“Have you now, grand duke?” The Fox hoped he sounded fulsome rather than worried. An unscrupulous man, which Aragis had a reputation of being, might reckon a volley of arrows and a hard charge as presents.
But Aragis didn’t order an attack. He reached down into the car and held up a large, tightly tied leather sack. “Here’s one of them.” Then he reached down again and lifted something else, something heavier. His lips pulled back from his teeth, partly from the effort and partly in a real smile. “And here’s the other.”
From his arms, Duren squealed, “Father!”
Gerin prided himself on seldom being at a loss. His pride suffered now, but he couldn’t have cared less. “Duren,” he whispered.
Aragis couldn’t possibly have heard that, but nodded nonetheless. His driver reined in. He set Duren down on the stone surface of the road. The boy ran to Gerin’s chariot.
The Fox jumped out of his car even though Raffo hadn’t stopped it. He staggered a little when he landed, and then again when Duren ran into him full tilt. He picked up his son and squeezed him so tight against his own corseleted chest that he felt the air go out of the boy. “Father, why are you crying?” Duren demanded indignantly. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“That’s why I’m crying,” Gerin answered: “Because I’m glad to see you.”
“I don’t understand,” Duren said.
“Never mind,” Gerin told him. Aragis’ chariot had come up behind Duren. The Fox turned to the hawk-faced grand duke and said, “You know I was afraid you’d taken the boy, or rather kept him after someone else—it would have been Tassilo, wouldn’t it?—took him. I never thought to get him back through you. To say I’m in your debt just shows how little words can mean.”
“You’ve yet to open your other gift,” Aragis said. He handed Gerin the leather sack without more explanation.
When the Fox undid the knot in the rawhide lashing that held it closed, a foul stench escaped. He nodded; from the weight and heft of the sack, he’d expected it would hold a head. He looked inside, nodded again, and closed it. “Aye, that’s Tassilo.”
“I packed him in salt for some days after I—mm—took him apart,” Aragis said. “I wanted you to be able to recognize him, to be sure he was dead.”
Gerin picked up the sack and threw it into the grass by the side of the road. It bounced a couple of times and lay still.
“You gave him too easy an end, you ask me,” Van told Aragis.
“I thought on that,” Aragis admitted. “Still, though, while he kidnapped the boy, he didn’t do anything worse while he had him. That may have been because he wanted to keep his value as hostage high, but whatever the reason, it’s so. I let his end be easy on account of it.”
“He’s dead. That’s all that matters,” Gerin said. “No, not all.” He squeezed Duren breathless again, then asked Aragis, “When did he come to you?”
“As the gods would have it, the day after I sent my vassals to you seeking common cause,” Aragis said. “So any of the men here with me will attest” His driver and the other warrior in the car with him nodded, almost in unison.
“I see,” Gerin said slowly. He wondered if the grand duke was telling the truth. Had he perhaps had Duren earlier, and contemplated using him against the Fox? Aragis was not a man to cross; no doubt his own vassals would support him. Duren wouldn’t know, not exactly; four-year-olds had very strange notions of time. Gerin decided to let it lie for now.
“How fare you here?” Aragis asked. “Your own men down further south were full of stories of hard fighting to hold the road open.”
“That’s true, but we won the fight,” Gerin said, doubly glad Aragis hadn’t had to try forcing his way through Bevon’s men—and quadruply glad Aragis hadn’t tried and failed. The Fox went on, “We’ve had a few other small things happening, too,” and with that airy understatement explained his sweeps through his one holding and the one Schild had so urgently requested.
“You’ve had a busy time of it,” Aragis said, a statement so self-evidently true that Gerin didn’t even bother nodding. The grand duke added, “I was taking the omens before I set out, and the bird’s flight warned me I’d best leave early rather than late, so here you see me now. Try as I would, I couldn’t make sense of why, but I accepted the reading all the same.”
“I think you did well,” Gerin said, and told him of the near werenight due in a few days.
Aragis’ eyes narrowed. “Is that a fact?” he said, then shook his head. “No, I’m not doubting you, Fox. Just that, with so many things closer to home to keep track of, I never thought to worry about the moons.”
