They came in the dark of the night. The mists of Winterfell swirled around the hall of Gefnhame to obscure the moon and make it all the harder for the Thegn’s night-wards to see the Mere-folk as they crept over the fence into the compound.
It was the livestock in the pen, creatures awaiting the harsh judgement of Blot, that first raised a stir. Though their eyes were clouded, the ears of Gefnhame’s guards were sharp. They ran to check the cause of the animal restlessness. However, as Herewulf the Bowman and the tattooed Talorc approached the pen they were ambushed by a swarm of merelings. Though of little account as warriors, the merelings were many and some blew from pipes tiny darts smeared with a poison that can render the strongest warrior helpless as a newborn. Talorc and Herewulf were both struck and the latter succumbed for a while to the venom so that he could summon no more than a desperate defence. Fortunate it was that before the darts took effect he was able to wind his horn and sound three sharp blasts – the signal for alarm.
All over Gefnhame Herewulf’s signal was heard and folk scrambled for their weapons. In the Great Hall warriors took their cue from the Thegn himself, who rushed out of hall towards the alarm, carrying but his axe and shield and just the helm upon his head. His warriors followed as best they could in whatever order they managed to rouse themselves and with whatever equipment came to their hands. Svipdag and Sweyn were on Lytelman’s heels – full armed for they were but lately come from their guard turn. Then came Atheling Wistan, Eawulf and Stigand some little way behind. Eawulf, it seems, had taken to sleeping in his armour for Winterfell – lonely indeed is the life of a priest. So it was that the Geats were strung out and ill-prepared with no chance to form a shield burgh when they encountered the van of the Mere-men. Indeed, such was the darkness of the night amid the swirling mists that the wights and Lytelman’s vanguard missed each other entirely so the Thegn and the two Sweon warriors found themselves engaged in a skirmish on the flank in the sort of encounter fought out by geoguth before the main battle, leaving Stigand and Eawulf to hold the centre against a myriad of foes.
Briefly Stigand and Eawulf locked shields until the press of battle separated them and Stigand stood alone facing a huge Mere-man champion and two of its gesiths. Mighty blows Stigand struck against the great marsh creature which sent it reeling, but as he did so, it ripped the shield from his hand and its companions struck deadly blows to his flanks. So fell Stigand amidst a sea of foes.
Unable to link with the Thegn, as the meremen lapped around Stigand and Eawulf, Wistan bethought himself of the safety of the hall and its womenfolk, running back to place himself squarely in its doorway, war-board up and rune-marked spear licking out to deny the wights passage to Gefnhame’s heart. Dispatching his second opponent, Wistan looked to bring some succour to the beleaguered Eawulf who was now standing with his back to the hall facing off three mere-folk with his shield. Yet before he could move he felt himself gripped all about his chest and whisked backwards and upwards towards the gaping mouth of a giant toad-creature sitting amidst the rafters of the hall. It seems this marsh-nicor, that had been encountered before by the heroes of Gefnhame, had ripped its way through the thatch and had captured Wistan with its long sticky tongue, pulling him into its waiting maw. Wistan contrived twist and turn so that its chomping jaws clamped not about his head but his left shoulder as he whipped out his saex with the right. Momentarily he twisted free of the nicor’s jaws as it sought better purchase on his body. Though yet suspended in its clapper, Wistan contrived to draw his blade across the tensing tongue such that it was clean severed. Wistan plunged to the floor where he lay senseless. The nicor gave a terrible cry and fled off into the night.
Meanwhile outside the hall there was another terrible cry as Thegn Osgar-Lytelman embraced his Battle-Wod. Tossing aside his shield, gripping his giant-wrought axe in two hands, he began to lay about him in a deadly frenzy, ignoring the blows of the meremen as if they were gnat-bites. Rushing over to where Stigand lay he wreaked bloody revenge upon the Mere-man champion, still staggering from Stigand’s final blows, and upon its companions. Sweyn too freed himself from his opponents and ran to relieve Eawulf, beleaguered behind his shield. Into the fight also ran Talorc and Herewulf fresh from their struggles against the merelings at the pen. With them was Nothgyth, huntress and priestess, deadly with spear in hand. In the doorway of the hall stood Eadgyth Hilda’s-daughter, housekeeper of the Great Hall who had bravely plucked up Wistan’s rune-carved spear from where it lay and was holding off the wights who still sought to gain entry to Gefnhame’s heart. In a matter of heartbeats the tide was turned and the vengeful Geats slew without mercy any mere-wight foolish enough not to turn and flee back to its noisome swamp.
With the battle won the priests turned to Stigand to see what might be done, but his wounds were many and grievous and his life’s blood soaked into the mud of his adopted home. All agreed that they had never seen a better death and that they would toast his health in Waelhall where none doubted that he now supped with the Gods.
Perhaps Stigand’s brave sacrifice had bought the favour of the Gods more widely for Gefnhame, for though there were widespread attacks on dwellings within the compound all had been repulsed and though there were some wounded there were no other deaths. As well as providing early warning, it seems that Talorc and Herewulf had thwarted the plans of the merelings to make off with the livestock – but a few were missing, perhaps wandered off through open gates. In all the steading had come off very lightly from what was an attack in considerable force from the marsh-dwellers.
