A Mankind Witch (45 page)

Then Brother Uriel was there, also sprinkling holy water on her. She hissed and spat like a fire in a rainstorm. And subsided like one, too. Glowering and furious.

Cair had been swept along with the press of men heading out of the temple with Signy.

He had no plans for this. Only determination . . . and a last fire and smoke bomb he hadn't used when they joined in the Yule log procession.

All this had been his idea in the first place. And now, she was going to die for it. He lit the fuse from someone's torch. And tossed it into the crowd. The bomb was designed for show, not harm, but right now it was all he had.

He hit the warrior nearest to him in the pit of the stomach and wrenched his poleaxe away from him.

"A rescue!" he yelled. "Signy!"

* * *j

With the rope around her neck Signy saw Cair, like some Viking berserk out of legend, fighting his way toward her. Men scattered, or fell. This was good and fitting. Cair would surely go to Valhalla, to be part of Odin's host, thrall brand or no, fighting like that. It would seem that no one could stand against him and his companion.

Her heart sang with pride and joy.

Cair realized as he fought his way forward that two things had happened—the first: his bomb had plainly not gone off, and the second was that he had at least one comrade to help him. The whistling iron bird dove at his foes, slashing at them with its long, sharp beak, or with the talons he'd cast for it. He had no time right now to question the logic or the possibility of it: it was here, and Signy needed their help. The fact that it was indeed a magical creature, or else it could not possibly fly and attack his foes, was irrelevant.

All that stood between him and Signy now were Vortenbras's hearthmen. The Norse locals were too superstitious to attack. There were of course still a lot of hearthmen.

"I want him alive," bellowed Vortenbras, holding a spear to Signy's side.

That suited Cair down to the ground. People who had to try and keep you alive were a lot easier to kill.

"You can maim him. I don't mind if he loses limbs. But keep him alive."

Manfred let his arms go slack as if he was going to stop struggling. Then he wrenched them free, just as Vortenbras yelled, "I want him alive." Damn. If they only sought to capture the gallant idiot, Manfred had no excuse to break his oath.

Then when Vortenbras said the second part he knew that he was right.

"Prince Manfred! Our oath!"

"The hell with it. My honor!" roared Manfred.

And then . . . there was the sound of sharp trumpets shattering the air.

It was Signy. Who would have thought that a human throat could have produced such a sound?

* * *j

Signy screamed. It was a sound of pure fury and anguish. How could Vortenbras? Hel take her half-brother. If Cair died in this battle, fighting for her, then they could die together as was right and fitting. Odin would never deny a fighter like that a place in Valhalla.

Instead, Vortenbras had decided that her man—and there was no denying it now: he was her man—must be maimed, so they could not even be together in Valhalla.

She shouted into the sudden silence as the crowd turned to stare at her, using the words that King Vikar had used, centuries back. "If I am guilty of anything, let Odin's will fall as it may. Otherwise, I will exercise my will."

And abruptly the air was full of birdsong and warmth . . .

And the strong tree that was bent to hang her as an offering, shrank and became a sapling. The stout rope became frail calf-gut, and the spear Vortenbras thrust furiously at her turned into a weak reed and snapped.

Signy stepped free. Weapons fell from several hands.

And then Erik struggled out of the temple, his arms still tight around the troll-wife. Bakrauf had half burst out of Queen Albruna's gown, exposing a row of white, sowlike teats to the crowd.

A collective hiss of horror went up from the warriors.

"The troll-wife," said Erik in the silence. "Bakrauf. The source of all these troubles."

"Sorcerer! What have you done to my mother?" bellowed Vortenbras.

Erik looked him straight in the eye. "Queen Albruna is dead. Her head lies pickled in a jar in the troll-wife's castle," he said. "This one has taken on a seeming of her." He grunted as Bakrauf struggled in his arms. "She is a mistress of glamour. We need chains to hold her. Cold iron. Fetch them."

"Let me help," said Szpak calmly. "The arms of armored men will do. Von Gersinger, Alendorff. Take her. One in front and one behind. Hold her tight."

"Better put your visors down, Ritters. She bites," said Erik. Both of his eyes had already begun to swell.

Signy walked forward and took Cair by the arm and led him forward, a broken poleaxe in his hand and a strange metal bird on his shoulder.