“Sometimes the things you most need to worry about aren’t the obvious ones,” Gerin said. For some reason that made him think, not of the untouehably distant moons, but of Elise, who’d given no signs—no signs he’d noticed, anyhow—of discontent until one day she was simply gone.
Aragis said, “I have a hard enough time worrying about the things that are obvious. The rest I leave to the gods and clever fellows like you.” His voice rang sardonic, but only slightly. He didn’t worry about the long run or the wide picture as much as Gerin did. In the short term, and over the limited space of the northlands, his methods worked well enough.
“Let’s head up to the keep,” Gerin said. “We’ll wait out the moons there, if that suits you, and then do our best to smash Adiatunnus. If his lands aren’t a sanctuary for the monsters, we’ll stand a better chance of controlling them.”
“I wonder if we’ll ever be able to do that,” Aragis said gloomily. “The damned Trokmê’s lands are nowhere near mine, but the stinking creatures plague me as bad as they do you, maybe worse. After we finish up here, I’ll want you and yours to ride south and help me clear my hinterlands of ’em.”
“That’s why we made the pact,” Gerin agreed, “though as you say I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to clear them completely now. Sometimes that strikes me as more a job for gods than for men.”
“If prayer were the answer, every monster in the northlands would have died a hundred times by now,” Aragis said.
“Isn’t that the sad and sorry truth?” Gerin said. “But I wasn’t thinking so much of prayer. The gods hear prayer for a double handful of thousands of different things every day. No wonder most of them aren’t granted—grant one and a god rejects another in the granting. What’s crossed my mind once or twice lately, though, is … evocation.”
Aragis stared at him. So did his own men. He didn’t blame any of them. The last time he’d been at all involved in evoking was five years before, when Rihwin summoned Mavrix to turn sour wine back into sweet. Rihwin hadn’t intended to evoke Mavrix then, only to invoke him. When you let a god fully enter the material world you ran a tremendous risk. Summoning the god was relatively easy. Controlling him once summoned was anything but.
“You have a reputation for not thinking small,” Aragis said at last, “and I see it’s well earned.”
“Dyaus above, it’s not something I want to do,” Gerin exclaimed. “Why do you think I so want this alliance to succeed? If we can beat the Trokmoi and the monsters on our own, we won’t have to think about calling on the gods. But if it comes down to a choice between losing the fight and trying one last great stroke to win it, which would you take?”
“Damn me to the five hells if I know.” Aragis shook his head, as if Gerin had made him look at something he would sooner not have contemplated. “As you say, lord prince, let us hope the choice does not come down to that. Shall we ride on to your keep now, and ready ourselves for the fighting ahead?”
“I suggested as much a while ago, but we’ve been standing around here talking instead,” Gerin said. He picked Duren up and started to set him in his own chariot.
“Wait, Papa, I have to piddle,” Duren said. He started toward the bushes off to the side of the road. Gerin and Van both went with him, the one with drawn sword, the other with heavy spear at the ready. Wild beasts and worse dwelt in the wo
ods these days.
When Duren was done, Van grabbed him by the feet and carried him back to the chariot upside down. He squealed laughter all the way. Hearing that laughter lifted years from Gerin’s heart. He nodded to Aragis, who nodded back. It was good to know there were depths to which some men in the northlands would not sink.
Having Duren in the car with him bouncing up and down made the trip back to Castle Fox one of the more enjoyable journeys Gerin had ever taken. Even having his son ask “Are we almost there yet?” with great regularity didn’t, couldn’t, come close to taking the edge off his happiness, not today.
When they got back to Fox Keep late that afternoon, the castle was shut up tight against them. Gerin would have been furious to find it any other way; the lookout would have seen a great many chariots, far more than had set out the previous morning, and had better have assumed they were hostile. The Fox rode up close enough for the warriors on the palisade to recognize him and called, “We’re all friends here—Aragis the Archer has brought his men north. And look!” As Aragis had before him, he held Duren high.
