have truck with a wizard, say I, for all he brings loot. No glory in beating ensorceled foes is there, no more than in cutting the throat of a pig, and it tied, too. But those who go with Balamung grow fat, and the few as stand against him die, and in ways less pretty than having the skins of them flayed off. I mind me of one fellow-puir wight!-who no slower than a sneeze was naught but a pile of twisty, slimy worms-and the stench of him!
'Nigh on a year and a half it is since the wizard omadhaun came to us, and for all we're friends now with Bricriu's clan and thieving Meriasek's, still I long for the days when a man could take a head without asking the leave of a dried-up little turd like Balamung. Him and his dog-futtering talisman!' The Trokme spat on the hard- packed dirt floor.
'Talisman?' Gerin prompted.
'Aye. With my own eyes I've seen it. 'Tis squarish, perhaps as long as my forearm, and as wide, but not near so thick, you understand, and opening out to double that. And when he'd fain bewitch someone or magic up something, why, the talisman lights up almost like a torch. With my own eyes I've seen it,' Cliath repeated.
'Can you read?' the baron asked.
'No, nor write, no more than I can fly. Why in the name of the gods would you care to know that?'
'Never mind,' Gerin said. 'I know enough now.' More than I want, he added to himself: Bricriu's clan and Meriasek's had been at feud since the days of their grandfathers.
The Fox tossed his little knife to the barbarian, who tucked it into the top of one of his high rawhide boots. Gerin led him through the main hall, ignoring his vassals' stares. He told his startled gatekeepers to let Cliath out, and said to him, 'How you cross the river is your affair, but with that blade perhaps you won't be waylaid by my serfs.'
Good eye shining, Cliath held out his left hand. 'A puir clasp, but I'm proud to make it. Och, what a clansmate you'd have been.'
Gerin took the offered hand but shook his head. 'No, I'd sooner live on my own land than take away my neighbor's. Now go, before I think about the trouble I'm giving myself by turning you loose.'
As the northerner trotted down the low hill, Gerin was already on his way back to the rollicking great hall, a frown on his face. Truly Deinos was coursing his terrible warhounds through the northern forests, and the baron was the game they sought.
After he had downed five or six tankards, though, things looked rosier. He staggered up the stairs to his room, arm round the waist of one of his serving wenches. But even as he cupped her soft breasts later, part of his mind saw Castle Fox a smoking ruin, and fire and death all along the border.
II
He woke some time past noon. By the racket coming from below, the roistering had never ceased. Probably no one was on the walls, either, he thought disgustedly; could Balamung have roused his men to a second attack, he would have had Fox Keep in the palm of his hand.
The girl was already gone. Gerin dressed and went down to the great hall, looking for half a dozen of his leading liegemen. He found Van and Rollan the Boar-Slayer still rehashing the battle, drawing lines on the table in sticky mead. Fandor the Fat had a beaker of mead, too, but he was drinking from it. That was his usual sport; his red nose and awesome capacity testified to it. Drago was asleep on the floor, his body swathed in furs. Beside him snored Simrin Widin's son. Duin was nowhere to be found.
The Fox woke Simrin and Drago and bullied his lieutenants up the stairs to the library. Grumbling, they found seats round the central table. They stared suspiciously at the shelves full of neatly pigeonholed scrolls and codices bound in leather and gold leaf. Most of them were as illiterate as Cliath and held reading an affectation, but Gerin was a good enough man of his hands to let them overlook his eccentricity. Still, the books and the quiet overawed them a bit. The baron would need that today.
He scratched his bearded chin and remembered how horrified everyone had been when, after his father was killed, he'd come back from the southlands clean-shaven. Duin's father, dour old Borbeto the Grim, had managed the barony till his return. When he saw Gerin, he'd roared, 'Is Duren's son a fancy-boy?' Gerin had only grinned and answered, 'Ask your daughter'; shouts of laughter won his vassals to him.
Duin wandered in, still fumbling at his breeches. Bawdy chuckles greeted him. Fandor called, 'Easier to stay on a lass than a horse, is it?'
'It is, and more fun besides,' Duin grinned, plainly none the worse for his dunking. He turned to Gerin, sketched a salute. 'What's on your mind, lord?'
'Among other things,' Gerin said drily, 'the bridge that was almost your end.'
'Downright uncanny, I call it,' Rollan murmured. He spoke thickly, for his slashed lip had three stitches holding it shut. Tall, solid, and dark, he ran his fief with some skill, fought bravely, and never let a new thought trouble his mind.
'Me, I have no truck with wizards,' Drago said righteously. He sneezed. 'Damn! I've taken cold.' He went on, 'There's no way to trust a body like that. Noses always in a scroll, think they're better than simple folk.'
'Remember where you are, fool,' Simrin Widin's son hissed.
'No offense meant, of course, lord,' Drago said hastily.
'Of course.' Gerin sighed. 'Now let me tell you what I learned last night.' The faces of his men grew grave as the tale unfolded, and there was a silence when he was through.
Duin broke it. Along with his auburn hair, his fiery temper told of Trokme blood. Now he thumped a fist down on the table and shouted, 'A pox on wizardry! There's but one thing to do about it. We have to hit the whoreson before he can hit us again, this time with all the northmen, not just Aingus' clan.'
A mutter of agreement ran down the table. Gerin shook his head. This was what he had to head off at all costs. 'There's nothing I'd like better,' he lied, 'but it won't do. On his home ground, their mage would squash us like so many bugs. But from what the braggart said, we have some time. What I'd fain do is go south to the capital and hire a warlock from the Sorcerers' Collegium there so we can fight magic with magic. I don't relish leaving Fox Keep under the axe, but the task is mine, for I still have connections in the southlands. We can settle Balamung properly once I'm back.'
'It strikes me as a fool's errand, lord,' Duin said, plain-spoken as always. 'What we need is a good, hard stroke now-'
'Duin, if you want to beard that wizard without one at your back, then you're the fool. If you had to take a keep with a stone-thrower over its gate, you'd find a stone-thrower of your own, wouldn't you?'
'I suppose so,' Duin said. His tone was surly, but there were nods round the table. Gerin was relieved. He was coming to the tricky part. With a little luck, he could slip it by them before they noticed.
'Stout fellow!' he said, and went on easily, 'Van will need your help here while I'm gone. With him in charge, nothing can go too badly wrong.'
It didn't work. Even Fandor and Simrin, both of whom had kept those noses buried in their drinking jacks till now, jerked up their heads. Diffidently, Rollan began, 'Begging your pardon, my lord-' and Gerin braced for insubordination. It came fast enough: 'The gods know Van of the Strong Arm has proven himself a man, time and again, and a loyal and true vassal as well. But for all that, he is an outlander and owns no land hereabouts, guesting with you as he does. It'd be downright unseemly for us, whose families have held our fiefs for generations, to take orders from him.'
Gerin gathered himself for an explosion. Before he loosed it, he saw all the barons nodding their agreement. He caught Van's eyes; the outlander shrugged. Tasting gall, the Fox yielded with as much grace as he could. 'If that's how you would have it, so be it. Van, would it please you to ride with me, then?'
'It would that, captain,' Van said, coming as close as he ever did to Gerin's proper feudal title. 'I've never been south of the Kirs, and I've heard enough about Elabon's capital to make me want to see it.'
'Fine,' Gerin said. 'Duin, you have the highest standing of any here. Do you think you can keep things afloat while I'm away?'
'Aye, or die trying.'
Gerin feared the latter, but merely said, 'Good!' and whispered a prayer under his breath. Duin was more than doughty enough and not stupid, but he lacked common sense.
