Trasamund muttered discontentedly. Ulric Skakki said, “No one, eh? What about the folk in the Golden Temple?”
Eyvind inclined his head. “You have something there—they may be able to do that. But even if they can, I don’t believe they will. Do you?”
After brief consideration, Ulric answered, “Well, Your Splendor, when you’re right, you’re right.”
Gudrid looked from one of them to the other as they talked about the Golden Shrine. Hamnet watched her. She heard them. She understood them. She knew there was such a thing as the Golden Shrine. She seemed to have some idea that they’d gone there. But she hadn’t the faintest notion that she’d been inside the Shrine herself. Hamnet didn’t think she ever would. The priestess there knew what she was doing, all right.
He snorted quietly. As if that were in doubt!
Because the land east of what had been Hevring Lake rose, and because Nidaros’ towers rose even higher, the capital was visible from a long way off. Less smoke rose above it than had been true before the Rulers sacked it. “I wonder if any enemy warriors are still skulking in the ruins,” Hamnet said. “If one of them puts an arrow through dear Sigvat, what the priestess told me back at the Shrine won’t matter.”
“She said you were to give those words to the Emperor,” Marcovefa said. “I think that means you
“In that case, I ought to ride away from Nidaros, not toward it,” Hamnet said.
“If you do, chances are you will find that Sigvat is not in Nidaros,” Marcovefa answered. “And where he is, chances are you will be there, too. You cannot flee your fate. It will find you no matter what you do.”
Hamnet sighed. She was likely right. “Oh, I’ll go on,” he said. “Whatever this word I’m carrying is, I do want to let him have it.”
Ulric grinned wickedly. “How d’you mean that?”
“Just the way I said it,” Hamnet replied. Ulric’s grin got wider.
Raumsdalian guards manned the gates of Nidaros once more. They started to laugh when Hamnet told them Sudertorp Lake was gone and the Golden Shrine had reappeared at last. “You blockheads! Where the demon do you think all the Rulers went?” Runolf Skallagrim demanded angrily.
“Why, we ran ’em out, of course,” said the sergeant, or whatever he was, in charge of the gate crew.
That only got him more abuse from the travelers. He might have used his petty authority to try to keep them out of the capital, in which case he might also have ended up dead in short order. But Marcovefa gestured, and the gate crew and her companions all saw Sudertorp Lake flood free and destroy the Rulers’ host, and then saw the Golden Shrine gleaming on the lakebed.
“What do you think now?” Hamnet Thyssen asked the underofficer, an ominous rumble in his voice.
“Pass in, folks. Pass in,” that worthy replied, and added a sweeping arm gesture to the invitation. “I don’t know whether you’re lying or not, but I don’t intend to mess with people who can work wizardry like that.”
“Congratulations,” Ulric Skakki told him. “Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look.” The underofficer scowled, but he didn’t do anything more than scowl. That might have proved Ulric’s point. The Raumsdalians and Bizogots rode into Nidaros.
COUNT HAMNET HAD traveled through Nidaros’ streets after Sigvat fled and the Rulers plundered the city. Nidaros was better off now than it had been then. If he hadn’t seen it then, he would have given up on it in despair now.
Soldiers seemed to stand on every street corner, swords and spears shining in the sun. Nobody did anything much where the armed men could see. But too many houses and shops were still obviously empty. People could prowl alleyways and break into places like that without much trouble. Maybe some of them were locals returning after they escaped the sack of the city. Maybe others were squatters who’d make good neighbors once they settled in. But Hamnet would have bet most were looters and thieves.
A body hung from a makeshift gibbet. A placard around its neck said I STOLE GRAIN. The corpse was fragrant and bloated enough to have hung there for some time. It might make other ambitious gentlemen thoughtful. Or, on the other hand, it might not.
“I wonder what the palace is like,” Ulric remarked.
“What will you bet it looks better than anything else in the city?” Hamnet said. “If Sigvat has any money left in the vaults, he’ll spend it on himself first and everybody else afterwards.”
“I didn’t get to be as rich as I am by taking foolish bets,” Ulric told him.
“How rich are you?” Trasamund asked. Ulric peered inside a belt pouch, sighed, shrugged, and didn’t answer.
Even the gesture was enough to make beggars clamor for coins. The soldiers on guard duty did nothing to hold them back. Begging had never been illegal in Nidaros. If more people were begging now than ever before, times were harder than they’d ever been. And, if the soldiers hadn’t served Sigvat, most of them would have been begging, too.
Hamnet remembered that no banners had flown above the imperial palace when he went through Nidaros after Sigvat fled. Those banners were back now. He nodded to himself when he noticed them. Sure enough, Sigvat looked out for Sigvat, first, last, and always.
Some of the guards in front of the palace had seen Hamnet and Ulric before. “You!” one of them exclaimed.
“Yes, us, by God,” Hamnet answered. “So you ran away with the Emperor and then came back, did you?”
The guardsman turned red. “You can’t talk to me that way!”
