A Mankind Witch (41 page)

"From what I can gather, they usually do end up keeping people," said Erik. He paused and then decided to speak his mind anyway. "Look, Cair, at the moment we are together in this mess. We owe you our lives—I've not forgotten that. But if there is a threat to Manfred I'll have to kill you. I also think that your mind and clever fingers are our best chance at getting out of here. So why don't the two of us cry a truce? You've decided that you can trust Manfred with the one you hold most dear, and you're right about that. I've decided I can trust you. I can trust you that far anyway," he modified.

Cair nodded. He couldn't speak as he was busy blowing glass. But when he put it back into the furnace before marvering it a second time, he said: "A fair deal. I was going to propose it myself. And Erik. You understand far more about the culture Princess Signy is trapped in. If I am killed will you do your solemn best to see that she escapes from Telemark?"

It was Erik's turn to nod.

They worked on, Cair with visibly growing skill. It would take months before he was half as good as a Venetian apprentice, but his work had far eclipsed the efforts of the kobold who had been his predecessor. The dwarves looked in from time to time, and seemed well pleased. Cair and Erik got through a lot, and even found time for work on Cair's bird. Well, actually on a glass dropper that Cair made, that he insisted would work for part of the "song." And they made a selection of lenses, which Erik found himself set to polishing. It was like polishing armor, but even more tedious. Still, Erik heard more about just how Cair had ended up as a thrall, and of how he had ended up in the kobolds' hands.

"I think you were a pawn in Queen Albruna's hand," said Erik thoughtfully.

"I suspect the same. But she's dead now."

"You're certain that was her head you saw?"

Cair nodded. "Absolutely. I haven't yet found a way to tell Signy. The woman made her life a misery, and probably betrayed her to Bakrauf, but she was still the only mother Signy has ever had. Or ever knew, at least."

Bakrauf snarled and crumpled the message.

"They have discovered something of the value of their prisoners." She ground together her huge teeth, teeth which had crushed human bones before. "I told you we should not be so hasty in offering to buy them back."

"What else could we do?" asked the monster she called her son. "Anyway they never do let anyone go. Not really."

"Except for Alfar," said Bakrauf. "They don't try too many of their tricks on the denizens of Gimlé's Halls. And she's got a lot of that blood, curse her."

"You mean they might let her go?"

"Might," admitted Bakrauf. "They keep on the good side of the Alfar, curse both of them. Of course gold talks loudly to the black dwarves. They will risk a lot for more gold. But they might just let her go. With the dwarves you never can tell."

"So what do we do?"

Bakrauf shrugged. "There are few places where they can be returned by the dwarves to Midgard. Only three in Telemark. We must have those places watched. In the meanwhile our plans proceed. Trolls must be bred, our allies here and in Midgard marshaled. Weapons must be made."

"And the hill-raising mechanism must be fixed."

Bakrauf ground her square teeth in rage again.

Signy moved the little piece of glass that Cair had handed her away from her eye . . . and nearly dropped it. "Everything got closer! It's magic!"

"There is no such thing, Princess," said Cair. "Just science. Understanding how things work."

"But with this I can do close fine-work," she said, her eyes luminous with excitement.

And so it was. Experimenting with a number of the lenses they found one that allowed Signy to see, clearly, what her fingers were doing. They had made a little wire holder for it. Signy marveled at her own fingers' deftness, now. The picture that was taking shape under her needle seemed almost alive. Now that she could see what she was doing, needlework was no longer a horrible chore. She could enjoy it, too, and finally see what other women had enjoyed about it. The gardens were flourishing—other than trips to pet the horses, she could work nearly without interruption on the embroidery.

In fact she had to slow it all down so that they could finish together. The dwarves, particularly Þekkr, came in to look and often to talk. They seemed fascinated by her, and she used this fascination to get a great deal of information from them, particularly about things magical. She was rather proud of herself. The deft fingerwork left her mind free to ponder many things. She reached certain conclusions over time, and, eventually decided to act on them.