The men on the wall cheered themselves hoarse. The drawbridge came down quickly, heavy bronze chain rattling over the winch. Van asked quietly, “Where are we going to put all of Aragis’ men? The keep won’t hold the lot of ’em, and besides—”
“I won’t want all of them inside at once until I have more of my own troopers here to balance the scale,” Gerin finished for him. “I don’t see how I can keep from feasting ’em tonight, but after that …” Now he let his voice trail away.
“Look sharp,” Van said. “Here’s Aragis coming up.”
The grand duke said, “Lord prince, we are allies, but not yet certain of each other, although you’ve been too polite to speak much of that. We’ve brought canvas and such; if it please you, most of my men will sleep outside the keep. You need have no fear. We’ll set a watch against monsters and such, as we did on the road north.”
Gerin dipped his head. “I thank you. You’ve just made my life easier.”
“I thought that might be so.” Aragis’ smile was pleasant enough, but something hard remained under the surface. “I might have made other plans, did I not need your aid in the south as much as you need mine here—maybe more.”
“Indeed,” Gerin said. “I understand what you’re saying. Your grandson will rule mine, maybe, or mine yours, but if we fight now, we both go under. We’ll be wise to bear that in mind all through this campaign.”
“My grandson will have his own worries,” Aragis said. “I can’t untangle mine right now, let alone his. But as you say, Fox, remembering we need each other is the best way to keep from going to war too soon.”
It was probably the only way that would hold Aragis in check, Gerin thought. The Archer, by all evidence, was ruthlessly effective in pursuing his own interests. Reminding him that Gerin was part of those interests seemed eminently practical. Nodding, the Fox said, “Shall we go into the keep together? You’ll guest with me, of course.”
“Apart from my men, you mean? Aye, of course,” Aragis answered. One thing his nature made easy: Gerin didn’t have to waste time with polite-sounding explanations. Aragis saw through to the essence of things and accepted them for what they were.
Some of the men on the palisade came down to greet the Fox and his companions. Others held their posts, bows ready. Hearing the commotion, servants came out from the great hall to see what was happening. So did Fand and Selatre.
Seeing Fand, Duren jumped out of the chariot and ran to her. She scooped him up in an embrace, said to Gerin, “Och, you got him back! Good on you there.”
“First thing that’s gone right in a while,” the Fox said. Then he glanced toward Selatre and corrected himself: “No, the second thing.”
Duren wiggled out of Fand’s arms. He pointed at Selatre. “Who is that lady? I’ve never seen her before.” He looked thoughtful, which made him look amazingly like a miniature, beardless version of Gerin. “Is that my mama come back?” he asked, hope lighting his face brighter than the sun. He’d barely been toddling when Elise left Fox Keep.
“No, it’s not,” Gerin said gently, and the sparkle died in Duren’s eyes. His father went on, “But do you know who it is? That’s the lady who used to be the Sibyl down at Ikos, the one the god spoke through. Her name is Selatre. She lives at Fox Keep now.”
“My vassals spoke to me of this,” Aragis said, without giving any hint of how he felt about it.
Duren studied Selatre, then asked the child’s natural question: “Why?”
Gerin had always tried to be as straightforward with his son as he could. That wasn’t easy now, but he did his best: “Because the earthquake—do you remember the earthquake?” Duren nodded, eyes wide. Gerin continued, “The earthquake knocked down Biton’s temple at Ikos, and it let loose the monsters from underground there. Van and I were afraid the monsters would kill Selatre and eat her, the way they do, so we rescued her and brought her to Castle Fox with us when we came back.”
“Oh,” Duren said. “All right.” After a moment, he asked, “Why were you and Van at Ikos?”
“To ask the god to tell us through the Sibyl where you were,” Gerin answered.
“Oh,” Duren said again. “But I was with Tassilo.” By his tone, that was as much a fact of nature as trees’ leaves being green.
“But we didn’t know you were with Tassilo,” the Fox reminded him. “And even if we had known it, we didn’t know where Tassilo was.”
“Why not?” Duren asked, at which point Gerin threw his hands in the air.
