Prince of the North

by Turtledove, Harry

  “A waste, a criminal waste,” Rihwin said sucking at his mustache so as to swallow every precious drop he could. “Had it not been for my wine-bibbing, we would not have seen the northlands freed from the vicious and horrible curse of the monsters.”

  “Had it not been for your wine-bibbing,” Gerin said grimly, “we wouldn’t have had to put our fate in the hands of two gods, one of whom was already angry at me and the other ready to get angry because I’d taken his voice on earth as my woman. Aye, it turned out well. That’s not why I gave you the one jar of wine as I did—it was for forcing us to take such a dreadful chance.” He picked up he other, unopened jar. “Because we succeeded this one is yours to do with as you will.”

  Rihwin bowed dripping still. “You are a lord among lords, my fellow Fox.”

  “What I am is bloody tired of having to worry every moment of every day,” Gerin said. “The gods willing” —a phrase that took on new and urgent meaning after the evocation— “I’ll have maybe three days of peace now before the next thing, whatever it is, goes horribly wrong. Come on, let’s tell Aragis and the rest what we’ve done here today.”

  Along with Van and Fand and Drago and Marlanz and Faburs, Aragis the Archer stood at what Gerin thought of as a “safe” distance from the shack. The word was a misnomer, of course. Had the gods truly released their wrath, nowhere in the northlands would have been far enough from Fox Keep to escape—as the monsters had discovered.

  Everyone pointed and exclaimed when they came forth. Fand’s voice pierced through the rest: “Did the sot spill the wine and wreck your magic, now?”

  “Not a bit of it,” Gerin answered. “We summoned the gods, and the monsters are no more.”

  That raised the hubbub quite a bit higher than it had been. Van said, “But how can it be, Captain? You only just went in there.”

  “What? Are you witstruck?” Gerin demanded. “We were in the shack an hour at least, more likely two.” He looked to Selatre and Rihwin for confirmation. They both nodded.

  Without a word Aragis pointed up into the sky Gerin’s eyes followed the track of the grand duke’s finger toward the sun. He had to look away, blinking, but not before his jaw dropped in astonishment By the sun’s place in the sky, a couple of minutes might have passed, but no more.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said, “but I was telling the truth, too. I suppose the bigger truth is, when you treat with gods, you can’t expect the world they know to be ordinary one we usually live in.”

  Aragis said, “I think you had better tell me in detail all that came to pass in there. I warn you, I am not satisfied with what you have said so far. It strikes me as likely to be a ploy to keep from having to honor your share of our terms of alliance. Are you saying the monsters are simply gone, thus?” He snapped his fingers.

  “Let’s go into the great hall and broach some ale, and I’ll tell you everything I remember,” Gerin said.

  Rihwin held out the jar of wine Gerin had given him. “No, let’s share this,” he said. “As Mavrix is part of the tale, so should he also be part of the explanation.” That made sense, but hearing it from Rihwin surprised Gerin. For his fellow Fox to share wine he could have kept for himself was not far from a revolution in human nature, and confirmed that something extraordinary had indeed happened inside the hut.

  Divided among so many—and with a libation to the lord of the sweet grape—the one jar of wine did not go far, but Gerin savored every sweet drop; when he’d evoked Mavrix, he’d hardly tasted what he’d drunk. Aided by Selatre and the wine-soaked Rihwin, he explained everything that had passed in the hut.

  When he was done, Van said, “Some of the yarns I’ve told are wild, but I hand it to you, Captain: that beats ’em all.”

  “Thank you—I think.” Gerin could rely on his friend to believe him. Aragis the Archer was something else again. Gerin eyed the grand duke with some concern, wondering how he would react.

  Aragis’ jaw worked, as if he were chewing over the tale Gerin had told. At last he said, “It fits together well enough; I give you so much. But how am I to know whether it’s the truth or just a clever tale to get me out of your hair?”

  “Send a team down to Ikos,” Selatre suggested. “If they find no monsters on the way and discover Biton’s shrine restored, you’ll know we have not lied. It’s not a long journey; four days, five at the most, will get your men to the temple and back. Then you won’t have to guess—you will know.”

