Beyong the Gap

Liv made a small noise, deep down in her throat. A lioness spotting prey might come out with a sound like that. If Gudrid had heard it, she would have been wise to take herself elsewhere as fast as she could go.

But she didn't. She swayed toward Hamnet Thyssen, a smile on her reddened lips. She leaned forward and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Liv made that noise again, louder this time. Gudrid ignored it, saying, 'So you're going away, are you? Well, I hope you enjoy the bugs and the smells.'

Had some of her paint come off so he was branded to the eye as well as to the touch? He would wipe his face . . . soon. For now, he said, 'I can put up with them. And I'll be where I need to be. And'—he put his arm around Liv—'the company is better.'

Gudrid didn't lose her smile. Her face went ugly for a moment all the same. 'Who would have thought someone like you would run away for love?' she said. Someone boring like you but hung in the air.

Hamnet shrugged. 'I'm not running away. I'm running toward. You met the Rulers. You know what they're like.'

'Ah, the brave hero, sure he can charge off and save the day where nobody else has a chance. You sound like someone out of the romances dear Eyvind can quote for hours at a stretch.' Gudrid jeered at her present husband, too.

'I'm not sure of anything of the kind,' Hamnet answered steadily. 'I'd rather not pretend there's no trouble, that's all.'

'Really?' Gudrid tilted her head to one side. 'Since when?'

'You ought to know—you taught me the lesson.' He kept his voice even. 'Will you excuse me, please? I'd like to get something to eat and something to drink.'

'So would I, please,' Liv said.

Gudrid had to notice her then. 'How could I say no to you? Who knows what would happen if I did?'

Liv shrugged. 'How do I know there is no ... no poison in the food and drink?' She had to search for the word she wanted, but she found it.

Hamnet Thyssen watched Gudrid closely. If Liv's sarcastic comment turned out to be not a sarcastic comment but the truth, he thought his former wife's face would betray her, if only for a heartbeat. But Gudrid just shook her head. 'I wouldn't poison you. You're going back to your tents, and you're taking Hamnet with you. That's a better revenge than poison ever could be.'

Instead of answering, Liv walked away and got a cup of wine. Count Hamnet lingered long enough to say, 'We're going off to fight the Rulers, and this is the thanks we get?'

'As if you care a fart about the Rulers,' Gudrid said. 'You're going off to screw yourself silly—sillier—and to collect lice and drink sour smetyn. And you're welcome to every bit of it, too.'

He growled, down deep in his throat. But then he turned away. Gudrid looked . . . disappointed? If he'd hit her, there in front of everybody, he would have stirred up a terrific scandal. Was that worth getting slapped? Gudrid would probably think so.

He gulped the wine a polite servant gave him. And then, out of the blue, Liv said, 'She's jealous of you.' She used her own language, so most of the people who might overhear her wouldn't understand.

'Who? Gudrid?' Hamnet Thyssen didn't laugh in her face, which was a small proof of how much he cared for her. But he did say, 'You must be joking.'

'No. No, indeed,' Liv said seriously. 'You're doing something important. And you've found—I hope you've found—someone who matters to you. Whatever else she is, she is no fool. She has to know all this'—her wave took in Eyvind Torfinn's mansion—'is empty. We don't have so much up in the Bizogot country.' Scorn edged her voice. 'We don't have so much, no, but we know what we need to do.'

Count Hamnet glanced over toward Gudrid again. She was laughing and flirting with Jesper Fletti. Hamnet wondered if Liv was right. He didn't want to argue with her, but he couldn't believe it. Because the Bizogot shaman had such a strong sense of purpose, she thought everyone else did, too. She couldn't grasp that Gudrid really was as shallow as she seemed.

Well, why should she? Hamnet thought. I had to get my nose rubbed in it before I understood.

'Having fun?' Ulric Skakki had that gift for appearing at someone's elbow—and for disappearing just as readily.

