Harry Turtledove - The Golden Shrine

Once it formed, the picture of Tahpenes’ butchered carcass turning on a spit didn’t want to leave Hamnet Thyssen’s mind. He remembered the smell of roasting man’s flesh. He’d been hungry for it till he realized what it was. To the folk who lived up on the Glacier, people from other clans were, quite literally, fair game.

He scowled at Marcovefa, partly joking, partly not. “You did that on purpose, to make me imagine things I don’t want to think about.”

“As long as you don’t imagine eating Tahpenes while she is still alive.” Marcovefa shrugged. “Not much worry there. Not a pretty woman.”

“No. Not,” Hamnet said, and then, “You make me sound like a man of the Rulers.” He did think the invaders’ strong, harsh features suited their men better than their women.

“I am sorry,” Marcovefa said. “I meant to insult you, but I did not mean to insult you that much.”

“Er-right,” Count Hamnet said. His more-or-less beloved from atop the Glacier could be-and usually was-devastatingly frank. To keep any more arrows from flying his way, he asked, “How can we let Tahpenes escape without her knowing she isn’t doing it all on her own?”

“That is a hard question,” Marcovefa answered. “The Rulers are such fools. They think everything is over if you are a captive. The men don’t try to get away because they know their own folk won’t want them back. Maybe it is different for a woman. We can hope so.”

“Yes.” Hamnet nodded. “Otherwise, it would be like a dog you couldn’t chase away even if you wanted to.”

“Dogs.” Marcovefa made a face. “What good are they? They help with the herding, but is that enough to be worth the food they eat? You people down here don’t eat them unless you are starving. They are nothing but a waste of time.”

There were no dogs up on the Glacier. There wasn’t enough food up there to support them. There was barely enough to support people. Hamnet Thyssen wondered what Marcovefa thought of pampered lap dogs-dogs that didn’t even pretend to earn their keep-down in the Raumsdalian Empire. He also wondered what she made of cats.

But back to dogs . . . “People like them,” Hamnet said. “And they like people. Knowing somebody or something likes you-that’s worth a lot to a lot of people.”

“Maybe. If you can’t find people to like you, though, you have to be pretty hard up to care about a stupid dog,” Marcovefa said.

“A lot of people are pretty hard up,” Count Hamnet said. He didn’t add that he’d been that way himself. Sometimes dogs were easier to deal with than people. Dogs expected so much less from you. Again, he didn’t say anything about cats. Cats didn’t particularly like people. They just exploited them. Parasites with purrs, he thought.

“Dogs are slaves. They’re bred to like people. They have no choice,” Marcovefa said, which was true enough. Then she surprised Hamnet by adding, “Cats, now, cats are free. I liked cats when I saw them in your Empire. Cats do what they want, not what you want. I would make a good cat.”

Count Hamnet needed no more than a moment to nod. “Yes,” he said. “I think you would.”

Not quite artfully enough, Tahpenes contrived to meet Hamnet away from everybody else. “Will you answer some questions?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he answered. “It depends on what they are.”

“This Bizogot folk, it truly has shamans who are women?” she asked.

“You’ve seen that. Why do you even need to ask?” he said.

“But I can’t believe it’s real,” Tahpenes said. “The Rulers say only men can work magic.”

He shrugged. “What do you expect me to do about that? People can say anything they please. Sometimes it’s true. Sometimes it’s nonsense.”

“We are the Rulers. We do not speak nonsense,” Tahpenes said stiffly.

He laughed in her face. “Everybody talks nonsense. Not all the time, but sometimes. Your folk are people, like anybody else. You’re full of nonsense, too.”

“We are not like anybody else. We are the Rulers. You have seen our might.” Tahpenes was full of herself, and full of pride for her folk.

“I’ve seen that you’re a prisoner. I’ve seen that you have found some things here you didn’t know about before. If you don’t want to believe them, what does that make you? Besides a fool, I mean.”

She glared at him. Then she wiped the glare off her face and gave him a smile instead. That made him sure what game she was playing. “I don’t want to be a prisoner any more,” she said, softening and sweetening her voice as much as she could.

“Your other choice was getting killed, probably after some unpleasant preliminaries,” Hamnet reminded her. “Don’t you think this is better?”

“Going back to my own folk-that would be better,” Tahpenes said. “I would do almost anything for help to get back to my own folk.” She looked at him from under lowered eyelids.

She was about as seductive as a dire wolf. She would only have got angry if he told her so; realizing as much persuaded him not to bother. “I have a woman I’m happy with,” he said, and let it go at that.

“One of those yellow-haired sluts,” she said scornfully. “They aren’t much-skinny, whey-faced . . .”

“Don’t let Marcovefa hear you say that. She’ll turn you into a vole,” Hamnet said.

“She is strong,” Tahpenes admitted. “Wizards from the herd are not supposed to be strong. How does she get that way?”

By living on top of the Glacier with nothing, Hamnet thought. He didn’t intend to explain to Tahpenes.

“Will you help me get away?” Tahpenes persisted. “All I have to give you is myself. I will do that, and gladly.”

Count Hamnet found himself in a strange position. He wanted Tahpenes to escape, but he didn’t want her. And he had-and had earned-a horror of infidelity. He also had a suspicion he thought well-founded that telling a woman he didn’t want her was an insult that would have called for seconds had its like passed between two men. And so, as sternly as he could, he said, “I didn’t capture you just to let you get away again.”

She bit her lip. “I thought you were a kind man. You could have killed me. The way we look at things, you should have killed me.”

“Taking prisoners when we can is our custom,” Hamnet said.

“A foolish custom,” Tahpenes said. Count Hamnet wondered what she would have thought if she knew Marcovefa felt the same way. Or maybe she did know. Marcovefa wouldn’t hold back about something like that. She would use it for a weapon, to make a captive afraid and to make her talk.

“Foolish or not, it’s what we do,” Hamnet said. “And I’m afraid you picked the wrong man.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask that Ulric Skakki,” the woman from the Rulers said tartly. “I could suck him till the inside of my cheeks turned to leather, and he’d still break every promise he made me. If you made one, I think you would keep it.”

“Maybe I would, but I’m not making any.” Hamnet Thyssen couldn’t resist asking, “Does Ulric know what you think of him?”

“If he doesn’t, it’s not because I haven’t told him,” Tahpenes answered.

“What did he do?”

“He laughed and said, ‘You say the sweetest things, darling.’ He’s a rogue. He’s proud he’s a rogue.” Tahpenes sighed. “And the honest man is too honest. And the Bizogots . . . They would screw me and then cut my throat so I couldn’t tell any stories about them.” She shuddered.

“Then you might as well get used to being a captive,” Hamnet said.

“It is a disgrace. Even for a woman, it is a disgrace,” Tahpenes said. “Lying down with a man from the herd is as nothing beside it.”