Beyong the Gap

the other travelers did it all the time. But Ulric Skakki was not a man who casually sank into obscurity. Neither was the leader of Gudrid's guards, a tough-looking captain named Jesper Fletti. And yet Leovigild took no notice of either Ulric or Jesper. He took no notice of Gudrid, either, but Bizogots were less likely to take women seriously (or, at least, less likely to show they took women seriously) than Raumsdalians were.

'Your Ferocity, we are explorers, come to learn what we may of your excellent country,' Eyvind Torfinn said, as smoothly as he could in the Bizogots' language. 'I am a scholar of days gone by. We have a wizard with us as well. . . .' He nodded to Audun Gilli, who looked surprised— even alarmed—at being singled out.

Leovigild also nodded. 'Our shamans will have somewhat to say to this fellow. One or two of them speak Raumsdalian.' He plainly did not expect Audun to know his language. By the look he gave the wizard, he might not have expected Audun to know anything. His attention swung back to Earl Eyvind. 'What of the others, then?'

'Soldiers help guard and help hunt,' Eyvind said. Leovigild accepted that with a wave. Eyvind Torfinn continued, 'Count Hamnet here is an excellent man of his hands, and has traveled the cold plains before, while Ulric Skakki. ..' He ran down. How was he supposed to explain why Ulric Skakki had come north?

'I know all sorts of strange things, your Ferocity.' Ulric had no trouble speaking for himself. 'You never can tell when one of them will come in handy, and you never can tell which one it will be.'

'Huh.' Leovigild eyed him. 'Strange things about slitting throats and knocking heads together and setting traps and stealing pouches, or I miss my guess.' Leovigild waited. When Ulric Skakki didn't deny it, the jarl grunted. 'Thought so.' He swung back toward Earl Eyvind. 'And what about the woman?'

'Gudrid is my wife, your Ferocity,' Eyvind Torfinn said, a touch of sternness in his voice.

'Can't fault your taste—she looks tastable enough, in fact.' Leovigild roared laughter at the look on Eyvind's face. He went on, 'But what is she doing here!'

'I suggest you ask her yourself,' Earl Eyvind replied.

'Never mind.' Leovigild threw back his head and laughed again. 'You just told me everything I need to know.' Eyvind Torfinn looked bewildered, which only made the Bizogot laugh harder. Hamnet Thyssen had no trouble following Leovigild. He meant that Eyvind couldn't tell Gudrid what to do. The mammoth-herder wasn't wrong, either. Count Hamnet wondered whether anyone had ever been able to tell Gudrid what to do. He doubted it. He knew too well he hadn't.

'She is well able to take care of herself,' Eyvind Torfinn said. That was true enough; it might well have been truer than he knew.

True or not, it made Leovigild laugh even more. But then the Bizogot jarl sobered. 'Something you should know,' he said, aiming a scarred forefinger at Eyvind's chest. 'Something you need to know, by God. Need to know, yes. The Empire is rich. The Empire has a great plenty of everything. Is it not so?'

'Well . . .' Eyvind Torfinn hesitated. Anyone who'd lived his whole life in the Raumsdalian Empire knew things weren't as simple as Leovigild made them out to be. But anyone who'd spent even a little while on the frozen plains of the north knew that, from the Bizogot point of view, the jarl was right and more than right. The Empire was rich. It did have a great plenty of everything.

'It is so,' Leovigild said solemnly. 'And because it is so, in the Empire you can say, 'This one can take care of himself,' or even, 'This one can take care of herself.' There is so much down in the south, one person can have enough. It is not like that here. One person alone here is one person dead here. Only the clans can go on. Do you understand this, Eyvind Torfinn? Does your tastable Gudrid understand it?'

'I understand your words very well, your Ferocity,' Earl Eyvind said. Leovigild scowled and turned away. Hamnet Thyssen knew why. Eyvind Torfinn understood what the Bizogot's words meant, yes, but they didn't sink in for him, not at the gut level where they should have. And how much trouble would that cause him in his travels through the north?