He said, “Let’s bring up some of the good ale from the cellar, slay an ox and some sheep, and rejoice that we have enough bold warriors here now to take on the Trokmoi and the monsters.” Or so I hope, at any rate, he thought. If we don’t, we’re in even more trouble than I reckoned on before.
“Nothing finer than a good sheep’s head, all cooked up proper, with plenty of ale to wash it down,” Drago the Bear declared. Baron though he was, he had a peasant’s taste in food.
The Fox looked to the sky. With sunset near, all the moons were up: Tiwaz at first quarter near the meridian, then Elleb halfway between first quarter and full, and then, close together and low in the east, Math and Nothos. Gerin shook his head Five years earlier, he’d paid attention to the motions of the moons mostly to let him gauge the time by night; seeing them crawl together now sent a shiver of dread through him. This stretch, surely, would not approach the horrors of the werenight, but how bad would it be? No way to know, not yet.
He said, “The blood of the beasts slaughtered for our supper will hold the ghosts at bay. If you like, grand duke, we’ll do some of the butchering outside the keep, that your men’s encampment may also gain the boon of blood.”
“A good thought,” Aragis said. “Do it.” He was so direct, he even used words like soldiers, sending forth no more than he needed to carry out his plans.
“Might we not broach even one of the jars of wine we have from Schild to help us rejoice in this alliance?” Rihwin asked.
“No,” Gerin and Van said in the same breath. Gerin pretended not to see the curious look Aragis sent him for quashing the question so quickly. He was heartily glad he’d taken those jars out of the cellar and hidden them deep under straw in the stables. To Rihwin, he went on, “Ale suffices for the rest of us, so it will have to do for you, too.” Rihwin’s pout made him look positively bilious, but he finally gave a glum nod.
Duren kept running around the courtyard and in and out of the great hall, as if making sure things hadn’t changed while he was gone. Every once in a while, his voice would rise in excitement: “I remember that!” He’d been gone a quarter of a year, no small chunk of a four-year-old’s life.
Selatre came over to Gerin and said, “He’s a promising boy.”
“Thank you. I’ve always thought so,” the Fox answered. “I just praise Dyaus and all the gods that he doesn’t seem to have suffered badly in Tassilo’s cursed h
ands. The minstrel must have reckoned he’d need him hale and not too unhappy as a hostage.” That sparked a thought in him. He called his son over and asked, “How was it that you went away with Tassilo when he took you away from here?”
“He promised he’d teach me his songs and show me how to play the lute,” Duren answered. “He did, too, but my hands are too small to play a big one. He said he would make me a little one, but he never did do that.” And then, to the Fox’s surprise, Duren started chanting what Tassilo had called the song of Gerin at his visit to Fox Keep. He did it better than he’d ever sung before he was kidnapped; in that, at least, the minstrel had kept his promise. It wasn’t remotely enough.
One of the cooks came out and said, “Lords, the feast begins!” The warriors streamed into the great hall. Even with chairs and benches brought down from upstairs, it was still packed tight.
Fat-wrapped thighbones smoked on Dyaus’ altar by the hearth. When a servant brought Gerin a jack of ale, he poured a libation to Baivers and the rest of the ale down his throat. A serving woman picked her way down the narrow space between benches, pulling rounds of flatbread from a platter piled high and setting one in front of each feaster in turn.
She would have gone faster had more than a few men not tried to pull her down onto their laps or to grab at her as she went past. One of them wound up with flatbread draped over his face instead of on the table before him. “I’m so sorry, noble sir,” she said, very much as if she meant it.
A cook with a sheep’s head on a spit carried it to the fire and carefully started singeing off the wool. “Oh, that will be fine when it’s finished,” Drago said. He thumped his thick middle. “Have to remember to save some room for it.”
Servants with meat more quickly cooked—steaks and chops and roasted slices of hearts and kidneys and livers—came by and set the sizzling gobbets on top of the flatbreads. The feasters attacked them with belt knives and fingers. They threw gnawed bones down into the dry rushes that covered the floor. Dogs growled and snarled at one another as they scrambled for scraps.
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