“I just did,” Hamnet said. “And I’ll kill you if you annoy me much more. My conscience won’t ache—I’ve killed plenty of men better than you’ll ever be in your wildest dreams.”
That he meant it—and that he could do it—must have been only too plain to the unhappy guard. “What are you doing here, anyway?” the man demanded.
“I’m bringing His Majesty a message from the Golden Shrine.” Hamnet gave back the exact literal truth.
All the guards laughed. “Now tell me another one—one I’ll believe,” the mouthy trooper said.
“He is telling you what you should believe, for it is so,” Eyvind Torfinn said.
“Who are you, granddad, and what the demon do you know about it?” the guardsman snarled.
“I am Earl Eyvind Torfinn, and I know about this because I was inside the Golden Shrine with Count Hamnet here.”
“I am Baron Runolf Skallagrim, and so was I,” Runolf said.
The guards put their heads together. Two authentic noblemen, neither one known to be in bad odor with the Emperor, had vouched for Count Hamnet. Ulric Skakki and Hamnet exchanged small, tight smiles. Which of them Sigvat liked less was an interesting question. Ulric hadn’t spoken up for Hamnet, nor did Hamnet blame him. His word might have done more harm than good.
There was a classic solution to this kind of problem, and the palace guard who’d done the talking found it. “I can’t decide on my own,” he said. “I’ll send one of my men in to see what His Majesty wants.”
“To see what some fancier flunky wants, you mean.” Hamnet Thyssen enjoyed saying what was on his mind. He’d got in trouble for it before. He might again. He enjoyed it anyhow.
Although the guardsman reddened again, he almost shoved one of his troopers toward the doorway they protected. “Go find out His Majesty’s pleasure.”
Sigvat’s pleasure was bound to be something young and pretty and sweetly rounded. A sour nobleman like Hamnet didn’t come close. The ironic glint in Ulric’s eye said he was thinking along those lines, too. This time, neither of them said anything.
After a few minutes, the guard who’d been sent in to enquire came back with astonishment all over his face. “His Majesty wants to see him!” he exclaimed in obvious disbelief.
“He
“What was that?” Trasamund rumbled ominously.
Maybe the guard hadn’t noticed him or Liv till then. If he hadn’t, he wasn’t doing his job as well as he might have. He offered a rather sickly smile. “No offense intended, I’m sure.”
“I’m not,” Trasamund said. “If I thought you were worth killing, I’d argue with Count Hamnet for the privilege. But my guess is you’ll choke to death on your own foot one day before too long.”
Another guardsman snickered at that. The mouthy one gave him a look composed of three parts vitriol and one part flaming pitch. The unlucky guardsman tried to pull into his mailshirt like a turtle pulling into its shell. Hamnet interrupted that little drama, saying, “So—we can go in?”
“I guess you can,” the guard replied.
“Then we will,” Hamnet said, dismounting. And he did, his companions right behind him.
THE INSIDE OF the palace was more like the rest of Nidaros than Hamnet had expected—which only meant the Rulers had plundered it more thoroughly than he’d thought. Even carpets and wall hangings had disappeared. They’d probably been cut up to help keep the invaders’ tents warm. For all Hamnet knew, the flood from Sudertorp Lake had swept some of them away.
A workman stood on a ladder scrubbing at something on a wall. Most of the big graffito was gone now, but Hamnet could still make out one of the striped beasts of prey the Rulers called tigers. The Rulers might no longer be a menace here below the Gap. Like riding deer and big-horned bison, tigers seemed likely to stay around.
Runolf Skallagrim also eyed the graffito. “I wonder what that tiger was hunting,” he remarked.
“Probably Sigvat,” Hamnet answered.
The servitor leading him and his comrades to the throne stopped in horror. “How dare you say such things?” he squawked. “How
“Oh, it’s easy,” Hamnet assured him. “I just open my mouth, and out they come.”
“Yes, and look how much fun you’ve had because of it,” Ulric said.
Eyeing them as if they’d suddenly sprouted fur and stripes and fangs and claws, the servitor said, “His Majesty will not be pleased.”
“That’s all right, son,” Hamnet said cheerfully—Sigvat’s man was much younger than he was. “After the Rulers, after climbing the Glacier, after the Golden Shrine, I’m not going to worry about the Emperor of Raumsdalia.”
“After . . . the Golden Shrine?” the servitor echoed. “But that’s nothing but talk—isn’t it?”
“Sure—the same as the Gap melting through is nothing but talk,” Count Hamnet said.
“It’s as real as roasted armadillo,” Ulric added. Not knowing what to make of that, the servitor fell silent, but his eyes were as nervous as a restive horse’s.
Just outside the throne room, more guards relieved Hamnet and his companions of their weapons—of most of them, anyhow. Hamnet still had a holdout knife in his boot top. By Ulric’s quirked eyebrow, the guards had also searched him less perfectly than they might have. No wizard checked to see if Sigvat’s men had missed anything, as one had when Hamnet and Ulric
