Dazhbog, Yarilo, St. Yuri, help them help me.
The Varyag’s knife was out. “Go,” he snarled. “No need you. Go.” She realized that he was drunk, and that that made him the more dangerous.
The smaller of the two men advanced, cat-footed. “I think best you go cool that noggin of yours, friend,” he replied mildly. His own knife slipped forth. It was a tool for eating and ordinary cutting, a sliver against that great blade. Nor did its bearer seem any kind of warrior. His slender frame bore a fur-lined coat and trousers smoothly tucked into soft boots. Svoboda made out that much because his companion carried a lantern, which threw a dull glow on them both and a puddle of it at their feet.
The Varyag grinned beneath the moon. “Dainty lordling and cripple,” he jeered. “You tell me what to do? Scoot, or I find how white your tripes be.”
The second new man put down the lantern. It had been in his left hand. His right was missing. From a leather cup strapped to that forearm reached an iron hook. Otherwise he was muscular, his garb stout but plain. He drew his small knife. “We two,” he rumbled. “You alone. Cadoc say go, you go.” Unlike the slim man, he could barely speak Russian.
“Two cockroaches!” the Varyag yelled. “Perun thunder me, enough!”
He made a long step forward. His weapon flashed. The slim man—Cadoc?—swayed aside. He thrust out an ankle and gave a push. The Varyag tripped, crashed to the stones. The man with the hook laughed. The Varyag roared, sprang up, charged him.
The hook slashed. Its curve ended in a point that went deep into the attacker’s upper arm. The Varyag yelled. The opponent’s knife cut his wrist. His own iron clattered loose. Cadoc danced in and, half playfully, seized his hairlock and sliced it across. “The next trophy comes from between your legs,” Cadoc said with a leer. The Varyag howled, whirled, fled. Echoes died away.
Cadoc hunkered down by Svoboda. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked. “Here, lean on me.” He helped her rise.
His companion stooped for the Varyag’s knife. “No, leave that,” Cadoc ordered. His Russian must be for her benefit. “I wouldn’t want the guard to find it on us. That oaf’s carcass would scarcely be as inconvenient. Let’s get away. The racket may well have drawn attention we can do without. Come, my lady.”
“I, I’m unhurt.” The breath sobbed in Svoboda’s throat. She had, in fact, suffered nothing but possible bruises. A measure of daze remained. She went blindly along, Cadoc’s hand on her elbow.
The man with the lantern and the hook asked something that must mean, “Where to?”
“Our lodging, of course,” Cadoc snapped in Russian. “If we should meet a patrol, then nothing has happened, we’ve simply been out for a little drink and merriment. Will you agree to that, my lady? You do owe us something, and we’d hate to miss the fleet’s departure tomorrow because Yaroslav’s officers wanted to question us.”
“I must get home,” she pleaded.
“You shall. We’ll see you safely back, never fear. But first—“ Shouts lifted to the rear. “Hark! Somebody did come. They’ve found the knife, and if they have a lantern too, they’ll have seen the blood and scuffled offal. Here.” Cadoc led them into an alley, a tunnel of murk. “Roundabout, but it avoids trouble. We’ll lie low for an hour or two and then escort you, my lady.”
They emerged on a broad street, moon-bright. Svoboda’s wits had returned. She wondered how far she could trust the pair. Might it be wisest to insist she go back to Olga’s at once? If they refused, she could strike out by herself, no worse off than earlier. But that had not been well off at all. And—a throbbing, a warmth—never had she known anybody like this. Never again would she, perhaps. They were to sail in the morning and she, she was once more to become a wife.
Then Cadoc plucked his companion’s sleeve and said merrily, “Whoa, Rufus. Don’t go on past.” A house bulked before them. The door was unbarred. They wiped their feet and trod through, into a space where she could barely see tables, benches, a couple of night lamps burning. “The common room,” said Cadoc in her ear. “This is a hostel for those who can afford it. Quiet, please.”
