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The Valor of Cappen Varra
The Valor of Cappen Varra
The Valor of Cappen Varra
Ebook25 pages17 minutes

The Valor of Cappen Varra

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We have said that there are many and strange shadows, memories surviving from dim pasts, in this FANTASTIC UNIVERSE of ours. Poul Anderson turns to a legend from the Northern countries, countries where even today the pagan past seems only like yesterday, and tells the story of Cappen Varra, who came to Norren a long, long time ago.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 30, 2014
ISBN9781633552159
The Valor of Cappen Varra

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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
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    During a voyage across rough, frigid seas, a scrawny minstrel named Cappen is ordered ashore to gather firewood on a nearby island. While there, he must outwit a troll in order to rescue a princess who happens to be the daughter of the ship's captain, King Svearek. An amusing and lighthearted fantasy.

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The Valor of Cappen Varra - Poul William Anderson

The Valor of Cappen Varra

By Poul William Anderson

Start Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2012 by Start Publishing LLC

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

First Start Publishing eBook edition October 2012

Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-63355-215-9

Let little Cappen go, they shouted. Maybe he can sing the trolls to sleep--

The wind came from the north with sleet on its back. Raw shuddering gusts whipped the sea till the ship lurched and men felt driven spindrift stinging their faces. Beyond the rail there was winter night, a moving blackness where the waves rushed and clamored; straining into the great dark, men sensed only the bitter salt of sea-scud, the nettle of sleet and the lash of wind.

Cappen lost his footing as the ship heaved beneath him, his hands were yanked from the icy rail and he went stumbling to the deck. The bilge water was new coldness on his drenched clothes. He struggled back to his feet, leaning on a rower's bench and wishing miserably that his quaking stomach had more to lose. But he had already chucked his share of stockfish and hardtack, to the laughter of Svearek's men, when the gale started.

Numb fingers groped anxiously for the harp on his back. It still seemed intact in its leather case. He didn't

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