Beyong the Gap

'Wait, both of you,' Eyvind Torfinn said in the Bizogot tongue. 'We are newly met. We should not war. There is no quarrel between our folk.'

'There is a quarrel between this wretch and me,' Trasamund said.

'No, there is no quarrel,' the stranger said. 'The Rulers do not quarrel with lesser breeds. How could we? We do not quarrel with dogs, either. I, Parsh'—he jabbed a thumb at his own broad chest—'say this, and I speak the truth. We do not waste our time lying to lesser breeds, either.'

'And I, Eyvind Torfinn, say you are provoking us on purpose.'

Parsh yawned in his face. 'I care nothing for what you say. Soon enough, your folk, whoever they are, will bend the knee before the Rulers. If they do not, we will destroy them as easily as Samoth there destroyed your silly wizard's stone.'

'These are the people who hold the Golden Shrine?' Ulric Skakki whispered to Count Hamnet. Not much bothered Ulric—or if it did, he didn't let it show—but he sounded scandalized now. Hamnet wasn't surprised; the notion horrified him, too.

'Maybe they don't,' he whispered back. 'We don't know where the Golden Shrine is, and we don't know how much land these, uh, Rulers rule. Maybe they just talk big.'

Talk big they did. 'You will come to our encampment,' Parsh said. 'My chief will want to see what manner of lesser men you are.'

'And if we don't care to come with you?' Eyvind Torfinn asked.

'However you please.' Parsh shrugged broad shoulders. 'But in that case, we will have to kill you here.' Now he didn't sound boastful. He sounded matter-of-fact, like a man who had to talk about getting rid of mice.

Hamnet Thyssen eyed the mammoths and the men riding them. He didn't like the idea of fighting warriors aboard such immense animals. They outnumbered the travelers from the far side of the Glacier. And . . . 'Audun!' Hamnet called in Raumsdalian. 'How good is their sorcerer?'

'I heard you have more than one kind of animal grunts,' Parsh said in the Bizogot tongue. 'Well, that won't do you any good, either.'

'He ... is not weak,' Audun Gilli answered reluctantly.

That would have been Hamnet's guess. But he didn't want to have to go with a guess here. He wanted to be sure. Now that he was, he said, 'Let's go with them. We need to learn more about them before we decide what to do.'

'When we get to wherever they camp, I will take care of this Parsh,' Trasamund said—in Raumsdalian.

The man from the Rulers caught his name, even if he didn't understand the words surrounding it. His grin displayed strong white teeth. Hamnet Thyssen couldn't decide whether his canines were uncommonly sharp on their own or they'd been filed to points. Neither notion seemed attractive to contemplate.

'We will go with you to your camp,' Eyvind Torfinn told Parsh.

'Oh, what an honor!' Parsh said. 'The vole consents to travel with the—' The last word was one in his language. He bowed mockingly. 'Thank you, most gracious and generous vole.'

Hamnet Thyssen had disliked Parsh on first sight. The more he saw of the stranger, the more he despised him. He was sure that was exactly the impression Parsh was trying to create. Well, Parsh knew how to get what he wanted, all right.

'To travel with the what?' Earl Eyvind asked.

'With the tiger,' Parsh repeated. 'The big, striped cat. Are you too ignorant to know of tigers? By the gods, you must be fools indeed!'

'Fools for putting up with your noise,' Trasamund said. He might have been less enamored of Parsh than Count Hamnet was.

'Come,' the man of the Rulers said. 'Come now, or be killed where you stand.'

They came.

The camp was not like anything Hamnet Thyssen expected. He'd looked for the same sort of dirt and disorder that always marked a Bizogot encampment. He didn't find them. Tents stood in neat rows. Mammoths and deer were tethered in neat lines. Some of the deer had saddles and reins. The Rulers didn't seem to ride horses. Come to think of it, Hamnet hadn't seen any horses except for the ones with his party since traveling beyond the Glacier. Parsh hadn't shown any curiosity about them, but Parsh didn't seem to show curiosity. The only thing he showed was arrogance.