She peered. Rufus’ lantern showed him to be lumpy-featured, freckled, the dense whiskers and thin hair a bright yellowish-red. Cadoc was altogether foreign, his face narrow and aquiline, the eyes slightly aslant tike a Finn’s but large and brown, hair shoulder-length and as raven-black as the beard he kept trimmed to a point. A golden finger ring was equally alien in its workmanship, a snake that bit its tail. Seldom had she met as ready a smile as was his.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “I had no idea that the lady in distress was so comely.” He bowed, as if she were a princess. “Fear not, I repeat. We’ll take proper care of you. Alas for your raiment.” Glancing down, she saw filth smeared over it.
“I, I could tell people I fell,” she stammered. “That is true.”
“I think we can do better,” Cadoc said.
Rufus followed them upstairs to a second-floor chamber. It was large, wainscoted, drapes by a glazed window and a rug on the floor, with four beds, a table, several stools, and whatever else comfort required. Rufus took the candle from his lantern and used it to light the tapers in a seven-branched brass holder. His deftness told Svoboda he must have lost his hand long ago, to have learned so well how to do without it.
“We are the only two,” Cadoc told Svoboda. “It’s worth the cost. Now—“ He squatted by a chest, took a key from his pouch, opened the lock. “Most of our goods are on our ship, naturally, but here are. some especially valuable, whether from abroad or acquired in Kiyiv. They include—“ He rummaged. “Ah, yes.” The fabric he drew out shone in the candlelight. “I regret we can’t prepare a hot bath at this hour, my lady, but yonder you’ll find a basin, water jug, soap, towels, slop jar. Make free, and afterward don this. Meanwhile, of course, Rufus and I will absent ourselves. If you’ll open the door a crack and hand out your soiled things, he’ll see what he can do toward cleansing them.”
The redbeard made a mouth. He grumbled in an unknown tongue. Cadoc replied and, somehow, jollied him till he nodded. They took single candles in holders and left.
Svoboda stood alone with her bewilderment. Did she dream? Had she blundered into elvenland, or had she met a pair of gods, here in this Christian stronghold? Suddenly she laughed. Whatever befell, it was new, it was a wonder!
She unfastened brooches and laces, pulled clothing over her head, held it around the door as Cadoc had suggested. Somebody took it. She closed the door again and went to wash. The cloth caressed a nakedness that the cool air seemed to flow across. She dawdled at the task. When a knock sounded, she called, “Not yet,” and hurried to dry herself. The garment, tossed onto a bed, drew a gasp from her. It was a robe of sheening, baby- smooth material, gold-trimmed blue, secured by silver buttons. Her feet were now bare. Well, peeping from beneath the skirt, they would catch glances, she thought, and flushed hot. Quickly she combed locks fallen astray around her coiled braids, and knew their amber color would show well above the dress. “Enter,” she said, not quite evenly.
Cadoc appeared, a tray balanced on his left hand. He shut the door behind him and put the tray on the table. It bore a flagon and two cups. “I never knew silk could be this beautiful,” he said.
“What?” asked Svoboda. She wished her pulse would slow.
“No matter. I’m often rather brash. Please sit and enjoy a stoup with me. I woke the potboy to give me of the landlord’s choicest. Take your ease, recover from that foul experience.”
She lowered herself to a stool. Before he did likewise, Cadoc poured out a red liquid with a summery odor. “You are very kind,” she whispered. As Gleb is kind, she thought; then, unwillingly: No, Gleb is a countryside trader growing old. He can read and write, but what else does he know, what has he seen and done beyond his narrow rounds? “How can I repay you?” Immediately: That was a foolish thing to say!
However, Cadoc only smiled, raised his cup, and replied, “You can tell me your name, my lady, and whatever else you care to. You can gladden me with your company for a short while. That is ample. Drink, I pray you.”
She sipped. Deliciousness flowed over her tongue. This was no berry wine of the backwoods, it was—was— “I, I am—“ Almost, she gave him her baptismal name. But of course that would be unwise. She believed she could trust this man, but if a sorcerer somehow learned it she would be open to spells. Besides, she seldom thought about it. “Svoboda Volodarovna,” the name she used at home. “From ... afar. Where is your friend?”
“Rufus? Oh, I’ve put him to getting your clothes as clean as possible. Afterward he won’t disturb us. I gave him a flagon of his own to keep him company. A loyal man, brave, but limited.”
“Your servant, then?”
