Gunter thought about this, absently smoothing his mustaches. "You could teach me," he said cannily. "If you are trained as you say."
I nearly laughed at that, too, albeit bitterly. I would be dead now, were I not pleasing to Melisande Shahrizai, whose skills I would match against any adept of the Night Court. "Yes, my lord," I said. "If it is your wish."
"It would be a mighty thing to know." He still had that canny look on his face, though in this, he wasn’t nearly as shrewd as he thought. I knew well enough that Hedwig had refused him three times. If he meant to give me to Waldemar Selig at the Allthing, surely he would ask her a fourth. After his time with me, I did not think Gunter Arnlaugson would be one to welcome a cold bed for long.
"It is a dangerous thing to know," I said without thinking. But Gunter’s mood had turned, and he laughed uproariously at my words.
"You will begin to teach me this tomorrow, eh?" he said, adding cheerfully, "And if you speak of it, little dove, I will send your friend back to the kennels."
Matters resolved to his own satisfaction, Gunter rolled over, and was soon snoring. I lay awake, rolling my eyes at the prospect, and prayed to Naamah for aid and guidance.
It would be, I thought, a formidable task.
So began my second tutorship among the Skaldi, and I daresay it went well enough, at least as the Skaldi would measure such things. I never heard, afterward, that Gunter had any complaints. It brought to light, though, a deeper danger.
If the greatest danger one faces as a slave is displeasing one’s masters, this is the second: pleasing them. All too soon, it becomes all too easy to forget doing aught else. Skaldi reckon time differently than we do, but the meeting of the tribes they named the Allthing was still some weeks away; and once we had found our feet, Joscelin and I, on solid ground at Gunter’s steading, we began sliding into the trap of growing too comfortable in our roles. Wearing the mask of obedience so long, I saw Joscelin forget at times that it was but a mask.
And for my part, to my dismay, I found myself falling asleep at times thinking with pride-and even pleasure-upon Gunter’s progress at our private lessons.
Until the next time they raided.
The shock of it was like ice-cold water. Gunter and his thanes arose in the small hours of the morning, rousing the entire household to service as they armed themselves for the raid, laughing and jesting and testing the edges of their weapons. They wore little in the way of armor, but wrapped themselves well in furs, and each man carried a shield as well as a sword or axe, and the short spear they favored.
The horses were brought round, stamping and blowing frost under the faint stars. They would ride through the waning hours of the night, bursting through the pass at dawn to descend upon a hapless village in full daylight. Amid the clangor and bustle, Joscelin and I stared at each other, pale with horror. I saw him begin to shake all over with repressed rage, and turn away to hide his face from Gunter and his thanes. He made himself wisely scarce, and I did not see him until Gunter came striding, sheathing his sword, to bid me farewell, shouting as he came. "I ride into battle, little dove! Kiss me and pray to see me alive come nightfall!"
I believe, in truth, that he had forgotten for the moment who I was, and where I came from. I had not, and froze.
And then Joscelin was between us, brushing Gunter’s reaching hands aside with a sweep of his forearms, effortless as thought. His blue eyes locked with Gunter’s. "My lord," he said softly. "Allow her one ounce of pride."
What passed between them, I do not know. But Gunter’s eyes narrowed, gauging the measure of Joscelin’s rebellion, while the Cassiline kept his face calm. After a moment, Gunter nodded. "We ride!" he shouted, turning and beckoning to his thanes.
They streamed out of the great hall, brawn and fur and iron, mounted and rode, while those left behind cheered them on. Joscelin sank to his knees and gave me a sick look. I, I just stood, gazing out through the open doors of the hall, and wept.
They came back after nightfall.
They came back victorious, boisterous and half-drunk and singing, staggering under the spoils they’d taken: meager enough stuff, sacks of grain, and stores of winter roots and fruit. I heard Harald boasting about the number of D’Angelines he had slain; when I caught his eye, he fell silent, blushing. But he was one among many.
Piecing the story together, I gathered that they had met with a party of warriors; Allies of Camlach, riding under the sign of the naming sword. There had been a second banner, someone said, with a red forge on brown. Not d’Aiglemort’s men, then, I thought. Two thanes had fallen-Thorvil among them-but they had won the day, slaying half the D’Angelines before retreating through the skirling snows.
If Gunther had been mindful of my sensibilities upon leaving, he took no such niceties upon his victorious return, and I had had the wit to caution Joscelin not to intervene. Thanks to Elua, he did not, for I think Gunter in a drunken state might have set upon him. When the celebration had reached its apex and besotten warriors sprawled about the hall, Gunter hoisted me over his shoulder amid roars of approval, carrying me away.
It was not a night for lessons.
When he was done, I left him snoring and crept from his bed, into the great hall, where his thanes slept off their mead, rumbling and murmuring. Someone had remembered to secure Joscelin’s leg-irons. I thought he too slept, there by the hearth-bench, but his eyes opened at my near-soundless approach.
"I couldn’t stay there," I whispered.
"I know." He moved over, cautious not to clank his irons, and made room for me on the rushes. It was one of his duties, to see that they were replaced when the hall was swept. I sank down to the floor and curled up next to him. His arm came around me, and I laid my head on his chest and stared into the dying embers of the fire.
"Joscelin, you have to leave," I murmured.
"I can’t." Low as it was, I could hear the agony in his voice. "I can’t leave you here."
"Damn your Cassiel to hell, then!" I hissed, eyes stinging.
His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek. "He believed he was, you know," Joscelin said in a low voice. He touched my hair lightly with one hand, stroking it. "I learned it all my life, but I never truly understood it until now."
A shudder ran through me. "I know," I whispered, thinking of Naamah, who had lain with strangers, who had lain with the King of Persis, thinking of Waldemar Selig, the Skaldi warleader. "I know."
We did not speak then, for a long time. I had nearly fallen asleep when I heard Joscelin ask softly, "How can d’Aiglemort bear it? He is sending D’Angelines to die against the Skaldi."
"Ten may die, and a hundred more rally to his banner," I said, staring into the embers. "And he can blame the King for Camlach’s losses, for not sending him further troops. That was his plan, with the Glory-Seekers. He is building an empire. How he can do it, I don’t understand, but I can see the why of it. What I would like to know is, why does Gunter have no fear of him?"
"Because d’Aiglemort pays him," Joscelin said bitterly.
"No." I shook my head against his chest. "It’s more than that. Gunter knows something that d’Aiglemort doesn’t; he laughed, when I told him there were things Kilberhaar didn’t know. Gonzago de Escabares said it, a year ago. The Skaldi have found a leader who thinks."
"Elua help us all," Joscelin whispered.
After that, neither of us spoke, and then I did sleep, and wakened only to a light tug on my sleeve. Opening my eyes, I met the worried features of Thurid, the shy one, who had risen early to her chores. Dim light filtered into the great hall from the oiled skins over the windows, and slumbering thanes still snored around us, stinking of stale mead.