"Oh, very well," he grumbled. "Do not mind Yvette's manner, Berthar. Betimes she confuses herself with Frea, the mother goddess of her Dualist Faith, and thinks all us mortals her subjects."
"Insolent jackanapes!" she said. Ignoring the comment, Thorolf crawled into the sleeping sack and watched unhappily as his companions fitted themselves into the tent.
-
Next morning, Thorolf was up and had the little fire going before Berthar and Yvette emerged from the tent, yawning and stretching mightily and grinning as if viewing Helmanax's hilarious masterpiece, Mistress in Name Only. The play had been banned in Zurshnitt as subversive of morality; but a group of players gave secret performances in a barn beyond the city limits.
Thorolf looked dourly at his companions. They had slept fully clad; but that was no insuperable obstacle ...
"Sleep well?" he snapped.
"Magnificent well!" said Yvette. " 'Twas as sound as in mine own palace. You were a dear to permit it!" She leaned over and kissed Thorolf's cheek. Sometimes, he thought, she acted almost human.
Through the day, the Countess and the park superintendent chattered, joked, and laughed in high good humor. Drawing inferences, Thorolf became ever more dour and silent.
A group of trolls stopped them, demanding tribute. Thorolf talked their way past this border guard, and the trio reached Wok's village in midafternoon.
The Chief came puffing up, crying: "Ah, good my Thorolf! And the learned Doctor Berthar! What seek ye this time? Worms or gnats?"
"A species of salamander—" began Berthar, but Wok ignored his reply, saying:
"Is this your other mate, Thorolf?"
"She is Countess Yvette of Grintz, from Carinthia. Countess, I present the mighty Chief Wok—"
"What this?" said Bza loudly in Trollish, pushing brusquely into the group. "No say can have other mate!"
"What's she grunting about?" asked Yvette.
"Well—ah—this is Bza, of whom I told you—"
"Want other mate, ask me first!" shouted Bza. "Me boss; her servant!"
Thorolf said: "She claims mastery over you, as senior wife—"
"I never heard of aught so ridiculous!" cried Yvette. "Tell this apish she-pig where to stick her wishes!"
"Bza!" said Thorolf in a soothing manner. "Listen! She no mate; just friend. Nobody boss—"
"Me know lowland word!" screamed Bza. "Me kill!"
Bza hurled herself at Yvette; the two came together in a shrieking whirl of golden hair. Bza was trying to tear out a double handful of Yvette's tresses, while the Countess fiercely punched and kicked her antagonist.
Thorolf cried: "Stop them, Wok!" He caught Bza from behind and whacked her knuckles with the hilt of the dagger he had taken from the Carinthian until she released Yvette's hair. Wok had seized Yvette around the waist and whirled her away from Bza. Thorolf turned Bza around and gave her a shove that sent her staggering away.
"Enough from you twain!" he shouted, sheathing his dagger. "No fight, Bza! Or me beat!"
"Limp lowlander, no can futter!" yelled Bza.
Before Thorolf could find further words, he felt his dagger snatched from its sheath. Next, Yvette was running at Bza, the dagger raised for a downward stab.
Thorolf hurled himself after the Countess, catching her just before she reached her victim. With the flying tackle he brought Yvette to earth. She rolled over, shrieking:
"Loon! Whoreson rudesby! Lickspittle! Roynish pa-jock! I'll teach thee to lay vile hands upon my princely person!"
She tried to stab Thorolf, who caught her wrist and twisted until she released the knife. Since the tirade continued, he slapped her, hard.
"Idiot!" he growled. "Want them to cut you up and boil you for dinner? That's what they do to bothersome lowlanders."
Yvette dissolved in tears. Thorolf added: "And next time you try to stab someone, hold the knife point up." He looked up to see a scowling Khop, Bza's lover, looming over him.
"Hurt Bza, fight me!" rumbled the troll.
"Thorolf!" said Berthar's voice. "I cannot have you treating a high-born lady thus!"
