Harry Turtledove - Wisdom of the Fox

"Sit down and shut up." Every once in a while, Gerin could strike a tone that produced obedience without thought. He wished he could manage it at will—it was useful. This time it worked; Schild's knees folded and he sat back onto the bench. Gerin went on, "I can't send more than ten cars because I'm sending others south to open the Elabon Way: Bevon and two of his worthless sons have struck at it and driven my garrisons back. And I'll want the chariots home soon because Aragis the Archer and I have made alliance; he's bringing his forces north so we can strike at Adiatunnus and the monsters together. I want my force of chariotry at full strength for that. Now do you understand, lord Schild?"

"I understand you're the biggest bastard ever spawned in the northlands, lord Gerin," Schild answered, but the fire had gone out of his voice. He got up again, carried his jack to the pitcher of ale, poured it full, and drained it dry. Only after he'd wiped his mouth and mustache on the sleeve of his tunic did he give his attention back to the Fox. "You set me up for that tantrum, you son of a whore. You just wanted to see how loud you could make me yell."

"If it weren't so, I'd deny it," Gerin said. "In case you're interested, you yell louder than I thought you could."

"Truth that," Van put in. "I thought one of those monsters was loose in the keep when I heard you roar."

Schild looked from one of them to the other. "To the five hells with both of you. Now, when will you send out your chariotry?"

"As soon as I can," Gerin answered. "I'll send messengers today to my vassals who have keeps on the western side of my holding. As you'll have noticed, I haven't enough men here myself to make up ten cars, or anything close to that number. I would have, if I didn't need to order crews south against Bevon." He spread his hands. "I'm afraid that's what you get, lord Schild, for taking so long to make up your mind you're really in trouble. My men ought to be crossing your frontier about the time your tribute comes in to Fox Keep."

"Aye, I'd worked that out for myself, thanks," Schild said. "You're not an easy overlord to serve under, lord prince. I console myself by thinking you're fair in what you do."

"I'll take that," Gerin said.

* * *

The Fox lay beside Selatre, watching the lamp gutter toward extinction. Its red, dying flame cast flickering shadows on the wall of the bedchamber. He let one hand run idly down the smooth length of her torso. He'd felt sated after he made love with Fand. He felt happy now. It had been so long since he'd felt really happy after he'd made love that the difference struck him like a blow.

He wondered how he'd failed to notice when that happy feeling started to slip away while Elise shared his bed. Partly, he suspected, his own stupidity was to blame. And partly, he'd supposed it was simply part of their growing used to each other. That was probably stupid too, now that he thought about it.

When she'd bedded the horseleech after she ran off, had she felt happy afterwards? Gerin rather hoped so.

Selatre snuggled against him, which drove thoughts of Elise, if not altogether out of his head, then at least back into the dark corners where they belonged these days. She laughed a little as she said, "The time when I thought no man could touch me seems faraway now. I was foolish."

"No, you weren't." Gerin shook his head. "You were doing what was right for you then. On the other hand, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad you'd changed your mind." He bent his head so he could kiss the sweet hollow place where her neck met her shoulder.

"Your beard tickles," she said, and then, as if she weren't changing the subject at all, "What I'm glad of is that my courses are finally spent. I could have done without that part of becoming a woman—I think I've said as much before."

"Eight or ten times," Gerin agreed.

She poked him in the ribs. He jerked. For someone who hadn't been allowed to touch a man for a long time, she learned fast. Maybe she'd grown up with little brothers back in her peasant village. Gerin had been a little brother. He knew what pests they could make of themselves.

Selatre said, "One of the reasons I didn't care for my courses is that they kept me from having you. I've grown greedy so fast, you see."

"They don't have to keep men and women apart," Gerin observed.

"No?" Selatre sounded surprised. Her mouth twisted. "It would be messy."

"It can be," Gerin agreed. "You're apt to be dry then, too. But"—he smiled a lopsided smile—"there are compensations. I didn't want to seem as if I were forcing myself on you this first time. You're finding out about so many new things so fast, I thought I shouldn't burden you with one more. The gods willing, we have plenty of time."

"I think I am very lucky here." Selatre snuggled closer still. "I may have said that before, too—eight or ten times." She gave him a look that said, What are you going to make of that?

He knew what he wanted to make of it, and was hoping he could rise to the occasion once more, when someone came running up the hall toward the bedchamber. He scowled; it was too late at night for anyone to bother him without excellent reason. Then the fellow outside shouted, "Lord Gerin, there are monsters loose in Besant's village!"

"Oh, a pox!" Gerin cried, and sprang out of bed. "I'm coming!" He scrambled into tunic and trousers, buckled on his sandals and grabbed his sword belt, and unbarred the door. Selatre barely had time to throw a blanket over her nakedness.

Gerin hurried downstairs, where his armor, with that of his vassals, hung from pegs on the side walls of the great hall. He got into his corselet, jammed his bronze pot of a helm onto his head, and put his shield on his right arm. Tonight he'd make do without his greaves. He snatched up his bow and a full quiver of arrows.

Van had already armed himself. "Come on, Captain," he said impatiently. "I've missed good fighting to wait for you."

"You must have been down here, to have got into your gear so fast," Gerin said.

"Aye, so I was, drinking ale, rolling the dice with a few of the lads—you know how it goes. When the drawbridge thumped down, I figured somebody'd gone and pissed in the porridge pot, and sure enough, in came this screaming serf, babbling of monsters. I sent one of the cooks upstairs for you, while those of us who were down here got weapons and went out to fight." With that, he trotted for the door himself, the Fox at his heels.

At the gate, one of the men there handed Gerin a blazing torch. "Against the ghosts, lord prince," he bawled. Gerin was grateful for his quick thinking, but felt overburdened as he pounded toward Besant Big-Belly's village.

Even with the torch, the night spirits assailed him as soon as he got outside the keep. Dark of night was their time, their element; they sent a chilling blast of hate and resentment down on a mortal who presumed to enter it without better apotropaic than fire alone.

He set his teeth and ran on. Beside him, Van muttered oaths, or perhaps prayers, in a language he did not recognize. When those had no effect, the outlander shouted, "Be still, you cursed soulsuckers!" If any living man could awe the ghosts, Van would have been the one to do it. But no living man could.

Fortunately, Besant's village lay only a couple of furlongs from Fox Keep. Before the spirits could find all the chinks in the armor of Gerin's soul and slip cold mental fingers in to drive him mad, he was among the wattle-and-daub huts of the serfs. They'd given the ghosts the usual gift of sunset blood, and so were not haunted through the night. But things fiercer than phantoms assailed them now.

A man lay sprawled in the street. His blood darkened the dirt on which he'd fallen. His linen tunic was rucked up; monsters had been feeding on his legs and hindquarters before the warriors came to drive them off.