Earth Magic Read Free

fork with a bone handle, lashed to his dagger sheath with a piece of light cord so that everyone could see them. “Your command has been lifted, Haldane, and you out walking a pig.”
    Haldane bid Slut stay. “Does Morca know of your fork, Rolf? Fingers are good enough for you. Fingers are enough for him. He’ll make you give it up.”
    Rolf shook his sturdy head. “Oh, nay,” he said. “He has a fork of his own now. You should have seen the place we took. Stone walls as thick as a man.” He held a hand over his head to indicate the width of the walls. “Forks everywhere. A trayful. Morca said I could take two if I wanted, since there were so many, but one is enough. My left hand is not so cunning as my right.”
    The other guard, Hemming Paleface it was, laughed and said, “You’ll stab yourself yet, Rolf.”
    “I’ll stab anyone who gets between me and the spit. My arm is too short. If I had a second fork, someone would have it from me in no time, and then where would be my advantage? And admire the cord. Isn’t that fine? I think of one use for it and then another. For now, I’ll just delight to play with it.”
    Haldane said, “Take my bow and bag, Rolf?”
    “So you can escape Morca’s hand? I’m on duty here. I cannot help you. But you are just on our heels. Slide the pig back to the swinery, nip through the back of the hall, and meet Morca in the yard tying the strings of your trousers as though fresh come from the outhouse.”
    Hemming Paleface said, “Any game in your bag? A freshly dressed rabbit would make Morca sweet.” He had no wounds to boast of either.
    Haldane had few words to spare for Hemming Paleface, who was not so much older, and not as good with sword or bow, but who was allowed on raids. But he would not appear small, so he forced himself to say, “Nothing. The gods of Nestor were not with me.” And groaned inwardly as he remembered how much they had been with him.
    “No matter,” old Rolf said. “We’ve brought you a sweet little partridge from out of Chastain.”
    Both carls laughed. Haldane didn’t laugh, but he did smile and show them the safe side of his hand, and they returned his salute.
    He led Slut by the collar into the courtyard. Truly it seemed he was on the heels of Morca’s party. The mud of their tracks had not settled. How had the witch known? How could she have known?
    The yard was a tangle of movement. Get barons, those Morca had raised, and their carls. Nestorian serfs. And a party of strangely dressed fighting men standing aloof between a wagon piled high with spoils and a heavy traveling carriage at a lurch in the spring mud. Fighting men with all their weapons. What did Morca have in mind? Who were these armed strangers in his home camp?
    Morca himself, the full height of a Western bow and more, dark and hairy, black-bearded, black-visaged, stood by the painted carriage talking to a painted man. A small man, a stranger to Haldane. The mixed colors of his clothes were an offense to Haldane’s eye. Haldane had never seen a Western man before, except for Oliver, Morca’s wizard, and even Oliver did not dress this way. Oliver wore red, or on great occasions magenta.
    The buildings of the dun were set in a hollow square within the larger square of the stockade walls. The stables on one side were large and sturdy. Directly opposite across the yard stood Morca’s hall, even more magnificent. It stood a full two stories high, built of great rough-hewn timbers and fronted with a balcony, with room within to hold all of Morca’s men. It was a luxurious building, visible sign of Morca’s ambition even for those who knew nothing of his plans to enlarge the dun.
    Haldane looked one way and then another, the pig he held straining in his grip. Before greeting Morca, he needed to rid himself of all the visibles of his disobedience. He caught the arm of a serf plodding past.
    “Here, old man,” he said. “Take the pig to the swinery.”
    “Yes, Lord