Thorolf rose. "If you're fain to keep those two termagants from killing each other," he snarled, "I wish you joy of the task. I am more concerned with my belly. Chief Wok, who has a bite to spare a hungry fellow tribesman?"
-
As the day died, Thorolf pitched his little tent at the edge of the village and pulled off his boots. Berthar asked:
"What do ye, Thorolf?"
"As any fool can see, I am stalking a Pantorozian tiger," snapped Thorolf.
"Oh, come, be not angry! Ye were right to separate those twain even if compelled to be rough with them. Are ye going to sleep?"
"Aye. Having been on the dodge for a sennight, I weary."
"Ye take not your usual tent, with Bza?"
"She threatened to cut off my manhood whilst I slept, so I shall rest better alone."
"Then what of the Countess and me? My sack is not spacious enough for two ..."
"Ask Wok to find spaces for the twain of you. Yvette was right; this shelter is really not large enough for more than one. Good night."
Later, finding sleep elusive despite his fatigue, Thorolf heard Yvette say:
"... in Grintz, a commoner who laid violent hands upon me would be torn between wild horses."
"But, my dear, he had to! He did after all save your life."
"So I ween; but it's hard to forgive such presumptuous treatment. My elbow was skinned in the fall, and my arm aches from the twist he gave it."
"Ye should make amends."
"I would have, earlier; but he professed not to hear when I spake. Now he sulks, because I gave him not what ..."
The voices faded with distance. Thorolf mentally finished her last sentence: "... what I gave you." He uttered a little snort of disgust, partly at himself for being, despite all, still in love with the jade.
-
X – Sanguinary Swords
When Thorolf finally dropped off, he slept heavily, so that the sun was well up before he awoke. As he crawled out and started for the patch of ground on the leeward side of the village used by the trolls for toilet purposes, Chief Wok hailed him:
"Ho there! Know ye what hath become of your Bza?"
"Nay," said Thorolf. "What has?"
"Disappeared, along with young Khop. Methinks they've run off together."
"I'm not surprised. She took Khop as a lover whilst I dwelt with her."
"Oho! Then why haven't ye slain Khop, or at least given him a good drubbing?"
Thorolf grinned at the idea of a human being, even so powerful a one as himself, thrashing the mighty Khop. "I already had my bow trained upon the Countess. My junction with Bza was what we call a marriage of convenience. If she prefer Khop, I shall send good wishes after them."
Wok shook his head. "Ye lowlanders are strange beings. Ye are plainly no coward; and yet ..."
"Any notion of whither they've gone?"
"Belike to the Dorblentzes to join Chief Yig's horde."
"Perchance Khop can arrange peace betwixt the hordes. You trolls need all your combined strength to resist lowland encroachments."
"Me, friends with that louse! ... But it could be that ye have an idea there, Thorolf. I'll think upon it. Now what of the twain ye brought hither? I found places for them—the woman in mine own tent, though I had to toss out one of my wives."
Thorolf: "They won't be here long." He looked around and sighted Berthar and Yvette, sitting in a circle of trolls and making the best of a breakfast of smoked goat's meat and barley porridge. They looked up as he approached.
"Heigh-ho, Thorolf!" said the Countess. "When canst arrange my safe return to Zurshnitt?"
Berthar said: "I must spend a day or two seeking my salamanders ere returning to the city."
"Zurshnitt won't be safe until we've drawn Parthenius' fangs," said Thorolf. "I shall have to get in touch with my father—"
"Nonsense, Thorolf!" snapped Yvette. "
A man as able as you can surely cleanse that nest of vipers without going through your tedious Rhaetian legalisms!"
"I thank you for the compliment," said Thorolf, "but I fear you overstate mine abilities. I'm no demigod, like that fellow Zorius in your Dualistic religion—the one they sacrificed. What's your True Faith, by the way?"
