Breath of God

“Their shamans are good enough. And they work magic the same way we do. I’ve heard that from the shamans and from our sorcerers,” Hamnet said. “The Rulers don’t. They have their own way. Not surprising, not when they’ve been separate from us since the last time the Glacier came down, whenever that was.”

Kormak Bersi surprised him by saying, “Since the days when we could go to the Golden Shrine.”

“Yes, that’s right. Since those days, or maybe even longer – who knows where their ancestors were back then?” Hamnet said. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is, their sorcerers are stronger than ours.”

Kormak looked anything but convinced. He had no reason to believe Hamnet – he’d never faced the invaders’ wizardry. Before he could say anything, Marcovefa asked, “What are you going on about?” She was getting ever more fluent in the ordinary Bizogot tongue, but Raumsdalian remained a closed codex to her – except when her sense of understanding spilled out like Hevring Lake after the dam broke down. That didn’t seem to be happening now.

“About the Rulers’ shamans,” Hamnet Thyssen answered in the Bizogot language.

Many a Raumsdalian noblewoman would have envied Marcovefas sniff. “Oh. Them. They’re not so much,” she said.

“Maybe not to you,” Hamnet said. “They’re better than anything we have. They’ve proved that, even if we wish they hadn’t.”

“Too many things,” Marcovefa said impatiently. “You, these Bizogots … Too many things.” She freighted the word with scorn. “You have so many things, you don’t pay enough attention to your shamanry.”

“The Rulers have as many things as the Bizogots,” Hamnet pointed out.

Marcovefa only sniffed again. “They don’t pay enough attention to their shamanry, either. Maybe a little more than these Bizogots, a little more than you Raumsdalians. But not enough. Not close to enough. Up where I come from, they would be nothing. Nothing!” She snapped her fingers to show how much of a nothing they would be.

No one in his right mind wanted to go up where she came from. The clans atop the Glacier had no easy time climbing down, either. Did their poverty in all material things really make them such formidable wizards? Hamnet hadn’t seen that when he was up there himself, but he hadn’t looked for it, either. Down here, Marcovefa did seem uncommonly accomplished. Did that mean she was a powerful shaman, or that she came from a powerful school of sorcery? Hamnet didn’t know, and he wasn’t convinced she did, either.

“Maybe you’ll just have to beat them all singlehanded,” he said.

She looked at him, then back up towards the north. “Maybe I will.”

The badlands ended as abruptly as they’d begun. All at once, the winding road ran straight and true towards Nidaros’ western gate. What had been the muddy bottom of Hevring Lake was now some of the richest cropland in the Raumsdalian Empire. The travelers rode past orchards and fields and meadows finer than any they’d seen to the north and west. The farmers reacted to the sight of so many Bizogots on the road by hiding their livestock and shutting up their houses. They were brave and stupid at the same time: if these Bizogots really were invaders, only fleeing might have saved the locals.

“It would be fu

“First time I’ve heard you sound like you care about Raumsdalians,” Ulric Skakki drawled.

The Bizogot jarl screwed up his face, then let his anger go in a long, loud sigh. “I care about anybody the Rulers hurt,” he said. “Will you tell me I haven’t earned the right?”

Not even Ulric had the crust to claim he hadn’t.

All the Bizogots and Marcovefa exclaimed at the quality of the serai where they stayed that night. The roast pork was better than most, but the serai itself was nothing out of the ordinary to anyone who’d seen Nidaros itself and what the hostels there boasted. Hamnet found his bed wide and soft and inviting – far too much for someone sleeping in it by himself. He tossed and turned all night.

Ulric and Arnora had the room next door. The walls weren’t thick enough to mute their screaming row – or the way they made up afterwards. Hamnet Thyssen plopped his pillow over his head. It didn’t block out the sounds of lovemaking, which did nothing to help him drop off.

He came downstairs the next morning pouchy-eyed and grumpy. Beer and bacon made a good breakfast, but couldn’t get him moving very fast. That Liv and Audun Gilli came down right after him only made things worse. They sat at a table halfway across the taproom – they weren’t trying to torment him, as Gudrid would have – but his eyes kept sliding towards them.

Audun faced him. The wizard was smiling and happy and voluble. Hamnet knew the feeling; he’d enjoyed it himself not long before. He could see only the back of Liv’s head. The way she held it made him sure she was happy, too. Maybe he was imagining things, but he didn’t think so.

Ulric Skakki walked in and sat across from Hamnet. That kept him from seeing Liv unless he peered around the adventurer, which was probably part of what Ulric had in mind. It didn’t help much, though. He didn’t need to see Liv with his body’s eyes to see her inside his mind.

To try to blot out that bright, shining image, he glowered at Ulric and said, “You’re bloody noisy – you know that?”

“Not all my fault,” Ulric said. “Arnora gets her share of the blame. More than her share, to tell you the truth – she enjoys quarreling over nothing, and I don’t.”

“Cursed walls are thin,” Count Hamnet said, sipping from his mug. “By now, I know just about everything she enjoys – and you, too.”

“I told you you needed to get laid,” Ulric said with what sounded like exaggerated patience. “All that stuff is turning sour inside of you. It can’t be healthy. You’ll end up like one of those bull mastodons in” – he snapped his fingers, looking for a word -”what the demon do they call it?”

“Musth,” Hamnet answered.

“That’s it!” Ulric agreed. A serving girl came over to the table. He ordered breakfast, then turned back to Hamnet Thyssen. “They’d be a lot happier if they found a friendly female, and so, by God, would you.”

“There’s no such thing as a friendly female,” Hamnet said stonily. “Not if you’re looking for something that lasts.”

“Not always true. A lot of the time, maybe, but not always,” Ulric Skakki said. “Besides, if all you’re trying to do is steer clear of musth, you don’t care whether it lasts or not. You musth believe me, my deer fellow.” He lisped with malice aforethought.

Count Hamnet grimaced at the pun and at the sentiment. “It wouldn’t mean anything,” he insisted.

“It would mean you could sleep at night. Is that so bad?”

“It would take more than that,” Hamnet said.

“That would be a good start.” Ulric looked back towards the stairs to make sure Arnora wasn’t coming. He lowered his voice: “If you want to take my not quite beloved off my hands, I won’t say a word. I’ll be glad I don’t have to worry about her, to tell you the truth. And since you say you know what she enjoys. .”

“No, thanks.” Hamnet s ears heated. “I know what I’d enjoy, too, and she isn’t it.”

“Too bad.” The adventurer eyed him, one corner of his mouth canted up in rueful amusement. “I always remembered you were a hard case, but I didn’t think you’d be quite so hard as this.”

“Well, I am,” Hamnet said, not without a certain somber pride.

“All right. Fine.” Ulric made flapping motions with his arms, as if he were trying to get a duck to go where he wanted it to. “Some people are stupid enough to enjoy being miserable. I didn’t think you were one of those, but if you are, you are.”

The girl brought him breakfast then. He settled in and began to eat. He ignored Hamnet Thyssen altogether, or seemed to. Hamnet grumbled to himself; he didn’t think he enjoyed being miserable. He hated it. He would much rather not have been miserable – but who’d given him a choice? Not Gudrid. Not Liv, either. That was how it looked to him, anyway.