Chapter 5 is too long to post complete in one go.
Chapter 5 (part 1)
In Kastrup's field the cat-tank sleeps
Through the long night till Lalli scout
Returns at dawn with tested routes
Into Hafnia’s haunted centre;
Her rich book-hoards, refuge fence-lands
And fast retreats. Few are the ways,
Unsafe and strait; Sigrun wolf-maid
Fell-handed thane, fore-chosen task-earl,
Levers her rank to select her mind
Of a strong target. Tuuri lore-skald
Rates it middling, missing detail
But a useful sye. Sigrun, eager
To conquer trolls and to try Emil
As a war-spear friend, works her comrades
To prepare for reif; paying Lalli
With sweet bakemeats, suading Mikkel
A radio link to reconnect
To the support base; pushing Tuuri,
Tank steer-master, to start their way,
The lore-handed maid to lead their car,
Through weeping fields, over fences shent
In the fey Danes' doomed defiance.
There Mikkel the Dane remembrance owes
And pays to the dead as the pals drive on
Through waste suburbs to the central fence
Uselessly barring the boulevards
Of the high city. Hiding, drowsy,
The cold-dulled trolls trouble them not
As they skate the streets to the scouted holt
Of their first pillage. They park in a nook,
A defensible spot. Forced with a crowbar
The cache-house unlocks; dislodged timbers,
Time-crumbled ceils the sight-line bar
To troll hauntings; but traversing a pace
No sign reveals to Sigrun's eye
Of trolls lurking or lair-dern beasts,
So back to brief her book-raid lads,
Lalli and Emil, to learn them well
In the tasks ahead: to take to blades
As first resort when a foe appears
Lest gunshots warn and gather trolls;
And to work through the task as one squadron -
Teamfolk together. With Tuuri skald
And leer Mikkel main-handed wight
The car holding, to keep prepared
As a safe retreat, the trio set off
Through the shent hall. Shouting, Emil,
Callow cleanser, proclaims a hoard –
A full book-case – fetches his captain
Sigrun doubt-faced and dour Lalli.
But his crude touch crumbles the books
To runnels of dust. With wrath-filled words
Sigrun lashes him. Sorrowful Emil
Denies his guilt; garbage and mush
Is all that’s left! The dislusioned boy,
Seeker unfettled, fears a quest-loss –
But Sigrun’s truth, tried hoard-finder,
Lifts his heart-mood, lures her search-troop
With visions of wealth veiled in the deeps
From decay and spoil. Cautiously onward
The reivers unlatch a room of the dead,
Of folk ravaged by the rash sickness,
Forgotten wights, gathered to die
Forspent, empty, their spirits drained,
Forlost in horror, unhelped, unfed,
On untended beds; terror diswarriors
Unschooled Emil, but scant sympathy
Sigrun appays; two palms slapping
His mazzard with force master his fear,
Harden his heart, horror replacing
With sorrowful quiet. The search moves on
Up a bye staircase, the steep access
To a closed study, a secluded, cramped
Book-lined office, bourn of a scholar
Seeming untroubled by troll plundering,
Joy to a reiver. They jemmy the door
And clamber across the clutter of chairs -
Ancient untried troll protection -
To the table and books. Tenantless seeming
But Lalli scout, alert, watchful
Restlessly stares as roving Emil,
Reiver unfettled, with feet crushes
The self-killed bones of the book-gatherer,
In Tuoni’s realm refuge taking
In sickness days. Sigrun and Emil
Joyful leader, jubilant cleanser,
Cumber their arms with columns of books
Randomly plucked to please Mikkel
And Tuuri skald as a token brought –
A first gleaning of a glorious hoard!
To the scholar’s room the reivers return.