She shrugged. "I bend to local beliefs and prejudices, having no fanatical faith of mine own. But why can't you lead the trolls through the tunnels, burst in upon Parthenius and his creatures, and slaughter the lot? If Orlandus be dead, they'll have no wizard to ward them with spells."
"I have broached the idea," said Thorolf. "Wok refused it as too risky."
"But that was ere Orlandus' death, was't not? Now you'd have a better chance of striking quickly."
"Much depends," Thorolf explained, "on my father's persuading the Senate to recognize the trolls as human."
"But that might take months, whilst your politicians trade favors and strike deals! I'll not endure to be mewed up here amongst these stinking ape-men—"
"Watch your tongue!" Thorolf snapped in Helladic, the international language of scholars. "Some understand you."
"I care not! I gat no sleep last night, jammed in with a lot of trolls, snoring and stinking, and betimes old Wok awakening to futter one or another of's wives, whilst the rest looked on and made ribald comments— I suppose on his performance, if I could have understood their hoggish speech. He asked me if I expected the same service and seemed relieved when I did assure him that I did not. He explained that he was willing to tup me as a matter of simple hospitality, albeit he found me repulsive." She gave a little sputter of laughter. "But you can perceive why life in troll-land has for me no allure."
"Oh, come, Countess," said Berthar soothingly. "We shall get better sleeping arrangements. Whilst we be in exile here, ye can help me to search for my salamanders—"
"Oh, bugger your little lizards!" cried Yvette. "I'll not abide such treatment—"
"My dear," said Berthar with a pained expression, "I have explained that they be not lizards—"
"But I will not be cooped and confined—"
"Sorry, your Highness," said Thorolf, "but I know not what else you can do."
He started to walk away. Then something soft and moist struck him smartly in the back of his head. As he spun around, he clapped a hand to the spot. His hand came away with a flattened gob of barley porridge.
Yvette, still seated beside Berthar, dug her spoon into the porridge bowl. She held up the spoon, grasping the stem with the thumb and two fingers of her right hand while with those of her left she pulled back the bowl of the spoon, so that it acted like the throwing arm of a one-armed catapult. Furious, Thorolf shouted:
"If you do that again, I'll spank your pretty pink arse!"
"You wouldn't dare!" she cried, raising the spoon to take aim.
"Try me!" barked Thorolf.
"My lady!" said Berthar, grasping her arm. "I beg you! We dare not fall out; we must stand together—"
He broke off as a troll rushed into the village, shouting: "Foe! Foe! Foe!"
"To arms!" roared Wok. The village burst into frantic motion. Females snatched up their cubs. Males dove for their tents, to emerge with weapons. All yelled at the tops of their powerful voices until the noise was deafening.
Berthar and Yvette sprang up, the latter crying: "Where? Whence come they?"
Shading his eyes, Thorolf peered about until he saw a flash of the sun on armor, along the trail to Zurshnitt. "Yonder!" he cried. "I'll get my crossbow."
-
Wok hurried the trolls into a ragged line athwart the path of the oncoming force. As the figures grew larger, Thorolf saw that in their van marched three ogres, each half again as tall as a man and bearing a huge club. Behind them came Parthenius, in helmet and half-armor of plate. After him strode a score or so of chain-clad guards from Castle Zurshnitt in Sophonomy's sky-blue surcoats. To Yvette and Berthar, Thorolf growled:
"We need not seek out Parthenius and his merry men; they come to us."
Thorolf felt a tug on his clothing and realized that his dagger was being drawn from its sheath. He turned to see Yvette secreting the weapon in the cloak she had taken from the renegade Carinthian.
"Yvette!" he exclaimed. "What dost? Mean you to stab me?"
"Nay, Thorolf dear. I shall need it in case that swine again lays hands on me."
Beside Parthenius came another figure who, being small, Thorolf did not at once recognize. This turned out to be the fat little treasurer of the Magicians' Guild, Avain.