That evening while they were sitting on what Erik had named "the council ledge" she explained. "I have learned a great deal from Þekkr about the arm-ring. I will not call it the arm-ring of Odin, but by its old name, Gullveig the Dripper. She was bound to the altar stone and within the
weard
stones of the
Vé
. She is powerful for both good and ill. The
weard
stones restrain her. Only at the time of the ancient sacrifice can the ring leave the stone, and then only to greet the
weards
so that she may know them. They are smaller, symbolic versions of old
bautarstein
that encircle the ancient kingdom. She guards them and they guard her. Taking the arm-ring from the stone magically is almost impossible . . ." Signy paused. "So there is only one place it could be," she said, calmly.

"Where?" asked Manfred.

"Touching the altar stone."

"It's not invisible," said Erik firmly.

Signy shook her head. "No. It is not. But it is there. Touching the stone."

Cair was quickest, beating Erik by seconds. "Under the stone?"

Signy nodded. "It is the only place where it could be, as I said. It must remain in the center of Telemark. At the spiritual and symbolic center."

Manfred looked at Erik, tilting his head on one side. "I reckon that answers the 'who did it?' question, too."

"My half-brother," said Signy in a matter-of-fact tone. "No other man could have lifted that stone." She paused for a moment. "Without those pulleys you're working on, that is."

There was a silence. Signy realized that they were all waiting for Cair to speak. After some time he did. "You know I don't believe the superstitions," he said. "Yes, I know it fits your theory, Erik, of whom your Christian mage was really pointing to with her wand trick. I know, too, that Vortenbras was itching to get out of the treaty he had with the Empire. But superstition is a question of belief. So even if the superstition is just that, Vortenbras may have known it and believed it. So he could have done the deed. And, true enough, only he could have done it. Unless Manfred of Brittany had sneaked in to do it?" enquired Cair with a lift to his eyebrow.

"Er. No."

"Good. I would have hated to have broken my oath and killed you. I'm getting quite fond of the way you grind charcoal," Cair said cheerfully.

"Well," admitted Fjalarr, glumly looking at the magnificent piece of artwork, "you've fulfilled the challenge, fair enough. I must be honest, this piece, superb though it is, is poor exchange for our gardens."

"I've done my best to see that they endure," said Signy.

Þekkr cleared his throat. "You wouldn't like to consider staying on? You and the glassmaker. He's clever for a Midgarder." The dwarf looked as if he was having his teeth drawn, but he had made the offer. "We could even consider better terms . . ."

Three months ago she could have asked for no more. To be needed . . . No, to be wanted, for her skills and for herself. "You're better without me here. I see too much," she said with a mischievous smile.

They looked at each other. "We wondered why you stayed," admitted Vitr. "You could have walked out so easily."

"As you said, intangible chains are the strongest. And loyalty binds me."

"Oh? We thought it was something else," said Sjárr, his spark-eyes dancing. "Well, let us go and see if that can hold you here, if he fails."

"He doesn't fail," she said with a calm certainty.

She was surprised that she had admitted that she knew who they were referring to, and even more surprised that they knew. She'd even toyed with the idea of calling him to her sleeping mat . . . That would have been an almost unthinkable concept, three weeks back. It was perhaps a good thing that the Franks were here.

In two sections, the steel disk went in through the hole. Manfred had fun attaching the two pieces together in a space where two hands did not fit, but at length the plate blocked the hole completely.

Vitr clicked his tongue. "Big and dim," he said, laughing. "The idea is to get through, not to block it up." He came up and, standing on tiptoes felt the welded bars that now protruded through the hole. "Or are you planning to hold on to these and pull it out?

Manfred shook his head. "Just wait and see how dim I am, Vitr."

The dwarf laughed again. "I can already see how big you are."

The second, outer, heavier plate and the black powder had Vitr rolling on the floor with laughter. "Oh my, Midgarder. This is priceless. Magic, no doubt." His expression said exactly what he though of Midgard magic, or at least of Manfred as a practitioner of it.

Manfred looked tolerantly at him. "I'd stay down there. Or come a lot farther back around the corner preferably. The sort of charm I'm going to work here will very possibly twist that beard of yours into knots popping out of your tail end."

Vitr sat up. "Wait. I must fetch the others. This is too good to miss."