In the forge it was found that the theofs, Beornulf the smith and Saexulf the bellows boy, had both snatched up weapons to which as slaves they had no rights. Aelfstane the swineherd, who was lodging with them, spoke up for them, saying that it would have gone ill with him had they not done so for there were a prodigious number of merelings for him and his dogs to handle alone. That they had saved all the horses stabled there was in large part due to their actions. In particular he said the boy showed great promise with the bow Aelfstane lent him. Thegn Osgar stared at them under beetling brows but said nought and forbore to slay them out of hand as was his right – some might say his duty.
In the Great Hall Wistan was found to be wounded and unconscious but was made hale once Tiw-wise Eawulf had spoken the runes of Battle Healing over him. Beside Wistan, twitching and bleeding from its severed stump lay a goodly length of the nicor’s tongue which Eawulf took into his charge, looking thoughtful.
By the morning Eawulf had a plan. A godgift of Gefion would allow him to locate a lost animal with but a trace of its spoor to hand. He felt sure that this might be employed to use the toad-tongue to locate the rest of the nicor and slay it, ensuring that it would never again trouble the valley. Thegn Osgar readily agreed to this plan. Eawulf carved runes into the drying, stiffening tongue and performed his ritual. Onlookers gasped in wonder as the shrivelled flesh twitched and straightened, changing its alignment so that its tip pointed off to the south-east. Eawulf, however, reasoned that it was the stump that showed the way, and since that pointed north-westwards into the marshes, all agreed that this was a much more likely direction for the nicor to have fled.
Leaving Nothgyth with Sweyn and Svipdag to ward Gefnhame and retrieve such livestock as they could, Osgar, Wistan, Herewulf and Talorc followed the Eawulf the Goda into the marshes. With them as their guide came Herefrith, cousin to Saexbeorht the fish-ward, who recommended him as an experienced and stalwart fellow skilled in sedge-lore.
The journey through the marsh was arduous. The Geats were weary with little sleep from the previous night, many carrying wounds, healed by priest-galdor, but still fresh in the memory. Herefrith proved to be expert in the ways of travelling the water-logged landscape. However, he was fresh-come to Gefnhame from the Malanmere on a visit to his cousin and had little local knowledge to offer. Nightfall found them still in the marshlands with the tongue-wand still pointing towards the hills and scarps that fringed the wetlands to the north.
They set camp on a dry hummock of land set slightly above the marsh, on which there stood a single ancient and dying tree, the fallen branches of which provided fuel for a small fire to keep the chill of Winterfell from their bones. It was the dead of night when came a cry from Herefrith – pointing at the tree under which Wistan was stood. It caused Wistan, who was on guard with him, to dive and roll away, just in time to avoid the huge jaws of a mighty nicor-serpent, sliding smoothly and silently down from the branches above him. Unfortunately, Wistan’s swift reflex exposed the sleeping Eawulf instead to its snapping jaws. It would have gone ill with the Goda had they closed upon his unconscious form. However, instead they snatched the leathern bag at his waist in which was enclosed the Tongue-wand, ripping it from his belt and bearing it away into the marsh. But the serpent was long and Herefrith swift as he pinned its body to the turf with his spear, holding it long enough for the other Geats to wake from their slumbers, seize weapons and rain blows upon it until it moved no more and the bag was retrieved from the grip of its fangs.
The following morning the toad-tongue wand still pointed north towards the fringes of the marsh and the high ground beyond. Much of the marsh fringe was rocky scarp but the tongue led them to a stream flowing out from between two gentler inclines. The Geats splashed up the stream bed, cold and wet, and came to a pool where the water gurgled up from the beneath a rock-face. Preliminary investigations suggested that there might be sufficient depth for a man to follow the water course into the earth before them but to do so he must submerge himself entire, not knowing from whence his next breath might come. Forward came Eawulf-Goda who laid claim to sorceries that might permit him to eke out his breath. Casting a galdor-wrought ward of Thunor, Eawulf tied a rope about his waist that he might signal to his comrades to follow or be dragged back by them at need. Well it was that he had the glamour upon him for it cast a little bluish light. It was enough to see that after a short ducking he was in a pool in a large cavern that appeared to have a drier shelf at the far end – for all that it was wreathed in spray from water falling from above.
A tug upon the rope brought Wistan Atheling forth behind him. Eschewing the protection of the Thunor-ward, but benefiting from its light, Wistan pushed forward through the water while his comrades shuffled through to array themselves within Eawulf’s priest-ward.
As Wistan approached he could see that upon the shelf, lying on her side and breathing heavily, lay the nicor, wreathed in human-like flesh. It seems that Wistan attempted converse with the creature, but the Atheling is hardly known for his honeyed tongue and whatever he said to her – the rushing waters made it hard for any but them to hear – her response was to summon her toad-form and attack him. Once more Wistan found himself caught in the grinding jaws of the toad as he was pitched backwards into the water. This time help was at hand, though such was the intimacy of the struggle and the poor quality of the light, his comrades crowding round were as like to strike Wistan as the wight. Matters were settled by Thegn Osgar-Lytelman who severed a thigh, which chanced to be the nicor’s, with his giant-wrought axe and the roiling waters stilled.
Tired, cold and wet as they were water could not quench their thirst for silver. The Geats strode onwards leaving the toad-creature’s corse floating in her own ichor and sought her treasure in the caverns beyond.