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Updated: September 21, 2025
You shall have the rule over my pages and devise games and junketings without end." Humming gayly, she began to weave in the bright berries; and it struck Randalin that here was a good opportunity to make the plea she had in her mind. She said gravely, "I shall be thankful if you are able to manage it, lady, so that I may go back with you." Pausing in her work, Elfgiva looked down in surprise.
If they who have seen the light can do such deeds, what can be expected of those who yet labor under the curse of darkness?" "I do not understand you," Randalin said wearily, sinking on the grass and passing her hands over her strained eyes. "When a man looks with eyes of longing upon another man's property, it is to be expected that he will do as much evil as luck allows him.
Randalin ventured to steal a glance at his face, then her own clouded with puzzlement. No haughtiness was in it, but a kind of impatient pain, and now he winced under the smart and stirred restlessly in his place. The lightness of the King's voice grated on her ear. "Then I think you must have got surprised, if this is true, which seems impossible."
A moment, it was to Randalin, Frode's daughter, as if the heavens had let fall a star at her feet. Then her wonder changed to exultation, as she realized that it was not chance but because of her bidding that the man she loved stood before her. Only because she had asked it, he had come through pitfalls and death-traps, and now faced, alone, the gathered might of his foes.
To escape its ensnaring folds, Randalin stole back to the distant window beneath which Dearwyn sat on a little bench, weaving clover blossoms into a chain. The little gentlewoman looked up with her soft pretty smile. "How mysterious you are, you two!" she whispered, as she swept the mass of rosy bloom to the floor to make room for her friend.
Wakened by the sun's caress, to the morning song of blowing trees, Randalin faced her future as became the kinswoman of warriors. "I do not know why it was that fear crept into my breast last night," she told herself severely, when the first wave of strangeness and grief had broken over her, and she had come up again into the sparkling air.
The form in the faded robes turned inquiringly toward the erect young figure in its brave scarlet cloak. "What is it you say, my child?" But Randalin was bending low over the green couch. "Do you know who I am?" she was asking urgently of the woodward. "Fix your eyes on me and try to gather together your wits."
She turned her attention to the other man. He was big enough, certainly; the fist that he was waving in the air was like nothing so much as a sledge-hammer, and there was a likeness to the Jotuns in his florid coarse-featured face. As she watched it, Randalin felt a coldness creep over her. His great jaws were like the jowl of a mastiff.
His glance, as it came back, took in his captive. "The first bar of your cage, my hawk. Yonder is the first boundary of Ivarsdale." Every man started up in his saddle, and the cheers they had held back upon leaving camp burst forth now with added zest. Peering over her captor's shoulder, Randalin looked forward anxiously.
Randalin hesitated, uncertain how far her idle play at fencing with her brother would bear her out; she provided as many loop-holes as she could devise. "I think you will find my skill slight. I have I have grown so fast that I lack strength in my arms. And I have not exercised myself as much as I should have done."
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