How much trouble would it cause Gudrid? A woman could be independent down where trees grew and the ground wasn't frozen all the time. Up here, where even a man was more a part of his clan than an individual? She might find out the hard way just how different things were.

Leovigild shrugged, as if to say it wasn't his worry. 'You Raumsdalians are our guests,' he said. 'Even Trasamund is our guest. Eat, then, and drink, and know that the Musk Ox clan does not stint.'

When the mammoth-herders ate, they ate well. By Raumsdalian standards, they ate monumentally well. Musk-ox ribs and liver and chitterlings and brains did not taste much different from the beef Raumsdalians ate at home. The Bizogots made cheese from musk-ox milk. They also made but­ter, and ate it as a food on its own instead of spreading it on bread—they had no bread. They used it in their lamps, too.

Mammoth had a stronger flavor than musk ox. Not all of that sprang from the fuel over which the meat cooked; the musk ox was roasted over burning dung, too. Count Hamnet had never quite got used to mammoth meat, and would not have eaten it by choice. Coming up onto the frozen plains, he had no choice. Mammoth-milk cheese also had a tang all its own.

For treats, the Bizogots ate strawberries and raspberries and blueberries and gooseberries candied in honey. The berries that grew in this clime were small but very sweet. Bees had to scurry like madmen in the short spring and summer to lay in enough supplies to last through the rest of the year. Only a little farther north, and they could not live.

Smetyn, whether made from mammoth or musk-ox milk . . . Even ale was better, as far as Hamnet was concerned. But the sour brews warmed him inside and told him how sleepy he was. He rolled himself in a mammoth-hide blanket and went to bed in a tent that reeked of burning butter.

V

When count Hamnet woke, he needed a moment to remember where he was. He'd been on the road for a while now, and he'd got used to Ulric Skakki's resonant snores. He supposed Ulric was used to his, too, for the other man didn't complain about them any more.

The lingering smell of the butter lamp told him what he needed to know. That's right—the Bizogot encampment, he thought. In case he needed a further reminder, the shaggy hair on the mammoth hide draped over him would have done the job.

He yawned and stretched. A few early-morning sunbeams managed to sneak into the tent and turn what would have been darkness into gloom. One of those sunbeams hit Ulric Skakki in the eye. Ulric tried to twist away, but the damage was done. His eyes opened. He sat up and looked toward Hamnet Thyssen.

'You awake?' he asked.

'Of course not. I always talk in my sleep,' Hamnet answered.

'It's too early in the morning to be funny,' Ulric complained. Then he started to scratch and started to swear. 'By God, it's a Bizogot camp, all right. Fleas, bedbugs—a copper gets you gold we're lousy, too.' He scratched some more, harder now.

Hamnet Thyssen also started scratching. All at once, he itched everywhere. 'It's not a surprise,' he said, trying to sound resigned instead of fu­rious. 'They don't bathe. They wander with animals all the time. There are all these hides around, and scraps of meat. . . No wonder they've got bugs.'

'No, no wonder at all. I've been through this before. I just forgot how much I love it, that's all.' By now, Ulric Skakki was probably scratching hard enough to draw blood. That wouldn't help him; it would only make him more alluring to the parasites he was trying to kill. He said, 'I wonder if Audun can do anything about our little friends.'

'Don't get your hopes up too high,' Hamnet said. 'The Bizogot shamans know something about wizardry, too, and they crawl with vermin just like the rest of the barbarians.'

Ulric grunted. 'Well, you know how to murder a man's hopes first thing in the morning, don't you?' He crushed something between his thumbnails. 'Ha! Got one of the little bastards, anyway. ... I just had a thought.'

'Congratulations, I suppose,' Hamnet Thyssen said, and then, 'Oh. You expect me to ask you what it is.'

'If that's not too much trouble.' Ulric had no trouble being sarcastic, either.

'Not at all,' Count Hamnet said politely. 'So what is this thought of yours?'

'Maybe the Bizogots are so used to getting eaten alive that it's never occurred to their shamans that they don't have to. Maybe that's why they don't have any spells to hold the bugs at bay.'