  Aragis’ jaw went up and down again. After a moment, he dipped his head to Selatre. “My lady, that is a fine thought We would not have left here much before my men could return from Ikos in any case. I’ll do as you say, though I’ll send more than one team south, on the off chance you’re … mistaken.” He was too courteous to suggest straight out that she was lying, but left the implication in place.

  Once his mind was made up, he was not a man to waste time. Four chariots fared south toward Ikos that afternoon. Gerin gladly gave them supplies for the journey; he was confident about what they’d find there. He went to sleep that night wondering where the last of the monsters, the ones Mavrix had missed, still lurked in the northlands. Were they the cubs he’d spared? Solve that riddle and you’d deserve undying praise. The world being what it was, you probably wouldn’t get it, but you’d deserve it.

  Two days later, the lookout in the watchtower blew a long blast on his horn and shouted, “Lord prince, chariots approach out of the southwest.” Gerin frowned; it was too soon for Aragis’ men to be coming back, and the southwest … The sentry’s voice cracked in excitement as he added, “Lord prince, they’re Trokmoi!”

  The Fox cupped his hands and called up to the sentry, “How many chariots? Are we invaded?” That would be a mad thing for Adiatunnus to try, but just because a thing was mad didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

  “No invasion, lord prince,” the sentry answered, much to his relief. “There’s just a handful of them, and they’re showing the striped shield of truce.”

  To the gate crew and the men on the palisade, Gerin called, “We’ll let one crew into the courtyard; the rest can wait outside. If they try to follow, they’ll never go home again.”

  The Trokmoi uttered not a word of protest when Gerin’s troopers passed them those conditions. At the Fox’s nod, the gate crew let down the drawbridge, then grabbed for bows and spears. A single chariot rattled and rumbled over the bridge into Fox Keep. Gerin recognized one of the woodsrunners in it. “I greet you, Diviciacus son of Dumnorix,” he said.

  “And I’m after greeting you as well, lord Gerin, though I met some of your men closer than I cared for, these few days past,” the Trokmê answered. A long, ugly cut furrowed his left arm and showed what he meant. He got down from the car and bowed low to Gerin. “Lord prince, in the name of Adiatunnus my chieftain, I’m come here to do you honor. Adiatunnus bids me tell you he’ll be your loyal vassal for as long as you’re pleased to have him so. Forbye, there’re tribute wains waiting to come hither so soon as your lordship is kind enough to tell me you accept his fealty, indeed and there are.”

  Gerin stared at Van. They both stared at Aragis. All three men seemed bewildered. Gerin knew he was. He turned back to Diviciacus. “What accounts for Adiatunnus’ … change of mind?” he asked carefully. “A few days past, as you said, we were all doing our best to kill one another.”

  “Och, but that was then and this is now,” Diviciacus answered. He sounded bewildered, too, as if he’d expected the Fox to know exactly what he was talking about. When he saw Gerin didn’t he went on, “Himself was chewing things over with one of the monsters—one o’ the smart ones, y’ken—the other day when lo! all of a sudden the creature turns to smoke before the very eyes of him, and then it’s gone! all the others gone with it, too; not a one left, far as we can tell. Will you say that’s none o’ your doing, lord prince?”

  The Fox didn’t say anything for a moment. Now Aragis bowed to him, almost as low as Diviciacus had. “Lord prince, I thin
k in your own way you have met the terms of the alliance to which we agreed, which is to say, I doubt the monsters now threaten my holding.”

  ‘Thank you, grand duke,” Gerin said vaguely. He’d known what Mavrix had said he’d done, of course, but knowing in the abstract and being confronted with actual results were two different things. Pulling himself together, he told Diviciacus, “Aye, the god worked that at my urging.” In fact, the gods had worked that because they’d been quarreling with each other, but some things the Trokmê didn’t need to know. “And so?”

  “And so, lord prince,” Diviciacus answered, “Adiatunnus has the thought in him that he’d have to be a raving madman to set himself against your honor, you being such a fine wizard and all. ‘Diviciacus,’ he tells me, ‘not even Balamung could have magicked the creatures so,’ and I’m after thinking he’s right If he canna stand against you, he’ll stand wi’ you, says he.”

  “So he’ll stand with me, will he?” Gerin said. “I mean him no disrespect, but he’s shown he’s not to be trusted, that chieftain of yours. When he says he’ll stand with me, he’s more likely to mean he’ll stand behind me, that being the best place from which to slide a dagger between my ribs.”