"Sure. Can I fetch my friends, too?"

Vitr gave him a stern look. "Don't be silly, now. They're busy. And so should you be. We've got another load of locks for the kobolds to finish. I talked with Fjalarr about that piece of Midgard 'magic.'" He pointed at the metalwork. "You're wasted carrying ore. It's into the foundry with you, lad."

Manfred knew he ought to treat the "promotion" with disdain. But it was flattering, coming from the black dwarf. He had time to carefully lay a trail of the black powder that Cair had mixed so precisely. It took them nicely back around the corner. Manfred knew little of explosives—he was a Ritter, not a bombardier. All he knew was that this was dangerous stuff. It was mildly funny, though, that the corsair was distinctly envious that Manfred got to play with his toy. Manfred grinned to himself, thinking of Cair behaving like a mother hen last night. "It is that the powder is tightly enclosed, you understand. That is why it must be rammed in a cannon. Otherwise it just burns. And for heaven's sake, Manfred, be careful with the stuff."

"You aren't."

"That's because I have some idea of what I am doing," Cair had said loftily, and in Manfred's opinion, untruthfully. There was a certain amount of devil-may-care luck involved in Cair. One day it would run out on the man—or that was Erik's theory. Manfred reckoned that Cair would simply produce the next plan, and if that failed, go on to the next . . . as long as his explosives didn't blow him up to an accounting with his maker.

Manfred knelt, and hauled out his tinderbox. "Here," said Sjárr, "you want a spark?"

"Yes," said Manfred and then looked up just in time. "Hey. Come away from there." Vitr and Þekkr were heading around the corner, toward the explosive. And the trail of powder was fizzing and burning along behind them. "This way! NOW!" He yelled in a voice that brooked no argument, that could have brought walls down by itself, without gunpowder.

The two dwarves turned. Vitr jumped, seeing the fizzing trail burning behind him. Manfred had lumbered up to the two, grabbed one startled dwarf in each hand and flung them as far as he could up the passage. They were remarkably heavy for small men. He dived after them himself, nearly impaling himself on the very affronted Vitr's dagger.

Then . . . the charge exploded. Vitr dropped his dagger. A piece of the roof dropped, too. None of them heard it. Belatedly it occurred to Manfred that a cave was also a good enclosed space.

As if by magic—and it was entirely possible that it was—Fjalarr appeared. He was saying something. Manfred couldn't hear anything right now. But he seemed reassured by the intactness of his brothers. Then others appeared—humans and other workers, with Erik and Cair in the forefront, and Signy a little farther back, all looking worried and then relieved. Saying something because their lips were moving. Manfred allowed himself some of the choicest expletives of Venice in describing Cair. Manfred couldn't hear them, but by Cair's grin, he could.

Manfred couldn't lip-read too well, but he was willing to bet the fellow said, "I told you so."

Hearing was beginning to return now and they all walked cautiously around the corner to where the dust was settling slowly. Someone had the intelligence to bring along a lamp from the wall sconce.

And to his horror, Manfred saw that the wall of adamantine still stood. The metal plate was somewhat buckled. He touched it gingerly, and it fell with a clang to the floor.

It still stood! After all that! He kicked it in disgust. And had to leap for safety as the admantine wall fell down in a shower of cracked crystal. Well, a large part of it fell down, along with another piece of roof that came with it, in sympathy.

"I hope," said Þekkr, "that your attempt at the fulfilment of your challenge is less exciting than your companion's efforts." He seemed to find it funny.

Erik looked darkly at Cair. "It'd better be."

"Good," said Sjárr, his grin like a half-moon in his black beard. "I'm not standing too close anyway. Not after last time."

"I still think we should give them back to Bakrauf," said Vitr with an evil chuckle. "The old troll-wife will be paying us through the nose for repairs from their last efforts. I shouldn't have thought she'd want them back. I mean, they've cost us a priceless wall of adamantine so far. Now we'll have to get someone to put it back together again."

"She must be crazier than we thought to be prepared to buy them," agreed Sjárr. "Well, Midgarder. Go to it. Tell us if we have to duck."