The Breath of God (41 page)

“True.” Again, Hamnet left it there—but not for long. He couldn't help adding, “Till the Rulers get here, anyway.”

Sigvat II made a horrible face. That worry had to be in his mind, too. “Give me what I want, Your Grace, and I'll do the same for you,” he said. “I will keep Gudrid away from you while you fight the foe—you have a bargain there.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Hamnet said. “And the rest of it?”

“If you beat the Rulers, I'll leave you alone,” the Emperor said. “Before God, I will, and I'll see that Gudrid does, too. But if you don't—”

“Don't worry about it, Your Majesty,” Hamnet said. Sigvat stared at him. He explained: “If I lose, chances are you won't get the chance to punish me. I'll be too dead for you to worry about it. Losing to the Rulers is its own punishment.”

“Mm, yes, I can see how that might be.” Sigvat smiled a thin smile. Hamnet Thyssen had a pretty good idea of what he was thinking. Whether Hamnet won or the Rulers did, the Emperor didn't lose everything.

Or he thought he didn't, anyhow. Hamnet doubted whether he'd thought things through—but Hamnet doubted that about Sigvat a lot of the time. If the Rulers won, the most he could hope for was to go on as their vassal. They were more likely to dispose of him and find another puppet—or to do without puppets altogether.

As far as Count Hamnet was concerned, Sigvat deserved that kind of fate. Whether the rest of Raumsdalia did might be a different story.

“Well, go on,” the Emperor said. “God go with you. Good fortune go with you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Hamnet and Kormak said together. Hamnet went on, “Will the guards still have our weapons, to give them back when we leave the palace?”

“They will,” Sigvat promised.

And they did, though the dirty looks one of them sent Hamnet's way suggested that he'd done some appropriating while Hamnet sat in his cell.
With a sword on his hip and a knife on his belt, Hamnet felt better able to face the world outside. He knew it was more likely to yield to such weapons than the heartless world of the palace was.

The Glacier lay a long way north, but he could feel it in the wind when he walked out. He stepped carefully; ice crunched under his bootheels at every stride. Yes, winter was here, sure enough.

“All you have to do now is keep your word and beat the Rulers,” Kormak Bersi remarked.

“Yes, that's all,” Hamnet Thyssen agreed. The imperial agent sent him a sharp look, scenting sarcasm. Hamnet hadn't intended any. He'd got out of Sigvat's dungeon. After that, wouldn't anything else be easy by comparison?

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
HE INNKEEPER WAS
carving a roast goose when Hamnet Thyssen and Kormak Bersi walked into the taproom. “Oh. You two,” he said, looking up from his work. “Your friends aren't here any more.”

“Where are they?” Hamnet hoped he kept the alarm from his voice, but he wasn't sure. Would Sigvat do something really monstrous like releasing him while arresting Ulric Skakki and Audun Gilli and the Bizogots? Maybe the Emperor would think that was funny, not monstrous.

“They all went to what's-his-name's house a few days ago,” the innkeeper replied.

Valiantly resisting the impulse to pick up the goose carcass and crown the fellow with it, Count Hamnet asked, “Whose house?”

“What's-his-name's,” the innkeeper repeated, and Hamnet did take a step towards the steaming, juicy bird on its pewter platter. But then the man went on, “Old foof. White beard. Kind of a big belly. Throws big words around.”

“You know this guy?” Kormak asked.

“Eyvind Torfinn,” Hamnet said, aiming the words at the innkeeper and the agent both and so turning them into half a question.

Both men nodded. “That's him,” the innkeeper said. “You know where he lives? You better, if you're after your pals, 'cause I sure don't.”

“As a matter of fact, it's not too far from here, which is nothing but luck.” Hamnet Thyssen paused. “Did somebody take my gear out of my room?”

“
Somebody
must have, because it's sure not there now,” the innkeeper said. “Don't know if it was your pals, though.”

“Thanks,” Hamnet said dryly. Had Ulric or Audun or Liv remembered his sackful of chattels? Or had the innkeeper made them disappear? Count Hamnet couldn't imagine that the fellow would leave them around for some new lodger to find.