Real ogres, Thorolf knew, could mash flat ten times their number of human beings, or even trolls. But he had suspicions of these. By looking hard, he could see the twinkle of the sun on the guardsmen's armor through the ogres' scaly bodies; Bardi's spell had not worn off. He turned to Wok, saying:
"Chief, those ogres are mere illusions, cast by—"
At that instant, Wok shouted: "Sorcery! Flee!"
"Wait!" cried Thorolf. But as one troll, the horde turned and ran, bounding up the slope above the village. In a trice Thorolf found himself standing with Berthar and Yvette alone, facing the oncomers. The Sophonomist guards bore swords, pikes, halberds, and bows. When the ogres loomed over the trio, Parthenius cried:
"Halt! Sergeant Thorolf and Countess Yvette, I want you twain; the beast-keeper I care not about. Will ye yield quietly? 'Tis useless to resist; if ye essay to flee, as did the trolls, my archers will bring you down."
"What does Doctor Avain in your ranks?" shouted Thorolf. '
"He is our new Psychomagus. Do ye yield?"
Rage had been building up in Thorolf. It seemed to him that, no matter what he did, the Sophonomists were always thwarting him in one way or another. Now, although cooler reflection might have indicated some other course, he whipped the crossbow to his shoulder. The bow thumped; the bolt whistled through one of the illusory ogres and buried itself in the midriff of Avain, whom Thorolf judged to be his most dangerous single foe. With a shriek, the little magician doubled over and sank down. The three ogres vanished.
Thorolf snatched another bolt from its case and stooped to put his foot in the stirrup to recock the weapon, hoping for a shot at Parthenius. Before he could complete the task, the flat of a halberd caught him on the side of his head and knocked him sprawling. He sat up, shaking the stars out of his vision. Two of Parthenius' crew had laid hands on Yvette, despite her struggles, and two more had seized Berthar.
As Thorolf rose, still groggy, guards tried to lay hands on him likewise. He knocked one down and grabbed for his sword, but others clutched at him from all sides. His struggles sent them staggering back and forth, but they hung on. Parthenius stood before him, grinning. The man took off his helmet, exposing a mass of coppery curls.
"I had thought ye'd make a prime diaphane," grated Parthenius, "wherefore I told my men to take you alive. But ye've slain our new magus as well as the old. To keep you captive until we find another were too risky, knowing what a mighty and self-willed wight ye be. The Countess were easier to handle." He turned to a halberdier. "Off with his head!"
The guards holding Thorolf tried to bend him down to afford a fair target for the ax blade, but Thorolf continued to struggle. Parthenius said:
"Come now, Sergeant, wouldn't ye prefer a quick, clean chop to being slowly whittled to death with knives? If ye persist in your contimacy, the latter fate shall be yours."
"Futter you!" snarled Thorolf.
"Ho!" shouted a guard. "Look yonder!"
The trail from Zurshnitt skirted the village and continued along the mountainside. Along the trail, from the direction opposite the city, came another troop of armed men, about equal to that led by Parthenius. At the head of the column rode a man on a huge white horse. He bore a lance with a flag near its tip, displaying the red boar on a white ground of the Duchy of Landai.
"Form double line!" shouted Parthenius. "Archers on the flanks! Do not let go of the prisoners!"
The mounted man, also in plate, halted his horse and turned his head to shout, in the accents of Carinthia: "Deploy right and left!" He handed his lance to one man, dismounted, and gave his reins to another.
The column split, half the men filing to the right and half to the left, until they formed another double rank facing the Sophonomists. The man in plate stepped forward and, like Parthenius, removed his helmet. He showed a head of graying blond hair with an expanse of pink bare scalp rising through it like a mountaintop above the clouds. Below it were a pair of bulging blue eyes and a large red blob of a nose. While his chin was shaven, he wore a huge mustache, curled at the ends like the horns of a buffalo. He addressed Parthenius:
The Pixilated Peeress Page 17