"It's that thrall!" exclaimed Vortenbras. "A thrall that has taken edged steel! Attacked his betters! He'll do for the blood-eagle."

Signy looked coolly at her half-brother. "He has every right to take up steel, Vortenbras. He was
my
thrall.
My
property, and I have freed him, as is my right. You will have to look elsewhere for victims."

Cair's showy firework chose this moment to go off and shower them in sparkling yellow stars.

Signy held tightly to Cair. But she did not choose to run or even retreat.

The metal bird on Cair's shoulder whistled, took off, and flew above them.

No one else stood their ground—except for Vortenbras. "Get up," he snarled at his men. And such was the sheer force of his personality, or his hold on them, that they listened. Warriors got to their feet, looking sheepish, looking scared, but still looking to Vortenbras.

"I still rule," Vortenbras said coolly. "Understand and remember this. The kings of Telemark cannot be removed except by death. I have decided. Hjorda is dead and you, Signy, are an impediment. You will be sacrificed to Odin. A fitting royal sacrifice to cleanse this temple of the heathen Christian filth trespassing in it. I will kill you with my own hands if need be. And this time your witchcraft will not stop me." He looked at the knights. "The arm-ring of Odin is missing. The truce-oath will not be renewed." He looked hard at them, daring any accusation, any back-answer.

Cair had an answer. He threw the broken poleaxe like a javelin. It hit Vortenbras on his unprotected throat.

And Vortenbras did not die. He pulled the blade out and snapped the remnant of the shaft off, dropping it at his feet.

The blood stopped flowing and the cut healed as they watched.

Vortenbras spat blood . . . and laughed. "You cannot kill me. But I can and will kill you, thrall."

Cair's reply was to pick up a piece of the axe shaft.

Manfred found his arm being tugged furiously by the two nuns. "We need you," said Sister Mary.

"Now," said Sister Mary, tugging harder.

He shook his head. "Not now. I need to kill Vortenbras."

Sister Mercy snorted. "You can kill him fifty times over. He has the arm-ring. The magic of the thing will simply mend him."

Sister Mary explained. "We need to get him to take the arm-ring off. The only way to do that is to use your strength on one of the
bautarstein
which mark the
weard
of the arm-ring." The birdlike little nun looked at her companion. "We cannot do it."

Manfred drew a deep breath.
Think. Do not react without thinking
. Erik had said it a thousand times. "I'm sorry. Show me what you need done."

The mossy rock had been imbedded in the soil a long time, but it was no match for Manfred in this mood. Clutching it like some stone baby, Manfred ran back through the crowd, thrusting them aside.

"Place it so that he is outside the
weards
," clucked a panting sister from his wake.

Manfred didn't run into the hearthmen and drop it. He simply threw it from there. Fortunately for them nobody was hit by it.

As it touched the ground, Vortenbras, the Viking ideal . . . screamed like a woman in labor. He dropped his sword and clawed at his arm, tearing the rich cloth, yanking at the thick golden arm-ring that was revealed. The Norse kinglet pulled it off, shrieking.

It lay there, gleaming in the torchlight.

"Now we know, indeed, who stole the arm-ring," said Brother Ottar, speaking Norse, his voice strong in the silence.

Vortenbras shrugged. Standing back from it, he retrieved his sword. "I cannot avoid the treaty between Telemark and the Holy Roman Empire," he said. He turned on Signy—and the crowd. "But nothing else changes. The kings of Telemark are kings by blood, and cannot be removed except by death."

"Yet they must face challenge by the jarls. Trial by battle," said Signy. She turned to the nobles of Telemark. "Who will remove this king for us?"

Vortenbras laughed. "Who here will dare to meet me?" He held up his sword. "I am the foremost warrior in all Norseland. Face me, if you dare."

Not one of the Norse uttered a word. "I will," said Manfred.

"Or I will," said Erik. "I am a better swordsman."

"But your eyes are half-swollen shut," said Manfred cheerfully. "Comes of kissing troll-wives." He'd pay for that later, but it was worth it.

"I'll do it," said Szpak.

The old priest had come forward, nervously. He reached for the arm-ring, but it burned him. Still, it rolled against the
waerd
stone. Manfred wondered if this was the thing heading itself back to the altar stone. Wringing his burned hand, the priest said feebly. "You can't, outlanders. You are truce-sworn."