He went out into the cold again, Kormak Bersi at his heels. It wasn't much warmer than it would have been on the Bizogot steppe, if at all. The big difference was, it got cold sooner on the steppe, stayed cold longer, and rarely warmed up in between times. The Breath of God dominated winter there. It did the same here a lot of times, but not always. Here in Nidaros, other, warmer winds warred with it.

“So where is this foof's place?” Kormak asked, breath-fog streaming from his mouth and nose with the words.

“Here on the west side, on the higher ground closer to the palace,” Hamnet answered. “His terrace looks out on the farm country that used to be at the bottom of Hevring Lake.”

“This time of year, he's welcome to his stinking terrace,” Kormak said with an exaggerated shiver. Hamnet Thyssen nodded. He wouldn't have wanted to stand around freezing his nose off, either. Kormak went on, “Well, we might as well go there. Can't very well get started if we don't.”

“No, I guess not.” Count Hamnet would almost rather have faced the Rulers in battle than gone to Earl Eyvind's home. The Rulers were honest enemies. Eyvind Torfinn was, or acted like, a friend. Facing Gudrid . . .

A grim smile spread across his face. It might not be so bad. He could tell her Sigvat wouldn't let her trouble him when he went north again. That was worth something, anyhow.

“Where exactly is this place?” Kormak Bersi asked after they'd wandered for a while.

“I'll find it,” Hamnet said. And, after one more false start, he did.

Eyvind's house was almost as big as the castle Count Hamnet wondered if he'd ever see again. Hamnet knew the older noble had about as many servitors, too. And books took up the space servants didn't. Hamnet could read and write. He even enjoyed reading now and again. But Eyvind Torfinn's collection would probably take more than a year to read through, even if you read for a couple of hours a day. Hamnet had trouble understanding why anyone would surround himself with so many words.

And Eyvind's got Gudrid, too
, he thought sourly.
That really means he has no time for words of his own.

Kormak Bersi couldn't have known what was in his mind. The imperial
agent set a mittened hand on the door knocker and rapped four times. Had he seized the brass knocker with fingers and palm uncovered, he would have left skin behind when he let go.

A panel above the knocker slid back behind a grate much like the ones on dungeon doors. Hamnet Thyssen and Kormak looked at each other, without any doubt sharing the same thought.

The eyes behind the grate widened. “You!” a male voice exclaimed. The panel slammed shut. To Hamnet's annoyance, the door didn't open. Instead, he heard running footsteps and that same voice shouting, “Earl Eyvind! Earl Eyvind! Thyssen's here!”

“Well?” Kormak said. “Is he going to let us in or drop boiling oil on our heads?”

Count Hamnet looked up. There was a murder hole above the entrance. Eyvind Torfinn and his servants could do that if they wanted to. Hamnet wasn't so sure Sigvat wouldn't thank them, too, even if the Emperor had turned him loose.

No boiling oil, no hot water, no heated sand came from above. A few minutes later, the door did open. Instead of Eyvind Torfinn's majordomo, there stood Ulric Skakki, the usual mocking grin playing across his lips. “Well, well,” the adventurer said. “Look what the scavengers dug up and left on our doorstep.”

“Is that an invitation, or shall we just go away?” Hamnet asked.

Ulric made as if to close the door in his face. Hamnet Thyssen made as if to draw his sword. They both grinned, and then stepped forward and embraced. Ulric also thumped Kormak on the shoulder. “You two may as well come in,” he said. “I already bothered to open the door.”

“Sorry to put you to the trouble,” Hamnet said, and Ulric's grin got wider.

“If you are going to let them in, do it, by God,” the officious servitor said from behind Ulric. “Think how much heat you're letting out standing there gabbing with the door open.”

Hamnet and Kormak hurried inside. Ulric Skakki closed the door after them. Earl Eyvind's servant might have been grouchy, but plenty of people in Nidaros would have voiced the same complaint. Heat, in wintertime, was always a serious business, even for the rich.

“You'll take us to Eyvind?” Hamnet asked.

Ulric shook his head. “No, of course not. I was going to bring you to Gudrid. I'm sure you have so much to tell each other.”

“That's not even funny as a joke,” Count Hamnet growled.

“Well, maybe not,” Ulric allowed. “You have my apology, for whatever you think it's worth.”

“I'm sure it's worth its weight in gold,” Hamnet said. Ulric started to nod, then broke off with a quizzical expression on his face. Kormak Bersi also looked bemused.