  Diviciacus sighed. “Himself feared you’d say as much, there being bad blood betwixt the two of you and all. He gave me leave to say this if you didna trust him: he’ll give you his eldest son, a boy of twelve, to live with you here at this keep as hostage for his good behavior. The lad’ll leave with the load of tribute I spoke of earlier.”

  “Will he?” Gerin pondered that Adiatunnus could hardly offer more to show his sincerity. The Fox added, “Did your chieftain give you leave to take the oath of homage and fealty in his place?”

  “He did that, lord prince, and I know the way you southrons do it, too.” Diviciacus went to one knee before Gerin and held out his hands, palms together. Gerin set his hands to either side of the Trokmê’s. Diviciacus said, “Adiatunnus my chieftain owns himself to be your vassal, Gerin the Fox, Prince of the North, and gives you the whole of his faith against all men who might live or die.”

  “I, Gerin, Prince of the North, accept the homage of Adiatunnus through you, Diviciacus son of Dumnorix, and pledge in my turn always to use him justly. In token of which, I raise you up now.” The Fox did just that, and kissed Diviciacus on his bristly cheek.

  The Trokmê beamed. “By Taranis, Teutates, and Esus I swear my chieftain Adiatunnus’ fealty to you, lord prince.”

  Any oath less than the strongest one the Trokmoi used would have made Gerin suspicious of the chieftain. With it, he bowed in return, satisfied. “By Dyaus the father of all, Biton the farseeing one, and Mavrix lord of the sweet grape, I accept his oath and swear in turn to reward his loyalty with my own.”

  Diviciacus eyed him keenly; Adiatunnus had not dispatched a fool as his ambassador. “You Elabonians are always after swearing by Dyaus, but the other two aren’t usually the gods you name in your frickfullest aiths. They’d be the ones who did your bidding for you, I’m thinking.”

  “That’s my affair,” Gerin said. The Trokmê was right and wrong at the same time: Gerin had indeed summoned Mavrix and Biton, but the gods did their own bidding, no one else’s. If you were clever enough—and lucky enough—you might make them see that what you wanted was also in their interest. That once, the Fox had been clever and lucky enough. He never wanted to gamble on such bad odds again.

  Aragis’ chariot crews returned with word of Ikos miraculously restored and not a sign of monsters anywhere, and seemed miffed when everyone took their report as a matter of course. The day after they got back to Fox Keep, Aragis and his whole host set out for his holding in the south.

  “Perhaps we’ll find ourselves on the same side again one day,” Aragis said.

  “May it be so,” Gerin agreed. He didn’t quite care for the grand duke’s tone. Had he been in Aragis’ sandals, he would have worried about himself, too: with Adiatunnus as his vassal, his power and prestige in the northlands would soar … maybe to the point where Aragis would go looking for allies now, hoping to knock him down before he got too powerful to be knocked down. In Aragis’ sandals, Gerin would have tried that. To forestall it, he said, “I almost wish I didn’t have the Trokmê as my ally. He’d be easier to watch as an enemy than as someone who claimed to be my friend.”

  “There is that.” Aragis rubbed his chin. “Well, we’ll see how you do with him.” With that ambiguous farewell, the Archer turned and went back among his own men. Gerin knew he would bear watching too, no less than Adiatunnus. This once, his interests and the Fox’s had coincided Next time, who could say?

  Gerin sighed. If he spent all the time he should watching his neighbors, where would he find time for anything else?

  Not long after Aragis and his warriors left for the grand duke’s lands, Duren came up to Gerin and asked, “Papa, are you angry at Fand?”

  “Angry at Fand?” The Fox frowned. He often thought Fand counted any day where she didn’t make someone angry at her a day wasted, but he didn’t say that to his son. Duren liked Fand, and she’d never been anything but gentle with him. “No. I’m not angry at her. Why did you think I was?”

  “Because you never go to her chamber anymore. It’s always Van.”

  “Oh.” Gerin scratched his head. How was he supposed to explain that to his son? Duren awaited a reply with the intense seriousness only a four-year-old can show. Slowly, Gerin said, “Fand has decided she likes Van better than she likes me. You remember how she and I would quarrel sometimes, don’t you?”

