Authors: Dave Freer
Tags: #Fantasy, #Epic, #Science Fiction, #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy Fiction, #Contemporary, #Alternative History, #Relics, #Holy Roman Empire, #Kidnapping victims, #Norway
Manfred grinned even more broadly and quickened his stride. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's get across there. This is even better than that sailor from Lesbos's magic tricks."
As he said that, Erik paused, midstride. Then the Icelander started to laugh. And then laughed some more. And sat down on the snow to laugh, clutching his aching sides.
"What's wrong with him? He's had hardly any of that schnapps," said Szpak, looking puzzled.
"Cair's magic tricks," spluttered Erik. "Weren't tricks."
"What?" asked Manfred, frowning.
"I just figured it out," said Erik, clutching his knees, beaming like an idiot. "Cair, the sceptic who didn't believe in magic, went through huge performances to fake magic—which always appeared to work . . . Which, considering that he was an amateur, is surprising. Impossible, really."
Szpak looked curiously at him. "You mean you thought he was a fake?"
"Yes,
he
thought he was a fake!" said Erik, struggling with his gravity. "And he believed it so hard he convinced the rest of us. But he'd fooled himself. He was going through the rituals of magic, without believing they'd work. He thought it was his tricks working. But it wasn't. It was the real thing. Oh, priceless!"
Manfred's eyes narrowed. "That bird. Signy is a witch all right, and not quite human. But she wasn't even there when he did that bird—and you two hurried out before it exploded and the dwarves found out that it was a fraud! And then it came flying to his rescue. Oh, priceless indeed!"
Erik nodded. "No wonder he always appeared able to do the magical! No wonder he always managed the improbable! He must be kicking himself. Our too clever, chess-playing, think-every-possible-move-ahead corsair missed something basic in his calculations. He got it all wrong . . . And now he's a Telemark landholder, obliged to let the richest prizes he ever saw go."
"What are you two talking about?" demanded Szpak.
Manfred hauled Erik to his feet, helped him dust snow off himself. "About, among other things, me having to explain to my uncle that the corsair captain Cair Aidin is now subject to a treaty with the Empire and that a price on his head would be diplomatically awkward."
"And that price is not about to be collected by any Norseman," said Erik, shaking his head, ruefully.
Then it was Manfred's turn to start laughing. "But I think Charles Fredrik is going to be pleased with me after all. No wonder that smart Turk was looking so sour at the oath. As one of Signy's citizens and landholders, he's just forsworn attacking not just us, but the Empire's shipping, too. Priceless! No wonder Signy was laughing. She's a smart woman, that. She's kept him home."
Erik grinned. "All right. So it
is
all done then. I agree. Now all we have to do is get out of Norway."
"As fast as possible!" agreed Manfred. "Away from trolls, kobolds, real fake magicians, and too-clever women. To somewhere warm."
Juzef Szpak grinned. "That's a nice thing to say when I have to go back to Småland!"
"Ah. But you will have your cabbage liquor," said Manfred comfortingly.
In the last few days, Cair—or Jarl Cair, the Grendelslayer, Lord of Numedal and Amdal, as he was now respectfully known—had come to realize that his princess, free of her past and confirmed in her power, was able and clever as well as beautiful and kindly. He loved her more than ever. And now he had this message . . .
"She wishes for you to come, alone, to the stables, Jarl," said the respectful warrior. "She said to tell you it was to discuss her impending marriage."
Well. She was a queen. Not free to marry or even love of her own choosing.
It was a long walk to the stables.
She was, naturally, waiting with the old horses.
There were, as usual, four or five dogs at her heels. Well. He had a bird that ate live coals on his shoulder. She'd returned it to him, and bade him keep the dagger. Her steel, given to him as her champion. By now, she didn't need him as that. She was the darling of the nation, both adored and respected.
Instead of the fine dresses that she wore nowadays, she'd dug out an old riding habit from somewhere.
It tore at him. In his heart he knew that he was still her thrall, and would always be that.
"My princess," he said, and knelt.
"Cair," she said tenderly, raising him up. "I wanted to talk to you. To talk to you away from the court and the people. To go back to the time and place when you were my only friend. When you, I realize now, planned to run away with me. To kidnap me, if need be, to save me. If I'd known then what I know now, I would have gone with you, corsair."
"I only wanted you to be happy, my princess," he said humbly. He would always be humble with her. A thrall was.
Her eyes were luminous as she looked at him. "But I am not a princess anymore, Cair. I am the queen of Telemark. And I am known as an
Alfarblot
witch. Queens must marry for power." She took a deep breath. "Witches . . . witches are different. We do not fear them here in the north. But people believe the only fit husband for a witch is another witch. I know, now, that I can work magics on things that grow and live. You weave magics into whatever you do with inanimate things. Yet you claim to not believe in magic. I could not marry a man who claims not to believe in what I do, or in what he does."
Cair took the bird from his shoulder. It looked at him with glowing amber eyes that had once been a broken bead. He'd come to terms with the fact that he'd made some misjudgments about both the Norse and about magical matters. "A good scientist is always prepared to reevaluate matters on the basis of new evidence . . . If you rub his nose in it," he said with a wry smile. He flicked the bird up to fly, and folded her into his arms. Flying in a circle above them, the bird began to sing.
"For you, my Alfar queen, I will be all of mankind's witches," said Jarl Cair quietly, to his beloved.