That irked Count Hamnet. It infuriated Trasamund. As soon as he got down from his horse, he roared, 'Parsh! Where are you, Parsh, you bastard child of a rabid fox and a palsied rabbit? Come get what you deserve!'

He didn't have long to wait. Parsh marched up to him and bowed. 'Here I am, creature. How do you care to die? Name your pleasure, and I will oblige you.'

'Bizogot stand-down,' Trasamund said at once.

'I do not know what foolish games barbarians play,' Parsh said scornfully. 'Tell me what this is, so I know whether it is fitting.'

'We stand here,' Trasamund said. 'One of us hits the other in the face. Then it's the second man's turn. Last one who can still get up and swing wins.'

For the first time since Hamnet set eyes on him, Parsh actually looked pleased. 'This is good sport—very good sport for a savage. How generous of you to give me the chance to amuse myself so.' He shouted in his own guttural language. His countrymen sounded interested and approving, even if Hamnet couldn't understand a word they said. Parsh returned to the Bizogot tongue to ask, 'How do we decide who goes first?'

'Go ahead,' Trasamund said as men of the Rulers gathered to watch the stand-down. Hamnet Thyssen saw no women in the encampment. 'Do your worst, hound, and then you will see what a nothing it is.'

Hamnet wouldn't have said that, not against a foe as plainly powerful as Parsh. He would have tried to claim the first blow, or at least an even chance at it. Parsh actually smiled. 'Your funeral,' he said, and likely meant that in the most literal way.

'Talk is cheap,' Trasamund said. 'What do you do to back it up?'

Parsh hit him. Hamnet thought that blow might have felled a mammoth, let alone a man. Blood poured from Trasamund's nose. He swayed, but quickly straightened. 'Well, when will you begin?' he asked.

'You fool! I did,' Parsh said.

'Oh, that? I thought you sneezed,' the Bizogot jarl said. Samoth the wizard or shaman or whatever he was turned Trasamund's words into the language of the Rulers. The strangers buzzed among themselves. They clearly weren't used to outsiders as proud as themselves. Trasamund went on, 'Well, then, I'll just have to hit you back.'

Parsh didn't flinch from the blow. He did stagger. He bled from the nose, too; his seemed to have changed shape. But he managed a laugh. 'A mosquito bit me,' he said.

'Any that did would sick you up afterwards,' Trasamund jeered. Parsh hit him again. His head snapped back. He spat blood, and a tooth. 'Keep at it,' he told Parsh. 'You may wake me yet.'

He slugged the man from beyond the Glacier. Parsh lurched and blinked a couple of times. 'A love pat,' he said thickly, and then he too spat red.

'You dream,' Trasamund said, 'for I love you not.'

'Then love—this.' Parsh threw another right. Trasamund went to one knee. Slowly, he got to his feet. He shook his head, as if to clear it. Parsh looked quite humanly surprised—he hadn't thought the Bizogot would be able to stand up.

Trasamund shook his head. 'I love it so well, I'll give you one like it.' He shook his head again. 'No, I'll give you one better.' He smashed his fist into Parsh's face. The man from the Rulers swayed but stayed upright. Even so, the nasty light in his eyes went out. He wasn't enjoying the game any more, only hoping to get through it—as Trasamund was.

It went on for a long, painful, miserable time. Both Trasamund and Parsh went down repeatedly; each man struggled to his feet each time. Parsh kept punching with his right hand. After a while, Trasamund switched to his left.

Trasamund's traveling companions stayed quiet through the contest. The men of the Rulers cheered Parsh at first. As it became clear the victory wouldn't be easy if it came at all, they subsided into uneasy silence, too.

One of Trasamund's eyes was swollen shut. He could open the other one a little. He peered through what had