  Duren nodded. “But she quarrels with Van, too.”

  “That’s true,” the Fox said, “but its—usually—a happy sort of quarreling. She doesn’t treat you any differently now that she’s just with Van instead of with him and me, does she?”

  “No,” Duren said.

  “That’s good.” Gerin meant it; he would have quarreled with Fand and in no happy way, had the boy said yes. He went on, “Now that Fand is with Van, Selatre is my special friend Do you like her, too?” He waited anxiously for Duren’s answer.

  “Oh, yes,” Duren said. “She’s nice to me. She doesn’t treat me like a baby, the way some people do just because I’m not big yet And do you know what else?” His voice dropped to the conspiratorial whisper reserved for secrets. “She taught me what some of the letters sound like.”

  “Did she?” Gerin said. “I’ll bet I know which ones, too.”

  “How can you know that?” Duren demanded in the tone children use when, as frequently, they assume their parents can’t possibly know anything.

  “Were they the ones that spell your name?” Gerin asked.

  Duren stared at him. Every once in a while—not often enough—a parent will redeem himself by proving he does know what he’s talking about after all. “How did you know?” the boy said, his eyes enormous. “Did you use magic?” Now that his father had got away with summoning two gods, he assumed Gerin was a mighty mage. The Fox, who knew how lucky he’d been, wished that were so but made a point of bearing firmly in mind that it wasn’t.

  He said, “No, I didn’t need any magic for that. The letters of a person’s name are almost always the ones he learns first because those are the ones that are most important to him. Do you know what else?”

  “No, what?” Duren breathed. He liked secrets, too, and was good at keeping them for a boy of his years.

  “When Selatre came to Fox Keep—that was just a few days after Tassilo stole you—she didn’t know her letters, either,” Gerin said. “I taught them to her myself. So she should know how to teach you, because she just learned.”

  “Really?” Duren said. Then he looked doubtful. “But she reads so well. I can only read the letters in my name, and find them in other words sometimes. But I don’t know what the other words say.”

  “It’s all right. It’s nothing to worry about,” Gerin assured him. “You’re still very little to know any letters at all. Even most grown people don’
t, you know. Selatre learned hers quickly partly because she’s smart—just like you—and partly because she’s a woman grown, and so when she reads something she understands what it’s talking about You can’t always do that, because a lot of things that are in the words on the parchment haven’t happened to you yet Do you understand?”

  “No.” Duren’s face clouded over. “I want to be able to do it now.”

  Gerin picked him up, tossed him in the air, and caught him as he came down. Duren squealed. Gerin spun him around and around and around. He squealed again. When Gerin set him down, he took a couple of staggering steps and fell on his bottom. Gerin was dizzy, too, but tried not to show it. He said, “Could you throw me up in the air and spin me around and around like that?”

  “Don’t be silly, Papa.” Duren tried to get up, but seemed to have as much trouble walking as Rihwin had the night he broached the wine.

  “Why not?” Gerin persisted. “Why can’t you do that?”

  “You’re too big.”

  “That’s right, and you’re too little. When you’re bigger, you’ll be able to do things like that, and you’ll be able to read easier, too.”

  Duren considered that, then said, “Spin me again!” Gerin happily obeyed, and enjoyed listening to the happy sounds his son made. This time, Duren didn’t even try to stand up when Gerin put him on the ground. He lay there staring up at the sky; Gerin would have bet he saw it going round and round. Finally he made it back to his feet. “Again!” he demanded.

  “No,” the Fox said. “If you do too much of that, you can make yourself sick.”

  “Really?” Gerin watched his son think that over; the process was very visible. Duren obviously decided that was an interesting idea, and one worth exploring further. He spun away, laughing but loud.

  Gerin laughed, too, but only for a moment Duren could afford to live for the present—indeed, at his age, he could hardly do anything else. Gerin did not enjoy that luxury. His son was the only good thing he had left from his shattered marriage with Elise, and he loved the boy without reservation. But what would happen to Duren when he wed Selatre and had children by her? Minstrels sang songs about stepmothers, but how would he blame Selatre for wanting her own blood to advance? Who would end up whose vassal, and after how much hatred and strife?