Earl Eyvind waited in the best-appointed study Hamnet had ever seen. It had a lot of books and a desk with a south-facing window. Few houses anywhere in the Empire had a window that looked north. The Breath of God militated against that. Several lamps and candles made the room bright even when the weather turned too harsh to leave the shutters over the window open.

Heaving himself to his feet, Eyvind Torfinn said, “Good to see you, by God.”

“Good to be seen, Your Splendor.” Hamnet Thyssen clasped Eyvind's hand. “And I think I have a lot to thank you for.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace—please believe me,” Eyvind said.

Kormak coughed. Hamnet introduced him to Eyvind Torfinn. “I also owe you a lot, Your Splendor,” the agent said.

“Don't worry about it,” Eyvind Torfinn said. “Don't worry about anything. Are you hungry? Are you thirsty? We can fix it if you are.”

“His Majesty fed and watered us,” Hamnet answered. “Now he's going to turn me loose against the Rulers. Amazing what getting an army pounded to pieces will do, isn't it?”

“Possibly. Possibly. I dare hope he would have let you go even absent a defeat,” Earl Eyvind said. “I bent my efforts towards that end, I assure you.”

“I'm grateful,” Hamnet said, “and all the more so because . . .” His voice trailed away. He didn't want to talk about Gudrid with her current husband. He never had wanted to do anything like that. Just thinking about it made him acutely uncomfortable.

But Eyvind Torfinn understood what he didn't say. With some embarrassment, the older man said, “These things happen, you know.” Did he mean his marriage to the woman who had been Hamnet's wife? Or did he mean that Gudrid had hoped Hamnet would rot in the dungeon? Or both at once? That would have been Hamnet's guess.

“Oh, yes. They do indeed,” he said in a voice like stone. Were Audun Gilli and Liv sharing a bedchamber in Eyvind's home? How could they be doing anything else?
And where does that leave me?

Alone.

He knew the answer. He knew it, and he hated it. Spacious though this place was, it would be far more crowded than an inn. And that would only make him feel more lonely, because he would be here without anybody. Next to solitude in the midst of a crowd, going off and fighting the Rulers seemed easy. While he was on campaign, he would have so much time to think, so much time to brood. He could hope he wouldn't, anyhow.

“Is that woman Marcovefa, the one who speaks the strange dialect . . . Is she really from a tribe atop the Glacier?” Eyvind Torfinn had naturally noticed her.

“Oh, yes.” Count Hamnet nodded. “Do you understand her?”

“Not so well as I wish I did, but well enough. Some of the Bizogots who live near the western mountains talk the way she does,” the scholarly earl replied. Ulric Skakki had said the same thing, but Ulric had lived among those clans. Eyvind, as far as Hamnet Thyssen knew, had just studied them. However he knew what he knew, he did know it.

“If you can follow her language, can you follow why her magic is so strong?” Count Hamnet asked.

“Well, I haven't seen much of it with my own eyes, you understand, so anything I know of it is at second hand,” Eyvind answered. “I'd only be guessing, and my guess would be that her sorcery is strong because her folk don't have much else. If they need to do something up there, they have to do it with spells. I gather they don't know how to smelt metal any more. They have no crops. They don't even have large beasts to tame. What does that leave them but wizardry?”

“I had the same notion,” Hamnet said slowly. “In a way, it makes sense. In another way, I wonder if it's too simple.”

Eyvind Torfinn's shrug set his jowls wobbling. “It may well be. I said I don't know enough to be sure. We need more research, if we ever find the chance for it.” He looked unhappy. “We have more urgent worries closer to Nidaros, I fear.”

“You never tried climbing up to the top of the Glacier, either,” Hamnet Thyssen said. “Even with the avalanche that made it easier for us, it's still nothing I'd care to try more than once.”

“I believe you,” Earl Eyvind said. “How does it compare to a stretch in His Majesty's dungeons?”

“I've never tried climbing the Glacier, Your Splendor,” Kormak Bersi said
before Hamnet could reply, “but I wouldn't care to do more than one stretch in a cell.”

“I didn't care for even one,” Hamnet agreed. “His Majesty is a great many things”—most of which he couldn't stand—“but an innkeeper he is not.”