From darkling woods with dwimmer wails
and icy ire, iron-keen
heavy pressed the heedless wind.
But breathless bent, a brigand crept,
and saw a golden gleam afar.
To haven hurried, hard a-harried.
in weary woods some warmth to find.
So it was that the brigand, weary with long journeying and desperate with hunger came upon the small house. Though the snow blew thick, it dared not assail the windows, for from them light spilled gold on the grey shadowed snow and he was heartened.
Forgotten was his pride, and it mattered little what mighty men of arms lay within. He would beg and take what warmth he could though it only be to sleep in the snow where the firelight fell.
He burst open the door prepared to beg or threaten. But in the house was only one living creature, a man, whose ancient white beard pooled on his lap, his hoary head bent in sleep.
But his robe was as blue as the unclouded sky, all worked in silver thread, and a mantle lay by, as green as spring fields. Then did the thief bless his fortune, for all unguarded was the house, and no doubt this man of rich robe held in keeping a hoard of no little treasure.
The man stirred and the thief went for his spear, "Your life now is forfeit—but I may yet spare it. Bring out your treasures, your golden goblets, your fine woven cloth, your store of gems. Food also do I desire." This last was an afterthought, for the warmth of the fire and his hard labor in the ice stirred in him a great hunger.
The old man raised his head and regarded him with cool and steady eyes, and deep within them lit a slow-kindled flame. "With food indeed I will buy my life—though that I would give freely in this storm whether you bore the spear or nay. Yet treasure you would require also?"
Then the thief wondered that he had not before noticed, for such a goodly scent came to his nostrils and his knees weakened and his mouth watered. For on the fire he now saw a roasting deer and on the table a cake, moist and dripping in honey.
But he steeled himself and tightened his grip on the spear.
"Treasure also I require—a fitting ransom."
"Of gold you may search the house and find none. Of fine cloth only what you see," and now the thief gasped, for what he had taken as kingly cloth he now saw was simple and coarse, dyed with elderberry. "But I have, I think treasure enough to buy the life of a poor old man—riches of lore and not of gold, for in younger days my voice held in thrall great lords in kings' halls."
"Then of herds he harped with hands cunning,
long of lore low singing,
of cattle kept on cold plains
or grazing sheep on green fields.
Hale herds he might have had
if brigand bold took to bright pasture.
He yielded secrets of yellow yarrow,
warrior wisdom for wound healing
to stanch the streaming scarlet-spill.
Long of leechcraft sang the sage."
"Better must you do if you seek to save your life! What need have I of lore of herb or beast?"
"I could have told you secrets of plants that would strengthen your heart, or cure your friends of battle-bleeding. Yet if men are your interest, of that I shall tell." Then he sang of battles of old, of strong kings and great loves, of treason and sorrow. Much that has been forgotten was laid forth, and he understood roots of grievances between peoples, the ways of evil's creeping advance on men's hearts, and tales from the youth of men.
Little he regarded them, yet he perceived now that the old man held much in memory and he pressed him yet further, "What tales of ancient hoards, of gleaming treasure in darkened earth or forgotten halls? What that could again see light of day?"
"Such knowledge I will not give willingly. Yet you bear a spear and I am an old man—will you use the means of the strong to compel your will of the weak?"
Then he saw in the old man's eyes a gleam of warning but he gripped his spear tighter, "I will. Tell me my desire."
The old man set aside the harp and laid bare the secrets of long desolate hoards, gifts of ancient kings in Northern Troll-holes, places where the river rushed over the treasures of Elf-lords. He sang not but chanted steady of the hidden wealth of the world.
Then the thief laughed, "Men shall I master and beasts shall bow. No more shall I in shadows slink to steal what I may, but by my riches none shall stand against me. None else shall know what you have taught me." With that he took again his spear to set upon the ancient loremaster.
But the sage raised up his hand, and the harp trembled though no hand touched it. Then the string sounded, a clear note, fell as a bow's twang. The air shivered. The fire leapt. The thief stumbled back in his terror and fled into the unforgiving storm. There in the banks of snow and ice he fell and did not rise.
