Opening World 3 - The Golden Shrine by Harry Turtledove

Author:Harry Turtledove
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-03-20T05:00:00+00:00

XII

ONE DAY, THE wind started blowing cool, down from the north. The Bizogots smiled. Hamnet Thyssen sighed. “Not the Breath of God, not yet,” he said, “but it’s a reminder there is such a thing.”

“Just what we need,” Per Anders said. The courier didn’t seem to have gone up to the Bizogot country till he came after Hamnet and his comrades. “Maybe it will stop blowing every winter once the Glacier finally melts.”

“That would be something,” Baron Runolf said. “Mild all winter long? By God, I’d love it!”

“You think so?” Ulric said. “You go far enough south, you’ll find places where it’s mild all winter long.”

“I’d like that, too,” Trasamund put in.

“Let me finish, if you please,” Ulric said. “Places where it’s mild all winter, you don’t want to be there in the summertime. Either you broil or you boil, depending on whether it’s dry or sticky. If the winter’s warmer, so is the summer—that’s the rule.”

“Well, if that’s the Rule, it must be fit for the Rulers, right?” Runolf Skallagrim said. “What should we do with ’em? Broil ’em or boil ’em?”

“Either one. Both,” Hamnet said. “Talking about it’s easy, though. Doing it takes more work.”

Runolf chuckled. “Ah, well. If you’re going to complain about every little thing . . .” Ulric thought that was funny. Hamnet, again, didn’t. This time, he made himself smile. He could occasionally get away with hypocrisy because no one suspected he would stoop to such a thing.

The Raumsdalians and Bizogots mounted and spread out and rode south, looking for the Rulers—and for food. Coming across a flock of sheep the invaders had somehow missed made everyone happy. Oh, Trasamund said, “When I have a choice, I like musk-ox meat better,” but his heart wasn’t in the grumbling.

“Been a couple of thousand years since musk oxen ranged this far south,” Hamnet said. “In those days, the Glacier covered everything down to just north of Nidaros. No Gap then—not the smallest thought of one. Nothing but ice.”

“Good times, by God,” the jarl said. “Things on the far side of the Gap stayed where they belonged. They didn’t come down and bother honest men.” To put Hamnet in his place, he added, “Or Raumsdalians.”

“Ha! Bizogots are the ones who steal,” Hamnet retorted. “Even a guest-friend can’t go into an encampment and come away with everything he brought.”

“You don’t miss it. You Raumsdalians all have too many things anyhow,” Trasamund said.

“You sound like Marcovefa—only she says the same thing about ordinary Bizogots, too,” Count Hamnet replied.

Trasamund grunted. “Her folk don’t have enough. That is nothing but the truth, by God—not enough. I saw that with my own eyes. And you Raumsdalians have too much. Everybody knows it’s so. We Bizogots, we are just right.” He thumped his chest with his right fist.

“Why was I sure you would say something like that?” Hamnet asked dryly.

“Because down deep, you do have some notion of the truth,” Trasamund said. Runolf Skallagrim couldn’t make Hamnet laugh, but the Bizogot did. That was the silliest thing Hamnet had heard in weeks.

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