Vork sneaked a hand on Gath’s arm to hold him back. He looked worried. ”What happens?” he whispered.
Gath grinned. “Wait and see!”
Seers had reputations to keep up. He wasn’t about to admit that he did not know.
The streets were narrow and wound higgledy-piggledy between the low cottages. Goats grazed on the sod roofs, bleating at the passersby. Once a gaggle of children spotted Twist and jeered in chorus. He ignored them, hastening along in his painful gait.
Here came the shielding.
Shielding could last a long time, Gath knew. Wirax had told him of age-old buildings that had crumbled away and left their occult defenses guarding nothing but meadowland. That must be the case here, for the blankness he foresaw lay right across a street. Once he was inside, he would be able to see the future again. Perhaps in ancient times the thane’s hall had stood here. It didn’t work as he expected. His prescience vanished, and stayed vanished. He walked on after Twist and there was still no future, only awkward present. For a moment he almost panicked, as if he’d gone blind, then he gritted his teeth and reminded himself that other people had to live like this all the time.
Twist’s house was one of the smallest, a hovel on the edge of the little town. The sod roof was canted at a bad angle, like its owner, as if about to collapse. The cripple plunged ahead down two steps and in through a doorway that had only a tattered old hide to cover it.
Gath followed, stumbling down into a stuffy, earth-smelling dimness, and there was still no future. Vork came in behind him. The flap dropped over the doorway, creating darkness. Twist was bumping around somewhere.
Gradually Gath’s eyes adapted. There was only the one tiny room, and one small window, with a covering of bladder or strips of fish skin sewn together. This was summer, so the hearth was bare. He made out a roll of furs that must be bedding, a small table, an ancient seaman’s chest, and one rickety chair. Dishes, pots, and a few books were stacked on a precariously canted shelf. On the floor by the fireplace stood a splendid harp, shining like a full moon at dusk.
“You two had best be sitting there,” Twist said, waving at the chest, “and trying not to be too heavy. I am at making a cup of tea for visitors, and you will be telling me how the thane got his hands on the two of you.”
Vork rolled his eyes and curled his lip, but he went over to sit on the chest. Gath stayed standing. He did not think he could sit down if he tried. He was sweating like the rowers had. A world without prescience was terrifying!
Twist had laid out a candle on the table and was fumbling with flint and steel, balanced precariously on one foot. “Well?” Vork was going to leave the talking to Gath.
“We wanted to attend the Nintor Moot. We asked Thane Drakkor to let us ship with him. We’re his kinsmen.” Twist’s pale eyes seemed all white in the dark, as if he were blind. “Sixth cousin in your case. Atheling Vork is being his third cousin, twice removed.”
“How do you know that?”
The young cripple smiled bitterly. “I am being his skald.
What is a cripple good for, except being a skald? It is skalds’ business to be knowing their masters’ families. That is their main business! Shall I be reciting the lists for you?”
“No. I believe you.”
The tinder caught. The skald lit the candle and then snuffed the tinder with his fingers, so as not to waste it. He sniggered meanly. “So, athelings, thanes’ sons, want to go to the moot? Are you worthy, though? You will be fighting to prove it.”
“Fighting?” Vork demanded warily.
“Fighting. Many thanes are coming to visit on their way to the moot and are bringing sons with them. There will be feasting in the hall now until we leave. For entertainment, athelings will fight, much gold being wagered.” His odd speech echoed the forms of the old ballads.
Gath should have guessed about the fighting. He wondered if his prescience would work in the hall. If it did, he had little to fear. If not—well, he would have to fight fair. Except that he did not have the arms of a real rower.
“Fists or swords?”
“Fists, heads, teeth, boots.”
“Do we have to win?”
“Indeed not,” Twist said, with a mean grin. “You had best be fighting a bigger opponent and be getting injured right away. It will be happening sooner or later, so why not sooner? Bleed bravely!”
“What does a cripple know about fighting?” Vork snorted. “This cripple has been seeing many fights,” Twist said. “And knows good losers and bad winners.” He lurched over to the shelf and took down a very battered kettle.
“This place stinks,” Vork complained. “Tell us whatever it is we’re supposed to know, and then we can leave.”
“But I am being very honored by having two athelings my visitors! So you were asking a favor of Thane Drakkor? Are you both crazy?”
Gath recalled the thane’s words: You’re a good lad and I’d rather not kill you, but I will if I must. “Er . . . Why do you think we might be crazy?” What was coming? Oh, how he missed his prescience!
The little cripple dipped the kettle in the bucket and set it on a tripod on the table. He placed the candle underneath. “Your fathers did not negotiate this? This was being your own idea?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! Well, let as be considering the instance of Atheling Vork.” Twist was very cheerful. Perhaps having visitors was a very rare and welcome experience for such an outcast, but there was an ominous malice behind his amusement.
“What about me?” Vork said grumpily, shooting alarmed glances at Gath.
Twist adjusted himself on the chair and laid down his crutch. “Your father is being thane of Spithfrith and ambassador to Dwanish. As the first he is owner of most of this island, which Thane Drakkor feels belongs to thanedom of Gark. As the second he is being immune to challenge. Am I speaking correctness?”
“Well, er, maybe.”
“Is being correct. But my brother is feeling—”
“You’re his brother?”
Twist grinned at his guests’ surprise. “Indeed. And full brother, not half brother. Our father left us many half brothers.” He beamed proudly. ”We are all athelings here.”
Gath made a mental comparison of the two brothers and shivered. Drakkor was masculine perfection, everything a man might hope to be; Twist was a nightmare. What would it be like to have to live in such a wreck of a body—all day and every day? “But he struck you!”
“Of course. Am being, a weakling. Is correct behavior for jotnar to be mocking cripples and full of contempt for cripples. If he were not being a big softie, he would be kicking me, also, killing me perhaps. Our father, if returning from his last voyage, would have been having me drowned. Drakkor has been very kind to his puny brother. He was making me his skald.”
The strange youth glanced from one visitor to the next, and seemed to think they disbelieved him. “Look!” he said, and fumbled inside the neck of his robe. He pulled out a string, with a glitter of gold on it. “He is a ring-giver. He was giving me this at Winterfest for my singing.” He smiled shyly. “He would not be liking me being seen wearing it, though.” He tucked it out of sight again.
Unable to find anything to say, Gath walked over to the chest and sat down, elbowing Vork to give him more room. Why had he not realized that Nordland would not be just another Krasnegar? Was it wrong or just unfamiliar? If his homeland seemed more civilized to him, was that just his personal taste, or could he find an argument that might convince an independent witness? If it was more civilized, was that due to the imps there, or his parents’ rule? He had a lot to think about. These were things a man had to decide for himself.
“So Thane Drakkor has feud with Thane Kragthong,” Twist said, pale eyes sparkling with amusement. “But diplomats are being immune. Cannot make war against ambassadors or challenge to reckonings. Now he has the thane’s son?”
“I am his kinsman!” Vork shouted, alarmed.
“Third cousin. He has killed three brothers. Lost count of cousins.”
“I am his guest!”
“Is true.” Twist glanced at the silent kettle and sighed, as if eager for his hot tea. “But if Thane Drakkor is deciding to blind you, or neuter you and sell you as slave to the djinns, then what will Thane Kragthong be doing?”
Vork made a horrible strangled noise. All the color drained out of his fair-skinned face, leaving only red hair and terrified green eyes, and freckles like sand on white china. Twist obviously found that transformation amusing, and Gath was ashamed to realize that he did, too.