'Me? No. But I knew I wouldn't,' Count Hamnet answered.

'Why did you come, then?' Ulric asked.

'Well, I didn't want to disappoint Eyvind Torfinn. He's doing something nice to see me off, and he's a pretty good fellow, even if—' Two words too late, Hamnet broke off.

Ulric Skakki knew what he was about to say, and said it for him: 'Even if he's married to Gudrid.'

'That's right. Even then.' Hamnet Thyssen's shoulders went up and down. 'And if I can say that about him, then chances are he's really better than a pretty good fellow, if you know what I mean.'

'He's not as smart as he thinks he is.' Ulric could always find something unkind to say about someone—and something that was true at the same time, too.

'Well, who is?' Count Hamnet said. This time, Ulric was the one who shrugged. Hamnet pointed at him. 'Are you?.'

'I like to think I am.' Ulric Skakki laughed. He could laugh at himself, which made him much easier to get along with than he would have been otherwise. 'Of course, maybe I'm not so smart myself.' He bowed to Hamnet. 'Yes, I do see your point, your Grace.'

'I'm so glad,' Hamnet said dryly, and Ulric laughed again. Hamnet asked, 'Are you smart enough to come north with me?'

'I'm smart enough not to,' Ulric answered. Hamnet Thyssen raised an eyebrow. Unabashed, the adventurer went on, 'I'm not a hero. I never wanted to be a hero. I've done my share of... interesting things. But I don't have to do this one, and I don't intend to. If you think you can save Raumsdalia up by the Glacier, be my guest. I wish you good fortune, and that's the truth. I aim to enjoy what you're saving, though. I like wine better than smetyn and spiced mutton better than roast musk ox. I confess to a weakness for real buildings and real beds and women who take baths. If that makes me a lazy, good-for-nothing weakling, well, I'll live with it.'

He was about as far from being a weakling as any man Hamnet Thyssen knew. That was part of the reason Hamnet so badly wanted him to go back to the Bizogot country. 'I don't suppose I can do or say anything to make you change your mind?'

'Not likely, my dear,' Ulric Skakki said. 'When have you ever known anybody to change somebody else's mind? The only person who can change my mind is me, by God.' He jabbed a thumb at his own chest.

Someone Hamnet Thyssen barely knew came up to him then. The man wore expensive clothes and had a big belly. He carried himself with the confidence of somebody who'd done well for a long time, though Hamnet couldn't remember what he did well in. No doubt he was a friend of Eyvind Torfinn's, which said something unflattering about Earl Eyvind's taste in friends.

'So you're going off to the Glacier again, are you?' By his accent, the near-stranger was born and raised in Nidaros. By the amused contempt in his voice, he thought too much of himself.

'That's right,' Hamnet answered. People like this made him wish he'd declined Eyvind's invitation after all.

'By God, you must be daft,' the fellow said cheerfully. 'You'll freeze your stones off, and for what? For nothing, that's what.' He sounded altogether sure he was right—altogether sure he had to be right.

'Oh, I think going up to the Bizogot country may be worthwhile after all,' Count Hamnet said.

'Ha! How could it possibly be? Eh? Tell me that.' Eyvind Torfinn's rich acquaintance was convinced Hamnet Thyssen couldn't.

But Hamnet could. 'Well, for starters, it takes me away from jackasses like you.'

The other man's face flushed ominously. 'Here, now! What the demon is that supposed to mean?'

'I usually mean what I say,' Hamnet answered. 'You should try it one of these days. It works wonders.'

'You can't talk to me that way! Do you know who I am?' the big-bellied man said.

'I've been trying to remember your name, but I'm afraid I can't.' Hamnet Thyssen shrugged. 'If you push me a little more, though, I suppose I can always find out from your next of kin.'

'From my—?' The prosperous fellow must have drunk a good deal, because even that message took longer to penetrate than it should have. 'You wouldn't—' He broke off again, because Hamnet plainly would. The big-bellied