Harry Turtledove - Breath of God

“Can we strike at their flank, then?” Hamnet aimed the question more at himself than at the rider who’d just come in. Regretfully, he rejected the idea. His men had no spirit for another fight yet. And, without Marcovefa’s sorcerous aid, they might as well have gone into battle without shields against an army of archers.

“What do we do if we don’t hit them, Your Grace?” the scout asked.

The question was more pointed than Hamnet Thyssen wished it were. Wait for the axe to drop was the first answer that sprang to mind. He didn’t come out and say that; he feared the scout would believe him. Worse, he feared he would believe himself. “I’ll talk with the others,” was what he did say, and that satisfied the scout, who didn’t see – or didn’t want to see – how little it told him.

When Count Hamnet gathered Ulric Skakki, Trasamund, and Runolf Skallagrim, none of them seemed eager to assail the advancing enemy. If Trasamund in particular held back, that told Hamnet the thing couldn’t be done. And the Bizogot jarl did. “No point hitting em unless we hit ‘em hard, and we can’t right now, curse it,” he said unhappily.

“Looks that way to me, too, I’m afraid,” Ulric Skakki said.

“And to me,” Runolf agreed. “If we’re going to get squashed if we poke our noses outside the walls . . well, then we don’t, that’s all.”

Had Hamnet Thyssen had any great hopes of victory, he would have argued against the others. Since he didn’t, he accepted their argument. Sometimes the best thing you could do was nothing.

He did send another courier down to Nidaros, warning that the Rulers were loose in the Empire below the northern woods and that he lacked the force to do anything about it. “Maybe a miracle will happen,” he told Ulric. “Maybe the Emperor will send me more soldiers.”

“Don’t wait up expecting them, or you’ll get mighty sleepy,” the adventurer replied. “He’ll probably yell for your head instead, for not doing enough with what he was generous enough to give you before.”

“Yes, that thought crossed my mind, too,” Count Hamnet said. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“Well, if you want to go to the chopper or back to the dungeon, you just do what dear, sweet, lovable Sigvat tells you to do,” Ulric said. “If you don’t, you do something else. If you don’t feel like getting chopped, I’ll go with you, for whatever you think that’s worth. If you do, you’re on your own.”

Hamnet Thyssen set a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of affection and appreciation he rarely used. “Thanks. I’m not going to let Sigvat wreck me or the Empire, not if I can help it.”

“You’ve got a chance to keep him from wrecking you,” Ulric Skakki said. “If he doesn’t wreck you, he’ll have a harder time wrecking Raumsdalia, anyway. But you’ve got to worry about yourself first. You can do something about yourself. Right this minute, you can’t do much about the whole bloody Empire.”

The Empire was going to get bloodier. Count Hamnet couldn’t do much about that, either, not till Marcovefa’s wits unscrambled – if they ever did. Congratulations, he told himself. You just found something brand new to worry about.

He sighed. “Up till now, I’ve always put the Empire first. I still do, I guess, but . .”

“Yes. But,” Ulric said. “One thing you still need to figure out is, there’s a difference between the Empire and the Emperor. Raumsdalia can go on without Sigvat II, even if Sigvat’s too cursed dumb to see that for himself.”

Since Hamnet Thyssen hadn’t seen if for himself, he maintained what he hoped was a discreet silence. Even if not just Sigvat but his dynasty perished, the Raumsdalian Empire could go on. Sometimes a truth was too obvious to be easy to see. Sometimes, in the woods, a mastodon was next to invisible. But then it would lift its trunk and trumpet, and everyone for a long way in all directions would know where it stood.

At least I know where I stand , Hamnet thought. That would have to do for now. “Who do you think hates me more right this minute?” he asked Ulric. “The Rulers or His Majesty?”

“Well, it depends,” Ulric said judiciously.

“On what?”

“On whether your messenger has got to Nidaros yet.”

“Oh.” Count Hamnet weighed that. Then he nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“You’re not afraid enough to suit Sigvat,” Ulric said. “That’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like you.” There was an understatement of almost cosmic proportions. Even the adventurer seemed relieved to change the subject: “How’s your lady love?”

“About how you’d expect after almost getting her head smashed,” Hamnet replied. He hesitated, then asked, “How’s Liv doing?”

“She’ll heal. She’ll have a scar. It’s a shame – she’s a nice-looking woman. And no, in case you’re trying to find some reason to come after me with a hatchet, I never slept with her. She is anyway.” Ulric Skakki raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to ask me, you know. You could talk with her yourself. She’s not like Gudrid – she doesn’t aim to carve chunks off you every time she opens her mouth.”

“I understand that,” Hamnet said, as steadily as he could. “I still haven’t decided whether it makes things better or worse.” Even the glib Ulric Skakki had no quick and clever retort for that.

Count Hamnet was doing up his trousers as he came out of the garderobe when one of Runolf Skallagrim’s junior officers spotted him. “Oh, there you are, Your Grace!” the very young subaltern exclaimed.

“Here I am, all right,” Hamnet agreed. “And why does it make any difference that I happen to be here?”

“Because the baron needs to see you right away, sir,” the junior officer said. “He’s got six or eight men out looking for you.”

“Does he?” Hamnet said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. That could only mean something had gone wrong. Two possibilities leaped to mind; he wondered which was the more appalling. “Well, I suppose I’d better go see him, then.”

“Follow me, Your Grace.” The youngster hurried off so fast, Hamnet Thyssen had very little choice but to follow him. He stopped in front of Runolf’s door as abruptly as he’d sped away. When Hamnet came up a few heartbeats later, the fellow said, “Go on in, sir. I know he’s expecting you.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Hamnet said. What a liar I’m turning into in my old age. He wasn’t that old, but some days felt as if they added years. He worked the latch and went inside.

As he’d feared, a man with the look of an imperial courier waited with Runolf Skallagrim. “Morning, Thyssen,” Runolf said, trying to pretend he knew Hamnet not at all well.

“It certainly is,” Hamnet said, more or less at random. He inclined his head to the man who looked like a courier. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“No, I don’t think so, either. I’m Gunnlaug Jofrid,” the man said. “I have orders to take you back to Nidaros.”

Hamnet looked at him. “No.”

“What?” By the way Gunnlaug gaped, Hamnet might have used a word in the language of the Rulers.

“It’s a technical term,” Hamnet explained, not unkindly. “It means, well, no.”

“You can’t say that!” Gunnlaug burst out. “His Majesty commands it!”

“Listen carefully. Watch the way my lips move. . . No.”

“But you can’t disobey the Emperor,” Gunnlaug Jofrid said, as if it were a law of nature.

“Oh, I can’t, eh? I’m afraid we’ll just have to see about that,” Hamnet said.

“What will you do? Where will you go? Every man’s hand will be raised against you, all over the Empire.”