"I'll do it," said Cair cheerfully as the metal bird landed gently on his shoulder. "I'm not sworn to any truce. And I owe you for this brand, Vortenbras, and for the mistreatment you have given the princess."

Vortenbras looked down at the corsair. "You may not be a thrall but you are not noble. Not a landholder," sneered Vortenbras. "I almost wish you were. I would enjoy killing you, for all that you are undersized."

"Before these witnesses, I gift you my mother's holdings, Cair Aidin," said Signy loudly.

Manfred saw how Vortenbras's eyes widened. "Cair Aidin?" he said, staring. "You? The corsair? The Lynx of the Pillars of Hercules? You? Here? Do you know my agents have tried to contact you, or your brother Aruj, to suggest an alliance? North and south we could harry the seaways."

Cair laughed, calm and seemingly amused. "I'd sooner bed a viper," he said, dismissively.

"And I would ally with no man who would let himself be made into a thrall," sneered Vortenbras.

Cair grinned, white teeth bright in his dark face. "Ah, but I am a freeman now, Vortenbras. A landed freeman of your own country. I have the right to my sword. But it was lost at sea. I'll need another blade to fight you with."

Vortenbras snorted. "You can have any blade in the kingdom. It will do you no good. I'm going to hamstring you and make you into a thrall again. Your death will be slow and obscene."

"Very well." Cair turned to Erik. "Do you have a rapier? Not a broadsword. A proper rapier."

Erik nodded. "Yes. A Ferranese blade from the hands of one of De Viacastan's journeymen. You can have the use of it with my blessing. In fact, you can have it. Fair payment for services rendered."

Cair nodded. "Fair payment indeed, Erik. I thank you. Have someone fetch it for me, please."

He turned to Signy.

"I ask one boon, Princess. Can I borrow the knife you gave to me as my main gauche?"

She nodded. Drew the blade very carefully from her sleeve sheath. "Here. You are a free man, Cair. A nobleman of Telemark. Use it well." Only Manfred was standing close enough to hear her say, "I will join you cleanly my beloved. I will be beside you in Valhalla." She plainly did not believe anyone could defeat Vortenbras. It was also clear that none of the Norse did, either.

He bowed. "Thank you, Princess. I am honored." He took the metal bird from his shoulder. "I gift you my bird in return. I suppose the dwarves said that I must make it, not that they could have it."

Cair turned to Manfred. "I understand the honor the princess does to me . . . now. Nonetheless . . . you have an oath."

Manfred grinned. He had had enough lessons from Erik—and the two of them from the Venetian armsmaster, Giuliano Dell'Arta—to know that size wasn't everything. Speed and skill were. "I'm not going to need to honor it, Cair. But I would."

Cair smiled, and felt the balance and weight of the knife, holding it up.

Vortenbras snorted his disdain at the knife. He drew his huge two-handed sword. Well, it would have been a two-handed sword for any other man. He looked at his half-sister "I'm not an old dotard like Hjorda, Signy. Maybe that would have killed him. Not me."

Signy smiled at him, showing her teeth like a vixen defending her cubs. "You hoped for that end for me, Vortenbras. You and that thing I called mother. You called me
Svartalfarblod
and called me a
seid
-witch. Why are you not afraid that I will bring my magic down on you now?"

Vortenbras snorted. "You're too soft. Besides, I have my own powers."

A panting man arrived with the rapier, and a commander of the guard from the perimeter.

"We hear a large number of dogs out in the mist, King Vortenbras," said the commander.

"Deal with it," snarled Vortenbras. "The problem you were supposed to avert is here already." He pointed at Signy. "And find the men who let the
Joulu
log through and kill them."

"You'd better wait until the issue of kingship is decided before you do anything rash," said Manfred to the commander, whose eyes opened wide, plainly recognizing the speaker. "But you can pass the word on to your men that the arm-ring has been found."

"Who asked you to speak?" snapped Vortenbras, looking furiously at Manfred. The veneer of polite court manners was peeled away.

"I don't need your permission, kinglet," said Manfred, trying to make Vortenbras angry. In a fight, an angry man was less cautious. It might offset the advantages of reach and weight that Vortenbras had. He had not forgetten that the corsair had almost bested Erik with a homemade knife. But Vortenbras was presumably skilled, too. "We found it on the thief and murderer's arm." He pointed at the culprit as the commander gaped.