dragons on the people of the Dales? If so, it might be a salutary and much-needed lesson to mankind, but it was only too probable that valuable dragon power might be sacrificed. Certainly there would be great unpleasantness. Again, if dragons from the further parts were to be called upon, it would certainly be necessary to provide feasts: not merely venison and such, but the best of everything, including the stores of ginger, pepper, hot spices and potent distillations acquired with such industry and often at the cost of long and wing-exhausting flights far from the comforts of home. It might even be necessary to divide up certain treasures. This was only hinted at, but it caused contractions of heart to those nearer dragons, whose laboriously earned savings of centuries might be required of them. Uggi thought painfully of a certain golden cup, incised with runes and the shape of ships, which had been much admired and would certainly be demanded as his contribution. He thought of the necklace of flat-cut rubies which he had acquired from the King of Laxwater, who must in turn have got it in distant trading. He thought of several great lumps of polished amber, two of them set in gold. It would break his heart if these had to be given up. Surely it would be better to allow the men of Dales to triumph for a while, to grow careless as they most certainly would do, and then for Ljot’s successor—and there were some promising young dragons at the Council—to assert himself.

  At dawn the Council broke up, after a feast which sadly depleted the stores of the home dragons. A second night produced no better results. The eastern dragons began to complain of the cold, the northern dragons of the heat. After a flight of investigation, Hafr reported that the unfortunate Ljot had been ignominiously skinned and stuffed. When Uggi came home, tired and dispirited, Halla asked anxiously how things had gone and when Uggi explained, all her bearish nature came uppermost and she demanded to be allowed to go and revenge Ljot herself. She had hunted through the treasure and found herself a magnificent gold inlaid helmet and shield, and a golden collared mail shirt of great lightness. The pommel of her sword was encrusted with splendid jewels, and her dirk the same. She was big enough now to find the sword pleasant and easy to her hand and arm. “If you have named me Halla Heroesbane, then let me be bane to heroes, and let me begin now!” she said.

  But Uggi was shocked and told her that lady dragons, who are in any case rare, stay at home and guard the treasure. Now this is an ancient dragon fallacy, since in fact the lady dragons are very much fiercer than any other, especially when they have a nest full of eggs. And, although this is always denied, lady dragons have been known to kill and eat other dragons and, what is worse, to take their treasures. Perhaps Uggi was most upset at the idea that Halla should risk some of his treasure in an adventure which might turn out badly. He refused to carry her on his back, as she begged him to do, to the Dales, and he forbade Hafr or Gauk or any of them from doing so, however much she might ask them.

  He told her, however, of one thing which had been discussed at the Council of Dragons. It was said by some that at Micklegard on the Middle Sea was the greatest treasure in the world, constantly added to by the ships and armies, and this must of necessity and according to all the rules of history and economics, be the possession of some great and noble dragon. And indeed nobody knew what or who dwelt in the jasper and porphyry chambers and behind the gold and peacock curtains of Micklegard. “Some day,” said Uggi, “I will take you, my child, to visit the Great Dragon of Micklegard, for I am certain that such a being must live there.”

  Again the night streamed with homeward streaking dragons. Nothing had been decided upon. Perhaps it would not happen again. None of the others mentioned Ljot and soon even Halla forgot him. And sooner or later, of course, everything turned out as the Master Dragons had foretold in their wisdom. The men of the Dales grew proud and careless, decided that there had never been more than one dragon and they had killed him, and so began to send their growing flocks and herds further afield into the woods and clearings towards the deep forest and the mountains. In fact, it now became apparent that they would soon reach a state of over-production, and it was time that some dragon stepped in. Neither Gauk nor Hroar, who were the nearest dragons, were very anxious to be the first. It was true that the son of the King of the Dales had decorated himself and his friends with golden bracelets which would be useful and appropriate additions to any treasure, but also they prided themselves as casters of spears, and bowmen, and, if they could catch a running deer in the heart, or a wild boar, or a wolf, how much more dangerous for the large target area of a dragon, especially for that defenseless and ticklish part behind the foreleg!

  There was now a war between the men of the Dales and the men of Axewater, in the course of which, so the dragons were informed by a troll who had taken his family down to the battle ground in order to picnic on the remains, considerable booty had passed, including an ivory drinking horn set with gold, which in turn had been captured in a ship raid to the south by the Axewater men, and a king’s high seat of carved wood inlaid with various kinds of precious metal and enamel. It seemed to Uggi that his collection had long lacked an ivory drinking horn, which might easily be lost or broken during the careless and drunken feastings of men. True, there was a certain risk in obtaining it, but what worthy enterprise is without risk?

  Uggi began to prepare himself. Halla begged him to take her with him; she had practiced all kinds of sword and spear work. He refused. At last she said crossly that it was time she started having a treasure of her own. And that excellent sentiment certainly made Uggi think. But he became increasingly certain that this time he must go himself. If his nestling Halla were to start a treasure (and perhaps it was only right that she should do so, although few actual dragons did so before the end of their first century) then it must not start with the gold and ivory drinking horn from
the Great Hall of the Dales. That—and he could almost see it!—was to be his own.

  So away flew Uggi with all the wisdom of his many years of dragonhood and the wind creaking in his wings. And back he trailed the next day, one wing dragging, blood-drops trailing after him, and the haft of a spear broken in the soft part of his side behind the foreleg. Halla did what she could, but her little box of magic was no use here, nor yet her tears. Poor Uggi lay limp and chilly, his vital fire half quenched, his throat choked with cinders. And the day after they saw below them, at the foot of Dragon Mountain, a brutal gang of plunderers, led by the son of the King of the Dales, who was now openly being called hero and dragon-slayer by his companions. It was a terrible sight, and as they climbed relentlessly over the rocks, following the blood trail, Halla helped Uggi deep into the cave, and herself, set and furious, put on her armour and took up her sword. Uggi groaned and bled. She put her arms round his neck, but now he scarcely noticed; now with so little time left to him he concentrated on essentials; what truly mattered was his treasure. He signaled to her feebly to spread his wings over it, to arrange his head so that he could at least scorch his first assailant with whatever flame was left in him.

  Weeping, Halla did what he wanted and then herself rushed bearlike down the slope at the oncoming assailants. In her anger everything appeared flame-fringed. She wounded one before she was herself disarmed, knocked down, her gold-collared mail shirt stripped off her by practiced hands, and her hands tied. They left her on the ground, growling with fury and frustration. She did not see the death of Uggi, only the blast and dimming whistle of the last flame frothing out of him and then the murderers coming staggering from the cave, their arms full of treasure.